#but i don't think even i would have had the stones to risk it for a televised competition

[alexanderlightweight]

I don't know how this works, but I'd like to ask something about jealous Alec, maybe even before he and Magnus have a relationship, if this is something you feel comfortable writing about. Love your writing, sending you a big hug😺

this worked just fine! it took a bit for me to get to (I have been struggling with some pretty extensive health issues for 5 years and 2024 had me fucked up) but not because of the prompt! I hope you still are able to get it and enjoy it!

sending hugs and nightshade cuddles and Abyss purrs

<3 lumine

set in the craft of adoration - the fic where bby!Alec sees Magnus from a young age and is pretty much 'him. that's my future husband. the future love of my life. i'm going to marry him when i grows up. he just doens't know it yet.'

-

Magnus is running his fingers over the old book in front of him with a loving tenderness that ignites something in Alec’s soul.

It’s a cold, simmering anger that makes no sense.  

In many ways, the libraries and storage rooms of the Institute are Alec’s sanctuary, places that he retreats to learn in quiet thoughtfulness and also a place that he likes to imagine connects him to Magnus.

He just hadn’t ever expected the reality of already being in this particular room, one considered more storage than library.  Alec’s currently under a layer of runes to keep him from being found via tracking and has been settled into his corner for several hours already.  If he loses track of time he’ll punch the stone wall enough to crack the skin of his knuckles and say he got too caught up in training.  

It’s a valid enough excuse that neither of his siblings have caught on to his subterfuge and Alec intends to keep it that way.  Hence why he’s trying very hard to bite the angry sound that fights to break past his lips. 

This is only the third time Alec has seen Magnus since that first glorious time — when Alec realized who he would devote himself to for the rest of his life — and Alec is still too lacking and young to approach him.

Objectively, Alec understands attraction and knows that he thankfully takes more after his mother than his father, but he’s also aware he’s still too young. His limbs haven’t fully grown into themselves and while he’s never had the fat pudge of a health clinging to his cheeks, he’s not quite filled in the lingering gauntness that clung to his frame after his parents finally fled with him from the Circle. 

Besides that, Alec can barely pin down a demon without weapons yet! He’s hardly someone Magnus Bane would think at and consider as potential.  

It’s with a bitter longing that Alec wishes it was his spine instead of the book that Magnus’ fingers trailed down, that it was through his own hair Magnus’ darkly painted nails would glide.

Watching Magnus peruse the same forgotten but brilliant collection of books that Alec also finds interesting feels the closest to benediction that Alec’s ever gotten. It’s a gift to know that later, his own fingers will press over the same leather and paper that Magnus’ hands do now.

—

There is an odd weight to the atmosphere of the small, hidden study that Magnus let himself into as a reward for completing the wards without insulting anyone.

To the point of violence at least.

The books are a rare treat, strangely clean and well-taken care of for such an obscure room, but Magnus doesn’t mind spending the few precious moments he has looking through them.  

As delightful as it would be to take one with him, now that he’s perusing the books they look too well maintained for him to risk taking one. 

Alas.

There’s a strange pocket of almost forgotten energy that Magnus nearly gravitates towards, only for his own magic to gently redirect him.  It’s not dangerous, but whatever nephilim artifact or treasure hidden away down here is probably too tempting for his own good, Magnus reasons.  If his magic is trying to keep him away, then it’s only because sometimes Magnus’ magic has more self-restraint than himself.

Not often, but sometimes.

—

Magnus magic just reacting to Alec’s self-preservation since it doesn’t harm Magnus and it’s pretty fond of alec at that point

Magnus magic: look your present isn’t ready yet, come back in a few years or better yet, wait until it can properly gift wrap itself and appear on your door step.

Magnus: i have no idea whats going on so i’m just going to ignore it since its not dangerous (normally he’d be interested but he has a limited amount of time and shadowhunter alarms to worry about

-

magnus has still not met Alec and he doesn't not realize he has an infatuated shadowhunter mini-commander stalking his deeds and also sometimes erasing things out of his files that 'the clave doesn't deserve to know' and 'I don't think Magnus would like knowing we have that information'.

Alec's been doing this since he first had a crush on Magnus and could work the database system.

-

yes I headcanon that Alec wasn't in the best health when his parents finally left the circle. rogue Shadowhunters fighting? even if maryse breastfed she'd be gone a lot as I doubt Valentine would be okay with 'cant go on that mission my son needs to eat' so like, they weren't going to get a wetnurse and would have to steal mundane formula they probably didn't really know how to use and yeah. there is a reason maryse wasn't going to put a second kid through that, it just sucks Alec still lived till I think 2-3 years like that.

[hussyknee]

FYI if you're watching MasterChef Australia, the Sri Lankan Australian contestant Savi is a friend of mine and kind of a stealth idol because everything I seem to be online (a ball-busting, bombastic, proudly brown, unapologetically fat, sexy decolonizer lady) she actually is irl. It's funny because she was a few grades below me and found me intimidating when we were in school and now I'm the one perpetually in awe of her. Do watch if you can and root for her! She's a delight!

[evanhereonearth]

The Insidious Cycle of the Abuser Who Says They Love You: Mythal and Solas

Likely goes without saying, but Veilguard spoilers all under the jump.

I have been absolutely wrecked by the end scenes in Veilguard for weeks now, and I want to do a deep dive into Solas's relationship with Mythal and how it absolutely reeks of abuse. Long post incoming!

CW for heavy discussion of cycles of abuse, trauma response, and abuse tactics.

When I finished my first playthrough, this moment hit me like an absolute freight train. His visceral response to her presence and the way he instinctively retreats and flinches back/puts out a hand to protect himself is a full-blown trauma response.

And then she starts talking and moving towards him, and it gets worse.

Solas curls in on himself; his body goes even further into self-protection mode. His face is downcast, not the way he bowed to his vhenan moments before with a straight back and open posture, but shrinking.

And then as she advances, he cowers.

He completely folds inward. He crumples; he shakes, he hyperventilates, and the moment she reaches for him, he fumblingly offers her the lyrium dagger to kill him with.

Is this shame? Yes, of course, but it's far, far more than that.

For the sake of brevity, I'm going to limit this list to the four most widely recognised trauma responses:

Fight

Flight

Freeze

Fawn

As someone whose primary trauma response is fawn (wooo CPTSD), which is intensely common among people who experience complex trauma, especially through emotional and prolonged physical/mental abuse where their needs are discarded, pushed aside, or otherwise steamrolled, I felt this right alongside Solas. My own body responded to seeing it. This is, quite frankly, one of the most visceral and realistic (and extreme) fawn responses I've seen depicted in media.

Mythal in this scene is...phew, something else.

"She was the best of them," Solas tells us in Trespasser.

But she was not good, everything tells us in Veilguard.

Let's look at his regrets in chronological order.

Through Solas's memories of regret, we see this germinate in his foundational regret: leaving the Fade to take a physical form.

He does not want to do this. He tells her he does not want to do this. From the conversation, it's clear it's not the first time she's asked.

And the way she asks? Outright coercion.

"You have so long observed the world. Why not consider joining it?" [I want you to do this thing, so I will frame it as logical for you to make the choice I want you to make.]

"But I have no desire to live as humans. Besides, this talk of taking on a solid form. I think you underestimate the danger." [I don't want to do that. It does not feel safe to me.] "When you took the glowing stone to build your body, did the earth not shake?" [This is dangerous and selfish.]

"The lyrium gives us the strength we had when we were of the Fade; we are the best of both physical and Fade." [It makes us powerful, so I don't care about the risks.] "I need your wisdom, Solas, to withstand the louder voices like Elgar'nan's who would go too far." [If you do not come with me, a tyrant you abhor will make others suffer.] "I need you."

"This is madness. You must know that." [I don't want to do this at all. This will hurt me. I don't want this.] "I will always follow where you go." [Because I love you and trust you.]

Mythal's words in this part are classic abusive framing. When appealing to his natural curiosity does not work and he expresses strong rejection of her logical thought process (just because I have observed this place does not mean I want to go there, echoing his comments to the Inquisitor in DAI: "Many Orlesian peasants dream of travelling to exotic Rivain. But not everyone wants to go to Rivain!") and expresses that there is significant danger to continue to build bodies out of lyrium, she changes tactics.

Her second tactic is that it gives them power--she implies that he is limited and not enough for being only of the Fade. If he follows her, he will be the best of both, like she is. She clearly already sees herself as above him.

Her third tactic is pure emotional blackmail: "I need you. I will give in to the tyrants without your wisdom, and having your counsel in the Fade is not enough. If you don't go against your own nature and desires, people will suffer...and it will be your fault for not being by my side."

She doesn't say those things outright, but they are implied by everything she is saying. He says again he doesn't want it--that it is madness and that she must be aware of that despite her ignoring any suggestion that she actually is. All she is seeing is power and her desires: for Solas to do what she wants him to do.

So he agrees. Because she is his friend, and she says she needs him.

As far as core wounds go, this one is a doozy. It's absolutely brutal, because it's irrevocable. It's a point of no return. It's the first in what will become millennia of regret, of her ignoring the Wisdom she coerced out of the Fade to do what she wants regardless, to continue to push him to twist his nature under the guise of the greater good, to continue to cede to Elgar'nan and enable the very tyrants she promised him to balance.

This regret was deeply painful for me to watch. The nuance here is easily lost if people don't understand abuse tactics and how this sort of manipulation is used. It also serves to bind Solas to Mythal, an enormous sunk cost fallacy in the making--once he has made this choice, there is no going back.

And you see Solas curled in on himself in anguish and regret from the trauma of taking a physical form. It is in deep, painful contrast to his open, free wingspan as a spirit of Wisdom; he will never be the same.

"Have you created what we need?" From the outset Mythal is framing this as his idea as much as hers, when from everything he says, that is not true.

"With this, the proper ritual will sunder every Titan from its spirit. But you must know, those severed dreams will certainly be driven mad, a disembodied blight of pain and anger. It--is--awful what we are doing."

"And the only way to end this war."

Again, Solas offers the wisdom she claimed she took him from the Fade to listen to. He warns her, again, of the danger. He does not want to do this. Just like he warned her of the earth quaking when they made their bodies--they, the Evanuris, started this war by taking what they wanted regardless of who it hurt. He never wanted to participate in it, but now he is in the middle of that war. Mythal was one of the initial perpetrators of this war; she brought Solas into it against his will because he loved her, and now he's stuck. He is past his point of no return. And she is still using his heart against him. She has isolated him from everyone he knew in the Fade; he has no one to support him. He. Only. Has. Her.

This is another classic abuse tactic; if the person being abused has no one else, they will continue to enable that abuse even if it harms others, because they cannot see a way out. If you don't do what I say, it will destroy our children, our family. If you don't do what I say, this war will consume all you have, and you no longer have a home to return to. If you don't do what I say and hurt yourself and the Other, more will suffer, and it will be your fault.

Again, his posture, curled up and broken, appearing to cradle a now-tranquil Titan beneath him--and be embraced in return. This is an interesting artistic choice here, one that aches. It speaks to the depth of his own wound and how much it rent his own spirit to follow through with Mythal's wants here; that it sundered him from his spirit as much as it did the Titans.

"You cannot do this, Elgar'nan! You swore we would give up our commands when this war was over!"

"Our people need our leadership. If you are unwilling, leave."

From Elgar'nan, this is expected. From Mythal?

"Our people must rebuild. And we must help unite them."

Solas, once again, betrayed. He put his trust in Mythal and in the other Evanuris to follow through with their promise. Everything he has done thus far is poisoned in this moment; had the Evanuris indeed stepped back rather than stepped on necks, perhaps Solas could have healed, found a way to live with what he had done, maybe even to make amends. But this starts his war anew--and Mythal is standing with his enemy despite her promises, despite every wheedling word she's used to get what she wants from him over the centuries and longer, despite him turning from everything, everything, he loved to love her. This is the moment where he understands that he has only been a tool to her all along.

"So we did not fight for freedom, but to conquer this land and our own."

Let's pick apart Solas's words.

So we did not fight for freedom: He truly believed that he was fighting for freedom, that no matter how bad it got, that he could bear it for freedom.

But to conquer this land: Literally the land, I think, because of the Titans. To subdue them at all costs. This was not what he came for, but he believed Mythal.

And our own: Our own, our people, more spirits we gave bodies for this war, more who may not have wanted to leave the Fade. Our own, our people. To Solas, he is one of them. In this moment, he realises how much Mythal holds herself above all of them.

Elgar'nan's words are all too telling: "We fought to win. And now the Evanuris are as gods. I do not answer to Mythal's annoying lapdog."

They all--all--see him thus. As her pet.

Because he is. She has, until now, controlled him utterly with her manipulation and "need" for him.

"The people are afraid. They must believe in something." Mythal does not even stand up for Solas here; she does not reject Elgar'nan's perception of him. All she does is further distance herself.

The people are afraid: The Evanuris made them. They are as controlled as Solas and more.

Elgar'nan asserts, "They need strength."

"And wisdom." Mythal has the absolute gall to attribute this to herself, when Solas is the source of the wisdom she "needed" for so long. (Belated addition: And another level here: she may also be saying again that she needs him, but doing so in a way that doesn't require her to stand up for him directly. Honestly, fucking gross.)

"They need gods who can protect them," Elgar'nan continues.

"We are not gods. You will learn that." Solas's voice here is pure defeat. The scales are falling from his eyes.

"Every lapdog holds a wolf inside," says Elgar'nan.

Solas knows that Elgar'nan's "protection" is hollow, based on subjugation. And I think in this moment, he learns that Mythal's is based only in her belief that she is better than those beneath her, who cannot possibly handle themselves.

So her lapdog becomes the Wolf.

"I was not certain you would come."

Solas's opening words in this regret show the distance between them already and how much he has realised he does not know this woman who called herself his friend.

And her response is to instantly blame him.

"You are the one who walked away. I never turn my back when my friend needs me."

In putting this post together, this line absolutely sucker punched me. I've watched these several times already, but the absolute audacity to blame him for standing up for his principles for the first time against all her manipulation? Hoo.

She blames him for doing just that, "turning his back when his friend needed him." She needed her enabler, and when he stopped, she turned bitter. Just like any abuser.

That he goes straight into "The Evanuris seek the magic of the Blight" instead of engaging, honestly shows that he's still Wisdom. That is one battle that is unwinnable, trying to stand up against an abuser's bullshit like that.

"Impossible," she says. "The Blight is safely sealed away forever."

Gaslight, girl boss, gatekeep.

"Though I wish I could believe you." [You have lied to me so many times.] "I have sensed the breaking of the wards."

And her answer is patronising. "I will investigate your claims." [I don't believe you.] "If they forget the danger of the Blight, I will endeavour to remind them."

Solas knows this is futile. "What if, instead, you left the Evanuris and remained with me? Do you not wish for freedom from this struggle?"

He asks her, again, to veer from the dangerous path. He desperately wants to believe he was not completely wrong about her, I think. If she were to leave, he could heal somewhat, for not having so thoroughly misjudged her character.

Am I enough for you? Was I ever enough? is the unspoken question here when he asks if she will remain with him.

And in return, he gets back even more patronising bullshit and hubris. "Be at peace, love. I will stop them."

(Can you tell Mythal pisses me off?)

She calls him love. What an unbearable insult after everything, to go on telling him she cares for him whilst ignoring his wisdom--the very wisdom she coerced him into leaving the Fade so she would have by her side--and consolidating her own power at the expense of his people.

"As you must," he says. "The Blight is our mistake."

Might be unpopular, but I do not think Solas bears a split fifty-fifty custody for whose fault the Blight is. Could he have said no about the dagger? Could he have pushed then? Maybe. But by this point, he'd already had probable millennia of complex trauma and a deeply abusive codependent relationship, probably also a level of magical bond. Like, sorry, Trick and BioWare, if you want to retcon everything you shared with us in Inquisition about being in service to the Evanuris ("You have given yourself into the service of an ancient elven god! You are Mythal's creature now. Everything you do, whether you know it or not, will be for her.") AND Mythal casually overriding her servants' will and Solas burning her vallaslin off his face and leaving a scar and devoting himself to freeing the elven people from the Evanuris's domination, fine, but I don't buy it. Even if there was no magical compulsion on him all this time, that is immaterial.

Complex trauma literally rewires the brain to survive. She spent lifetimes programming him, isolating him, stripping from him every bit of agency he had. This man did not have the capacity to say no.

When our no is trampled even for a few months or years, we stop trying to use it. We comply. We, as mortal humans, cannot begin to comprehend the compounded trauma of millennia of this happening with the stakes of worlds in the balance. Solas, quite simply, has lost the entire ability to consent. No one of us can even imagine.

Yet he managed to walk away from her somehow, when she chose Elgar'nan. This man is stronger than anyone gives him credit for.

The dagger was clearly Mythal's idea. The plan to sever the Titans from their dreams, clearly her idea. To end the war. For there to be "peace". For there to be "freedom". Except that never came.

His loyalty was to her and to their people; hers was only ever to herself.

And again, she walks away and lets Solas suffer.

What a good friend.

[screaming from the general direction of Scotland]

She put her trust in monsters instead of her oldest friend, and the monsters ate her face.

Anyone surprised? I'm surprised. (I'm not surprised.)

And on top of this, Mythal finally, finally giving Solas one tiny breadcrumb that she had any principles remaining? I think that cemented his bindings to her forever. Not just that the Evanuris killed her, but why they killed her: because after millennia, she listened to him.

For someone that deep into trauma and abuse? Well. We know what happened.

It cannot be overstated that with his imprisonment of the Evanuris and the Blight, Solas saved the entire world. The entire world. Every living being in Thedas had a chance at life because of him. Only because of him.

Morrigan says it early on in the game, that for all the consequences of the veil (which, it also must be said, was not supposed to be global!), "his imprisonment of the Evanuris was just. Had he not done so, all of Thedas would have fallen to the Blight."

And the world has hated him for it.

He woke after sleeping for millennia, exhausted by this immense act of magic, to discover that not only had it gone horribly wrong, but that it had cost his people everything. That Tevinter had come in and enslaved them, released a trickle of the Blight after breaking into the Black City, used so much blood magic that the veil itself all over Thedas has been in tatters--not least because in releasing the Blight, the survivors had had to face down and kill the dragon thralls (archdemons) of the Evanuris, rendering five out of seven of them mortal, and with their deaths over the intervening centuries, the veil had grown threadbare with only two Evanuris sustaining it.

The risks were catastrophic, the price unbearable.

Everything he'd ever done to protect the world could still come crashing down...and in a sick twist of fate, he would be alive to see it.

And, shockingly, so would Mythal.

Mythal, whose fragment has just been chilling in a swamp for centuries in human form. Mythal, whose abuse of him lasted through the entirety of the world's history. Mythal, who, due to the Evanuris's betrayal and her abusee's abandonment, has become little more than retribution.

Mythal, who could have set him free at any point in all this time and didn't, because he was hers.

Mythal, who is the only remaining person with the power to do what he feels must be done.

I find it interesting that they chose not to use the post-Inquisition dialogue at all. Interesting also that they used Mythal's voice actor and not Flemeth's. This feels like a retcon, but we'll go with it. Whatevs.

"I knew that you would find me soon enough. You need the power of a god, the strength that I alone still carry."

She's still asserting her own godhood.

He's not having it. "The blighted Evanuris will soon break free from their prison. I must make a stronger one that can contain them."

He's not wrong. Not even a little bit wrong. And he's also right that she won't help him. Why would she? She never has.

"While the prison is important, it is not the only goal you seek."

"Why should I not tear down the veil? And bring back immortality to all the elven people? They deserve it."

And this is where I get even more raging, because Mythal's answer is this: "The elven people of today do not deserve to see the world they love torn apart to salve your conscience."

I'm sorry, what?

The world they love? The world that has offered them nowt but literal genocide for thousands of years? The world where in Tevinter, they're chattel slaves and worse, fuel for blood magic without a thought? The world where in the "civilised", slaveless nations to the south, they're either confined to alienages and subjected to repeated genocide (that's what a "purge" is, if anyone isn't clear on that) or the remnants of the Dales, who are the descendents of another enormous genocide? The world where elven magic has been pillaged but elven mages in human settlements are confined to Circles and abused or made tranquil or also genocided by Templars invoking the Rite of Annulment? The world where they're called "elf savage" and "rabbit" and "knife ear" and cannot participate in Thedosian religious life because the Chantry erases every instance of elves from even the Chant of Light? The world where it took the Inquisitor installing a perpetrator of genocide on the Orlesian throne (both Celene AND Gaspard fit this bill) and either having Celene reconcile with Briala (Briala and Celene's relationship could be a whole other post. Boak.) and blackmailing them to give a single elf lands and a title? That world????

What the fuck, Mythal, die faster.

I got real mad there for a second. I'm fine. I'm fine!

Solas, once more, simply says, "I must fix what I have broken. I am sorry."

More than she deserves, frankly. Man's a mess, but at least he tries. She's been chilling in a swamp and pulling puppet strings for ages and abusing her kids. Nudging history like it's some sort of hobby, because it has always just been pieces on a board to her. They have never been people in her eyes like they are in his.

"As am I, old friend."

Aye, get tae fuck. Friends don't treat friends the way you treated Solas. The closest thing to an apology Solas will ever get from her is that she pretty much just lies down and dies when he comes to kill her. And she still won't set him free before he does. Has to continue to twist her own knife.

This scene has me riled.

And this takes us back to the beginning of this post.

To her essence showing up to release him from her service.

In what is, to me, the least accountable, bare minimum non-apology (she never actually says she's sorry) I've had the displeasure to witness in a videogame, with Solas literally cowering before her and offering her a knife to kill him with since this is the first time he's seen her actual, non-Flemythal face since she died.

This was never a friendship of equals. Ever.

She got one thing right. She did break him. But she knew it all this time, and she never took a single step to put it right until pushed. Her corner of the Crossroads, which he built for her in the desperate hope that she would show a glimmer of the friend he believed she was, notably has a pair of wolf statues. Both beheaded.

She's spent all this time punishing him further.

He never went to visit her? I wouldn't either. I could not blame him.

This has gone to an angry place. So let's conclude with what is, I think, the entire point.

Grace.

"I lied. I betrayed you."

"I forgive you."

Has anyone--anyone--in all his long life, ever said those words to him?

I'll say that again: has anyone--ANYONE--in all his millennia of existence, EVER said those words to him?

I forgive you.

Mythal certainly didn't.

The world certainly didn't.

He has shouldered all the blame of an entire pantheon, a war that broke the world, a blight, everything, always, and while people have come alongside him to help him, I am not sure anyone (certainly not anyone he cares about) has given him the grace of forgiveness.

The beauty of this final scene for me wasn't just Ilaana, wasn't just Ilaana reuniting with the man she has loved for a decade who has spent all that time pushing her away so he couldn't--in his mind--inevitably poison the love of the only person who has seen his spirit and cherished it without twisting him.

It was the slow realisation that Rook trusted his love enough to try.

It was Morrigan, who carries all Mythal's memories and her own of Flemythal's abuse and machinations, who responds to Rook's question about her views of Solas with: "Or do you mean to discover if I would stand directly against the Dread Wolf, were there a need? I shall aid you in any way but that. What has passed between Solas and Mythal...I beg you: do not ask this of me again."

Morrigan knows. She will not raise a hand against him. She will not try to stop him. She will let the veil fall. She will not fight with Rook. Because she knows this being whose memories she holds has harmed him enough.

Solas, in these final moments, even before Mythal shows up to gut punch him, realises all these people have somehow, somehow, banded together to help him.

Not work for him.

Not be his agents.

Not worship him.

Not follow him blindly.

To help him. To help Solas. To help him, after all this time, take the first steps towards himself. Towards his own essence, so long twisted into something he never sought or wanted.

The Inquisitor and Morrigan certainly understand what it's like to be seen only as the symbol others raise in your image. Rook will learn that someday, but is still naive.

But even with that naivete, willing. Present. Able to put aside being a chess piece on his board. Able to see that they would never have succeeded without his help. Able to trust two people who know him better than they ever will.

Able to offer him grace.

And when they produce Mythal's essence, how that must brutalise him; to think that perhaps all this has been to let his abuser kill him back. He clearly thinks that's what's happening. He breaks. He fawns. He offers her the blade that has caused so much pain.

Her release of him is the bare minimum she owes him. I've already railed about that.

What is transcendent here, transformative--it is the mortals.

The mortals offering grace to a god who never wanted to be a god.

It's them together showing him a way out of an endless cycle of trauma and abuse. No one of them alone is enough. Without Rook, they wouldn't have Mythal's essence; Morrigan can't go get it, and she can't do what is needed because she's not actually Mythal, only has her memories. Without Morrigan, who can stand there with those memories but from the compassionate perspective of someone who has watched them in horror from the outside. She's far from objective, but she can do this one thing to help.

Without the Inquisitor (romanced or not, still someone he let know him as he most desperately wanted to be known--the Fade-walker, the Dreamer, the humble mage who desperately needed a friend). The Inquisitor, who kneels before him to comfort him. Who sees his hurt and responds.

If romanced, without Lavellan, who kneels to repeat back words he once shouted at the Nightmare in the Fade after Adamant.

"Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ema mar din." (Speak, traitor. Your victory was fruitless. Your pride gives way only to your death.)

To which Solas replied, "Banal nadas."

On the surface, nothing is inevitable, but can also be taken to mean that nothingness is inevitable, entropy, the final void. (Thanks to Dumped, Drunk, and Dalish for this excellent long post on this scene.)

And here is Lavellan, kneeling beside him with those words. "Banal nadas ar lath, ma vhenan."

Nothing is inevitable but the love we share, my heart.

I see everything you are, all you have done, and I love you. I forgive you for the pain you have caused me. I understand, see, and forgive.

No one has ever shown him grace like this.

Ever.

And Solas, this shattered man, sobs.

He sobs.

Someone has taken the trouble to isolate his voice in the video. This man has nothing left. And, after millennia of this trauma cycle repeating over and over, he is finally free to make the choice he wants to make. It's not the outcome he wants; that has to be said. He doesn't want to leave the veil up. He doesn't want to be bound into prison forever with no hope of seeing the world he fought for ever return.

But he is done.

In the Fade after Adamant, there is a cemetery with the worst fears of every companion scriven on shrines and stones. Solas's is dying alone.

After all of this, he is willing to face just that--and would, if not for her.

She knows his deepest fears. She has faced the demon Mythal made of the man she loves. She has given unwitting comfort to the spirit of Wisdom still within. She has seen his sweetest self. Nurtured him, cherished him, and has been nurtured and cherished in return.

Does she want to leave the world behind and spend eternity in a Fade prison? Probably not her first choice. It's not my Ilaana's; she has been on his side all this time, dreaming of a world where the spirits she loves can be reunited with the world in peace and ready to make that happen.

But it was not supposed to happen this way. It did happen this way anyway.

He has sacrificed everything--everything--including his own spirit self, his soul, his life. How could she not offer him what no one ever has? A friend forever, a lover willing to walk the din'an shiral by his side, a companion to ward off the forever alone.

Together, the two of them can begin to heal, with their counterpart who has always seen through the burdens of the world to the soul within.

This is the only thing I've ever had any faith in. Grace I know you carry us Grace And it was such a mess Grace I don't say it enough Grace You are so loved

[alexrosa13]

Happy Accident

Caleb x female!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: mc!reader

Note: quick one shot because I'm obsessed with this man, if you haven't noticed yet.

for masterlist and request info head to the navigation →

continuation of this fic →

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The first one may have happened by an accident, but I would say that the other times won't be.

"I did it! I did it Caleb!" you were jumping around with a paper in your hand, the confirmation of your passed test.

"Told you not to doubt yourself." he was watching your energy raise 200 times the normal level, already used to it. You were like a little tornado, running around him, screaming in his ear, just jumping like a little rabbit ever since you came home.

"I didn't doubt myself!" you threw the paper in his direction, harmless, and it wouldn't even fall on him, but he used his evol to make it fly straight into his hand. You didn't react, continuing your happy little hopping.

"Sure, sure, cause it wasn't you who came to my room, threw yourself onto my bed, cried into my pillow asking me to help you study cause you felt... I quote 'dumb as a middle aged man'?" he dodged the pillow you threw his way, while studying the impressive percentage on the paper.

"Shut up, you were only there for the mental support." you said, picking up another pillow for your weapon.

"Yeah, by mental support you mean I was tutoring you for free." he catches the second pillow that flew towards his face, the paper lying forgotten on the coffee table before him.

"You were acting out of the goodness of your heart, what, you want some reward in return for being a good samaritan now huh?" you crossed your arms, looking at him, he stood up from the couch with a pillow in his hand, you had to raise your head to look him in the eye, but you didn't move back, not letting yourself run and giving him the pleasure of winning your staring contest.

"Well, I deserve a thank you, don't I?" he teased, throwing the pillow back onto the couch and taking a step closer to you, you had to raise your head even higher.

"Do you? I don't know." you raised your brows for a second, before staring at him with twice the intensity.

"Is that how much you care about me pipsqueak? I don't even deserve a grateful 'thank you Caleb, you're the best!'?" he mimicked your voice which actually made you crack a smile for a second .

"Thank you Caleb, you're the best!" you said sarcastically "There, happy now?" he looked at you in silence, thinking,

"Hmm no, not quite. You can do better than that." he got even closer to you, and lowered his head, his face now close to yours, never dropping the eye contact.

You huffed, rolling your eyes in 'annoyance'. You took a step towards him, your bodies centimetres away, he looked at you with a silent question, not moving, watching you.

Your face got closer to his, planning on giving him a quick smooch on his cheek but when your lips reached their desired place...

He moved his head...

Both of your eyes widen. You remained unmoving.

With your lips on his.

You didn't know what to do, back up? Continue? Run away and hide in your room? WHAT TO DO? And he had the same dilemma.

You stood there like a stone sculpture for at least a minute.

Your eyelids relaxed, your eyes half opened, both of you slowly broke the 'kiss', but your forehead touched instead, deep breaths being the only noise you heard.

You looked down, not knowing what to say, he was looking at you.

His hand went up to your cheek, raising your head softly and making you gaze into his purple eyes.

You looked at each other with a silent questions.

Taking a risk he decided what to do. He looked down at your lips, slowly closing the distance, you let him do it, you wanted him to do it.

His lips landed on yours once more, this time; intentionally. And from this moment you were lost. No thoughts in your head, just him.

You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling to the fullest, you thought about it so often before falling asleep, never expecting it to happen.

You didn't know for how long you were standing there, seconds, minutes? But the sudden noise of the front door opening made you two pull away instantly.

Both of you dropped to the couch, trying to look natural and not like you were making out a moment ago.

"Hello to you two." Gran walked in, with groceries in her hands, both of you said short greetings and smiled at her before she went to the kitchen, Caleb decided to stand up and go help her unpack everything like he always did, but you caught his hand in panic.

He looked at you with another quiet question.

"Your lips..." you whispered, gesturing at your own. He raised his hand to his mouth, wiping them once and showing you the result.

You looked in the direction Gran went, and stood up to help him wipe the rest of your lipstick from his lips.

You wiped it with your hand to the best of your ability, luckily the color came out easily.

"You can go now." you whispered again, taking a step back, but he pulled you back by your arm, planting a quick kiss on your lips before turning around to go and help Gran.

You stood there dumbfounded.

What the hell just happened.

[morallygreychaoticneutral]

Astarion doesn't ask for affection because he can't..... yet.

Ah, more tea steeping in this seeming endless sea of thoughts. This brew is a bit strong on the heart. Read with caution.

Warning for game spoilers and talk of abuse.

This perspective is from game content only. How anybody cannons their relationships or behaviors is perfectly right. No blame, no shame, it's your game.

I was always miffed at the lack of initiated affection from Astarion as a partner. YOU ask him for a kiss. YOU ask him for a hug. YOU ask him to tell you thank you after being an amazing partner and killing a massive beastie just for him! Brat...

But then I had a sudden realization. Given his past, affection is probably insanely hard to ask for. Like it can be for a lot of us.

Stay awhile and listen. (nerd)

Now when I speak of narcissistic abuse I am only speaking from what I know about it. I have no academic or phycology degree on the matter. Just good ol' tossed in the pond and forced to sink or swim experience.

Astarion spent 200 years under the crushing weight of narcissistic / psychopathic abuse. One of the things these types of abusers love to do is take what you love and make you hate it and then make you hate yourself for ever having liked it to begin with. All very nasty business that. But it's one of the main corner stones for the cage they build to control you.

They make you feel as if the request of a simple hug is the most pathetic thing you could ask for. Or the most selfish thing as it inconveniences them. They don't want it, why should they give it to you?

Shame, belittle, degrade, devalue..

200 years with a master who used him like a tool. 200 years with siblings that fought amongst each other so much comfort was a liability. Nights coming home assaulted only to be mocked for your tears. Insulted for your need of comfort.

"Pathetic! Weak! Disgusting! "

Shame, belittle, degrade, devalue..

Affection was nowhere to be found there, I assure you.

And for a Narc. anything given is expected to be "earned" in any way they see fit. And if you were "rewarded" with anything, it comes at high price.

And how dare you not find it fair. You ingrate!

Shame, belittle, degrade, devalue..

Hugs are pathetic. Kisses are an intrusion. Or they become gateways to other unwanted behaviors. To be held...what are you? A baby? The only way you are going to get held, is down.

Shame, belittle, degrade, devalue.. The pattern continues.

But you ask HIM for a kiss. And he says..

"There is nothing I'd like more."

And he means it.

I'd bet a mountain of gold he wants to just ask you himself. But years of conditioning to expect pain when seeking pleasure probably keeps him in a choke hold. Like rats that are shocked every time they try to eat food out of a dish. They learn it is safer to starve.

"I want to ask Tav for a kiss or a hug, but they might think i'm weak. But if they ask me first then it's them who wants it and they can't degrade me for it because they asked, not me. It's safe then."

"I want to ask Tav for a kiss or hug, but they might reject me for being too needy and shame and berate me for being so selfish or demanding of their time and person. But if they ask they have time and want me to kiss/hug them."

"I want to ask Tav for a kiss or a hug, but my primal brain keeps telling me they might demand more than I want to give in return for it. But if they ask, I have the power of negotiating the outcome."

This leads me to believe he would view sex and affection very differently as well.

Where most find affection safe and nurturing, it's anxiety educing and unsafe. It means there are feelings and if there are feelings there is the risk and fear of rejection or judgment. It's much scarier.

Where most find sex to be connecting and intimate, it's been used so much it's lost any meaning. Something you can do a thousand times over and walk away the second it's done and feel nothing afterward.

This may even be a part of the reason why he wants to stop having sex.

He wants to connect with you in ways denied to him. He wants the experience of being courted, treasured, nurtured. It means so much more to him than sex. It is so much more connecting.

Feeling this way is wretched and lonely. The most basic instinct is to want to seek comfort in the arms of those who love us. But it's broken. The risk is too great.

And it's hard. Because you could be the sweetest most honorable Tav in the whole of Fearun. But after being fed poised apples one too many times, all apples appear poisonous regardless of if is true or not.

I have no doubt that this prickly elf soaks up every second of non sexual affection you give him. And truly is grateful for your patience while he slowly and carefully disarms the safety measures he put in place to survive. The fact that he even allowed you to touch him like that at all was a monumental act of trust. And why not? You are incredible after all.

I'm going to go ask my elf for a kiss now. And then cry in my cup.

[heroesneedalancer]

Post by u/DJConvex to r/AskReddit on Nov 6, 2024:

People who work in DC for the government, what is the vibe?

Comment by u/Meduselde:

Resigned. We are generally very good about not discussing politics in the workplace but the vibe was obviously off. My more conservative colleagues who were happy Trump won were extremely respectful. There wasn't smug gloating and they were very obviously being cognizant of others' feelings even more than normal. It was extremely appreciated. Ultimately, we survived the first administration and will survive again. It's not necessarily Trump who was the problem last time, but his inexperienced senior appointees. The world isn't going to end nor do I feel democracy will crumble at his feet. It's just gonna be chaotic, and that's the worst part as a worker bee. At least with Biden we had consistent leadership and clear guidance, even if you didn't agree with it. Under Trump, your "yes man" says "no" and that's how you rotate through four SECDEFs. But as a sign of hope, it also means that even the most loyal DO say "no" sometimes, especially when businessmen are finally confronted with the realities of governance.

They chill out REAL quick on their dismantlement plans when they see the work these agencies do and what's at stake if they don't stand up for their people. It's easy to say you will dissolve or cut funding for something when you do not truly understand it. And as much as people say we can ALL be magically replaced with "yes men," even the most stone-hearted appointees recognize that the last thing you ever want is to lose the entirety of your skilled workforce. They learn it's best to get the skilled people to work towards their vision and not hire enthusiastic but stupid people to attempt the same. If they do, they risk looking inept themselves. You don't get skilled federal workers in a blue portion of the country to work for you by being a fucking Nazi. We're cranky and will make your life hell if you behave like that. I'm not talking about some sort of organized resistance movement because we feel like it. That's wrong. But just imagine hundreds of thousands pissed off at you. If that's the Deep State at work, then we aspire to be the quality of swampy Deep State your racist uncle thinks we are. If implementing dictatorship was that easy, Trump would have taken out every agency his last term and fired us all. I am actually extremely proud of the resiliency and checks and balances that the American federal government has in place to prevent most of the shit he says he can achieve by waving a magic executive wand. (He's done this once. He knows he can't. He just lets the majority of the population believe he can.) Us feds will make it, as we always have.

And we will live up to our oath to serve the Constitution, not a president. We serve every official of every party faithfully within the bounds of legalities and our oath. Working for administrations you may not like it's just a part of the job that we all recognize. Public servants at the federal level generally hold that extremely close to their heart. The ones that don't (I'm talking to YOU, WaPo "informants!") put us to shame. We're just tired, man. I can't believe it has already been four years since the last round. There's going to be some waves, no doubt, and some people definitely are going to be hurt at upper levels. But grab a Twisted Tea and buckle up. We'll at least pretend it's meant to be a roller coaster and ride it. TL;Dr Democracy is not going to die. But a drink and "thanks" would go a long way.

EDIT: Woah! I woke up this morning and am surprised by how much traction this got. I'm sad that this was the most positive thing some people had read. I'm sorry it's been that bad. I am not predicting outcomes. I have no idea how it's going to go. It's going to be bloody. But the hope I am trying to get across is that we are a resilient people and a group of (generally) good people. It will be okay, okay? The people that really make or break your daily life are those around you and your local government. Hold those around you close to your heart and always be kind. Everybody go outside, take a deep breath, eat something you love, and hug your grandma (even if she voted differently). The world is still turning and the sky is still blue. Being surrounded by spiraling anger on the internet only makes us the losers, not those we disagree with. The only thing we can do right now is wait. We have a few months to cool off! Enjoy your holidays!

EDIT 2: I think everybody has forgotten about this, but go check out the memorandum signed by the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the end of Trump's first term after January 6. The feds basically said "fuck that" when people were scared that the government was going to turn the military on them to help Trump in some way. While it was specifically addressed to our armed forces members, it was spread throughout the DOD and beyond. Partially as a result of federal workers' fear (not actually ordered, to be crystal clear) that they would be asked to turn on citizens. This sentiment was echoed across the entire government via internal emails (from Trump appointees!) as well to the civilian workforce. That's one of my proudest moments as an American and why I know we will get through it.

Emphasis mine. Link to original Reddit Post. Link to an article about the aforementioned memorandum signed by the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Don't give up. We will get through this.

[lady-phasma]

In the fading light

Daemon Targaryen x fem Dornish!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, but I was going for soft!Daemon so I don't think there are that many warnings this time.

Summary: Daemon comes to visit you at Godsgrace, the seat of House Allyrion, in Dorne. Kind of an AU in the sense that Rhaenyra isn't the object of his love, nor his motivation for "ending his marriage" to Rhea. 2.6k words

From the request here - romantic Daemon inspired by the song "kalam eineh" (Words of his eyes) by Sherine. I was able to work in a few lyrics as well ("the one whose eyes the moon envied" and "get lost in his beauty").

a/n: Dorne is a very big place and all of the houses are as different as the Northern houses. So as I write more Dornish!reader fics I start to see them uniquely in my headcanon. Godgrace is on a river from what my research tells me, so I think it worked out perfectly that Sherine is Egyptian. I've dropped some Egyptian elements into Godsgrace and that's how it is in my head now. (If there was a face claim for a location think Thebes/Luxor landscape.)

A warm breeze wafted onto the balcony where you and Daemon sat. The sun sank low against the horizon. The river in the distance shone with golds and pinks. A falcon screeched nearby. You turned from the gorgeous view of the Godsgrace river oasis to look at your Prince. He sat, reclined, opposite you. You slid your toes up the inside of his leg, teasing him. He stroked the top of your foot, your ankle, up your shin. Your smooth skin reflected the light of the setting sun much as the river did. Daemon slipped his fingertips under the hem of your thin skirt. The contrast of his pale hand under the bronze fabric was delightful to you. This Northern prince, so accustomed to clouds and darkness. Such a dreary land he came from.

You watched him as he looked out over the Greenblood river. It would be so easy to get lost in his beauty. His hair, his eyes, his mouth, everything about him was entrancing to you. You glanced back out at the river, the people going about their evening paying no attention to the lords and ladies so high above them. Birds circled above fishing boats as the nets were pulled in. Lights began to flicker in windows across the city. You smelled roasted meat and fresh baked bread on the warm air. You would have to dress for the evening meal, if you didn’t request it in your quarters.

“Did you come only because the fool Prince Martell forbade it?” You were genuinely curious. “Or because of your brother?”

“You know that is not the reason,” he spoke softly and continued to stroke your leg. “Their approval means less to me than you think.”

“You risk much coming to Godsgrace.” You wiggled your toes against his thigh.

“It is a fair price,” Daemon replied.

“Surely you are quite rested now, my love,” you goaded. “It is a long journey up the Greenblood, but not so tiring that you would ignore me.” You flashed your eyes at him. They were nearly the color of burnt umber in the fading light. Soon your maids would light torches and candles in your chambers. You would hear them through the diaphanous curtains that hung in the entry of the balcony. Though they would never dare to disturb you, even if you had your Targaryen on the floor in front of them.

Daemon turned his violet eyes toward you, finally pulled from his thoughts. Gods, you thought, even the moon could envy those eyes! The last pink of the sunset caught on his silver hair as it swung freely about his face, tendrils caught in the breeze.

“Quite rested,” he smirked as he spoke. He slipped his hand behind your knee and, reaching forward, grabbed your other leg and pulled you, bodily, to him. Your chair legs screeched against the stone floor as you threw your head back and laughed. When he had you where he wanted you, he smoothed his palms up the inside of your thighs. You rested your bare feet on the seat of his chair on either side of his legs. He pushed your skirt all the way up to your waist as he stared into your eyes. His thumbs grazed the creases of your thighs and you sighed.

“The journey was too long, but certain hindrances are now resolved,” his voice was low and quiet. “I am no longer married.”

You raised an eyebrow at these words. You trailed your fingertips down one of his forearms.

“I hope that it was painless, my prince,” you both knew the mocking of his title was not malicious. He was not your prince and you enjoyed reminding him of that. “You know, you could have stayed in Godsgrace and I could have sent one of my women to dispatch the issue quickly.” Your grin was knowing, yet seductive. Daemon’s response to Northern morality was curious to you. He didn’t want his wife, but could not bring himself to have another while she lived.

“I did not say I did the deed,” he tried not to smile. “Only that it was resolved.” Oh, he was deliciously vile when it suited him. You chuckled at this.

“Well, I had no trouble with the situation,” you grazed his thigh with one foot. “I needed only your devotion, not your marriage.”

“That you will always have, my lady,” he replied as he sank to his knees in front of you. You moved your foot to his shoulder, the other still in his chair, as you languidly spread your legs to make room for him. He looked up at you again, catching your eyes with his as he kissed your thigh, then your belly. You stroked one hand over his silky head as he lowered it and kissed the dark hair between your legs. You heard him inhale, smelling you, and you became even wetter.

Daemon licked the full length of your slit and paused at your pearl. He circled it with the tip of his tongue and you gripped the arms of your chair. He slid an arm around one thigh to steady you. Then he grazed a finger through your folds, finding your entrance quickly, as if he knew your geography by heart. He teased and didn’t slide inside you yet. He used two fingers to circle your opening, almost matching the rhythm of his tongue on your clit. Your hips rocked. You tried, and failed, to get his fingers inside. He stilled you as much as he could and continued for a moment that felt like an eternity.

When he finally slipped his fingers into your wet heat he sucked on your clit and your hands flew to the back of his head. You moaned and pushed against his mouth. You thought you felt him chuckle. You didn’t care. You ground your hips on his mouth and fingers.

“Daemon,” you whispered, as that was as loud as you could manage. “That’s it, just there. Please.”

He rubbed his fingertips against the spot that drove you wild, fighting against your clenching muscles. His tongue resumed its circling movements, but with a slightly quicker pace. Your breathing was becoming shallow and the sounds you made came deep from your chest. He pumped his fingers harder into you, knowing the pressure you needed to reach your climax. Your toes curled on his shoulder. You let go of his head, gripped the arms of your chair again, and your body curled forward as your climax overwhelmed you. You yelled his name, moaned incoherently, and then laughed. He hadn’t stopped, tongue still lapping causing your thighs to twitch. You playfully pushed at his forehead to give you peace.

You leaned forward and cupped his face in your hands. His expression wasn’t playful, as yours was. The look was full of something akin to admiration. You kissed him, roughly. You licked yourself from his lips, his tongue, and moaned into his mouth. He reached up and tangled his fingers into your hair at the nape of your neck, letting some of it loose from the pins that held it in place. Without much grace, he blindly began to release your hair from its confines.

Daemon broke your kiss and began to stand up. You let your fingers trail down his body as he did. You grazed your fingers over his pants, deliberately avoiding the hardness straining the fabric. He pulled pins and a comb from your hair, tossing them on the floor with abandon. You looked up at him, a playfully displeased look on your face for the carelessness he showed for your jewelry, and shook out your hair. It fell in near-black waves down your shoulders and back.

“I need you,” Daemon breathed. His eyes were dark with lust. Still looking up at him from your chair, you pressed your palm over his erection. His eyes nearly closed. His chest rose and fell, trying to maintain his composure. You pressed just a little harder. He grabbed your wrists. It didn’t hurt but made it evident that he couldn’t be teased this evening. You stood, your wrists still in his hands. You raised to tiptoes and pulled at his bottom lip with your teeth. Your eyes narrowed in defiance against being so restrained.

“That’s enough!” He threw you over his shoulder. You squealed and laughed, kicking your feet and pounding your fists lightly against his back. Your laughter bounced off the stone walls as he carried you through the curtains into your chambers. You pushed against him, raising your head to look at the two startled maids, and laughed harder.

“Let me go!” You giggled and kicked your feet but he only held your ankles as he walked you to the bed. You heard the two girls scamper from the room, giggling and twittering.

Daemon dropped you lightly on the bed. You were breathless from laughing. He smiled down at you, but that look was back. What had changed since he had gone North? Your laughter faded into giggles, which in turn faded into quick breaths as he knelt on the bed and kissed his way up your feet, calves, and thighs. He began to unfasten the ties of your skirt at your waist and you helped him with the small buttons of your delicate top.

He licked and kissed the curves of your exposed belly. He nuzzled his nose between your breasts, then kissed each of your nipples. You played with his silky hair, enjoying watching him worship you. When he reached your neck and jaw you began tugging on his shirt, pulling it toward his shoulders. He straightened long enough pull it over his head, then bent down to your mouth again. You kissed him back, hands gripping his neck, stroking his shoulders, down his biceps.

Daemon moved with you, still kissing, as you began to sit up. You gently pressed his shoulders back and guided him to lay down. You straddled his thighs and began pulling at the laces of his pants. He groaned at the pressure of your fingers. You stroked his freed cock, watching your hands move slowly. You enjoyed making him wait but you couldn’t wait any longer. You released him and begin to remove his breeches. Once you had both struggled with that for a moment, you trying not to giggle during the endeavor, you climbed up him and placed yourself on his belly. You could feel his cock pressing against your buttocks. You leaned forward and kissed him and he cupped both of your breasts in his hands.

You lifted your hips enough to reach between you and guide him into your wetness. He growled and squeezed your breasts a bit harder. Slowly, you took him inside you. You raised up, allowing him to keep his hands on you, and pressed your hands against his stomach as you rocked your hips. You took his cock as deep as you could. Gradually, at first, then setting a gentle pace that brought sweet sounds from Daemon’s lips. You leaned forward slightly, finding the angle you needed. He moved his hands, one to your neck, one to your hip. As you settled on a rhythm, he began to match you, thrusting upward slightly each time you rocked back on his cock.

You let your head fall forward, you hair sweeping forward, framing your face and his. Your fingers curled against his chest. You kept this pace as long as you could before your cunt began to ache with the beginnings of your climax. You slowed and Daemon took over. Gripping both of your hips, he fucked up into you, harder than you had been able to manage. His grunts made you squeeze around his cock. They were wonderful sounds that only increased your need for him.

You rested your face against his, pressing your cheeks together. Neither of you could stay quiet. Your name fell from his lips as fluidly as the curses he uttered. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you down onto each of his upward thrusts. The sound of flesh against flesh, lewd and satisfying. Your bodies glistened with sweat in the torch light. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him but the pleasure was too great.

“Yes, please, Daemon,” you whined in his ear. Your lips drug across his cheek as you searched for his mouth. You tried to kiss him. Instead you panted and moaned against his mouth. As your climax began the wave that would drown you, you heard his voice, much calmer than yours could have been in that moment.

“Look at me.” You did. He didn’t stop fucking you, but he held your gaze with those perfect eyes. “I love you. I would kill for you. I would kill anyone who kept us apart.”

Something in his eyes, not just his words, was your undoing. Your climax spread over you at the same time as it curled up inside you. You squeezed your thighs against his hips, almost stopping his movements entirely. You bent to him and kissed him, moaning and sighing, as you came.

Suddenly Daemon’s large arms encircled you and in your delirium you could hardly notice that he was moving you. You clung to his shoulders as he somehow, and gracefully, managed to lay you on your back. He had not pulled out. You wrapped your legs around his hips and ran your hands into his hair.

Daemon fucked you without restraint. You were coming down from your climax but your cunt gripped him tight and he grunted with each deep thrust. He shifted his weight to one hand and deftly scooped one of your legs into the crook of his arm. You bit your lower lip and looked up at him. He was watching you.

“Touch yourself,” he panted. “Come on my cock again.” His smile was enough to convince you, if his words hadn’t been.

So you did. You rubbed your fingers quickly, and in time with his strokes. When you were close again, you arched under him, head thrown back, Daemon’s mouth on your exposed neck. Then he pressed his hips against you as hard as he could. His cock buried completely inside you as he came. Your cunt spasmed around him and you both felt his seed fill you as your climax peaked. He cursed and tried to gently lower your leg. Your body shook and you were unable to help him. He chuckled and kissed your forehead.

As he slowly pulled out and away from you, you mewled and groaned, closing your thighs and squeezing them together. Daemon lowered himself down next to you, on his side. He rested his head on your chest. You smoothed his hair away from his forehead in a long stroke down to his back and sighed. You let your hand rest on his shoulder. He held you close to him.

The cool night breeze wicked the sweat off your skin. The torches guttered slightly. You wrapped one leg over Daemon’s. You wanted every part of your body touching his. You breathed in his smell mixed with your own and the dusty sweetness of Godsgrace coming in through the curtains.

“No one will come between us,” Daemon whispered against you.

“I know, my love, my dragon” you replied, lips brushing against the top of his head.

The sun had set and, perhaps, the dark was what he needed. In the light of day The Rogue Prince was rakish and disreputable. But at night, with you, he could shed that facade.

Masterlist

Tags: @black-dread

[reesespeanutbutterfuck]

she says, “babe, you look so cool.”

(ren honjo x reader)

told tales about your confusing relationship with the trapnest's notorious calm demeanoured lead guitarist, ren honjo.

content warnings: mentions of sex, allusions to sex, black stones vocalist!reader, pregnancy, mention of reader having a panic attack, mention of ren’s substance abuse, smoking, reader with avoidant attachment style, ren with abandonment issues, mutual obsessiveness, mutual possessiveness, toxic relationship, miscommunication, takumi is an asshole as always, spoilers for NANA

songs: robbers - the 1975, habits (stay high) - tove lo, bonnie & clyde - DEAN, every girl gets their wish - saint avangeline

—

you cannot explain your relationship with ren honjo.

you'd say it's... anything but ordinary.

even before he left for tokyo, he doesn’t toss you away after you have sex. like how he should.

you’d often wake up in the morning wearing one of his button ups or jackets that smell just like his musky cologne and seven stars cigarettes.

he always remembers to clothe you so you don’t catch a cold.

even then, ren buys you a lot of gifts and lacy lingeries. when he notices your eyes linger longer on a vivienne westwood necklace, the next day, it’s yours. he gave you a cryptic necklace that spells venus. he worships you like a goddess, hence, venus.

you're his venus.

every time you catch him smoking, you steal the cigarette from his mouth and put it on yours. he gets it back and stubs it. he's always been like that. he stubs out his cigarettes whenever you’re with him so you don’t inhale the smoke, even if you smoke too.

in amidst of the chilling dawn, you wonder, why isn’t he dating anyone and seeing some other woman that doesn’t always run away from your feelings like you do?

you tell ren to fool around with other girls and enjoy his youth.

he still doesn’t, anyway. 

he stays over at your house in the weekends and when he has to leave early he leaves you something to eat. with a note reminding you of the things he remembered in your schedule today that you told him the night before.

he cares about your well-being more than you do.

why?

why does he care so much?

everytime you have sex, your primary feeling, or so you think is always nothing but lust. desire. 

but ren… ren’s is love. 

why is he filled with this much love for you? why doesn’t he give up on you?

ren is always one call away.

remember that one night when you were having a panic attack and was breaking down? with one dial on his number, he picks up. after hearing one muffled sob from your line, because you couldn't form even a single word from weeping, he's dashing towards his car in the middle of a heavy rain with nothing but a shoulder for you to lean on.

you hate how he laughs it off whenever you insult him to stave him away from you. you don't really want to push him away, but your avoidant nature leads you to. he knows you don't mean it.

even when you saw him again after he moved to tokyo, his eyes always had a way of finding you amidst the crowd.

that night after trapnest's concert he found you backstage. everything was a blur after. you shouldn't even be here because seeing trapnest's ren honjo with black stones' [y/n] would make a lot of headlines and destroy his image, yet ren doesn't care.

why is he ready to risk everything just to keep you around?

everything happened quickly. how he pulled you to the side away where no one hears or sees, how you ended up in his house, how he hugged you for the first time after years.

“[y/n], i lo–” you cover his mouth.

“don't. don't say anything.”

he removed your hand from his mouth. “i love you.”

“i said don’t!”

“i get high just to keep my mind off you. i tried to drown these feelings, but every time i just end up reminded that no drug can suppress the intensity of what i feel for you. you’re only one i want and desire. i love you. i’ve always had–” you cut him off with a kiss.

and then it so happens that one kiss turns into a passionate one, and leads to another, and another.

it was hard to stop.

he was addictive.

maybe the fact that he acts up on the way he wants you, added to the passionate warmth he ignites inside you. something no one has ever made you feel because everyday the universe reminds you you were always unwanted and that's all you'll ever be.

the following morning, you hear a soft moan from his lips while you were sitting on the corner of his bed and buttoning your clothes that were discarded on the floor last night, careful not to wake him up. when you were about to stand up, you felt ren’s hand tugging yours. he didn't say anything, he just held your hand.

“i'm sorry, did i wake you up?”

“stay…” there was something somber in ren's eyes.

“you know i can’t.”

so he lets go of your hand with a forlorn smile.

he expected it, and he understands. yet somehow, he still hopes… he hopes you would.

from there, everytime you leave in the morning after a long night of multiple rounds of sex, he hugs the sheets smittenly to pretend like you were still there. it still smells like you.

yasu and the others eventually found out you and ren were seeing each other like that again. yasu knows way more than he shows. you know he does. he always knew about ren's strong regard for you. you didn't. because you pretended not to.

which is why you were shocked when nobu's tongue slips and accidentally blathers, “ren wanted you for so long. it’s crazy. all these years and yet still you’re the only one he wants and ever wanted. did you cast a love spell on him or something?”

you think about what nobu said a million times everyday.

so much that you wish you hadn't heard it.

you once stayed in ren's unit the morning after for the first time while he went out to buy groceries and you answered the door on takumi while wearing one of ren’s white shirts and boxers. you called ren's phone to let him know his bandmate’s here. ren told you to stay there and he’ll be coming home as fast as he can. he knows you and takumi do not get along.

takumi sat across you on ren’s couch. “so, what's your relationship with him?” came his condescending question. you can tell he was looking down on you.

what, indeed?

“what's it to you?” you answered with the same monotonous tone.

the truth is, you don't have any idea either.

ren calls you his girlfriend—at times whenever you're not around otherwise you'll tell him to stop calling you that—but he's never heard you call him your boyfriend. he doesn't mind, though. months continued on with you and ren in that labelless set-up. he's still the same calm yet goofy ren you knew.

he still remembers every single thing about you. your scent, your favourite food, music, everything.

then ren came with the question you're most afraid of hearing.

“what… are we?”

ren batted an eye up at you while he was hugging your torso and sitting on the bed while you were straddling his lap.

you searched yourself for an answer.

ren took the long silence and your visible uneasiness as the same answer he got from you over the years.

“i’m always up to take this in the long run. but it’s okay if you don’t want to.” as long as you're here, with him. he buried his face on your chest and you two forgot about it.

maybe takumi was right, you’re just using ren.

and ren's okay with that.

this is so wrong.

how could he be that cruel to himself?

ren still reminds you to eat. some habits die hard, no?

whenever he eats with you, he even sanitizes your hands for you, with his own hands rubbing yours to spread the sanitizer.

“stop coddling.” you snatched your hand away from him.

ren chuckles, “okay, sorry.”

he keeps an eye on you in band practices. you threaten him that if he doesn't stop distracting himself with your presence, you'll leave. he obliges, but he won’t hesitate to step in if some creep bothers you.

he's possessive of you even if he doesn't show it openly.

but you're somehow possessive of him too.

when you saw a girl touching his shoulders, you wanted to chop her hand off.

“i’ve been deprived of everything my whole life. now, even my ren?” ren overhears you talking to yourself. your ren, huh?

“i’m sorry, ren.” you pecked a kiss on his lips after you told him to date other girls after you got jealous. “will you forgive me?”

he pulls you into a hug, “it’s okay, i forgive you.” he kisses your cheek. “i never said i don’t love you anymore.” he kisses the side of your neck. “why are you giving me away, anyway? if you’re jealous, be jealous. tell me and i’ll do something about it. don’t give me away like that.” he kisses the side of your head.

such big words for someone who is afraid of communication himself, thought ren.

he’s subtly affectionate to you in public places like when he lays his head on your lap in standby backstage, and one of the members of the management asks nobu if you’re dating, in which nobu answers “it’s complicated.” to and then refuses to elaborate.

you always turn him down whenever he asks you to stay, but once, when you were the one that asked him to stay, he said “i could never refuse you.” while patting your head and hugging you after when you asked him to stay the night.

when you woke up first, you brushed his hair up and planted a kiss on his forehead.

i love you, ren.

three words you can’t say. 

rather, words you’re afraid to say.

ren was always very open with the idea of having a kid with you. but he wouldn’t force you to.

why would he want a future with you?

takumi dislikes you, obviously. you couldn't care less about him, anyway. you hate him with the same passion. he tried to knock sense on ren one time. it didn't go as he planned.

“i see your woman’s quite a catch.” takumi puffs his cigarette.

“of course.” ren replied.

“but she's quite like a closeted harlot.”

he's wrong. you never had anyone else after ren.

ren's ears tingled and his eyes darkened upon hearing what takumi said. “are you insulting her?”

“don’t get me wrong. the way i see it, she doesn’t seem emotionally involved with you. it seems to me that you’re the only one who is in your relationship, whatever you two are. if i know, i’d say she only wants sex and not love. you’re okay with that?” takumi chuckles.

ren raises his head. “so be it. i couldn’t care less.” if that’s what it takes to keep you around him.

“i’m just warning you, dude.” takumi raises both his hands in a defensive manner. “women like that, they're for the streets–”

ren, for once lost his calm demeanour and threw a shot glass at the nearest wall. the loud sound of the glass shattering startled everyone around them. even reira who was recording a demo of one of their tracks.

ren's face settled into a death stare. it was scarier than a face that actually visibly showed anger. his fists clenched after the burst of anger he let out and takumi was taken aback by the unexpected behavior of his usually composed bandmate.

“i don’t want to hear you talk about her like that ever again.” he coldly turned his back on his bandmate to go outside and calm himself down.

ren rarely gets mad. but when it's about you...

ren is non-confrontational. you two rarely even get into fights because ren stays out of drama and he avoids confrontations. which is why he's prone to taking the role of the more matured, bigger person and keeping his emotions to himself instead of expressing them. very non-confrontational.

he likes using any products with your signature scent. it makes him feel like you’re there with him everywhere he goes.

“ren, you smell like white wine and strawberries, just like a girl!” was what reira told him upon stepping inside the room while sniffing him. “it leaves a scent trail. it smells familiar. what perfume are you using?”

ren turned to her, “it's [y/n]’s shower gel.”

“[y/n]? from black stones? woah, you stay at her place?” naoki stood up from his seat. ren entertained their questions for a little while.

it goes the same for you too in band practices too.

“is that ren’s perfume on you?” nobu speaks from behind you, smelling the familiar scent of his friend on you.

“no.”

“but…” nobu scans your figure. “oh. it’s because you’re wearing his shirt.”

you didn’t even smell how the shirt smelled like ren. it’s just your nostrils got so used to his scent that it didn’t even register to you how you didn’t smell like yourself.

his desire to take your relationship to the next step was strong, but the desire to keep you around him was stronger. he knows he’ll drive you away if he mentions about tying the knot in a serious talk.

your relationship was unstable and full of uncertainties, and you hate being emotionally vulnerable in front of anyone, even him.

sometimes, you want to leave.

“ren.”

“hm?”

but then you embrace him and suddenly, you’re reminded how strong your feelings are for ren honjo.

he stares at your face longer than he should in the morning when he wakes up first and you’re sleeping soundly next to him.

you’re beautiful. like you came straight out of a magazine.

if you were to be put beside supermodels, you’d outshine everyone. ren revels at the thought. if your face were to be featured in a magazine, he’ll frame it and keep it forever.

ren mutes all phone calls when he’s sleeping with you. but when he goes on tour, his mind is there back at home with you.

“i didn’t know booty calls worry what the other person eats. is that how people do it nowadays? so modernized, truly shocking.” came takumi’s remark staring at ren while talking to reira and naoki out of ren's earshot.

“that’s so mean, takumi. leave him alone.” reira glared at him, having flashbacks of when he offended ren when he was talking to him about you. her eyes were also on ren who's on the phone with you.

you'll always come back to him, he’ll always be waiting for you with his arms wide open. you two are hopeless.

more time passed and you're finally decided to take a step forward, which ren was only waiting for you to initiate.

one snowy night while you and ren were sharing each other's heat, you hovered on top of him.

ren stops you. “wait,”

“do you not want to?” you were prepared to get off him in case he doesn't want to do it, but he held you in place.

“it’s not like that. it’s just…” he trailed, “i do want a family with you more than anything. i have never denied that. but if you’re off the pill right now then…”

you immediately got what he was trying to say. “so what?”

“i don’t want you to get pregnant if you don’t want to. what i say doesn’t matter. decide for yourself.”

“i want your child, inside me, ren.”

he was about to tell you to think it through again, but you put his hand on your hip. “let's start a family.”

and once again, he can never deny you of anything.

after weeks, you didn't take the news well about hachi and that fucking asshole, takumi.

“one of these days, i’ll snatch hachi back from you.” you told him.

“are you still in love with my fiancèe even after everything, [y/n]? i pity ren for being ardent with his love for you. dump him if you can’t love him back like that. he doesn’t deserve your half-assed love.” takumi smirks, enjoying how riled up he makes you while relaying the news.

you thought you were just crazy when you went through a deep state of grief after that conversation.

but you found out another cause were your hormones.

you were pregnant.

when you told ren you were pregnant, he reacted to the news calmly yet he was ecstatic. he's been waiting for this moment with you all along.

you chose not to tell ren about the conversation you had with takumi about hachi only a few days ago that put you in distress. you know he'd do something about it, and that'll cause more problems for him.

nothing much changed for the first few weeks, you continued on with your gigs while your belly wasn't showing yet and you can still move around normally.

ren stopped his substance abuse when he learned he'll be stepping into fatherhood. he set his own ground rules. no getting high around his baby that you're carrying. there were withrawal symptoms, of course, that were hard to bear, but he's getting there.

yasu always keeps a close eye on you especially whenever ren is not around, even without ren's instructions. he's always there to aid you whenever you need something, which rarely ever happens because your pride doesn't let you ask for help from anyone. yasu still insists, anyway.

nobu speaks to your not-so-showing yet belly under your edgy peplum top and tells your kid to not grow like his or her mom, you, all gloom and grumpy. he earns a smack on his head in return. he's still in a state of grief himself after how unfortunate his relationship with hachi ended up, but he's happy to be a soon-to-be-uncle of your child.

shin follows you everywhere like a puppy. he accompanies you to your walk to you and ren's shared unit and he stays over whenever he wants to. sometimes falling asleep comfortably on your lap while he enjoys the chill of your unit's AC, while you watch light-hearted movies on the TV.

when you started showing, you took a break from the band for a few months but you didn't disclose your pregnancy to the media, announcing that it's only a hiatus.

when your belly started to get bigger, your clothes fitted small to you, which is why to maximize their use, you let shin have his way with your closet. you had somehow similar versatile fashion styles, anyway. because of his small frame, almost everything in your wardrobe fits him. you told him to grab whatever he wants to borrow from your closet.

ren is there every step of the way. he buys you a lot of food. whatever you need, he'll go through hell to get.

he'd give his trapnest career up if ever he gets put in a situation where he has to choose.

when you gave birth, everyone visited.

everyone... but hachi.

you try not to think about her anymore, but you still wonder about her whereabouts. you told ren and the others to stop talking about her in front of you when you were pregnant so it became a sensitive topic for everyone to talk about. and besides, you know another factor is also because takumi locks her away.

you only overheard from yasu telling ren that hachi gave birth to her child with takumi too, a few months before you gave birth to venus.

ren used to call you his venus.

your daughter’s name is venus.

venus honjo.

it's a pretty name the both of you agreed on giving such a pretty girl like your daughter.

you always opt to eat healthy while breastfeeding.

ren is a good father to venus. she's more close to her father, that's why her first word was “dada”.

he gave your daughter everything the both of you never had, and you protected your daughter from the things no one protected you from when you were younger.

you were extra gentle with her because you too, were a little girl once, and she doesn't have to go through the same pain you went through during girlhood.

ren got deja vu when he was coddling venus and she snatched her arm from him. just like how you do whenever he coddles you too much.

“i kept praying she wouldn’t take after you. i guess her mama’s genes are stronger than expected.” ren laughed after what just happened and continued dandling his daughter. the engagement ring on his finger shining under the morning sunlight made you look at your matching ones.

you ended up with him after everything.

and yet the words to describe your relationship with ren honjo are still nowhere to be found.

'she’s an angel,

a goddess.

my goddess.

like venus.

a beauty.'

***

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[zosan-secondchances]

The Pirate King of the North: Part 9

Bonus panels for some extra backstory.

Main Themes: Villain Sanji, Alternate Universe, Zosan Ship

Warning: Long post ahead with One Piece spoilers. Contains strong language and explicit content.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17

That night, the swordsman makes a last minute decision to rectify things with the blonde. He figured that there's no point in delaying as this might be the only chance they get to talk one-on-one before they get stuck in Skypiea with Law for however long they need to be up there. Since his cocktail-making skills are apparently subpar at best, he thought he'd turn to doing something else that he hopes Sanji would like before he pops the question–about the name, he reminds himself. Whatever it is, it will need to be something incredible to make up for the shame of not knowing something so simple about the man after all the years they’ve known together.

He thinks about quickly jumping off to collect some flowers in Jaya’s South Grove, but he is met by Jean Bart who drags his sorry feet back inside. The large man assigned himself on “Zoro duty”, not wanting the Warlord to get lost the night before he needed to depart with their captain. Apparently they had pissed him off enough already that day.

Zoro turns to the kitchen to try and find Sanji's favourite snacks, and maybe sneak away with a couple bottles of wine to help set the mood. Unfortunately he bumped into Hakugan and Uni who are guarding the door, ready to strike him down should he set foot inside the room. They give him a powerful performance of their martial arts prowess as a gentle reminder that he's banned from the place, warning him that they’re not afraid to put their lives on the line to enforce Law’s rules. When he tried to ask for their assistance to go and fetch what he needed, they both turned him away, thinking that he's just trying to distract them so he can do whatever evil thing he apparently was set out to do.

His last option was the library. He’s not much of a reader but he figured he would try because he knew of Sanji’s love for knowledge and books. He wants to read a story or two with him to see if that’s something they would enjoy doing together. Sadly, when he arrives, he is met by the Grand Line’s most impatient doctor who is currently studying the Skypiea map with Bepo at the polar bear’s drafting table, trying to come up with a plan of action for when they get there in the morning. Not wanting to be distracted or have the library wrecked the way Zoro did with the kitchen, Law used his Room ability to teleport him out of there before he could even get a chance to grab something off the shelves.

Having no other options left, Zoro resorts to the idea of giving the blonde mind-blowing sex. He would worship him like the king he is and he would do it all night if the other man demanded it so. The swordsman figured it's probably the safest bet anyway while they’re in the early honeymoon phase of their relationship. Sanji is highly skilled in that area for a very good reason.

He makes his way to their bunkroom. Under the door, he sees that the dim light of the desk lamp is still on. Finally, things are looking up. He thinks to himself that now’s the perfect chance to make a move while Sanji is probably still up reading at this hour as usual.

Until he hears a couple of familiar voices on the other side of the door. They were muffled, but their identities were clear.

Sanji

…Are you sure that you're okay? I don't know how effective it is with the front broken like that.

Niji

Dunno. It's like…having mood swings. The sensation goes in and out. It's a bit weird.

Sanji

I need you to get it fixed first then. And while you're at it, drop off the new stones at the lab.

I'm not sending you in until you're all good.

Niji

I can still fight.

Sanji

I'm not letting you take the risk until your helmet’s fixed, Niji. That's my final word. You’re on your own with this next mission and I need you to be able to make good calls.

Another pang of guilt hits the swordsman–for not being careful enough and wrecking the commander’s helmet, and for eavesdropping for as long as he has so far. He starts walking backwards, and was about to turn his heel and move somewhere else to give them privacy when Sanji’s voice pierced through the door.

Sanji

Hey, Mosshead! Don't be a creep and get in here.

Zoro flinches, and silently curses the blonde’s mastery of his observation haki. He doesn't want to make things look worse than it already is so he opens the door awkwardly. He's met by two pairs of eyes.

Sanji is leaning with his palms against the desk while Niji is sitting on the chair, fiddling with the blonde's claw gauntlet on the table. It looks like there's two now. From afar, Zoro could tell that their blades are longer, sharper and more dangerous than the last. The metallic scale armour that covered the glove is a new addition, having only just durable leather holding everything together before.

Niji

Spying on us, are we?

Zoro grits his teeth, throwing the blue-haired man an annoyed look.

Sanji

This is also his room, Commander.

Niji tuts disapprovingly then resumes his work on the claw gauntlet.

Zoro

I didn't want to interrupt. I’ll just head out for some fresh air.

Sanji

You didn't interrupt anything. The commander was just showing me his handiwork. He’ll be done soon! I just needed a couple of fitting adjustments done and we’re all set.

Niji

Hmm… no. Now that I think about it, this will take a bit longer than I thought. 

Sanji

What? But you said–

Niji

Whoops.

As if done on purpose, a buckle disassembles itself in Niji’s hands. Little bits of metal scatter on the desk.

Sanji

You’re such an ass. Fine. Stay here, hog the room. I don’t care. Let’s go, Marimo.

Niji

No, I need you to stay here so we can refit it. Because the buckle’s broken now.

Sanji

You broke it!

Niji

And I need to fix it but I can only do that if you’re here. So, stay.

Sanji

I will actually pluck your eyeballs out one of these days, Commander.

Sanji stomps out the door, grabbing Zoro’s arm along the way.

Niji

Where are you going? We need to get this done tonight before you head off first thing!

Sanji

I’ll be back!

Zoro and Sanji walk arm-in-arm quietly to the deck of the ship. They were met by Jean Bart who was about to tell off Zoro for being outside, but the blonde reassured the large man that he has eyes on him, promising to keep the grumbling swordsman out of trouble. Happy with the response, the Heart Pirate retires inside for the night.

Zoro

Isn’t the whole point of me being here is to keep an eye on you?

Sanji chuckled heartily–music to the swordsman’s ears.

Sanji

I know. What the hell happened to us?

They proceeded to the bow of the ship and settled themselves against the railing. It was quiet and serene. The crescent moon is up, revealing the dark silhouette of Jaya island on the horizon. Above, stars shone brightly across the span of the night sky–its reflections twinkled playfully on the still waters of the ocean below.

Sanji

You’re awfully quiet.

Zoro tears his gaze away from the scene. He looks next to him where the blonde has a hand wrapped around his arm and finishing a cigarette with the other.

Sanji

You usually are, but your silence is…louder somehow.

The swordsman rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Suddenly he’s not so sure what to say and how he’d ask the big question. He wanted to get this far tonight–tried many times to set up the scene better but to no avail. He also didn’t realise how he would feel right in the thick of things.

Zoro

There’s been a lot in my mind. Sorry.

Sanji

Never apologise for that…but whatever it is, I could tell that it’s eating you up.

Zoro sighs and returns his gaze to the island on the horizon.

Sanji

Is this because you had a fight with my brother?

Zoro’s eyebrows shoot up.

Zoro

Did he–?

Sanji

He didn’t have to. His helmet's busted and don’t think I haven’t noticed your little injury on your forehead, damn Mosshead. If you don’t take care of your head, how will you be able to photosynthesize?

Zoro scowls at the mockery.

Sanji laughs lightly, kissing the swordsman on the cheek as a way of reassuring him that it’s just a joke. After noticing that his attempt to release the tension didn’t work, he speaks in a slightly more serious tone.

Sanji

Did he try to scare you away? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all night?

Zoro shakes his head.

Sanji

Don’t freak out or anything but… you’re not the first that he’s done that to. I can tell him to back off if you want.

Zoro

No… it’ll take a lot more than that to get me to leave your side, Curls.

The blonde’s expression softens.

Zoro

Though, I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was trying to avoid you. I spent hours… ages… trying to plan this whole thing for us tonight but I feel like whatever I do…

The swordsman gets flashbacks of all the times he’d slashed and stabbed the man. He remembers cursing his way repeatedly for attempting to propose to him for the umpteenth time. He recalls their first kiss–how the first thing that came out of his mouth was to tell him to not kill the Celestial Dragon, and because of that, it nearly cost him his life. In fact, he might have permanently if not for their skillful doctor. He remembers the way the blonde held onto the liberated family from Sabaody. How, even in his critical condition, he fought from fully succumbing into sleep just to make sure that everyone was okay as they fled from the Pacifistas. 

And now, with a seemingly easy task of organising a romantic night, the swordsman can’t even do such a simple thing for him.

Zoro clenches his fists against the wooden railing.

Zoro

I can’t seem to do anything right by you…. I just feel like everything that I do is not good enough–or just flat out hurts you. And right now, I have nothing but myself to offer. For whatever that's worth.

Sanji

Zoro…

Zoro shifts so he’s looking at Sanji face to face then holds both of his hands in his, making the other man drop his cigarette. The determined fiery look in his eye makes the blonde jump in surprise.

Zoro

Curls, I want to get to know you better.

Sanji

Uh–sure!

Zoro

What’s your favourite food?

Sanji

Uhm… let’s see…

Zoro

If you had all the money in the world, where would you go?

Sanji

Oh Mellorine, I do have all the mon–

Zoro

How long does it take to get there?

Is that where you want to go for our first date?

Is shopping your thing? I'm not good with that stuff but I could ask Nami or Robin for advice.

If we’re going on holiday, can we do it alone first or would you prefer bringing your family along?

How many kids do you want to have?

Sanji

MARIMO!

Sanji thinks that he’s about to go crazy. His face is all red, he feels hot up to his ears and his heart is pounding so much like it's going to burst out of his chest. The swordsman’s sweetness and thoughtfulness overwhelms him with joy. He starts laughing out loud–in a way that he’s never laughed before, ignoring the slight ache from his recent surgery. He thinks that if he breaks stitches this way, so be it, because he’s never felt his chest so light and heart so full. He felt so happy that he could fly. 

The swordsman looked confused and offended from all the unhinged laughter like he was being made fun of.

Sanji cups Zoro’s face into his hands, trying his best to recover from his outburst.

Sanji

I didn’t realise that you needed to know everything now!

Zoro looks down to his lips, watching that attractive smile that he’s always drawn to.

Zoro

I just… I really wanted to… to…

Sanji pulls him in to claim his mouth with his. He pushes Zoro roughly against the railing, determined to show the swordsman how much he appreciates him at that very moment. He slides his hand up and down the man’s body, massaging, caressing and feeling everything that he could lay his hands on. He wants to show his love and admiration to the man by worshipping every part of him. Zoro was more than happy to reciprocate the affection.

They stayed like that for what seemed like a lifetime. Regrettably, Sanji pulls himself away from the most passionate kiss he's ever had in his life so he could breathe. He kept his body close as he panted.

Zoro leans in and continues his assault on his lips–biting and sucking hard then giving them soothing licks to ease the arousing pain–not wanting for everything to stop so soon. Between breaths, the blonde speaks.

Sanji

We have our entire lives to get to know one another…. What’s your rush, Marimo?

Zoro freezes at that, blinking his eye. Then for the first time that night, he smiles his genuine toothy smile.

Zoro

I guess we do, don’t we?

Sanji scoops up one of his rough hands and gives it a tender kiss on the calloused knuckles.

Sanji

I want to savour every moment of this–of us, okay? Right now, it’s just you, me… and this.

Sanji gestures at the scene in front of them, then swings his hand around to point out the environment surrounding them–the bright moon, the calm waters and the clear starry skies.

Sanji

Nothing else matters.

Zoro looks into his wide blue eyes. They're positively glowing a lot more so than usual tonight. He wraps his arms around the man and leans his forehead on his, kissing the bridge of his nose. The blonde was correct–nothing else mattered. It felt right to be there. In his heart, he decides to make it a mission to spend every waking moment to prove that he's worthy of his trust, even if it takes a lifetime for him to open up and tell him his real name. He would not demand it that day. He thinks that if he truly deserved it, the blonde will share it to him in time at his own volition. They do have a lifetime to get to know one another, after all.

The swordsman had lost a gamble with Nami that night. He’ll have to remember to send the navigator a couple hundred Beri through the post somehow for betting on him falling in love that year.

—

At a far distance, hidden in the thick mist of the sea, a particularly tall and lanky Warlord watches the blonde and his green-haired companion through the lens of his spyglass. With a flick of his wrist, he retracts the telescope and tosses it to a dark silhouette of a man.

Stranger

Now's the perfect time. Let’s do it.

Doflamingo

Hmm…no. I want to savour… every… moment of this….

He lets out a deep chuckle. 

Doflamingo

Besides, I have another job for you. But that’s tomorrow’s problem.

You are dismissed.

He waves off the man, and the figure walks off. Doflamingo stands from the comfort of his chair and takes a few long strides to the bow of the ship, never taking his eyes off the small dot on the horizon that is the Polar Tang.

Doflamingo

I’m grateful you showed us the way, Pirate King. You never fail me, do you?

…Sanji.

----------

I had way too much fun with those panel drawings. (Honestly part of it was me trying to find an excuse to draw more dofsan lol)

If it's not obvious yet, I try to line up certain things about this Sanji and canon Sanji. Instead of him being exclusively in love with mermaids, I like to think he loves all merfolk in this story.

Fukaboshi's always been the one on my mind as Sanji's "the one who got away" romance. I was rewatching Fish-man Island arc and I remembered how wise and noble he is, and has a great sense of responsibility to look after his family. I figured this Sanji would be attracted to those qualities.

Plus, you know, have you seen those big hands? Fwah~!

[illuminatedferret]

About TGCF Canon: I just realized that the missions Jun Wu gives to Xie Lian are very disadvantageous for Xie Lian.

He immediately butted heads with Pei Ming on Mt. Yu Jun (PM's own territory) and on Ban Yue missions, both striking where it's most personal: PM's ex-lovers and family matters.

Next is Ghost City, and I'm certain it's to sour the relationship between him and Hua Cheng with LQQ's loud righteousness right in the middle of Ghost City, infamous for its inhumane atmosphere. Additionally, "Ming Yi" was already 'a spy for the heavens' in Ghost City, so the risk of offending HC and/or Ghost City is very, very high.

I think JW's refusal to banish XL (Fangxin Guoshi) was also partially to stoke more fire between XL and LQQ (or, potentially, with everyone else as this puts distinction between XL and other gods by this point; LQQ already thought it doesn't matter if XL was banished again or not anyway)

And then Brocade Immortal; JW told XL to go with Quan Yizhen, infamous for not playing well with other gods / not sociable / fights even his own followers. I also don't doubt that this is to have XL and Ling Wen's "good coworkers" relationship go downhill.

Which means, JW tried to pit XL against literally all the major martial gods (other than FX and MQ who, logically from outside PoV, already have a strained relationship with XL), The major civil goddess, and the most powerful ghost king/supreme.

...Insane.

(Bonus: if Shi Wudu's impending heavenly calamity timing was also by Jun Wu's design, JW also managed to pit XL against SQX (friends) and SWD, both major elemental gods and also Black Water (the other calamity) in one fell swoop...

I count this separately bc we don't know if the timing is actually by JW's design. Plus HX has nothing against XL, and SQX/SWD has no prior connection to XL. In short: if Black Water Arc had happened before XL's third ascension, it'd just happen the exact same way without XL... which makes the timing suspicious, especially the closeness to Mt Tonglu's reopening. I have a headcanon about this but that's kind of a different topic)

-🍁

Yes to all of this! Jun Wu was definitely angling to create conflict between Xie Lian and his peers in the heavens, and I think he had two goals in doing so. The first was to isolate him by sabotaging his relationships, and the second was, I believe, to show Xie Lian the worst of the heavens and to encourage resentment towards them.

I don't think the /timing/ of Shi Wudu's Heavenly Tribulation is suspect, just because we're never given any suggestions in-novel that it's possible to manipulate the timing of Tribulations like that (and I think it would have come up), but He Xuan finding out about the fate swap was definitely Jun Wu's machinations! Hualian talk with Mei Nianqing a little about this- holding onto that piece of information until he wanted to get rid of Shi Wudu, then letting He Xuan discover it. In the end it's getting rid of two birds with one stone- remove the Water Tyrant, who was getting a bit too big for his britches, and Shi Qingxuan, who was Xie Lian's only friend in the heavens.

Also, you may not want to go into the opening of Mount Tonglu, but I do! Jun Wu absolutely timed that. I don't care how bad of luck Xie Lian has, that the ghost rut started right when Xie Lian was alone with a Supreme ghost?? He was definitely hoping Xie Lian would get hurt in some way, and his relationship with Hua Cheng would be ruined. No way that wasn't him. There's this ongoing reflection I have with TGCF after reading it for the first time where I look back and realize how much of Xie Lian's 'bad luck' is actually Jun Wu. When you learn about the second shackle, you think it's just that, but no, it's the all-powerful man in the sky who's obsessed with you and wants you to suffer and be his Junior. It's fucked up.

[moonselune]

your dark bg3 is so yummy‼️‼️‼️ gourmet stuff!! If possible then can I request about what if tav also got a bad ending? Maybe them turning into a monster and resenting them. (Sorry if my English is bad. I'm still learning to speak it😭)

Your english is amazing! Don't even worry! and yess dark!bg3 is my favourite snack

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Dark!BG3 | Monster You Made

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For: Conqueror!Minthara, MotherSuperior!Shadowheart, God!Gale, Ascended!Astarion, Naturist!Halsin, GrandDuke!Wyll

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

CW: Controlling, manipulation, coercion, injury, cannibalism, gore so much gore, violence

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Conqueror Minthara:

Minthara had been riding high on her victories. Another temple razed, another chapel soaked in the blood of Lolth’s faithful. She had carved her defiance into the bones of every priest and priestess who dared stand before her, and she laughed at the Spider Queen’s silence.

"Where is your vengeance, Queen of the Abyss?" she had mocked, standing atop the ruined altar, her blade dripping with divine ichor. "Have you nothing but whispers and shadows? Cowardice and Sulk?"

For a moment, all was still. Then, the world lurched.

It started with a whisper, a soft skittering at the edges of the room. Then came the presence—thick, cloying, suffocating. The torches flickered, the very air turning heavy, and Minthara’s smirk faltered. It seemed Lolth's vengeance was making it's presence.

You barely had time to react before pain surged through you.

A terrible, unnatural heat spread through your veins like molten iron, boiling your insides. Your knees buckled, a ragged scream escaping your lips as your bones twisted, stretching and snapping like a puppet with its strings cut.

"What—no!" Minthara turned toward you, her face twisting with something between shock and fury, as she ran to your side. "Not them!"

But Lolth was not a goddess of mercy.

Your limbs cracked and reformed, your hands splitting open into jagged claws. Your legs—no, not legs, too many, too long—skittered against the cold stone, foreign and wrong.

"Minthara!" Your voice came hoarse and broken, thick with agony. Tears poured from your eyes, as the hells itself took root in your very being. "You did this!"

Minthara’s eyes went wide. "No, this isn’t—"

"You taunted her!" you spat through clenched teeth, your mouth sharp with fangs that hadn’t been there before. "This is your carnage. You slaughtered her priests, burned her temples! You mocked her, and now look at me!"

"I—" She stepped forward, but the shadows around you lashed out, keeping her at bay as your hideous form continued to develop.

"You brought this upon me!" you howled as your spine snapped into something monstrous, the lower half of your body hardening into a grotesque exoskeleton. The pain was unrelenting, a cruel symphony playing out in your flesh.

Minthara reached for you, but the shadows surged, wrapping around her arms, her waist, holding her back as she watched.

"I should have left you! Risked your wrath!" Your voice was a guttural snarl now, warped and inhuman. "I should have known instead I would pay for your sins!"

Minthara's face contorted—not with anger, but something closer to pain. "*I—I won’t let her take you!"

But it was too late.

Lolth was thorough.

Your mind fractured, your body fully contorted into its new, monstrous form—but the cruelest part, the final twist of the dagger, was the clarity that remained.

Lolth had left enough of you intact. Enough for you to understand. To remember. To resent.

Your breath came ragged, your new limbs shuddering with the weight of your transformation. You could still think, still feel, still hate. You turned your many-eyed gaze onto Minthara, the hatred burning behind them sharper than any blade. "I will ruin you."

Minthara swallowed hard, taking an involuntary step back. "No..."

"You did this to me, Minthara." Your voice, though distorted, still carried the weight of your wrath. "And I will make you pay."

Minthara flinched, for the first time in her life afraid. Lolth had given her exactly what she deserved.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Mother Superior Shadowheart:

Shadowheart had always been meticulous in shaping you. A memory here, a thought there—plucked, twisted, reshaped until you were exactly as she needed. Loyal. Devoted. Hers.

It had taken time, careful work, but she had done it. And she never once considered that she had done too much. Not until tonight.

You had come to her chambers, a soft smile on your lips, eyes warm with affection as you took her hands in yours.

"I’ve made dinner for us," you had said. "Something special."

Shadowheart had been pleased. It was rare for you to take such initiative, to offer something so intimate unprompted. She had brushed her lips against your forehead, murmured something sweet, and assured you she would join you in a bit as she finished up some threatening letters to some nobles.

As she walked to join you, she couldn't help but smile in pride, over how wonderful she had made you. But the moment she stepped into the temple kitchens—that pride shattered.

The air was thick with the iron tang of blood. The floors slick and wet. Bodies lay in ruin, carved open with surgical precision, organs missing, flesh torn. The kitchen fire crackled warmly, spitting grease, the scent of roasting meat filling the space.

Her stomach turned.

And there you stood, humming to yourself as you stirred a pot, the blade in your hands still dripping. Blood smeared across your cheeks, your fingers, your apron.

Shadowheart felt her breath stall. "What…"

You turned to her with that same soft smile—so sweet, so loving, and yet your eyes… Your eyes were wrong.

"I made something special," you repeated, voice light, dreamy. "A romantic meal. Just for us."

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Bile rose to her throat and for a moment she was sure she would choke on it.

You lifted a spoon to your lips, filled with the blood of the subordinates slain on the floor, taking a taste, and as you swallowed, tears welled in your eyes.

"I don’t… I don’t know why I’m doing this." Your voice trembled, so heartbreakingly genuine. "I don’t want to do this, Shadowheart."

A sob tore through you, your body shuddering as you stirred the pot, as though trapped in the motion. A finger and a toe bobbed up to the surface, and Shadowheart could only double over and vomit.

"I don’t want to be a monster… but you made me one." You shakily said, a smile still on your face,

Shadowheart’s knees hit the bloodied stone as she wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. "No…"

"Yes." Your voice turned sing-song, a lilting melody as you rocked slightly on your heels. A nursery rhyme, an old prayer—no, a doctrine. "Pain is love, love is pain, we are shaped by her hand…"

Shadowheart flinched. She knew those words. Had taught you those words. And now you were repeating them back to her, reciting them like a child lost in the dark.

You pick up a rogue organ you had on the side and tossed it int"She carves us, molds us, breaks us—"

"Enough." Shadowheart’s voice cracked, but you didn’t stop.

"We suffer and we are made perfect, we suffer and we are made whole—"

"Enough!" She surged forward, grabbing your face, forcing you to look at her.

Your eyes… there was nothing behind them. No clarity, no recognition—just a hollow, twisted thing wearing the face of the person she loved.

"What have I done?" she whispered.

You only smiled and offered her the spoon. "I made us something special."

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

God of Ambition Gale:

It was a gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless.

Gale paraded you before his worshippers like a treasured relic—something precious, something his. The faithful adored you, sang your praises nearly as much as his, and every time you hesitated, every time your smile faltered, his hand would tighten around yours. Behave, the pressure said. Be worthy of their love.

You did as you were told. At first.

You smiled when Gale told you to. You accepted the prayers, the devotion, the endless kneeling at your feet. You let them call you holy, divine, a gift to their god. It made your skin crawl. So, one day, you tested them.

"Build me a statue," you had said, your voice lilting with amusement, feigning benevolence. "If you adore me so, let the world see my image."

They had obeyed without hesitation. Within a fortnight, a monument stood in your honor, towering, radiant, a depiction of you carved from the finest marble.

Gale had laughed when he saw it, sliding his arm around your waist. "They love you almost as much as I do."

He had meant it as a compliment. You had clenched your jaw and smiled. And then, you had asked for more.

"Bring me offerings," you told them. "Not coin or jewels—those mean nothing. Bring me something of real worth."

At first, it was trinkets. Heirlooms. Personal relics.

Then, it became more. A traitor’s severed tongue, presented on a silver plate. A nobleman's heart, still warm, still twitching. Bone, flesh, blood—sacrifices.

It was intoxicating. Not the power, not the reverence, but the corruption.

You had meant it as a game, a cruel joke at Gale’s expense. You had wanted to make a mockery of his faith, to show him how empty their devotion was, how easily they could be swayed. Instead, they had made you into something else.

The first time they slaughtered in your name, you had watched with something like detachment. The first time they burned a village at your word, you had justified it.

"Gale would have done the same."

"It’s what he deserves."

"I deserve this."

Until they spoke your name above his. Until they wept for you instead of him. Until they looked upon you not as Gale’s beloved but as something greater.

That was when the horror set in. You had done this. You had wanted to defy him, to twist his faith into something grotesque—but you had twisted yourself in the process. You had become the monster in the stories. The horror in the hymns. The nightmare in the prayers of the innocent.

And when you finally confronted Gale, you saw it—the flicker of fear in his eyes.

"What have you done?" he whispered, as if you had not simply become what he made you.

"What have I done?" you echoed, voice shaking with something terrible. 

You stepped closer, reveling in the way he tensed.

"You wanted me to be divine," you said, voice ragged. "You wanted them to love me. You wanted me to belong to you. And now—" your breath hitched, a bitter laugh escaping, "now they belong to me."

For the first time in a long time, Gale looked at you not as a lover, not as a prize—but as a threat. His throat bobbed.

"I never wanted this," he murmured.

"And yet, here we are."

You had wanted to make Gale suffer. Instead, you had ruined yourself.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended Astarion:

Astarion gives you everything.

Silks, diamonds, pearls—his little indulgences for his most treasured possession. You revel in it at first, in the weight of necklaces pressed to your throat, in the glimmering gowns that spill like moonlight around you. You are draped in wealth, adorned like an ornament of his empire, paraded at his side as his dark consort.

But it is not yours.

Not truly.

It is a gilded cage with velvet cushions and ruby-studded bars. And Astarion, lounging upon his throne, never lets you forget that you belong to him.

Even now, you sit atop his lap, stripped bare of both fabric and dignity, curled into him as he surveys his court. His nocturnal horde kneels before him, creatures of the night that whisper his name like a benediction, swearing their undying fealty to him and him alone.

That was meant to be yours too.

But there you are, a pet draped across his lap while he commands his empire, idly stroking your skin as though you were no more than a prized thing.

And with that realization, something in you finally shatters.

The ballroom is a ruin of pleasure and carnage, the air thick with the scent of spilt wine and fresher, richer things. The gilded chandeliers cast a dull glow over the carnage below—bodies twisted in the throes of excess, mouths still parted in laughter, ecstasy, or death. Your work. Your entertainment. The remains of another night spent reveling in your own descent.

You see yourself in the blood pooled across the marble floors, in the dark streaks on your hands, in the crimson sheen of the mirrors that line the grand hall. A thing no longer human. A thing made.

Astarion finds you there, barefoot on the ballroom steps, still wearing the remnants of your latest indulgence—the silken threads that cling to your skin, damp with blood not your own. His boots click against the marble, his presence as effortless and commanding as always, but there’s something else in his expression as he sweeps his gaze over the disaster you’ve left behind. Not admiration. Not amusement.

Disapproval.

“Oh, my love.” He exhales, his voice exasperated, but light, as if he’s speaking to a spoiled child. “You’ve made such an awful mess.”

You do not speak. You only watch as he lifts the hem of his fine embroidered coat to step over a broken body, nose wrinkling at the sight of their torn throat.

He turns his red eyes back on you and sighs, tilting his head. “I do miss my well-behaved pet. Whatever happened to them, I wonder?”

Something inside you—something still raw and burning, something still capable of feeling—snaps.

You laugh, a broken, breathless thing, the sound scraping out of your throat like it belongs to someone else.

“You happened,” you say, voice shaking, but not with fear. Not anymore. You take a step forward, and he watches you with the calmness of a predator indulging a weaker thing’s tantrum. “This is your fault.”

Astarion smiles, but it’s sharp, condescending. “Is it? I don’t recall forcing you to—”

You slap him.

The sound rings through the ballroom, cutting through the distant moans of dying things, through the flickering candlelight and the suffocating scent of decay. His head barely moves with the impact, but his expression does. It goes blank. Cold.

You shove him then, hands pressed against his chest, forcing him back a step, your voice rising, words spilling out with every ounce of agony he’s wrought in you.

“You made me this. You did this to me!” You shove him again, and this time he lets you, the ghost of something unreadable flickering across his features. “You fed me everything I could ever want and then took everything from me! My dignity, my humanity—” Your voice cracks, but you don’t stop. “—myself!”

Astarion tilts his head, his lips pressing into something almost resembling a pout.

“Oh, darling, you wound me.” His voice is softer now, saccharine, but there’s a new edge to it. He reaches for you, fingers ghosting against your jaw, and you don’t flinch. You can’t. He hums in amusement, gripping your chin with a opposing malice. “But perhaps you need reminding of your place.”

You meet his gaze without fear, without anything left to lose. “Do whatever you want to me,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “It won’t compare to what you’ve already done.”

For the first time, Astarion says nothing.

The silence between you stretches, thick and heavy, the distant flicker of candlelight casting both your reflections onto the bloodied marble. Monsters.

Neither of you look away.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Naturist Halsin:

The spell had been meant as a safeguard. A gentle tether. A way to keep you from running again.

At least, that was what Halsin had told you when he cast it, his voice soft with reassurance, his hands warm as they cradled yours. A necessary precaution, he had called it, one that would keep you safe. You hadn’t understood what he had done at first—only that when you tried to leave the grove, the ground swallowed you whole.

The first time you ran, you barely made it beyond the treeline before something beneath your feet shifted. The grass turned to hands, vines to shackles. They dragged you down, piercing your flesh, rooting into your skin, becoming part of you. You had screamed, struggled, but no matter how you fought, the spell refused to let go. You felt yourself being dragged back, pulled home, the grove calling to you with a voice that was not your own.

When you came to, Halsin had been there, brushing damp hair from your face, his expression full of regret but his resolve unwavering.

“This is for the best,” he had said, stroking your cheek with fingers that should have been tender, but felt like iron bars. “You must stay. You belong here.”

You had believed him. Trusted him that this spell was minor. And so, for your convenience, you stopped running. But the changes did not stop.

At first, they were small. Your fingers turned green at the tips, dirt forever embedded beneath your nails no matter how hard you scrubbed. Tiny flowers sprouted along your collarbones, curling in the hollows of your throat. Your footsteps grew quieter, muffled by the moss that began to creep along your heels.

You had tried to ignore it, had begged him to fix it, but he had only smiled and called it natural.

“This is the grove embracing you,” he had said, tucking a strand of ivy-laced hair behind your ear. “You are part of it now.”

But you had not wanted to be part of it.

You began speaking less. Feeling less. You withdrew, shutting yourself away, closing off pieces of yourself in some desperate attempt to hold on to who you had been. But the more you pulled away, the more the grove took from you.

Your skin hardened into bark, rough and splintered, cracking open at your joints when you moved. Your veins thickened, no longer running red but gold—thick like sap, sluggish like decay. You stopped feeling warmth. Your pulse slowed. Your breath came in rustling sighs, the sound of leaves shifting in an unfelt wind.

You felt it inside you now—the grove whispering, calling, claiming.

The final straw came when you saw yourself in the still waters of the spring. Your reflection was not your own.

Your hands, once warm and full of life, had twisted into gnarled, wooden claws, fingers curling like branches reaching for the sky. Flowers bloomed along your shoulders, delicate and terrible, their roots embedded deep into your flesh. Vines wove through your ribs, your hair now little more than ivy and creeping moss. Your mouth—gods, your mouth—it had split at the edges, wide and unnatural, revealing jagged, thorn-like teeth beneath cracked lips.

You were not a person.

You were not yourself.

A sob tore from your throat, but the sound was not human. It was the groan of bending wood, the whisper of leaves in the wind, a hollow, aching noise that sent horror clawing up your spine.

You stumbled back, gasping, fingers clawing at the moss growing over your chest, at the wood encasing your body like a prison.

“No,” you whispered, voice splintering like old bark. “No, no, no—this isn’t real!”

You turned, and he was there.

Halsin stood watching, gaze filled with something unreadable. You couldn’t tell if it was awe, sadness, or something worse.

His lips parted. “You are—” He hesitated, brow furrowing before he let out a breath. “You are beautiful.”

Rage exploded inside you.

“Beautiful?” Your voice cracked, jagged like broken branches. “I am a monster!” You stumbled toward him, nearly collapsing as your bark-covered legs twisted beneath you. “Look at me, Halsin! Look at what you have done!”

He flinched but did not move as you grabbed his robes with shaking hands, your wooden fingers pressing against his chest. “You promised to keep me safe,” you whispered, voice raw, agonized. “You promised—” Your breath hitched, the sobs choking you. “I trusted you!”

“I only did what had to be done,” he said softly, reaching for you, but you jerked away, your body creaking under the movement.

“This is not what had to be done!” you screamed, your voice splintering. “You—You ruined me! You made me into this—this thing!” You pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the hardened bark beneath your fingers. “I am not a person anymore! I am not me!”

Halsin took a step forward, but you backed away, tears burning like resin in your eyes. “You are part of the grove now,” he said gently, like a parent to a lost child. “You are nature itself. And nature is beautiful.”

You let out a hollow, shaking laugh.

“Then you’re blind,” you spat. “Because all I see is a monster.”

His face softened. “I see you.”

You shook your head, chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths. You wanted to scream, to tear yourself free from this prison of vines and moss and him, but you couldn’t. The grove wouldn’t let you.

It owned you now.

And it was all his fault.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Grand Duke Wyll:

The Grand Duke’s ballroom was a sea of gold and crimson, the finest silks and polished gems glittering under the chandeliers. You sat at Wyll’s side, as always, a perfect vision of what he had shaped you into.

Your hair was pinned just so, your gown chosen to accentuate the curves he favored, your expression schooled into a poised, regal mask. You spoke only when necessary, with words carefully selected to charm and manipulate. You were perfection—or so Wyll said.

Be better. That was what he always told you. Stand straighter. Speak clearer. Smile only when necessary. Do not sully yourself with sentiment.

It had started with small things. A change in how you walked, how you carried yourself, how you spoke to others. Then came the alterations to your wardrobe, the subtle corrections to your posture, the way he took your hand and guided you through social circles like an artist sculpting his finest masterpiece.

You had let it happen. At first, it seemed harmless and if it took his attention off accusing the staff at looking at you for 'too long' than all the better. But the things he asked of you became darker.

You began gossiping at his behest, slipping poisons into conversations like honey-laced daggers. Your words ruined reputations, destroyed lives. You turned cruel, mocking the servants for their missteps, calling for punishment when they faltered.

And worse.

You had ordered deaths. Condemned people.

You remembered the first time, the way Wyll had praised you for it, had kissed your knuckles and whispered against your skin how proud he was. That was what you somehow lived for now—his approval.

Or at least, that was what you had thought. Until now.

The execution platform loomed ahead, set in the center of the courtyard, draped in the banners of the Grand Duke. The crowd murmured with anticipation, waiting to witness the latest display of power. And standing there, shackled and trembling, was a girl you had once called friend.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Marcia.

She had been one of your favorite maids, gentle and kind, always bringing you extra tea on cold nights, slipping little sweets onto your plate when she thought you needed cheering up. You had once spent hours talking to her, listening to her laugh, telling her how much you valued her company.

And now she knelt before the chopping block, her hands bound, her cheeks streaked with tears. And it was your fault.

You had barely thought before you acted.

"Stop!" The word tore from your lips before you even realized you had spoken.

The crowd went silent. The executioner hesitated, his blade hovering midair. Marcia looked up, confusion flashing across her tear-streaked face.

Wyll, seated beside you in his resplendent robes, turned his head sharply. “What are you doing?”

You were already on your feet.

"I said stop!” You pushed through the gathered nobility, shoving past guards, moving before anyone could stop you. “Let her go!”

Marcia’s eyes widened. “My liege?”

You dropped to your knees before her, your hands trembling as they reached for hers.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I—I did this to you.”

She shook her head, stunned into silence, her lips parted as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

From behind you, Wyll rose from his throne, his voice sharp with authority. “Stand aside.”

You turned to him, your body shielding Marcia from view. “No.”

His expression flickered from irritation to disbelief. “No?”

“You made me do this,” you spat. “You made me into—into this—” You gestured wildly at yourself, at the elegant robes, at the jewels on your fingers, at the polished exterior that hid the rot inside. “I don’t even know who I am anymore!”

Wyll stepped forward, his jaw tightening. “You are married to the Grand Duke. You are mine. And you will obey me.”

“No.” Your voice was steel. “Not anymore.”

The words left you shaking, but they were the truest things you had spoken in years. The crowd murmured, scandalized.

Wyll’s face darkened. “You are making a spectacle of yourself.”

“Then let them see!” you cried, turning in a slow circle, letting your voice carry over the gathered nobles. “Let them see what you have done to me! Look at me, all of you! Look at what I have become under his hand!”

Gasps rippled through the audience. Wyll’s expression became something dangerous.

“Get out of the way,” he said, voice low, barely restrained. “Before I make you move.”

You shake your head, and lift Marcia to her feet. You turn to move off of the stage but the guards stop you. You frantically push Marcia back as they advance, knowing that they would kill her just to spite you. But as you turn and usher her the other way, another set of guard with gleaming swords and spears block you way. Marcia lets out a strangled cry and you bring her into your chest.

You do not dare to look at Wyll, you will not give the bastard the satisfaction. Instead you look into the crowd, hopeful to find someone, anyone, a noble, a peasant - just a being that were moved by your words, that would help you. But they all remained silent, unmoving. All but one.

You recognised that ginger bob and garish headpiece anywhere.

If Wyll had wanted a monster, then he was going to get one now.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

woooooweeee this was a big one to write, I had so many ideas but I am so so happy with how this came out and would love to hear everyone's thoughts and ideas. Hope you enjoyed it (and stomached it)! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[strlingsav]

Obey

- Keegan P. Russ x Female!Reader

- (Medieval AU) Your husband and yourself have an argument.

Requested: @mykneeshurt forgive me it's taken so long but pls enjoy ❤️ trigger warning Keegan is an asshole lol

Explicit sexual content warning- read at your own risk. *DUBCON*

Sparing a glance over your shoulder, your eyes caught his figure. You couldn't tell if it was dread or excitement that flooded your body, but the warmth of his presence was practically suffocating you even while you were steps ahead.

Your patience had peaked; you tried to appreciate the sacrifices he made, the sacrifices of his position. Keegan was the King's most trusted Knight, but his attention to you and your marriage strayed during the conflict of war. Rather than the loving, forward-thinking man you'd married, he'd quickly turned into a rigid soldier with no regard for your feelings.

The last few months were filled with nothing but a cold bed, passing touches of mere necessity that left you feeling emptier than your bedchamber. His words were curt and hollow. You'd already suffered through his years of service to the King; though now you'd reached your limit.

Flickering torches illuminated the hall, allowing him to keep on your tail as you wrenched open your chamber doors and attempted to slam them behind you. Keegan's hand caught the oak door before it could shut, pushing past your weak force.

He was pursuing you; unlike him in the last few months, but he'd finally had enough of your snide remarks and sour attitude. Your lack of appreciation for the gruelling and life-threatening work he did, and the comfortable life it afforded, had tipped him over the edge.

"You're following me," You announced, displeased, as he closed the doors behind him.

His face remained stoic; he could recognize the neglect you felt. His time was most always spent with the King and his advisors; he hardly had time to eat, let alone give his wife the attention she wanted. Though he wanted to remedy it, he had grown tired of your flippant regard for his oath to his country- and his King.

He said your name, boldly, as if it was obvious. "You're running from me," He said, moving himself into your personal space.

Your hackles raised along your spine, hair standing on its end as he stepped closer. Your stomach twisted itself, nerves shooting flutters of adrenaline through your body. You didn't want to appear frightened- you couldn't ever believe he'd raise a hand to you- but you'd lost sight of who he truly was.

It was an unusual combination of arousal and fear- not for your safety but for the words to come out of his mouth. His demeanour had changed since your country had descended into war, it made him colder than usual.

"For good reason," You replied, holding your ground as he neared. "For many good reasons. None of which seem to be enough to force you to care."

"I don't answer to you," He replied. "I am bound to my duty."

"I thought you'd also bound yourself to me," You snapped. "Suppose I'm just good enough to warm your bed- though that hasn't happened in months."

The hearth illuminating the room glowed across his face; a scowl drenched in apathy.

"Is that what you think?" He asked. It sounded genuine, though he knew what your answer would be. "I have been fighting in carnage for our King, our country, and your concern is our marriage?"

He stepped toward you again, forcing your back against the wall. A chill forced you to flinch as he leaned in, a hand against the wall to allow himself as close to you as possible without touching you.

Your jaw clenched. The cool stone wall brought goosebumps over your skin, though watching his eyes rake up and down your body left you feeling warm. Your mind was at odds, conflicting feelings leaving you filled with a sense of sorrow opposing your arousal.

"I beg your forgiveness for wanting my husband to behave as such." Sarcasm dripped from your mouth. "I am not one of your soldiers."

"You want me to behave as your husband?" His question was rhetorical, and it made your stomach turn when his spiteful tone hit you.

He began removing the baldric from his waist, letting it clatter against the floor. Your brows furrowed, confusion filling your face. He roughly turned you against the wall, your cheek pressed against it as his hand suddenly gathered your skirts above your backside.

Your brows furrowed with disapproval, you struggled against his full body weight trapping you. "Stop," You spat. "Keegan-"

Anger aside, his sudden course of action made your stomach flutter. Instead of panic, you felt yearning, anticipation.

"This is what you wanted," His lips brushed your ear, chest warm against your back. "What you've been so desperate for. You want to bear me a child? I'll give it to you."

You breathed in deeply, trying your best to fight your body's traitorous reaction to feeling him against you again; his hands on you, his deep voice vibrating against your back and through your chest. Your eyes shut momentarily as you concentrated- attempting to let go of all arousal and speak with conviction.

"Get off of me- let me go," You breathed out, trying to remain rigid against him.

He felt a familiarity of burning desire in his gut; he recognized the arousal in your eyes. Though his frustration reached its end, he couldn't help but remember the way you feel, sound. It nearly made him shiver. He'd forgotten you and himself in his oath to the King.

"Your cunt says otherwise," He mocked you, as his hand slid beneath your undergarments, fingers moving gently to slide between your folds. He gathered the slickness of arousal on his fingertips, teasing your clit slowly.

You whimpered softly, lips pressed together to muffle any and all sounds of pleasure. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction. He pressed himself against you, lips hovering over the skin of your neck.

"So starved for attention, you're dripping," He whispered. "How badly do you want my cock?"

"You're a prick," You spat. "Is this what you want?" You said, stiffening in his grasp, hands clasped in fists against the wall, pushing back. "To take me against my will?"

"You like when I touch you this way, I remember," He breathed against your cheek, nearly panting with desire. "And you and I both know I couldn't force you."

He was breathing heavily as he placed soft lips against your neck, his hands ruffling your skirts up your hips again.

Your head fell forward against the stone wall when his finger slid inside you, gently at first, allowing you to enjoy them curving inside you. It had been so long- feeling so empty and pent-up like you could burst at the first sign of pleasure. His thumb played at your clit, soft strokes that matched that of his fingers, drenching them with arousal.

"Were you not so wet already, I'd be inclined to punish you- rightly so, sweetheart," He moved to speak into your ear.

You shuddered at his vague threat, though you'd be lying if you denied that it sent a warmth to your womb, a pulsating void of need.

"Keegan," You whispered.

"Spread your legs," He ordered, a calloused hand gliding along the softness of your ass, gripping your skirts in his hand.

His hand moved to lift your thigh, the head of his cock barely penetration your pussy before he spoke again.

"Beg me," He ordered. "Beg me to take you right here, just the way you deserve."

You nearly whimpered, nearly crumbled in his grasp. Instead, you inhaled sharply and did as he asked, moaning softly as he relieved your suffering and plunged inside you.

He let out a loan grown once he was buried to the hilt- warmth and softness, slick with arousal. He placed a hand under your thigh, fondling the soft muscle of your ass, and the other on the wall, reaching your neck with his lips.

The smoothness of his mouth on your neck made your knees quiver, and his hand lifting your thigh to allow his cock deeper inside you left you speechless. Goosebumps erupted over your skin, and his free hand moved to pull your gown off your shoulders, groping at your breasts.

You were panting, mouth open in gasps as his cock glided in and out of you, poignant thrusts and groans of exertion from him.

"You like being fucked like a whore, don't you?" He said between heavy breaths. His hand reached your throat, squeezing softly with calloused hands.

Your head turned, mouth agape in a a moan, and he caught your lips with his. His tongue slid against yours, warm and comforting; it both deeply saddened and aroused you. You squeaked out a whine, especially as his hand pressed against the back of your head, pinning your cheek on the wall.

You barely made out his name, as he groaned to himself with satisfaction; his free hand gripped your arm, bending and moulding you into a position that allowed him to penetrate even deeper. You gasped- your breath was warm against your face, almost too much with the heat between your bodies and the fabric still covering your body.

"Please-" You whispered, hardly coherent amongst moans and heavy pants.

A series of short groans left your lips before he removed himself from against you, the sudden loss of being so full and satisfied made you grunt.

"Undress yourself."

It wasn't a request; you knew better. He missed all of you. He wanted to watch your face while he slid in and out of you, when his thumb would graze your sensitive clit. He wanted to feel your skin and hold you closer. He hadn't entirely realized how much he'd missed being so close to you.

His hands stripped the work shirt from his chest while yours unlaced your bodice. You worked your skirts down your hips, hardly stepping out of them before he pulled you to his lap, taking a seat on the ornate ottoman at the foot of your bed.

His calloused hands gripped your waist as you reached for his shoulders, eyes staring into his. He pulled you forward, moving his cock to your entrance before helping you ease onto it. He shut his eyes briefly, jaw clenching once he was submerged again in your soft, tight walls.

"You feel so goddamn good," He breathed against your chest, voice hoarse. "Christ," He gritted his teeth.

His hands grabbed and pulled at any part they could reach, sweat now glistening on his pectorals, hair sticking to his forehead. He was desperate to get closer, your soft skin was irresistible in his sensitive state, and the smell of your sweat-induced pheromones made his cock even harder.

You drove your hips forward, the underside of your thighs sliding against his lap. You were panting, moans matching the rhythm of your thrusts. His hand dropped to your clit, roughly rubbing circles over it with the lubrication leaking from you.

Your body jerked, fighting the over stimulation yet forced to endure it in his hold. He grinned to himself briefly, a flash of pride at the sight of you unraveling and nearly sobbing for more. His soft lips attached themselves to your neck, breasts, anywhere just to hear the sounds of your moans.

He heard your shallow breaths began to grow more frequent, your hips jerking as you anticipated your climax. Your eyes squeezed shut, whimpering and whining, fingers nearly drawing blood as you dragged them over his back and shoulders.

"That's it, sweetheart," He huffed. "Cum for me- I want to see you let go."

Your eyes nearly rolled back, body shivering and quaking until pure and instant pleasure descended over you, wrapping your womb in warmth. You held him even closer, lifting and dropping yourself on his cock until the pleasure began to subside from the sudden outpour.

His body lifted you, practically slamming you on your back without missing a beat. His hips met yours as he dove deep inside you, nearly pushing the breath from your lungs.

His hand reached for yours with sincerity, and a quiet reminder of affection. He leaned down to press his lips to yours, slow and firm, but gentle as he matched your pace. You exhaled softly through your nose, relishing in the connection between you. He paused, catching a breath within a grunt.

"I'm sorry," He breathed. "Forgive me." He met your gaze.

Your brows furrowed, eyes narrowing at his. Your brain could hardly focus on his words between the grinding of his pelvis against yours and his cock massaging your walls.

You nodded. "I do," You nodded again.

He shuddered, painfully close to his own end, cock throbbing inside you as he inched toward orgasm. He lifted your legs to his hips, white-knuckles holding onto your flesh. You clung to his shoulders, your eyes poring into his.

"I'm-" he hardly finished his sentence before you nodded.

"Please," You whispered, nodding again. A silent agreement, an understanding of what was about to come and what it meant.

Within moments, a few short thrusts between jerks, he released inside you. He grunted harshly, his hips snapping against yours as his cock twitched, warmth pooling inside you.

He breathed out, heavy and almost healing; he collapsed beside you, pulling you against him with a content sigh.

You knew it wouldn't be long before he had to leave again. Before he'd saunter back to stand by the King's side and put his life on the line in defence of his country.

"You're worrying," He said aloud, eyes staring at the wood-carved ceiling above.

"You'll be leaving soon," You said quietly.

"I'll be back, sweetheart. I always will."

You tilted your head to find him staring at you, a finger pushing hair from your eyes. You couldn't be sure if it was the truth or not- so many variables meant even he couldn't be certain. But you decided to believe him, anyway, in the vain hope that he'd one day love you as much as he did his King and country.

[tinheart]

So, here is a little something for @hobbystu for the Stobotnik Fic Exchange on discord!

Robotnik survived, and he and Stone are living quietly in Green Hills. The only problem? They're still not together! Enter Tom and Maddie to save the day.

"Wow, you're home early." Maddie told Tom as her opened the front door.

"Yeah, well, we've got a problem. And I think…. I need your help."

That wasn't too unusual. The people in this town turned to Tom for everything, even things that a trained veterinarian would have probably been more equipt to deal with. Maddie tried not to think too hard about why that was. "What is it?"

"Well, it turns out Robotnik might not be as… retired as we thought. I just had to shoot down a few of his ugly flying robots which were trying to carry away Wade."

"Oh my God!"

"Don't worry, I took them out. Not to brag but, it only took one shot each." Tom failed to mention that Wade was still a little too high off the ground when the robots were taken out and Sonic had to keep him from having a disaterous meeting with the asphalt. "Anyway, we need to figure out what to do about this."

"Okay, well… I mean I'm just going to start with the obvious. Why not arrest him?l

"Uh… it's not that simple. For one thing, he doesn't officially exist anymore." When Robotnik had showed up, months after the explosion of the eclipse cannon, the people of Greenville hadn't been convinced it was safe to let him stay. Only the longtime residency of Stone (generally trusted by the populous, barring that brief period where he was complicite in giant robot havok) had convinced them. Well, that and Stone promised the doctor wouldn't create any more problems for the citizens of Greenville.

Technically, he hadn't made any such promises about the rest of the world. But so far, Robotnik had just been quietly living with Stone in the apartment above the coffee shop. For all appearances retired from world domination.

Another factor was, Tom had gone to confront Robotnik, and the mad scientist had insisted he had nothing to do with it. His tech was government owned, and could have been cloned or sold to any number of organizations. Any number of whom could have had a vendetta against a small town deputy sheriff.

"Okay but Robotnik makes a point. Not about foreign governments wanting to kidnap Wade, but why would Robotnik go after Wade? And so obviously too? After all their time here, there would have to be a reason he would risk-"

"Wade asked Stone out."

Maddie's face fell. "Oh no… why would Wade do that? I really didn't think he was the type to go after someone who is so obviously taken."

"Well, that's the problem. Apparently Stone isn't taken… he and the Doctor don't have that kind of relationship. According to Wade, Stone told him that himself."

"What? That doesn't make any sense! The entire world saw that Livestream! Well, except for you."

"Oh no, I saw it later, when I was looking up YouTube videos explaining how the moon got circumcised. It seemed pretty definitive to me too."

"Is it… is there any possibility Stone didn't see it?"

"I mean, it's hard to believe but maybe? But honestly, at this point they're living together, you think someone as smart as Stone would have figured it out by now."

"So… what do we do?"

"Okay, this is gonna kind of sound crazy but, I think for the safety of the whole town, we're gonna have to… resolve this misunderstanding."

"You mean pair them up. Play matchmaker?"

"Yeah. Well, are you in?"

Maddie grabbed her purse. "Say less. I'll talk to Stone, you handle Robotnik."

"Uh, actually, could we switch? I think he still holds a bit of a grudge for the whole… knocking him out thing." And secretly, Tom was still holding a bit of a grudge for the whole trying to kill Sonic thing.

"Okay. But it's going to be hard to lure him out of that Cafe. I think it's best we talk to them separate first. Lord knows together they're hard enough to handle."

Entering the Mean Bean together, Maddie began heading towards the stairs that would take her to the apartment above the shop while Tom approached the counter. Stone, behind the counter, followed Maddie with his gaze until she ascended the stairs, and then turned to Tom. It gave Tom the feeling he had assesssed them both and determined they were not a threat. Slightly insulting, but lucky for them, since fighting to get in to see the mad doctor would probably work against their plan.

"Good afternoon. Have you got a minute to talk?"

Stone smiled. "Am I under arrest, officer?" Gentle, almost teasing.

"Not yet," Tom couldn't help but tease back. He could see why Wade liked the guy. "No, just a friendly chat, if you don't mind." And without waiting for a yes, Tom turned and found an empty table, and sat down.

After a few minutes, Stone joined him, still in his apron and carrying two mugs. One was Tom's standard order, which he placed in front of Tom without comment. Tom had long ago stopped wondering whether it was poisoned. In any case, it was always good enough to risk it.

"So," Tom began. "I need to talk to you about an incident this morning involving my deputy…"

Things had gotten off to a promising start with Robotnik. At least Maddie had finally gotten him to stop calling her Collateral Damage.

"What more is there to say? I saved the world for him!"

"Well, yes, you did that. But all you actually said was that you liked his coffee and considered him a friend. I think that half the town could say as much."

"Wha-guh-Grr! This town is full of simpering, licentious-"

"Look all I'm saying is, it's understandable why he might be confused? I mean, " she pursed her lips to keep from smiling "Since we are all so far below your intellect-"

"Don't!" Robotnik jabbed a finger at her. "Don't presume to place Stone on the same level as the rest of you. While beneath my obvious superior intellect, he is far above your own!"

"Interesting… have you ever told him that?"

"You don't understand the Doctor."

"Well I get that he's a genius…"

"Genius?" Stone scoffed. "That word is so overused. Most "geniuses" are only ten percent smarter than the mean intelligence, if that. They spend their whole lives struggling to maintain their pitifully small elevation about the masses. The Doctor is so far above us, he can't even comprehend our limitations. He's a force of nature. When you fall in-" Stone hesitated, cleared his throat. "When you fall in love with the sun, you don't expect it to love you back. When you admire the beauty of a raging storm, you don't expect the storm to pause and notice you. The Doctor offered me his friendship." Stone looked down into his own coffee, cradled in his hands. "That's enough. That's more than I ever would have hoped for. That's… that has to be enough."

"Alright but what if… what if the storm did notice you?"

Stone looked up at him with such wide and hopeful eyes that Tom had to take a moment and reconfirm the fact he was straight.

"You want me to flattery him?"

"I want you to stop trying to convince him of how smart you are! Trust me, he already knows! Just try talking about him, his interests, what he likes… not about work! Show him you're interested in him as a person, not just as an assistant."

"I feel this would work better if I just cooked for the doctor. He has very specific preferences-"

"Look, Aban-"

"Stone, please."

"Okay, noted, Stone. You have to stop acting like your auditioning for the job of his assistant. Trust me, you have it already. We are ordering in so you both can relax and enjoy each others company."

"I think the doctor would enjoy it more if-"

"It's not just about him, you need to enjoy yourself too."

Stone gave him a look that said, very clearly, that he would enjoy nothing more than the doctor getting exactly what he wanted.

Tom sighed. "Look, you need to help him separate out the idea of dating you from the idea of working with you, okay? Trust me, you want things to change, you have to be willing to do something differently."

"Fine… I'll order in."

"So, is Stone allergic to anything? We don't want to give him chocolate covered nuts if he's-"

"No food allergies, but he is deathly allergic to penicillin, and all dirivitive antibiotics." Robotnik leaned down conspiratorially. "Between you and me, that was one of the reasons he was on the top of the candidate list. It's always good to know how to eliminate someone covertly, if you tire of them." He straightened back up. "What about your lesser half… Fnord?"

"Tom."

"Hmm… sounds like a made up name."

"Uh, I don't think he has any allergies. At least, nothing I know of."

"Hmm." Robotnik pretended to study his fingernails as they continued down the chocolate aisle. "Well, if you got me a sample of his blood, I could run a full screening. As a favor."

Maddie was struck by the fact that she was honestly unsure if Robotnik was being deceptive, or if he was genuinely offering her a favor. " I think I'll pass… gotta leave a little mystery in the relationship, right?"

"Besides which of you will keel over and die first?"

"Uh, yeah, exactly. Here, lets just get an assortment. No flower allergies, right?"

"None of the commercially grown varieties, however-"

"Great! we'll just do standard roses."

The Mean Bean had been closed early. The tables had been moved away so only one remained, in the center of the room. The Olive Garden takeout had been transferred from its styrofoam packaging and plated onto the finest dishes they could find.

At least the table settings matched.

Stone had changed out of his work clothes and was in a trishaded black suit and tie. While it definitely reminded Tom of his government uniform, it was also the best they were going to do on short notice. (Tom had offered to loan Stone some jeans, but Stone had asked if they were going to be doing masonry work in such a scathing tone that Tom was honestly considering buying a suit on his way home.

"Now remember, no trying to serve him, okay? We are shooting for equals."

What Stone shot him was a very pointed look.

"Alright fine, we're shooting for close enough to his level to be worth dating."

Stone nodded grimly.

"Oh cheer up man, it's a date, not a funeral!"

Before Stone could respond, Maddie and Robotnik arrived.

Robotnik was in his "flight suit", although it hadn't been used for flight for some time. The edges of his sleeves had been mended with crochet. He mustache was as neat as they had seen it lately, and he was holding a dozen red roses and a box of chocolates.

"My my, don't you look handsome!" Maddie said to Stone. "Don't you think he looks handsome, Doctor?"

Maddie made an encouraging geasture at Robotnik, who merely began blushing. He strode over to Stone and shoved the flowers and chocolates into his arms with enough force to make the agent stumble back a step. "Here. You know what to do with these."

"Yes sir-uh, doctor. Shall I cut them in half so you don't have any unpleasant surprises?"

"No you imbecile! You consume them yourself! All of them!"

"woah," said Maddie. "Maybe a little less name calling-"

At the same time Tom said "you can wait until after dinner-"

But it was Stone who cut them both off with a tight smile. "Thank you so much, both of you, but I believe the doctor and I can take it from here."

Maddie and Tom looked at each other, uncertain.

"Uh, sure, we'll just--"

"Yeah okay-"

And sheepishly the both went into the kitchen to give the pair some privacy.

"The… weather has been within the standard predictions recently."

"Control of the weather during warfare is by the Geneva convention."

"Really, of course I could devise an undetectable way to- uh, nevermind. Do you… enjoy military conventions."

"Uh, not especially. Can we go back to your weather invention?"

"No"

Agent Stone sighed and stood up. "I don't want this."

"Well, you're the one who ordered-"

"No I mean this," he gestured at everything. "This… stunted small talk. These uncomfortable attempts to be… it's not. It's not us."

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. "Oh? And what is it, exactly, that you want?"

"I want you to… to talk about your ideas and inventions! Even if I don't understand. Especially if I don't understand! And I want to cook for you, and meet all of you exacting specifications. I don't want flowers and chocolates and catered dates and small talk I just want… us."

Robotnik stood and looked over Agent Stone. In the kitchen, Maddie held her breath.

"… so you don't want anything to change between us?"

"Uh, well… maybe… maybe we could just add…"

"Addition, to the equation, something like… this?" and Robotnik gripped his chin and leaned down to kiss him.

Just as Stone began melting into the kiss, Robotnik punched him in the gut. Stone crumpled to his knees. Robotnik never let go of his chin, and smiled evilly. "Left yourself open."

"Tom! How could you just watch that-"

"Maddie it's not what you think-"

"Okay then explain what it is! Because it LOOKS like-"

"Listen, Agent Stone, emphasis on Agent, is a highly trained combatent who is in pretty good shape, and Robotnik has a glass jaw. If Stone didn't want to be in that situation, he wouldn't be."

"So what, he's just humoring Robotnik?"

"Uh, that's not what I'm saying."

"Then what? Spit it out Tom!"

"Okay so, uh, sometimes men—or women! Or anyone— when someone is used to being very physical, to handling themselves, you know for work or something, sometimes they… like… to not. Not be. To just kinda let someone… take over that aspect."

"Thomas J Wachioski, are you saying you'd like to enjoy being knocked around a bit?" And she watched as her white boy turned bright pink. "Oh, that looks like a yes!"

She reached up to grab a fistful of his collar and pull him down into a kiss. "Come on, I think we've done enough good deeds today. Time to be a little evil ourselves."

Later, while absently carding his fingers through Stone's hair, Robotnik was idling musing. "Those two meddlesome busybodies are now privy to entirely too much of my personal life. You'll take care of them, won't you Stone?"

And Stone, enjoying the afterglow and already thinking about gift baskets and bottles of wine he could send to the Wachowskis, said "Of course Doctor."

[deathbyathousandspiders]

Hey so I don't usually request so sorry if this is a mess but can you do how Peter Parker would deal with you being dusted right in his arms and the aftermath of how he'd cope. (Even better if your starks daughter and they share the grief)

okay so i wrote this with you and peter getting dusted and how tony would cope, but pt. two will be how you and peter cope with tony’s death🤭🤭

i promise it’s still angsty!

WARNINGS – gory, angsty asf, rewriting the ending of infinity war so if you watched it recently it might feel repetitive, i forget if there’s swearing but here you go just in case<3

✨masterlist.✨

1.5k.

You knew it was risky to follow Tony and the wizard that morning. God, you knew it was risky. It’d been like any other morning–out for a run with your dad: talking about projects, talking about his engagement to Pepper, watching the immediate protective shift he had when a portal appeared on the shoreline path in front of you.

The grave look on his face said it all.

And you knew the risks. You’d signed up for these kinds of dangers when you were born with the Stark name. It was a target sewn to your back by DNA. The same genes gave you the stubborn spirit to sneak onto an alien spacecraft to help your dad; genes that made you look like the spitting image of him when you’d found out Peter Parker also had the same idea.

In hindsight, you were glad your boyfriend made the trip. It made you feel better protected.

Especially seeing as you lost.

If someone were to tell you on your run that morning that you’d take a punch to the gut and a dagger to the thigh by later that evening, you would stand speechless. If someone were to have told you that you’d lose this badly, and nearly lose your dad in the process, you wouldn’t believe them.

Laying on the dry–graveled surface of whatever planet this was, you pushed yourself up as high as you could. Your upper thigh screamed with blood and the burn of a fresh cut. It was the deepest one you’d ever received. A hushed whimper forced a response out of you at the feeling, making your father turn his attention towards you.

You regretted even being there the second it all happened.

With his head turned to his left, toward you, Tony lost his footing, meeting the fatal kiss of Thanos’ dagger right to the stomach. You watched the blood instantly choke out through his lips, and the way he stammered back as the purple giant shoved him harshly into a rock.

“NO!!” You shouted, as if your cry stop it. As if it would save him. You couldn’t lose your father. You couldn’t live without him. You didn’t even want to think of the possible outcome.

One of your arms gave out, shoving you face–first back into the ground beneath you. Your eyes welled with tears, and you tried to fight against your own pain to make your way over, to say goodbye. To try and fix this. You had to fix this.

“Stop!” The world stilled as Dr. Strange spoke up “Spare his life..” Dr. Strange sat up, pained. Pained and protesting, but willing. The tone of his voice gave you chills. “And I’ll give you the stone.” It wasn’t a request, nor a bargain, rather than a demand.

“No tricks?” The single drop of blood glistened off Thanos’ temple in the several setting suns of the planet, highlighting how little patience Thanos had left, too. Highlighting just how much Tony Stark bled out at his mercy beside him.

Without a word, Stephen maneuvered the air and the Time Stone appeared between his thumb and his first finger.

And thus, Thanos agreed.

In a manner of moments, you’d pressed yourself off the ground, standing. You used some tech your father lent you to spray some sort of temporary stitch–up over your wound for the time being. Looking up, you met your father’s eyes and saw the stabbed indent disappear. Dr. Strange handed the stone over with a white flag and a twinge of regret. You felt the world shift as it happened, the gravity of it growing heavy.

Everything you knew was changing.

Thanos vanished, leaving you all to sit in the feeling and process what had happened. You felt it in your gut that this loss would be horrendous, but the only thing that ran through your mind was making sure your dad was okay.

Limping, you rushed over as quickly as you could, hugging him with all the strength you had to muster. You didn’t care that you were crying. You didn’t care that your body was lined with dirt and blood and bruises. You held him tightly, and kept yourself from processing what the hell happened. Kept yourself from the distraction of Peter Quill blasting the space that Thanos just stood in.

“Did we just lose?” He asked, misery and frustration and denial clear in his voice.

But you and Tony ignored him. Your father held your face in his hands, taking you in with the fear that it might be his last time ever doing so. “Whatever happens, I love you.” He told you, and the words tattooed in your memory and stood alone among anything else he’d ever told you. You cling to them with every ounce of energy you had left.

“Whatever happens, I love you too.” You repeated back to him, ignoring the trembling in your lip.

Peter rushed over to the two of you, hugging both of you tightly. Both your dad and Peter helped you stand upright, but Tony handed you off to Peter while he confronted the wizard.

Tony looked at Strange with a look of both gratitude and confusion. “Why would you do that?”

“It was the only way.” Dr. Strange took a few shaky breaths, his expression unreadable. “We’re in the endgame now..” Was the only response he allowed, the universe allowed.

“Uhh, Mister Stark!” Peter called out, his grip morphing on you. The way he held you suddenly got tighter, more secure, more protective; as if you slipped through his fingers, or you would, or you were dying. His breath quickened, like something grave was happening. “Mister Stark!! Something’s happening!”

Tony didn’t waste a second before he walked over to the two of you, watching as Peter lowered you to the ground, cradling you in his arms. Nothing was happening, as far as you were aware, you didn’t feel anything. And Tony didn’t see anything.

But the sweat that traced Peter’s temple wasn’t something unnoticed. The way he held you, the way he looked at you, Tony knew Peter was sensing the state of their loss. “Kid?” Tony asked, sitting beside you two, grabbing one of your hands and squeezing Peter’s shoulder with the other. “Kid, what’s happening?”

Peter was between hyperventilating and being entirely speechless. His head shook rapidly, glancing from you and Tony. “I’m not–” Tears lined his eyes, quick to run down his face. “I’m not sure.. But I don’t–”

“Something’s happening.”

Each of you turned to Mantis as she spoke, soon obliterating, turning to dust on spot and dissipate into nothing. She was simply gone.

Panic. Pure panic flooded the air.

Drax’s focus went to his hand as it started in his fingers, his hand disappearing. “Quill?” His tone was nothing but concernment, uncertainty. Then he was gone, too.

“Steady, Quill.” Your dad quipped, watching the space where Peter Quill stood.

It started in his legs, traveling up his body as he turned into the same textured substance. “Oh, man..” And his face lingered, imprinting the dust before blowing off with the breeze.

“Tony..” Stephen spoke up, seeing the look in your dad’s eyes. Seeing the thoughts as they ran courses, miles, laps in Tony’s head. “It was the only way.” He repeated. His tone was apologetic as he, too, fractured into immeasurable pieces. His body turned to molecules, fading into the air.

Peter swallowed thickly, beads of sweat dripping from his hairline. His knuckles were white around your hand as you brought them to your lips and kissed it. You weakly squeezed your father’s hand, smiling up at the both of them. “I love you guys.” And as if you knew what was happening, spouting from your legs and spreading to your fingers, you turned to dust, too.

Your father tried to catch it, squeezing his fingers tightly around the space your hand had just been. He felt tears sting his eyes as you vanished in front of him. His whole world, his daughter, gone in a matter of seconds.

“Mister Stark..” Peter broke the deafening silence. “I don’t–” His eyes studied the hand that had just held yours, eyes glossy with grief and denial. “I don’t feel so good..”

His breaths were choked, ached, agonized as his legs gave way. Tony watched the way he turned to dust just as everyone else had. He kept hold of Peter’s shoulder, speechless. Tony couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

Peter looked to him, panicked. Completely and utterly panicked. “I don’t wanna go.” He repeated the phrase like it was all he knew, “I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go–” And when the pain became immeasurable, undeniable; when his fate was sealed, he took a final breath, clenching his jaw to try and keep himself from breaking in his final moment. “I’m sorry..” And just like that, he was gone.

He was gone, and Tony was alone. He stared at Nebula, nervous that if he looked away, she’d disappear too. The two didn’t know each other well at all, but her company was something he grasped onto like water. He clung to anything and everything she had to offer, hoping to God they’d make it out of this.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to live without you, but knew he needed to. If there was any shot or hope or reality of getting you back, Tony needed to get to it. He had to find it, and he wouldn’t rest until he did.

[ganxiously]

Okay a lot of you keep worrying about the future and that is just unvibing my vibe over here. So we are just going to go over a few things right now so that the collective panic doesn't boil over sometime soon -

Tommy gets reintroduced in 8.11 and not directly during the two-parter - As I have said earlier in this post, for the reconciliation to seem believable, they need to show us the story on both sides. Buck's view is okay if he's moving on but if they're getting back together, they need to show us what Tommy is feeling. And they need to show us both of them want to get back together. Which is exactly what the show has done.

Tommy having screentime in an episode other than the two-parter - Don't know about you but if Tommy was going to leave, they just wouldn't have bothered with this hook-up plot. Even if you argue that it might have been a treat to appease the fans, the backlash would now be even greater than what happened after 8.06. ABC would be very rightfully accused of deliberately messing with the fans. So if he was going to leave, his appearance would have been akin to Abby's - a brief sighting during the emergency and then a final scene of resolution.

The context of the fight - I know a lot of you don't like what they have done but this is literally killing two birds with one stone. Now this isn't Breaking Bad or something of that level so you can't expect too much from them but you have to understand that the only reason they would ever try to 'close the door' on Buddie would be if Buck's endgame was in sight and they don't want anything from the fandom threatening it. If Buck was still going to be on the hamster wheel, they would have had Buck be vague and hesitant so as to keep the ship around as a future possibility. Which they could then use to bait the fans in order to drive up engagement for upcoming seasons. (if you think buddie has a chance, take a look at this post of mine)

They are adding more and more meat to Tommy's character - I had said a long time ago that season 8 was going to turn Tommy into everyone's little meow meow. It didn't pan out in 8a but here we are finally in 8b. Tommy before yesterday was this cool, sarcastic guy who was maybe a bit jealous of the 118 and he clearly cared about Buck but not enough to risk his heart. One could also say he was a bit biphobic. Today Tommy is a lonely 40-year old gay guy who was at a bar alone so he probably doesn't have any friends. What friends he made in 118, dropped him after the break up. He is deeply insecure and has probably zero self-worth so much so that he spent six months expecting that his bf would leave him any day for his best friend. And he loves Buck so fucking much that he was ready to try again and take what he could until someone better or Eddie arrived. After all that I dare you to tell me this episode was not specifically intended for us to become ride or die for Tommy. The audience is no longer hoping for Buck's happiness but also Tommy's and that would be a dumb thing to encourage after all the complaints filed against the show with ABC.

Eddie is coming back and will need his house - So far there is no reason to believe Eddie is going to leave permanently so assuming he's coming back with Christopher, he will want his house back. It would look pretty idiotic to have Buck stay in that house and give Eddie a new one. More idiotic would be to have Buck move into a new bachelor pad because then what was the fucking point when you already had a set built of his previous apartment. Add in even more idiocy and you would expect them to be roommates but the house doesn't have anymore spare rooms so is Buck going to stay on the couch and sell off all his stuff? The only narratively logical choice is either Buck moves back to his own loft which would be so weird like was it just sitting empty and then where is the life altering change that was supposed to happen or solving every problem out there, he moves in with Tommy.

The narrative in the show itself - I am begging you to forget for a minute that buddie as a ship, the buddie fandom and the journalists exist and that you are being 24/7 bombarded by their opinions. You need to forget all of that and judge the story for itself and you'll see that things aren't as hopeless as you are expecting it to be.

Ps: There are also people who think that the buddie thing will cast a permanent shadow on BuckTommy and for them, I'd like to again point out that had this been a real issue, Eddie would have been here. The fact that they're doing this when he's not is because this is a Tommy issue. Tell me you have never been insecure about something that you don't fully believe in and merely clung onto as a scapegoat. The person Tommy is insecure about is himself but the fact that he is not enough just because he is himself is too painful so what is the next best thing? Making himself believe that of course he is could never be enough, not when Eddie is there, who has history with Buck and can offer him a readymade family. Trust me when I say if Eddie had not been in the equation, there would have been some unknown person to bear that brunt.

So yeah while there is like a 10% chance that Tim will do something crazy, logically there is only one direction everything seems to be pointing to. Hope this helps and thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

[wraithofmorhogg]

Avallac'h: The Most Misunderstood Witcher Character A Character Study

I feel people have wrongly judged him for someone that we only get for ONE chapter and a small cameo from Geralt and one other prospective so I would like to speak on my prospective of Avallac'h as a character. Starting out it is interesting to me that whenever he speaks of Ciri having the promised child he seems to shut down. Right off the bat that sounds to me like dissociation. Not nefarious evil.

But notice that when Ciri insults Auberon this is the first time his face changes. Why? He says this is her 'only chance to be free' and his face goes back to that blank, stone look once he returns to the subject of a child. Only chance to be free? Hmm...

"You don't know what you mean." He says. And then he runs away from her. He says this more than once. "You don't know what you mean." "You don't know what you're talking about." Or in another translation "You don't know what you're risking." So, what does this all mean? Well as it turns out Auberon has the answer.

The King claims that Ciri is there selfishly so she doesn't have to experience Avallac'h's lab, but Avallac'h never once told her that his lab was an option. She doesn't even KNOW there is an alternative. "If it isn't me, it will be Avallac'h and his lab.""You cannot even imagine what it would mean for you to go there." And Avallac'h doesn't want to do that to her. He doesn't want to use his lab. So, in his own strange way Avallac'h is trying to protect or save Ciri from this horror. Again, back to this line.

"You don't know what you mean." "You don't know what you're talking about." Avallac'h does NOT want to use his lab on her. He is doing everything within his power to avoid it. Why? He must genuinely care about her in some way. We don't know the reasoning that he does. Does Ciri remind him of Lara? Or is he doing this out of duty to Lara to protect her child? Because no matter what anyone says Avallac'h clearly wholeheartedly loved Lara and Ciri as he states is a part of Lara. Whatever it maybe he does care about Ciri, or he would have taken her straight to his lab in the first place. I don't think Avallac'h actually wanted any of this for Ciri at all, but he thought that her sleeping with the King was the only way he could preserve her life.

This is after Ciri has pissed off Auberon and the alternative must be Ava's lab. The walls of the palace have ears. Avallac'h must know and he has mysteriously disappeared. So, what happens next?

The King is dead. Poisoned.

People claim Eredin, but Eredin was surprised. He had no idea. So, who else does that leave us with? Avallac'h who has been mysteriously missing when usually he is around to console Ciri after the King has been a prick to her. I think in the end he poisoned Auberon to protect Ciri. As Avallac'h told Geralt "Someone else will help her now." we know he meant himself. Avallac'h has clearly done just that if he hasn't been behind the scenes doing so all along.

Another interesting thing to note a lot of people use the "he strangled Ciri" to claim him as evil, but depending on the translation he didn't actually do that. It says he "COULD" choke her. Not that he did. He appears to just be holding her. Not pleasant sure but not choking either. She did just say something that must have been horribly painful to him. (and maybe just maybe he was a little tempted by her proposition of it being him instead of Auberon)

He was quite quick to forgive her, wasn't he? Perhaps because they both acted foolishly. Finally, I want to point out a couple of other things that someone who is evil just wouldn't bother to do.

I find it interesting that Avallac'h realized she was embarrassed and upset and he 'quickly' stopped to comfort her. To say it was fine in his own way.

Comforting her. Using her own language. Which in the elf world means he's probably lowing his status for her. When Ciri is upset about the king being a total prick to her. Again. Avallac'h patiently hears her out. Even if hearing those details of the woman that shares Lara's eyes doing things with another man must be awful. A "strange smile" indeed.

Bonus: Avallac'h helps Geralt

And at one-point other humans who if I recall correctly, he was guiding through a blizzard for some reason? Maybe it depends on the translation?

Does he really hate humans or is he just bitter he lost Lara to one? I suspect he doesn't really hate them as much as he says he does, or he wouldn't be helping them at all. "Bored she-elves"? Tsk tsk. This has nothing to do with bored elves. It is all about you and Lara. All in all, Avallac'h is not a bad guy. He is not evil. That does not mean he is 100% a good person, but nobody is. One thing we can get is that he does care about Ciri. What is Ciri to Avallac'h? We may never know. Maybe even he himself has no idea.

Thus ends my character study on Book! Avallac'h (for now) and I thank those that took the time to share open-mindedly (I hope) this little study with me.