#either of his original body directly

[balladeersbell]

bsd prediction: tanizaki transfers to the mafia. the family naomi is a part of is mori’s.

[letoasai]

Will work for food ~ part 2

Part 1 - Master list

Tim was anxious which wasn’t an emotion he often put into use. Even on a bad day he was calculating, overly prepared, and usually ran on caffeine. He was a young genius and a hell of a detective, but nerves probably didn’t care about his resume or personality quirks. 

He rubbed his thumb against the folded piece of paper kept hidden in his pocket. He’d examined it in the batcave but it held no clues of note. It was just a normal sheet of paper, and the ink could have been a pen from any local corner store. No DNA. No fingerprints. All the same, he kept it out of sight in public. 

Tim had been antsy about summoning Phantom, mostly because he felt like he was disrespectfully late. When he’d first laid eyes on the living form of the Ghost King, he’d felt a familiar ache. Neglect. He didn’t know if the king had neglected himself, or if the blame lay at someone else's feet, but he just couldn’t stand it. 

He’d offered food and company in an instant, the words popping out of his mouth before he could think them through. Despite that, he didn’t regret the offer. He could have done without the teasing from his siblings and teammates, but he didn’t regret the offer once. 

His only remorse was with the clean up efforts. The Infinite creature, Vortex, had left quite the destruction in his wake. Even with many extended members of the League assisting with clean up, it took ages. Search and rescues were active and humanitarian groups had arrived to offer aid but some things couldn’t be done in a weekend. 

The bats returning to Gotham didn’t offer much in the way of a break either. A Scarecrow outbreak with his fear toxin. Three different gangs in the middle of a turf war. A weapons smuggling ring being uncovered… It was one thing after another for a minute. 

When all was said and done it had been nearly two months before Tim had the opportunity to keep his promise. He was in his civvies, standing at the mouth of an alleyway across from a little italian place that looked cheap but was actually the best tasting, most authentic italian place in all of Gotham. Little hole in the wall places often were the best. 

The problem now was his ability to overthink things. Would he summon the king in a glow of green that would light up the street like a beacon? Would he arrive in his ghostly form, crown hovering above his hooded head? 

Phantom looked human enough but was he? Did he come from Earth originally? There were plenty of aliens that looked human. It would be rude to assume… 

What name did he use? Did he need to go full title? Why didn’t he ask more questions when he had the chance?

“King Phantom.” Tim muttered, deciding to just go for it. He still clutched the paper sigil out of sight. “Uh, Ghost King Phantom. King of the Infinite Realm. Um… Or was it High King…” 

“Just Phantom is fine.” 

Tim tensed, all of his hair standing on end at the voice directly behind him in the alley. He hadn’t made a sound but he needed to actively work to exhale and turn around to face his guest. There had been zero indication of his arrival, and he was thankfully, in his living form. 

He was in jeans and an over sized hoodie. Tim could just barely make out a faded NASA written in the front. That was a point in the direction of him possibly being a human from Earth. He wore shoes this time, beat up looking kicks that had seen better days. His hood was also drawn over his head, likely to hide his bony appearance. Tim did spy the tail of his braid over his shoulder though, his hair black to further prove he was in his living form. 

“You…scared the hell out of me.” Tim said, smiling after another hard exhale. “I am sorry it took so long, your Highness.” 

“Phantom.” He corrected, looking around the street and taking it all in. Tim could clock him making note of the turns down the street and the buildings with fire escapes even with his hood up. People just had certain body language when casing an area. “I figured it would be a while, if you summoned me at all. I was not going to hold you to a whim, Red Robin.” 

“I said i would…” Tim muttered. “Uh, it’s Tim, out of uniform. If you don’t mind.” 

“Tim.” He repeated. That softness to his voice remained, and honestly, Tim liked the cadence of it. He liked it as much as he was sure he never wanted to hear Phantom raise his voice. “I understand.” He hesitated only a beat. “You can call me Danny. Phantom is probably a silly thing to call someone in a city like this.” 

“Not if it’s your name.” 

“Danny is okay.” He said, and for whatever reason, Tim noticed now how he kept his hands in his pockets, likely to hide them too. Frail, skeletal looking hands would just frighten some people. “Food? For a favor?” 

“No favor involved. I invited you out.” Tim said. “I mean, maybe we can chat about stuff but you aren’t obligated to answer or anything.” 

Phantom…Danny nodded, shuffling for a moment and looking around again. The height of the buildings seemed to be a mild interest of his. “Where are we eating?” 

“Well, if you like Italian, we’re walking across the street.” He thought pasta and breads would be both filling and flavorful. It would also be something easily packed up for Danny to take with him. 

“I’ll eat anything.” Danny informed him. “I have no preferences after all this time.” He hesitated. “Or maybe i need to rediscover them, but anything will be fine.” 

“Let’s… let’s go then.” Tim said, walking with Danny at his side. He’d made a reservation which wasn’t strictly necessary at such a small place but it gave him the option of reserving a corner table to offer them a little more privacy. 

They walked in, the hostess greeting them with a smile before leading them to their table and leaving them with bread, water, and menus. There were a few other full tables but it wasn’t packed the way it would be in the evening. 

Danny kept his hood up, but it was Gotham and no one questioned the decision. They just left him in peace to not start a conflict with someone who wasn’t causing any trouble. He also kept his hands out of sight until the hostess had left. He sipped the water once and broke off only a little piece of the bread. He buttered it and ate on it while flipping open the menu. 

Tim didn’t know if he was reading the English or Italian parts of the menu but it didn’t matter. Being fluent in reading an Earth language was another check mark for this being his place of origin. 

“Can i…” Tim hummed, keeping in mind that he was speaking with royalty and act a little less like Bruce interrogating a suspect. “Can i ask a couple questions?” 

Danny looked up at him, Tim only barely able to make out some of his features passed the unnatural shadows his hood provided. “Sure.” 

Tim smiled, not even bothering with the menu since he knew what he was getting. “You’re the King of a realm, but was Earth your place of origin?” 

“Yes, but not this Earth.” 

Dimensions! Tim filed that away for later. “You can travel to any of them?” 

“Within reason. Yes. I’m old, but not that old yet. Only eight or nine decades.” He tore another small piece of bread to eat. Tim assumed he was pacing himself. “They call me a baby Ancient still.” 

“That’s cool…” Tim muttered. “Are there many other Earths?” 

“The answer to that would never satisfy you.” Danny said softly. “Trust me. I am the Ancient of Space and i’m hardly satisfied with it.” 

There was a new fact for Tim to latch on. “What’s the-” He stopped when the waitress appeared. Both of them ordered, and Tim was certain he’d end up ordering more halfway through the meal so Danny could take more home with him.  

When the menus were taken and the waitress left again, Tim continued. “What’s the difference between being an Ancient of Space and being the Ghost King.” 

“When i died, or half died, it was my fate to one day become the Ancient of Space. I am that regardless. I won the title of Ghost King.” 

Tim dragged a hand down his face. “That’s…. Endlessly fascinating. I have so many questions.” He didn’t even know how to touch ‘half died’ yet. 

Danny hummed once and fiddled with the end of his braid. “Do i get to ask questions too?” 

“Of course.” 

Danny leaned forward, sipping at his water again. “This Earth has super heroes. That’s interesting. Mine didn’t. How long have you been a hero?” 

Tim nodded, figuring that would be the direction the questions would have wandered towards. They were far enough away from everyone in the restaurant that he didn’t worry about being heard. The music playing in the background also helped a great deal. 

“Hero might be a debate depending on who you ask. In Gotham we’re considered vigilanties. I first suited up at thirteen but it was really more like fourteen after a great deal of training.” 

Danny was quiet for a moment. “And how old are you now? I have trouble telling ages these days…” 

“Eighteen.” Tim said. 

“Young.” Danny muttered. “I was young too. Fourteen when i became the bridge. Sixteen before i really understood what it meant.” 

“The bridge?” 

“Balance. The living and the dead.” 

Tim huffed softly. “You wear a lot of hats, don’t you?”  

Danny made a quiet noise, and it took Tim a beat longer than normal to realize he was laughing. “I do, i wish i didn’t most of the time. It’s fine though.” 

“Just fine?” Tim asked after a beat. He knew a little about expectations and high standards that could weigh you down–both his own standards and other peoples. 

Danny nodded, one of his hands resting on the other. “I’ve seen things. Good things. Bad things. Things that will never happen. Things that have. It’s better i have certain powers because i have no desire to use them.” 

Aah. Tim understood that. “People who want too much power are dangerous.” 

“Exactly.” 

“The power of ruling an entire realm…” 

“Exactly.” 

Tim heaved a sigh. “Damn.” Maybe he should ask something less intense. “Did you enjoy the food we gave you last time? It was just some fast food but there was some worry it wasn’t good enough.” 

“It was great.” Danny said and he sounded sincere. “Nostalgic. It took me a few days to eat all of it. I know the Infinite Realm’s reputation, and it is a warranted reputation, but i’m… hard to offend. Little things are just little things.” 

“I’ll put them at ease then.” 

Danny was quiet for a moment, the silence not an oppressive one. “What is the difference between a hero and a vigilante?” 

“How people perceive us, i guess. Superman will always be seen as a hero. Wholesome and valiant and all that. Things in Gotham are altogether… shadier. Being a vigilante isn’t exactly legal and while we have our boundaries, we break the law all the time.” Tim said. They covered their own tracks well but it was fortunate that no one looked too closely at their activities. 

It didn’t bother Tim when he knew his reasons were still good. 

Danny made a thoughtful kind of noise. “I’m willing to bet Superman’s business isn’t purely legal either. This seems like a nice Earth though, despite whatever troubles you have.” 

“Some hero work is sanctioned by the government so it’s a fine line. Any of it could be argued.” Tim explained, and that was something Danny seemed to find fascinating. 

They paused their conversation again when the waitress appeared with their food, and Tim put in a second order for them to take when they left. The eyes Tim could feel on him told him that Danny already knew what they were for. 

He could hear Danny softly inhale and exhale as he looked at the plate in front of him that came accompanied with salad. He likely wouldn’t be able to eat even a fraction of it but the way he looked at it…. made Tim realize that he could see Danny’s face more clearly. The shadows that obscured his face from his hood had receded. He was still gaunt, but he eyed the food with so much joy. 

The first bite of –non fast food– food nearly seemed to overwhelm him in a good way. 

“You know,” Tim swung hard to change subjects. “We can do a bit of a food tour every time i summon you for lunch. Pizza. Chinese. Barbeque. There’s a great taco truck. We could get something homemade.” 

“You cook?” 

“Haa. No.” Tim said seriously. “But Al… my grandpa is an amazing cook and he seemed to think trading food for world saving services was very sensible but he was appalled that we offered you cheap fries and burgers. He’d honestly love to cook for you.” 

Danny smiled, this shy little look that shouldn’t have fit someone with the title of Ghost King but it sure fit Danny. “That could be nice. Decent home cooked meals are kind of mythological to me.” 

Tim nodded once, and knew better than to ask directly. “I didn’t have a very cuddly upbringing either. There was a lot of take-out involved.” 

“Your food ever come back to life and try to eat you instead?” Danny asked and Tim just stared. 

“I can’t…tell if that’s a real question or if you’re messing with me.” 

Danny smiled and was that a hint of fangs? “Dead serious.” 

Time groaned. “No, no you are a king. You are not making puns.” 

“Thinking i’m too mature for puns is a grave mistake.” Danny said without hesitation. 

“Noo.” Tim groaned, lips upturned into a smile. His brothers could never know about this. Dick would start a pun off and Jason’s morbid sense of humor about his own death…. Ugh, it would be bad. 

It did bring up the interesting question of Danny’s age. He said he’d been alive for decades but how did he mature. Was he still a teenager? Did he age slowly? Asking not only sounded like a bad idea, but Raven and Zatanna had both made sure he knew it was a question to not ask. 

They chatted, they ate, or well, Tim ate. Danny ate a bite every few minutes and looked thrilled about it but he was slowing down. Tim was looking forward to Danny being able to eat more with every visit. 

He flagged down the waitress, gesturing for a box and got a thumbs up in return. 

“You can take it with you.” Tim said when Danny was giving him a look. “It might be a couple days before i can call you again and this way you’ll have enough to eat every day.” 

“I can’t deny that.” Danny said. “You don’t have to keep summoning me.”

“I promised you lunches.” Tim said firmly. “And you said it yourself, you should eat more and spend more time in a living realm. You may as well take advantage of being summoned for food.” 

“Hm…” Danny played with the end of his braid again. “You do make a compelling argument. It’s nice to talk to someone without it being preceded by a brawl.” 

Tim stared, “What?” 

Danny just looked amused. “I’ll explain to you etiquette in the Infinite Realm sometime.” 

“Yeah?” 

The waitress returned with boxes for Danny to pack up his meal and the empty dishes were whisked away to make more room on the table while they waited for their to-go orders. 

They were almost startled when a second waitress reappeared with a few little dishes before they could begin speaking again. Everything was set in the middle of the table, presumably for them to share. There was a piece of white peach tart, a bowl of strawberry gelato, and a slice of frozen chocolate chip meringata. 

“Um…” Tim blinked. “We didn’t-”

The waitress chuckled. “It was ordered for you by another patron. Please enjoy.” She set down another set of utensils for them and walked away. 

Danny made a small sound in his throat. “Well i was full but how could i say no to a couple more bites…” 

“Wait.” Tim said, gaze subtly shifting around the room. Maybe he was trained to be paranoid, but it usually served him well. What he found almost instantly had his eye twitching. 

Not even halfway across the room sat a poorly disgusted Dick wearing large sunglasses, a fedora, and the world's least convincing mustache. When he saw Tim looking and grinned and raised his own wine glass. 

“I gotta kill my brother…” 

Danny sputtered out a laugh, so genuinely amused that Tim could definitely see his fangs as he laughed.

“That would make him my problem.” Danny pointed out, reaching for a spoon to try the gelato first. 

“I’m not seeing your point.” Tim said, delighted by Danny’s teasing. It was a rookie mistake to think one of his siblings wouldn’t find out about this. An absolute blunder that he hadn’t noticed Dick walking in after them at all. He’d never live it down. 

“Guess i’ll have to be more careful next time.” He added. 

Danny hummed again and seemed to have a fondness for the cold dessert. “I could always invite you to my realm sometime.” 

“Cool.” Tim said instantly. Ha, let them try to follow him then…

[katerinaaqu]

Fun facts (Names in Mythology):

Heracles's real name is not "Heracles" but Alkaios (Alceaeus=>Ἀλκαῖος) or Alkides. He received the name "Heracles" ("Glory of Hera") when he went to the Delphi Sanctuary to receive a prophecy on how to cleanse himself from the murder of his children with Megara after Hera made him lose his sanity

Minotaur had a name in birth Asterion or Asterius which means "star-like" and it is believed that is because his body was full of small spots that resemble stars (thus many ancient depictions have him spotted)

Cerberus, the dog of Hades has many etymological roots but one of them seems to come from a term which means "spot" or "spotted". Yes the hellhound could possibly be called "Spot" XD

There is a general opinion that Odysseus would be originally named Polyaretos (Πολυάρητος) aka "Much Prayed for" but that seems to be a mistranslation of the passage where Euryclea tells Autolycus to name Odysseus because he is "much prayed for". But the phrase goas "πολυάρητος εστιν" aka "he is much prayed for". The passage doesn't directly imply that the name was considered but rather how difficult it was for Odysseus to be conceived. So it is more of an interpretation of the passage rather than a fact.

Neoptolemous, according to some sources, was named Pyrrhus (Fire-like) at birth which according to some interpretations was for Diadeima to pay respects to Achilles as well as his disguise as a woman because according to some sources Achilles takes the pseudonym "Pyrrha" while in disguise. The name "Neoptolemous" is a nickname he is known for, meaning "New Soldier" or "New Warrior" indicating how his arrival was basically to replace Achilles

Both the most trecherous slaves in Odysseus's court Melantho and Melanthius share the same name. Both Melantho and Melanthius comes from greek "melas" (μέλας) which means "dark" or "black" and the word "anthos" (άνθος) which is for "flower" or "bloom" Both of them have the name "dark flower" and both are the most clear example of betrayal in Odysseus's court by both being named "dark flower" or "black bloom".

Calypso is a name by general interpretation that means either "καλή οπή" aka "beautiful to see" or from the verb "καλύβω/καλύπτω" which means "to conceal". So indicating both her beauty but also her obsession to conceal or cover Odysseus in her isle.

Anticlea and Euryclea have the opposite meanings of names as well as opposite roles. "Anticlea" comes from "anti" (αντί) which means "opposite" or "against" and the word "kleos" (κλέος) which means "glory". "Euryclea" comes from the term "eurys" (ευρύς) which means "wide" and "kleos" aka "glory". Anticlea who is a queen has a name that means "Without Glory" and Euryclea, a slave has a name that means "Full of Glory". Anticlea died a non-glorious sad death while Euryclea got her own eseence of glory by waiting for and helping her master.

Pyndaros and some later sources in later legends says that Achilles was originally named Lygiron aka "the whining one" or "the crying one".

Antigone literally means "Against one's parents" or "Against one's kin". Indicating how she will go against Kreon and bury her brother

Aias the Telamon's son aka Ajax the Greater was named after the exclamation "Αι αι αι!" which is someone moaning in pain, indicating the painful tragedy of his life.

Both Ajax and Achilles seem to have given the explanation in post-homeric times that their names are somehow linked to crying and moaning in pain, indicating how both of them will experience pain.

Patroclus means "glory of his father", which is ironic given how originally Patroclus hishonors his father by accidentally killing his playmate but he receives honors post-mortem for he is given offerings along with Achilles and Antilochus in the tomb guarded by Nestor.

[strangerstilinski]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; they say ‘showering together saves water’ or.. something like that.. right? otherwise known as, the one where sheer stupidity leads stiles into the shower with his very naked girlfriend. neither one of them is complaining about the turn of events.

warnings; no use of y/n, established relationship, explicit sexual content (vaginal fingering, handjobs, mentions of oral)

word count; +3k

a/n; i fear i'm going to be perpetually unhappy with this so i'm just biting the bullet and posting it and i'm camping so here it is an hour early!! — please be nice. if you’re interested in the original version cut from my Selenophiles series, you can find that here.

please think about leaving a comment/reblogging if you enjoy! i would appreciate either one to the actual ends of the earth.

Wrapped up in a softly hummed rendition of a song that had been rattling around in your brain all day, you didn’t even hear the bathroom door open or click shut again, not alerted to Stiles’ presence until his voice suddenly sounded just to the other side of the shower curtain.

“Hey.”

It was a simple greeting. Your boyfriend remaining entirely unaware as you flinched wildly in surprise and nearly slipped in the shower on the other side of the thin sheet of plastic that separated you.

“You mind if I brush my teeth real quick?” He asked.

Your heart was still pounding away in your chest from the scare but you forced out a breathy laugh as you reached for the shampoo.

“No, of course not,” You told him easily, “Why would I mind?”

Fingertips scrubbed at your scalp, the sounds of him already beginning to brush his teeth meeting your ears over the rush of the shower as he finally responded.

“I dunno,” He said, words garbled by the toothbrush and foam in his mouth, “You’re all.. naked, so-”

“Well that’s very noble of you,” You smiled softly to yourself, “But you really didn’t have to ask.”

“Noted.” He said through a mouthful of foam before spitting into the sink.

As you began to rinse suds from your hair, you heard the telltale clacking of his toothbrush against the side of the sink as he flicked beads of water away from the bristles. You were awaiting Stiles’ quick words of goodbye when there was a loud knock at the bathroom door.

“Stiles! You in the shower?” His father’s voice sounded loudly from the hallway.

Your heart thumped quick in your chest with sudden misplaced adrenaline and you found yourself poking your head outside of the shower curtain only to be greeted by Stiles already looking in your direction with wide brown eyes.

“Uh, yeah!” He called back weakly, gaze darting around the small room as if he might suddenly find a perfect place to hide.

“Does he not know I’m here?” You whispered sharply, brows pinched together in confusion.

“No.” Stiles hissed back, “I’m kind of a little bit grounded-”

“What?” You interrupted, still whispering despite your incredulity. “You’re grounded?”

“It’s an unspoken kind of thing but definitely implied and- And I didn’t think he’d be home ‘til late!” Stiles defended in an equally hushed whisper.

“Alright, well.. You mind if I just come in and grab the Asprin real quick?” Sheriff Stilinski's voice asked loudly.

Stiles’ eyes seemed to widen even further with a small squeak of distress, “Um-”

You threw the shower curtain open just enough to to fist your hand in the front of his shirt, yanking him forward until he stumbled and was forced to climb over the lip of the bathtub. The shower curtain was tugged back closed just as the doorknob turned and Stiles’ father cautiously peeked into the room through a cloud of steam.

Stiles was now the one standing directly under the spray of warm water, his pajamas quickly soaking through and plastering themselves to his body.

He was unable to help the way his eyes immediately dropped to the wet skin of your naked chest, but somehow, your instincts seemed to know exactly what was coming next because your hand found its way up to cover his mouth just before a soft groan could slip past his lips, the sound of it smothered by your palm.

“Sorry, my head’s killin’ me.” The Sheriff apologized as the medicine cabinet clicked open.

You uncovered Stiles’ mouth slowly and with caution, narrowing your eyes and tipping your head in a silent urge for him to formulate some sort of response. Brown eyes flicked between yours, his tongue poking out to wet his lips enticingly before he responded to his father.

“Nah, it’s cool, dad. Uh.. No biggie.”

Stiles’ eyes found their way to your naked chest yet again, bouncing back up to your face for a fraction of a second only for his gaze to fall back down to your breasts as if drawn there by an unstoppable force. His mind was decidedly blank, suddenly equipped with only enough brainpower to attempt to memorize the exact shade of your pert nipples in the soft light of the bathroom. A few beads of water from your hair curled their way around your collarbone, pooling in the small dip in your clavicle before welling over and cascading down to the swell of your breast.

You watched him swallow hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as the shower continued to spray against his fully-clothed back.

“Right. Well. G’night.” Sheriff Stilinski called out as the medicine cabinet slammed shut again.

The boy’s eyes snapped up to yours at the sharp sound, a pink flush creeping up his neck from either the warm steam of the shower, the sight of your naked body, or most likely some combination of the two.

“N-night, daddio-” Stiles replied in an admittedly high voice, shaking his head at his you in warning as he watched you pinch your lips between your teeth to hold back a laugh.

The bathroom door finally closed with a loud click and you let your head drop forward onto your boyfriend’s shoulder as you released a quiet giggle.

“Oh my god.” You breathed out.

“Sorry,” Stiles apologized, “For, uh, invading your shower.”

You lifted your head, “I quite literally pulled you in against your will.”

Stiles nodded, “Yeah. I, uh, I guess you did.”

You snorted softly in amusement and watched his eyes flick over your face in a slow trail. His gaze eventually found something of interest behind you and he seemed to hone in on it with a determined focus.

“What are you looking at?” You questioned quietly, craning your neck to examine the shower products on the shelf at your back before returning your gaze to the boy in front of you.

“I, uh.. Well. Literally, y’know.. Anything but your extremely naked body.” He choked out weakly.

A smile pulled at your lips and you inched forward to drag your hands lightly over the soaked-through cotton of his shirt, “There something wrong with my naked body, Stilinski?”

You’d said the words with a teasing lilt to your voice, but Stiles’ eyes seemed to snap back to your own sharply, “No! No, absolutely nothing-” He denied immediately.

“Okay, well, you are allowed to look, y’know,” You told him softly, like you were revealing a secret, “It isn’t like it’s anything you haven’t already seen-”

“Well, yeah but, you- You’re trying to shower and.. If I’m being totally honest, if I look now I’m gonna get painfully hard painfully fast ‘cause I’m already barely holding on here-”

At his words, you shuffled back just a fraction so you could peek down in between you, your eyes catching on the wet, tented fabric of his pajama bottoms. Your hands twitched with the desperate need to touch and you hesitated for only a second before taking ahold of the soaked material of his shirt beneath your fingers.

“Maybe you should shower, too,” You interrupted, licking your lips as you gazed back up at your boyfriend, “I mean, your dad already thinks you are, and you’re already all wet, so y’know.. We should probably get you naked-”

The moment the word left your mouth, you tightened your fingers around wet fabric and stammered quietly, ridiculously nervous considering that you were already naked. And wet.

“-And clean. Naked, to clean your- To wash your body, obviously. I mean, it only makes sense, right?” You suggested eagerly.

The fabric of his shirt inched up his torso, your deft hands revealing his hips and the thick trail of hair at his belly button, but that was where you stopped, waiting for him to give some sort of approval before lifting it any further.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s smart.” He agreed quickly, nodding for you to continue.

You stripped him of the wet article, dropping it at the opposite end of the tub with a quiet smack. When your eyes returned to his, Stiles barely held your gaze before he was cupping your face and dragging your mouth to his. He turned you back into the shower wall and you sighed in contentment as the spray of warm water finally cascaded over the side of your body once again, pleasant goosebumps erupting over your skin.

Stiles’ kisses were an enigma and they very nearly managed to catch you by surprise every time — the way he devoured your mouth with so much hunger yet was still somehow able to hold you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His lips dragged over yours sickly sweet, thumb stroking over your cheek, fingertips digging into your scalp beneath wet hair.

You only managed to hold out for a few desperate brushes of his mouth before you were parting your lips beneath his in silent invitation. When his tongue teased against yours, you caught the taste of mint left behind from his toothpaste and you couldn’t hold back the groan that poured from your mouth into his. You suddenly found yourself craving the taste of it, prodding your own tongue between his lips on the next kiss to chase the lingering flavor in his mouth.

The wet drag of his pajama pants against your naked thighs beneath the stream of water was an immediate reminder that he was still wearing the wet article of clothing and you flicked at them idly, fingertips dipping beneath the drawstring waist. His stomach tensed beneath your hands and he pulled back from the kiss just enough to drop his forehead to yours, eyes raking over your face slowly as he attempted to catch his breath.

“What, um. What do you- I mean, do you, um..” His eyes pinched shut in frustration as his own inability to convey himself.

Your hand slid over his water-slick hip, arm circling around his waist until you could run your fingertips gently along his spine beneath the water, forcing a contented sigh from his kiss-swollen mouth at the contact.

You licked your lips in thought, “I could either jerk you off in here, or we could wait and I can blow you in your bedroom,” You offered quietly, “I’d blow you in here but I’m honestly not entirely sure how it would work with all the water in my face and-”

Stiles nearly whimpered, “You cannot say that shit and seriously expect me to not blow my load, like, immediately.”

Your mouth twisted up into a grin, “Sorry.”

You weren’t.

He dragged you just a bit closer beneath the spray, bare chests sliding against one another. A shaky exhale left his lips and cascaded across your damp cheek, his nose skating softly against clean skin as he craned down to push his face into your neck.

“No you’re not.” He shot back without hesitation.

You sighed softly, head tipping back of its own accord in an open invitation for his lips to find your skin. The soaked through material of his pajama bottoms did nothing to hide the warm, hard length of him pressing against your hip. You slipped your hand just a bit farther beneath the damp cotton until your fist found its home around him, beginning to move in firm jerks as a choked groan sounded in his throat.

“No, I’m not.” You agreed easily.

“Jesus Christ.”

“So?” You asked quietly, words spilling out toward the ceiling as your head rested against the shower wall.

“Huh?” Stiles articulated weakly, the sound swallowed up by the way his mouth was pressed into the skin beneath your jaw. A large hand slipped down the length of your spine, long fingers finding their way to your ass, merely resting there for a moment before a flick of your wrist seemed to spur him on, hand tightening over the soft flesh as he dragged you up against him just a bit harder.

Your ankle hooked around his knee easily, pulling yourself up a bit higher, warm, wet cotton still separating you as you continued to work his length beneath the material.

“Handjob in shower or blowjob in room.” You repeated the options stiffly, thoughts scattered from the feel of his fingertips digging into your backside.

“Shit.” He murmured against your neck, his hips jerking forward to meet your hand, making the movement of your wrist more difficult when it was pinned between your bodies. “I- Um.. I.. Shit-”

“It’s kinda looking like its gonna be handjob if you don’t decide otherwise pretty quick here-”

“But I-” A sharp sound was pulled from him when your hand slipped over the head of his cock, a delicious but quiet uh squeaking out onto the wet skin of your throat. “God, I really want your mouth but-” A quiet groan interrupts him but he carries on after only a brief pause, “If you stop I might die.”

He says the words so seriously that you can’t help the small laugh that pops out.

“Oh, so you want both? That’s what you’re telling me?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, fuck.. Please-”

“Seems a little-” Its your hushed words that are cut off this time, a small gasp of surprise falling from your lips when the hand on your ass creeps lower, hiking your leg up higher as two of his fingers find your wet entrance. “Little, um. A little greedy, don't you- Ah! Don’t you think?” Your teasing statement was tainted halfway through as he dipped his fingers inside, long and thick and pushing in to the third knuckle almost immediately.

He begins thrusting in time with the jerks of your hand, synchronized gasps and groans falling from your mouths for a minute before he thinks to respond.

“If you think I’m not gonna give as good as I get then-”

His words cut off with an unabashed moan against wet skin and you nosed at his jaw until he tipped his head up to meet your lips, your scolding shh silenced within the kiss.

“-Then you don’t think very highly of me, huh?” He continued as if he’d never paused at all, his words murmured between slick lips as his mouth slid against yours again and again. “It’d, uh- It’d be a fair trade-”

“Yeah?”

The whispered question was stolen from your mouth when he licked inside, hot and dirty as his nose pushed into your cheek.

“Yeah.”

His own utterance of the word was swallowed up by your gasp when his fingers crooked just so the next time he pushed them in deep. Your grip on him fell slack for only a moment before you recovered with newfound determination, matching his efforts as he sped up the rhythm of his hand.

Your thigh hitched up on his waist that much higher, all but consumed by the desperate hunger you felt to be closer. He returned the sentiment, pulling you in and crowding you back and devouring each of your sounds until it seemed as if he were everywhere all at once.

You traded kisses between stuttered breaths and heady gasps, bodies rolling into one another’s hands as you both chased after the tight pleasure coiling in your guts and building up, higher, stronger, closer–

Stiles came first, a soft whine against your tongue when your fist circled at the head of his cock, twisting and pulling his release from him in thick spurts beneath the wet cotton of his pajama bottoms. You worked him through it, taking control of the kiss as he went slack with his orgasm and finally pushing his pants to the floor of the bathtub with a wet thwack once his hips stopped twitching into your hand.

He fell back into the kiss urgently and you relinquished control without a fight, weak to do little more than throw an arm around his shoulders for support as he redoubled his efforts to make you come.

Thighs trembling, toes curling, your muscles tensed as you were worked closer and closer to your peak. His fingers hit a spot deep inside of you with every thrust and each time sparks danced up your spine with the impact, sharp noises of pleasure were dragged from your lips.

“Sti-” You whined softly, wet mouth falling against his cheek as you tried to alert him to your swiftly approaching release, “’m so close. Shit, I- ’m so close-”

“Shit,” He returned in an urgent whisper, “Shit, okay-”

He eased his hips back from your own, his free hand falling to the apex of your thighs. His lips covered yours again as he began swirling his fingertips around the swollen bud there and your whole body jolted at the sensation. Your mouth fell open with a soft cry as you came, the glide of his fingers both smoother and more sharp as he worked you through it.

As you came down you were panting, hot breaths mingling between your mouths. The steam of the shower felt almost cloying, both of you a little lightheaded from the heat and the exertion. You cracked your eyes open and found his gaze already on you, eyes hooded and heavy, the tip of his nose bumping your own.

“Holy shit.”

It came out as nothing more than a whisper against his lips, your chest heaving in time with his as you both fought to catch your breath. You loosened the tight grip your arm had taken up around his shoulders and neck, mouth slack as you tried to pull in enough oxygen to clear your head.

“That was-”

“Yeah.” He whispered in agreement, forehead falling against yours.

The tip of your thumb pressed into a dark freckle on his chest as your hand made its way down from his shoulder in a slow drag over slick skin. You swallowed around your dry mouth as your leg finally fell free from its place around him and provided instant relief to your muscles.

“You sure you can handle two more orgasms?” You questioned breathlessly, not entirely sure which response you wanted to hear as you swayed against him in the overpowering steam of the shower.

In lieu of an immediate response, his gaze fell downward and your own followed on instinct, catching sight of the long thickness of his cock, already fattening back up against his thigh with arousal.

Tongue feeling suddenly heavy, you were filled with the urge to fulfill your teasing promise, to work him toward his peak all over again with your mouth.

You voice was a breathless whisper when it finally sounded.

“Oh.”

[starcurtain]

Hey! I apologize if this question has been asked before since it seems like a pretty obvious one, but where do you think the idea of Aventurine being a sex slave came from? Other than the obvious factor of it being something fun for the fandom to mess around with, I mean.

It's something I kind of took for granted as being true before playing his quest, but after finishing it I realized there wasn't really any indication. The only thing I can really think of is his master's comments about him having a good body. Is there anything in his behavior you can think of that would lead to this conclusion if it wasn't a popular fan interpretation already/kind of just an easy conclusion to reach with a slave character?

(also kind of related but what do you think of the idea that he sleeps around/with his clients to make deals? he's obviously willing to sexualize himself with the boob window, but that doesn't necessarily mean he goes further.)

As far as I can tell, the idea that Aventurine was involved in sexual slavery comes from three (maybe four) places:

First, the comment from the master about Aventurine's appearance. People were holding this comment up as refutable proof that Aventurine was used in sexual slavery on top of being tossed into the Hunger Games; however, the response from other players on this interpretation, especially the Chinese side of the fandom, was very mixed, with a lot of people pointing out that the context in the game probably meant the slave master was talking about Aventurine's ability to attract attention from fans watching the literal Sigonian Hunger Games, rather than having a direct sexual-slavery connotation.

Second, the comment from Sparkle about stripping naked and getting on his knees for Sunday. This one has way more implication in English than I think it might for an Eastern audience, actually. In English, this pretty much sounds like Sparkle saying Aventurine trades sexual favors for success in his gambles. However, I suspect the original intention in Chinese was more about humiliation. Western audiences don't have as much history with honor-based prostration, i.e. accepting corporal humiliation as a form of reconciliation that Eastern audiences might be more familiar with. And in any case, Sparkle is Sparkle. She probably just went for the lowest blow she could think of here.

Third, the general assumption that if Sigonian slaves were being chained, branded, beaten, sent to death matches, etc., it seems logical that they would also be taken advantage of in other ways. I honestly think this is probably the fairest take--many, many real slaves around the world faced (and still face!) sexual abuse, so if slaves from Sigonia were treated so poorly you could make them fight to the death for entertainment, it stands to reason they were probably also not safe from other forms of assault. We also have no idea what happened to Kakavasha in any of the years between his being a tiny child fleeing the massacre and then being purchased as a slave as a late-teens-early-twenties person. That's a very long time for a child to have to survive on their own on an extremely hostile planet and not face risks of all kinds or end up needing to do unspeakable things to survive. So I think this is at least not that far-fetched, although it's important to say there's nothing in the game that directly confirms this.

And fourth: I read a tweet semi-recently that stated that one of the Chinese (or maybe it was Japanese) names for a quest Aventurine was involved in was actually a reference to a book about a teenage sexual assault survivor. However, when I tried to verify this myself, I couldn't find any quest Aventurine was in that was based on a book about sexual assault in either English, Chinese, or Japanese. It's possible I just missed something, but I'm taking this one with a bit of a grain of salt currently, since I can't confirm it personally.

Regarding your other question, about whether I think Aventurine sleeps around to make deals...

I definitely think he does not, for one major reason.

First, I will admit that Aventurine is definitely willing to use his appearance to his advantage. This is pretty obvious. He wears incredibly flashy clothes, baths himself in cologne, overloads on glittering golden jewels, and absolutely calls attention to his appearance when working with clients.

We see him actively doing this in his Moment Among the Stars video, where he is clearly using his looks as an equal tool (to his wealth), to daze his target.

It's not an accident that he says things like "Use me as you wish," with all the explicit connotations preserved. The implication is there. However, unless he was absolutely backed into a corner, I think that implication is all it will ever be.

The reason I think this is that the devs go out of their way to give Aventurine three fairly noticeable physical behaviors in his in-game scenes:

For one, he has some of the most closed off body language of any character in the game.

Aventurine's default conversation pose is arms crossed directly and tightly in front of himself. This is like "Defensive Body Language 101." By crossing your arms, you put a symbolic barrier between yourself and the person you're speaking to, and also ensure that your hands are up and available in case you actually need to physically defend yourself.

Virtually all of Aventurine's conversations take place from this stance, no matter who he is speaking to (from the Trailblazer all the way to Topaz). He deliberately closes his pose off and tightens up his silhouette, which just sends a glaring "Don't touch me" message.

This closing off is also blatantly apparent when you compare it to the deliberately open poses he strikes while trying to make himself seem accessible to others (like tempting clients) or seem powerful (to intimidate):

Complementing this habit of closing himself off is a second noticeable aspect of his body language: He frequently avoids eye contact to the point that he even holds conversations while entirely facing away from the person he's speaking to.

I might be a bit lenient and say maybe he's doing this to on purpose to be mysterious, whoo~~ But... in all honestly, he just does this with everyone, even with Ratio while trying to talk about an actual important issue (wanting to look into Acheron's real identity). Hell, even the fake Aventurine does it to himself!

We can even say that wearing the rose-tinted glasses in the first place is another intentional barrier, one Aventurine deliberately removes in specific moments to give people the (false) impression that he's "letting them in" to his circle:

Now, this might be a bit more complicated in Aventurine's case, because eye contact has a whole extra meaning when eyes are the defining trait of your species and come with particularly challenging racial stereotypes. So it may be that Aventurine is simply used to conducting conversation while looking away to minimize racial prejudice against his eyes' unique appearance.

However, I'd also argue that the devs deliberately turned his entire model away in cutscene after cutscene to create a clear sense of being inaccessible, unapproachable, and unwilling to engage in the physical intimacy of standing closely, directly facing, and staring at his conversation partners.

While he faces away, he controls both the figurative and the literal direction of conversation, forcing people to keep their eyes on him while he is free to move as he pleases. Over and over again, it just says "I want to be the one in control. I'm not afraid to show my back to you, but you are not welcome to come near me."

And, in fact, that's a third aspect of his character's body language that I am sure the devs did not include accidentally: More so than other characters, many of Aventurine's conversations are conducted from weirdly far distances. Like, half the time he's talking, he's standing all the way on the opposite side of the room!

This habit of speaking from a-larger-than-normal distance is apparent in the first scene with Himeko...

And then in just about every other conversation too:

The bubble is twenty feet in every direction.

Like yes, he does approach and have conversations like a normal person... sometimes... But it is significantly more noticeable with Aventurine than with other characters that he often conducts whole conversations--even with his allies--from a distance. Just genuinely weirdly far apart.

Leaving space for Gaiathra, I guess.

And it's because these significant decisions were made with Aventurine's in-game body language that, when he deliberately alters his own behavior, it is instantaneously noticeable.

In 2.0, he closes the distance, the glasses come off, and he gets directly up in the Trailblazer's face.

It's uncomfortable not just because the player is suddenly being loomed over, but because this behavior has already been subconsciously established for the player as out of character for Aventurine.

The barriers the character himself was putting up are deliberately stripped away so that he can use physicality and demanding eye contact to intimidate his target. He has to reverse his own normal body language in order to come across as domineering (and, I guess if you're into that, appealing in a domineering manner).

And ummmm, just a tiny aside here because I can't resist:

This does mean that when the game goes out of its way to demonstrate Aventurine altering his own normal habit of distant and defensive body language, it is absolutely intentional.

Yes, this is a Ratiorine post in disguise. There literally isn't any other character in the game that Aventurine is shown being comfortable standing so close to and interacting with in this manner. This doesn't occur in every one of their scenes, but Ratio is the only character that this happens with repeatedly. It's not an accident that the devs literally added "They were walking side-by-side" as flavor text.

But look, I'll be fair: There's a great example of this in Aventurine's scene with Acheron too, where he closes the distance and attempts to make eye contact with her--seeking her guidance and closeness--and she is actually the one stepping away, speaking with her back turned, demonstrating her power and control (and issues with connection!) in that scene.

Anyway, this was a whole longggg tangent into analyzing Aventurine's body language, but my point is that, overall, the devs deliberately adjusted his model's actions in-game to give the impression of a person who clearly wants to be in control of every interaction he has with other people, who insists on distance over intimacy, and whose stances and habits suggest that he is significantly less accessible and open than his "Use me as you wish" motto might suggest.

Long story longer, I think that there is almost zero chance Aventurine is willingly ceding control over himself or the actions expected of him to anyone he isn't 100% comfortable with, and I think that using physical intimacy of any kind would be an absolute last resort for him. Frankly, he comes across as more likely to shoot himself in the foot than let someone he doesn't trust lay hands on him.

To me, he reads very much as "You may look, but you may not touch."

[bitterrfruit]

Wild Cherries

John Price x f!Reader tags/cw: modern western AU, cowboys, mean!John Price, chasing, spanking, light sadomasochism, age gap (ish), brat taming, dubcon if you squint, smut wc: 4.9k 18+ mdni

Jonathan Price owns the ranch that neighbours your family's. You've got a bad habit of hopping the fence between them, snooping and stealing, leaving little traces of your misbehaviour behind. What happens when you poke the bear?

✼ Read the full chapter on Ao3 ✼

Jonathan was almost as tall, near as wide as the doorframe he stood in. He glanced above you, expecting someone taller, before he craned his head downward to look at you, and you felt your heart flip behind your sternum.

“Well,” he huffed, voice hoarse from a day’s worth of yelling. His stare narrowed as he soaked you in, crow’s-feet creased; piercing eyes raked from your head to your feet, painfully slowly, and back up again. “Ain’t you a nice surprise.” 

His cocksure voice was rumbling and deep, it sunk under your skin and made you turn pink. You had only ever heard him shouting, heard his roars in the distance when he chastised either you or his ranchmen. Now he uttered his words so low that you could hear the gravel in his throat, it made you want to press your ear to his padded chest and feel the vibrations of his sonorous voice directly from its origin. 

You took the same time to inspect him - realising you hadn’t ever seen him up this close, close enough to smell him. He smelt of hard work and cigar smoke, salt and musk, the warmth of his mammoth body reached out and touched you as if the evening air was suddenly cold. His smoky blue t-shirt had stains of sweat between his broad pectorals and down from his neck, the cotton coated in dust - he had only just turned in from a long day of wrangling, hadn’t yet had the chance to shower or to change. 

He lifted a bronzed and furry arm to lean his elbow against the jamb of the door, so thick with well-earned muscle they threatened to tear the sleeves of his shirt with the slightest flex. You wondered if he picked up his cows with his bare arms, carried them around like they weighed no more than bales of hay. 

His cheeks were ruddy with sunburn and vigour, his firm jaw coated by a dark and barely kempt beard, specked with silvers. His expression was stern, though a glimmer of interest in his steel-blue eyes belied his severity. Heavy lids hung low by virtue of looking down at you, his lips in an analytical curl under the thick moustache that grew under his nose. 

You blinked up at him, and opened your lips to speak - but a gruff snicker from him sucked the air from your lungs before you could utter a word to greet him. 

“Brought me a gift?” He asked richly, glare stuck on you and not the sack of ruby-red jam you hung from your fingers. 

Finding yourself, you gave him a pursed smile. “Lawrence made me come and say hi.” 

“Made you, did he?” He snorted, oozing a knowing arrogance. 

“Yep,” you said, lifting the bag to present it to him. “Eve cooked up some jam.” 

You saw his temples bulge as his jaw clenched tightly, expression sinking into what looked to you like twisted disappointment. 

“Nice o’ you,” he grunted disinterestedly, paying no mind to your olive branch. After a troubled sigh, he asked; “Where’ve you been, lil’ miss Honeybee?” 

The use of your nickname made gooseflesh shiver down your spine. He could only have heard that from your siblings or their ranchmen - how often had they spoken to him? Discussed you while you weren’t there to hear it? Last you thought, they never interacted at all. Now, he seemed to mock you with it. 

But he uttered it so casually, with such a coating of sugar, that it rinsed you like praise. 

“Just working,” you replied flatly, shuffling on your feet, vaguely embarrassed to admit you had abandoned the job already. “In the city.” 

“Mh,” he hummed, giving you a placid nod. “Back for good?”

You bit back the smirk that coaxed your lips. “Maybe.” 

“I’ll have to build a taller fence, then, won’t I?” 

Unable to discern if there was any humour in the forcefulness of his tone, your tongue curled behind your teeth as you tried to find a response that wouldn’t incriminate you. 

And you failed. “I’m a good climber.” 

He didn’t quite smile, you saw his chest rise and fall with a hounded breath. 

“I bet you are.” 

an: hey y'all, as some may recognise, this is the extendo version of my old drabble 'cowboy price'. Not yet the part 3 that many of you were asking for (i'm sorry), but there will be many more parts to come, and I hope they will sate our collective hunger for horny western Price!!

Above is only a snippet, the rest is on my Ao3. love youuuu <3

[azmageddon]

Silence (Part Three)

Pairing: Azriel x Cassian’s twin!healer! reader

Summary: After Amarantha wounds you in the worst way for an Illyrian, the silence of your mate on the other side of the bond stirs memories of how your relationship began.

Warnings: Brief mentions of blood and wounds. Azriel being an ass in this one. One swear word (I think?) . Also painfully inaccurate to the original storyline.

A/n: Personal life took over, honestly. But I am so insanely excited for this one. I wanted something that would create somewhat of a background story for reader and Azriel's relationship and to kickstart the beginning of UTM. Let me know what you think! Always open to requests on how this series should go, so if you have any suggestions let me know! I'd love to hear them!

***

There was a pull. A gentle one at first, but still, a slight tug at the center of your chest. It seemed to beckon you toward the house.

The feeling was fleeting as the sharp sting of a wooden sword struck the side of your leg. 

“Come on, Y/N! You stink at this!” came the voice of your twin brother through the momentary fog. You shook your head to clear it and turned back to him as quickly as your ten year old body would let you. 

“Ow, Cassian!” you whined. “That’s not fair!”

You lifted your own toy sword to strike back, but the pull in your chest came again; so sharply this time that you actually stumbled forward. Embarrassingly for you, Cassian had seen it and let out a laugh at your clumsiness. 

“What’s wrong with you, Y/N? You’re being weird today. I don’t want to play with you if you’re not going to play right.”

With a mighty leap, you pushed your wings out, catching a few inches of air and effectively pummeling your brother. The two of you rolled around in the dirt and leaves, throwing fake punches at one another and ruining your clean clothes. After a few minutes of play fighting, the two of you sprang apart. 

“Ow! You made me cut my hand!” Cassian moaned, turning his palm to face you as a fresh trickle of red blood dripped to the ground. “Fix it!”

You rolled your eyes at your brother and stuck your tongue out at him. “Make me!” With that, you tore into the forest, Cassian fast on your heels. 

Quickly approaching the edge of the trees, you risked a peek over your shoulder to see that Cassian was quick and gaining on you. Before you had the chance to turn back around and sprint even quicker, you ran directly into the path of something hard. 

You practically bounced off the hard object, hitting the ground with a pile of dust coating you. When you looked up to see what you had run into, you could only stare in horror at the Lord of Windhaven. 

“L-Lord Devlon,” you stuttered, shaking where you cowered at his feet. “I’m sorry…I…Cassian was chasing me and I…I didn’t mean to…”

With a large hand, Devlon gripped you by the hair and pulled you to your feet. You let out a soft wince at the pain, knowing better than to cry out. It wasn’t long until Cassian was at your side again. 

“Lord Devlon, I’m so sorry, my sister is so clumsy she didn’t-“

But the Lord of Windhaven lifted a hand to Cassian to silence him. With an audible gulp, your twin took a small step back. 

“I didn’t see you at training this morning,” Devlon sneered at your brother, his unnatural calm causing goosebumps to prickle along your arms. It was either from that, or the firm grip he kept on the roots of your hair. You didn’t dare squirm, knowing there would be hell to pay if you did. 

Redness crept up Cassian’s face at the confrontation. He was so excited to show you everything he’d learned over the last few weeks that you’d both lost track of time and caused him to miss his training schedule. 

“Children!” came the soft voice of Rhysand’s mother. She emerged from the shadow of the trees and immediately at the sound of her approaching, Devlon resealed his grip on you. The Lord of Windhaven never took an order from anyone, let alone a female. But even Devlon wasn’t stupid enough to argue with the mate of the High Lord. 

“Come meet our new friend,” she continued, gently grasping your hand and pulling you away from the male. Having provided you with shelter when Cassian and you were homeless, she had become something of your own mother. With a quick glared warning at the male, she pulled you and your twin away.

“I’ll see you at training tomorrow, boy,” Devlon called after the three of you, and you felt Cassian shiver in fear at the promise of a torturous session the following day.

When you were finally out of earshot, Rhysand’s mother rounded on the two of you. “Children! You know better than to provoke Lord Devlon. And Cassian, to miss training? I’m very disappointed in you.”

Cassian’s ears reddened in embarrassment, but you were barely listening. The tug in your chest was growing stronger with each step closer to home. You took your free hand, the one that wasn't gripped in the hand of Rhysand’s mother, and rubbed at the center of your chest. The tugging sensation didn’t subside. 

Finally, as the trees cleared and your adopted home came into view, you could see Rhysand bouncing excitedly alongside another child relatively the same age. 

“Children, this is our new friend.” Rhysand’s mother released you and took a few steps toward the boy whose back was turned to you. “Azriel, dear, won’t you come say hello?”

Azriel turned slowly, hazel eyes downcast and hands clamped tightly behind his back. You noticed small tendrils of smoke floating around his tightly drawn wings. 

“I'll leave you four to get acquainted.” Rhysand’s mother took a few steps up toward the house, patting her biological son on the top of his head before turning to you. “Dinner prep in ten minutes, Y/N.”

You nodded, understanding your role as an Illyrian female was to cater to the males, no matter their age. 

“Hello,” you whispered to the new boy named Azriel. At the sound of your voice, his eyes snapped to yours. The moment they met, the tug in your chest exploded. You imagined a thread, golden and long, reaching out from the center of your chest toward him. 

Before you had the chance to say anything, Rhys began chattering away. “Azriel says he’s never flown before. Can you believe it? An illyrian that’s never flown! I can't wait to show you!” As his childish prattle continued and Azriel’s gaze returned to the ground, you leaned into your twin.

“Cassian,” you whispered, only for him to hear. “I think Azriel will be my mate one day.”

***

You groaned as pain shot down your back. For a brief moment, you opened your eyes. You were laying on your stomach in a bed that wasn’t your own in a room that you didn't recognize. You had just been dreaming, something about the first time you had met Azriel. But before you could reach out toward his side of the bed, you fell back into unconsciousness.

***

“I will come back to you, I promise.” Azriel tightened his arms around you as your silent tears stained his leathers. You shook your head against his chest, refusing to loosen your grip on him.

“You could be killed, Az,” you choked through your tears. “Isn’t there any other way?” You knew that this was a fate you couldn’t change, the Blood Rite being a tradition for centuries, maybe even millennia. There was no changing tradition. 

Azriel pried you from himself, pulling your fingers off of his leathers and holding you at arms length. He had to crouch down to be on your level, him being nearly an entire head taller than you. Lacing his fingers through your hair and using his other hand to tilt your chin up, he forced you to make eye contact. 

“Listen to me, Y/N,” he began, his hazel eyes practically begging for you to listen. “I will not die out there. Rhys, Cassian, and I will come home. I will come home to you.”

You hiccuped a sob and nodded your head, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself closer. Dropping your foreheads together, you closed your eyes and took a shaking breath. For years you had kept your secret from Azriel. You’re not sure why you wouldn’t tell him that you knew he was your mate. Maybe it was fear of rejection or just bad timing, but you swore to yourself that if he returned from the Blood Rite you would finally share your secret with him.

“I want to…” he whispered, but cut himself off. 

You opened your eyes and saw his hazel ones were on you, darting back and forth between your lips and your own eyes. 

“I’ve never…” you started but stopped as well, embarrassed to admit you’ve never slept with another person before. To you, there was only Azriel, only your mate, and it was never something you ever gave a second thought to. 

But Azriel smirked, dropping his gaze and looking slightly sheepish. “Neither have I,” he whispered back. 

Before long, the two of you were tangled in each other’s arms, sheets thrown aside and gasped moans as you frantically fumbled for each other. 

When you awoke the next morning, Azriel was gone, as well as every other male Illyrian warrior set to partake in the Blood Rite that week. 

***

“Azriel,” you groaned, attempting to shift from your facedown position on the unfamiliar bed beneath you. 

“Take it easy, Y/N, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” The voice was familiar, deep, and you cracked an eye open when you felt the cool feeling of a damp cloth slide across your brow. 

Except it wasn’t Azriel that wiped at your head. Rhysand kneeled eyelevel at the side of the bed. You could see the multitude of emotions swimming behind his eyes: regret, pain, anxiety, and sadness. 

You tried to shift again, but agonizing pain shot down your back. You stifled a scream by practically shoving your face into the pillow. You felt the cool hands of your High Lord tracing shapes across the burning muscles of your back, and the pain slowly ebbed away.

“What happened?” 

Rhysand didn’t respond at first. You could tell he was avoiding your gaze and kept his eyes downcast. Cautiously, you craned your head over your shoulder to see what could be causing the burning pain that you felt.

Nausea rolled through your stomach and you felt your vision darkening along the edges at the sight. What was there, or worse, what wasn't there, had you swallowing your bile and jumpstarting your breathing. 

“Oh gods,” you croaked, and felt your vision and consciousness failing you again. Right where your once strong and beautiful wings stood were mere gaping holes of blood and raw skin. All traces of what made you Illyrian were gone. 

***

You pushed through the crowd, searching frantically for the one male you longed to see. A week away from him was entirely too long; not knowing if he was dead or alive had made the time away even more difficult. 

Pushing through unwashed Illyrian bodies, you eyed every one you passed. Having just returned from the Blood Rite, the throng of people was thicker than ever. Some warriors were triumphant, slapping each other on the back and loudly sharing their stories of revenge and kills. Some were injured, quickly being carried away to the healing tent - a place where you knew you were supposed to be at this very moment to await their return. You couldn’t help yourself, though. All week you had imagined this moment: telling Azriel your secret and reuniting in a world of bliss, happiness, and happily ever after.

After a few minutes, you spotted three familiar faces. You signed a breath of relief. A quick scan of the three showed minor scrapes and bruising, but no life-threatening injuries. 

“Azriel! Cassian! Rhys!” you called from across the sea of people. Knowing their fae hearing would pick up your call, three pairs of eyes shot in your direction. But there was only one pair of hazel that you immediately locked on to. Setting into a run, you flung your arms around your mate, the sheer force of your body forcing him to stumble a step back.

“What, no hugs for your own flesh and blood?” Cassian grumbled from behind you.

You ignored him, nuzzling your face into Azriel’s chest, reveling in the familiar scent that washed over you. Albeit, a bit stale and dirty, but still familiar all the same. 

“Az, I was so worried about you,” you breathed into his skin. 

Instead of responding, Azriel just cleared his throat and peeled you off of him, this time settling you a few feet away and taking a step back.

“Right,” he responded, avoiding your gaze.

The joy you had felt at seeing him return safely fizzled in your chest and went out, replaced now by anxiety and confusion. A quick glance at Rhys and Cassian showed the two males were equally confused. However, Azriel offered no further explanation.

A crushing squeeze from your twin and a soft hug from Rhysand later, you ushered the two home to bathe, rest, and eat for the remainder of the day. 

“I’ve left plenty of food in the kitchen,” you called to them as they turned to leave. “Just leave some for your brother, too!” The two waved over their shoulders as they set off toward home, indicating they had heard you but giving no promises that there would be anything left for the third male in their trio.

You turned back to Azriel, who stood in the same spot, still avoiding eye contact at all cost.

“Az,” you began, taking a step toward him and reaching out your hand to grasp his. He flinched at the movement and looked around wildly, almost as if he was hoping no one had seen your attempt to touch him. He quickly pulled away and folded his hands behind his back and out of your reach. You dropped your arm and felt the pang of rejection shoot through you. “Are you okay?” you asked. 

“We need to talk,” he muttered but said no more.

“Yes,” you agreed, your voice now quiet and small. “We do need to talk.”

You waited a few moments where the two of you stood there in silence, neither one willing to begin the conversation. You wondered if he knew, if Cassian had told him that you were his mate. Cassian was, afterall, the only one who knew your secret, and you couldn’t imagine what a week of surviving in the wilderness brought out of people.

As you opened your mouth to confess your secret, Azriel opened his, too. For a heartbeat you both stood there, mouths open, poised to speak your truths. 

You quickly closed yours and motioned a hand to him. “You go first,” you said, secretly grateful you had a few more moments to regroup your thoughts.

“I can’t give you what you want,” Azriel admitted, finally locking his gaze with yours. When you didn’t respond, he seemed to gain his confidence and continued his explanation. “I know what you want from me, and I can’t give it to you. I spent the entire week out there thinking about you and begging the Mother to bring me back to you. But the Blood Rite changes people, Y/N. Cassian, Rhys, and I -  we made it to the top. We reached the summit and touched the monolith first.” He paused, brushing a hand through his hair before running it down his face and letting out a huff of frustration as he attempted to explain how he felt. 

“I have a role to play in this camp. In this army. I can prove myself here, and I can’t focus on that if you’re…” he hesitated, seemingly trying to find the words that expressed exactly what he was trying to say. 

But you didn’t need him to finish. You understood loud and clear what he was trying to say. He didn’t know the truth of the mating bond. Cassian had stayed true to his promise to keep it a secret until you were ready to reveal it to your mate. What Azriel was admitting to you was worse. Much worse than you ever could have expected.

“You’re breaking up with me?” you asked, holding back the tears that threatened to spill over.

“Am I, though?” he said, one eyebrow shooting up in question. “I mean, we’ve always been friends and you were a good fuck, but I’d hardly say we were together.”

His words sliced through you worse than any blade could ever have done. You took an involuntary step back. You pushed the tears down completely, resolving not to cry in front of him and humiliate yourself even further. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but this is how I feel. I have the opportunity to make something of myself for the first time in my life. I can’t risk losing that.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. It was your turn to avoid eye contact and you looked anywhere but at the face of your oblivious, beautiful, cruel mate.

He sighed and reached a hand out to you. The mountains and valleys of his skin intertwined with your own fingers. He gave your hand a tight squeeze in an attempt to relay his apology.

“What were you going to tell me?” he asked. You could tell he was finished with the conversation, wanting nothing more than to escape your presence.

You shoved the mating bond aside, vowing to yourself never to open it again. You didn’t know if you could stand another second of Azirel’s emotions rushing into your soul unbeknownst to him. Pulling your hand out of his, you took a step back, hardening your heart to the man you had come to love more than you ever thought possible.

“I’ve had a job offer as a personal healer to Rhysand’s father,” you said. “He offered me a place in his court. I’ve accepted the offer.” It was a lie. You did have a job offer from the High Lord, but you had planned to reject it in lieu of the mating bond. But as that future seemed to be a distant hope now, you knew that staying in Windhaven was no longer an option. You intended to write to the High Lord tonight and travel to Velaris in the morning for your new post. 

Azriel smiled, a tight incline of his lips that never reached his eyes. “That’s great, Y/N. I’m so happy for you.”

“Right,” you said, repeating his words back to him. 

***

Rhysand was cleaning your wounds as best he could with the limited supplies he had, which was virtually nothing. A few buckets of clean water and strips of his undershirt he had torn apart to dress your back.

“How did you heal me?” you asked. Rhys had magnificent healing powers, ones that practically rivaled your own. But you knew, from the moment that Amarantha’s wine touched your lips, you had both been rendered magic-less.

“I made a deal with her,” he responded, pressing the clean rags into your back and mopping up the blood that had freshly oozed from them. He took a moment to roll up his sleeve and show you the fresh swirling tattoo that encircled the entirety of his left wrist. “In return, she gave me a fraction of my powers. Just enough to ensure you wouldn’t die.”

You reached your arm out to touch your fingertips to his new tattoo when you hesitated. Glancing at your own extended wrist, you saw that you bore twin markings. 

“What was the bargain?” you asked, dread flooding your body now that you had discovered that somehow, you were involved. 

But he shook his head, tucking your arm back in the blankets and pushing his sleeve back down. “Not now. I don’t want to talk about it now.”

Finishing his work on your back, you felt the mattress dip as he sat beside you. “Are you going to tell me about Azriel?” 

Grief flooded you. You reached out across the bond and tugged as hard as you could, harder than you ever had before. But once again, that golden thread led into nothing but darkness and silence.

And so, you told Rhysand everything.

Words and tears came pouring out of you. You told Rhys about the day you met Azriel, how you had felt the mating bond snap at ten years old. You told him about losing your virginity and the heartbreak that led to your employment in Velaris. You told him the story of how Azriel had found out about the mating bond, when it had snapped for him, and the betrayal he felt of being left in the dark. You talked about your private mating ceremony, the frenzy, and the years the two of you snuck around, vowing to each other never to reveal your secret. 

When you finished, Rhysand contemplated your story. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

You sighed, knowing this part of the conversation was unavoidable. “Cassian knew,” you offered, knowing it would add nothing to your explanation.

“Why not tell me? Or Mor? To keep it a secret even from us; that seems extreme and honestly, a little hurtful. Two of my best friends have been sneaking around behind my back and the third had known all along. It’s hard to be the last one finding out.”

“I’m sorry, Rhys.” you shifted in the bed, uncomfortable from laying on your belly for so long. You reached a hand out to his, lacing your fingers together and staring at the twin tattoos that bound you together. “Azriel has a lot of enemies. Being a Spymaster comes with a lot of risk. We both knew that if the world had found out about us, my life would have been in danger. We thought we were doing what was best by keeping it a secret. Azriel said he would never be able to sleep at night, or go away on assignments, knowing I was at risk.”

Rhysand nodded, squeezing his fingers tightly around yours. “I understand now. I’m sorry you felt like you had to keep it a secret. I’m the one that puts Azriel on dangerous missions. I’m the one that asks him to… take care of the prisoners. I never thought these things would be such a hindrance in his life.”

“No, Rhys,” you assured him. “Az would do anything for you. He loves you. If anything, our secret was proof of his undying loyalty to you and your court.”

The two of you sat in silence together, grateful that if you had to be stuck as a prisoner to Amarantha and her sick, twisted, fate, you were at least stuck together. 

“I promise,” Rhys began, “I will return you to Velaris. I will return you to your mate, no matter what it takes.”

***

Taglist:

@a-new-romantic @tiredsleepyhead @olive-main @saltedcoffeescotch @lunajay33 @st4r-girl-official @lilah-asteria

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Metanoia ;

Aemond Targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

>> Chapter IV : The Fervour.

Summary: You decide to apologize to Aemond.

WARNINGS: nothing nsfw, I left it for the next chapter 🤭, canon typical incest, anxiety etc. + not proofread

A/N: divider credits @cafekitsune, this is a short chapter but the next one is gonna be long and intense 🤭🤭

<- prev // masterlist // next ->

Your heart drummed loudly against your rib cage, each beat accompanied by a gasp of air as you stared into the emptiness of your chamber.

A dream— no, a memory.

Was this the original body's memory?

Is this body not yours?

It doesn't seem likely because this body has exactly all your features, each and every detail pasted right into itself, from your head to your feet; nothing was amiss.

A blanket of dullness washes over your body and you plop back down onto the mattress, hugging your cotton blanket and you laid sideways, pondering with curiosity as you thought about everything.

You have to apologise to Aemond.

Suddenly his hostility, hatred, sly remarks all made sense.

You mentally face palmed yourself.

How were you gonna save the plot or prevent war when knowing that you were the cause of major events?

Had it not been Viserys’ command, you would've been stuck deeper in the mess, his decision of marrying you and Aemond gave you a heads up.

Can you perhaps talk the greens out of it once you're Aemond's wife? Then again, if talking truly worked then there wouldn't be a show at all. You sigh heavily, closing your eyes before reopening them.

You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling before your eyes averted towards the window, noticing how it's still the heartbeat of the night. Going to Aemond's room would seem very scandalous at this hour; regardless of whether you're soon to be married.

And to make matters even more complicated; Alicent and Rhaenyra had caught you guys kissing. You wondered why Aemond kissed you in the first place so suddenly, was he containing his urge to kill through it? Most likely.

You decide that you'd think of everything on the morrow, choosing sleep over restlessness, closing your eyes and waiting for the slumber to grab you down to its depths.

The sound of footsteps awoke you from your sleep, looking around to see none but the maids who were bringing in a bath and water for you to freshen up and get ready for the day.

You zone out the process; having been used to it. Instead your mind now travelled to the matter at hand, which was also your main objective. You planned to go directly to Aemond and apologise, as stupid as it may sound you really had no other option before the situation got worse. At least by apologising you'll make him realise how sorry you are, which might console his inner conflict.

The maids finish touching you up. You waste no moment and immediately get off the stool, heading straight to the door and leaving your chambers.

You check the library where you first encountered him; to your surprise, he wasn't there. You then move onto the training grounds only for him to not be there either. You start wandering around the red keep in the search for him yet he seems nowhere to be found. The guards outside his room have also said that he had left his room in the morning.

You go to the garden, to the weirwood tree, hoping to find him there, yet he is nowhere.

Frustrated, you sit underneath the tree, huffing in annoyance and catching your breath. You grunt irritated; patience growing thin as time only passed with no signs of Aemond. You had searched practically everywhere. The sympathy you were feeling is slowly being replaced by exasperation.

You lean back against the tree, staring at the leaves.

It's moments like this that make you truly question your sanity and reconsider your situation. As much as you were a big fan of the show; being trapped in it isn't really ideal without any known way out. You sometimes miss your life before this.

How plain and simple it was, with no worries of a blooming war, you would work and just rest at home, cook your favourite meals by yourself, watch your favourite shows and then sleep. It's the simplicity you miss.

“I want to go back…” You say out loud, praying that the world would hear you and miraculously send you back home, however it doesn't happen; because if it did, why would you be here in the first place?

Your words were heard just not by the universe.

“You want to go back?” The voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you sit up straight, looking up at the figure who was now standing in front of you.

Aemond stood tall, with his hands behind his back, foot jutting out. Oh yes, his typical standing pose.

“Uhm, I- no? I don't—” You stutter not knowing what to say, you get up off the ground and stand straight, his gaze follows you, taking in your dress. His lips quirk up into a smirk.

You were wearing green.

“Your gown; it is quite beautiful.” He comments and you look down, not finding anything special about the plain material, “—especially, the colour.” He points it out, and that is when you realised that you were wearing green.

“The maids dressed me.” You imply slightly, indicating that you had no intention of wearing the colour of his family. He smiles mockingly, raising his eyebrows.

“You were looking for me?” He questions and you nod and take a deep breath, hoping the oxygen would calm your brain by magic but your nerves were still rampant.

You step closer to him, which he is taken aback by but doesn't move an inch. You look into his eye, your body now fueled up with the newfound determination of completing your goal.

“I apologise.” You choke out and Aemond frowns in confusion, “For the eye- the night, driftmark.” You stumble over your words unable to form coherent sentences as the previously felt anxiety blooms in your gut again.

Seriously, what is wrong with this body?

The atmosphere falls silent only being interrupted by the whispers of the wind blowing past both of you. Aemond opens his mouth to speak but he closes it immediately after; trying to find words that do not sound harsh as a response.

“Aemond.” His name left your mouth involuntarily and he snapped his gaze to you, he watched your form waiting for you to say something but you just stood there unable to speak, your tongue all tied up in your mouth, having no idea how to continue this conversation anymore.

“Aemond, I am sorry, I really am, I regret it; I didn't mean to hurt you, I was protecting jace- my brother; I never meant for any of this to happen— please.” Your voice croaks, breaking as your mouth begins to move on its own, the noise coming out of your throat— yet it wasn't you speaking, it wasn't you forming these words, they came from somewhere innate.

You grab his arm, eyes tearing up as you stare at him, searching for an ounce of forgiveness on his face, an expression of reassurance that can calm the brewing storm inside you. Your gut wrenched and turned as the silence only prolonged with every passing second the pit inside you became deep and deeper.

You didn't know what was going on, it was as if your body had a mind of its own; but it didn't feel that way. Although you felt like you were in the backseat watching it all happen; it also felt like you were the one that was operating as well.

“It was a cruel mistake, a mistake that ruined everything. Perhaps it is why the Gods have punished me, they put me in a state of death for years but never truly killed me. It was my punishment for that crime I have committed against an innocent boy. But was I not innocent too?” You stammered, your body shuddering out of control.

Aemond grabs your shoulders; a poor attempt at consoling you while you shivered, tears dripped down your face like streams of river, Aemond wiped them off, pulling you into him, engulfing in his embrace, holding your head as you sobbed into him.

He did not know how to react.

He did not expect any of this.

Yet he knew one thing, which he hated himself for, which he came to terms with just last night.

The fact that he had already forgiven you.

You both stand there like that for a moment, your cries dissipated from sobs to sniffs and that's when you pull away from the hug, staring at him back again.

Aemond tucked a stray hair strand behind your ear before resting his hand on your cheek, he didn't want to admit this to you but he had to; for his own sake— watching you cry felt like a thousand swords being pierced into his heart, he didn't want to see you like this anymore.

“You're forgiven.” Those two words left his mouth as he held you close and you did not know how much of an impact they'd have on you until you felt the pit in your stomach vanish completely as if it ceased to exist.

You felt calm.

Euphoric.

You felt lightheaded, the world spinning as you stared at him. You gave him a small smile in return, caressing his scar as your vision grew weary.

The last thing you remember seeing was Aemond's panicked expression before you completely blacked out.

@gabriella-aesthetic @delaynew @idonotknowenglish @dixie-elocin @intheheartoftheking @dracaryxzs @ladyoffandoms @zoleea-exultant @saturnssrings @uniquecutie-puffs @aleemendoza2425-blog @marvelita85 @feelingfaye @sylvievil @cypherpt5fttaehyung @ttysmfwna @void21 @technicallystrangereview @feyresqueen @evergreen9083 @mirandasidefics @org12 @blorbo-brainrot @thisishwrworld @shadowqueen09 @watermel0nsugarhigh @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @madislayyy @the-hufflebird-girl @hiatuswhore

[bluenotes75]

Trust (repost)

Repost because the original got labeled even though there's no adult content :(

Miles Morales ! 42 x Fem ! Reader Synopsis : ''I fucked up princesa, I fucked up bad.'' wc : 1,6k Warnings : spoilder for atsv, angst, THEY ARE AROUND 19 YEARS OLD, possessiveness, this is angst but like good one, cheating, no proofread, what I could remember from my spanish class 3 years ago. pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.3

You glanced at your phone for the hundredth time this minute.

Still no sign of life from Miles.

You were worried, more than you should as you had seen him for the last time the previous day. Yet, you were used to texting your boyfriend every day. It was now nighttime and he had not answered any of your messages. You scrutinized with a frown the last texts you had sent him. He had left you on read.

Miles never left you on read.

Well, he did but only for two reasons. First, when he was mad at you. Thus the first contradiction because the boy was rarely mad at you. Even if he was, he would always confront you directly and talk things out. He hated being on bad terms with you. Life was already rough without you by his side and he wouldn't let anything strip him of any quality time with his girl.

The other situation was is… street activities with his uncle. He used to disappear for days without telling you why, convincing you to not get concerned about him. However, after that one night when you yelled at him, crying, for worrying to death after he ghosted you for two days straight, he promise to always send a quick message to tell you when he would get really busy.hhunyn

So as you sat on your bed, plunged in the darkness of your room, you knew that none of these cases applied to the current situation. You two hadn't fought and he hadn't told you anything about his prowler activities. Well, nothing that you knew of, which left you insanely troubled.

Your last words together were when he left for a party the previous night. You were supposed to go with him but dropped at the last minute because your mother felt sick. You preferred staying by her side, making sure she get better. At first, Morales wanted to stay with you and spend the night at yours, but you refused. You couldn't remember the last time he got to catch a breath and just enjoyed life like the young man he was. He was always either hanging out with you - making sure you were safe by the same occasion- or working with his uncle. So like the good girlfriend you were, you convinced him to go to the party without you. You just wanted him to have fun and even though he was reluctant, he couldn't say no to you.

Since then you had heard nothing from his side. It was already far in the night and you should be sleeping, but you couldn't close an eye.

At this point, you were contemplating directly calling his mother or even his friends. But you knew Miles despised you talking to other guys. Even if they were his own friends.

Your train of thought was suddenly interrupted by a bang on your window. You jumped at the sound and gawked when you catch sight of the boy tormenting your thoughts out of the corner of your eyes.

You hurried up and opened the window for him and he stumbled inside your room looking…awful. You could see the dark circles painted under his eyes and the frown settled on his forehead. Before you could say anything, he clenched his jaw and wrapped his arms around your waist, dragging your body to his. He pressed your bodies tightly against each other, leaving no room for anything else and the heat of your skin warmed the iciness of his.

You were left speechless as he leaned down and nestled his face on your chest, right over your breast. This sudden display of physical affection was unusual from your Miles. You were the one initiating the cuddles, the kisses, the hand-holding. So you couldn't help your heart from fluttering at this new attention. However, the feeling quickly vanished as you remembered the context. Your worry came back like a slap on your cheek.

“My love, what's going on ?” you broke the silence and wrapped your arms around his neck to hug him back, sensing that he needed it.

You received the silence treatment.

“Miles,” you frowned and leaned back to look at his face, only for him to stop you by tightening his arms around the low of your back.

“You haven't answered any of my texts since yesterday, what happened? Is it your uncle? You can talk to me. ”

He took a deep breath against your skin but still left you with no explanation, which made you upset.

“Miles, you can't just disappear for a whole day and come back as if it was nothing !”

“Lo siento Mami, I messed up,” his pained voice came out muffled by your shirt. You scowled at his words. ‘uh ?’

“What do you mean ?”

''m' so sorry. I fucked up Princesa. I fucked up bad.''

You moved your hand to his hair to caress it and comfort him.

''What did you do ?''

''I-fuck, don't make me say it.''

Whatever he has done had to be really bad for him to be that panicked. You could definitely tell that it had been eating him all day.

''Tell me,''

''….I messed up last night. I touched another girl.''

As soon as the words escaped his mouth, your hand froze in his hair. All the worries slipped out of your body as your blood ran cold. This couldn't be what you thought right?

''W-what ?''

''I spent the night with another girl.''

There it was.

Your hands fell to your side as your heart dropped. This was the last thing you could have ever imagined. You took a shaky breath trying to process the wave of emotions that invaded you, but your stare was already lost in the wall facing you.

Sensing your lack of reaction, Miles leaned back to look at you.

''You don't know how much I regret it-''

''Let go of me.''

The boy tensed in your arm at the unusual coldness of your voice.

“No mami, let me explain-”

“Let me go !” This time you yelled.

You thought back to all his possessiveness. Him not letting you talk to your guy friends. You thought back to these sleepless nights you spend worrying about this safety, just like tonight. To all these efforts you pulled to break the wall he build around him after the loss of his father.

All that for him to fumble and cheat on you in the end.

You felt your eyes water but you refused to cry in front of him. He couldn't see you weak. He couldn't see how much he had wounded you.

“Get out,”

“I won't, you can't end us.”

“What?'' You scoffed at his nerve. ''You ended us the moment you prioritized your pleasure over our relationship. Get out !”

Yet, he stayed still.

And that's all it took for you to lose it. He didn't have enough of betraying you, now he had to stay and insensitively watch you break down. Before you could control yourself, you landed a punch on his chest. Then another, and another one. Soon they rained. They didn't do anything to him. Miles was barely affected by it, and you weren't surprised. He was the prowler, after all, he was not weak.

While he was not affected physically, he was a mess on the inside. He had never seen you this upset, and he loathed himself for being the cause of it.

“How could you do this to me !” Tears rolled down your cheeks.

There, you had failed to maintain your facade and Miles watched in horror as you fell apart in front of him. Through your blurry sight, you didn't notice that he was also crying. He stood there, towering over you, eaten up by remorse. He was supposed to protect you. He had accepted the prowler job to protect both you and his mother, but he had done the total opposite.

But he couldn't bear to lose you.

He let go of your waist and wrapped his fingers around your wrists to stop your punches. You tried to escape his hold but he was too strong.

“Querida, mirame por favor. I will make it up to you. I'll buy you everything you want. Tu eres mi mundo and you know-” he tried but you wouldn't hear anything.

“Who do you think I am? You can't buy me with money! Stop being selfish and leave !”

The boy tried to make eye contact with you but you looked sideways, taking deep breaths to calm down. You were overwhelmed with so many emotions that you didn't know what to feel anymore. However, you knew you couldn't bear to see him anymore.

For some reason, Miles seemed to catch the message as he finally let go of your hands and stepped back.

''I hope you can forgive me, mami.''

''Don't. I hate you. I wish I never met you.''

You spat those words purposely to hurt him. You didn't mean them at all. If anything, you still loved him as hard as before. Yet, when you noticed his hurt expression, it brought you a bit of consolation. It was tiny and it only lasted a second, but it was something.

You turned your back to him and eventually, you heard the window open and close behind you. Only then, you tumbled to your knees and let all of your tears fall, becoming a sobering mess in the silence of the room.

You had heard a lot about heartbreak. From your friends to your mother and even your aunt. What you didn't know was how aching it would be. Because even after he betrayed you, even after he made you feel like you weren't enough, you couldn't stop your heart from beating faster for Miles.

[officialabortive]

I know the whole "hit with a sex change quirk" thing isn't original but DAMN

Just Bakugou curiosity getting the better of him, so he's sat in front of his tall closet mirror, legs spread wide to get a good look at his pretty pussy. One hand holding the underside of his knee to keep ample distance between each thigh. The other uses two fingers to spread his new lips. His eyes widening at the sight of a wet sheen slowly becoming increasingly prominent. Such a lewd sight was bound to get him riled up from the very start.

The sensation of need is in no way unfamiliar, but this... this is something else entirely. The odd feeling of clenching in desperation sending surges of an agonizingly pleasurable ache that spread to his thighs and belly.

Just bakugou prodding his pointer finger into his dripping hole. Starting with just a fingertip and slowly insuring the rest so his knuckles press against his labia. It feeling so foreign only pressing him to experiment just a bit more.

Bakugou swirling the finger inside himself in a circular motion, successfully stimulating so many areas at once. Maybe taking a quick pause in order to take a lick of his hand, tasting himself.

Him having so many ideas of things to try that he doesn't know where to begin.

Readjusting himself to be in a more laid back position —but not too far as to block sight of his reflection. Fat chance of him disregarding the visual— leaving a wet streak where his hand grazed his leg. Applying a light pressure to his swollen clit making bakugou jolt, not expecting something so painfully intense. Such a shock being too much, so instead he opts to rub a couple circles onto the soft area directly above.

But any amount of patience can only last so long before it's inevitable downfall. When nagging urges burst out into fruition.

He plunges a finger to the deepest spot in his pussy and swiftly curls it upward in one languid motion. Body tensing, bakugou is gasping for air with eyes gone wide, jaw trembling as he wills himself to remain silent. The addictive feeling of pulsing pressure deep within his gut is cutting off al ability to form a single thought. All he knows is the almost electric surges running down his inner thighs. Not even conscious enough to realise the hand starting to trace around his clit as he continues to viciously finger himself.

Unable to stop, everything somehow feels increasingly stronger. So much to the point of panting with shaking legs as fluids drip into the building puddle on the floor. Till eventually he can't restrain himself from squirting directly onto the mirror in front of him. Clear streams distorting the reflection of one whose rendered himself to dumb to understand the sight either way.

If only bakugou was coherent enough to see how pathetic he looks

masterlist

[littlexdeaths]

eddie munson x fem reader

warnings: mostly fluff but all my works are 18+, established relationship, fear of flying, a very dramatic nose bleed and eddie being an adorable but horny mf

a/n: i recently started rewatching supernatural again, and in doing so i came to the conclusion that dean and eddie are very similar. so this is a little something that’s loosely based off a scene in season 1, episode 4: phantom traveler. enjoy xx.

“are you seriously humming enter sandman right now?” you ask, amusement creeping into your voice as you glance over beside you.

only to see your boyfriend. with his cheeks flushed, leg bouncing erratically and ringed fingers gripping tightly onto the armrest nestled between you.

when you originally brought up the idea to book a flight to visit your folks for the holidays, instead of making the almost 10 hour trek to good ole’ minnesota, eddie had seemed all for it.

he encouraged it actually.

making some joke about how his “decrepit, aching twenty-six year old body” couldn’t handle another 10 hour drive.

however, the closer the trip loomed, the more reluctant eddie became. and he tried every which way to get you to cancel the flight and make the dreaded drive instead. but that was an argument he wasn’t going to win.

it wasn’t until the plane began to ascend into the air that the reason for his sudden reluctance became blatantly obvious.

eddie munson was scared, no scratch that—petrified of flying.

and try as you may, you just found that new tidbit to be even more endearing.

eddie gives you a sideways glare as you attempt to hide your grin. and really it shouldn’t be this funny. but maybe your lack of sleep from the early morning drive to the airport is finally beginning to weigh on you and soon the delirious giggles will start to kick in.

“yes, it calms me,” he huffs, gaze tearing away from you to glance out the small window of the plane.

“well you don’t look very calm to me.”

you rest a hand on his bouncing knee, just as another round of turbulence rocks through the cabin. and your amusement quickly delves into concern as he grips your arm to pull you closer into his side.

“okay—that cannot be normal!” he nearly whines, leaning his head back against the seat.

“baby, it’s just a little turbulence. you know you’re more likely to die in a car accident than on an airplane, right?”

while he appreciates your attempt to ease his mind a bit, it’s seriously not working.

“nice try, but i’ve seen final destination, sweetheart. i know how this shit ends.”

and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his dramatics.

soon his humming starts back up, becoming a lot louder. and earning him a solid kick in the back from the teenager seated in the row behind you. the kick seems to be perfectly timed however. as the force of it and another jostle of the plane has his body flying forward, his nose smashing directly into the seat in front of him.

his pained groan has your temper flaring, ready to whip your head around and give that shit head kid a piece of your mind. but you freeze when you notice the way he’s cradling his nose. your gaze following the drops of crimson that have dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt.

“shit, eddie you’re bleeding.”

he makes a noise in confirmation, but before he can utter some sarcastic remark you have unbuckled both of your seatbelts and hauled him to his feet.

the flashing seatbelt sign be damned.

a flight attendant tries to stop you on your way down the aisle toward the bathroom, but you’re having none of it.

“miss, you both need to return to your—”

and if looks could kill, this whole plane would come crashing down.

“either you let me through so i can help clean him up, or he makes a mess of your aircraft. your choice.”

while you can tell she wants to argue, seeing the blood beginning to seep through the space between his fingers has her moving aside to let you pass.

“christ, sweetheart.” eddie groans when you carefully shove him inside the small bathroom and squeeze in behind him.

“sit, now.” you order.

he does as instructed, spreading his legs so you can slip in between them. you grab a wad of the practically sheer toilet paper, running a corner of it beneath the stream of water.

“keep the bridge of your nose pinched, it’ll help stop the bleeding.”

and when you turn back toward him, your brows pull together in confusion. his lips are stretched in a toothy grin, any trace of his anxiety now forgotten.

at least for the moment.

you begin to gently dab at the drying blood on his upper lip, thankful that most of the gushing had ceased for the time being. and eddie winces slightly once you start to clean around his nose.

“why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, having felt his burning gaze from the moment he sat down.

“you’re just…” he trails off, slipping his fingers through the loop of your jeans to tug you closer—if that were even possible. “really fuckin’ sexy when you’re bossy.”

and a subtle glance down has you huffing out a laugh of disbelief.

“eddie, do you seriously have a boner right now?”

and he just grins wider.

“guilty as charged.”

[velvet4510]

I’m not a comic book reader, so I don’t know what precedent this has in the source material, but I think that Tommy being resurrected into the body of an unloved boy with no support system will play a huge role in helping Billy come to terms with his multiple identities. While Billy has been loved and protected by the Kaplans, and truly considers them his parents, Tommy will have had nobody. Once he either directly remembers or finds out indirectly (like Billy did) that he’s the son of the Scarlet Witch, Tommy will yearn for Wanda and Vision’s parental love and immediately consider them his parents. So once he and Billy reunite, Tommy’s feelings toward Wanda and Vision will help Billy to understand that he is both a Maximoff and a Kaplan, and that he has two sets of parents, and he must embrace both of them especially now that his twin has embraced their original parents. It probably will be Tommy who initiates the eventual quest to bring back Wanda.

[nazrigar]

Transformers All-Sparks: The Heirs to Nova Prime and Stormreign

Because Oplita isn't complete with veritable angst. In this, the angst of identity... and how much of you is still... well. You!

In the eyes of the Autobots, Optimus Prime and Elita seem to have it together and are bastions of leadership, wisdom and strength… but deep in their leaders' mindscapes, it's an entirely different story.

Optimus Prime can see and even talk to the spirits of the old Primes, including the original holder of the Matrix, Nova Prime, the original 13th Prime. In stasis, Optimus can even talk to them... and it's a very creepy experience.

Elita meanwhile can feel as if though past Guardians "speak" through her own body. In stasis, she even sees through their eyes and live their experiences.

A grave concern for both Orion and Aerial is, even if they KNOW who they are and think they're still "just" Orion and Aerial... as Optimus Prime and Elita-1, they just don't know HOW much of their identities in their reformatted forms is either influenced or channeled directly from these ancient figures of the past.

Nova Prime, also known as Nova the Conqueror, was the 13th member of the original Primes, and was the original leader. It was through him that Cybetron as a realm went from one world to several, and helped establish the space bridges for easy travel between each. He never once lost a battle, and there was no monster he couldn't beat. He was an inspirational figure who knew how to rally those to his cause… then one day he simply decided he conquered enough and passed on the Matrix and disappeared without a trace. His abdication shocked the rest of the Primes, and is still a subject of heated debate in the modern age. Some say he abandoned his duty, others say he simply had nothing more to conquer. Regardless, he casts an enormous shadow over all other Primes… including Optimus.

Stormreign was the leader of the Knights of Cybertron, the first iteration of the Cybertronian High Guard, later the Guardians for short. Though she indeed helped defend Cybertron, when Nova wanted a world he wanted to claim for Cybertron, it's her cybertronian boots on the ground smiting foes. Said to be consummate professional, but with a firm hand on keeping her forces focused and disciplined. It was her who began the tradition of passing down her T-cog to future apprentices and heirs, a practice long since forgotten except for, as far as Elita could tell, one. Her own mentor, Leader-1.

[octuscle]

With the help of Allah

Bosse had been on the road for three days. On the road on a trip around the world as a gift for his A-levels. In fact, he hadn't been given very much money. But his parents had generously allowed him to start his studies in a year's time. And until then, with a little help from his parents, he was allowed to do whatever he wanted. The original plan had been to fly to Istanbul and make his way from there to Cairo by bus, train or hitchhiking. The war in Israel had thwarted his plans and so he had flown directly to Cairo. And after a day at the pyramids, he was red as a sheet and he was sick of everything. To give his skin a rest, he spent a day at the big bazaar today. At least it was shady there. Even if it was unbearably hot. But the posts of the last few days had been very successful; initially only family, friends and maybe a few teachers had followed him, but the number of his followers was actually growing by a few dozen every day. Measured against the initial number of perhaps 200 followers, that was a huge success. And this success was to be further boosted today with a few reels from the Bazaar.

The Bazaar was overwhelming. Confusing, full of people and smells. A babble of voices in which only a few snatches of words recognizable as English could be heard. Bosse loved the bazaar. But he hated the rubbing of his rucksack on his burnt shoulders. Suddenly he heard something. Rather unconsciously. Something irked him… It was… Swedish! Someone was speaking Swedish! "Unge herrn! Kom hit, snälla!" Bosse looked around. There was no one far and wide who was blonde and over six feet tall. He was in a crowd of short, black-haired people. And yet he heard it very clearly: "Unge herrn! Kom hit, snälla!" It was quiet… Much quieter than the Arab yelling of the other traders… But it came from one direction. Clearly… Bosse wasn't sure whether he wasn't beginning to hallucinate amidst the vapors of tens of thousands of people and the scent of spices from 1,001 nights. But the voice became louder and clearer "Unge herrn! Kom hit, snälla!" And then he was standing in front of the stall of a merchant who was one of the hairiest men Bosse had ever seen. Not many merchants showed their shoulders here in the Grand Bazaar. And to Bosse's taste, this man had better not have done so either… But now he stood before him with his hairy chest, hairy shoulders, hairy arms and huge, impressive beard. "Young sir, it's good that you're here. May I grant you relief from your pain?" Bosse looked at him as if bewitched. The man, who looked as Arabic as one could look, spoke to him in Swedish as if he had studied in Lund.

"Young sir, you are not used to the sun. The sun is the Arab's friend. But the enemy of the men from the north. Buy one of my amulets, young sir! And your pain will be alleviated." The merchant took an amulet from a stand and placed it on Boss's shoulder. The feeling was wonderful. Coolness flowed through his skin. The pain of the backpack straps at least on one side of his battered body. "Young master, only 40 pounds. Not even ten crowns yet! And you will sleep the sleep of the righteous tonight. No pain. Young master, try it. And don't pay until tomorrow when it's worked. No risk, young sir!" Bosse didn't even think about paying tomorrow. Obviously this amulet was at least not harmful. He took a 50-pound note and gave it to the merchant. "Young sir. I'll gladly take the money. But allow me: this is the great bazaar of Cairo. You must haggle. This amulet would never have been worth more than 10 pounds." Laughing, he gave Bosse 30 pounds in change. Bosse hung the amulet around his neck, put the 30 pounds in his wallet and turned around to thank him. He almost collided with a giant of a man. He was in the coppersmith's alley. There was no one selling amulets for miles around. Bosse mumbled a "Maghfira" and set off in confusion. He walked deeper and deeper into the bazaar. No souvenirs or sweets interested him. He needed new shoes. Something more practical than his sandals. And if he wanted to visit the mosque later, he should get himself a prayer cap. The amulet on his chest felt great. And his skin changed from a glowing red to a rich olive color. He moved as confidently as a cat in the corridors of the labyrinth. This felt so familiar. He greeted a familiar face again and again. Every store he stopped in gave him a cup of tea. Rumors and gossip were exchanged. Besse overheard a lot on his way through the bazaar. And he knew that information had to be bought with other information. By the end of the day, Bessem was exhausted. The pedometer on his cell phone showed that he had walked almost 15 kilometers. But it had been worth it. He had done everything he had planned for his day off. He had fed his TikTok channel with all kinds of news. And all he had to do was survive tomorrow, Thursday, and then it was the weekend.

Essam's day started early. His father was one of the biggest traders of copper in the big bazaar. And even though he was the crown prince, Essam was actually nothing more than an errand boy and porter. But Essam loves the job. He loved the bazaar. You met people all the time. Acquaintances and friends. But also strangers who gratefully let themselves be led out of the maze for a few pounds. Essam was well known in the relevant channels. Those who found him and let him "rescue" them were sometimes allowed to return the favor in kind. Essam was still a boy. But his cock was that of a stallion!

Pics by @ki-kink

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter six | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 SFW | mentions of death, Coriolanus, Dr. Gaul, some parts of this chapter are directly taken from the original book!

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 Arachnes' funeral, Coriolanus and you bonding on the rooftop <3

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 hello! Chapter six!! This was finished quickly because some of the paragraphs and quotes are directly from the books and we're finally peeling the layers that reader has, how we feeling about that?

Beta read by the SUN @nowitsmissing

series masterlist | navigation

It was time for Arachnes' funeral. Although it was Saturday, the entire student body reported to homeroom before they assembled on the front steps of the Academy, divided neatly and alphabetically by class. By his assignment, Coriolanus and you found themselves in the front row with faculty and distinguished guests, first and foremost President Ravinstill.

The Academy and the surrounding buildings were festooned with funereal banners and sported Capitol flags in every window. Numerous cameras were positioned to record the event, and multiple Capitol TV reporters streamed live commentary. Coriolanus thought it was quite a display for Arachne, disproportionate to both her life and death, the latter of which could have been avoided if she’d refrained from being such an exhibitionist.

Both Coriolanus and you were wearing black suits with a symbol of Panem embroidered on the suit pocket. Coriolanus was made to sing in front of everyone. It was thanks to his grandma’am and her rules that he sailed through all the notes with a breeze. He received applause from the crowd and an approving nod from the president. He sat down again beside you.

Neither of you had spoken to each other other than the greetings. He hated to admit it but it made him jumpy. He wanted to hear you say something, anything, especially with the fact you had the upper hand with Dr. Gaul with the act you have planned for the funeral. It was impressive despite the initial horror he felt reading it. It was a strategy that would work perfectly with the times.

Now it was time for the show.

The president, who now took the podium, began, “Two days ago, Arachne Crane’s young and precious life was ended, and so we mourn another victim of the criminal rebellion that yet besieges us,” the president intoned. “Her death was as valiant as any on the battlefield, her loss more profound as we claim to be at peace. But no peace will exist while this disease eats away at all that is good and noble in our country. Today we honor her sacrifice with a reminder that while evil exists, it does not prevail. And once again, we bear witness as our great Capitol brings justice to Panem.”

The drums began a slow, deep boom, and the crowd turned as the funeral procession rounded a corner onto the street. Although not as wide as the Corso, Scholars Road easily held the honor guard of Peacekeepers, standing shoulder to shoulder, twenty wide and forty deep, that stepped in flawless uniformity to the rhythm of the drums.

Behind the Peacekeepers came a long flatbed truck with a crane affixed to it. High in the air, the bullet-ridden body of the District 10 girl, Brandy, dangled from its hook. Shackled to the truck bed, looking utterly filthy and defeated, were the remaining twenty-three tributes. The length of their restraints made it impossible to stand, so they either crouched or sat on the bare metal floor. This was just another chance to remind the districts that they were inferior and that there would be repercussions for their resistance.

Another battalion of Peacekeepers followed the tributes, paving the way for a quartet of horses. They were decked in garlands and pulled an ornate wagon with a pure white coffin draped in flowers. Behind the coffin came the Cranes, riding in a horse-drawn chariot. At least her family had the decency to look uncomfortable. The procession halted when the coffin drew up in front of the podium.

Dr. Gaul, who’d been sitting next to the president, approached the mic. Coriolanus thought it was a mistake to let her speak at such a moment, but she must have left the crazy lady and her pink snake bracelets at home because she spoke with a stern and intelligent clarity. “Arachne Crane, we, your fellow citizens of Panem, vow that your death will not be in vain. When one of ours is hit, we hit back twice as hard. The Hunger Games will go forward, with more energy and commitment than ever before, as we add your name to the long list of the innocent who died defending a righteous and just land. Your friends, family, and fellow citizens salute you and dedicate the Tenth Hunger Games to your memory.”

He hated how impressed he was about the fact all of this was your idea. How much he felt proud of you that you managed to spin this around for the Capitols' benefit. He turned to you, on the tip of his tongue a congratulations resting but you were looking down on the ground as if trying to keep yourself from getting sick. Coriolanus found himself shockingly concerned.

“Are you okay?” He whispered.

“As good as I can be,” you seem to choke out before getting out of your seat and leaving the funeral early. Coriolanus looks around and realizes he won't be missed if he leaves either so he follows you inside the academy. You move around the hall without knowing he is trailing you. And then both of you soon reach the roof, forbidden but who cares? He doubted Dean Highbottom could give him any sort of punishment during a funeral, it wouldn't look good.

“What's wrong?” He asked, worried. His face was etched in a frown. What was there to be sad about? You made it pretty clear that you weren't mourning Arachne Cranes’ death. Was it something else?

“I didn't think she would do it,” you said, turning around to face him. Your eyes filled with tears. “It was a joke. A cruel joke of turning her into the rotten spectacle she always was. I didn't think- think-”

You were so contradicting. It was confusing to him. “But you said everything you wrote was for Panem,” he said, his confusion sweeping in his voice and his eyes.

You scoffed, “Would you rather have me admit it was because I wanted to be a bitch? Because… that was me being dramatic, I didn't expect it to be reality. It was disgusting. It was cruel. It came from my head.��

A sob escapes your lips and it makes Coriolanus frown harder, feeling irritated by you. He clenched his jaw before calming himself down. He walked towards you, standing right near you.

He said, “Real or not?” Because you were a performer, in a different way from Lucy Gray but a performer nonetheless. He needed to know if this was fake or not.

You furrow your eyebrows before realizing his question. You wiped away the tears that fell, trying to stop yourself from grinning. You failed, an amused snort leaving your lips.

“Not,” you answered, truthfully. “Let's just say I was practicing for the after-party.”

Coriolanus nodded, despite his mind being overwhelmed. Was it bad that he thought it was hot how easily you switched faces? And he loved how he could now see through your sweet persona and the real you, his soulmate. He couldn't blame you for being like a snake as he one himself, but he was stunned at how you had fooled him for the past eight years as well.

“Perhaps I should too,” he replied, now with a smile.

“Was that obvious?” You pouted, “I thought my acting had gotten better.”

Coriolanus chuckled, “Oh no. It was impeccable. But you said you were a performer after all. That's how I figured it out.”

You nod in reply. A comfortable silence falls as both of you look all over the Capitol. The sun was shining brightly over the roof and Coriolanus could feel the heat. He took his suit.

“I am glad,” you begin to speak, taking Coriolanus' attention away from the sky. “That you know when I am acting… it makes me feel better that at least you get a show. That you now know… when I am performing or not.”

Coriolanus Snow doesn't know how to reply to that, especially with how his heart skipped a beat from your words.

You grin at him, your shoulder nudging his shoulder. “I am glad to somewhat call you my first real friend, Coriolanus.”

“Why did you come to the roof?” He asked, instead, changing the topic. Too much was changing for him, too soon. He was your friend now? What a… He liked it. He lets himself admit that he liked being your first friend. You were different from your district blood, and you were better than most Academy students too.

“I needed a time out,” you said, “I can't believe they called Arachne a hero” You rolled your eyes, “If she's a hero, Dr. Gaul is a saint and Dean Highbottom is not high.”

He lets out a laugh at your words. “Maybe her gravestone could read, ‘Casualty of cheap laughs.’”

You laugh out loud too, and he wanted to bottle the sound, hide it from the world. Because who else was deserving of your laughter if not him?

“Come on,” he said, his hand holding your arm before it slid down to hold your hand. He barely hides the pathetic sound that escaped when you interlocked his fingers with yours. Both of you acknowledge something to each other.

“We need to head to the interview soon.”

NEXT PART

[galedekarios]

gale & curing the orb - early access

writing my current series of cut content from early access made me think a lot, especially about how curing gale of the orb might have originally worked out if larian had kept to what had been set up in early access. it's no secret that a lot of things were changed or cut entirely, big and small, like for instance halsin's involvement with ketheric's fall, isobel and the shadow curse.

gale's condition, too, seemed different then.

what exactly was different in early access?

while only a few body models were unique in early access, gale's key art showed his left arm in bandages.

in early access, auntie ethel had vicious mockery lines, which hinted what might be beneath those bandages:

Auntie Ethel: I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin. Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.

we also had information from gale directly as to what happened to karsus in the aftermath of casting his spell:

Player: I was wondering about that “mighty lord” you told me about in your story. Gale: Ah, yes. Karsus Karsus was perhaps the most powerful wizard that ever lived. The child-who-would-be-a-god, the elves called him. And he tried. With a spell of his own devising he endeavoured to usurp in one fell swoop the power of the goddess of magic.  Mystryl, she was called then. Imagine what it must have felt like. To be a god. To know yourself to be untouchable. To be mistaken. As Karsus aimed his spell at her she began to unravel, and with her, the entire Weave. Too late did he realize what he had unleashed. It would have been the end of everything had not Mystryl sacrificed herself.  Gale: The goddess of magic is all magic. By dying, the entire weave was lost, and the spell that challenged a god failed. It was the end of Mystryl, the end of Karsus, and the end of an entire civilization. As the child-who-would-be-a-god was turned to stone, his empire came crashing down around him. The floating cities of Netheril were no more. An event that came to be known as Karsus’ folly.

which is in accordance with the lore:

Unfortunately, his choice was a terrible mistake, for one of the responsibilities of the deity of magic was to regulate the flow of magic to and from all beings, spells, and magic items in the world. Lacking the ability to do so properly, magic surged and fluctuated. With her last remaining bit of power, Mystryl sacrificed herself to block Karsus's access to the Weave, causing all magic to fail. The flying cities of Netheril plummeted to the earth. The severing of the link also killed Karsus and transformed him into stone, and the last thing he saw was his entire civilization being destroyed because of his actions. This was to be known as Karsus's Folly. The stone form of Karsus eventually landed in a part of the High Forest, now called the Dire Wood. The city of Karse was built around its base. Karsus was never accepted as a petitioner by any god, nor did he go to the Fugue Plane when he died. Instead, his soul was bound to the Material Plane. Those with experience in pact magic could call up his vestige, where he appeared as a giant blood-red boulder, like the one found in the High Forest where his petrified form landed. Blood burbles up from the top of the stone, trickling down the side facing the summoner, pooling at the base. When he spoke, the pool fountained upwards, its height varying on the volume of his voice.

the netherese orb then seemed to have a immediate visible physical effect on gale, in addition to the ones that carried to the full release version of the game.

so putting these clues together, i think it's safe to say that the orb caused gale in early access to be afflicted with some form of corrupted petrification, which makes sense given that it's a piece of magic unleashed during karsus's folly.

at that point, this corruption seemed to be affecting his left arm the most, perhaps either from opening the book containing the netherese magic with it, or trying to shield himself with it - but that's just speculation on my part.

so what did the early access set up in terms of curing gale from his affliction?

gale in early access showed a great interest in the astral plane, especially in the absence of time there. he has several banters with lae'zel, which are still in the game now and showing his vested interest in the astral plane as well as any knowledge or insight lae'zel might offer on it:

Gale asks Lae'zel about the Astral Plane. Has she been there? Gale: Tell me, Lae'zel, what is it like on the Astral Plane? Your home realm intrigues me. Lae'zel: Githyanki lay their eggs on other planes. They cannot mature in the Astral. Lae'zel: I will only be welcomed once I obtain a mind flayer's head.

lae'zel notices gale's interest and initiates a banter of her own:

Lae'zel asks Gale what his interest is in the Astral plane, and he equivocates Lae'zel: Tell me, Gale: what is your interest in the Astral Plane? Gale: Time. Or rather: the absence of it. In the Astral Plane, everything is eternal. Lae'zel: It will be my home soon enough, should Vlaakith will it.

in addition to these banters, which clearly show gale's interest in the astral plane - which now in the full release seems merely academic - hinted at another solution to ridding himself of the orb.

what points to that quite conclusively is gale's dialogue when he reveals the truth about the orb to the protagonist.

this reveal differs quite significantly from the full release version. most notably, the protagonist was able to ask him about his own ideas for a what might be able to cure him from the orb.

gale had something very interesting to say to that question:

Player: What would permanently rid you of the orb? Gale: The orb was kept safe and inert in a pocket of Astral Plane, suspended in time. If I can somehow manage to expel it from my body while in the Astral Plane, it will be rendered inert again. Alternatively, I could learn to control it’s chaotic magic, that is; to succeed where I failed before. But without Mystra’s favour, I don’t see how that may come to pass. Of course there could be different answers as well. Faerun brims with more magic than any one wizard could fathom, let alone comprehend. Who knows what outlandish solutions may yet present themselves?

so what does this all mean?

in conclusion, i believe originally there were either more ways to cure gale from the orb - or maybe even in a different manner entirely - than there are in the full release version of the game (begging mystra to remove it, ascension, or accepting/keeping the orb).

perhaps even one that would circumvent having to beg mystra for forgiveness entirely, without gale having to sacrifice his mortality to do so.

i think these banters and lines of dialogue show that the astral plane, which would have rendered the orb inert and stopped the corrupted petrification of his body, would have played a bigger role in gale's quest.