#do i have to be the change i want to see?

[tswkento]

sometimes you say and do stuff that makes gojo’s brain short circuit because of how cute you are. for example:

he could be complimenting your look for the date he had planned out and you’d smile bashfully, murmuring, “wanted to look nice for you, toru” and he is gone, literally barely keeping himself from smothering you in a hug.

or like the day you did his laundry for the first time; he found you folding his clothes in the bedroom — not just clothes, no, clean and ironed clothes(he wasn’t even sure if he had an iron at home) — he glanced back at the bathroom suspiciously, where a full basket of dirty stuff was supposed to be, and then at you with a curious question of, “hey, just asking, did you do my laundry, sweetheart?”

you stopped folding and looked up at him unsurely, your eyes wide with weariness, “do you think i shouldn’t have?” and gojo is on his way to tackle you down onto the bed and pepper your face with kisses because what the hell.

your fingers always find their way into his tresses whenever satoru lays his head on your lap and when you see his thoroughly pleased expression you always let out that specific kind of giggle, looking down at him so lovingly that satoru’s heart might just explode from how happy he feels. it’s crazy how you don’t even realise it.

or when you’re changing clothes and satoru passes by, gaze catching your figure through the small gap between the wall and the door to your shared bedroom, and he pokes his head through it to smirk at you, waiting for you to register his presence. and when you do, with a surprised squeak and an embarrassed chuckle following it, you try to make him leave with a weak whine, “toru! leave, i’m changing!”

satoru can’t help his own chuckles, “i saw you naked last night, baby!” you only hug your clothes to your body and jump closer to push his head away and shut the door. gojo catches the red dusting your cheeks and feels his heart skip a beat before relenting to the pressure of the closed door and leaning against it with a hand on his heart.

subtle things you do also make him want to kiss you senseless, like when he wraps his arms around you from the back and you always put one of your hands on top of his, fingers weaving between his. or when you plant a fleeting kiss on his cheek before you run off because you are late for something. or when you fix his clothes for him — fuck, you don’t know what you do to him.

you make him act a lovesick fool, unaware of the heart eyes he gazes at you with 24/7, and satoru’s more than okay with it.

[ihrthoney]

again in bed and brainrotted

ak!jason todd who is very concerned when you willingly let him have anything he asks for.

for safety measures, he asks if he can tweak your phone so you can’t be tracked or hacked by people and you just hand your phone over then go about your day.

he asks to do it to every electronic you have and again, you don’t even hesitate and give him all your passwords if needed.

it worries him that you’re so okay with him literally being all in your privacy and you just shrug, “i trust you, you’re my boyfriend.”

internally he’s on his knees throwing up and crying at your comfortability with him.

ak!jason who sits you down and sighs, asking if he can put a tracker on you disguised as jewelry that you can’t take off ever because he wants to be able to know where you are and you just nod, asking what kind of jewelry.

“sweetheart.. are you not.. put off at all these precautions?”

“why would i be? you’re doing it so im safe right?”

“of course, i want to make sure nothing happens to you and if it does i need to make sure i can be there.”

“then it’s fine. you’re not harming me or controlling me if that’s what you feel, i understand your intentions.”

he’s starting to question your sanity atp.

ak!jason who tests you and asks to put a chip in your body so he can regulate your heartbeat and know of your every second whereabouts and you again just agree with no after that.

he gently grabs your hand and sits you on the couch, “baby. we need to talk about your survival instincts. you can’t just accept everything i ask of you.”

your brows crease in confusion and he wants to squish you because you’re so cute, “i said i would do anything for you, whatever makes you happy then im happy. i trust you with my life jaybee.”

he wants to cry at how open and vulnerable you are with him, guilt claws at his throat as he’s not able to reciprocate that vulnerability yet.

“if you asked me of those things.. i don’t know if i would say yes.”

you can see the guilt pooling in his eyes, so you take his hand in yours, “and that’s okay my love, it’s okay to have boundaries. just because you don’t agree doesn’t change how i feel about you. i also don’t doubt what you feel for me. it’s alright baby.”

he squeezes your hand three times and you know what he’s telling you. you kiss the inside of his wrist, bringing him to the bed to sleep.

he follows your steps, “i’m not actually going to put a chip in you, you know that right?”

“i know! but if you did id be okay with it. just tell me where it is at least!”

“you’re kind of crazy baby.”

“only for you jace.” <3

[jane-asmo]

Why I think Caitlyn didn’t ask Vi for forgiveness

(Thank 'anons' for your messages. I’ll try to respond to you through this text: )

The importance of Caitlyn’s “I know”

A key moment in Caitlyn’s character narrative is her “I know”—both its content and delivery.

The content: When Caitlyn says, “I know,” it doesn’t just mean “You’re right.” It means, “I’ve taken the time to think about this.” And thinking is what Caitlyn does best. Her “I know” conveys that she has already had this conversation with herself, over and over in her head. She’s thought about it constantly, she’s already told herself these things, and she’s already blamed herself for them.

The delivery: She screams it with violence, and we can see this represented by the boat falling apart. It’s not just that she has thought about it; it’s tormenting her. Her “I know” is incredibly powerful because it’s filled with suffering.

To me, this is as valid as an apology because asking for forgiveness is outward-facing—focused on the other person. "Asking for forgiveness" says, “Whether I’ve forgiven myself or not, whether I feel guilty or not, it’s on you to decide to forgive me.”

But here, Caitlyn’s “I know” is inward-facing. It means, “I’m not asking you to forgive me because I can’t even forgive myself.”

She knows everything you’re saying, and it torments her.

This is followed by:

"I didn’t even have time to think before they hauled her off."

This line is so telling. Everything about Caitlyn is tied to thinking and reflection.

Being a sniper means aiming and shooting. Aiming is the equivalent of thinking, and shooting is the equivalent of speaking. Everything Caitlyn does is deliberate and thought through.

This is why some people dislike her: as I’ve said before, unlike other characters, Caitlyn’s actions can’t be forgiven easily because she doesn’t do anything by accident.

Then we get to:

"We can’t erase our mistakes. None of us."

Caitlyn speak in “we.”

In the prison scene with Jinx:

"No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes."

This scene mirrors the rage she felt when she threw the boat. In this moment, she’s speaking to Jinx, but also to herself.

Caitlyn and Jinx are paralleled so many times throughout the show. Caitlyn quickly realized that, in some ways, she had become like Jinx. And so, in order to forgive Jinx, she would first have to forgive herself.

At this point in the episode, the person Caitlyn hates the most is herself.

But she no longer has the "energy" to hate, neither Jinx nor herself.

Energy comes from fuel. What she perceives as a lack of strength to keep fighting is simply the fact that the fuel that powered her hatred has disappeared. And when you stop feeding a fire, it eventually dies out. She has no energy left; she has no fuel to sustain her hatred.

It's a particular way of saying, I don’t hate you anymore, and I don’t want to hate myself anymore either, because in the end, that hatred corrupts us/everything .

In her own unique way, Jinx also says, I didn’t know your mother was there, even if it wouldn’t have changed anything. And this too is a strange way of taking a step toward the other.

We have two brilliant and intelligent women who express their emotions in unconventional ways. ----------

There’s also a whole analysis that could be done about her concept of justice and rules, "but I don’t have the energy" to dive into that here. Still, it would only lead back to the fact that Caitlyn doesn’t see herself as the right person to free Jinx (and therefore to forgive her) because she believes she herself is beyond forgiveness.

[fastandcarlos]

End Of The World : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: you were fine that morning, so when lando suddenly gets a phone call that changes his things upside down, it feels as if his world has come crashing down

His heart sunk as Lando tried to get his head around what he was told on the phone. It was a blur of words to him as Lando tried to piece it altogether, tears falling freely down his cheeks. His knees buckled from underneath him as Lando dropped down into a chair, his breath shaky, heart racing as the call came to an end. 

He couldn’t quite believe it, your smile the last thing he saw that morning. Yet after being hit on your way to work, Lando’s world suddenly felt as if it was crashing down, hearing that your unconscious body had been transported to the nearest hospital. 

“I-I need to go,” Lando stuttered as he stood up from the meeting, rushing out of the building before anyone could reply. Panicked eyes watched Lando, but he was long gone, sprinting as fast as he could out of the building to where his car was parked. The journey was a blur as Lando blinked through his tears, hurrying into the hospital, shouting out your name. 

He was stopped by a doctor holding onto his shoulders, noticing how distressed he was. 

“Right this way,” the doctor told him, leading him down the corridor to where Lando could find you. “There is one thing that I must tell you first, your girlfriend is not in a good way. There’s extensive damage, most of it physical, which you need to prepare for.” 

“I don’t care,” Lando whispered, “I just want to be with her, please.” 

As the door to your room opened, a sharp intake of breath came from him. Lando couldn’t believe his eyes as he noticed the cuts and grazes all over your body, the machines around your bedside with cables attached to your body to keep you alive. 

“Oh, love,” Lando hummed, rushing to sit down beside you, placing his hand delicately over yours. You were cold, fragile, nothing like the warmth he usually received from you. “I’m here now,” Lando told you, brushing the pad of his thumb over the back of your hand. “She’s going to be alright, isn’t she?” 

“She’s stable,” the doctor informed him, standing in the doorway to your room. “The injuries are quite severe; we’re going to have to be closely monitoring your partner for a little while longer before we can make any decisions.” 

“Is there going to be any lasting damage? Permanently?” 

“Most of her injuries will heal with time,” the doctor tried his best to assure Lando, offering him a weak smile. “It sounds like the driver lost control of their car when they hit your partner’s, she overturned into the road,” he added, watching Lando flinch as he pictured the scene of the crash.  

All he could see was your car, with you terrified inside of it. Lando hated thinking about how you felt, how scared you must have been when that impact came, all alone in your car. He could imagine you calling out for him to help you, only he was nowhere to be found. 

His free hand continued to wipe under his eyes as Lando continued to study you. He’d lost count of how many marks he found, bruises, scrapes, cuts, not to mention the dry blood that was in your hairline. He wished he could do something, anything, to take the pain away. 

The doctor left the room, leaving Lando all by himself with you, giving him the time that he needed. His mind was racing with his own thoughts as his eyes stayed staring down at you, struggling to believe how his life had managed to turn upside down in only a blink of an eye. 

“I’m not leaving your side,” Lando whispered as he squeezed your hand, “I promise that you’re going to be alright.” 

The lack of response from you sent a shiver down Lando’s spine. Usually you’d laugh, or smile, give him some sort of reaction, but instead Lando was left with nothing from you. 

“I hate that you went through this all alone,” Lando added, moving one of his hands to brush over the top of your head through your hair. “I love you, however long you need to I’m going to be there for you. I know I joke about telling you to shut up all the time, but now I really could do with hearing your voice sweetheart.” 

The only sound in the room was the beep of the machines, letting Lando know that you were still there. It was a steady beat, which the doctor assured him was a good sign, but the only sign that Lando would take was the one when your eyes opened up. 

The hours he spent at the hospital soon became days, turning into a couple of weeks. Lando could hardly remember what the outside looked like as he spent every possible second with you, making sure that you knew that he was right there with you. 

When they could, his family and friends would stay with him for a while, even some of the other drivers had stopped by too. Mostly they were there to check on Lando, knowing that he’d no doubt neglect himself as he tried to focus all his energy on you instead. 

“There you are,” one of the nurses smiled as Lando walked through the hospital doors again, rushing down the corridor to get to him. “We were wondering if we were going to see you again.” 

Lando looked suspiciously across at her, following behind as she walked down to where your room was. “Has something happened?” 

“Don’t worry,” she smiled, saying nothing more as they got to the door to your room. “I’ll come and see how she’s getting on in a bit.” 

Lando nodded as he opened up the door, placing his phone into his pocket that he held. The regular beeping greeted him, although as Lando’s eyes looked up, his heart stopped as he saw a familiar pair of eyes staring back across at him. 

Lando rushed in, taking his usual seat beside you. 

“You’re awake,” he whispered, leaning across and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?” Lando fretted, eyes studying you closely. 

Your head faintly shook, the amount of pain you were in evident from the expression that was on your face. “I’m fine,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. 

A sigh came from Lando as he heard just how weak you were for the very first time. “You’ve got no idea how scared I was, I thought I was going to lose you, like the end of the world or something.” 

There was a look of disbelief on Lando’s face as he held onto your hand, struggling to believe that you were there with him. It would still be a long recovery for you, but it was the start that he had been hoping for. 

“You’ve got no idea how many people have stopped by to visit you,” Lando told you, “I always knew that everyone adored you, but I had no idea just how much, they’re all going to be so happy to hear you’re awake.” 

Your smile slowly turned up as Lando spoke, your mind was foggy as you tried to figure how much you had missed, still so uncertain as to what had happened. 

“You’re going to be alright,” Lando smiled, squeezing against your hand once again. “I’m going to be with you every single second, I promise.” 

“W-what happened?” You stuttered, voice faltering as you looked to Lando to try and make sense of everything and fit the missing jigsaw pieces together. 

Lando frowned, “your car was overturned, some guy lost control and went crashing into you, but you don’t need to worry about that, everything is getting sorted.” 

Your head nodded as Lando pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I love you,” you whispered as his ear brushed your lips. 

“I love you too, I’m so glad that you’re okay.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[moonsgemini]

nobody knows - rafe cameron

summary: a secret relationship between the kook king the sweet innocent kook & bathroom sex

warnings: 18+, cursing, reader being jealous, alcohol, SMUT, slight choking, semi public sex, pinv

an: hiiii hope y’all enjoy <3 this is a lil shorter than my usual stuff. I need drew starkey bad !! Might turn this into it’s own lil universe

-

This party was going to kill you. The scene in front of you calling for you to do something irrational. It was almost as if he wanted you to accidentally spill wine on Lindsey’s head.

The way her hand constantly found a place on his bicep has you gripping your glass a little tighter. The friendly smile on Rafe’s lips not helping ease your jealousy. Neither was the way he kept leaning down so he could hear her better, as if they were at a rave. It was a fairly small party for crying out loud there was no need for that.

If you had super powers the entire back yard would be lit up in flames with the way you were glaring at the pair. Of course he also wore that shirt you loved on him. The one you had mentioned on multiple occasions that it was your favorite.

You wished you could go over there and yank him down by the collar and smush your lips against his. Let everyone know that it’s your name he’s moaning at night and his lips and body that have your coming undone almost every night.

You wished everyone knew exactly what was going on between them. Then you wouldn’t have to disguise your jealousy as a head ache. You knew it was because of you that the two of you snuck around but you’re starting to want things to change. You couldn’t stand the sight of your man giving another woman attention.

“Garrett is such a dick I can’t believe I didn’t dump him sooner,” Her friend Nessa mumbled.

She hummed and nodded in agreement while finishing off the last of her wine. Not really paying attention to what her friend was saying.

“You’ve been quiet today. More than usual, all good?” Your friend Nessa asked.

You nodded, “Yeah just have a head ache again.”

“Then lets get you another glass, being drunk will help with that,” Nessa grabbed your hand. She led you back over to the small cocktail bar that was set up which was right past Rafe and Lindsey.

As the pair of you passed them you pretended not to see Rafe. Obviously Rafe’s eyes followed you, not really paying attention to whatever the girl in front of him had been yapping about.

He was trying this new thing where he wasn’t going to be an asshole to people. Unless they deserved it obviously, but it was really fucking hard when all he wanted to do was talk to you. The old him would have just ditched her mid sentence but that’s not who he wanted to be.

He watched as you poured yourself some more wine, your friend going on about something as you nodded along. His pretty girl always being the best listener.

After a minute you said something to your friend before walking into the house. After a few seconds Rafe said something about going to the bathroom and left the babbling blonde behind. He didn’t care he wanted to find you.

When he stepped inside he saw your half empty wine glass on the kitchen counter. He walked down the hall to the guest bathroom and knocked.

“I’ll be out in a minute Ness!” You shouted from behind the door.

“It’s Rafe,” he said.

The locked clicked and the door opened to reveal your pretty frame. You had chosen to wear that dress he loves in the color he loves on you. He wasn’t the only one who chose what they’re wearing for a specific reason. You poked your head out and looked both ways before tugging him inside by the collar of his shirt. He chuckled at your antics

“Don’t you think it looks more suspicious if we’re in here together?” He smirked with a raised brow. In all honesty he didn’t really give a fuck if people saw you two together but he knows you aren’t ready.

You rolled your eyes, “It’s not like you were flirting it up out there with Lindsey.”

His smirk widened at the realization that you were jealous. He liked how around everyone you were always sweet and polite, sometimes even a little timid. But with him it was a different story. He loved the way you talked back to him and rolled your eyes at him. He loved the dirty things that sweet innocent mouth said to him when he was relentlessly fucking you.

“You jealous baby?” He stepped forward so the small of your back hit the counter.

Your scowl deepened as you crossed your arms, “No.”

He reach up stroked your cheek gently. His eyes going down to your lips, “You being a tough girl now. Come on baby you know she doesn’t have anything on you.”

Your scowl softened, “Well it doesn’t matter because it’s not like she knows that.”

Rafe leaned forward and kissed your cheek then your jaw and continued his way down to your pulse point, “I’ll let her know, we can let everyone know princess. I can fuck you right here right now.”

You gasped at his words and at the scrape of his teeth on the sensitive skin of your neck, “Rafe,” you practically moaned.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re too opposed to that,” His finger slipped under your dresses strap and pulled it down. His lips kissing the newly exposed skin as he went down to your chest, “Make you scream my name as I bend you over.”

You wanted to talk back to him but you couldn’t as your eyes fluttered shut. His hands had moved down your waist and to your thighs. Slowly dragging his fingertips up them until he plucked at your stringy underwear letting it snap back against your skin. He made you such an incoherent mess and you loved it.

With everything in you you mustered back a reply, “You sure you want Lindsey to hear.”

He chuckled against the top of your breasts that were exposed. His fingers now pressing against your wet clothed cunt.

“It seems like you want her to hear baby,” He pressed his fingers against your clit and rubbed soft circles, “look at how wet you are huh. My dirty girl.”

A whimper escaped your lips at the sensation. His fingers slipped under your tiny panties and he slid them through your sopping cunt and groaned against your neck, “God I love how you feel.”

You tugged his face up to meet your desperate eyes as you pulled him in for a kiss. You both moaned at the feeling. You loved when Rafe fucked you but you loved kissing him even more. His fingers picked up the pace a little against your throbbing clit. You could feel your wetness dripping down your legs.

“Please let me fuck you right here baby,” He mumbled against your lips, “I’ll do it so good. I’ll make you cum all over my cock.”

That whole being more nice thing Rafe was working on never applied to you. You were probably the only person on the island who had ever heard the kook king say please and thank you. Sometimes he even practically begged to fuck you or eat you out. You lived for it. It made your skin tingle and your tummy flutter.

You nodded your head, “Yes Rafey.”

He pulled his fingers away from you and practically shoved them into your mouth. You loved it though, tasting yourself on his long thick fingers. Your tongue licking them clean. He bit his lip and groaned with hooded eyes. Rafe was utterly obsessed with you.

He pulled his fingers out with a pop and leaned in capturing your mouth in his in another searing kiss. It was sloppy and made your head spin. He pulled away spinning you around. Your hands landed on the counter to steady yourself as he hiked your dress up to your waist.

Rafe gave your ass a firm squeeze and took a few seconds to admire you on this position. He loved that he could still see your pretty face in the mirror, he could see just how fucked you were for him. Your swollen lips, hooded eyes, and messy hair all because of him. It made his heart beat faster and his ego grow. He loves that no one else has known you in this way until he came around.

You watched as he began to undo his pants and pull his thick cock out. You whimpered at the sight of him stroking himself a few times. Grabbing the tiny string of your panties he pulled it to the side before lining himself up with you.

“You’re a fucking dream,” He groaned as he slipped his tip in. The warm wetness of your pussy making him throw his head back. Slowly he slotted himself in you. The feeling of you clenching around him already getting him so close.

“Fuck you’re coming home with me,” He groaned as he began moving in and out.

You nodded with hazy lust filled eyes. You’d do anything he asked of you. The feeling of him stretching you out was out of this world. You didn’t understand how he was always able to hit that spot that had your back arching and mouth forming into an o.

He fucked you as quietly as he could. Rafe didn’t give a fuck if people heard but he knew you did. It’s not like you were embarrassed of Rafe and he knew that. It would just make things complicated if people knew. There’d be constant prying and knit picking at everything you two did and how you acted.

“Oh Rafe,” you mumbled standing up so your back was against his chest. He groaned and wrapped one of his hands around your throat. Your head fell back against his shoulder.

Rafe’s other hand found it’s way to your chest. He pinched one of your nipples and squeezed your breast. He did the same thing to the other one before sliding down your stomach and to your clit. He rubbed circles as he continued to thrust into you.

He moved the hand that was around your throat to hold your jaw. Tugging your head down to look in the mirror.

“You see that baby, He nodded towards your reflection, “see how good you look when I’m inside you. My girl takes me so damn well.”

“I-I mmmph oh Rafe,” you mumbled incoherently but he knew what you were trying to say. He could tell you were close by the way you tightened around him and the way you dripping down him.

“I know,” He groaned, “I’m there too.” A loud moan began escaping you but rafe moved his hand up quickly to cover your mouth.

“Shit look at you, no one will ever compare. Fuck I’m all yours,” He grunted.

Your moans were muffled by his big hand as you came. He wasn’t farm behind as he buried his face in your neck as he came inside you.

“Well we’ve never done that before,” you giggled.

He huffed a laugh, “I’m pretty sure we’ve done that plenty of times before.”

You shook your head, “We’ve never done it in a bathroom at a party.”

He smirked as he pulled out of you and adjusting your clothes for you. He gave your ass a gentle slap, “I should make you jealous more often.”

You rolled your eyes and turned around to face him, “So what if I was jealous.”

He kissed you, “You have nothing to be jealous of. I’m yours.”

You smiled softly as your heart swelled, “Rafe maybe we should tell people.”

His eyes widened slightly, “Really?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his excitement, “mhmm I want to go on dates here in town. I want to be the one who has your attention all night and when I get too drunk you drive me home.”

He smiled, “Sounds perfect.”

After fixing yourselves to look presentable again you opened the door and led Rafe out not really thinking. But before you could even step through the doorway you were face to face with Lindsey who had a scowl on her face.

“Finally,” she rolled her eyes but then she saw the person standing behind you, “oh that’s where you disappeared to?” that scowl never leaving her.

Rafe nodded with a smirk, “My girl needed me.”

You blushed as you stepped past her with Rafe’s hand in yours with smiles plastered on both your faces.

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝

You try to break up with your boyfriend. Aaron just wants to know why. (And what he can do to fix it.) [4k]

c: fem, stripper!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff epilogue, suggestive themes mdni. requested here 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I don’t want to see you anymore. 

The text doesn’t compute at first. He reads it twice. Reads the sender’s name, his heart stopped clean in his chest. 

He puts down his pen.

The idea that the text wasn’t meant for him crosses his mind, but that might further break his heart. He knows you have clients, but you don’t contact them outside of the club. 

His second thought is that he’d been a client unknowingly, but he made it clear to you those few months ago that he liked you as you, not as a service provider, and not as something to be bought. You thought he was trying to acquire you as a private escort. He explained it as what it was truthfully, if vulnerably.

He’s being broken up with, he surmises. Over text. By a woman he adores, who he’d thought was happy. Aaron opens his phone to call you, clicking your contact, bringing it to his ear. You don’t answer. He calls again and he’s clearly declined three rings in. 

He puts his phone down and has a few minutes of unbreathable heartbreak. Just a few minutes, his hand to his stomach, trying to think of things as reasonably as he can. 

Aaron doesn’t care that you’re a stripper. He might’ve at first. Denied his attraction to you, because of course he had feelings for you when you were standing against the side of the club in your dancing lingerie, who wouldn’t fall in love with you? Every fool lucky enough to see you undressed must assume the same thing. He thought it wouldn’t work, and that you’d never be interested in a man like him. 

Interviews for information lended themselves to rare moments of conversation. He liked how you talked, how your eyes moved to his, the way you watched his mouth. Your unusual friendship with Spencer drew you closer, and activated a rare seed of jealousy within him that helped him place you in his life. He had real, tangible feelings for you. 

And now it’s over. 

He scrunches his eyes closed and gets up from his desk. Puts his coat on, but leaves his things where they are on his desk. 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks as he descends the steps down from his office into the bullpen. 

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” 

“What happened?” 

Aaron turns to Morgan, hiding his panic as well as he’s able to. “I have a small emergency. It’s fine. Can you make sure things are okay here?” 

“Hotch?” Morgan asks again. 

Aaron keeps on going. He tries your number again on the way down. Three times, a fourth by the time he’s at the parking garage. 

The fifth time, you answer. 

He almost breaks the phone, its plastic body creaking in his hand. “Honey?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Aaron. Is it hard to understand?” 

He’s taken aback. Some part of him had held onto the hope that it was a mistake. “Yes,” he says slowly, struggling to pull his keys out as his car comes into view, “it is.” 

“I don’t want to be with you.” 

“Have I upset you?” 

“Would that make it easier?” 

“No. I don’t think anything would make it any easier. Honey, this feels so sudden. Can’t we talk about it?” 

“I don’t want to see you.” 

“Please.” He can’t imagine never seeing you again. Just a few days ago he was sitting at the dinner table with you laughing opposite, your socked toes brushing his ankle. “Please, give me the chance to fix this.” 

“Aaron, it’s not really fixable. Please don’t call me again.”

“Y/N,” he says, firmer now. Anger leaks into his tone —what’s going on? “Let me come over. We need to talk about this.” 

“No–”

“It’s not fair to me for you to do it over the phone.” 

“…Okay. Fine. I’m at home, but I have work at six.” 

“I’m on my way.” 

He hangs up. Your terse allowance is all he needs to get in the car and drive, checking his watch. There’s plenty of time between now and six. He can figure out what’s wrong and hopefully change your mind.

He thinks about it more seriously as he’s parking outside of your place. Perhaps he doesn’t want to change your mind. You aren’t acting like you, none of your kindness can be found in such a swift dismissal, but he thinks of your foot under the table, your sock rubbing along his ankle without comment. 

He takes the stairs to your apartment. It’s not the nicest place to stay, but it’s far from a slum, either. He doesn’t worry about you when you’re home beyond the usual everyday fears: Is she eating? Sleeping? Having a good day? 

Now he’s thinking, What did I do? 

He gets to your apartment and pauses at the threshold. After a moment's deliberation, he knocks. 

“Come in, Aaron.” 

He pulls down the handle and lets himself in. You’ve mail piled on the sideboard and your shoes tucked under it, a coat rack further in bragging scarves and coats and jackets of all different colours. He’s always liked the interior of your apartment. It doesn’t feel as cold as his own, parts of your personality peeking in through everything, from the flowered tiles in the bathroom to the glass lampshade in the bedroom. 

You’re sitting in the kitchen with the light off. “Hey,” he says, voice already laden with relief he doesn’t mean to share. 

“Hi.” 

“Can I sit down?” 

You gesture for him to do as he likes. 

Aaron sits down at your table. It’s a small square just big enough to share dinner, plain wood edged in a darker slate grey outline. Sometimes when you’re feeling especially pretty, you’ll lean heavily on an elbow and grin at him, enticing him in for a kiss.

“What’s this all about?” he asks quietly. 

“I just think we’re… at the end of our relationship.” 

You don’t sound truthful. He knew there was something strange in your voice over the phone. 

“What’s making you feel that way?” 

“Does it matter?” 

Again, avoiding and evasive. 

He meets your gaze unflinchingly. “I care about you. I love you,” he says. “I know I can’t be who you pictured for yourself, and if you really can’t see a future for us, then… I’ll have seen it alone. I just wish I could understand this sudden change. Did I do something wrong?” 

“You’re not who I picture for myself,” you agree. 

“No?” he asks. 

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong, but I can’t see us together. We’re not the right fit.” 

You twist a ring around your middle finger. He thinks he’s starting to understand. “Do you think we’re not the right fit?” 

“Please don’t use your psychoanalysis on me.” 

“It’s not psychoanalysis, sweetheart, it’s– I know you.” He grimaces. “I’d like to think I do. And I’m allowing myself the audacity to believe you were happy with me just a few days ago. What happened between then and now to change your mind?” 

You stare at your two-toned table. Your mouth opens to talk, little but air making it out. Your shoulders begin tightening like you’ve been keyed between them, twisting and twisting. 

“What do you want me to say?” you ask. 

Dramatic, he’d hope you could say you don’t love him, or don’t care about him enough to let him convince you the rest of the way. “Is this really what you want?” he asks instead. 

Your staring turns to squinting. With a start, he watches a small tear drip from the corner of your eye to your nostril, to your cupid's bow. 

“No,” you say carefully, “it’s not what I want. I don’t like you being against me.” 

“Then what’s making you feel this way?” 

You cover your eyes with one hand. “I wanted to do this over the phone,” you say in a squeeze. 

He reaches for you but doesn’t touch. “I couldn’t let you.” 

“I just want you to be happy,” you say, so high he can barely understand you. “I’ll never be like you, Aaron. You’re so smart, and you’ve done so much. You’re a hero, and you must look so stupid with me. What do you think people say when they realise what I am?” 

“It doesn’t matter to me what they say. I know you, and they don’t.”

“What about what I think?” 

“What do you think?” 

You wipe your face roughly, eyes lit with an anger he’s unprepared for. “I told you, don’t psychoanalyse me. I don’t want to have to explain it, I just want to say what I have to say. I don’t want to be with you because you won’t be happy, and neither will I.” 

Aaron isn’t too prideful to recognise when he needs to fight for what he wants. He reaches over the table and takes your arm into his hand, picking it up, feeling down The length of it until he’s curled his hand over your smaller fingers. “We are happy,” he says softly, giving your hand a small shake. “I understand where you’re coming from. When we first met, I couldn’t have predicted that I’d be here with you now. I do wonder what people think when they ask me what you do and I tell them you’re a performer. I know we agreed to it, but there are moments where I feel like I’m being cruel to you. But just because there’s a stigma surrounding what you do, it doesn’t mean that you’re any lesser than me. You’re not less intelligent, or less accomplished. We chose different paths and I’m glad we did. If you weren’t a dancer I never would’ve met you.” 

“Do you know how it feels for me to come home to you sometimes?” you ask weakly. 

“I’d hope it feels as it does for me. Every time I see you, I’m relieved.” 

“Aaron, I get this rush of safety, like you’re– I’m finally safe. I can take care of myself, you know that, but now I have you it’s that I don’t even want to. And that’s stupid. I know that that���s stupid.” 

“What I’m thinking,” he says, soft, not as worried about being without you now as he is of the horrible way you’re feeling, “is that you’ve thought about all of this a lot. I’m glad you’ve taken time to reflect on us and your life, but I wish you’d thought more about what we both want.” 

“I want you to be happy,” you argue, as you had a few moments ago. 

“And I’m never happier than when we’re together.” He shrugs. “Love isn’t about work. Your job shapes you as mine shapes me, but you have to know that who you are is what’s important.” 

“I don’t know who I am…” 

“I know exactly who you are,” he says, rubbing a loving thumb over your knuckles. 

“I’m… I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you, on the phone. I knew if I talked to you like this I’d be too much of a coward to really see it through.” 

“I see. You’ve planned my heartbreak weeks in advance.” 

You shake your head sadly. “Aaron, we’re not good for each other. You make me this awful, weak version of me, and I’m no good.” 

“We have been nothing but happy since we met.” Aaron pulls your hand up and kisses the side of your wrist. He isn’t ashamed of you. He doesn’t make you weak, you aren’t. “I don’t know how to explain it. Sometimes it feels like we’re from different worlds, but it’s not that melodramatic. You’re my partner. I love you. It’s hard not to think about what others think of us, but I know exactly what I think of you, and I know what you think of me, too.” 

You share a look. 

“I’ve never heard you talk so much,” you say, your frown fading. “I’m sorry.” 

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“When I thought I couldn’t get any more embarrassing,” you mumble. 

“You aren’t embarrassing. Please, put the thought out of your head.” 

“Thought out of my head,” you repeat, still mumbling as you flex your fingers, pushing them between his and intertwining your hands. You bring them linked to your forehead and take a heavy breath. 

“Do you really want to break up?” he asks softly. 

Your breath warms his arm. “No.” 

“You can have the things you want, you know? I imagine that there are people who laugh when I tell them about you, but you have to know that their opinions would never matter to me.” He pulls his hand from your head to encourage you to meet his eyes. “No one else matters but me and you. We don’t have to factor in other people. We can just be together.” 

“I’m not worth all the fuss,” you say under your breath. 

“What, this fuss? Honey, a few weeks ago you cried in my lap because I got you that cake from the bakery. And you know what? I didn’t want you to cry, but getting to rub your back?” He chances a smile. “That made my night.” 

“You like making girls cry.” 

“Yes,” he says, trying not to grin like a fool as you stand from your chair and put yourself in front of him. He is no saint. He pulls you onto his thighs and wraps an arm around the small of your back, your legs either side of him. “That’s my goal in life, sweetheart.” His voice falls to a whisper as you hang your head against him, tip of your nose to a rough cheek. “Making you cry…” 

Your arms creep to his neck. Resting on him, rather than hugging. He doesn’t mind, he’ll do the hard work. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. 

“It’s okay.” He turns your face with his to press his lips to your cheek. “It’s alright, honey, bumps in the road happen with everyone.” 

“All my fault.” 

“Maybe next time, if you feel so strongly about something, you can just extend me that little bit of faith and… know that I’m here for you. Even if it did mean we wouldn’t be together, it doesn’t have to be that you’re alone, making such a big decision. Valiant,” he adds, enjoying the warmth of you seeping into his shirt, his face, his neck where your wrist is laid against it. “You’re not a coward. But I wish you wouldn’t be this brave about breaking my heart.” 

“Stop making me feel guilty.” 

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. “No, it’s fine, isn’t it? Use me and abuse me.” 

“Shut up. Stop, what is this weird guilt tripping you’re doing?” You laugh at his absurdity. “I’d never abuse you.” 

“I know. Just step on me a bit.” 

“Stop, stop,” you mumble, your voice turning slowly from self-pitying to honey, all that love for him he knew you still had like threads of gold shooting through it, “I don’t wanna step on you, I never would…” 

“Just rough me up a little.” 

“Never.” You press your face to his neck. “Thank you for not letting me do it.” 

“I won’t let you go so easily.” His hand trails up your back, feeling the softness of you beneath your t-shirt. Fat, muscle, all of it familiar, and treasured by his touching. 

He squeezes you rather tightly, then, but you don’t complain, you just sigh. 

“It’s not that you’re not who I picture for myself, like I said before,” you confess, leaning all your weight against him, barely held up by your legs either side of him. “You weren’t, but I didn’t realise that I could have you. I didn’t really know men like you existed. I should’ve known I was looking in the wrong age bracket.” 

“That’s not very nice. In my line of work they call that a feedback sandwich, honey. Something cruel between nice things to distract me.” 

“Sorry. Just had to get it in.” 

He considers your teasing a return to normalcy, guiding your head away from his with a hand to the back of your neck. “If this was a ploy to make me leave work early, consider it successful.” 

“I know your attention usually falls to other places, Mr. Hotchner–” You burst into giggles as he pinches the back of your neck, but it’s only to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your parted lips as your laughter fades away.

You scrunch his shirt in your hand and kiss him nicely. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“Forgiven.” Even if he did almost go into cardiac arrest at his desk. “I like begging to stay. It builds character.” 

“How long will you be like this?” you ask, shaking your head slowly, your smile poorly hidden. 

You’d needed a reminder, is all. Aaron isn’t solely business and sternness, he’s an idiot, your idiot, who likes to tease you, and doesn’t care who knows that. When he’s working he’s one person, and when he’s with you, he’s another. Both have their qualities and faults, but only one version is the one he needs to be with you. 

“At my age it’s perfectly normal to have a young and beautiful wife,” he says. “You’ve seen some of the other Section’s worker’s wives.” 

“I’m not that young,” you say. 

“So you admit it?” 

You reward him with a tired sigh, cuddling into his collar. 

—

…I'll never be your beast of burden. So let's go home and draw the curtains…

Aaron’s humming from the bedroom. He knows every classic rock song to exist, every word to every Beatles song. When the chorus comes, he sings under his breath, but you can hear him regardless. “Am I rough enough, am I rich enough? I’m not too blind…” he fades off. 

The music hums under your feet. Record player open on the floor, his Some Girls vinyl on the plate. 

You press a hand down your side. 

To inspire less worry on your part, you and Aaron are trying to be more open about the other sides of your lives. His work feels alien to you, and you worry that yours is dirty to him, despite reassurance that a job is a job. You know that already, but you can’t make yourself believe that he’s as happy as he could be if you were, say, a checkout girl. 

You’d make a cute checkout girl, he’d said. 

This is cute, too. Babydoll lingerie with feather edgings, starkly white against your skin. You fluff out the ends and neaten the crotch of your panties. Nothing is on show that shouldn’t be, but it’s still lingerie. It’s meant to excite. 

“Honey,” he says, dulcet tone carrying to the bathroom, “are you stuck again?” 

You laugh. “I bet you hope so.” 

“That’s accusatory in nature.” 

“I’m coming.” You give it a last glance in the mirror and head into the bedroom. 

Aaron’s sat against your headboard, flowery pillowcases behind his head and back. He discards the little figurine he’d been playing with out of boredom and looks you up and down, corners of his lips curling. 

“Home only,” he says. 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“You look stunning.” His eyes seem darker. All pupil. 

“I have to wear some of these at the club, Aaron, that’s why I bought them.” 

Something in your voice makes him smile. “You said I could veto the ones that are too beautiful.” 

“I said too slutty.” 

“Honey, they’re all revealing in their ways. And I don’t have a problem with it…” He takes a breath. “Much. But some of these are meant for…” 

“The man who loves me?”

“Exactly.” 

He’d said something similar about the light blue set with darker flowers, the black set that showed the curves of your chest, and especially about the pink one-piece with white ribbons. That one gave him pause. 

“Spin?” he asks. 

One day it might bother Aaron that you dance, but for now he’s gently approving. Just wants you to be happy. So you do a little spin without any attempt to be sexy and beam when he whistles. 

“Beautiful. Really, honey, that’s the nicest so far.” 

“I have a confession.” 

“Yeah?” 

“This one was for you.” 

He’d know if you were lying. “For me?” he says, in that tone bordering stern, as much of his professionalism as you’re used to hearing these days. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Don’t,” he says, seductions gone as he tips his head back into a pillow patterned with lavender and peony. “Unless you’re done trying those on, I don’t want to hear it.” 

“This is the last one.” 

“In that case.” He covers his face with a cushion. 

You look down. Your stomach is a little bloated from lunch, and you have a shaving rash on your left knee, but Aaron won’t mind. He never does. Without worry, you tread to the side of the bed and climb onto it, one leg over his lap. The last time you’d been sitting in his lap, you’d been teary-eyed and regretful. Fuck, what was I thinking? you ask yourself, slipping a hand under his rising shirt to feel his abdomen. It’ll never not be weird, the FBI man and his stripper girlfriend, but it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone but him and you. 

You ease the pillow down his face. 

“Are you blushing, Aaron?” you ask. 

“Not purposefully.” 

“You look a little… hot.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

It starts slowly. The heat of you atop him, the pillows moved out of the way. You didn’t expect him to stay unbothered as you paraded your new spoils, but his willpower is remarkable, and he only breaks when you let yourself settle on his lap. His big hand cups your face. 

“That’s funny.” You lift up enough to be in kissing range, but don’t kiss. You just wait for him to react, holding your weight off of his chest. 

He finds the small of your back and drags. Your gasp isn’t your own, a breathy, excited thing as he brings your face to his for a kiss. Your lips almost immediately part in anticipation of his eagerness, of his hand on the back of your neck, and the unflinching heat of his mouth as he turns his head. Your noses brush. He wades in deeper, his own breath already failing him as the bridges of your nose press hard. 

They aren’t rough kisses, but there’s something desperate there. He holds you to him until he can’t, ushering you onto your back, his weight bearing down sudden and steady. 

“I can’t believe I nearly lost you,” he utters, stroking your cheek, edging back in to kiss you before you can reply. 

You wrap an arm behind his back and hike your leg, soft thigh naked and waiting for his touch. You didn’t nearly lose me, you think. To be lost, you’d have to be something worth losing, and you’re not sure you are, but Aaron? 

“I don’t think you could,” you mumble, forcing him to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the line of your throat. He nips at your neck, a shudder racing through you. 

“I have no intent of letting it come that close again, sweetheart.” 

His hand dances up your side to the soft hill of your chest. 

You hold the hair from his face and let him kiss you. He’s here to stay, no matter how odd a pairing you might make. You love him. That’s all he cares about. 

“Want me to do that thing you like?” you offer softly, mildly playful. 

He laughs into your neck. “No,” he says, “I think tonight is about you, hm? You’re all dressed up. I think that deserves a reward.” 

You knew he’d like the white babydoll. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[soulrox]

DPxDC #22

(kind of a prequel/companion for #21 adding in my new OC whispers)

Danny is squatting in an abandoned building working on some tech he found in a dumpster.

??: *whispering* Numbers, the wind told me you are a protector and will keep me safe.

Danny turns his head to see a little blond girl in torn, dirty street clothes, maybe around age 10. The spirits around Danny all gain that soft look in their eyes when seeing something precious.

Danny aka Numbers: Well I can certainly try, what do you need? And what do I call you?

Little girl: *Whispering* I'm Whisper. Metas, especially young ones are trafficked. The wind sings to me, telling me secrets. Your secrets are many but you are a protector and can keep me safe.

Numbers tries to keep his face in check hearing the truth, pain, and fear in the young girl's words. Without hesitation, agrees to be her protector.

Numbers: Welp guess I'm a big brother (again). Okay, Whisper I will take you with me and protect you. You do not have to share anything at all about what you hear unless you want to, understand.

Whispers smile is blinding while she nods.

Numbers is well known to the other street kids as he's been living in Gotham for a few months and has good street cred. He is known to be kind to everyone and help anyone, especially with anything to do with numbers. Numbers is also well known for giving info to Red Hood on those who go against the rules of Crime Alley. Red Hood himself is supportive of Numbers, even though it's clear Numbers isn't a native Gothamite.

The kids of Crime Alley soon get used to Numbers and Whispers being inseparable and Numbers calling Whisper his sister. However, the street kids were not ready for what would become of the duo.

Whispers knowing now she would be safe did tell Numbers the secrets carried by the wind. Anything from the little things like someone tripped a few blocks over to a member of the Bats and Birds near, to the trafficking ring being set up outside Crime Alley.

Numbers knows he has to share the bigger things with Red Hood. Especially because Numbers has hung up his own vigilante suit. Racking his brain for how to share this information without letting people know it came from Whispers was actually easy to figure out. Numbers will say he's a psychopomp. Well, he can see and interact with ghosts since he himself is half dead but shhhh.

The spirits of Gotham are in abundance but he hasn't really interacted with them since coming here. He did listen to them when they told him Crime Alley run by Red Hood would make a good place to live.

Asking the ghosts to find out where Hood is was simple. A young male with a gruesome hole in his chest had shown them right to the rooftop Hood was chilling on. Numbers grabbed hold of Whisper and using his powers flew them to the top.

Numbers: Hello Red Hood! Lovely night for a rooftop stroll!

Red Hood gave a minuscule flinch.

Hood: Numbers! *grumbling* every time.

Hood: What do you got for me this time?

Hood notices that Numbers isn't alone for the first time. He inclines his head in a silent question.

Numbers: This is my little sister Whispers!

Whispers gives a small wave from beside him.

Numbers: And I got a new trafficking ring being set up at ____corner of ______ outside of Crime Alley. They haven't picked anyone up yet though.

Whisper nudges him. Leaning down so Whispers can talk to him

Whisper: *whispering* they are planning to head out in the morning.

Standing back up straight, Numbers turns his head to look at an empty spot, tilting his head like he's listening to something then turns to Hood.

Numbers: Actually you should hurry with dealing with them they are planning to head out in the morning.

Hood: Hmm okay, Numbers you always have the best intel but this is new even for you. Do you want to tell me how the info has changed since you've been standing here or?

Numbers: *sigh* only because you are Red Hood will I tell you. I am a psychopomp.

Hood stumped: okay cool I'll keep that to myself then, thank you for trusting me. Anything you learn from them you can tell me personally and I'll help in any way I can.

Hood quickly departed heading off to deal with the traffickers.

Whisper: *whispering* the wind sings his praise so much, even though his secrets burden him.

Numbers: The ghosts sing his praise too.

[anxiousapplepie]

Just spent every free second of my day drawing Traveler!Odile. So might as well take this inspired opportunity to talk about her? maybe? If anyone is interested, read some of my vibes below!

As I might've mentioned before (or maybe not, I can't remember what I have and haven't said) Traveler!Odile's deal is that she's been living in Vaugarde for roughly 20 years before the King started freezing the country in time. Long story short, after her mother left her as a child one of her many, MANY uncles reached out to her dad and gave them both the option to connect with his Vaugardian in-laws one day. If they wanted to! They didn't have to! But the uncle made it clear the extended family would love to meet Odile one day, if she ever wanted to do that too. And during a bad year failing to cope with studying in college, Odile decided she'd give it a shot. See what "the other side" was like. Amongst other reasons. So she took a study break, meeting the uncle who first gave her father the addresses where some of her mother's family could be found. Then she extended her study break, traveling and meeting with various cousins and relatives. Which then turned into an indefinite break, where she just....... didn't go back to Ka Bue. Always moving around, finding more roots of a family tree she hadn't cared to be a part of until now. And longer, LONGER story short, she got so interested in all the Familytales that belong to her mother's side, she started diving deep and began connected stories and filling in blanks and accidentally became the unofficial editor and chronologist of the family. Yet despite being allowed access to all these Familytales, being invited to family dinners and homes and being seen by everyone else as "part of the family" she never let herself get involved in relationships beyond reading about them in all the books she studied more than anything she had in Ka Bue. And of course she never included her own stories or experiences in any of the Familytales. Why would she? This wasn't about her. This was about her Vaugardian family. Something nobody else could fathom or understand her logic for. Which of course means she's ripe for the picking when a bunch of young adults and a child claiming to be blessed by the Change God walk into her life and give her an impossible hope and a chance to do something more interesting than rewrite family secrets or edit genealogies. Maybe writing an accurate account of the journey a Child Hero took to save the country from being frozen in time would be more fulfilling.

[zephyrchama]

Consider: Barbatos opening portals to MC’s room in his sleep.

He can try and conceal his feelings all he wants during the daytime. Even the strongest demons can’t lie to themselves for long.

It began as quite the embarrassing predicament. You’d never seen Barbatos so flushed. You both exchanged puzzled expressions from opposite sides of a portal in the dead of night, dressed in sleepwear, too astonished for words. As suddenly as it appeared, the portal closed, leaving you to wonder if it was a dream.

Barbatos’ profuse apologies the next day proved that it wasn’t. You insisted it was okay, accidents happen, and begged him not to prostrate himself on the ground in front of you when he started to kneel. He vowed to make it up to you in some way. Any way within his power.

The second time it happened, he was angry. The two of you were startled awake at roughly the same time and the butler had to suppress a groan.

“It is most unbecoming of me to repeatedly invade your privacy in this way.” His eyes were narrowed with fury. He spoke through clenched teeth. These lapses in control really took a mental toll. “Disgraceful, even. Please excuse me.”

You wondered if this happened more than twice and Barbatos just covered it up. At times, he acted more protective of your dignity than anyone else.

“Glad to see you taking a break for once,” you joked, but the portal had already closed again. You stared at the space it once occupied until you fell back asleep.

The occurrences began ramping up. From once per month, to once per week, to every couple of days. As time passed, Barbatos’ disgruntled annoyance at himself turned into resigned acceptance. “I never took myself to be this kind of man,” he shamefully confided to you one day. “As you know, my restraint is typically excellent.” 

You peered at him over the pillows. It looked as though the two of you were laying next to each other despite being in different buildings. “Maybe you’re stressed? Have you been working too much?”

“I doubt that’s the case. I would gladly do more if it benefited the Young Master. But, ah... I’ve kept you up for too long, haven’t I?” Barbatos smiled your way. “Sweet dreams.”

With your nightly meetings becoming an almost everyday occurrence, there would be rare times Barbatos didn’t immediately wake up. In sleep, his magic was as strong as ever, if a smidge less coordinated. The portal frame would wobble or randomly change size. Sometimes it appeared above your pillow. Sometimes you wondered if it was stable enough to move through, to reach an arm over and pat Barbatos on the head. Though, in the end you always figured it was best to let sleeping demons lay.

Even if he does it to you when you’re asleep.

[simpjaes]

ELABORATE ON OBSESSED!WORSHIP THE GROUND YOU WALK ON!HOUSEHUSBAND JAKE PLEASE!!!!!! MY MIND IS GONNA EXPLODE – byeol

i'll be the husband jake plug no worries. warnings: jake is suppppppppperrrrrrrr needy omg.

It's normal, natural to him to do these things.

You're so tired after a long day, he gets it. the days feel longer to him sometimes though, despite your tired feet and aching back. You're his wife, he needs you.

So what if he's unemployed? He's employed to you. Will do anything for you. everything for you. happily and willingly, with so much love in his eyes every single fucking time he hears that lock on the door click open.

Time to reiterate. He needs you.

It's been weeks. He gets it. Stress, big promotion you're going for or something. He can't say he cares too much lately due to the neglect he's been dealing with.

After all the cleaning, he massages you, bathes you, tucks you in, kisses you gently, and doesn't dare ask for more from you. After all, you're expected to do so much, from so many people. Not him. Not ever. Until now. He's a man. For three days now he's been trying to remind you. Trying all sorts of subtle tricks. Some blatant ones too. Generous groping that goes rejected. A few heavy makeouts dwindling to a pop kiss and a tired "goodnight." More subtle ones, where he simply tries to dress well for you, clean far better than usual, make your favorite foods. He knows it's not because you don't want him but...you're so stressed. He could kill two birds with one stone if you'd just... "Baby." He had said last night, sinking under the blankets and prying your legs apart. "Just rest, this is all i need." He continued, implying that he would be perfectly happy helping you relax with some bedtime head. You had closed your legs on him, pinching your brows together with the same stressed out face. All day today, his brows have been equally knitted together. Stressed. Fucking horny. Is it cringe for him to do this? Yes. Does he care? No. Fuck no. And so, you come home just like any other day to the smell of dinner. It's sweet smelling, which is an indication that your husband wants something. Never does he serve dessert for dinner, but tonight feels like a welcome change because everything else just started not only feeling, but tasting too mundane. You were more surprised when you werent greeted by Jake at the door. He didn't take your things, or slide your jacket off of you. Which, that's fine. You don't need him to wait on you hand and foot. He just tends to like doing that for you anyway... You search in curiosity for him, following the sound of clanking pots and pans. The sound would give you a headache if it weren't for the image of him as you enter the kitchen. There he is. Hair pinned back with one of your headbands, apron on... only an apron. Cock lending quite a large tent as he turns to you. You know he's trying to smile genuinely, but you see a hint of pain behind his eyes. Desperate pain. Almost like he's begging you for something. Anything. And he is begging. Only when he drops to his knees and looks up at you with those eyes do you recognize how terribly you've been neglecting him. So much so that you didn't even let him eat you out, which wouldn't have expected anything on your part aside from an orgasm. This moment feels almost emasculating for him, you can imagine. Like you've deprived him of everything he needs from you in order to maintain order in this household. Arguably, you have deprived him. You can tell by how big his cock looks peeking from the hem of the apron, and those sad glassy eyes looking at you as if this is a last resort. "Baby, ple-" Jake starts to plead on the floor, the dessert he was cooking long forgotten. You're speechless at the image, finally feeling a tingle between your legs for the first time in months. You feel so apologetic alongside the tingle, realizing how much suffering he must have gone through to be doing this. After all, there's no way in hell you could have satiated this need within you without him. How he's managed to do it all this time is beyond you. ''Jake," You interrupt him, dropping your hands to his cheeks and tilting his face further up to you. "What do you need?" You see those glassy eyes become more tearful, probably from happiness by now. No words and no apologies need to be said at this moment. He sees your realization, and understands the lack of seeing to his needs to an extent. But this... this can't happen again. Nothing is to be said after that when Jake immediately goes for your pants, missing the taste of you so badly. He was right in knowing that even just the smell of you could satiate him. And it does, his cock heavy and leaking just from the sensation of the apron rubbing against him paired with the scent of your pussy that has been long neglected.

And he devours you, getting off at least twice there on the kitchen floor with his palm desperately working himself to each high. You could tell he didn't want you to feel like you needed to do anything for him but...let him. God, fuck, you feel so guilty.

So you make up for it. Right here, sliding down on him raw, letting the mess he's made of himself make a mess of you too.

"Baby, wait-" Jake chokes, working against his words by helping you slide down on him entirely. "Fuck, you're-"

"Shh." You sigh deeply, realizing how much you needed this too. "Just keep going," He does. Fucking you so desperately that you believe he cums in you at least twice from you adjusting alone, messing your thighs with sticky fluids, the kitchen floor, and himself. So much of it, you're so full of it already. Plan B isn't such a difficult thing to buy anyway. Especially after he chooses to keep fucking you, as if he worries he'll never get to do it again.

[lilacxquartz]

a touch apart;

mr. crawling x f!reader

plot: allowing mr. crawling to get closer, he tries his best to make you happy, trying all sorts of things — themes: oral (receiving), touching, smut, limited dialogue as i tried to keep it how it is in the game — w.c: 0.9k

masterlist • ao3

On the rare occasion that bedrest wouldn’t help you recover, Mr. Crawling would grow equally restless along with you, although more so just confused. In his mind, it would be his fault for not being safe enough for you. He watched over you as you rested, and kept his height to a minimum to ensure your comfort, and yet, you could never relax fully in this place.

In recent times however, you had been allowing him to get closer than usual—more than ever before, in fact. No longer did you react to his spontaneous hugs and head pats by pushing him away, and instead allowed for him to close whatever brief distance you both had. No longer did you also feel surprised to see him there all of the time, doting on you and waiting for you—instead rather, expecting him to be there.

So, when you again, didn’t quite turn him away, he crept closer towards you with a different sort of intention in mind.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, but he knew that he wanted to be closer to you, any other sort of reaction was almost unacceptable in his mind.

He reeled you in close, feeling your frame mould to his own like the missing part of a puzzle that he never knew he was missing, finding solace in completing each other.

You sat on the bed, watching as he crawled towards you, stopping right where you sat. His hands wrapped around your legs in a needy hug, resting his head against your thighs. In return, you tried to offer a head pat back, offering soft and soothing languid gestures over his silky black hair.

Mr Crawling’s touches weren’t immediately invasive right away, although his touch dabbled on something slightly beyond just explorative, reaching further beyond than he perhaps meant to go. His ghostly palms slid over your thighs, brushing milky-smooth languid touches along your supple skin. However, immediately retracting his caressing from the moment you tensed up, fearing that he had done something wrong.

In a curious tone, he tried to assess the situation, “Pain here?”

You shook your head, hoping to shake off the creeping blush that settled over your complexion too. You weren’t entirely opposed to him exploring your body in that way, but you also wanted him to understand what he was doing.

Mr. Crawling then paused for a moment before returning his hands to the area once more, intently studying your reaction as he went along. As if mentally logging that your state was flustered, he seemed to register a certain thought in mind, his expression changing from cautious to curious.

“Happy?” he asked instead, his voice very soft.

Stifling your need, you nodded while chewing on your bottom lip.

Understanding the memo, Mr. Crawling carefully slipped his fingers just below your concealed sex, poking a finger inside to study your potential reactions. He seemed to successfully register that touching certain parts of your body meant for unique reactions, which made him feel excited in return, so this was a reaction that he definitely wanted to explore.

Moving forward with a tentative touch, he eventually let you wiggle out of your underwear, dropping the pair to gather right at your ankles. He then moved his fingers a little closer on one hand, using his other palm to spread your legs further apart with an idea in mind.

Slowly, he moved his head forward, propping his tongue out and licking where his fingers parted away at the folded area of your heat, seeking out the area where you were the most responsive. Your clit tingled as he successfully connected to it, biting back a barely contained whimper. Mr. Crawling took note of your flushed state, understanding that this must have been your body’s happy zone, before lapping at it in all sorts of various ways, only repeating the motions that seemed to gather the strongest response.

Such feelings were greatly reciprocated by you as you involuntarily anchored your hand over his raven locks, clawing—grappling tight against his hair—reeling in whatever you could in a fit of feverish need. Mr. Crawling all the while continued to flick his tongue against your sensitive bud, letting your pleasure rise to an almost burning peak—yet only teasingly so. Mr. Crawling, unbeknownst to his fleeting spurs of your own received pleasure, kept pulling back to catch glimpses of your flustered state.

Slowly but surely, you grew closer to your anticipated end, which he seemed to catch onto. Changing things up slightly to keep up with you, Mr. Crawling sped up the motions towards an almost hectic fervour, wanting nothing more than to give you as much of his ‘help’ as he possibly could physically accomplish.

Your thighs soon tightened and clamped shut from such searing anticipation; your fingernails clawing against his scalp as the rolling bliss finally mounted, until at last, the coiling warmth from within the confines of your stomach had at last constricted beyond the point of no return, uncoiling radiating sweeps of pooling pleasure flooded your core, so desperately pent-up, coming undone at long, long last.

Noticing such a reaction, Mr. Crawling appeared to be both happy and confused at your ruffled state, bringing you closer towards him right away, sitting you on the ground with his arms wrapped right around you in a tight hug. He seemed to understand that you greatly enjoyed such a thing but remained confused as to why you looked so distressed—so agitated, almost.

“Happy?” he asked again, his chin resting atop your head.

You breathlessly nodded, leaning into his chest, taking note of his obvious arousal now evidently pressing against you.

A thought entered your mind as you slowly caught your breath again.

Maybe you should return the favour?

[deathbxnny]

hey i was wondering if you could do how arcane characters would react to seeing their partner looking really good dressed up?? also i love ur writing!!

Arcane characters reacting to their s/o dressed up really pretty. | Vi, Ekko, Jinx x Gn!Reader

Thank you for the request, Anon, and I hope you'll enjoy this!!<3

Content: Established romantic relationships, fluff, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》VI

"Ooh... where are we going?" A wide grin rested on her lips as she watched you put on your fancy shoes and straighten out the last details of your pretty attire. "I'm going out with a couple friends." In other words, she was not invited. But Vi couldn't hear you over the sound of her mind spinning with many different thoughts.

Humming, she leaned against a wall next to you, intensely dark eyes staring you down with a glint that made you shake your head in defiance. "No." "Oh come on, Cupcake! Do you really have to go out today? I mean... I can go along. It's dangerous around this time of the night and-" "-Viiii. I can take care of myself." She pouted at your clear disagreement, hardly attempting to even hide how much she loved the way you looked.

"Aw... please? At least let me tag alone so I can show you off to everyone." Typical. And yet, you had a hard time denying her anything when her hands suddenly sneaked around your waist so smoothly. She always got what she wanted out of you in the end. Not that you necessarily minded.

"Fineeee... but keep your hands to yourself around them." You huff out whilst your heart warmed a t the sight of pure excitement on her face. But the slyness in her smirk didn't leave as she gratefully kissed your cheek and let go. "Can't promise you that when you're looking so good, unfortunately... but I'll try. For now."

Rolling your eyes with a smile, you let her happily run off to get ready, glad that she enjoyed your outfit a lot.

》EKKO

He was stunned at the sight of you emerging from the bedroom, fully dressed up so beautifully it left him speechless. The Firelights were having a huge festival in celebration of a recent successful mission, and of course, you were both expected to look your best. And you weren't the type to ever disappoint either.

It was rare to see you dressed up so nicely, the cute outfit being one he had only seen a small couple of times before due to your line of work and life circumstances. But in his mind, you looking so good was a sign of success. He wanted you to be able to dress that way every day, perhaps another motivation of his to continue going.

"How do I look?" You ask, the nervous tone in your voice making his eyes soften even further. "You look great. Who are you trying to impress, hm?" His words were playful as he grabbed your waist carefully. Ekko mirrored the shy smile that crept onto your lips at his question. "A certain someone. I don't think you know him, though." You played along, watching as he raised a brow with an unimpressed smirk.

"Hm... maybe we shouldn't go out then-" "-Oi! Why are you guys taking so long? Let's get going." Scar's voice made you both jump, as he appeared in the doorway and waved you over. A sly smirk crept onto your face as you quickly followed after the man. "Ah, there he is! See ya around, Ekko!" "Hey! I'll remember this-!" Running after you two, he couldn't help but laugh a little.

The festival was going to be great, to say the least.

》JINX

You were just trying out some new clothes you had gotten. Nothing special and definitely not for anyone else's eyes, except for hers. Once you were done, you were quick to hunt down your girlfriend to show her your outfit. "Jinx! How do I look?" You asked, a happy smile on your lips as you now stood next to her, whilst she tinkered away on some projects. Removing her googles, she glanced up at you and blinked in surprise, near speechless for a moment.

Nervously shifting under her intense gaze, you wondered if she didn't like it. "Uhm... should I go change or-" "-You look really good..." She muttered thoughtfully before a large grin crept onto her lips mischievously. "A bit too good! Makes me nearly jealous, pretty. How about you dress me up too so we can match?" You should have honestly seen this coming, as she enjoys doing cute things like that with you.

And so, you did as she asked, whilst she painted your nails to match her own. By the end of it, you looked like you were headed to a fancy event, something she found greatly amusing. Kicking a nearby radio to make it play music, she held out her hand to you with a bright smile. "Alright, let's get this party started!"

[gothhabiba]

@ anon

I think it might be actually dangerous to publish your ask, but I'm sure from my response people will be able to tell what it's about anyway.

You're full of actual, absolute shit if you're pretending not to know by now that verification processes to ensure the legitimacy of Ghazzawin's fundraisers have been undertaken, and that details about what these processes entail have been shared by several people. Several people, some of them currently in Gaza, put themselves through countless hours of work video-calling people, judging their knowledge of dialectical Arabic, seeing their faces and their children's faces and their living conditions, seeing IDs and bank information, asking invasive, personal questions that they didn't want to be asking & that the people responding probably didn't want to be answering, and physically visiting people in Gaza and video-recording their interactions, just so that people like you could be sure that these fundraisers were legitimate. If you're ignoring all of the blood & tears that went into that process just so you can hand-wring about scams, no one needs to be concerned with convincing you of the legitimacy of anything, because you were never going to donate to these people anyway. You are just looking for any plausible-sounding excuse not to do what you already didn't want to do.

If, by some miracle, you actually didn't know about the verified fundraiser spreadsheet (which is frankly still blameable bc, where on earth have you been?), then there it is. The post of mine that you're referring to never even mentioned responding to asks; using this spreadsheet is an absolutely valid, reasonable way of donating directly to families.

Now let me treat some of your statements as though they were questions (which, they were not).

How do people in Gaza have internet access?

Internet infrastructure in Gaza is very robust (e.g. in what cables are made of, how deep they're buried, amounts of redundancy in the system, &c.) because they have been getting bombed by Israel all the fucking time for decades, so they expect this infrastructure to be put through a lot. There have still--if you've been following the situation at all--been several outages caused by damage that Ghazzawin have needed to repair. Though I do have to say that I find it odd that you doubt Ghazzawin have internet access, but also say that you buy eSims...?

A lot of people right now are indeed connected via eSim, which to my understanding only need to connect to wifi once, right when they're activated. People put themselves at risk to connect to eSims because they need to get a good wifi signal, which usually means walking for several miles trying to find high ground. One of my contacts once urgently called me (this is the only time he hadn't just texted) because he had been told his friend had found a signal and so they needed an eSim right then, before they went back to their tent.

I've been trying for some time to connect another of my contacts in Gaza to an eSim, but we're not having success. At Crips for eSims for Gaza they / we (I'm on the server getting advice and helping out but I'm not using their funding; I'm using what people on tumblr have given me to purchase eSims with) keep a constantly updated sheet of which eSim providers use which networks and which networks work in which areas--because the situation is constantly changing. Because my contact doesn't have an eSim on a personal phone, she has to go to a central location to be allotted three hours of internet access from someone who has managed to get connected. Lots of people, on their fundraising posts and pages, specify exactly how they've gotten internet access, how difficult it's been for them to get it, and how stressful it is to be relying on this tenuous connection, spending hours away from their families (at high risk of being shot at by IOF soldiers the whole time), just to message people for hours straight and then go home again.

2. How do people in Gaza have tumblr accounts?

This is a stupid question. Anyone with an email address who is capable of picking a username and password can make a tumblr account. I have personally helped several of my contacts in Gaza with the process.

3. How do people in Gaza know to come into people's tumblr accounts?

This is also a stupid question. I don't really see how you could ask this question if you saw Palestinians as, like, real humans beings. You understand that people talk to each other, yes? Like with words? As soon as a few people had success fundraising to evacuate Gaza on tumblr (nearly a year ago... this news has had a lot of time to spread), obviously they told other people about it.

One of the ways that Israel conducts its genocidal war is through the destructiveness of frustration and boredom. It's a strange situation because everything is extremely dire, urgent, terrifying, and dirty, but there's also seldom anything to do. People are singing, telling stories, going to the beach, inventing games and contests, to entertain children, but also to entertain themselves. And this is the situation--with a bunch of desperate, bored people packed into a tiny piece of land--this is the situation that you think it's impossible for people to talk to each other in? Come on.

If you want to donate to Anera and World Food Kitchen and buy eSims, that's fantastic. Please do that. But if you are as ignorant of the particulars of what this situation is like as your ask makes you appear, then I hope you refrain from speaking on what the situation is like.

I've been nattering on for a long time so here's my call to action:

Decide what you're capable of giving right now, or the next time you get paid

Scroll down on the vetted fundraiser spreadsheet and find someone very low on funds, or with injured children who urgently need treatment or evacuation, and give that money.

AND / OR give it to the PCRF or the IRW

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Don't mind me, just revisiting the plot (again) and dying over this line (again). (These screenshots are going to be abysmal, but you'll get the point).

"To stop now would dishonor those I have wronged to come this far."

Yeah he's talking about Mythal (earned or not) and Felassan and Lavellan and Varric...but the way it applies to HIM, too, is what absolutely guts me.

Long post ahead...

Solas realizing that Lavellan doesn't care about how others see him or want to use him under the inquisiton, that HIS motivations as he has shared them are enough for her and worth defending against those who would tell him he's something he isn't. Solas, for the first time, being confronted with the realization that one these new elves he does not see himself in will still go to bat for him.

"You came here to help, Solas, I won't let them use that against you."

(Is he duplicitous? Yes. But intent on working against Corypheus? Undoubtedly).

“How would you stop them?”

“However I had to.”

“...thank you.”

Solas grappling with the fact that it wasn't just a one off, that this Dalish woman being faced with "hypotheticals" he's desperately been trying to get her people to entertain is jumping in head first, pushing back and disagreeing with him but never treating him worse for their differences and always admitting when he's helped shape a changing perspective. Solas daring to ask for help and marveling at the fact that he receives it, that the same woman who asked if it might some day be possible to live alongside spirits, who did not immediately shoot down his critique of THE CHANTRY REFUSING TO ACKNOWLEDGE SPIRITS AS LEGITIMATE BEINGS (GAH), who did not laugh at him for saying he preferred their company most days, this woman, is going to drop time and resources during war time preparations to personally help his friend.

And then, when he is too late and has once again failed someone he considers a friend, he disappears within himself, where he has always gone to exact punishment for the weight of the lives he believes he's betrayed. It almost works, too.

Psych. Lavellan doesn't want him to grieve alone, to stare at the place in the Fade where his friend used to be and think of all he should have done differently.

“The next time you have to mourn, you don’t need to be alone.”

“It’s been so long since I could trust someone.”

“I know.”

“I’ll work on it. And thank you.”

And still she unbalances him, accepts him, wants more. Solas is sharing a personality that brings him the closest he has ever been to his spirit form, and it is ENOUGH for her. Existing as he has always dreamt of is all takes to earn her loyalty, respect, and eventually love.

But does she stop there? No. She doesn't chafe at this random apostate who speaks with certainty and unapologetically delves into a past he believes worth preserving, even at the cost of questioning her culture as it currently stands.

The very woman he once thought of as a mistake that HE unleashed upon the world is asking to be a part of his, not because of what he can bring to the table, not because she needs a right hand man, and certainly not because she thinks he has some well of power and intelligence critical to winning over enemies she’s willing to join for "supervisory" purposes (cough cough hi Mythal). She bears the weight of choices that can and will lead to death, to pain, and when it wears on her she relies on him, not for solutions but so that at the end of it all she might smile with someone who knows her heart and the good she tried to do amidst a sea of terrible options. She wants to be known, no inch of her unturned, and worse, she thinks she knows him. But how could she? This is no longer who he is, it is merely the remnants of what he destroyed to make a world at Mythal's whim.

“You’re an admirable man. Not many people know who they are the way you do.”

“Thank you. Both for saying that and…for seeing that. Few in this world can see me instead of just seeing a pair of pointed ears”

She. Sees. Him. Every part he slowly is realizing he wants to be known for and even a few he thought he could hide. And then he gives it all up. Because he woke to a new world where spirits and elves and mages were so far removed from the role they played in Arlathan that it can only be yet another mistake he caused and must fix, never mind the fact that the dwarves have forgotten why they fled underground millennia ago in the first place.

The friend who tore him from the world he loved, urged him to take physical form? She is dead, too, never mind the fact that she ignored his urging for a different path, nevermind that he killed and tore and hurt in her name because otherwise what was losing the part of himself he loved for?

"A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose.”

“It hurts. It always does, but I will survive.”

“You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. That is when it turned.”

He may no longer recognize where the Dread Wolf ends and where Solas begins, but if he gives up now and permits himself the chance to remember, the pain he caused himself and others means nothing, because he did it all for Mythal and in his final discussion with her, regardless of what Veilguard tries to convey, she does not release him from his position as her agent.

And maybe that's part of why I'm so angry, because EVEN BEFORE TRESPASSER, the fragment of Mythal that ends up in Morrigan could have freed him, but she does not.

"I am sorry." He whispers.

"The failure was mine," he tells her, voice trembling. "I should pay the price."

Silence.

And do we get that "what we did, we did together" psuedo-fake ass-absolution, the one that, if given enough time and safety to put himself first he may have realised he doesn't truly need to pursue the things he deserves, that make him feel finally like himself again? No the fuck we don't.

"As am I, old friend." She murmurs.

Looking through the lens of Veilguard, this isn't an apology, it's a condemnation. It's Mythal tormenting him one more time, twisting the knife deeper, agreeing that it is Solas alone who has brought them to this point, who deserves to be punished. And then she reminds him what they are to each other, what he is supposed to be to her. What he must become again.

"It isn't abuse if I ask," Cole says in his personal quest.

"Not always true," Solas shoots back.

So he recommits to the friend he gave up his nature for, he refuses to let himself remember that Lavellan learned the full truth of his identity and still begged him not to mourn alone. Even so, he still cannot quite forget.

Var lath vir suledin. Our love will persevere.

I wish it could, vhenan.

And so he pushes onwards, spending almost a decade denying himself his true nature and regretting that he ever gave it a chance to come through because now he KNOWS that this world is different and a little broken, but it's a world he could be a part of because of the woman and the friends that made a place for him. It is a world that doesn't necessarily need to be restored as much as it might need renovation, but that is not the world Mythal demanded of him when she let him kill a remaining piece of her. And any solution but that means the hurt of taking a body, of hurting the titans, of time and time again being called on by one evanuris to fix a problem they all caused, was for nothing.

And a Pride of that magnitude, that sinister an origin, has a long, long way to fall.

And then that same uppity little shit has the audacity to tell him it's not too late, that he can turn back.

He kills again. He kills again. He kills again.

He kills a friend.

He fails to prevent the Evanuris from wreaking havoc a second time, wrenches another innocent into his war, and when they ask him about the woman he calls vhenan, he feels the mask stifling him begin to suffocate. But he never lets it fall, because to surrender now is to place her broken heart atop the pile of regrets he's been holding up like Atlas crumbling beneath the weight of the world itself. Because he still thinks it selfish to want the things that make him feel like himself again, so they need to be taken off the board entirely.

"To stop now would dishonor those I have wronged to come this far."

If he gives up now, his entire corporeal life has been a betrayal of many, but worst of all, he will have ruined himself for nothing.

But then she's there. A little older, a little sadder, and still looking at him like she did the night he almost broke and instead carefully removed any suggestion that she had ever belonged to anyone but herself.

"Didn't you hear me?" Her every action screams as she kneels to meet his gaze like he did the day he took her arm (another failure, another sacrifice he cannot let be for nothing).

The tombstone in the fade is his greatest fear, but it is not his fate. Why? She will not let it be. It cannot be his din'anshiral if she is not beside him.

Lavellan may not have understood the depth of exactly WHEN Solas first came somewhere foreign and uncertain to help, but she never once failed to keep her promise. She refuses to let his initial desire to do good be held against him any longer. And when she sees him accept that not-quite-absolution-definitely-more-of-a-power-play from the god that saw what he was capable of and molded him into a weapon, she finds her in to make sure he doesn't walk off alone to mourn again, never again will she lose him to the expectations others have of him. No doubt she wants to find a way to sink the fingers of her good hand into that spectral visage and tear it away like he wishes to do to the veil. But she is not here for Mythal. She is here for her heart, and for the man who has been carrying it since the moment her lips met his in the fade ten years ago.

“No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

She forces him to see that the only remaining betrayal is to lock himself away one more irreversible time. All that's left to lose is the piece of himself he cherishes more than his greatest victories: all that he has to gain comes from making sure the love that was given to him at Skyhold, in the moment where Varric saw all he was capable of and still tried to bring him back home, was not given in vain.

"There is no fate but the love we share." She tells him as soon as Mythal's too-little-too-late platitudes send shudders through his body.

Banal nadas ar lath'ma vhenan.

It will not be so terrible a place, so unforgivable a betrayal if he can finally dare to put himself first. If, unlike that night in Crestwood, he finally gives in not to break, but to make himself whole.

There's a codex entry in Inquisiton about a spirit of wisdom who is summoned by researchers and only after a very pleasant conversation do they realize they made a mistake and never successfully bound the spirit in the first place, that it chose to speak with them of its own accord.

"I am not certain the spirit would have talked so freely had it been shackled at the time," writes the author of the entry.

I keep thinking about this alongside the datamined line of Morrigan saying, "And so, the Dread Wolf is stopped by, of all things love."

But that isn't quite right, is it?

Because in the end, of course the Dread Wolf could only ever freed by, over everything, love.

[pinacoladamatata]

Everyday I wait for someone to make a Solas edit to nails hair hips heels and I can't believe someone hasn't already

[wokedragon]

I hate it when I encounter a piece of media with no fandom like where’s all the fanart for the dandelion dynasty