#even the wisest cannot tell

[luveline]

I don’t really have a request I just love anything you write💗 maybe something with girly!reader?

thanks lovely💗

Spencer wrings his hands behind his back, shifting from one foot to the other unhappily. He hasn't felt this nervous since he was young —his PhDs have acted as a shield for years now. Even if he doesn't know what to do, he physically cannot be stupid. 

He feels pretty stupid. Less when you look up, smile blinding and sticky with gloss. He's thought about how it would feel to kiss you before and he tries desperately to push the thought away now, his hands shaking where they're hidden. 

"Hey, Spencer Reid," you say, lightly teasing as you wave him toward you. "How are you?" 

"I'm good." 

"Yeah?" You gesture at the empty seat in front of you. "Are you having lunch?" 

The bureau cafeteria is less of a cafeteria in the kitchen sense and more of a staff room, though hot food is served at the very back. There are couches toward the patio of an outdoor area to the left. You sit at one of the tables near the doors. The air is cold around his ankles as he sits with you. 

"No, I– I came down for coffee, but the jug is empty." It's a bad lie. Luckily you have no idea that there's a kitchen in the BAU offices. "You're not?" 

You turn your laptop screen to him. "I ate my lunch at my desk. I'm just catching up with my show." Your laptop has stickers around the screen, silver shiny stars and tiny pink hearts that look like they're made of jelly. There's a closed bottle of nail polish resting near the keyboard. "And I'm gonna touch up my nails, too. They're always chipping." 

"They look perfect to me," Spencer says. 

You beam at him, beatific, so, so pretty, he could die. He might. "Thanks, honey. You'd look cute with painted nails, have you ever thought about it?" 

Spencer honestly forgets about his nails. He should take better care of them. He thinks about hiding them under the desk. "I don't think I could do it." 

"No one's good at it, at first. I'd paint them for you, if you wanted. I have a couple of things in my bag." 

Spencer's relieved to present freshly trimmed nails to you for painting. Your polish is a light blue colour, milky, and he assumes it'll be the one you use on him, but you decide to ruin his life, taking his hand into one of yours. You hold his fingers in a way that presents the nail as you brush cuticle oil around the edges of his nails with a small pen brush. You chatter as you do in your way, all sweet and gentle in mirror of your touch. 

He's proud of himself for keeping his cool. To have you touching him for so long, so kindly, to have your attention, it has him squirming with a mixture of pleasure and horror. He wants to be seen by you but he doesn't know if he likes what you're looking at. 

"You have really lovely hands," you say, using the tip of one of your nails to scrape stray wet polish off of his skin, "do you play piano?" 

"You can tell?" he asks. 

"Pianist's fingers," you say. "That's a thing, isn't it?" 

"I haven't played much since I was younger. I got distracted by other stuff." 

"Maths," you surmise. "And criminology?" 

Everything. He pushed away a want for human connection with books and education until it got too much. Even the wisest of honeybees will brave heavy rain for a beautiful flower, and that's sort of how he feels about you. He knows it's stupid, knows it's doomed, but he couldn't not try to speak to you. You're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, all your lip colours and shimmery eyeshadows, the chirpy way you talk, the earnestness of your please and thank yous. 

Your hands. The silver ring on your index finger dotted with tiny pink stones. Your bracelets. The smell of your perfume and your soft sweaters. 

"Done," you announce, an uncharacteristic hesitance to your tone. "Are they okay?" 

You've done a perfect job. "They're so neat. Thank you. I– I love it." 

Your eyes linger on his hands. "I love when guys wear nail polish. You're even handsomer now, it's crazy. I didn't know it was possible." 

Spencer should have more style for sure, but he asks you to dinner right then and there. 

You smile until the lashes kiss in the corners of your eyes and say yes. This new place opened just around the corner from your apartment, and you've been trying to drum up the courage to ask him all week. When Spencer hears that he almost passes out. 

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Dumbledore is a little full of himself

Like, I read Tales of Beedle the Bard, and I was struck by how Dumbledore comments on his own cleverness and knowledge in his notes incredibly often:

This prejudice eventually died out in the face of overwhelming evidence that some of the world’s most brilliant wizards(3) were, to use the common phrase, “Muggle-lovers”. [...] 3 Such as myself.

(Albus Dumbledore on “The Wizard and the Hopping Pot”)

I think I may say, without vanity, that both my Fountain and my Hill performed the parts allotted to them with simple goodwill. Alas, that the same could not be said of the rest of the cast.

(Albus Dumbledore on “The Fountain of Fair Fortune”)

Even I, Albus Dumbledore, would find it easiest to refuse the Invisibility Cloak; which only goes to show that, clever as I am, I remain just as big a fool as anyone else.

(Albus Dumbledore on “The Tale of the Three Brothers”)

The guy can hardly talk about anything without talking about how smart and wise and brilliant he is. Like, no humility whatsoever.

In the books, everyone keeps singing his praises like Dumbledore can do no wrong and the only one who keeps saying Dumbledore can be wrong is Harry. And even then, in Harry's limbo vision of King's Cross, which I don't think is really Dumbledore, it's telling Harry envisions him saying something like this:

“And you knew this? You knew — all along?” “I guessed. But my guesses have usually been good,” said Dumbledore happily

(DH, Ch35)

Dumbledore doesn't speak to Harry all that often throughout the series, with book 6 being the one he interacts with him the most. And we see that even in conversations with people, Dumbledore loves to hear how wise and great he is. When he says "I might be mistaken" it's with the tone of "I'm right and everyone else is wrong". Which is usually the case often enough, yes (though not always), but he does it a lot, and I found it interesting how often he uses this phrasing and how smug he seems about it:

And then Dumbledore called out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers — “Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!” (GOF)

“I may be wrong,” said Dumbledore pleasantly, “but I am sure that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to present witnesses for his or her case? Isn’t that the policy of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones?” he continued, addressing the witch in the monocle. (OotP)

“Payment?” said Harry. “You’ve got to give the door something?” “Yes,” said Dumbledore. “Blood, if I am not much mistaken.” (HBP)

Dumbledore uses this phrasing when he knows what he is saying is correct. He is saying it not because he thinks he might actually be wrong. When he actually thinks he is wrong, he makes excuses and tries to reason why the decision he made was actually reasonable at the time:

“Harry, I owe you an explanation,” said Dumbledore. “An explanation of an old man’s mistakes. For I see now that what I have done, and not done, with regard to you, bears all the hallmarks of the failings of age. Youth cannot know how age thinks and feels. But old men are guilty if they forget what it was to be young ... and I seem to have forgotten lately...”

(OotP)

He is incapable of saying: "I was wrong, it happens, let's move on," it has to come with reasoning or an excuse. He blames it on his age, not that he made a wrong judgment call. This isn't humbleness.

Dumbledore is a character who wants to be humble but just isn't. he considers modesty a virtue. Hell, humility is practically his favorite trait Harry possess:

Harry, who could not see any way out of this without flatly lying, nodded but still said nothing. Slughorn beamed at him. “So modest, so modest, no wonder Dumbledore is so fond — you were there, then?

(HBP) - Slughorn mentions how Dumbledore appreciates modesty.

The third brother in the story (“the humblest and also the wisest”) is the only one who understands that, having narrowly escaped Death once, the best he can hope for is to postpone their next meeting for as long as possible.

(Albus Dumbledore on “The Tale of the Three Brothers”)

He appreciates being humble and modest and sees it as being wise. He derides Tom for thinking of himself as "special" or "clever" even when it's true (and when he does the same). He loves Harry's modesty, which is really low self-esteem, not modesty. Harry's low self-worth is like the ultimate humbleness in Dumbledore's eyes because he doesn't see it for what it is and he was never humble in his life, so he doesn't really know where the balance between confidence and arrogance is or the line between modesty and low self-worth. I think he honestly doesn't know because he is exceptionally arrogant.

Dumbledore created this image of ineffability around him and it's clear Harry is one of the only people (besides Dumbledore and Aberforth) who knows Dumbledore can make a mistake and he keeps reminding Hermione, Lupin, and literally everyone else of that fact:

“People have said it, many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore’s judgment. I do; therefore, I trust Severus.” “But Dumbledore can make mistakes,” argued Harry. “He says it himself. And you” — he looked Lupin straight in the eye — “do you honestly like Snape?”

(HBP)

This is all another case of Dumbledore being incapable of practicing what he preaches. He values modesty, but he doesn't seem to be capable of it.

Now, I'm not saying he isn't clever or special, he is. But he is the type of really smart person who looks down on anyone they don't see as intelligent as them. He doesn't see most people as equal to him.

Dumbledore doesn't see most of the Order or Aberforth as his equals. He never did. Elphias Doge kisses his ass, but Dumbledore clearly doesn't share the same level of respect for him. Or for most people, really.

“Elphias Doge mentioned her to us,” said Harry, trying to spare Hermione. “That old berk,” muttered Aberforth, taking another swig of mead. “Thought the sun shone out of my brother’s every office, he did. Well, so did plenty of people, you three included, by the looks of it.” Harry kept quiet. He did not want to express the doubts and uncertainties about Dumbledore that had riddled him for months now. [...] “Grindelwald. And at last, my brother had an equal to talk to someone just as bright and talented as he was. And looking after Ariana took a backseat then, while they were hatching all their plans for a new Wizarding order and looking for Hallows, and whatever else it was they were so interested in.

(DH)

Dumbledore doesn't trust the majority of the Order with anything because he doesn't think they'd be capable of handling it because they're not him. He literally tells them nothing until he has to, keeping them busy guarding a prophecy he knows can't be stolen by a run-of-the-mill Death Eater. He only tells Harry about the Horcruxes because he has no choice but to tell him. Same with Snape — Dumbledore trusts him out of necessity.

Snape and Grindelwald are the only people we see Dumbledore show respect towards their abilities, wisdom, and magic in some capacity.

Like, he calls Sirius clever, but he talks about him as foolish in the same breath. He calls McGonagall wise, but he clearly doesn't think she's wise enough to be told anything or trusted with anything. And while he does speak highly of Harry's courage and humility and though Harry is insanely powerful and with the right training could beat Dumbledore, Dumbledore keeps putting him down when it comes to magical abilities/intelligence compared to himself:

“I’m not upset.” “Harry, you were never a good Occlumens — ”

(HBP) - even though Harry can and does get really good at it once he does it his way.

“I do not think you will count, Harry: You are underage and unqualified. Voldemort would never have expected a sixteen-year-old to reach this place: I think it unlikely that your powers will register compared to mine.”

(HBP)

I find this tendency of Dumbledore to be really interesting. He underestimates people constantly and thinks too highly of himself. and he is very honest about it to people's faces. He keeps talking about how Voldemort’s defenses on his Horcruxes are shit, and how Voldemort is foolish when the curse Voldemort left on the ring is literally killing him at that very moment:

“I do not think you will count, Harry: You are underage and unqualified. Voldemort would never have expected a sixteen-year-old to reach this place: I think it unlikely that your powers will register compared to mine.” These words did nothing to raise Harry’s morale; perhaps Dumbledore knew it, for he added, “Voldemort’s mistake, Harry, Voldemort’s mistake ... Age is foolish and forgetful when it underestimates youth. ... Now, you first this time, and be careful not to touch the water.”

(HBP)

Dumbledore thinking himself so clever, more clever than Voldemort, is what killed him. His arrogant insistence that he's the smartest man in the room killed him. He is undermining Voldemort for mistakes similar to the ones he makes regularly when interacting with Harry. And he's aware of that. He knows he's a hypocrite:

When I discovered it, after all those years, buried in the abandoned home of the Gaunts—the Hallow I had craved most of all, though in my youth I had wanted it for very different reasons—I lost my head, Harry. I quite forgot that it was now a Horcrux, that the ring was sure to carry a curse. I picked it up, and I put it on, and for a second I imagined that I was about to see Ariana, and my mother, and my father, and to tell them how very, very sorry I was . . . “I was such a fool, Harry. After all those years I had learned nothing. I was unworthy to unite the Deadly Hallows. I had proved it time and again, and here was the final proof.”

(DH) - Dumbledore's portrait

I think Dumbledore's self-awareness is why he wants to like Harry as much as he does. While I don't think Dumbledore knows Harry as well as he thinks he does, what Dumbledore does see is enough for him to imagine Harry in his head as this perfect, virtuous martyr that he wished all his life to portray himself as. He idealizes who he imagines Harry is without fully respecting Harry as his own person with his own abilities.

I just find it interesting that for a character who speaks so highly of humility, he doesn't seem to possess it, and that it ends up being the death of him.

[beware-of-pity]

You believe me like a god (I destroy you like I am) IV

Masterlist

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Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

TW: Self-hatred/Implied Self Harm. Complicated family relations. The reader is a Targtower.

Cross-posted on Ao3

Chapter IV: "Angel" he calls me (Does he know that I'm falling?)

Your room had become a graveyard of memories, most of its belongings were those passed down to you from your late family members, and its latest additions were your mother’s, which you kept in a coffer, locked and sealed in the corner of the small vastness of your room.

The air was often stuffy as a result, and between Helaena's insect viewing screens and your mother’s piled embroidery works, you took every opportunity you were offered to be far away from it.

Jaehaera, on the other hand, viewed it almost as a playground, often roaming it as a labyrinth of a past she could not remember, a past that wasn’t hers. You attempted to show her Helaena’s needlework or her insects collection, anything that could keep the memory of her mother alive, but your little girl did not seem that interested. You had put the effort off for the while, waiting at least until she was grown enough to remember what you were showing and telling her.

Instead, it seemed that she had found a toy and companion in a doll you and Helaena used to play with at her age, shaped to the liking of your mother, with dark, auburn hair and brown eyes. You had let her have it and asked Rhaenyra for some new fabrics, for you to sew some new clothes for the doll, as its last were old and ragged.

Today, you were allowed out during your change of guard.

To leave the ‘vault’, as people would call it, the long keep with the slate roof behind the royal sept your family was confined in, was like a breath of fresh air, for however fresh the change could be, seeing the foul smell the city often carried with itself and it’s reputation. Thankfully, the gardens were exempted from such nullity and nuisance, the smell of freshly planted flowers making up for its environment.

Such a pity Jaehaera had to attend her lessons on such a beautiful sunny day. You were sure she would have liked the feel of the sun on her skin after so long inside, but you most of all understood how important her lessons were for her, actively encouraging her to go to them even on those days she would not wish to, taking her to the chamber where they would be held, hand in hand.

Were you both to be confined to the Keep for the rest of your lives with no hopes of seeing any change, then her wit would one day become her saving grace, and you would make sure she cultivated her talents in quantity.

Just as you had been made to do at her age, for the rest of your life by your mother.

From where you walked, you got a clear view of the inner courtyard, filled and bustling with activity. From servants and stable boys hanging around to high and low nobles promenading around, as they always did, as if they had nothing better to do.

You knew very well that that was not just what they were doing. The art of lingering around, present but never noticed, becoming part of the backdrop in people’s lives was something that, while you could not go unnoticed of doing, was something you had learned a thing or two about since the beginning of your confinement as Rhaenyra’s prisoner.

Steely but silent, never to make a sound too loud, that’s how you moved around the halls of the Keep, watching with your ever-curious eye. If there was one thing you were grateful to your mother for, it was for teaching you never to take people or anything by their surface level. A man, as common as they come, could be the Lord of the Seven Hells in disguise, and by putting up a good bravado, he could fool even the wisest, the most pious. The angel of death disguises itself as an angel of light. The gods shine bright their light among the most faithful to protect others from him, but even the gods’ gaze cannot reach where their light cannot overpower the dark. It was in your best interest to understand people and their motives, now more than ever when your survival depended on it.

You watched as the familiar figure of Jacaerys came from the double doors leading to the courtyard. He donned his riding gear, very clearly prepared to head to the dragonpit to visit Vermax and take him for a ride. You were about to call out for him, greeting him and calling out for a good morrow, having only seen him now since yesterday, but stopped when you realised he was not alone.

Baela and Rhaena followed soon after, walking out the doors donned in the same riding gears as him, a clear sign that they were going with him to ride their dragons too.

The laughs of the trio reached your ears as you watched them smile and chatter with one another, so content and carefree. So unlike you and your predicament. You wished to be with them, in your own gear, going to the dragonpit to ride Silverwing, who you missed dearly. But it was a common truth that you could not. A truth you could only turn into reality in your dreams, where you dreamt of sitting upon the leather saddle on her back, soaring to the skies as you once used to.

You clenched your hand involuntarily, the pain so evident as you felt the tips of your nails dig into your palm, so deep that had you not stopped yourself, you were sure to draw blood.

A feeling so dark and viscous twisted at your heart.

How was this fair? Why should you have to pay the price for the sins of others? You had been pardoned for your family’s crimes, why, then, were you not allowed to return to a life of normalcy? Why, after two years since the war’s end, were you still treated as a traitor would?

Jaehaera, too, a girl so young and so bright, of just ten years of age, isolated by the children of her age, was allowed only to familiarise herself with Rhaenyra’s youngest sons.

The reasons as to why pulled at your viscera. If they were doing this for reasons that you were not allowed to know, if they were hiding them from you, you knew it was because they, too, understood that you would not stand for them.

Everyone had witnessed in what was now being called the ‘Dance of the Dragons’ how destructive and deep the rage and anger of the Targaryens could be. You seemed meek, weakened as the years passed, but no one forgot who you were, as you never showed yourself to be passive to slights and insults thrown your way. You had to stand for yourself, now more than ever, when you had no one to do so for you, and with a rage running so deep? Some would say the perfect recipe for disaster.

A Targaryen whose blood of the dragons ran as deep as that of those that came before you and those that will come after, as hot and boiling as that of dragons made flesh.

One day you will wake from the ashes of your sleep and remember who you were. Today, was just not that day.

You had been promised that you and Jaehaera would be treated well, but you knew very well that promises meant nothing. They could be easily spoken, so easily broken, just as oaths had been during the war. or how much longer this would last, you could not know.

You were comfortable now but in the future? Who would assure you a life worthy of being called as such? Jacaerys? Jacaerys would be too busy being King to assure you continued to have the life he was making sure you had now, and if rumours of him being betrothed to Baela were to become true, who is to say his gaze would not be too hastily driven to his new wife rather than to his duties or his responsibilities.

Because that’s what you were, a responsibility, now belonging to his mother, your sister, but one day to become his.

Watching them walk up to the wheelhouse, with no sense of worry or care, made you only want to be able to have what they had more than anything.

You turned to walk in the opposite direction, turning your gaze from that which you had begun to crave once more, something you knew you would not be given, could not be given, as they always reminded you.

Unbeknown to your thoughts, your feet had led you towards the forest of the godswood. You had not noticed until the darkness of the shade washed over you, glimpses of light shining down at you from the cracks of the moving branches.

The rustling of the leaves by the wind calmed your thoughts, your hunger for what you craved, the anger for what you were denied. The chirping of distant birds, the murmur of crickets, and the washing of the waves of the Blackwater Bay created the perfect backdrop for your walk, but the fresh chill made for a cold reminder of the spring that had yet to come as you clinched to your frame your shawl, moving it over your shoulder from where it rested hanging on your elbows. The thick walls shut out the clamour of the castle, creating the perfect quiet for your unrested mind, despite your occasional shivers.

You allowed the silence to surround you, only broken by your and your guard’s steps, who, unlike your wishes, moved unsynchronised. Ser Rickard’s were heavier, not just made so by his weight and height but also by the heavy armoury he concealed his body with.

He who had first been in your mother’s services when Ser Criston had gone to march against Rhaenyra, who, surprisingly, had been allowed for him to retain his position as a member of the Kingsguard, now the Queensguard.

Though he was appointed as your sworn protector to get him out of her gaze, she was not too fond of having her late brother’s treacherous servitude anywhere near her.

Ser Rickard was always kind to you, taking care of you as a father would, perhaps better than yours had when he was still alive. Despite the strict orders he had been given about never letting his eyes off you on these particular and secluded walks, he allowed you the freedom you were deprived in the thick walls of the Red Keep, which were known to have ears and mouths to carry the whispers of misbehaviour far and wide.

As you sat upon a bench, he took some steps back, watching over you from the distance as you gazed over the bay set before you. The sea leading to the Gullet was filled with merchant ships from around the continent, Volantis, Lys, and Braavos, going in and out, carrying with them the well-being of the Capital and that of its people.

The godswood was empty, as it would be along the walls of the city of Southron gods. Hardly anyone came here to pray. Prayer would only fill the ears of the trees when a Stark or a northerner was nearby, otherwise, the tree would have to bear witness to secret escapades from young couples, whispered plots or your solitary walks. You suppose even the gods would grow bored of such entertainment. You were not much to look at in this state, after all. At least for them, for it seemed you had indeed caught the eye of someone.

The sound of leaves being crunched under heavy boots that did not belong to Ser Rickard made the both of you twist in alert, awaiting the reveal of the intruder of your quiet.

The man had not proved himself to be a stranger by any means; you knew him quite well, the familiarity between you two not a hidden knowledge to one another.

“Lord Reynford”  Reynford of House Redwyne, Lord of the Arbour, once ally of your brother and a kin of yours, though through which unmanned and distant cousin you had never met, you could not tell. You had a vague idea of why he was here as you acknowledged his presence.

“Forgive me, your grace, I did not mean to interrupt the quiet” his voice was gruff and slightly monotone, not giving away anything. He dressed richly, even for his age. His face clearly showed his age, a man of over two and fifty years of age, who carried himself well despite his tenure.

“It’s hardly quiet, wouldn’t you say?” You asked, the sound of the city below you two proving your point.

“So it would seem, though I meant you quiet. The city can hardly be disturbed when in itself is a cause for disturbance,” he said, walking closer.

With the tail of your eye, you spied Ser Rickard stepping closer, and you held up a hand, signalling for him not to.

He stopped in his tracks, unsure whether or not to listen to your silent command, which went against what he was instructed. Though he cared for you and gave you much relative freedom, he was always at the ready to prove his loyalty to the monarch he was now sworn to serve. You did not blame him for not wanting to so easily disobey the orders he had been given or to prove himself disloyal by the newly bound oath he had sworn. It was beyond his bounds to allow this conversation to continue, of the possible treachery that was sure to be whispered.

Still, now, you found yourself wanting to be selfish, wanting this thing to be given to you. Fortunately for you, it seemed that Ser Rickard understood you too well. He returned slowly to his previous posting, giving you and Lord Reynford space and privacy for your conversation. He would grant you this, only because of how wanting you seemed of it.

“Such a pity, that such beautiful day is to be disturbed by the cold of the wind” Lord Reynford now stood in front of you, clutching his hand behind his back. He wore a heavy, blue cloak with a red fur collar fastened with a pin in the shape of a burgundy grape cluster. A true Redwyne, he presented himself as such, showing others how proud he was of his heritage.

“How true you speak, but I suppose beautiful things are not often left untouched by the harshness of the world. Wouldn’t you say?” He seemed to ponder your words, though you could see he wasn’t really giving them much thought, his mind somewhere else altogether, perhaps to the reason why he was here.

“How right you are, you yourself are a great example of such saying,” he said, his voice low “I do remember how charming you looked in green, princess. How dreadful these black gowns make you look” he extended a hand to pull a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“You flatter me,” you said, closing your eyes at the contact of his finger against your temple, wanting nothing more than to pull away, but not wanting to be impolite, something you were taught to be unacceptable against high and honourable lords “but those times are gone, my lord. You best make sure to forget of them”

“Nonsense, i could never forget such pretty sight” he disagreed “How I and many others wish to see it again, you cannot imagine, Princess” You watched as he shuffled closer “More than anything, that and much more. We all wish for your happiness and your desires to be fulfilled”

“And what would you know of my desires, my lord?” You asked, tilting your head in a slight show of defiance, but not against him, but rather his assumption.

“Nothing, unless you wish to share them with me” How clever of him, he had plotted it all it seemed, not leaving a single possibility in its wake.

“And tell me, Lord Reynford. Are you of the same cloth that Lord Peake was cut from?”

Unwin Peake, a man known for being willing to die to see his ambitions succeed. He wasn’t exactly subtle in his straying of hands, his overstepping, his overaching. The way he pushed his daughter, of just one and ten years of age, into befriending the eight and ten-man that was Jacaerys concealed anything but what he was truly after. Like any other man, Peake yearned for the throne, though he wasn’t exactly quiet about his wants or needs, which was why his plans had not unfolded in the way he wanted.

He had fought for your brother through the very end, and as such, he had approached you many times, trying to inspire rebellion in you, which you quickly and always turned him down for, at times rather harshly for his insistence. But it wasn’t your fault that he didn’t understand that you had no interest in opening old wounds unless necessary. Unless it be to protect yourself and Jaehaera.

“I would sooner allow you to take my life than be condemned to the same ring of the seven hells in which that man belongs in” he replied gruffly, almost offended by the comparison. But he was a smart man who understood the question you had just asked him. The meaning of your words was plain to see. Was he here to try and use you for your plans, or was he an ally, here to reassure you of his loyalty and, most of all, his eagerness to serve you?

“You must believe me, your grace. I wish for nothing more than to serve you in my capacities” The reassurance was much needed, and though you believe his words to be sincere, you were not too quick to fall for them. Any man could speak with enough sincerity to get what he wanted, and though a servant and faithful subject, he remained a man, and men are but deceiving creatures. He would have to prove himself first.

“Your words are as sweet as the wine that flows at your feasts,” you said, voice thick “almost….intoxicating, if said to the wrong person we can only imagine the damage they could cause”

“Then we must make sure they do not reach unwanted ears, no?” His eyes burned with hidden conviction, one only for you to see. Bearing witness only, were the trees. They were there, listening, silent, watching you two. The greenery of their leaves, the greenery of the grass, the shade reflecting such colour. Green, a colour so bright and so deep, the colour of living things, of life, of earthly change and of rot. So many rotten things were green, your family having been one of them.

“You said that my desires are ones you share” you tested him, wanting his reaction. He perked at your words, clearly listening intently to your coming request.

Remember this feeling, you told yourself, this is the moment you stop being the lamb to the slaughter.

You were blind. No, you had blinded yourself of the truth which had now come to the surface.

You were rotten, just like them, just as your family had been, just as much as the words you were speaking. How sweetly the fox speaks when it is being cornered by the hound.

“I want to be free”

Taglist: @esposadomd

If anyone wants to be added, please comment so, and you'll be tagged in the next chapter

[songsofadelaide]

King Laios x succubus!reader who are both doomed by the (my) narrative™️ because: he is being pressured to find a wife to secure the future of the kingdom but he simply cannot help his fascination with the only (not so) monstrous creature that managed to bypass the Winged Lion's curse— a succubus who was shunned by her coven because of her lack of appeal and inability to seduce victims.

You swore that you weren't there to steal his life force, which easily convinces Laios to strike up a friendship with you (despite Marcille and Kabru's dissuasion). You visit him every night to converse with him about kingdom affairs. He doesn't ask questions about how you feed and maintain yourself since he considers it a private matter. You bond over his desire to see monsters again and your wish to form a more meaningful tie with humans.

The more time you spent together, the more you realised just how enticing his energy was to you, so you disappeared— not wanting your growing desires to pose a threat to the only human who saw you as an equal, who saw you as a friend.

Many years pass but Laios never married, opting for the wisest men of the kingdom to select his successor among the most brilliant men of the land instead. He often wondered where you were and what you were doing. Some nights, you let your curiosity get the better of you and check in on him, and you feel somewhat relieved that he shared his bed with no one else.

One night, he caught you leaving through his window and cornered you. He asked you where you've been and what you've been up to, and even commented about how your beauty hasn't changed even after all those years. You remarked on how handsome he still is even though he is already an old man. He finally asked you the most taboo thing of all: what did you feed on?

(You tell him the truth: You fed on the life force of living creatures— not enough to hurt them, though— rather than having intercourse with men. How could you bring yourself to harm humans after being friends with one?)

Laios was both pleased and relieved with your answer. He then offered you to take his remaining life force, eventually admitting that he wanted to offer it to you long ago but was afraid you'd rebuff him or be offended. You granted him a night of blissful dreams but not enough to bring him to his grave and vanished from his life for good— in fear you might kill him from loving him too much.

[neuroticbookworm]

Random QL Superlatives: 2024 Edition

This list is gonna contain qls (and a few kdramas) I’ve watched this year, rather than the qls that were released this year.

Best Hosaka: Namgoong Shiwoon, Light On Me

ICYMI, I am obsessed with Hosaka from I Cannot Reach You, for his complete disdain for miscommunication, his incredible radar for bullshittery, and his otherworldly ability to not-so-gentle-parent bl boys into talking to each other. Every BL should have a Hoska. A Hosaka is a crucial part of a healthy BL ecosystem imo. So this year’s Best Hosaka Award goes to.. Namgoong Shiwoon!

Namgoong is kind yet firm in his opinions (and boyyy does he have them in a bushel and a peck), goofy in physicality yet measured with his words, and an all-around stellar friend. He would figure out the exact ways you’re ruining your life before you’ve even had a chance to emerge from the mental rubble, and will meet you with a detailed presentation on how to fix everything. Get a Namgoong for your life and listen to them for the best results!

Favorite Signature Move, Kiyoi tackling Hira, Utsukushii Kare 2 and Utsukushii Kare: Eternal

Kiyoi losing his patience with Hira and tackling him to the ground so he can get in his face and scream to get information out of him was simultaneously hilarious and sad.

Most Ineffective Defense: Sangwoo and His Lil Desk Divider, Semantic Error

I am still laughing at how Sangwoo believed with his entire precious heart that putting up a foot tall, easily removable physical barrier is gonna deter my man Jaeyoung, menace extraordinaire and dedicated Sangwoo-annoyer. Boy, did you even wanna try?

Saddest Sex Scene: At 25:00, In Akasaka

I was already heartbroken when Hayama and Shirasaki tried, failed, and emotionally devastated each other by attempting to “rehearse” for their intimate scene the previous night, but the filming of the actual scene took the pieces of my shattered heart, stomped on it, and then set it on fire. The aborted pinkie touch should be made illegal due to the amount of pain it inflicts on the masses.

Favorite Wholly Unrealistic Teenage Boy, Hasegawa, Oppan

I love this boy with all my heart and soul. What a mature little teenage noodle. The writers must’ve conceived his character by pouring all the good stuff they want to see in a baseball-jock teenage boy into a beaker, and out he emerged, Powerpuff Girls style.

Best Use of Strong-Independent-Women Money: Lee Mi Na’s Collection, Hit The Spot

I adore this woman for many things. Her friendship with Hee Jae. Her standards for men.

But most of all, I adore her for the things she spends her money on.

What an icon.

Best Righteous Anger: Ryunosuke, Tokyo In April Is…

I am always a big fan of characters who are mad for the right reasons and are not afraid to show it. Ryunosuke watched his friend carry this unbearable guilt around for years, and was rightfully mad at Kazuma who he assumed knew what had happened to Ren. And when he realized that Kazuma did not know, Ryunosuke sets his anger aside and tells Kazuma. I am part of the Ren Protection Squad and Ryunosuke is our leader.

The Cameo That Inspired The Loudest Scream: Madea Kentaro in Utsukushii Kare: Eternal

My earnest, precious son Yamato from I Cannot Reach You showing up in the middle of Hira and Kiyoi’s patented messiness? The scream I scrumpt, y’all.

Bestest Best Friend: Joon Pyo, The Eighth Sense

Joon Pyo! He got the fuck out of his own room for the night so his childhood best friend can get some. Ji Hyun better protect and cherish him at all costs.

Most Precious Gift To The World: Fujita-san and Kasuga’s conversation, Tsukuritai Onna to Tabetai Onna Season 2

Asian daughters fighting the intergenerational trauma demon everyday just.. get to have this? To watch whenever we want and draw strength from it? And feel the shoulders of the other daughters (and mothers) also fighting their fight, standing right beside us, fighting, and living, and thriving? What a blessing.

Wisest Wisdom: Pie’s Post-Breakup Advice, The Trainee

Heartbreak is temporary. French Fries are eternal.

The Swooniest Gwenchana: Ji Hyun, Happiness

Did I make up a whole category just because I needed to put his face on this post? Yes.

This year has been, amongst many things, undeniably fun. Tag me in your superlatives lists, and I will see y’all in the next one!

Tagging the peeps: @lurkingshan, @bengiyo, @happypotato48, @wen-kexing-apologist, @starryalpacasstuff

[remusjohnslupin]

"Even the wisest cannot tell. For the mirror… shows many things…"

[autistook]

February 14th/15th - The Mirror of Galadriel

“Many things I can command the Mirror to reveal,” she answered, “and to some I can show what they desire to see. But the Mirror will also show things unbidden, and those are often stranger and more profitable than things which we wish to behold. What you will see, if you leave the Mirror free to work, I cannot tell. For it shows things that were, and things that are, and things that yet may be. But which is it that he sees, even the wisest cannot always tell. Do you wish to look?”

[burningcheese-merchant]

Here is more lore and funfact abt Choco Powder since you asked

- He has the same wish granting power like Mystic, if it was anything his powers are more unstable. Because of this, mystic forbid him for ever using his powers for another person, she worries that he will end up like her, and the fact that Powder is so similar to her doesn't help.

- He is a very quiet but observant person, the type of person who will observe you wanting something and then the next day ur getting it. His love language especially to the people closer to him is gift-giving, it made him feel fulfilled.

- he meditated to relax, he learned it from Mystic. If he gets pushed over the edge he relaxes with sparring in the citadel's training area, he got it from Dark Cacao.

- he is very studious, mostly in the art of healing, and generally, as a prince it is important for him to be knowledgeable.

- he met dark Choco many times in his childhood, guiding him and teaching him, he never found out he had a big brother (mostly in childhood and teen years) so he thought Dark Choco is just a wondering soul

Dark Cacao sometimes slips and called Choco's name instead of Powder's

- he enjoys listening to other people, maybe Pepper Jack can yap to him and he will just sip tea and listen closely

- While he doesn't look like it, he actually is very empathetic but his way of handling sadness is not really healthy (Pepper Jack is the first person to notice this but doesn't know how to

I apologize if i yap too much abt Choco Powder, my brain goes overdrive every time i hyperfixated on my ocs haha

Been dying to answer this! I gotta get to all the other adoring fans in my inbox (/j), but I don't want to leave my friend hanging any longer. I'm really happy you're telling me more about Choco Powder, I want to share my thoughts!

I wonder how they first discovered that he inherited her powers? Did he hear someone say "man, I wish I had a good cup of coffee right now" as a baby and poof, he was waddling over to give them a coffee? Lol. I understand why Flour would want to keep him from using them, she knows the potential consequences... but is that really the wisest course of action? Would Powder not only end up more tempted to use them, specifically because he was banned from doing so (as kids and teens often are with things they're told are "forbidden")? If he's so similar to her, then she would know best how to approach the topic with him, I think. Like... a former drug addict warning their child against doing drugs, for lack of a better analogy. If anyone can get through to them, it's the person who already went down that road and faced its consequences. (Perhaps this is something Cacao can try to push? Maybe it could be something he and Flour argue about, even. "I don't want our son to get hurt or hurt others" VS "You are risking a self-fulfilling prophecy through your actions. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. This is not the right way, we cannot stifle him like this, there must be some sort of compromise")

I figured. He seems like that, at first glance (great job conveying his personality through his design btw, I might not really be an artist but I do know a good character design tells you what a character is like before they speak). With the gift-giving... perhaps this can be encouraged as a "healthier" outlet for his want to use his wish-granting powers? Especially if the gifts are handmade. It would teach him the value of hard work and gifts coming from the heart as opposed to something bought in a store, as well as allow him to "grant wishes" in this way without the risk that might come with using his powers. (I wonder what he'd give Jack and Paneer? haha)

How does sparring with Cacao go? What weapon(s) does Powder like to use? He doesn't seem particularly violent at first glance (but looks can be and often are deceiving, of course); how much enjoyment does he really get out of these duels? Is he a skilled fighter? Is this a way he bonds with his father? Does Cacao congratulate him for his efforts? (Now I want to contemplate Pepper Jack VS Choco Powder lol)

A fellow egghead lol. He and Jack could hang out at the Golden Cheese Kingdom library together (it's where Jack likes to go a lot). And the healing thing... Paneer may or may not have a knack for that, too. But that's for me to address another time hehehe

How fascinating! So Dark Choco never really returns home in your canon, is that the implication here? When and how does Powder find out who he is? What is his opinion of him before and after discovering this? Does Choco know who he is? What does he think of having a brother? What does he think of Mystic Flour being in their father's life at all, never mind having a child with him? So many avenues to explore here haha

That sounds kind of awful tbh lol. Does Cacao apologize for the Freudian slip? How does it make Powder feel? I can't imagine Flour is particularly happy when it happens...

Oh, I'm sure Jack wouldn't mind that lol. He's not necessarily a chatterbox (that's a bit more his sister), but he'll gladly engage people in conversation if they seek one with him. And I don't think he'd be too bothered by Powder being more of a "listener" type (but he will want Powder to say something every once in a while. Just to check if he's really listening to him)

What's unhealthy about it? Does he withdraw from others? Try to suppress it? Stress-eat lol? And I'm sure Jack would notice, he is highly observant as well (and he would try to think of a way to help, he's very caring). (Jack doesn't handle his own negative emotions very well, either... and that becomes SUPER apparent in a particular story arc I have planned)

Thank you soooo much for indulging me and giving me Choco Powder lore! He's really cool and I like him a lot. I hope you share more about him with all of us soon!

[solmarillion]

The Mirror of Galadriel

❝What you will see, if you leave the Mirror free to work, I cannot tell. For it shows things that were, and things that are, and things that yet may be. But which is it that he sees, even the wisest cannot always tell.❞ - Galadriel, Fellowship of the Ring

Drawn for Scribbles and Drabbles 2023. (@fall-for-tolkien)

This piece began as a little sketch I drew in class to cure my boredom, but as I rendered it digitally, it quickly became something bigger. Coloring this was challenging, especially with how complicated Galadriel's hair is, and all of the details I added to the piece. I've always wanted to draw Galadriel in Wind Waker style- I think the aesthetic fits her so well, and I'm really happy with how this piece turned out!

Be sure to read @goschatewabn's fic when the collection is revealed!

[cruilsummer]

the curse of freedom vs ymir's curse

Last night I finished attack on titan - it was something i had been dreading and postponing for a while, having received a few spoilers from the manga and seen mixed reactions from fans.

I'm not here to judge wether it was good or bad, or to make huge analysis of it as a finale - after all, i'm still digesting and understanding where i stand regarding that.

However, while watching these last chapters, I felt really close to Eren's character. It's funny, because he is purposefully pushing everyone away from him, and for most of the season, we barely see him. He is hiding not only from his friends, enemies and from everyone in between, but also from the watcher. And weirdly enough, that's when I got time to really think about him - and specially after the finale, i felt like sharing some of those thoughts.

When we think of young Eren, the child we are first introduced to, we know that freedom is a very important part of his character. He wants to see the world, to know the truth, to go beyond. He's also obstinate, vengeful and stubborn. Eren is a great main character not because he is the most powerful, the smartest or most skilled, but because he has a personality that is intersting to watch. He is flawed, he is human. And even after getting it wrong multiple times and not being the best, somehow he is magnetic enough to keep the best, wisest and most skilled around - either to protect him of protect others from him.

Jean Paul Sartre says that humanity has the curse of freedom - a burden. It makes us responsable for our choices, making it both a gift and a curse. I kept thinking about it the entire time I was watching this last part of the anime.

Because freedom has always been a key element to Eren's character. Both literally - the freedom of being away from the walls and seeing the world, and figuratively - the freedom of making his own choices, deciding who to trust, fighting for what he thought was fair...

And the worst thing that could happen to him, happens: he is the titan that bares the memories from everyone who has been in that position before. From the moment the touches Historia's hand on, he can't go back - now past, present and future coexist, and his choices don't feel like his anymore - it's just fate.

It's Ymir's curse robbing him from the humanity's curse.

He sees the outcome and knows it cannot be changed. It's impacting because, being Eren, he will try to change it. It's who he is: stubborn, obstinate, vengeful. Obsessed with justice, obsessed with freedom. But now he can't. His entire life he felt in charge, deciding his own destiny based on his perceptions of justice, his bonds, his story. But now he is not so sure - how much was already decided? How much was like that because of the ones that came before? And how does one just keeps living like that, not only questioning everything, but also being aware of all those different memories that used to constitute very different people? But how different can they be, if they all share the same memories?

That's the beginning of the end for him. And he knows that reaching the sea doesn't mean he is free, like he used to believe. He knows that killing every titan won't make him free either, and killing everyone outside Paradis won't either. He's lost his freedom, his gift.

On the other hand, we have Mikasa. Eren tells her that (just like him), she is not free. Her every action to protect him, her love for him, is just the Ackerman's curse. And that's where he gets it wrong. Because Mikasa is free. And it's a burden and a curse for her, unlike for Eren, because it would be easier if she didn't have to choose between saving the world and saving her best friend, the love of her life.

Parallel, Ymir's love for the King kept her hostage, wasn't healthy, made her unable to stop what became her curse, what would haunt all Eldians.

Mikasa loves Eren - and not because of her clan's curse. It's hard to explain what exactly makes us love - we simply do. But to make a long story short, and in an oversimplification, she loves him because of everything they lived together and because she knows him. And her love could be like Ymir's, and keep her hostage too. For the most part of the show, fans made fun of Mikasa for her love, called her a simp, said it made her weaker. But she was the one who killed Eren, because she knew that it was the right thing, even if it was the hard thing. She knew there was no other way. And, deep down, she knew that it was not Eren anymore - and at least she could be the one to, at last, free him. Give him what he had been seeking his entire life.

And that act alone is what touches Ymir and frees her as well. It's not Eren's death. It's Eren's death by Mikasa's hand. It's knowing that love can coexist with all sorts of mixed feelings, and that the freedom that comes with our condition as humans sometimes means that we make choices not only based on our love, and not only because they're easy.

Staying is easier because it means not changing anything - and it feels like no choice was made. We trick ourselves into thinking that leaving, changing and doing the hard things are the only decisions, because they imply movement. But staying is also a choice. Not changing is also a choice. That's our curse: living with the outcome of everything we chose to do and everything we chose not to do. Owning up and taking responsability for staying and for leaving. For hesitating or killing.

And don't get me wrong: it is not easy. As humans, we also have the burden of emotions, mixed feelings, traumas. Ymir's choice - and her love - were so complicated that they paralyzed her. And it was seeing that Mikasa's love was so equally deep that ultimately it made her move to do the right thing what moved Ymir too. And she could finally let go, even if it was the hard choice - because she had Mikasa's example.

Mikasa didn't stop loving Eren just because she killed him. She hadn't stopped loving him when he was terrible to her. She never loved him because of the Ackerman's curse - when the curses ended, she kept the scarf. She loved him when she mourned, and loved him even when she was ready to move on, and she died loving him still - altought love can change troughout somebody's life.

Setting Eren free, she sat Ymir free. And that made all Eldians free - well, as free as one can be, still bearing the burden of humanity. The ending shows exactly that: we can't control what people do with their freedom: what wars are started, whos justice empears, which cycles are repeated. But we can control what we do with our freedom, our choices.

And, just like it was Ymir's curse that ended Eren's freedom, it was humanity's curse, Mikasa's freedom, that ended Ymir’s curse.

[phoeebsbuffay]

Imagine Obi-Wan Kenobi’s complex journey…to the dark side.

Warnings: drama, angst, violence, inappropriate/adult language—explicit smut and fluff as usual.

Warnings 2: *long* post.

Recommendations: “Lavender Haze” by Taylor Swift; “Yellow Flicker Beat” by Lorde.

No minors.

***

Preface

“When there is too much light”, you tell him, “one might lose the sight for it.”

“But when there is too much dark”, so the red haired male muses, “the fate seems to be all the same”.

You tilt your head.

“The whole point is that every excess leads to suffering. Those who claim to possess the true core of goodness are blinded by their vanity, although those who are plunged by darkness is similarly lost.”

“Then what should I do?”, you detect a hint of misery in his voice.

“I am not the wisest of beings, Obi”, you smile candidly. “You’re not on your own. You should not pick up the broken petals and try to glue them to what they used to form. No. The damage is done, but it can be mended and transformed in something better.”

There is so much to be said, but, to your disappointment, words die in his thoughts. His eyes divert away and the magic is gone.

“Obi?”, now he detects despair in your voice.

The Jedi looks back at you. His blue eyes little by little lose the spark that once colored such tempest irises.

An eclipse rises.

“I must depart”, it’s all he mutters. “Unfortunately I cannot stay, Senator Y/N.”

You don’t have to say goodbye. Obi-Wan is gone with the wind.

***

• Part I: The Creed.

“You look too sad, Master”, Anakin tells him concerned. “This sadness of yours has remained there in your eyes longer than I’d thought it would take. I must say I am concerned.”

“This is exhaustion to you, Anakin”, Obi-Wan remarks. “I’ve been working per usual, that is all.”

“You have been burying yourself in work since that incident with the Duchess has…”

“It was not an incident!”, Obi-Wan snaps at Anakin, who stares at his Master in bewilderment. He sighs before softening: “I just…appreciate your concern over me, Anakin. It’s going to be fine. But there are moments when I wonder where this will end. Frankly, it frustrates me that two years later Maul isn’t entirely wiped out of the galaxy.”

“He’s not like any other we faced, Master. That creature is a Sith Lord, therefore we ought to be very careful when dealing with the man”, Anakin smiles quietly, eyes filled with comprehension. “But be mindful that grief should not overcome you, after all…”

“Fear leads to anger that leads to hate that leads to suffering”, so Obi-Wan completes. “I shall not forget that. It pleases me to see you learned that well, Anakin. I forget at times how good you can actually be.”

Anakin rolls his eyes, about to say something in return when the thread is interrupted by Master Windu, who requests Obi-Wan’s presence for a mission to planet Y/C.

“It’s farther than we had formerly judged”, the said Master tells Obi-Wan. “But we understand this is an important mission in order to prevent this region to fall to the Separatists. Apparently Count Dooku has sent a spy to convert Lady Y/N to his side. You must not fail, Obi-Wan.”

“I’m sure everything will be conducted most appropriately”, assures the other male.

By then the two part in friendly terms. But Anakin, the witness of the moment, is suddenly plagued with a strange feeling. However, he has not time to uncover it or even share with his Master, for Obi-Wan doesn’t want to waste anymore of his time in Coruscant, a planet he’s grown to dislike.

***

When he meets you after a long time spent journeying to your planet, Obi-Wan is dressing somber shades of red, opting for a dark cape that falls over his shoulders. But the growing shadow within is momentarily eclipsed by your glowing beauty.

Your long and wavy y/c hair is tied in a single braid; your face is painted in delicate colors that seem to bring your beauty in a most natural way; your light red gown reinforces your curves and after two years, Obi-Wan finds himself desiring a woman again.

His eyes linger at the swell of your breasts and for one moment, his mind takes him to a dark spot, where he allows to imagine taking each breast with his tongue—hungry for affection, wishing to be provided with what he hopes to find a sweet lullaby coming out of your lips, singing out his name—; but the moment you clear your throat, he sweeps away such pictured scene, burying it deep—mostly because he doesn’t want to have a boner right now.

“Master Kenobi”, you greet him with a sweet voice, eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and awe. He knows by the careful glance you give him that you find him handsome. Apparently, the attraction is mutual. “Thank you for getting to us. Welcome to our planet. I pray the journey has not been too hard on you.”

As you lead him to a seat next to the window, from where he can see the landscape outside, Obi-Wan smiles at you when answering:

“It has not, thank you for asking, my lady. I do hope, though, that your ladyship may forgive me for the delay in our mission. I had other matters to attend.”

“There is nothing to be forgiven for, Master Kenobi”, you smile again and Obi-Wan hates how the light that comes from you makes him feel like a teenager in his hormone days. “Before we begin to discuss our points, allow me to serve you some tea. Do tell your favourite.”

This is how it begins.

*

Lord forbid, but as each day goes by, you find yourself desiring to hear more of the serious and meticulous Master Jedi. His redhair and his blue eyes are difficult not to draw your eyes, but his muscles—perfectly well hidden under such robes—leave so much to your imagination.

Often seen by others as cold, unreachable woman, always avoiding relationships of any nature, it seems this man has managed to make you go to your knees—though you’d gladly turn this metaphor into literal.

You’ve heard the other day a lady in waiting describing to another exactly how she went to her knees to please her husband—a way the said lady in question found out from a maid of her trust—and how deliciously it was to feel his manhood pumping into her mouth. As you enter into the salon, your eyes scam after him, with that scene in the back of your mind.

What would be like to please him? To make this sacred Jedi feel profane, mundane things? It’s when your own conscience admonishes for such thinking. You are a governor, a member of the Senate who vowed never to marry or get yourself involved romantically—specially after one particular man, Senator H/N, broke your heart.

“Ah, Master Kenobi! There you are!”, you greet him with glee. “I must admit I am worried about how the Senate will respond to our request. I do wish to remain neutral in this war.”

Obi-Wan comes to perceive that he’s been growing intolerant to his impatience with this unending war. Or perhaps he’s mistaking it with frustration? The man cannot tell and he has no intention in letting obvious his discontent.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Senator Y/LN”, and so suddenly your desire for peace reminds him of…

“Are you well, Master Kenobi?” You ask him gently, concerned about the shadows that so suddenly take grip of his reasoning. “Come, let us go outside. A stroll around the gardens might suit you.”

“No, I appreciate your concern, but…”

You surprise him by being an effective adversary.

“I don’t take no as answer, good man. I know distress when I see one.”

“And here I thought I was hiding well”, Obi-Wan muses sarcastically.

“Oh, didn’t you?”

How you snap back at him earns the Jedi some smile. And you are pleased your effort is finally coming to something.

*

“Is it weird to live by peace in a world plunged by extremisms?” You think out loud as you two share a stroll in a quiet, content pace around many green walls.

Obi-Wan, who’s been studying you more often than he’d sensibly admit, side eyes you and discreetly responds:

“I don’t think so. When disease begins to make sense, reason starts to find illogical healthy musings. We’ve been too sick to realize that peace could’ve been reached by a simple dialogue with some compromising”.

“Why do we expect better attitudes from others when we ourselves lack them?”, you sigh. “I suppose it’s because our enemies reflect our darkest fears.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows furrow at the thought. Seeing a good point you make, he finds himself uncomfortable for the first time in a long time.

We make demands of others. We fight for others. We expect better of others when we are not better than them.

Has the good cause been corrupted? Suddenly, Obi-Wan’s conviction starts to be shaken by his own beliefs.

“I’m sorry. I was meant to bring you some solace, not providing you this uneasiness”, you apologize by reading the Jedi’s awkward steps.

When finding your y/c eyes, Obi-Wan’s first instinct is to flee. You too get this sensation and perhaps you let it show more than you’d know. But he resists it.

You are not Satine. I cannot expect you to be like her. But you bring me to a different light… and I fear where this path will lead me.

“Don’t apologize”, though his arms remain folded, his features are now softened. “I’ve been under stress for two years in a roll. You deserve better, my lady, and I haven’t been a most proper guess, have I?”

You chuckle softly and the sound that comes with it makes any burden his heart’s been carrying loose…

“I understand more than you know, Master Kenobi. I fear to say I tend to overthink about what surrounds me”, you smile at him, your eyes not ready to let go of the gaze that captured them. “It’s a hopeless world we live in and yet I think it’s my duty to bring some joy to it.”

“And how’d you do that?”, he inquires, too intrigued by your web not to play with it.

“By living to a personal creed”, you give the Jedi a mysterious smile. “Live righteously through every beating of your heart. Do so by providing others some cheerfulness.”

That being said, you actually succeed to distract the very grave Jedi close to a fountain and with one small push, get him into it.

Soon, the silence is broken by a sound of cheerful laughters and for the very first time Obi-Wan joins them, not burdened, but free of it.

***

Part II: Duty Is The Death of Love.

Obi-Wan is requested to go back to Coruscant once the situation in your planet is partially resolved. But there is reluctance on his part going and you fear for his departure too.

By then, an unspoken attachment had developed between you two—but neither felt the urge to make it obvious, in other words: to make the first step.

“You are too quiet, dear Y/N”, Obi-Wan remarks, his eyes never letting go of your sight for a moment.

This evening you are having dinner. A private one, very personal and intimate in many shades—but the Jedi realizes you’ve been far from his grasp. It so appears to him that your brightness has been stolen away.

“Am I?”, you raise your eyes to meet those sparkling blue ones that have been searching for yours. You blush lightly as a result. “I’ve always been quiet, Obi.”

“This is hardly the truth”, he smiles. “You’ve been always the one to speak, my dear. Please, tell me what’s been troubling you.”

Your pride advises you not to tell him how you feel. Obi-Wan sees through you the struggle, but these are trying days. What’s there to lose if you speak your mind?

“I will miss you”, it’s all you can say.

He reaches for your hand, gently lacing fingers. Never before duty felt so strained, so… suffocating.

“I’m not really leaving. You know that.”

You don’t realize a puddle of tears is forming in your eyes before you say:

“You’ve always shone brighter than anyone I’ve known. I shall not eclipse that.”

Obi-Wan quickly leaves his seat to console you. On his knees before you, he takes each hand and presses there a kiss.

“Dear love”, he rushes to say. “You are a poetry to my soul. I’ve been numbed for a long time and thought myself dead inside until you brought me back to life. How can you say I shine bright when you are the sun who feeds me light to do so? No. I’m nothing if not a moon in need of your light.”

When did the desperation rise so eminently? You don’t know, neither does he. But all so suddenly, your lips are collided against his and Obi-Wan is rising you from your seat to pull yourself into him.

Your hands are now playing with his hair all the whilst his own are gripping tight your waist. His kisses are urgent and fervent, warming you in every possible way.

His lips are now going to your neck and you throw your head back, feeling exposed under his gaze. Indeed, had you had the ability to read mind, you’d find nothing but indecent thoughts there.

Hungry for your affection, his lust draws unspeakable ideas to you. His lips enjoy your soft skin and his eager hands are already unlacing your gown. On your turn, the tingles that his beard make on you are enough to make you sigh.

You promptly rest your hands over his shoulders in an attempt to find balance. As you do, you pursuit his lips once more as your hands begin to work in his fabric.

“Obi..”, you heavily sigh as you now kiss his jawline and move to his neck, gently biting his skin.

“Yes, dear Y/Nickname?”, he groans lightly as you have control over him.

You don’t know what you are doing, but you do. Moved by a strange house instinct, your hands toss his fabric away, going down to his manhood, all the whilst you pepper his neck and shoulders with a loving kiss.

“You are mine”, you whisper against his skin, as your delicate fingers find what they are looking for. “Aren’t you?”

You raise your eyes and Obi-Wan finds mischief in them, much to his arousal, specially when you start holding his manhood very gently.

“I am, yes”, he sighs heavily. “Maker knows I belong with you entirely, dear one.”

His words are like charm, evoking your sudden confidence. Suddenly, you flip positions, starting to get the best of him. Your eyes are glued on his heavy breathing and when he thinks he’s about to come undone…

You take him all.

Using your red lips.

*

But he is not a man to be easily subdued—he is the one who subdues, and here you are submitted at his will.

Obi-Wan knows you well and he enjoys driving you crazy by doing all he wants to do with you slowly.

“Beg, dear one”, he smirks at you, his fingers gently stroking your feminine core, not yet slipping them inside you. “This is what you want to do…”

You hiss under your breath, eyes already painted with desperation. But your pride is simply useless before the strength, the physique, the beauty and perfection that stand right before you.

“Please”, you whimper, much to his delight.

And he does so. His lips looking for yours, he takes no more of your time before pleasing you the way you deserve.

“I love you”, you sing your feelings out, followed by another whimper.

“I love you too”, he kisses you hungrily, enjoying the effect he has on you.

There is nothing but the alluring dark to light the way, and no sense of goodbye is perceived when one body collides with the other. Never before Obi-Wan felt so alive. A sensation that he does not want to let go of.

Towards the end of the night, when you two are bathed by salt, you turn at him and say:

“You should stay.”

Obi-Wan sighs. It feels as if he’s living that night again… when it was whispered that the duty was the death of love. When looking back at your y/c eyes, the good there is in them, a voice in the back of his mind says again: must you repeat old mistakes?

Must you?

However, for now the Jedi does not wish to dwell in such thinking. Internal riots are briefly quieted. He turns at you and peppers your face with kisses before cuddling you in his arms.

“Let us enjoy the today, my dove. It’s all I ask for.”

A response that does not content you, but would have to suffice now.

*

When you wake up the next day, he is gone. The warmth in his side of bed is replaced by a cold, a void of goodness you feel so abruptly deprived of.

It hurts, it aches too much the sound of heartbreaking. You should know that what was going to happen.

But the images of both of you speaking of the past as if the future would be one with the other roll in the back of your mind. Is there anything you could do?

No.

But that day you weep as sacred moments are remembered too well by your soul, broken like a secret you kept, an oath that now sounds meaningless.

And here your pain becomes a growing angst that paints your heart blue, all alone trying to find how to deal with all the intensity that crushed you like a tide that took you far from the shore, letting you drown by a heavy wave.

A knock on the door, however, disrupts you from your thought. You barely notice the tears rolling down in your cheeks until you taste the salt these come to your mouth. And now you must regain your composure.

Oh you must.

“Duty awaits”, you think out loud before granting the permission for the door to open and soon coming inside your bedchambers.

A moment so sacred is now profaned. As it should be.

***

Part III: Midnight.

“Have you heard the tale of Darth Plagueis, the Wise?”, the chancellor asks him.

Obi-Wan is wearing his usual suits this evening for an encounter with the man behind the Senate, the one whom the Jedis asked him to spy for. Palpatine is the said man’s name and although his behavior is rather…unique for a man of his position, it comes at being too odd to spy him.

“I believe I am rather familiar with it, yes”, replies the red headed Jedi, stroking his beard, as he casts his cold blue eyes towards the other one. “Why’d you ask, Chancellor?”

Giving Obi-Wan a smirk, Palpatine carefully shrugs.

“This is a tale often misconstructed by the Jedis.” He pauses carefully, waiting for some reaction coming from Obi-Wan. Once it did not, he continues. “Duty not always must be the death of love, Obi-Wan. Once upon a time, love was the main weapon of the Jedis. Now it appears to have been poisoned by the ambitions of such an Order.”

Silence hangs in between the two men, heavy like grey clouds announcing an upcoming storm.

“What you suggest is treason”, whispers Obi-Wan, avoiding the male’s gaze. “The Jedis have been the keepers of peace in Galaxy for centuries.”

“The endings often bear good intentions”, remarks Palpatine. “How about the means, though? The means justify the endings, and you cannot look away the pride and arrogance that have flickered the Order.”

No answer. Slowly, like a snake spotting a prey, Palpatine surrounds Obi-Wan.

“My dear, your duty has been rewarded with nothing but disdain. Your name has once been shouted by your fellow Jedis, but now it’s been whispered like a poison. Is this what you’ve become, Obi-Wan? A name, a number…a mere saber?”

“I don’t need recognition”, Obi-Wan retorts, but even he can feel the emptiness of his belief.

What has changed?

“Oh, but we do. We do. What are we without the applauses of those we love? Not beasts to be served to other’s purposes”, Palpatine smiles. “You have doubled your powers, Obi-Wan. But your path of blood… when will it end? They say fear leads to anger and anger leads to suffering. But has duty emptied your sentiments? Blind devotion also leads to suffering, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

A sweet melody is sang. To see it’s effect, however, Palpatine slowly removes himself from the scene. The prey is at long last trapped by the snake’s trap.

Obi-Wan knows it. He feels it. The tentacles of darkness tempt him, seducing him like the sweet embrace of a lover.

Indeed, the list of dissatisfaction is too long to ignore. The anguish within never ceases to torment him. The temptation is too great to bear.

Nonetheless, it’s close to midnight when the Jedi leaves everything aside to look for you. Perhaps you have every answer for him; perhaps you might be the savior he needs.

*

You are located at your lavender garden, even though it’s past midnight. Chaos surrounds you, war destroys everything you know. You grew strangely comforted by it. You learned to play coy, to be the player you planet needed. Neutrality was merely a disguise. But politics was never a clean game in the first place.

Two nights ago, you’d met him. You thought you’d lost him again, but the silent steps caught you out of your guard.

“I knew I’d find you here, Y/Nickname”, his husky voice brings out a smile of your lips. “A lavender field is most proper to your ladyship.”

You raise your eyes, not surprised for seeing Obi-Wan Kenobi dressing a dark robe, a somber shade of red in his suit, standing powerful before you.

“I do not wish to forget the lavender haze creeping upon me.” You tilt your head, pleased to find a secret smirk twisting in the corner of his lips. “What are you here for, my dear? End this the way it should be.”

“It pains me to hear this is your conclusion”, he muses somberly.

You promptly stand and move to where he stands. Very gently, you remove his hood and run your hands over his short red locks, before cupping his face and tiptoeing to rest your forehead against his.

“I wouldn’t take you as a man who understands everything literally”, you make a small jest, pleased to make him chuckle.

“Darkness is so much more alluring than I’d ever consider it to be”, he whispers. “I’ve tripled my powers since I left you. I shall not lose you, my dear Y/N. The Jedis and the Sith…both took everything I’ve loved.”

He sobs and seems to fall on his knees, but you hold him, able to prevent him to lose his strength. But because he’s heavier than you’d able to carry him, you manage to lead him back to your lavender garden.

“This doesn’t have to be the way”, you tell him. “There is more in the world than Jedis and Siths, Obi.”

As he glances to you, you spot a swift change in the color of his irises, spot an unending suffering in the dark waters of his soul.

“I hate them”, he whispers, and the sound is like that of a whip. “I hate them all.”

“Let us run away then”, you speak gently, caressing his hair. “Those who step in our way shall be destroyed. Simply as that.”

Obi-Wan chews your solution for a moment. It’s reasonable and makes sense. When admiring your beauty and the gentleness that comes from your good heart, he takes your suggestion.

But then… a question rises.

What if there is no more Jedi nor Sith?

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite2024 8. Wedding Vows

Characters: U'rahn Nuhn, Postmoogle Expansion: Endwalker(Timeline Wise, Otherwise Irrelvant) Rating: G Summary: U'rahn practices for his big day with his biggest antagonist. Notes: Freeday prompt given to me by @beyond-mortal-limits *Based on Shakespeare's Sonnet 18 **Based on George Michael's Father Figure

“Alright! Have we started? Now remember, only write the stuff down that I’m saying for the vows. You don’t have to write it all down…you better not be writing this down…Augh. Anyway. My Vows….My vows….Let’s try:

“Nyx, I’ve loved you since you first took your hand and led you to go do all the stuff Zoissette didn’t want me to do with me…-

“Yes it was a date for someone else? Why? What do you mean that’s lame. Don’t you kupo at me! I’m paying you to write stuff not give me dating advice! Let’s try again. …Maybe traditional?”

“I, U’rahn Nuhn, take you, Nyx Blackmoon, for my eternally bonded spouse, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do…well, until death do I part. I will love and enrich you all the days of my life.

“How’s that? What do you mean ‘lame, kupo?’!? It’s traditional! …Okay …Nyx is not a traditional bride but that doesn’t matter cause they’re going to be the most beautiful and special brrride there’s ever been. Don’t ‘Sure, kupo!’ at me! It’s trrrue! But you’re right…Nyx loves me for my orrriginality and that I enrrrich them…Maybe poetry? I can be poetic! Urianger taught me sonnets after Nyx taught me Haiku!!…Can too! Oh yeah!?

“Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s Night?

Thou art more um…lovely and temperature

Rough winds do shake my darling buddies in May

And Summer’s heat hath all too short a date,

Sometimes too hot the eye of Nidhogg shines

And often is gold and complex and I’m dimmed,

And every faerie from faerie sometimes decides

By chance of nature’s changing course to their whim…d

But thy eternal Summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of thou wanderer’s shade

When in eternal bonds to time thou grow’st

So long as Nuhn can breathe or eyes can see

So long lives this one, and he gives his life to thee-* Stop laughing!

“I swear, moogles are nothing but trouble. That was really good! Yes, I recited it perfectly from the book that Urianger gave me! No I didn’t guess! Just keep your comments to yourself and help write down my vows or I’ll feed you to a sandworm!

“Now…if poems won’t work. How about a song:

“That's all you wanted

Something special, someone enriching 

In your life-

Just for one moment

To be warm and naked

At my side-

Sometimes I think that you'll never

Understand me 

But something tells me together

We'd be happy, oh-oh, baby

I will be your Nuhn figure

Put your tiny hand in mine 

I will be your preacher teacher

Anything you have in mind-”**

“What? That off key? …Yeah, I’m not very good. Maybe if I asked Big Bro Erick or Big Bro Thancred to back me up in the vocals? No? Yeah…no. I can even admit I’m not the best singer. Alright. Fine…What do you think I should do? … … … Ah…I can try that…:

“Nyx…When I’m around you I feel invincible…Not like my normal invincibility, but like, y’know, that I could do anything and everything I put my mind to. Even the stuff that I’m super bad at. I know I’m not the smartest or wisest guy out there but you never hold that against me and when I meet something that I can’t overcome, you let me try until I ask for help. You never judge me or put me down. I feel so seen and loved around you. 

“And…well, it’s no secret my family is super important to me. You’ve fit right in with us in your own Nyx way. I know that if something ever happened to me, you’d be there to watch over them where I cannot. I named my first daughter after you ‘cause I don’t know anyone more strong and beautiful that I would want her to look up to. 

 “So uh, what I’m trying to say is that I’ll always love you…And I promise, as long as I draw breath, to keep enriching you and making every day be filled with new, fun experiences when we are together.

“Why are you crying? Me? I’m not crying? I just got stuff in my eye! It was good though wasn’t it? Let’s stick with that version….C’mon, I’ll get you a kuponut.”

[seaofwine]

i've been offline - at least off tumblr - for about a month at this point. this has been for many reasons, but there are a couple that i want to talk about. first: i find it incredibly difficult to articulate what my practice is now. while it is still deeply rooted in arkadian reconstructionism, there is so little about tegea that exists in the written record. at this point, i am okay saying that i have shared what i can.

to be honest, the further along in my practice I get, the harder it becomes to put down in words. in short: i feel less confident sharing religious content online. the ways people experience the divine will be as varied as there are worshippers, which is a good thing. religion is meant to be personal to you.

for me, i'm at a stage in life & my religious practice where i see now just how much i don't know. sometimes that is the wisest thing you can say.

Athena is as vast as the cosmos, with so much knowledge i cannot even begin to comprehend. i can tell you about her epithets, i can tell you what they mean to me. she is my goddess (said with the reverence of 'my captain, my captain'), i am devoted to her, i revere her; but she is beyond my understanding. i don't understand divinity, and i would not speak on their behalf.

i have received asks in the past that i struggled to answer; things like, "how do i know Athena is reaching out to me?" or, "what offerings does she like?" I can tell you that, at least during Panathenaea, that a peplos was placed on her altar; a gift from the weavers of the city for her festival. I can tell you the story i was told by a mythographer in Athens, of how glaukopis came to denote the color blue. i can tell you that olives and olive oils are lovely offerings, or that it could be nice to crochet, knit, or weave an altar cloth. all of these things can be sought out and sourced.

i can't source the personal things. i can't tell you to do what i do, because i don't always know why i do it. i know that Athena is there because she meets me where i am. i sew and weave as a devotional act, so when i was having a bad day, i knew she was there when i stepped over a spool of thread on my way home. i love owls and collect them for her, so i knew she was there with me during the most nerve-wracking exam of my life when i looked out the window and was face-to-face with an advertisement for a company whose logo was a giant cartoon owl.

that being said, it makes sense then that i'm also personally uncomfortable with and wary of the influx of people claiming to be priests and priestesses. i won't rehash it because @loemius made a great post (literally the one underneath this one) addressing the fact that titles hold weight.

e-temples are a great way to connect with people & to express your worship in a subtle way, especially if you cannot openly worship at home. i think they are wonderful. however, any community with implied or enforced hierarchies centered around religious expression are things to be cautious about. this is doubly the case if these are run by minors.

i've been trying to work on a collaborative post about modern priesthood, but i keep coming back to the same problem. the structures that allowed for & educated Hellenic polytheist priests just don't exist in an accessible way today. in short: i don't know.

people are fallible, people make mistakes. always do your due diligence to double-triple-check the things people are telling you online, myself included.

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

I guess you can also argue cryo and all the shenanigans being pulled as like. Alls fair in love and war- but we’re going to need to meet the Tsaritsa to really see how they characterize that beyond Dains description of her having no love left for her people. Can’t wait to see how the next two nations develop- and it’s a fun thought exercise to see how they can shape into different things. Like you said- Anemo can be interesting under “love” considering Venti is both kinda doing the “if you love something, let it go” thing with letting his nation choose how they want to go, versus him clinging to the memory of the nameless bard to the point of wearing his face, even this far into the future. A god who loved a human so much he couldn’t bear to let them go, who’s statues are made in their image now (and the achievement when you sit down in the hands? Beloved of the Anemo Archon, when the statue is at the scale of the nameless bard and whisp Venti? That’s a fun thing to turn over)

Sorry for rambling again. What do you think are some of the more fun interpretations/swaps that you could do? -☁️

you're so right on the venti thing. and yeah, we don't know what the tsaritsa is, we're just going off of the only hint available hahah

i honestly think the easiest swap would be wisdom for zhongli and contracts for furina. zhongli is already possibly the wisest/most knowledgeable character in the game (nahida is a different issue), and you wouldn't really need to change anything about him or the plot of liyue to make that work. it could literally go from the contract to end all contracts to if i want my people to grow wiser and grow stonger then the smartest move is to simply step down and let them be. you'd have to think of a better excuse as to how he settled a deal with the tsaritsa and why he cannot tell you about the cataclysm later, but you could work something out. maybe factor in forbidden knowledge much earlier into the game. this would also have the added bonus of linking him to guizhong in that she could very easily be made to align with wisdom, and so zhongli ending up as the archon came down to guizhong dying before he did, like a rukkhadevata/deshret situation, and how the raiden twins were both about eternity.

contracts for furina would be interesting because you could make the plot of fontaine about punishment for breaking a contract, since that's also what sinning could be (egeria's sin). and furina being unable to tell anyone what was going on could've been made even worse if she had to sign a contract with focalors to literally not say a word about it. after that, you could make the traveler finding out the truth a loophole to the contract, since strictly speaking furina never did tell anyone, and neuvillette found out from focalors anyway. like the plot of fontaine is already about consequences of one's actions, the overarching one being about the consequences of egeria's orignal sin; you could easily just make it about the consequences of breaking a contract with the divine instead of just offending them (not that that's less strong a plot point, but if it's about breaking a contract, it might give more nuance to celestia as oposed to just 'oh they got offended')

now that i think about it, you could also do something interesting with freedom for nahida. make it freedom to pursue knowledge in whichever way you may want to. freedom to enrich your mind and be wiser however you see fit, be it through arts, through study, through dreams. i mean she's already locked up (denied freedom to be out and about on her own), the akademiya was controlling the akasha (denying freedom of knowledge) and banning the arts (denying freedom of expression). sumeru's history is also about freedom, somewhat, what with deshret wanting to get over fate so his people would be free to dictate their destinies, but his solution being a literal hivemind (complete lack of individuality and freedom). even post-deshret with the jinn and their enslavement and all the mess liloupar kicked up. like sumeru is already more about freedom (and the lack of it) than mondstadt is LMAO

[argumate]

I have a silly question:

How does one pronounce your username?

I've been saying "argumAte" in my brain for years but is it actually "argum8"?

ar-gyu-meit? ar-goo-ma-té? argh-um-atty? even the wisest cannot tell

[randomingoftherandomness]

Some lasting effects of a poison Yuanzhi recently tested are hitting him hard (I.e., chest pain, coughing, bouts of dizziness, etc.) And he's trying to hide them all from Shangjue during a very full day of training/patrolling together

The bo staff catches him on his side and he’s on his knees before he can register the bloom of pain. Yuanzhi tastes the tang of copper in his mouth, bracing himself with a hand on the ground.

“Again.”

Coughing lightly, he quickly plasters on a quick pout to hide the way he’s starting to sway. “Gege, have pity on me please? You’re too good! I can’t beat you at all.”

Shangjue scoffs. Lowering the staff, he cocks an eyebrow at Yuanzhi. “Have you been practising at all? Why have you gotten this bad?”

Yuanzhi glibly shrugs, sitting down and acting as if he’s taking a minute to catch his breath and not actually pushing back on bile.

When Shangjue doesn’t immediately tell him to get back on his feet, Yuanzhi takes it as a win and gingerly flops back, trying hard not to wince when the motion rattles something in his chest. Gulping down on a moan, he works on breathing in through his nose and exhaling out his mouth.

He should have been more careful.

Running through the mental list of his latest experiments, Yuanzhi concludes that it could be one of two. Neither of which has side effects he’s too keen on.

The wisest route to take is to let Gege know that he needs to beg off any more training and slink back to his laboratory to pull up another round of antidotes. But.

Gege has shucked off the top of his robe and it is hanging around his waist. He’s taking a deep drink from his water skein and Yuanzhi’s eyes cannot help but follow the trail of sweat drops as they map their way down the strong planes of his chest, lingering only for a moment on his belly before disappearing under the moisture darkened cloth slung at his hips.

It’s mesmerising. It’s hypnotic. Yuanzhi has to shift a little to hide the stirring in his loins.

They’d barely had any time for each other lately. Gege has been neck deep sorting out the logistics for his next trip into the jianghu and he himself has been burning the midnight oil trying to produce enough of what Gege will need as products to sell and market.

Yuanzhi can’t even remember the last time they’d even done more in bed other than a quick fumble before falling into a deep sleep in each other’s arms. He supposes he should be glad for that.

But his body misses Gege’s touches and he aches a little for more than quick kisses when they catch each other in between sleeping and rushing out the door or falling into another project or two. His chest hurts at the thought.

What if Gege and him have just fallen into a lull? They’re certainly comfortable with each other and there’s no part of him that doubts his love for him. But Yuanzhi does wonder if they’ve gotten so familiar with each other. The kind of familiarity that all married couples go through when they’ve been together for awhile.

Not that Gege would ever want that with him.

Even if there’s a part of him, that small voice that he only listens to when it’s just him and his thoughts, that says that Yuanzhi would want some version of that.

His breath catches, jolting bodily when a calloused hand slides over his brow.

“You’re feverish,” Gege notes with a small frown. His brown eyes search over him. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Yuanzhi butts his head into Shangjue’s palm. Sitting up slowly, he reaches out to tug Shangjue’s hand into his lap. “It’s nothing. Just a side effect of an experiment I’m running.”

“You still—“

“I’m fine, Gege,” Yuanzhi insists with a small smile. “Really. I just want to spend time with you, is all.”

The corners of Shangjue’s plush lips tighten. Without another word, he pulls Yuanzhi into a bridal carry. Chuckling softly when Yuanzhi sputters a weak protest, he holds on to him like he is carrying a precious treasure.

“We are getting you your antidote and we’re going to spend the rest of the day in bed.”

Yuanzhi hooks his arm over Shangjue’s neck. “Don’t you have important reports to do?”

Shangjue darts in, kissing him on the cheek. “None more important than doing you.”

Yuanzhi suppresses the instinctive urge to cringe, choosing instead to luxuriate in the laughter that rings in his burning ears.