#he and the maker are a balancing force

[nevadas-night-time-novelist]

wip

[just-your-average-tangerine]

Why do people assume that kids can't be passionate about things?

Every time I see a video on instagram of a kid being passionate about something or good at something, the comments are full of people going "😢how sad, just let the kid be a kid😢"

Like, that kid is having the time of their life or is a fucking Oscar worthy actor.

Kids can have hobbies, kids can be good at things, and kids can care about things. And the fact that you don't think so tells me you don't know many kids.

And like, the conversation around kids on social media and the exploitation of kids on social media is a valid discussion to have, but it doesn't mean every kid with a passion is being forced into it.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 2: Piercings and Puns

“Pleeaaasse?” Johnny whines, pressing his hands together and giving you the biggest, sparkliest puppy dog look you could imagine.

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Please! My two o’clock cancelled an’ I’m so bored!” He flops over the counter, arms dangling right above the appointment books. You pointedly ignore the size of his biceps.

“I’m not letting you pierce me just because you’re bored.” You scoff. “Now shoo, Simon’s got an appointment coming in soon.”

“But ye barely have any!” He argues. “All I’m askin’ fer is a wee ear. No’ even a nipple!”

A shocked amalgamation of a bark, laugh, and scoff forces it’s way out of you at that. “It’s still a no!”

Johnny groans, but at least moves away from the counter. Unfortunately, he takes the opportunity to circle around behind you, pinching the cartilage of your ear. “C’mon, ol’ righty’s beggin’ fer a conch.”

The intercom buzzes before you can respond. You swat Johnny away with one hand while pressing the speaker button with the other. “Hello?”

“I’ve go’ an appointment with Ghost.” A man’s voice drifts through. You blink dumbly for half a moment. You still haven’t gotten used to Simon’s social media and booking moniker - he doesn’t like giving his real name out much, apparently.

You buzz him in. Johnny is still hanging around the desk even when you leave to get Simon - making your way down the shirt hall to his studio. The large man stands in front of his stencil maker, back turned to you.

You knock on his door frame quietly. “Your guy’s here.”

“Be out in a moment.” He mumbles, focused on whatever he’s doing. You don’t really know the steps by heart, but you do know that there’s something so special about watching artists perform this repetitive song and dance. This rhythm they know by heart. Skilled hands enacting each step with careful precision.

He’s so hard to read. Big and bulky but calm as the night sea. You want him to like you, but you know badgering him certainly won’t get you there. So, you turn on your heal and head back out. When you return to the front, Johnny’s disappeared back into his room.

You suck your teeth and lean back in the desk chair, rolling your earlobe between your thumb and index finger. It’s not a bad offer, really. You only have two earlobe piercings on each side. Wouldn’t hurt to add a helix… you’ve also wanted to get your thirds done for a while. Work your way up. You glance at the clock. Simon won’t be done with his client for at least an hour or so, and you’ve balanced the registers for the moment. Both Kyle and John are out today, so they won’t need anything.

It wouldn’t hurt… well, not metaphorically.

With a sigh you stand, wandering your way to Johnny’s space. The door’s wide open, and his head snaps up the moment you step close like a sixth sense. “Takin’ me up on my offer, bonnie?”

You roll your eyes. “Guess I am.”

“Whit d’ye want?” Johnny practically skips around his station, pulling out wrapped, sanitized tools and placing them on a rolling tray. He pats the center of the padded table in the middle of the room.

“Uh, been wanting to do my thirds for a while.” You shrug. “If you have time for two.”

“Och, I’ve got all the time in the world fer ye, hen.” Johnny grins, pulling up in front of you and grabbing a marker.

He’s so close as he places the marks on your ears, warm fingers feeling for the best spots. A thumb traces the back of your left ear down just to the beginning of your jaw briefly. Fuck, he smells good. Warm musk with hints of citrus around the edges. The way he tucks your hair back, hands framing your face as he lines up the dots, is so oddly intimate compared to the other times you’ve gotten pierced. He chews at his lip in concentration, pulling at the scar on his chin while turning your head back forth a couple times.

“Think I’ve got it.” He grins and steps back. “Have a look.”

You take the mirror, casually checking but not paying too much attention. You trust him to do right by you. “Looks good.”

“A’right. Now the fun part.” He grins, tearing open the pack of tools and a two new needles.

“Is this fun?” You frown, squirming a little at the size of the needle.

“It’s always fun t’poke a pretty girl.”

You roll your eyes, a growing theme between you two it seems. “Oh, you thought that was real clever, didn’t you? Had that in your pocket a while?”

“Why donnae ye reach in an‘ check?” He murmurs, leaning close to clamp your left ear. You’re half tempted to tell him it’s mean to tease a fat girl like this - but you don’t think he means anything like that by it. He’s just a flirt by nature.

Before you can answer, he shoves the needle through your ear. You stiffen, a strained noise bubbling up out of your throat.

Johnny coos as he slips the earring into your ear. “One doon.”

“Uh-huh.” You sniffle. Not that it hurts badly, just a basic physical reaction. Johnny still gives you an empathetic smile.

The second goes quicker, Johnny locked in on his work. It’s interesting, seeing how intense they get. You Is it odd to wish someone would look at you like that? With that much focus and passion?

“There ye go…good girl.” He murmurs in that deep rumble that would have you squirming if you didn’t still have a needle through your ear. “Doin’ so good f’me...”

“You’re a devil, MacTavish.”

Johnny just chuckles, knowing full well exactly what he’s doing. He steps back to look at the final result after slipping the second stud into your ear. They feel hot - like two small ovens on either side of your head.

“If it weren’t for the piercings I’d think ye were blushing, hen.”

“You’re gonna get yourself slapped one of these days.” You scoff, sliding off the table.

“Wouldnnae be the first time.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes for the millionth time.

You grunt, squatting low in an attempt to pick the last of the parlor trash. It’s not that you mind, trash was part of your duties from the start, but holy shit do these boys put bricks in their bins? You’d think tattoos would make light trash. Especially after the sharps are disposed of separately.

“Solid?” Simon appears in the hall, eyes flicking over you. You still can’t tell how he feels about you. Neutral, you suppose. At least that’s all you can glean from behind his seemingly permanent black surgical mask.

“Ya.” You sigh, letting the bag drop and leaning back to stretch. “Just heavy. Swear y’all aren’t throwing rocks in these just to fuck with me?”

You give him a grin. Simon just cocks an eyebrow - exaggerated by the small piercing lining it. You think, maybe the slight shaking of his shoulder is a laugh. In combination won’t he crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Maybe not.

“‘ere.” Simon grunts, closing the short distance between you quickly before snatching up the bag like it weighs almost nothing.

You stutter, following after him toward the back exit. “You don’t have to-“

“Not a problem.” He grunts, tossing the thing over the side of the bin. He quietly leads you back inside, locking the door behind you “Johnny go’ you already?”

When you frown in confusion he points to his ears.

“Oh! Yeah.” You shrug, leading the way back to front desk to finish up your closing duties. “He’s insistent. I’d wanted them for a while anyway so I figured there’s no harm.”

“Give ‘im an inch...” He sighs, pointing to the black bar bridge piercing at the apex of his nose. “Somehow talked me into this shite.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? I think it suits you.”

It really does. You can’t see most of his nose form under the mask but the arc of it leading up to bridge is strong, the piercing settling into the space nicely.

Simon breaks the silence. “You about done?”

“Almost. Just gotta check the ATM against the book real quick.” You nod.

He stares down at you for a moment, glancing out the semi-opaque window, now black with the night sky. There aren’t many street lamps on this side of town. You can only see a very faint glow from the one down by the car park.

“I’ll wait.” Simon settles his wide frame into Kyle’s usual chair.

“Oh! No you don’t have to! I’m sure you’re tired-“

“Wouldn’t feel right leavin’ you alone in the dark.” He cuts you off.

“It’s not a far walk-“

He scoffs. “Definitely not leaving you to walk alone.”

You sink your teeth into your lip, debating briefly on arguing. Based on his comfortable lean and crossed arms, it’s probably best to just let him walk you home. He looks so wide like that, veins prominent across his forearms. Fuck, you gotta find a boyfriend or booty call or something in this city. Anything to stop the temptation to stare at your hot coworkers.

It doesn’t take long to finish up your final chores. You turn all but one light off, wiring down from the bright overheads glaring at you all day. You glance over at Simon a few times while locking up the ATM, his covered face lit up by the light of his phone.

He leads you out of the shop once you’re finished, locking the door behind you and trying it a couple times to be sure. “Which way?”

“Uh, down here. It’s only twenty minutes.” You murmur, feeling guilty that you’ve kept him out extra late. You shove your hands in your hoodie pockets as you walk, the only sound on the street made up of your footsteps and some distant cars.

“What falls but never gets hurt?” Simon asks suddenly.

You frown. “Huh?”

“What falls but never gets hurt?”

You squint at him, trying to decipher anything from his face in the low light. You get nothing but a calm, warm gaze resting on you.

His eyes crinkle in the corners again. “Rain.”

“Pffft-“ You choke, caught off guard. “That’s such a lame pun.”

“Oh? I’ve got a better one.” Simon says, a smirk in his tone. “Why’d the mother clam scold her children?”

You chew your lip. God, you’re too literal to be clever enough for stupid puns and riddles. It doesn’t help that your head is spinning from this brick shithouse, incredibly attractive and intimidating man spitting popsicle puns at you.

“They were being shellfish.”

“Oh fuck off!” You shove at his arm playfully without thinking. He gives, let’s you push him slightly before you stiffen. “S-sorry! I don’t-“

“Nothin’ to apologize for.” The corners of his eyes crinkle deeper. Yeah, definitely a smile. You answer it with one of your own.

[l1tw1ck]

top!amab male character x bottom!ftm reader

800 Words | Kinktober

think of whoever (endeavor, william afton, zhongli, etc)

Terminology Used: pussy, cunt, t-cock, slick

CW: Non-Con, Boss/Employee, Creampie, Daddy Kink

Your boss, the CEO of the most well known company in the country, decided that he needed a new assistant. An assistant that fits a special criteria. You applied and got hired on the spot, you barely even spoke. You were too excited to realize how bad that was. It was fine for the first few days and then he started making comments and staring at you for a bit too long. The job pays really well so you've been ignoring it and hoping he'd keep his hands off you. It was wishful thinking.

Your boss pushes himself against you, placing his hands on your hips while you make him coffee. He has his own private break room and decided to use that to take advantage of you. He leans into your neck and takes a deep breath in. "You smell nice."

You let out a shaky breath, trying to build up the confidence to tell him off. "With all due respect sir, I'm not very comfortable with this." You sound the opposite of confident. He ignores you and sucks on your neck while unbuckling your pants. "Please, sir..."

He groans. "Shh, it's okay." He touches you through your underwear, getting you aroused against your own will. Your breathing turns shallow as he spreads your legs slightly more apart so that his hand can comfortably slip into your boxers, thick fingers sliding into your entrance.

You grip the edge of the table for balance, your head hanging low as he fingers you. Your fear of his reaction stops you from telling him to stop. He could hurt you if he wanted to. You let out shallow breaths, staring at the coffee maker that just finished pouring his drink. If you could manage to grab it without hesitating, you could spill it on him. It might spill on you too but it’d be worth a shot.

He pulls his fingers out and the small feeling of relief you feel is quickly ripped away with the sound of his belt unbuckling and dropping to the floor. He pulls down your underwear, quickly escalating the situation and filling you with more fear and discomfort. You hold your breath, feeling his length in between your legs. "Sir..." You breathe out, anticipating his next move and planning your own.

He lubes up his cock with your slick and prods his tip against your entrance. Your boss groans into your ear as he forces himself inside your cunt. "Yes...so warm." He murmurs. You hiss as his fat length stretches you open. His fingers were not nearly enough to prepare you for his cock.

He doesn't give you any time to adjust, already starting to fuck you at a rough pace. You grip the table harder than before, moans involuntarily slipping out of your mouth. You lost your chance. You’d just burn your own hands if you tried now.

He lets out a dragged out groan. "You feel so damn good—" He moans your name. "You’re taking my cock so well, baby."

"Please–" You gasp. "Mr—!"

“It's Daddy.” He runs his hand up your body, from your pelvis to your jaw. You feel yourself twitch from the unfamiliar touches. He gently grips your jaw. “Say it.”

“Da— Daddy-” You choke out.

He lets out a deep groan of pleasure. “Good boy.” He leans into your ear, his heavy breaths and groans becoming easier to hear. “Your pussy’s so tight, so warm…you're perfect.”

“It hurts-” You let out another involuntarily breathy moan. “Too fast-”

“I’m sorry, baby, but I can't slow down. You feel too fucking good.” He kisses your cheek. “You can take it.”

You shut your eyes, knowing this’ll be a common occurrence from now on. Even if you managed to escape he’d try again and thanks to the contract you signed, you can't quit yet. Not like quitting would save you anyway. He’d find a way to keep you in his grasp. He lets go of your jaw and brings his hand down to your crotch, lovingly stroking your t-cock. You shiver in pleasure as your legs start to give in thanks to that. “I can't– I can't–”

“Yes you can. You're doing so good.” He gets even more aroused by the sound of your voice. He aims at your g-spot, earning a loud gasp from you. “Right there..” He hits it again. Your cunt flexes around his length. He fucks you through your orgasm, somehow going even faster. “You're so good for me...”

“Too much– Please, it's- fuck~”

He ignores you and chases his own orgasm. “Gonna come right in your tight fucking pussy…” He moans. “Make you mine..”

He seems to like the idea of claiming you. Considering how good you feel right now despite everything, he might be able to fulfill that fantasy. And surprisingly, him coming inside you is the least problematic thing that's happening right now. Thankfully for you, he won't have much luck getting you pregnant.

He slows down, filling you up with his cum. He doesn't pull out though. Not even as he softens inside you. He doesn't want to leave your warmth, not yet.

[romanreignsbae]

the sweetest girl - R.R

Roman in his life had never genuinely cared for a girl. It was a wide known fact everyone knew. He'll flirt with you, fuck you, and never look your way again. It was just the way he worked. And who was anyone to question the tribal chief?

When he first saw you, stumbling through catering with your hands full with hair products, to get to Naomi before her match started, he took immediate notice to your nurturing personality.

The way you smiled at everyone who crossed paths with you, or always took the time to interact with little kids who would be wandering backstage. He even took notice in your terrible humor, which could light up a room in the darkest of moments. You were wearing the cutest little pink skirt, with the matching top. You looked so sweet, so innocent.

He knew he had to have you. The twins, mainly Jimmy, being the talkative people they are got to know you pretty quickly through Naomi. Roman knew better then to mention anything to the twins knowing they would run their mouths to everyone, ruining his plan. Plus, he liked to keep that side of him private.

Roman caught the perfect opportunity to speak to you, on a day all the women's roster was called to the gorilla. He caught you sorting out all the makeup products you would need for the night, when helping all the girls out so they would be ready for their matches.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing all alone backstage?" You almost jumped out of your skin to the deep voice who startled you as you were in your own bubble. Turning around, you met eyes with the one and only, Roman Reigns.

Everyone knew who he was. The top guy. The money maker. The Tribal Chief. And not to mention the twins had spoken about him several times. You smiled softly at him, while you cheeks heated up. No one was to deny that this man was so very beautiful.

He smiled back at you, showing off his perfectly aligned teeth. "Just sorting out everything i'll need tonight.." you mumbled while breaking eye contact. This man made you so nervous.

"Whats your name sweetheart?" He knew damn well what your name was. He knew almost everything about you. He wouldn't approach you without having his Wiseman do a thorough background search on you. He found out you were a hair and makeup artist, and he even had to admit your work was phenomenal. He also found out you were without man, which gave him the 'go' to approach you.

You mumbled your name to him softly, avoiding eye contact. "A pretty name for a pretty girl just like you.." he smiled while his hand moved up to your chin to move your face upwards. You were forced to make eye contact, with almost resulted in you losing your balance.

"Why are you so nervous sweetie? I don't bite...only sometimes," he joked playfully. The tension between the two of you began that night. Flirtatious jokes, date nights in each other's hotel rooms, even meeting each other's families.

To others, it looked like the two of you were dating. The way he would playfully pick you up and walk around backstage with you boosted up on his shoulder, ignoring the looks everyone gave the two of you. Or how he would go out of his way to order you matching sneaker pairs and tracksuits to match with him. He was in love..everyone knew it.

No one expected it either. From fucking a new girl every night, having a whole roster, to dropping all them hoes the second you guys had your first interaction. The tribal chief was in love..

And even if you wanted to admit or not, so were you. Naomi knew it too. The way you would bite your nails and freak out if he looked hurt during a match. You even once had tears streaming down your face, cause he looked like he was in so much pain.

_____

"It's sooo pretty look! Look Ro!" You had a massive smile on your face walking around this beautiful garden Roman cleared for the both of you. You held onto his arm tightly, leading him around the garden as if you had spent your whole life living there. He chuckled at your fascination in the flowers. He cleared his schedule to spend today with you and the smile on your face was all worth it. When he informed you he was taking you for a picnic, you chose the cutest little dress you owned. Roman couldn't keep his eyes off you the whole time barely sparing a glance at the garden.

"So baby, there's actually a reason I brought you here," Your turned around to his face looking serious, unlike the usual playfulness he usually felt when around you. "Whats the reason..?" Your question caused him to look almost nervous, his cheeks a little rosier then usual, it could be cause of the heat outside but the nervousness in his eyes told you the tribal chief really was nervous.

"C'mon Ro....your scaring me,” you whined. You hated when people tried to avoid questions. Whenever he wasn't his usual self around you, it made you feel a sudden hint of uneasiness. "Well..this is harder then I thought.."

He was stuttering all over the place, making you grow impatient and nervous. "Is- is it bad?" You asked with your pretty doe eyes peering up at him. "No- no it's not bad.."

"I'm in love with you..like a lot.." he mumbled while his cheeks became almost the brightest shade of pink. He looked at the floor while his lips were pressed against each other. That was not what you were expecting.

The largest smile engulfed your face as you giggled while standing on your tippy toes, to meet his lips. Your lips moulded perfectly against his, the softness bringing a new profound warmth between the two of you.

Pulling back with a even larger smile, you spoke your own truth. "I love you more Ro.."

Relief washed over his face before he also smiled so brightly. "I was so scared, I thought I'd scare you away.."

"Don't be silly you cutie! I love you sooo much!" You pulled him in for another kiss entangling your hands in his little ponytail, before continuing your adventure through the garden from a fairytale.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

i feel like if ace's UM does end up just allowing him to copy other's UM, it would solve a potential problem which is malleus putting everyone into a state of sleep. like they told us that it would only be lifted if malleus either lifts it up on his own or if he dies and idt twst would kill off a major and VERY popular character. but if they give ace that ability as his UM it would solve that in a way?

but if they do give that to ace as his UM i hope that ace would struggle to copy people's abilities, or at least kinda go through the emotions the original spell caster felt when theyre using their UM or when they first awoken it. maybe like a price to pay to use other's abilities but thats just me HAHAHHA

Yeeeah, that's what I was thinking too. I can't imagine Ace's UM being anything but a UM borrowing/mimicry spell right now (due to his own propensity to easily learn new skills and do vocal impressions)... It would also just be really useful for the end of book 7, since the briar barrier can only be taken down with Malleus's death or with Malleus willingly removing his magic. Given Malleus's stubbornness and being in such an emotional state, I really doubt he'd be able to come to his senses even all these hundreds of parts later. I really doubt whether all of our powers combined can take him down either, given his track record of being so stupidly OP. And it for sure wouldn't be a good move on the Twst devs' part to kill off such a money maker and significant part of their marketing for their series. (I do want to point out, however, that Malleus's insane popularity is exclusive to the international/English-speaking part of the fandom; he is not a top contender in JP and I would say has more of a middling status.) Having someone else reproduce his UM could very easily resolve this issue, but I guess that's also highly dependent on if Ace can get a grip on his UM that fast, or if he can even feasibly iron out the kinks of controlling what is probably a very complex spell. Epel, who got his UM most recently in book 6, still seems to have only a 70-80% success rate with his, so it's possible that Ace doesn't fully master his UM even if he gets it as soon as his own dream. I definitely don't think Ace would be able to use his (theoretical) copying UM to its full extent ASAP, as then we could just cut the dreams short right then and there. I feel like it'd become more relevant during the actual OB Malleus showdown or something. In general, there'd have to be come kind of drawback or limitations to his UM even if he got used to casting it at some point (just for power balancing reasons). Maybe there's a cooldown period, or he can only use the UM as much as his imagination will allow, or maybe it requires that he be able to empathize with the feelings of the original mage.

... Oh, you know what??? That might actually tie book 7 up quite nicely! If Ace's UM allows him to copy the UMs of other mages but only with the stipulation that he must empathize or relate to how they were acting when the original mage used their UM... Wouldn't that mean that Ace has to understand Malleus's loneliness and the fear of being left behind by his loved ones??? ACE CAN ACTUALLY PERFECTLY RELATE TO THAT because he was in denial mode that Yuu would be going home earlier in book 7. On top of that, he's probably also harboring shame for making fun of Deuce so much, only to be the one who doesn't have his UM yet. Ace can totally relate to what Malleus is going through 👀 He'd be forced to confront his denial of his own emotional vulnerability because he sees Malleus displaying the very same behaviors.

Maybe Ace gets his UM early on but has no idea how to use it properly until it comes in clutch in the final battle because he realizes (at last) how Malleus is feeling. Then it’s Ace who becomes the trump card that lets us triumph…! And that brings us full-circle—the final boss being beaten by the first student that we met, our first friend… Ace Trappola 🫶

[neyafromfrance95]

never getting over the contrast between how the elves treat and see galadriel vs. how sauron treats and sees galadriel in s1.

gil-galad to elrond about galadriel after forcing her to retire from the middle-earth in s1e1:

"galadriel sails to the sunset. you and i must look to the new sunrise."

sauron proposing to galadriel, offering to give her all the power in the middle-earth in s1e8:

"i would make you a queen. fair as the sea and the sun. stronger than the foundations of the earth."

notice that he isn't even talking about himself. he never calls himself a king. galadriel calls him "my king. the dark lord" as if to signify that sauron would be more of a queen-making consort who would control her, sure, but she would be the one everyone would kneel to and recognize as their leader. this is supported by his s2e8 remark:

"i would have placed a crown upon your head. i would never have rested until all middle-earth had been brought to its knees, to worship the light of its queen."

he is talking about making her the one others worship. why would he "not have rested" until she was seen as a queen by everyone if her status depended on his status? bc he is saying that he would be her lieutenant, her queen-maker, basically her consort.

and that makes sense considering his "you bind me to the light. and i bind you to power." he would give her what she desires the most - power over the kingdom of her own, where no one is a greater authority than she is. in return, she would give him that which he lacks - the light. his designs would finally be "complete" and "balanced".

anyways, jokes on gil-galad and elrond. they treated galadriel like there was no place for her in the new era of the middle-earth and then humbled her, but she ends up wielding power over lothlorien where she has all power and authority, while being sauron's greatest adversary.

[blenselche]

whenever I read a long text post about Fern they always leave out the grass demon. If you can't engage w/ his character past "green Finn" you're gonna get a shallow reading imo, you miss half the tragedy of his character.

You're summoned and bound to an object by an uncaring maker, never allowed to form a body of your own. You are a half-made, weak thing imbued with an eternal fettering curse. You're brought out and put on display, passed up for one of your siblings in similar circumstances. One day someone picks you, and that someone is the strongest soul Life has ever crafted-- a force of entropy. A reincarnating, righteous good meant to bring balance. You try to impress him, you have no voice of your own to say your thanks or approval so all your attempt at flattery does is scare him. You try, you try your hardest to be helpful even though it is not in your nature as a demon. You help him try to reach closure with his father, you try to right your wrong and make him whole again, you protect him from an ancient evil, you play your flute with a strong evocation spell for the girl who sees you- a girl he likes, you try to save another version of him from a dangerous artifact, you don't let him dig a deeper hole with a being he has no chance against but holds him no ill will. So many times you're misconstrued, you have no way of saying "I'm just trying to help." One day you're faced with a decision, a piece of his soul has been stolen, and you don't want to fight (because that sword is him, too!) but you've got to protect your wielder, it's your purpose, so you choose. Your choice shatters the glass keeping the soul of the sword secure and safe, and so you splinter yourself apart and cocoon it away. Some day soon your help is spurned for the last time, you're hurt for trying to keep your wielder safe. "Not on my arm," he says, so you leave.

You make a him that can't hurt you, but this new home of yours wants his life back. This is the path you've chosen, so you do the talking and do the hard parts for him. You build him a new image, you try. You keep trying but it's not like before, this is not your Finn, this Finn has edges that yours only sharpen. You try to tell your original user that without you his copy has no physical form, Fern is you, the soul will wither away if you're broken. Again you reach deaf ears, it doesn't work.

But the curse does. The curse grows you tall and everlasting, wrapped around the figment of soul you're bound to and entrusted with until his next incarnation discovers it. You let the sword go, you have eternity after all.

[doe-eyed-fool]

Fear Of The Known

Lucifer x Fem!Angel!Reader

|Chapter One|

Warning: Angst, No Comfort

Y/n was a young woman, destined to work close with the higher ups of Heaven, due to the gift she was given. God chose her to be the angel who would prophesy the future.

The symbol of a bright shining star on her forehead acted as a third eye. It would be what aids her as she looks into the future. And for the longest time, the future seemed bright.

Although, the future was not just one straight line. There were many pathways that could be opened by the smallest of acts.

But from how well everything was managed in Heaven, the best future possible, seemed as if the only real future ahead.

No worries, no danger, nothing to disrupt the heavenly balance. Yes, it was all smooth sailing ahead.

Y/n loved her job, and found great joy in telling others of the wonderful future that lies ahead for everyone. However, there would come a day, where the future was changed for the worst.

And it all started with one man...

Lucifer was one of God's favorite angels. He was bright, creative, brilliant. Though, he was a bit of a trouble maker, and would often drag his brothers into joining his mischievous acts.

Well, perhaps mischief wasn't the best way to describe it. Curiosity, was a better way of putting it. But even then, that curiosity would lead him to trouble.

It was a good thing God was so forgiving of Lucifer.

Even Y/n couldn't stay mad at him whenever he got her involved, asking her to use her future vision to see how his actions would effect something or someone.

And every time she'd say-

"My power is not to be abused, Lucifer."

As disappointed as he always was whenever she refused to indulge him, he'd never force her to do something she didn't want to. But boy, was he persistent.

Eventually, his curiosity rubbed off on Y/n. And she took a small peak into Lucifer's future. As she suspected, Lucifer would live happily and sharing his creativity with all of Heaven to enjoy.

Yes. Another wonderful future for all.

But then, another path was opened to her eyes. What she saw, concerned her.

Heaven was in chaos, and Lucifer was at the center of it all.

Y/n didn't dare look any further than that. And she would not say a word about this to Lucifer either. She had a feeling it would have negatively affected him.

However, she couldn't keep this to herself. She needed to tell God about the future she saw. It was the first time she had ever seen Heaven so...frazzled.

As if something terrible were about to happen.

The suspense of not knowing ate at her. If she were to tell God of such a future, she would need to know exactly why and how it would happen. And so, she looked again.

There Lucifer was again. He looked so angry, but so sad at the same time. And there was someone else with him. A tall and beautiful woman with long blonde hair. Lucifer held an arm out protectively in front of her as he yelled something.

He looked injured. Blood stained his beautiful face, as well as his robes. Even his wings were damaged.

Ahead of Lucifer was Michael. Sword in hand, the blade pointing towards Lucifer. He looked a bit roughed up as well. Had they been fighting? Why would they ever fight?

Chains were thrown around Lucifer and the woman he was with, and then, there was a vision of Lucifer and that same woman inside of Heaven's courtroom. Words were being yelled back and forth from Lucifer and the head Seraphim, Sera.

But Joel would have the final word.

There was a look of panic on Lucifer's face. The chains that bind him disappeared and the ground beneath them gave in. With quick thinking, Lucifer held onto that woman tightly, shielding her with his wings.

And just like that, the both fell.

Y/n gasped sharply as the vision faded.

"Lucifer...Lucifer falls from Heaven."

Y/n kept that terrible vision to herself for many years to come. The only reason she refused to tell anyone, is because she couldn't see any possible reason for Lucifer to fall from Heaven.

Lucifer would never do anything to put Heaven at risk, let alone cause for Michael to draw his sword at him.

There was no way Lucifer would do such a thing.

Y/n gazed out, watching Lucifer from a far. He was speaking to God, looking as carefree as usual. It was then he noticed her, he waved his hand. Y/n smiled weakly and waves back.

Lucifer excused himself from God and made his way over to her. "Hey Y/n, I've been meaning to talk to you."

"Oh? About what?" She asks curiously. Lucifer looks around before taking Y/n's hand and leading her away somewhere more private. Once Lucifer was sure they were alone, he excitedly shared the news to her.

"So, we all know that Heaven is great and will continue to be great for like, the rest of forever, right? But what if it could be even better?" Y/n looks a little confused. "What do you mean?" She asks.

"I've been thinking of some ideas to really give Heaven some...sparkle!" Lucifer says with jazz hands. "I wanted you to be the first to hear about it before I bring it up at the meeting first thing tomorrow morning."

Y/n couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. Whatever he had planned, he sure seemed passionate about it. And so, Y/n listen to him explain his ideas.

Everything he spoke about all sounded so wonderful, magnificent even. And just the way he talked about it, Y/n could see his eyes light up with every word that left him. Passionate didn't even begin to describe it. These weren't just ideas.

These were his dreams.

"I really have a feeling this will change Heaven forever! What do you think?" Asked Lucifer after he finished.

"Lucifer, I think you should do it. Clearly this is something you really want, and I can tell it means a lot to you. I wish you luck." Y/n tells him. Lucifer smiles brightly before hugging her tight.

"Thank you, Y/n!"

"Of course, Lucifer. I can't wait to hear what they have to say."

The two parted, and Lucifer suddenly had a mischievous look on his face. "You know, you could always tell me what they'll say."

"Lucifer." Y/n says sternly.

Lucifer sighs dramatically. "I know, I know. But I just can't wait!" Y/n giggles. "Well, just try and wait a little longer. They're going to love it."

"I sure hope so." Said Lucifer with a small smile.

Curiosity could be a very dangerous thing indeed. The vision Y/n had to Lucifer's future, or at least one of them, should have been enough to keep her from looking too long of what fate has to offer. And yet, something compelled her to look again.

The once bright future ahead, had changed.

It wasn't another pathway, but the one that was most guaranteed.

And it was horrible...

Lucifer will fall from Heaven, but not before he shares his ideas with the angels. Not before he meets with Lilith, and the two create sin and unleash it onto the world that the angels worked so hard to protect.

Y/n could not allow this future come to pass. She could not allow Lucifer to be casted into eternal damnation. Not if there was something she could do about it.

She knew had to warn Lucifer. But telling him of the future she saw might have crushed him and his dreams. And she didn't want to be the reason he stopped dreaming.

But nonetheless, she still had to do something to stop that future from occurring.

Y/n caught Lucifer the morning he was to call for that meeting.

"Lucifer, may I have a word with you?" She asks. Lucifer smiles. "Sure, but be quick, I have to get going soon."

Y/n tried to appear as calm as she could. "I know you're very excited about this meeting, Lucifer."

"I'm more than excited!" Lucifer says cheerfully. "If I can convince everyone to get on board with my plan, Heaven and Earth as we know it will change forever!"

Y/n winces. "That's what I wanted to talk you about." Lucifer looked confused, but listened anyway. "You know how the Seraphims can be. They're so...strict, you know?"

Lucifer sighs. "Yeah, talk about a bunch of sticks in the mud." He smirks. Y/n laughs awkwardly. "Yes well...Maybe you should cancel this meeting. Or! A-At least, postpone it?"

Lucifer only grows more confused by this, but he shrugs with a carefree grin. "Y/n, trust me. I can get on their good sides. You know how charming and loveable I am. There's nothing to worry about." He says before starting off.

Panic started to rise in Y/n. This wasn't good. Lucifer could not go to that meeting. If he does, Heaven will soon be thrown into total chaos.

"I'll let you know how it goes, ok?" Lucifer unfolds his wings to take flight.

Y/n grabs his wrist, stopping him. "You can't!"

Lucifer gives her a bewildered look. "Y/n?"

"You can't go to that meeting Lucifer!"

Lucifer furrows his brows. "Why have you had a sudden change of heart? Yesterday you were just as excited for this as I was. I thought you liked my ideas."

"I-I do! It's just..." Y/n trailed off, unable to think of anything to say. "Y/n." Y/n looked at Lucifer, his expression now one of concern. "Did you see something? Does something go wrong?"

"Lucifer...You just can't go." Y/n says weakly. "They won't understand. I just...I just don't want you to be hurt by what they might say."

Lucifer took Y/n's hand. "Was that really what you saw? They won't listen?" He asks. Y/n nods her head, tears in her eyes. She hated this. She hated having to be the one that tells him this.

But it had to be said. Lucifer might have been hurt by this, but at least he'd still be here in Heaven.

"Then...It looks like I'll have to change their minds!"

Y/n's heart sank. "You're still going? Why? I just told you they-"

"I know. But Y/n, I can't let this opportunity pass. I believe in my dream, I know it can work. I'll just have to really knock their socks off! And make a outstanding impression!" Lucifer says determinedly.

"Lucifer..."

"It'll work, trust me. Those Seraphims won't know what hit them!"

"Lucifer."

"You can even come with me! They're bound to listen if I have someone else who believes in me!"

"Lucifer I can't!" Y/n says firmly. "I saw the future that lies ahead, I know what the outcome will be! It's certain that they will not listen to you! It doesn't matter what you say or do, it won't work Lucifer!"

Lucifer was slightly taken back by your words. Y/n's heart snapped in two at the look on his face. One of sadness, betrayal...

It had to be said.

"I'm sorry Lucifer." Y/n sighs. "Please, please don't go. Just-"

"No."

"Lucifer!"

"I'm going to that meeting, Y/n. I'm going to tell them what I have planned. Because I believe in my dream. I just thought you would too..." Lucifer lets go of her hand before taking flight.

"Lucifer! Wait!" Y/n called after him. Lucifer ignored her as he grew further and further out of sight. "Lucifer!" Tears began to drip down her cheeks.

Y/n had failed to change that horrible future. Lucifer would fall from Heaven, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"I'm sorry..."

[dragonagecompanions]

hello, this is my first request :) unsure if your still taking requests but I was wondering how the companions (maybe romanced maybe not) would react to finding out the Inquisitor has a dead kid? I think the only way the party would find out is in the fade via the fear demon, and then maybe the advisors find out on their own ┐⁠(⁠ ⁠∵⁠ ⁠)⁠┌

idk but I would be truly honored to see you answer this request, and even if not than thank you for reading over it <33

- 🍡

WARNINGS For CHILD LOSS YOI HAVE BEEN WARNED

Cassandra: When the fear demon, gleeful in it’s telling of their leader’s loss, reveals the truth the Seeker is…well, there are no words. Forcibly she is reminded of how they swayed, pale and weeping, when she had said there were no other survivors. Guilt churns low and deep at her own words, a year and more gone now, throwing that fact in their face as accusation. Throwing such a loss in their face and then demanding answers.

Throwing a calling at their feet and demanding leadership, never knowing what a loss they struggled through.

She fights all the harder for them, as if every enemy batted away from them is attempted absolution. Cassandra Pentaghast thought she understood grief in all its facets, but what does the loss of older brother and parents- expected losses if come too soon- stand before the loss of a child? Maker, how do they still breathe through it?

When they are free of the fade, she approaches only to offer apology. If they wish to speak of their loss she will listen, but only then. She has forced enough from them.

Varric: Shit. Just…shit. Here he is, going on for months about how this story is bad for heroes and how the Inquisitor is the main character and blathering on, and never saw it. Never saw the aching grief, because it was never shown. The only example he has, or is at least intimately familiar with, is Leandra Hawk and his own mother.

And as the Inquisitor had never fallen into drink or taken to blaming whoever was closest to them for things outside of anyone’s control there had been no sign for Varric to catch on to. And it makes him feel…almost dirty. Stained with his own intentions, blithely going on while their leader had lost their kid.

He doesn’t bring it up to them, doesn’t know how, but Skyhold’s resident author is absolutely the own who tells Josephine as soon as they tumble out of the fade. That raven missive is a short and brutal telling, far from his normal goings on, and his guilt is manifold in it.

Solas: The Dread Wolf is not so unattached from the world as to not consider the losses suffered at the conclave, but for the most part -when he did turn his mind to them- they were mostly academic. A balance of power, and the loss of so many leaders among both chantry and mages a destabilizing force for his future efforts. Numbers laid cooly on a chart, beads on an abacus. The fortunes of war laid bare.

But more than one parent lost a child in that terrible moment, and siblings mourned. Children bereft, friends torn asunder, lovers left to weep alone for their loves. Listening to the fear demon enumerate the inquisitor’s loss magnifies the enormity of what happened, and though he will undoubtedly be the source of much worse for a moment the Dread Wolf cannot breathe.

It passes, of course, and when they leave the fade the rift mage dies his best not to carry those emotions out with him. This world is not to blame for his actions, for the destruction of his world, but he must restore it and so they must bear the cost. It is not fair to them, and it will be long months until he can be east about his plans.

In the interim, he dares to approach the inquisitor only once about their loss. He is there as a listening ear in the silence of his rotunda if they wish to speak of their sorrow. Or if they wish only a silent companion, he will direct the kindest spirits he can find to guard their dreams and remain at their side as long as he can.

Blackwall: Maker forbid. For a moment Skyhold’s would be warden is swamped by the images of Callier’s children, dead under tiny shrouds beside the ruined carriage at his command. Too many children fall victim to the machinations of their elders and with none to protect them from the fall out, but for all that most of Blackwall’s experience has been from the other side.

Being confronted with the parent who had lost a child, confronted with the knowledge that they had told none of them and had suffered under the burden alone was staggering. Damn it, they had all laid burdens at the Inquisitor’s feet and expected answers, demanded decisions and leadership in a word gone mad— and none had known what they had lost.

He doesn’t know what to say or how to act and instead channels everything into the fight to flee the fade. Rainier would be too much the coward to speak to their leader in the aftermath, but Blackwall- older and hopefully wiser from his own griefs- will offer quiet condolences and whatever aid he can. If they need to speak of it be will listen. And if not there is soft wood and chisel enough to grind out any feelings if that is what they need.

Vivienne: Children had never been in her destiny. As a mage, even one so elevated as to be all but free of the constraints of the circle, motherhood was forbidden to her. Any child of her womb would be sacrificed to the Chantry, given to a family deemed ‘more worthy’ to raise it.

And as a mistress, no matter how deeply the love between them bloomed, Bastian could never have given her such a blessing. He had children— an illegitimate child, and a mage child at that, would have been too great a weapon against him.

And so she had put it out of her mind, never allowed herself to consider or imagine what a son might look like, how a daughter might smile. To think of it would be a loss too great to contemplate—or so she had thought. Met with the active loss and overwhelming grief that their leader must feel, Madame de Fer is suddenly glad not to know how such a burden might rest on her soul.

Could she be so calm a leader as the Inquisitor, while bleeding out inside? Vivienne does not know, and that…well, terrifies her in a way little has. But she is not called iron for nothing, and so when all is calm again she will go the Herald and ask simply and plainly what she might do for them. If the answer is nothing she will abide by it. And if there is something that might in any way assuage their grief then she will ensure they have it.

Dorian: Well, that at least explains the Inquisitor’s uncharacteristically violent outburst, when Halward Pavus had made his way to Ferelden. Upon hearing the possible consequences of the blood magic ritual the Inquisitor had laid into the Magister, flaying with words when they could not use violence. Even the Pavus paterfamilias had seemed shaken by the diatribe, and Dorian had felt championed.

He is not so shallow as to feel betrayed by the knowledge of what terrible grief must have driven such an impassioned defamation of character, but can instead only ache for his friend’s loss. They must have been a wonderful parent, and in a quiet time later will gather his courage to tell them so.

Sera: It doesn’t really register in the moment, so great is her own fear of the Fade and it’s denizens, but later it will simply break the Red Jenny’s heart. Their leader lost a true little one, and still managed to bring themselves to protect the rest of the little people no matter their age.

Like Blackwall she will either offer distraction or uncharacteristic silence in comfort, baked goods an offering that feels too…personal for such a gaping loss. But her admiration for them grows exponentially.

The Iron Bull: Public, corporate grief is rare among the Qun. Not forbidden, exactly, but when everyone is given a role it also implies that every person is inherently replaceable in that role. As Koslun said, the tide rises and falls and things must work forward toward peace.

But the death of a child is different. Whether disease or violence or simple accident, losing an imereki is a tragedy. The Tamassran mourns, the others in their care mourn, and all those in the sphere of the lost one are permitted some little allowance for the loss. Things cannot grind to a halt- this is why parents are separated from children, to ensure the deep emotional bonds that are anathema to the Qun- but there is not simple acceptance without acknowledgement of the loss.

Not even that was given to the Inquisitor. It’s east to see the shock of the others even through his own fear, and the knowledge infuriates Bull enough to get him through the Fade. Their leader lost a child, and no one was there for them. Instead piled on the whole world and its imminent loss on their shoulders. It’s disgraceful.

Later, when Adamant is pacified and they return to Skyhold, he will pull them aside. It will be painful and it will be slow, and whether they need alcohol or pain or even the clinical breakdown that bondage and sex can only give-with their explicit consent- he will help them bleed the pain and begin the grieving process.

Cole: The pain was too big for him to help, the threads caught up in pain and joy and guilt and anger and terrible despair. He didn’t even have the words to describe it to others, and so had kept silent.

If they need him later he will help, but this loss is too big for a spirit unsure of how to act.

Cullen: Maker’s breathe. How could they…why did they not…Damn it, how could he not realize?! He had all but thrust the entire inquisition on a parent who had been robbed the chance to even bury their child, let alone mourn them.

Varric’s report rocks him to the core, and the commander in truth does not know what to do. If the rest of the inner circle has it well in hand he will simply work to make sure their leader has less in their plate. If they wish to discuss it with them, he is there and if not…

He hardly has the words anyway.

Josephine: She weeps over the missive, when it arrives. Their inquisitor has been hiding the worst of loses from them, putting on such a brave face to do so much. Like Cullen she works to make sure they have less to do when they return, but does pull them aside briefly to awkwardly hug them and ask if they want a memorial somewhere private in Skyhold.

Leliana: She knew. She knew from only a few days after, when her spies brought her everything there was on the Herald. And even The Nightingales Heart could ache for such a loss, but Leliana took her queues from the Herald and simply never discussed it. That does not change now— she will follow their lead.

Mod Fereldone

[shmisky]

Hii! I love your metas about their dynamic, it's spot on!!!! I finally decided to ask. so. do you have any personal hc(s) when it comes to who is more,,, dommy? if yes pls explain your choice <3

Hellooo!! Thank you! I love receiving asks 💞 Also sorry for taking so long! 😔

And to answer your question... oh boy, DO I...

Short answer: Ford, even if not physically, spiritually tops.

Longer answer:

My controversial opinion about the Stans is that I’m convinced their relationship is not equally balanced, but that Ford is definitely the more “dominant” twin, so to speak, even post-Weirdmaggedon. I don’t say that he’s the top and Stan’s the bottom because I’m not talking about sex positions, but about their overall dynamics. Stan is consistently shown following Ford’s lead, while Ford is the decision maker.

Even when they’re just kids, baby Stan asks his twin, “So what’re we gonna do today, buddy?” while Ford readily answers, “I’m thinking of hunting down one of these urban legends!” Ford is also the one who comes up with the idea to hunt down the legendary Jersey Devil, almost like Stan is the Ferb to Ford’s Phineas. Then, as they’re old men, Ford is again the one to take the initiative and invite Stan to sail away together, also deciding their destination (the Arctic Ocean) and their mission (to investigate “some strange new anomalies” Ford’s device has detected).

I think that in their childhood, with Stan defending and protecting wimpy, nerdy Ford while Ford made most of the decisions, they had some kind of codependent king & knight dynamic. Stan was the brawn to Ford’s brain, and was happy with being led by him as long as he could be useful. Then, as they grew up, Ford’s gotten strong and fit, while Stan was forced to learn complex physics to restore the portal, but that underlying leadership tendency remained very much the same.

When Alex was asked, nine years ago, at the New York Comic Con, who was the older twin between the two of them, he not only said it was Ford, but that Ford very much enjoyed it, and felt naturally superior because of it. Perhaps I’m reading too much into this writing choice, but I think it’s telling. I don’t think Ford’s pleasure in this is similar to Mabel’s childlike joy in rubbing her alpha twin status on Dipper’s face, since he’s starkly different from her, but rather comes from a sense of being the more “responsible” older brother and all that entails.

There’s also the fact that, according to Word of God, Stan would get along well with Rick Sanchez (from Rick and Morty), who would remind him of his beloved genius brother, while Ford himself would see a rival in Rick due to Ford’s own strong need to always be the smartest person in the room. That might seem completely unrelated to our discussion, but honestly, between Ford and Stan, who sounds like the most inflexible one, prone to a more domineering personality out of sheer pride and ego?

I think what leads many fans to think of Ford as meeker than he really is, is the stereotype of what means to be a Nerd™. But that a subject Alex also touched on in that 2023/2024 interview I’m always quoting: “He has to be… like, fitter, and better at fighting than Stan too, like, not, like, he’s not gonna be some little shrinking nerd, [...].” Like I have said in a previous meta, Stan might be overall more aggressive than Ford, but Ford is more straight up violent. Stan is always angrily grumbling; Ford, wanted criminal in entire dimensions, is the one whose rage is actually dangerous. Beneath the controlled, dainty little nerd veneer that Ford wants everyone to believe (due to his own polished intellectual self-image), lies Ford’s steely center. The man is utterly hardcore.

And finally, I think we just need to look at Stan himself. He has too much bark and no bite. Rails against Ford the whole second half of the second season, but Ford snaps his fingers and he’s back. Even before that, when younger Ford sent him the postcard, he leaves everything to attend to his brother, the very moment he calls. It’s not difficult to see a pattern here.

Don’t get me wrong, I do occasionally enjoy a more dominant Stan, but mostly in different circumstances, scenarios, AUs, etc, and a bit more selective about it. When I talk about their dynamic, I mean the way I interpret the show itself, but of course people’s creativity isn’t restricted within the limits of canon (or else we wouldn’t even be shipping Stancest to begin with!) and I don’t doubt an artist or a writer’s ability to create a very convincing dom!Stan indeed. I think that at this point I have two pairs of Stans living in my head: the more accurate/faithful one, that is, the one that I try to interpret with the most objectivity possible, and the self-indulgent, subjective one that I can freely play with. If you’re asking me about the Stans in the first sense, then oh, yeah. Imo it’s absolutely Ford 😭

[jasmine-does-wevertf-she-wants]

I'm thinking about the difference between like and love in MDZS.

Like it's out of the question that LWJ is instantly incredibly attracted to WWX. Later that obviously develops into a very devoted very deep love. The narration doesn't give any indication when that happens though I'd venture somewhere during the Wen indoctrination camp.

Anyways, does teen!LWJ like WWX though? In the way that he enjoys his company, likes to spend time with him, enjoys who he is as a person? I'd say no. We have no indication that LWJ regards WWX positively on a conscious level at all. Now I think that mostly can be attributed to teen!LWJ lacking most of the emotional development he'll do later. Teen!LWJ doesn't seem to like anyone much other than LXC. And that's okay! He's not a people person and that's fine! Given that and the emotional turmoil WWX most certainly wrecked on him upon arriving in Cloud Recesses I think it's perfectly understandable he doesn't like him much and tries to avoid him.

But then attraction begins to develop into love when he sees WWX isn't only a trouble maker in the Wen indoctrination camp but can take himself back for the safety of the group while still sticking to his principles. Who does it like him? Then he still takes care of LWJ single-handedly saves the whole group sacrificing himself in the process and LWJ is forced to confront very suddenly he's not falling in love with a beautiful talented careless troublemaker but with one of the few people in their world who will choose what's right and trying his best to balance that with the circumstances they live in. And WWX goes missing and LWJ is desperate to find him and he comes back and he is so markedly different from anything their world says he's supposed to be and decidingly not in a good way and he's prepared to let it go for the sake of conforming to the rules he holds so high. Of course throughout the plot he realizes the rules mean nothing and can be very much interpreted to do injustice vs. upholding what's right and that he was wrong to turn his back on WWX for not abiding by the rules.

And then WWX comes back from the dead and it's the first time LWJ really lets himself enjoy his company lets himself enjoy the person WWX is actively keeps him by his side while WWX tries his damned best to be the most obnoxious person to LWJ and how likely is it that LWJ realizes it does not matter? He was so so so wrong for ever thinking WWX annoying. He doesn't like most people's company but WWX can do everything he could not stand in another person and it's fine because he knows WWX and knows whatever he does is out of love and because he thinks it's right and WWX does not go wrong in judging what's right.

And I think actually the opposite is true for WWX. He arrives at Cloud Recesses and is so captivated by LWJ so beautiful the only one who can keep up with him and he stays by his principles the only one WWX ever met who truly treats him as equal. But LWJ rejects him at every opportunity and while WWX does not think LWJ hates him that's certainly not a basis to consider anything more and then the plot happens and really he doesn't have much time to think about anything regarding his feelings until his death.

But then he's resurrected and they do have time and LWJ is not rejecting him but supporting him and caring for him at every turn. Being a person WWX can depend on. Being the only one who ever was that for WWX. While still being beautiful and brilliant and being even more righteous than he was as a teenager and WWX falls in love so quickly it's a speed run. And he really didn't have a chance to do any different.

And I think it's kind of beautiful how they start out from such different points but very beautifully meet in the middle after years and years of misery but still together in the end.

[jreads]

They were both panting, coated in a light sheen of sweat. He had a wooden staff to her throat, feeling the rise and fall of her breaths, her heartbeat reverberating through his arms, his chest. Over the weeks, she had been improving: movements getting quicker, blows turning more lethal, gaze more rapidly assessing. It was mesmerizing to watch Osha move. Like him, she had that mix of Jedi training as well, and it refined each step. She was violently calculating, unlike Mae’s rage-fueled offensive barrages. She was perfect. And beautiful.

“You’re distracted,” she huffed in his grasp, before twisting and bringing her ankle behind his own, knocking him off balance for just a moment…

But it was long enough. She pushed out with the force and he faltered. The impact of his back meeting rough rock face was enough to knock the breath from him. 

She didn’t miss a beat, leveling the point of her staff just under his chin. Qimir could tell she was trying to hide a smile of defiance. 

Osha tossed her hair over one shoulder. “That didn’t even feel like a fair win. I could tell your mind was elsewhere.” 

The sun on this planet had darkened her skin and it seemed to glow now. Her body was more toned and corded with muscle, and her lips seemed… impossibly fuller?

“Qimir?” she raised a brow.

Maker, the way she said his name. 

Bad idea. Fantastic idea.

He had her up against the rock in a second, wrists pinned at her side, staff forgotten at their feet. She was still heaving.

“Push me away,” he commanded, preparing to fight against the familiar weight of her force push. But it never came.

“I said push..." he tightened his grip for emphasis.

"me..." and pressed his weight further into her.

"Away.” She was looking at him with some new expression, hooded, dark, thrilling, dangerous. And when she angled her head, he knew he was done for. 

He tried to step back then, to put some distance between them, to dampen that red hot shot of lightning now spiderwebbing through his chest. Too late.

He couldn’t move.

The force was an unbreakable barrier against his back. Thrumming. So powerful. She was trapping him.

“Osha.” It was barely a whisper. She looked like she was lost, like she couldn’t even hear him. But she was close, so impossible close…

She leaned forward first, eyes fluttering closed. At the barest brush of her lips on his they both knew there was no coming back from this.

And it was a mess. Tongues and teeth and he could swear he tasted blood. She was a livewire, hands fisting in his hair, against his robes. It was like she wanted to tear him apart, and maybe she did, and honestly, in that moment, he couldn’t have cared less. 

i'm so normal about them can you tell? more to come, watch this space <3

[pondering-pears]

Bitters II

Hawke & Cullen, Cullen/Inquisitor

(Credits: Inquisitor Vher Lavellan belongs to the lovely @violets-and-amber and the STUNNING art is by @trulivys)

“Your knees are too old for all this kneeling.” Vesper Hawke’s laughter rolled over Cullen like a wave pulling him far beneath the surf. It wasn’t something gentle, it was closer to a bark that leapt from her throat unbidden. It prickled the hairs on the back of Cullen’s neck, but at the same time he couldn’t help but feel a grin pulling at his lips. 

He was knelt in the courtyard, his fingers pressed into the untamed grass that had stubbornly refused to be trimmed back by the keep’s new occupants. Hawke was only a few feet away, her arms thrown over the wooden rake she was balancing across her shoulders. Just a moment ago she’d used the tool as a staff to force him by the neck back onto the ground for the third time that evening. 

It seemed like half the armory had been brought out for this occasion, but Vesper was still collecting her toll on his pride for his request. Or perhaps this was her revenge for his loose tongued comment about her abilities as a general? He doubted even the Maker could tell. 

“And yet you seem determined to keep putting me here.” Cullen assured his aching body that he would get up in a moment, just after his pride stopped stinging as much as his knees. Vesper, however, had other plans as she walked over and offered him her hand. 

“It takes two to spar, so you’re at least half to blame, no?” He took her hand, and with a groan let her pull him back to his feet. The professional part of him was trying to find the humor in these failures, but the voice of his reason was drowned out by the sharp lyrium-hungry mist in his mind. Thinking on more than one thing right now hurt, like he was pushing through a briar hedge. 

When he was training his men it was repetitive motions practiced until perfection honed into instinct. It was critical that their physical forces moved as one, so that when the battle panic set in the body could move without the mind. 

Vesper knew this all too well and seemed to delight in trying to overwhelm him at every front. 

“You need to stop relying on being able to get up close and personal. That’ll work on an untrained mage, but not on a heavily armored opponent.” Vesper chided him in a tone as conversational as if she’d asked for his dinner order. 

“You were fighting with a staff, reach was your main advantage.” He countered as he swept back his sweat slick hair with his fingers. It was starting to get long, when was the last time he’d given thought to cutting it? His mind started to wander before the low gravel of Vesper’s voice pulled at his attention. “And if I hadn’t been ready to fight you chest to chest, I might’ve tried to get some distance. But, atlas, I learned how to change my grip back when I was teenager chasing off farm boys in the Coastlands.” With a roll of her shoulders Vesper spun the rake off of them and casually tossed it back against the barn where she’d taken it from. 

“I pity any boy foolish enough to try and catch up with you.” Cullen wrestled his breathing back into order as he took a few tentative steps to measure his body. It was funny how the third fall was easier to walk off than the first. Then again, he had always been a quick study in the art of taking a beating. “Although I would've assumed those farm boys had better sense.” 

He was rewarded with another crackle of laughter from Vesper. The sound seemed to fill the courtyard, electrifying the air and silencing the usual hum of evening insects. 

“Oh no, it was Bethany they were chasing. She was just too polite to put sense back into their heads.” In the midst of all of Vesper’s joking there was a flash of something softer. A little bit of the woman who once had laughed at how red his cheeks got when Isabella batted her lashes at him even though her own were always just as flushed.  ----

“Alright, no more whining about reach and flexibility.” Vesper announced as they circled each other again. She’d apparently grown tired of showing off with farming implements and now they were in a true match of sorts.

They’d both donned shields: his a wooden heater small enough to only cover his chest, hers a rounded scutum that went down nearly to her knees. A simple cone shaped training dagger rested in each of their off hands, their points had been dulled to be non-lethal but Cullen knew the pain of the bruises they left all too well. 

“I did bring my armor.” Cullen offered the reminder in the same tone he approached the war table with. He was no Josephine, but he liked to think that he was mastering the art of saying things without saying them. 

“You’re not going to need it, but I’m sure it was good exercise.” With a flash of grin and a knowing glint in her eye Vesper became motion itself. Cullen’s body reacted of its own accord, falling back on the instincts he’d created over the years. He pushed his shield arm forward in an effort to knock Vesper’s charge off course, but instead of crashing against him, she moved with him. 

Her shield met his with an impact he felt up into his shoulder, then the materials shrieked as she dragged her body to the side of his guard. The ache felt good in its own way. The instant reward of adrenaline cleared his mind of the prying need that had settled in. 

Cullen’s stance shifted, his body whipping around to keep his shield between himself and Vesper. Yet, she was already half way into her next attack. She stepped to his side - he thought to move around him. However,  instead she jammed the curved edge of her shield against the inside of his own and shoved. She knocked his guard open at the expense of creating a gap in her own, but she gave him no time to retaliate. 

The sting of that damned dagger jabbing against his ribs knocked the breath out of his lungs and set him stumbling backwards. “What are you doing, Rutherford?” Vesper sounded both annoyed and disappointed, a mix that dug into the back of his temper. “The fuck was that? You know I’ve seen you fight before, and that dumb ass would have killed you for that display.” 

She was goading him, but when wasn't she? It had rarely dug at him like this, but he knew his anger came from her being right. He kept letting her lead him across the field. She moved with purpose, each strike or step leading right into the one after it. This was the fluidity that had been drilled into him as an apprentice.

Lyrium made it so much easier. The world was slower for you or perhaps your thoughts were faster. The hum of adrenaline never seemed to fade, your body held strictly under your control. 

“They aren’t going to fight like this. Go get a blade and I’ll don my armor-” He didn’t know what he was saying, the words came out as his mind fell back into that perfect rut. 

“Fuck off.” Vesper snapped back. The moonlight lay unevenly on her face, making her teeth glint under her drawn back lips. She looked like she might lunge at him then, and some part of him wanted her to. 

Let them roll around in the earth, fists and fingers grasping for purchase. Spitting, sweating, loathing. Anger was so easy - it was a distraction, it was simple relief. When was the last time he’d fought without the risk of losing everything hanging above his head? 

It must’ve been long ago, before the almost ever present itch in his throat, back when he didn’t know how much of the world there was to run from. 

Cullen watched Vesper’s chest rise and fall with each heavy breath. They were measuring their breathing in the same way, he realized. Inhale to the count of four, pause, exhale, and pause again in the same rhythm. It was an old soldier's trick that every faction and army claimed credit for creating. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d learned it from watching a Templar or if such knowledge was even passed around Kirkwall’s mercenary guilds? 

What was he doing?

Cullen let his shield slide off his arm and clatter to the ground. That would’ve gotten him a true chewing out from his old Captain back when he was a recruit, but right now it was an admission of surrender. 

“You know I’m terrible at that.” He addressed Vesper with care, reeling in his tone even as her brows knotted with confusion. 

“At what in particular? I can think of quite the list.” Vesper retorted, her frustration having cooled little. No one in Thedas could simmer half as well as she.  

“At fucking off.” Cullen stepped forward into the little ray of moonlight that had cut through the clouds to anoint Kirkwall’s Bloody Saint. “I’ve been told I’m rather stubborn.” 

“I can’t imagine by who.” Vesper’s hard glare melted as she studied him. There was such weariness that clung to her in the wake of her anger. It aged her, deepening the dark shadows around her eyes, and weathering her sun tanned cheeks. It was a sight he was more than familiar with as it was often looking back at him from the morning mirror. 

“One more round?” 

“One more round.”  ----

There was no dagger in Cullen’s grasp this time, no shield or staff to hide behind. Only his hands and his wits to keep Vesper at bay. 

It all moved so much faster now, their feet shuffling back and forth in the grass they’d kicked up as they changed from stance to stance. They were both still catching their breath and no real rubric had been decided for this match so Cullen’s stomach was shifting with the start of uncertainty. 

Vesper however, had been watching, waiting for the first sign of his distraction. She swung with her left arm, the strikes exploratory and fast, were easily deflected with his forearm, but the shock of the impact still raced up his nerves. 

His instinct was to grab at her arms and pull her into a hold, but the tactician that still lurked in the back of his mind knew that Vesper was strong enough to break out of his grasp. If he wanted this to be a contest he had to stop reacting and start acting. 

Although he might be a fool in games of words and minds, the body could not lie. His eyes tracked along Vesper’s form as he put a few steps between them. They had forgone any armor, and Cullen could see how her shoulders shifted underneath her linen tunic. 

She was favoring her left arm ever so slightly, her right seemed stiff and weaker. Perhaps an old injury she’d picked up on her war path? 

A quick glance at her hips and Cullen pulled together a vision. Vesper turned their roles on their head and in a sudden burst of speed closed the distance between them. She lifted her right arm to guard her face as she stepped down heavily on that same side. Her strike would’ve found its mark on his jaw but Cullen was moving with her. 

Once she planted herself she was stuck, he stepped to her side following her extended arm towards her back. Vesper tried to pivot, fighting against her own momentum, but Cullen already had his arms underneath hers. He reached up, grasping his palms firmly on her shoulders; he had to be careful that she didn’t try to break his nose with the back of her head, although perhaps she could help finally straighten his face back out? 

Vesper writhed in his grip as she attempted to catch him with her elbows or get her fingers under his own. Cullen was almost too happy with his success to notice Vesper’s stance shift back onto one foot. He had only a moment to brace before her foot struck his shin. 

“Maker!” Cullen hissed through his teeth, as Vesper uttered a pleased: 

“Motherfucker!”

Now, he let his training take over. His body dropped, taking them both to the ground with an unpleasant crack coming from his knee as he caught himself on it to avoid crushing Vesper. 

He was straddling her back, her face half turned up towards him from the ground. A smile was pulling at her lips, and he assumed underneath her glaring there would’ve been more exciting expression on her face if she wasn’t still trying to win the match. 

“Maker.” The word slipped past his lips thoughtlessly as he breathed out. Her hair was coming undone, and one of the clover blossoms they’d disturbed had gotten caught in the loose strands. She was a furiously clever thing, but maybe there was still hope for those traits to rub off on him. 

She was probably going to swear at him again, but to secure his win Cullen adjusted his grip and bent her arms backwards to be able to grasp them against her back. He’d practiced the procedure hundreds of times, but halfway through the motion he felt her injured shoulder click. 

He hadn’t meant to hurt her, hadn’t known he would, but Vesper cried out all the same-

---

And then they were back in the Gallows on the only night that could ever matter between them, the day Cullen’s world was forced to reshape itself for the second but not last time. 

The wind had shifted and the smoke from the Chantry stung his eyes as he stood shoulder to shoulder with the man who had set it ablaze. He was tired in a way he had never been before, a place beyond exhaustion, a state of being where he knew the only thing holding his body upright was the waning lyrium in his blood.

Desperate mages had summoned horrors and Meredith was burning with a power that would leave the world changed in its wake. And it was all he could do to keep his feet beneath him in the face of all. 

Vesper was screaming. Cullen thought he had heard every sound of agony that could leave a human’s lips, he, himself, had been the musical instrument of a demon. Yet, the noises she made - they broke reason and shattered the heart. 

He’d heard her grief, her rage, her laughter, her joy. 

This was her soul bleeding out from her throat. Vesper had fought through the city’s streets, through the Circle, the Gallows, all so that she could do what Cullen couldn’t find the will to do before. She was going to put Meredith down like the mad dog she was.

But, before his eyes Cullen watched as his Knight-Commander crushed and cut through Vesper’s armor with a strength that belonged on the other side of the Veil. Yet, the Champion was as unending as the sea, Ander’s horrible magic pulling her skin closed almost before Meredith’s blade could fully leave the wound. 

Vesper was dying in the same breath she lived again.

There were many things that were never meant to be, and Cullen wished one day to stop seeing them. 

His wish would never be granted, and certainly not on that day. In spite of Meridith’s powers, the match had been decided the moment Vesper’s pleas had swayed her companions to stand with her against this madness. It was a slow, spiraling matter of numbers and endurance, but that did not mean Meridith would not leave her blood mark before the red lyrium took her. 

Blood was thick on the worn stones of the Gallows and as she lunged Vesper lost her footing. Had she been against any other foe Cullen was sure Hawke would’ve been back on her feet before they could close the distance, but Meridith was so far from human now. 

His Commander stepped and the world seemed to shrink around her, a single stride bringing her upon Vesper. Cullen had seen the cruelty of demons but the way that woman put her blade into Vesper’s chest was delirious with the want for pain. She pinned the Champion to the ground like an insect in the collections of the Tranquil of the Circle. 

The snap of bones and the crack of stone was as if the Old Gods had come back only to strike down a fallen godling. Cullen was sure Vesper had cried out but his ears were full with the wailing of the man at his side.  Anders. 

Cullen didn’t have time to ask what could be done or to offer his comforts. No, Vesper was right, when Meridith was done with her favored enemies she came for the cowards like him. 

He still bore the scars of her wrath, they crept along the sides of his cheeks, dug divots into his arms, and left rotting aching cracks in his very bones. His mind in its mercy had let that beating slip from its memory. However it held, perhaps out of vengeance, fiercely to the image of his Commander’s chest pierced open by a Mage’s stave. 

The lyrium took her then, in a blinding burning fury. Skin crackling, charring into red crystals that still somehow sung to part of him that had only ever known fear. Fine particulate of the drug stung his eyes as a hand reached out and wrenched Meridith’s head from her neck. 

Her body had remained above him, frozen forever in a testament to her temptation, but her head was a prize Vesper had taken with her from the city that day. The Champion’s soiled fingers intertwined in Meridith’s once blonde hair were one of the few parts of Vesper he could see through the haze. 

The other was her brown eyes, wide as the open sky, staring back at him as her companions pressed close to her. Those same eyes stared at him now from the grass beside him. 

----

She was still on her stomach, he was now on his back, head turned towards her as his heart raced with terror. He couldn’t recall hitting the ground, but now that he was here he wondered if he would ever be able to rise from it again. It felt as if the sky had stooped down to press its great knee against his chest, making every breath a battle. 

Dull warmth settled against his skin as Vesper’s arm crossed the distance between them and pressed against his. He couldn’t feel her pulse but he imagined if he could it would be outpacing his own out of pure competitive spite. 

She was breathing in that same pattern as before, although she didn’t seem able to hold her breath in her chest to the full count of four. The space behind his eyes ached as a headache bloomed to life inside his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still hear the steady rhythm - inhale, hold, exhale, hold, repeat. 

It came to him without conscious thought, his body craving the easy comfort of routine. In time the crickets and other insects of the night began to chirp around them as a breeze came down from the parapets. Cullen wondered dully if the Inquisitor was enjoying such a lovely night up in their tower. He would hope they would be resting, but he knew all too well the temptation of their work. 

“You were waiting for an audience to show off, huh?” Vesper’s voice was a bit raw, her normal gravel now closer to a grating, although her barking chuckle seemed generally unchanged. “If I’d known that was all you needed, I would’ve started by sending invitations.” 

Cullen blinked his eyes open in brief confusion as her words arranged themselves into some sort of sense in his mind. Skyhold was the beating heart of their work, there was no privacy to be found here, he knew that of course, but his stomach still sank at the idea that the keep would be whispering about him hurting Kirkwall’s Champion; especially since she certainly was not supposed to even be on this side of the sea. 

“I’m sorry, I know you know that, but I need-I need you to hear it.” He stumbled through his words as he stared at Vesper’s cheek. She’d rolled onto her back in order to stare up at one of the keep’s balconies and appeared wholly uninterested in meeting his eyes again. 

“I hear you.” He watched her lips as she spoke, her old laugh lines and scars visible even in the moonlight. 

“Thank you.” Cullen closed his eyes again and took a few more breathes before he asked: “Is our audience still here?” 

“Oh yes, I think they are concerned about you.” Vesper’s tone was creeping all too close to one Varric used when he was about to say something awful. 

“I’m doing…fine.” 

“I think you ought to go tell them that before you retire tonight.” Vesper paused and Cullen finally caved to curiosity and began glancing around in search of whom she was referring. “They worry about you enough as is.” 

Cullen traced a path along each level of the Keep until he found a small figure perched on the bridge to his office. His heart dropped into the earth beneath him, and for once he wished it would fall all the way into some deep Dwarven stronghold so he would not to suffer the pangs the Inquisitor’s gaze wrought upon him. 

“It, well, it does make sense that the Inquisitor would take notice in my…training.” Now his thoughts left his lips in true fits and starts. Vesper spared him any further laughter, although she did withdraw her arm from his, leaving a brief coldness in her wake. 

“I’m sure that is all they are watching for..” 

“Of course, Josephine and Liliana will have concerns over this incident as well I’m sure-” Even when he rambled on about the others Cullen couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. 

Vher’s hair was down, the locks in the front swaying in the breeze, as the moonlight seemed to make them glow. Cullen wasn’t sure he could recall the last time he’d seen them like this, even as their hair grew back from its shaved cut they still kept the longer parts up . It was practicality, a trait Vher possessed in all things. 

How odd it was then that on this cool night he found their shoulders lacked the normal volume of their feathered cowl. Maker, they must’ve come down in a hurry as they lacked even a cloak and he immediately began to pull himself to his feet. 

Vesper rose much slower, instead pausing half way through the process to watch Cullen search for his own furred mantle. Silence settled between them and when he finally found the rest of his clothes he turned to find that her attention had wandered back up to the Inquisitor. 

Slowly, Vesper laid her left hand on her injured shoulder. It was lifted slightly higher than her other, but she raised no further complaint. This however, was of little comfort to Cullen who had now somehow managed to leave two separate people out in the cold tonight. 

He stepped beside Vesper fully intending to help her up, but instead she informed him: 

“They’re beautiful, you know.” She said it as if it was a fact of the universe, as true as the sun’s daily rise. There was no disagreement to be found in Cullen’s heart, but her abruptness flustered him. 

“They are-” What? There was no path forward in this thought that would not betray himself or ring hollow with a lie. He cleared his throat and instead let the matter be: “They are.” 

“And they are worried for you.” Vesper was no less factual on this front.

“I am on their council and we are at war.” 

“Of course.” Those two words held a sea of meaning in them that Cullen was frightened to wade into tonight. Was it his fate to be a man torn? By duty and morals, by professional need and affection, but doctrine and truth? 

If he was then Vesper was surely a part of his torture. 

“Am I dismissed?” Cullen asked as he offered her his arm. Vesper gave Vher one last long look before she accepted his help. 

“Do you plan on throwing your coat up there?” Her sharp humor had returned it, and with it her wicked grin.

[galactic-rhea]

irt your latest midi-chlorian/mitochondria post - what do you think would happen to him??? :0

See, this is why I shouldn't make that type of posts sleep deprived and away from home in a college field trip in which we were in four different states on a single day.

This is the post anon is referring to

Logically (now that my mind is more clear) the answer should be that he would die, if it's severe enough as how the analog fungicide i mentioned worked lol

See, the fungicide I was rambling around forces the rRNA to malfunction and thus the nucleus stops producing certain proteins needed for the cell. And is just deathly, there are certain fungi that can handle that better, if the application of that fungicide isn't consistent and thus they become resistent, but fungi are impressive organism that can multiply faster and live on incredible conditions, given that they have like, at the very least, three different types of spores (there are ascomycetes that have like 6-7 different spores through their cycle).

But allas, back to my favorite deranged blorbo.

That's stright up a death sentence for anyone, really. But especially for Anakin who has only half of human genetic material and the other half is just the force. With me theory about the midi-chlorians being the mithocondria equivalent, Anakin would be on such a perilous spot between dying on the spot and being basically a pseudo-god, because he has so many midichlorians in his cells that his cells are dying at an extre rate, but he needs the midichlorians to be able to live (and handle) that much power flowing through him due the force. This hypothetical scenario would break this balance to the core, and even if a normal person could survive until reaching an hospital and being given a diagnosis, Anakin could probably drop death on the spot, like I said, is cellular death and growth must be on record time, and this could be helpful with other ailments.

But with the midichlorian failling him and not enough energy because the new midichlorian would be failing as well, there's a chance that The Force would kill him, the equivalent of overheating or when a lightning strikes and you get too much electricity on a single lightbulb.

HOWEVER, to make this interesting and because let's be real, this is fricking Star Wars and this is fricking Anakin I-Survived-More-Deathly-Accidents-Than-I-Can-Count-Skywalker, let's pretend this midichlorian killer chemical isn't as effective as the analog fungicide I was talking about, it doesn't affect ALL of the midichlorians, but just a few to get our good-and then evil-and then good again-boy.

Whump makers take note, please:

It would depend, honestly, but generally speaking, it would mean he's out of all that supply of energy he uses the keep going. He would get something akin to chronic fatigue, momentarily he's all righty, and then of all sudden lifting a pencil is too much.

Being so strong in the force, but without the biological resources to handle it, he would like, pass out after using the force. Meditating could be the equivalent to ask him if he wants to go into comma. If he already felt cold, he's about to start shaking just by going out, this boy has not enough glycogen storage.

But that's the best of the diagnosis, the worst ones are if this affects the neuronal and nervous system cells. I mentioned briefly that an excess of ATP was linked to autism, ADHD, ocd, and other neurogivergencies, and even neurodegenerative diseases and dementia.

Well, the lack of ATP can do this as well, so there's that.

To name some few, very general ones:

-Epilepsy and seizures

-Vision loss, audition loss or auditory hallucinations.

-Disorientation

-Muscular pain.

-Headaches.

-Problems with reflexes like swallowing or breathing.

-Vomits.

-Accelerated (even more, in Anakin's case) cellular death.

-Loss of hair and muscular mass.

Given that in this second scenario, the midichlorians-killer hypothetical chemical isn't as effective and wouldn't case an inmediate death, then Anakin's fast healing qualitys would actually be super duper helpful then, it would be great to compare his healthy cells with the sick ones. In this case, I bet a doctor would be more than eager to take a sample of Anakin's stem cells.

He would be a great lab rat for both the hypothetic evil mad scientist, AND for the eager doctors looking for a treatement and cure, and since this is a chemical and we're on a far far away galaxy, I'm pretty sure the cure would be not-too-hard to find.

Oh gosh I didn't expect to write this much, sorry for that anon, but I hope this satisfied you curiosity? ^^;

[brawlingdiscontent]

TV is ultimately a visual medium and it often relies on visual metaphor to convey complex ideas to viewers. Black Sails and Interview with the Vampire both use the form of painting to further their thematic explorations of meaning-making via narrative. What I mean, essentially, by this fancy language is that the shows use painting to explore how the stories we tell ourselves and others shape our experiences of reality (and reality itself). 

Spoilers for Black Sails season 1 (mild), both seasons of Interview with the Vampire below.

My first target is Black Sails’ iconic “Fruit, fruit; tits, tits” scene in season 1, episode 2. Below its surface-level general hilarity, it taps into some of the show’s key themes. In the scene, we see a pirate captain and an appraiser looking at two paintings with identical subjects but painted at vastly different skill levels. One is ‘unmistakably’ a ‘masterwork’ by the painter Adriaen Hanneman. The other is an amateur knockoff. The appraiser says, “To suggest that the value of one has any bearing on the other simply strains the very bounds of reason.” However the captain starts the scene off by highlighting their similarities, pointing back and forth between the two paintings (if you haven’t seen it, try to imagine these lines in a thick Scottish accent):  “Fruit, fruit; tits, tits; plant, plant – it’s the fucking same.”

This exchange reveals that value is constructed, not inherent. To accept the claim that the Hanneman painting is worth more than the knockoff requires one to buy into a pre-existing value system regarding what makes for “good” art. The local pirate’s refusal of this system signals the potential of Nassau to generate collective meaning outside of the central authorizing force of England (here represented by the appraiser). The question at hand in this short scene—who ultimately decides and how do they define the relative worth of the paintings?—is what Black Sails is asking on a grand scale. In this brief exchange we find the central conflict of the show which sees Black Sails' characters battle England and each other for control of the narratives that shape their existence. 

In contrast to Black Sails’ look at grand narrative, Interview with the Vampire explores narrative on a smaller, more personal scale. While Black Sails is primarily about struggle, marginalization, and how narratives sway the balance of power, Interview with the Vampire ponders the role that narrative plays in defining the highs and lows of a meaningless existence. The show considers how the stories that give us meaning are generated (particularly via memory) and where they may be flawed. Most obviously/prominently are the many narratives that Louis constructs (and that Daniel challenges) through the titular interview, but the theme pops up in a number of other places, from Claudia’s diaries, to the coven’s ritualistic stagings of what it means to be a vampire—and this is particularly evident in season 2. 

Armand struggles with an absent self-narrative. Lacking a strong concept of who he is, he instead relies on others’ understandings of him, and the show uses painting to help convey this. When Armand takes Louis to see the portrait of him commissioned by his maker, he asks: “Who am I, Louis? Am I my history I have endured? Am I the job I do not want? I do not know anymore. No one has painted me in 400 years,” revealing how deeply he depends on external narratives for his own meaning-making processes.

Painting and its analogue photography are also significant to Louis’ grappling with meaning-making both inside and outside the context of the interview. One way the show makes this connection is through a subtle use of set design. Louis has strewn the walls of the Paris apartment with paintings and photographs—portraits, specifically—that can be read to represent various selves he’s trying on in a cluttered meaning-making process while he’s “out here finding [him]self.” Louis jokes to Armand that the portraits “hide the cracks in the walls,” but they arguably metaphorically hide the cracks in Louis’ sense of self. 

The writers/set designers also use painting to signal Louis’ missing memory. In the 1973 scenes in 2.5 (the big ‘missing memory’ episode), above the coffin in Louis’ townhouse are empty spaces on the wall where paintings once hung. They visually echo Louis’ reference to, “Pieces of myself, missing. I knew who I was without those pieces,” later in the episode. 

The ‘Bacon triptych’ is another key point. Armand keeps Louis in the dark about the status of the painting hanging in their living room. When he announces that he’s found a buyer, Louis says, “I didn’t know we made it available.” Later when Rashid comes in to notify them that the buyer’s lawyer is ready for the teleconference, Louis asks ‘Lawyer?’ and Armand responds, “It’s about the painting, the Bacon triptych.” Louis’ ignorance here maps onto his ignorance about his missing memories, and signals Armand’s control of the narrative. Meanwhile questions about the painting’s authenticity that arise in the call with the buyer’s lawyer subtly foreshadow later questions about the authenticity of Louis’ memories of the first interview—as do the act of Louis’ photographs being replaced with Fred Stein’s in Louis and Armand's album.

Louis and Armand’s disagreement about what to put on the wall to replace the triptych signals a breakdown in their collective meaning-making as a couple, which culminates when Louis slams Armand into the empty space, cracking the wall in the process. 

For pretty much all of his and Armand’s relationship, Louis has sought meaning through external value in a way that is distinct from but not dissimilar to Armand—through his bankable skills rather than his relationships with others, the more objective benchmarks defined by capital and financial value. The paintings and other objects he collects are not necessarily about his own enjoyment of them, but about what will generate the greatest profit (as we see in the 2.6 scene when he barges into Armand’s office with a new purchase).

After the removal of the triptych, the blank spot on the wall represents the space for Louis to write his own, individual narrative one not tied to Lestat or Armand, or a cold figuration of external value. The blank wall at first represents loss and the absence of meaning—which seems to terrify Louis at the start of the season when he’s talking about dreams—but in having the courage to face his pain and loss and move forward, Louis is able to replace it with a painting that’s meaningful to him, and arguably more important, Paul’s portrait and Claudia’s dress, which map his loves and his grief, writing their meaning and their memory forever into his narrative.

Thank you for reading!