#i simply have plot armour

[jaws-and-canines]

I'm not dead, nor is the Count the Days universe.

As some if you might know, I have an autoimmune disease (nobody’s figured which one yet, even if its a distinct one) which affects my brain. Whilst I'm incredibly lucky it's not done severe damage, I do have epilepsy now.

One of my first seizures went on for several minutes and I struck my head on my sink (and yes my landlord took my deposit for the chip out of it) Ever since then I've had something called anomic aphasia, since the seizures come from my temporal lobe- I know what I want to say but the words aren't making their way to my mouth or hands or pen.

I am seizure free now with medication, and I've learned to find this funny, as well as ways around it but it slows me down somewhat.

HOWEVER. That being said. I'm hoping to complete the first book in a three or five book series in the count the days universe. That means that there's a period of a lot of plotting, worldbuilding and general insanity to get through. But I'll get there, and I'm determined to get the universe I've had for the past ten years into a published book.

Happy travels!

[theremustbeabear]

a lot of monster media has a hard time with balancing making their monster incredibly dangerous but also keeping the most important characters alive without it seeming like obvious plot armour

but i think the terror does a really great job--not just because they do allow it to kill a number of important characters, but because of the composition of the two scenes where tuunbaq is beaten

the first, in ep 5, is when tuunbaq chases blanky up the foremast, which, on the surface, seems like a very obvious case of plot armour. tuunbaq kills several other crewmen with incredible ease in that very same scene, but then blanky is spared long enough to escape from it, simply because he's an important character.

but that's not what's going on there. all of the easy deaths, so far, prior to this, have occurred on tuunbaq's territory. on flat ground, on the ice, and now tuunbaq is staking its claim on terror. but terror is still occupied, and blanky, especially, is a man who is more at home on a ship than land. tuunbaq is beaten, here, because blanky is playing with a home turf advantage. blanky does have armour, but it's not because he's an important character--it's because tuunbaq has invaded the space where he's most comfortable, and so he goes up, to where he knows a bear can still follow him, but it'll be exposed, and too heavy to follow him all the way.

and this show has done a great job of setting the stakes, already, by this point--the first time i watched this scene, even though blanky was so far surviving the confrontation, i was incredibly sure that he wasn't going to make it out. i thought for certain that he was going to have to sacrifice himself in order for them to hit tuunbaq with the cannon, and so it was deeply satisfying when he actually survived. i was so fucking happy, because i was already starting to get sad about him being dead, even though he wasn't dead yet, lol. it feels earned, when he makes it out, and fair enough that he loses a leg in the process, too.

the second, in the final episode, is i think a bit more obvious, and considering how many other major characters get torn apart, it doesn't feel quite so much like crozier has plot armour. but tuunbaq is once again beaten by using the things that are not native to its land, that tuunbaq isn't designed to deal with. the sick and poisoned flesh of the seamen it's already consumed, for one, and then the boat chain.

and, for the second time, in order to beat tuunbaq, a limb must be sacrificed--crozier's hand, i think, counts, even though he loses it after the confrontation is long over, because blanky only loses his leg properly after the fact as well. and i think this can be brought around to how tuunbaq's shaman must remove their own tongue to communicate with it--if one wishes to have any sort of dominance over tuunbaq, a part of their body must be given in exchange. silna and her father give their tongues, blanky gives his leg, and crozier gives his hand.

and it is emphasized through hickey's failure that tuunbaq cannot be controlled by the expeditioners. the colonizers. it can be beaten back, and suppressed, and killed, through sacrifice, but it cannot be harnessed. it belongs to silna's people, to the inuit, and cannot truly be taken away. the only way to beat it is by invading its home with foreign powers and losing something of yourself in the process.

tl;dr thomas blanky doesn't need plot armour because he's just that good /silly and also this show is just. awesome.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 1: From Tradegy to Fantasy - Awakening in Another World

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: reader's death, language

Genre: Isekai, Romance, Fantasy

Synopsis: Your life takes a tragic turn as you perish in a car crash, only to awaken in a whimsical world of fantasy with none other than Jujustu Kaisen characters as its main protagonists. But as if that wasn't enough, you're about to marry the prince version of Gojo Satoru. How will you navigate through this world of history and fantasy? Does your life take the same sudden twist of fate as that of your favorite characters?

Next Chapter ->

„Are you reading those strange stuff again…What was it called? Manga?”

“I’m only watching the anime because of that hot blindfolded guy.”

You don’t even try to look up from your phone, currently reading the newest publication of the Jujutsu Kaisen manga over some sketchy site online. That hot blindfolded guy…You’ll never understand why some girls are only watching Jujutsu Kaisen because of him, Gojo Satoru. This world has so much more to offer, so much more than this overpowered character not even Gege himself likes.

“It’s not exactly reading”, you mutter, so sunken into the drawn fight in front of your eyes that you simply can’t look away.

“(y/n), come back to reality. We have some classes to attend.”

Out of instinct, you roll your eyes. You’ll probably have to listen to that one professor who always talks about himself and simply reads through his presentation for three hours straight, not even allowed to look at your phone and do something useful instead. Urgh, being an uni student sucks.

“Give me a minute, I’m just finishing this chapter.”

When your friends start walking, you follow them without paying attention. This is it, the fight you’ve been waiting for. Maybe this time someone is able to defeat Sukuna, maybe this will be the day you’ve been waiting for. Fuck plot armour, fuck all the horrible things that happened last, all the beloved characters that had to die. Damn, you still miss Geto to this day. If they would have noticed sooner, he might be still alive-

“(Y/N), WATCH OUT!”

You always wondered about how death must feel like. Getting consumed by darkness, getting dragged into sheer empty space. Does it hurt? Will you die right on the spot and feel absolutely nothing? What about that myth about reminiscing your own life shortly before your death?

The second you looked into those blinding car lights, you knew exactly that you are next, that there is no way you’ll survive the hit that will sweep you off your feet, that throws your body into the air like a plastic bag.

How pathetic to die like this. Getting hit by a car while being glued to the sketches of fictional characters on your phone. What will your parents say, your family, your friends? You don’t want to die like this, but still…

You allow your eyes to rest against your harsh light, your phone dropping to the phone. You can’t escape the hit. Maybe, just maybe, you will wake up in a better world.

If stuff like that even exists.

When you open your eyes again, you brace yourself for an immense wave of pain hunting down your body, for getting greeted by those way too harsh hospital lights. But instead, your eyes open with ease. Instead, you get greeted by the dim light of a golden chandelier in and a well-painted ceiling in all different shades of purple.

“Where on earth…Am I?”, you mutter to yourself.

The second you look down on you, your heart drops to the floor. You aren’t wearing a pair of leggings and an oversized tee like you always do. No, you are covered in the softest white fabric you ever felt from head to toe, an elegant lavendel ribbon tied around your waist. And that delicate jewellery...

Immediately, you yank out of bed and almost trip over the hem of the white dress, coming to a stand in front of a mirror.

This isn’t possible. No, this has to be a feverish dream. Maybe they put you into coma after…

You swallow hard, reality hitting you with full force. You died. As soon as the car hit you, you were dead right on the spot and you knew it instantly. But why does everything feel so damn real? Frantically, your hands wander around the sweaty face that looks back at you in sheer horror through the mirror, stare at the lavendel eyes that don’t look like yours at all. But those facial features, the way your hair falls.

Is it…you?

A violent scream escapes your lips before you’re able to stop it, guts turning so uncomfortably that you feel like puking every minute. This can’t be true. This can’t be your reality now…Just before your feet give in, you grab the cool golden frame of the mirror, allow your spinning head to rest for a second.

“Lady Zenin, are you alright!?”

That distant voice, who is it talking to? Lady Zenin…Like Toji, Mai and Maki Zenin? Maybe you didn’t die but got kidnapped into a pervert cosplay party. Slowly, you turn around, face sticky in cold sweat.

But the man standing in front of you doesn’t look like a creep at all. No, he’s a truly elegant man. Maybe in his 50s, but it is clear that he’s taking care of himself. His eyes look at you worried, his gloved hands stretched out in order to help if you fall.

“Where…Where am I?”, you press out.

This isn’t your hometown. Fuck, this isn’t even your home country, not even your timeline. The stuff in this room looks so old and somehow magical, let alone that dress you’re wearing.

“I don’t understand, Lady Zenin. You are in your room”, the man replies visibly worried.

“What country?”, you probe.

“My lady, we are still in Avaloria…Are you feeling unwell? Shall I call the doctor-“

“In Avaloria. And I’m Lady Zenin…”, you mumble to yourself.

This doesn’t make any sense. You didn’t pay that much attention to geography, but you know for a fact that Avaloria isn’t a real country and that your last name definitely isn’t Zenin. But oh that last name is definitely familiar to you, so familiar that it’s frightening. Suddenly a shiver runs down your spine, dark foreshadowing letting your fingertips shake.

“What is my father’s name?”

You don’t want this answer. No, all you want to do is waking up from this dream, from this nightmare. You aren’t a lady, you aren’t a Zenin. You are nothing but plain (y/n) who adores anime and manga a little too much and still goes to university. You are nothing but a normal young woman.

“Your lordship…Your lordship is called Naobito Zenin, my Lady”, he stutters.

“And my brother’s name is Naoya, huh?”, you huff out.

This has to be a bad joke, right? What is this man, a stand-up comedian, maybe? You cross your arms in front of your chest, force your body to stop shaking. You need to put this madness to an end right now.

“Yes, exactly my Lady!”, the man in front of you literally cries out in relief while the ground is pulled underneath your feet.

No, nothing about this is right. These men, their names…They are nothing but an invention by Gege Akutami, nothing but drawn figures in a book adapted into an anime. They are nothing but fantasy, nothing but fiction.

“B-But…”

Your voice fails as your mind can’t process anymore. Is it really possible that…You were reincarnated into a world like this?

“Are you causing a scene again, sister?”

You don’t recognize the voice speaking behind you, but something inside you tells you that if you turn around, you will be greeted by…

Cold, sharp brown eyes.

Your very own orbs widen in sheer horror. Those dark green roots, the annoyed look on his face, his tall muscular frame. He looks exactly like the manga made him appear. But instead of wearing a kimono, he is dressed in a black uniform with golden and purple details.

“You’re looking like a fucking prince…”, you breathe out.

“Are you trying to upset me, (y/n)?”

“Master Naoya, the lady doesn’t appear like herself today. Shall I call the doctor?”, the older man speaks with low voice.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

He grabs your chin before you’re able to stop him, his cold glare hitting you with full force.

Naoya just touched you. Fucking Naoya Zenin is standing in front of your very own self, his fingers wrapped around your chin, staring at you so intensely that you feel like fainting any given minute.

“Don’t you dare to mess today’s meeting up because of your weird acting. It took father and I months to arrange a meeting with that lousy prince. Let’s hope that he finds liking in you or else I’ll marry you below your status”, he hisses into your face.

“You can’t just arrange my wedding. Who the hell do you think you are?”, you spit into his face out of instinct.

“All the attention must have gone to your head, (y/n). Who do I think I am? I am your big brother, father’s right hand. And you are nothing but a woman. Your only worth is to marry into a wealthy and influential family. I will never understand why the prince of our country found a liking in you. Apart from a pretty face, you have nothing to offer.”

He yanks your chin away roughly, forces you to take a few steps back and almost sends you onto the floor with the sheer force of his fingertips. Your body quivers in anger, hands balled into fists so tight that your knuckles stand out white.

“I don’t need a prince, I know my own worth you fool!”, you demand.

“Who taught you to talk like this? You are a lady, (y/n). Finally start to act like one or I will tell father about your behaviour. Maybe a venesection will cause your mouth to finally shut, what do you think?”

“A vene-what?”

“Urgh, just be quiet and get yourself ready. You will meet the prince as soon as you are presentable. And don’t you dare to disappoint us”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

And then he’s gone in the wind while you stand in the middle of the room, still unable to catch your shaky breath. Who the hell does this guy think he his? Where exactly are you, what world is this? Your head begins to spin so violently that you fear to lose your balance, your whole life crashing down on you like a house of cards.

This isn’t 2024 on mother earth anymore. This…this is something completely different. And that man who introduced himself as your brother made it all too clear that there’s no way you’ll survive here if you don’t play along. Maybe it’s like in that anime you just watched, the one with the girl names Raeliana. If that’s the case…

“Please call in my maids. I wish to be dressed”, you speak out monotone.

“Of course, Lady (y/n).”

You will play along. But there is no way in hell you’ll let him force you into a marriage with some strange prince you don’t even know. Your eyes are fixated on themselves, the new lavender color gleaming back at you being so unknown as well as all those women who scurry around you.

Who is this prince, anyway? If you’re really in some strange jujutsu kaisen verse, it must be another character. Maybe Geto…Oh, that would be nice. But what if it’s Sukuna? You shake your head, haunt away your stinging imagination. No, you won’t marry the king of curses. Actually, there aren’t many men you’d like as your husband.

How is this supposed to turn out good?

-at the salon-

You feel like fainting any given minute, heart pounding so roughly against your well-dressed ribcage that every beat sends a shiver down your spine. If the man standing in front of you isn’t called Geto or Nanami, you don’t want him. And apart from that…Aren’t you too young to marry anyway? Why does your family want to get rid of you so badly?

“It is so nice to finally meet you in person, Lady (y/n).”

Your heart drops to the floor.

That voice.

Fuck. It’s no doubt that it’s him.

“Let me introduce myself properly: I’m Prince Satoru, the future king of Avaloria.”

The second your brother steps aside, you get greeted by bright blue eyes and a cheeky grin.

This is Gojo Satoru, that “hot guy with the blindfold”, one of the last men you’d like to marry even if he’s dressed in a fine suit with red and blue details. Out of instinct, you cross your arms in front of your chest, narrow eyes staring him into the ground. You will never understand the hype behind his smile and eyes when it’s all too clear that he’s a player, a womanizer. A man like Gojo Satoru isn’t the husband you were imagining, not the man you were looking for since you were a child.

“I’m not marrying that man”, you announce into the silence of the room.

Soo, this was the very first chapter of my new series and it makes me beyond excited! So please, if you enjoyed it, it would make me beyond happy if you like/comment/reblog that work of mine and let me know what you think. Thank you guys so much for your constant support, it means the world 🤍

Tags: @m0k0k0 @lees-chaotic-brain @sanicsmut @risuola @fire-loving-siren @sunshine7queen @gatitam @kentocalls

[nahoney22]

Congratulations on the followers!

Can I please request a fluffy enemies to lovers with a clone of your choice with the prompt “Did you just call me cute?”

Would love to see any! Female reader if possible. Thanks! 💓

Up Close and Personal 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female!Reader

word count: 3.9k

prompt:

• “Did just call me cute?”

Plot: When you accidentally let slip you thought Fox was cute, he grows curious and wonders if you still think the same under the helmet.

Warnings: Safe for work, grumpy/sunshine trope, teasing, awkward moments, flirting, kissing, mutual pining, accidental confessions.

You’ve been working alongside the Coruscant Guard for a while now, handling everything from delivering reports to managing routine tasks that help keep the operation running smoothly. Most of the clones greet you with a warm smile and friendly chatter when you drop by.

You were cheerful and always had a smile on your face, nothing ever seeming to phase you.

But when it comes to Commander Fox, he doesn’t seem to match your enthusiasm. Where others find a moment to chat or joke around, Fox’s response is always the same: curt and dismissive.

You remember one time when you entered the office, probably a fortnight ago, laughing with Thire and Stone as you handed them their files. “You’re a lifesaver,” Thire had said with a sigh of relief and grin after his had miraculously gone missing. You of course always had extra, just in case.

Stone chuckled and added, “You’re the only reason we stay organised.”

Before you could reply, however, Fox cut in. His tone like durasteel. “Can you just leave the files and go? Some of us are trying to work.” He hadn’t even looked up, but the chill in his voice was unmistakable. You forced a smile, and rolled your eyes at his attitude when you left the office that day. It didn’t bother you as you were used to his moods but you couldn’t help wondering what it would take to get past that fickle exterior.

And despite his attitude, you had noticed Fox’s subtle care for his brothers; something you found rather endearing. You’ve caught him running silent armour checks, making sure everyone’s gear is spotless and in perfect order. Of course, it’s not about vanity but simply about keeping his men safe.

It’s those types of moments that make you think there’s more to him beneath the mask. Or helmet in this case.

Today, you decide to do something different. Rumors have been swirling that the Guard’s workload has been overwhelming lately. Crime in the lower levels is on the rise, and the boys are sadly running themselves ragged. So, you arrive at their station with a special treat: caf orders, each customised exactly how you know they like it.

You start with Commander Thire, who breaks into a grin as you hand him his cup. “You’re too good to us,” he says, taking a sip. “Thanks.”

Next is Stone, who raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Didn’t expect this today,” he says, taking the steaming cup. “But I’m not complaining.” He shoots you a wink. “You really know how to keep morale up.”

Sergeant Hound, busy tinkering with his gear with Grizzer snoozing at his feet looks up with a smile when you hand him his drink. “You actually remembered mine,” he says, sounding almost impressed. He takes a long sip before giving you a small nod. “Cheers. Really needed this.”

Finally, you approach Fox. He’s leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, watching you carefully through his visor. “I’ll assume you didn’t get me anything,” he says, voice as flat as ever.

You fight back a smirk and meet his gaze behind the visor. “You assume wrong, Commander.” You slide the cup across his desk. It’s strong, with a hint of sweetness—your best guess based on what you’ve observed. Alongside it, you place a small sweet treat and the stack of data devices you’ve been carrying. Oh, and you also could help but draw a small smiley face on the lid to his cup.

Fox doesn’t touch the drink. Instead, he gives a sharp nod. “Just leave it and go.”

You swallow your disappointment, trying to keep your smile from faltering. “Of course, sir.” You turn to leave, the brief flash of hurt lingering despite your best efforts to shrug it off. Huh, maybe it did get to you.

As you exit, you catch a glimpse of Thire, Stone, and Hound exchanging looks before Thire’s voice cuts through the room. “You know, Fox, a ‘thank you’ wouldn’t kill you.”

Fox remains silent, but you don’t stay long enough to see or hear his reaction. The door closes behind you, and you let out a quiet sigh.

Moments later, you hear quick footsteps behind you. “Hey, wait up!”

You turn to see Thire jogging to catch up. “Don’t take it personally,” he says, offering a sympathetic smile. “Fox is… well, Fox. If he didn’t like you at least a little, he wouldn’t let you stick around.”

You laugh softly, though the sting hasn’t fully faded. “Doesn’t feel like it sometimes. I know he’s under a lot of stress, but still…”

Thire nods, understanding in his eyes. “He’s got a funny way of showing appreciation. But trust me, we all see what you do for us, even if he doesn’t say it. You’re a bright spot in this whole mess.”

Your smile this time is more genuine, though still a bit weak. “Thanks, Thire. I just wish I could get through to him, you know?”

“Give it time,” Thire says, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “He’ll come around. Until then, we’ve got your back.”

A few days later, you arrive with—surprise, surprise—yet another stack of files. You expect to find the usual group in the office, and sure enough, Thire, Stone, and Hound are all at their stations, busy with their tasks. But there’s one notable absence: Commander Fox. You glance around, scanning the room in curiosity.

Before you can ask, Stone notices the way you’re searching and smirks. “Looking for someone?”

Your cheeks warm slightly, realising you’ve been caught. “Nope,” you reply, a little too quickly. “Just… making sure I don’t miss anyone.”

Thire chimes in, an amused glint in his eye. “Sure, that’s what you’re doing.”

You roll your eyes playfully, trying to play it off. “Honestly, you guys are worse than all those gossiping cadets and shinies.”

“Did Fox ever apologise for the other day?” Hound asks as you stand nearby, shifting through some flimsi. His question surprised you a little since you hadn’t truly thought about it until now. But, you shake your head with a dismissive wave. “Nah, but it’s fine. I’m used to him being a grump. Besides,” you add with a smile, “you lot make it worth coming around.”

But then Stone started to dig a little deeper as he leans back in his chair. “Did you think about what Thire said? About Fox not minding you hanging around?”

You bite your lip, remembering Thire’s words all too well. Now that did have you wondering for most of that night. For someone who always wanted you to go, he never actually told you to fully leave.

“Yeah, actually. It got me thinking… maybe he’s not as bothered by me as he pretends.” You pause, considering your next question. “Hey, have any of you actually seen him without his helmet?”

The three of them exchange glances before Thire nods, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “How do you think he downed that caf you brought him the other day?”

You lean back against the wall, arms crossed as you think it over but also a little smug knowing that Fox clearly liked your drink choice for him. “I always wondered what he looks like under there. Maybe he’s got some cool tattoos, or, like, bright red hair or something; to match the gear.”

Stone shrugs, pretending to be nonchalant. “Could do. But we’re not spilling anything.”

You narrow your eyes at them playfully, but before you can push further, you find yourself blurting out, “I mean, I bet he’s kinda cute.”

There’s a beat of silence before all three of them break into laughter. Hound gives you a teasing nudge. “So, you’ve got a crush on the boss now, huh?”

You wave them off, feeling your face flush. “No, I mean—well, no, yes, kinda? I don’t know!” You fumble with your words, realising you’ve put yourself in an awkward spot. You wouldn’t say it was much of a crush but you did admire him.

“It’s not like that. He’s just interesting, I guess. Annoying, but in a weird way, it’s kind of… cute?”

The boys exchange amused glances, and you’re about to defend yourself further when you notice all of their gazes suddenly lock onto something—or someone—behind you. The laughter dies down, and your stomach drops.

Before you can even turn around, a deep voice rumbles from directly behind you. “Did you just call me cute?”

You freeze, feeling your blood run cold. Slowly, you turn to face Fox, who’s standing there with his arms crossed, his helmeted visor trained directly on you. You can’t tell what expression he’s wearing underneath, but the deadpan delivery of his question makes you want to disappear into the nearest ventilation system.

“I—uh…” you stammer, utterly at a loss. “Well, you see—”

Thire, Stone, and Hound are barely holding in their snickers, clearly enjoying your discomfort. Fox’s posture remains unyielding as he waits for you to say something. Anything.

You finally manage a weak shrug. “I mean sure, why not?”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence, and you’re certain you’ll never live this down. But then, just when you think it couldn’t get worse, Fox turns his helmet slightly as if considering your words. “Interesting,” is all he says before he strides past you, not giving anything away.

The room erupts in laughter as soon as he’s out of earshot, leaving you standing there, cheeks burning, as Thire claps you on the back. “Well, if that’s not a confession, I don’t know what is.”

“I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

Stone grins. “Nope. But hey, at least now you’ve got him wondering.”

You playfully slap Stone’s arm with the thick stack of flimsi you were holding. “You’re impossible, you know that?” you tease, but there’s a grin on your face despite your embarrassment.

Stone just chuckles, dodging away from your reach. “You make it too easy, kid.”

Shaking your head, you wave the guys off. “Okay, I’m leaving before I say anything else stupid. You’ll just have to survive without me for a bit.”

As you walk away, you can still hear their laughter, and although your cheeks are still warm, you can’t help but smile.

Over the next week or two, you notice that Fox isn’t in his office as much. You’re not one to pry, but eventually, Thire lets it slip that it’s the Supreme Chancellor who’s been keeping him busy, not the fact that he might be avoiding you. “He’s been running all over the place on Palpatine’s orders,” Thire had said. “Trust me, it’s not about feeling awkward with you around.”

You nod, but you can’t help the nagging thoughts that linger. Still, you push them aside, deciding it’s better not to dwell on it.

One afternoon, you arrive at the office, balancing a tray with the usual caf orders and some sweet treats. It’s become a bit of a weekly ritual now, something the guys seem to look forward to. But today, when you step inside, the office is eerily quiet—no Thire, no Stone, no Hound. And non-surprisingly, no Fox.

You frown, setting the tray down on the nearest desk. “Hello?” you call out, but the only response is the hum of the overhead lights.

Shrugging, you decide to leave everything on their desks for when they return. You place each clone’s drink down, making sure their reports are organised alongside them.

When you reach Fox’s desk, you pause. It’s a bit messier than usual, the clutter showing signs of someone who’s been overworked and stretched thin. Your brows furrow in concern as you instinctively start tidying up, sorting the files and stacking the more urgent ones on top.

As you organise his drawers, you’re about to close one when something catches your eye. An empty caf cup, tucked away almost like it’s been hidden. You pull it out and recognise it immediately—it’s the cup you gave Fox the other week, the one with the little smiley face you drew on the lid. Your heart skips a beat. He kept it.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at the cup, a small, unexpected warmth blooming in your chest. Maybe there’s more to his gruff exterior than you first thought. Maybe he does have a soft spot for you, even if he won’t admit it.

“Can I help you?”

You jump, nearly dropping the cup as you whirl around to face the door. There stands Fox, his arms tucked behind his back, his gaze unreadable behind his helmet.

“Fox—Commander!” you stammer, hastily shoving the cup back into the drawer and closing it. “I was just… fixing things.” Your voice trails off as you awkwardly step away from his desk, suddenly finding it difficult to meet his gaze.

He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, and you feel your pulse quicken. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”

“Oh! Sure, of course!” You’re flustered now, your mind racing. “Is it about the reports? Or maybe the supply request? Or—”

“No.”

You clamp your mouth shut, cheeks burning as you mentally curse yourself for rambling. You stand there in silence, waiting for him to continue, while he circles around you with the careful precision of someone used to keeping others off balance. His presence is commanding (oh the irony), making the room feel smaller as he closes the distance between you.

“I had overheard something the other day,” he says, his voice low, almost conversational. “You were wondering what I looked like. Wondering if I had tattoos, colorful hair…” He trails off, his tone giving nothing away.

“I—uh—well, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just curious, you know? I hope you didn’t take offense, Commander. It wasn’t—”

He stops in front of you, so close now that you can see your own reflection in the dark visor of his helmet as you crane your neck to look at him. “Why not?” he asks, cutting off your nervous rambling. “Do you not want to know if I’m ‘cute’ or not?”

The words hang in the air between you, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. His tone isn’t mocking, but there’s a subtle challenge in his voice, as if daring you to admit something you haven’t even fully acknowledged to yourself.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, searching for a response. “I—I mean… maybe?”

His head tilts slightly, as if studying you. “You know, I rarely remove my helmet. It’s part of who I am, part of the uniform. Most people never see what’s underneath.”

“I get it,” you say quickly, eager to reassure him. “It’s not like I need to know. You’re still you, helmet or not.”

But as you speak, he moves closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “And yet, you’re curious.”

Your gaze flicks up to meet his visor, the tension thick enough to cut through. “Maybe a little,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

You think he’s about it leave, a small stagger in his step. But instead of stepping back as you expect, he reaches up and, with a slow and deliberate motion, removes his helmet.

Your breath catches in your throat. You were expecting him to look like the other clones but nothing prepared you for this.

His hair, salt and peppered with a few streaks of silver, is slightly messy but still shows a hint of soft curls. Framing his face in a way that’s both rugged and refined. But it’s his eyes that catch your immediate attention.

A deep, rich brown, just like his brothers but darkened by exhaustion. Yet somehow still smolder with an intensity that makes your heart stop. They’re striking, alive with an alluring warmth that makes it hard to look away.

You’re utterly speechless, barely registering that your mouth has gone dry. He’s not just cute; he’s absolutely gorgeous. His lips curve into a knowing smirk as he tilts his head at you, clearly gauging your reaction.

“So, tell me…” he drawls, his tone soft and low as he notices your gaze drifting to his lips, “how ‘cute’ am I?”

Your mouth opens, but the words you want to say get stuck somewhere in your throat. You feel a sudden heat rising to your cheeks and creeping down your neck, making you feel warm under the collar. For months, you had wondered what it would be like to be this close to him, to hear his voice without the filter of that helmet, to feel his presence in an almost tangible way. Now, with his breath fanning your face, it’s almost overwhelming.

“You’re… you’re…” You struggle to find the right words, but everything comes out in stutters as your brain short-circuits under the intensity of his gaze.

Fox leans in closer, his eyes never leaving yours, his lips still curved in that teasing smirk. “Mhmm? I’m what?” There’s a playful and teasing lilt in his voice as he inches nearer, clearly enjoying how flustered you’ve become.

Before you know it, you’ve backed up until you’re nearly pressed against the edge of his desk; close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, and it’s impossible to think straight. Your pulse feels like it’s pounding in your ears. Especially as he leans in even further, the distance between you shrinking until it’s nearly nonexistent.

His breath is warm against your skin as he adds, “Come on, I’m waiting. You were so curious before. For someone so chatty, you have gone awfully quiet. Why’s that?”

Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, but the only thing you can focus on is how close he is, how those deep brown eyes are watching your every reaction, and how his lips look infuriatingly soft. Finally, you manage to stammer out a broken, barely coherent, “You’re… more than cute.”

Fox chuckles as he straightens slightly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Good answer.”

You let out a nervous chuckle, brushing a hand through your hair, thinking this is the end of it. But he barely budges before asking, “Do you want to know what I think about you?”

Breath shaky, you avoid his eyes. “Let me guess… annoying… too talkative…”

“Distracting,” he cuts you off.

Before you can respond, his hands lift, gently cupping your face. You’re caught off guard as his thumbs brush tenderly over your cheeks. A soft gasp escapes your lips at the unexpected warmth of his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you lean into it. His presence is all-consuming, his closeness dizzying as his nose lightly brushes against yours, sending sparks dancing down your spine.

His voice is low, rich with a sincerity that makes your heart race even faster. “I find you distracting. Beautiful and distracting.”

Before you can fully process his words, his lips capture yours in a kiss that’s impossibly gentle and utterly intoxicating.

It’s slow and unhurried, his lips moving against yours in a way that feels both tender and deliberate. Your eyes widen in surprise at first, hands raised but unsure where to place them.

Fox was kissing you. the Commander Fox was kissing you. You didn’t even know what this meant fully. Had he been harbouring feelings for you after all this time?

The initial shock soon melts away, your body relaxing into the kiss as your arms instinctively wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The feeling of the warmth of his mouth on yours, the soft press of his lips sending a sweet sent an addictive thrill through your veins. He’s steady and confident, guiding the kiss with a gentleness.

His hands remain on your face, anchoring you to the moment until one slides back to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair that makes you gasp against his lips.

You can’t help but chase after his lips, the slow and tender rhythm of the kiss drawing you in deeper. He’s all you can think about—the taste of him, the feel of him, the way he’s holding you as though you’re something precious.

Fox finally pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. His eyes, those deep, mesmerising brown orbs, search yours as if he’s looking for something—confirmation, maybe, or understanding. You’re not sure, but whatever he sees in your gaze seems to settle something inside him.

His thumb sweeps over your cheek again, a soft, almost absent-minded caress as he holds you there, still so close. “You have no idea how distracting you are,” he murmurs, his voice hushed.

You’re left breathless, your heart racing in your chest as you blink up at him, dazed by it all. “You… you kissed me,” you whisper, your body still flushed against his as you try to piece things together.

“I did,” he replies softly, his hands now moving to rest on your waist, grounding you in the moment. “Is it okay that I did?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess it’s just… I thought you didn’t like me.” You pull back slightly, leaning against the desk this time. He looks down at you, his gaze unexpectedly soft.

“I’ll admit I haven’t been the kindest to you,” he says, a touch of regret in his tone. “The lads gave me an earful the other day.”

“So, was it a guilt kind of kiss or…?” you mumble, sincerely hoping it wasn’t.

Fox’s eyes widen slightly, and he quickly shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing like that,” he exclaims, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m not great at showing how I feel, and hearing you call me ‘cute’… it pushed me in the right direction. Made me realise I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t care.”

His sincerity catches you off guard. “Oh,” you say, your voice small but relieved.

He offers you a small smile, the kind that’s rare for him, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “So, would you consider going for drinks with me tonight?” he asks, his tone hopeful but tinged with the same guardedness that’s always been there.

The hesitation in his voice makes you understand how much this moment means to him, and you can’t help but smile back with a genuine, warm smile. “Yeah, I’d like that,” you reply softly.

Fox’s shoulders visibly relax, the tension you hadn’t even noticed finally easing as he nods. “Good,” he says, his voice low and a little rough around the edges. But there’s a warmth there now, something new that you hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing before. “I, uh, have to get back to the Chancellor. I knew the others wouldn’t be here today, and I know your routine, so I figured I’d have time to speak to you before heading back.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “So, you’re not supposed to be here?”

“No, I’m not,” he admits with a somewhat sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “I may or may not have told the Chancellor I had an important matter to tend to.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Fox joins in with a chuckle, the sound rich and surprisingly pleasant, before he takes a final step toward you and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “It was worth it,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart skips a beat as he pulls back, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer. “I’ll see you tonight?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

“Definitely.”

🌊 Masterlist is pinned 🌊

Tags: @lulalovez @the-bad-batch-baroness @photogirl894 @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @tentakelspektakel

[unoislazy]

Flowers In Bloom

(Jiyan x Reader)

Wuthering Waves

Spoilers for Jiyan’s story quest.

(Some of this may be inaccurate, I’ll get better at figuring out his character as time goes on so bare with me for now)

The city of Jinzhou was never described as a quiet place, in fact many believed it to be quite the opposite. People were constantly around, tending to others, doing their jobs, or even just hanging out with friends. There was always something happening in Jinzhou.

So much so that at some points, the life of such a busy city could get pretty stifling. The feeling that one must always be going somewhere and doing something, it got in the way of remembering to relax. So that’s why you had always set out to take a moment to relax amongst the flowers near the Square Bell.

It was quite a solemn area, as it was there to honour those who had fallen in battle, but the respect for the area made it all the more peaceful. On one of your many trips to this area, you had noticed a plot of plants that you couldn’t identify. They looked to be like wheat or lavender, but it was clearly not one or the other.

You decided to pay it no mind as you continued your visits until you saw the sprout of one forming. It didn’t seem like it had been watered that day, so you decided to go out of your way and water it yourself. It felt nice, almost as if you were somehow helping tend to the fallen soldiers of the area… but you didn’t know why.

From then on it just simply became a habit. Any time you’d visit you’d water the ones that seemed like the needed to be watered and sit amongst the plants to watch the sunset. That was until one day you went to do your usual visit and you saw a man who you hadn’t seen before, admiring them as he stood on the pavement in front of the bell.

You bit your lip, wondering if you should say something to him. Maybe he knew more about the flowers than you did.

“They’re lovely, aren’t they?” You asked as you walked up to the man. He didn’t react physically but it was clear he had been a bit startled by your appearance before he relaxed.

“They are.” He responded, his expression softening the slightest bit as he looked over to you. His eyes traveled down to the water pail you held in your hands which caused a small smile to appear on his face; so small one would hardly even notice it if they weren’t looking for it.

You couldn’t help but stare at the man for a moment. He looked familiar but you couldn’t quite place exactly where you had seen him from, if at all. His clothing was no where near casual, and he seemed to be wearing pieces of armour, so no doubt he was helping fight.

Your eyes slowly made their way to his face. His eyes, while a beautiful golden colour, held a very far away look as if he was lost deep in the trenches of his own mind. His hair was a teal colour, which wasn’t exactly unusual but it was styled in a way you almost thought to be odd, but it looked good though so you weren’t complaining. As you continued to quickly look over the man, he snapped back out of his thoughts and turned back to you fully.

“Do you often come here to take care of the plants?” He asked, gesturing to the water pail in your hand. His words managed to snap you out of your thoughts as well as you looked down at your own hands, having forgotten you were even holding something to begin with.

“Oh! Yes, yes I do.” You exclaimed, trying to cover up the fact that you hadn’t been entirely paying attention. It was clear the man knew but he paid no mind to it.

“I saw a sprout that needed watering one day and decided to help out. I don’t even know how long ago that was at this point.” You thought to yourself, you had been doing this for a few months, maybe a little more.

“I was wondering how they were getting replenished so often. I must thank you for your commitment.” He said, looking away for a moment to survey the area, taking in the peace and quiet that the spot had to offer before turning back to you.

“So… I assume you come here a lot as well?” You asked, trying to strike up a conversation with the mysterious man. Had you seen him fully before you spoke to him, you might’ve been too scared to say anything. He looked to be such a strict and intimidating man and yet the feelings that surrounded him as you spoke were nothing but relaxed and gentle.

“When I have time.” He answered with a nod, gesturing for you to stand more beside him. You obliged and stood next to him, now looking over the city and the plants that swayed gently in the wind before the two of you.

“I take it you have friends who have fallen then, unless I am assuming too much.” You said, hoping your assumption wasn’t offensive in some way. The last thing you wanted was to anger this man, do a wave of nerves smacked you in the face while you waited for his reply. A melancholy look washed over the man’s face.

However, despite his saddened look, his smile remained on his face as he noticed your sudden change in demeanour. The question didn’t offend him by any means, so it was a little funny to him to see you back track as if it did.

“You are correct. In fact I’ve known many people who have ended up here, that’s why I planted these.” He said, turning his attention to the plants.

“I planted them in the hopes that if there is an afterlife, those who have fallen can look in at Jinzhou with these plants.” He explained, his gaze shifting to look up at the city that, like always, never seemed to rest for long. You looked over to him in surprise. Not only did he plant them but you also pieces together that he without a doubt had been fighting alongside a handful of these people.

“That’s a beautiful sentiment.” You responded, also looking back at the city, “I’m sure they enjoy the view.” You continued, a smile making its way onto your own face as you looked over at the sun. It had been a lot later in the day than you initially realized.

“While the plants are made to be resilient, I’m sure they appreciated your constant care.” The man mentioned, that same small smile having yet to leave his face. Despite his intimidating nature he seemed to be quite a nice man.

“I’m glad to have been of some help to them.” You responded quietly.

“Are you from Jinzhou ?” You asked, you might as well considering he didn’t seem to mind your conversation.

“I have moved around to many places as I grew up, but Jinzhou is where I seem to always come back to,” He answered in a more wistful manner before continuing. “Although it has been some time since I’ve been back, so I’m not sure what has changed exactly.”

You perked up at this as you looked over to him, your interest very clear on your face which caused the man a slight bit of confusion.

“So you haven’t been to the new restaurant that opened up?” You questioned. You were referring to a smaller business that not many people frequented given the fact that it had yet to gain the beloved reputation that the surrounding places had. However, you had gone one day to try it and loved it ever since.

The man shook his head, meeting your gaze with confusion as you seemed to become only more enthusiastic.

“We should go some time, I could show you where it is. I’m not sure exactly what your taste in food is, but I’m sure you’ll love it. They make a killer Jinzhou stew.” You claimed eagerly which quickly gained the interest of the man before you.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try, maybe we could go tomorrow… If you’re free that is.” He asked, almost hesitating through his sentence as he went through it. You simply smiled, your excitement having yet to die down before you nodded.

“That sounds like a great idea. We could meet here at the same time to make it easy.” You offered to which he nodded in return. You hadn’t really noticed but his smile had grown since your initial offer. It wasn’t exactly rare for him to smile, but it certainly wasn’t an expression he had all the time.

He looked to you before he looked up at the sky, realizing that the sun had long since set and the night sky was becoming more visible.

“I should get going, but I will see you here tomorrow, right?” He asked before beginning to walk off.

You nodded gleefully, excited to show off your favorite place to someone, not even realizing what had just happened. As the man turned away from you to walk off you looked over him again. The teal colours, the dragon scaled armour, the fact he’s been fighting for a time period you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

It finally hit you.

“That was General Jiyan…” You muttered absentmindedly, simply staring at the man as you finally pieces together who he was. This entire time you had been speaking with him so casually and yet he was the very well respected general that everyone and their mother has heard about.

And then the rest of the conversation finally caught up with you as well.

“And I just asked him on a date.” You muttered, completely lost as to how you managed to go this long without it clicking.

What you hadn’t realized though was that your revealation had been heard by the man himself, earning a stifled chuckle from him as he walked off.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Hi, can you do a poly!plastics x fem!reader where the reader pulls multiple all nighters to study for a test and her girlfriends notice this so they scold her and make her take the day off to rest with them?

Sorry, I Can't Tonight

part 2 ||

|| poly!plastics x fem!reader

|| Warnings; swearing, Regina being Regina, exhausted reader, reader neglecting her girlfriends, short drabble

|| Summary; Gretchen asks reader to come hang out after reader's been bailing on them all week, Regina doesn't give her the chance to bail again.

Requests open!

Started; october 15th

Finished; october 15th

~~~

Test weeks had to be your biggest nightmare. You often spent full nights studying just to hope to even have a chance at passing. Tests have never been a strong suit for you, but you always tried your hardest and gave it your all. Usually on normal nights, you would be over at one of your girlfriends houses having a sleepover and movie night. More often than not it would be Regina's house; her having the comfiest bed.

This week... you flunked out on them four different times. All your focus was going into your tests, they were more than a little worried and definitely annoyed. Regina was the most annoyed with you. She didn't like the phrase "sorry, I can't tonight". And she was getting sick of hearing it.

The three of them had another night planned at Regina's and Gretchen had asked if you wanted to come. When Regina noticed you were about to turn it down- she didn't even let the words out of your mouth.

"No, absolutely not. You don't get to bail on us for a fifth fucking time, Y/N. This is getting insane." Regina said, her eyes sharp as she looked into yours. You felt timid, wanting to defend yourself.

"Regina, I have tests this week." You protested, she simply rolled her eyes at you and scoffed.

"So do we." She shot back at you. They all had their own tests in different classes than you, which made you feel a little guilty. How could they manage to put that much time aside for each other but you couldn't even be bothered to spend a night? "Y/N, you can't keep pulling all nighters. When was the last time you actually got sleep?" Regina asked.

You thought about it. Thinking back to all your nights this week... you didn't sleep. Honestly the fact that you even had to think on it should have been a bad sign. You should have just been able to say that it was last night. But you couldn't and Regina knew that.

"Y/N." She demanded. Not letting you get out of this one so easily.

"Last Friday..." It was Tuesday. How you were even a functioning human being you didn't know, probably something to do with plot armour or something. You sighed. Feeling the exhaustion finally hit you like a bus at your realization. Your muscles ached, your eyes tried to close as you started to slump forwards. You felt arms wrap around you and you could just tell that it was Gretchen. Her perfume gave it away when the smell reached your nose. You glanced at her and she kissed your forehead, shushing you before you could say anything.

"Let's get you to Regina's, baby." She murmured, you simply nodded and that was that.

Your girls took care of you the rest of the night.

[hopefulidiocy]

Hi can I request a modern Daemon x Neice reader? I'm thinking Mafia vibes, maybe she wasn't aloud to leave the house but she snuck out to the club with friends and Daemon drags her back home.

I'm thinling smut, probably rough lol.

Totally get if you aren't down with this idea just had this idea for a while and need it out lol.

Killer Instinct

Modern!Daemon x Fem!Reader

Authors Note: thanks for suggesting this :) I changed the familial bond between them. They are not niece and uncle, instead just daughter of Mafia Boss and Right Hand Man. Thanks <3 hope you enjoy.

Warnings: bj, p in v, rough, hair grabbing, spanking, masturbation etc

MINORS DNI

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

~

A pendulum swings in your face as you slouch in the chair, bored to tears with the droning on around you, your mother sitting straight and “proper” as she looks upon her husband with bored, soulless eyes. The men around you are discussing their plans with the opposing gang, it would be funny - seeing grown men plot to kill or maim or simply to prank - if they didn’t actually go through with it. One time you saw your father standing over the body of Julius Justice, a man who was your Godfather and looked after you more than once in your childhood. Julius had betrayed my father in more ways than one, he had been a double agent for both the Blacks and the Greens; it turned out he had a wife, a woman named Alicent, whom I had no idea existed, who was the mother of Green Leader Aegon. Slimy little man with short man syndrome.

Father was callous and cruel, some thought the same about you since you rarely smiled or laughed; the last time you did was probably when your niece, Clarissa, was born even thought tensions run thick with your sister, Marie. There were eight of you in total, eight lovely children for the cold Victor Targaryen. The order went like this: Giovanni, 26 years old and acts as a type of regent whenever your father is indisposed; Hades, 25 years old and tried to usurp his own father which sent him to the chopping block, you wince every time his name is mentioned; Victoria, 23 years old and named after your mother, she is timid and incredibly sweet which is her downfall; Marie, 21 years old and recently married to some soldier whom you don’t know; you, 19 years old and basically your father with longer hair; Reginald, 17 years old and dead; Tomosina, 14 years old and just started her monthlies and the baby cherub of the family, Georgina, 12 years old who currently sits next to you, jaw hanging as if this was the first time she heard your father talk about violence and murder.

“So that settles it.” Father slammed his hands at the side of his table, everyone jumped excluding you.

“What have we settled?” You asked, playing with the pendulum in your fingers.

“Alicent Hightower must die.” Your mother repeated, her mouth slightly gaping at the mere thought. You shrugged, slumping back in your chair whilst your sister turned to whisper.

“You should sit like a proper lady.” You scoff and roll your eyes just as the grand doors open to the office.

Strolling in, head to toe in clinking armour, was Daemon Targaryen; named so because of his long endured loyalty to your father that he had been taken in as one of the family. Something Julius never got to see. As usual, his shit eating smirk presents on his face as he grabs a hessian bag that was swinging from his shoulder and plants it on the end of the table.

“A gift.” He said, smirking still and amusement bouncing around in his tone. You perk up, sitting forward with your elbows propping you up as you watched Daemon rip the bag and reveal a severed head. You gasp, despite yourself.

“Scared, little miss?” Daemon asked, turning his attention to you. His heated stare suddenly made you blush, which you hated, and you sat back, trying to stop the heat that was spreading to your abdomen, almost grinding against the chair to stop it.

“Who is that?” Your mother asked, scared.

“Otto Hightower. I beheaded him. Just as you asked, sir.” He then bowed to your father, who stands, clapping him as if he received an Oscar.

“Bravo, Daemon! Bravo!” He came around the table, clapping him on the back before picking up Otto’s head by his lacking hair. He laughed before poking him in his eyes. Daemon chuckled along with him.

“I must put him with all the trophies.” He hugged it to his chest. “I might have him suck my cock, we all know what a cock sucker he was.” That earned a laugh from the men, the women however just stared as your father began acting out oral.

~

The dummy full of sand is before you, your armour clinking in the moonlighted training grounds; you only came here after everyone went to bed, this was the only time you could practise so your father would allow you to join the soldiering side. You raise your sword high above your head, your elbow not allowing the weight to tumble as you swung your body around in intricate shapes before stabbing him just off centre. You groan, yanking the sword out of the sand, hitting it a few times on the ground before trying again, managing to attack his groin.

“You need to centre yourself, my lady.” A seductive voice came from behind you, and instinctively you knew it was Daemon. As you turned, he made his way in long strides towards you, you hitched your breath as his chest almost collided with your face.

“What are you doing here?” You step back, gulping enough night air so you wouldn’t end up on your knees in front of him.

That wouldn’t be so bad…

“Watching you, little miss.” He smirked.

“Ugh, don’t call me that, I’m 19.” You sheathed your sword, sighing. “And I know I’m shit at it.”

“Never said you were.”

“You were implying.”

“No I wasn’t.” He shrugged.

He cocks his head slightly as his dark eyes roam your face, the sides of his lips curled into a smirk.

“Does daddy know you’re out here?” He mockingly pouts.

“No. He would kill me.”

“I’m a loyalist, it would be against his honour if I didn’t turn you in now.” He takes another step towards you, the heat returning in your abdomen.

“But you won’t.” You said, pressing your stomach slightly to aid the pain from travelling any further. He chuckles, his eyes peering down your armour to your legs before his index finger curled flat underneath your chin, propping you so you look straight at him.

“Do I make you nervous?” He asks, seduction dripping from his voice.

“No.” You shake your head.

“I beg to differ.” His thumb then travelled up your chin to your bottom lip, grazing it softly with the pad of his thumb. “I see the way you look at me.” You hoped he hadn’t because every time you did you had to squeeze your legs shut. His thumb then reached the crease between your bottom lip and top lip before placing it in your mouth. Instantly, you sucked onto it, relishing in the pleasure of getting to taste at least some of him. Your tongue lapped around it, your lips pouting and plump as he licks his own lips.

“Such pretty lips.” He whispers, his other hand roaming to your perfect braid before yanking down on it and hard. You winced at first but enjoying the pain of his hand you moaned softly, muffled by his thumb. “I wonder.” He hummed as his lips met your neck, sending butterfly kisses up to your jawline; his warm breath tickling you. “I wonder what you do to yourself when you think about me in your dark room.” He starts licking your jawline, sending you into a mess, trying to find where his zipper is. “Do you moan my name?” You want to scream yes, yes, yes! But find yourself unable to because you find his zipper, pulling it down with all your might to find his hard cock springing from it. He was wearing no underwear.

Your hand wrapped around his shaft, thick and veiny to the point you couldn’t wrap around it completely. His eyes flicker as you begin to pump him up and down, still sucking hard on his thumb.

“Get on your knees.” He whispers and you waste no time in perching before him, coming face to face with his cock, sprightly and erect, his glistening pink tip looking beautiful in the moonlight as your pretty lips wrapped around the head. He tastes fucking beautiful. You always knew he did, you could tell by the way he dressed himself that he was fucking perfect to taste. Your tongue wets the sensitive area of his tip, which sends him whispering moans into the night air as his hand grips onto the back of your head, forcing you deeper and deeper onto him. Eventually his tip hits the back of your throat, gagging so hard your eyes water but you don’t care.

“Fuck, I love that sound.” He hit against the back of your throat again, arching his back as your head bobbed up and down his shaft. Revelling in the trembling his thighs were giving you, you decide to include his balls as well. You remove yourself from his thick cock and land your round lips onto his balls, simultaneously pumping him up and down.

“That slutty mouth.” He groans, louder than before and you know just by the way his mouth gapes that he is reaching his end. And you want him to paint you.

You focus in on his cock, still cupping his balls with your cold hand as you stroke his shaft and suck on it like a dehydrated woman finding water in the Sahara after forty days. He arches back and shoots his load, it leaks down your throat, dripping with perfection, the saltiness and the sweetness coating you as you swallow.

“Show me you swallowed all of it.” You look up at him with seductive eyes and open your mouth, sticking out your tongue. “Dirty whore.” He smirks, pulling up his trousers.

“Are you not going to get me off?” You ask, breathless.

“Go to bed.” He chuckles, pinching your chin before sauntering away leaving you on your knees and begging to be fucked.

Later, when you were alone in the shadows of your room, you placed a pillow in between your legs, the hardest part of it against your clit and your body moved fluidly as you rid the dull ache between your legs. You held onto the bed frame as your hips worked at a delicious speed, allowing the ache to turn into a blossoming sensation as you moaned out for Daemon: thinking about his cock spreading you open. You hope he fucks rough, because you need ragging about.

~

A few mornings later, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with Tomosina and Georgia whilst your mother runs about the kitchen with a whisk in tow. You lean over your breakfast, not touching it but instead reaching for your tea; a morning is not a morning without a herbal remedy. You are nervous, your heart thumping against your chest as you blow the steam rising out of the cup, you watch your mother closely… hoping that she is in a good mood. Because you want to go out for the night.

“Where’s that fucking bowl?” She grunts, kneeling down to rummage through the cupboards.

“What are you making a cake for anyway?” Tomosina asks, her mouth full of toast.

“To celebrate Daemon, he’s made three assassinations just this week. That’s the most we’ve ever had.” You raise your eyebrows.

“That’s the most we’ve ever had?” You repeat, your mother blows her hair out of her eyes as she stands.

“Yes, dear. It is. It doesn’t sound like a lot but a lot of thought goes into these things.” She’s gone to the pantry now, hoping it appears out of thin air.

Ever since you gave Daemon a blow job you haven’t stopped thinking about it, it was the only thing to relive in your mind when you went to sleep. The way his face drooped with pleasure, his thighs twitching under your touch, you longed to be touched the way you touched him and you just knew he would send you to hell and back with his long fingers. You grip your chair as you think about what he could do to you and how you would let him have his way. He could do anything and you’ll happily be his servant. The thoughts ceased when your mother came back, beaming with her mixing bowl.

“Found it!” She smiles, plopping it down on the table.

“Mother…” you begin, picking up your fork and scooping up some eggs.

“Yep?” She smiles brightly this time, like seeing you is her favourite thing in the world.

“My favourite band are coming to play… and i want to go see them.” It came out way too fast. Your mother’s eyes faltered slightly, she slumped into herself.

“Y/N… you know I can’t let you do that.” She sighs.

“Mum, listen. I’ll take a bodyguard with me. They won’t want to find me or kill me anyway, I’m one of the youngest children and I’m also a girl, they won’t want me.”

“I can’t even chance it. You know your father would go mad as well? I can’t allow that, I’m sorry, darling.” And that was the end of that.

~

Despite what mother said in the morning, you are currently getting dressed in the best outfit you can find. Ripped faux leather pants that stick to you like glue and perfectly rounded your ass and a lace bralette that cupped your tits stunningly. You admire yourself in the mirror before being taken over by an image of Daemon, coming in behind you and taking your tits into his hands. You lean against him as he reaches underneath your bra, toying with your nipples as you moan out. You know this is just a daydream, as you’re the one toying with yourself and your hand reaching down to your clit, working yourself to satisfaction as you imagine Daemon playing with you, whispering you disgustingly beautiful words as you work against his palm. You wish you could see his face, how wet you were for him. God. How he would manhandle you.

The only light that filled the dark streets was the moonlight as you flit towards the dark alleyway where the band is playing. You could hear the beat of the bass, how it was shaking the ground and your body ignited with excitement. Breaking the rules has to be completed once in a while and you absolutely love the feeling of disobeying. Whilst waiting in the line behind a group of young girls, you are tapped on the shoulder by a masked man. Instantly, you gasp as the large hand grabs you.

“Excuse me!” You hiss, shaking off his grasp. But he quickly returns.

“You shouldn’t be here.” You notice the raspy sound of Daemon, you instantly turn around and suddenly face to face with him, a mask covering most of his features but you know just by his voice and the way his eyes slightly crease that it is the man you gave a blowjob to.

“Fuck off, Daemon.” You whisper, pushing his shoulders but he doesn’t move.

“You’re coming with me.” He grabs your elbow and basically drags you out of the queue, people start staring at you and some are even laughing, your face heats with humiliation.

“People are staring at me.” You hiss as he drags you up the cobbled street, out of the alleyway.

“I don’t care. You shouldn’t even be here.” He spits as he basically throws you down another dark, desolate alleyway. You stop and come face to face with him, your body suddenly heating up as his strong hand removes the mask from his face. He looks even handsomer under the moonlight, his jaw hard and his eyes piercing as he slowly looks up and down your elegant body.

“Why are you really here, Daemon?” You cross your arms, to seduce. Slowly, his fingers trace your arm, his fingers finding the crux of your elbow and pulling it away harshly.

“Why are you dressed like a whore? Like a common street slut.” He smirks to himself. Your body ignites as he slowly pulls your bra down, collecting at your stomach and the night air instantly pinches at your nipples like they’re ready for Daemon. You are ready your Daemon. Your pants grow wet as you watch the tip of his tongue travel across his top lip, harshly he slaps them before pulling you into his body. You press yourself against his hard chest, even harder than you could imagine, your arms are trapped but you don’t care because his lips smash against yours. The kiss is hard, passionate and almost hateful and his body holds you tightly as he moves you towards the cold stone wall behind you, his hands wrapped around your hair and his other hand finding the source of your heartbeat. His fingers are cold, ice cold, as he circles your bud, it aches against him, pulsing and shaking as you moan into his mouth. It’s so dirty to be like this just yards away from a crowd. You love it, you love the way he bites down on your neck as three fingers squeeze themselves inside of you. He pumps hard, massaging against your g spot as your legs tremble against his icy fingers.

“Moan louder for me. Let them hear why i dragged you away.” You do as he says, his voice laced with venom as you throw the crown of your head against the stone wall, moaning higher towards the Gods. His fingers play you like a violin, your sounds beautiful in the night air and you relish in that aching feeling you’ve known for too long. You worry that after this you have to have him in your bed every night.

“Daemon.” You moan, having to take a breath before speaking.

“Hmm?” He hums low against your ear, his fingers reaching a high you’ve never experienced before, his nose against your jawline.

“What is it?” He whispers, his thumb now tagging against your clit, you whimper as he speeds his tempo.

“Fuck me.” You whisper, not being able to talk normally. He chuckles darkly against your neck as his hand suddenly removes itself from inside of you. You ache for the warmth again. He leans back, tugging down your trousers, getting on his knees.

“What are you doing?” You look at him in bewilderment, but he simply smiles at you like butter wouldn’t melt. He responds by burying his face between your legs, his tongue lapping up your folds, you reach for his hair, holding it tightly as you moan, moaning for him and for his God given tongue. His mouth works at an incoherent speed, you become a mess of nerves as your legs shake, squeezing his head between your thighs as he works you like an instrument.

“Turn around.” He wipes his mouth, grabbing your shoulder and shoving you towards the cold, cold stone that makes your toes curl. He bucks your hips towards him, your breasts flat against the wall as reaches down and inserts two fingers inside of you, making you whine like a cat, he preps himself behind you. Gently almost a complete contrast to the way he was gripping onto your hair, his fingers so gentle on your hip bone as he inserted himself. It is a tighter fit than you expected, his cock slowly travelled through you to the spot that no one has ever reached before, your back arches as your gspot tingles under his tip as it grazes and softly prods at it.

“Just relax for me.” He whispers as he begins to thrust deeply into you, making you whine, trying to find something to hold onto but there’s nothing on the wall that will keep you up. His hands roam your body, delicately like you’re a work of art as he speeds himself up at a magical speed that only wizards can achieve. He pulls in and out harshly, letting the cold air squeeze into you as he snaps his hips back to your gspot, a delicious feeling that has your knees knocking together. Your cheek is pressed against the wall, hard and your head keeps knocking forward every time he buries himself deep inside you, he holds himself there for a moment, swirling his hips so your gspot gets all the pleasure for this moment. You begin to heat up, hotter than you’ve ever felt before and certainly hotter than the cold air that surrounded you as he sped up, his hips snapping into you ass and your legs begin to tremble. A feeling you haven’t felt by another man’s touch for a long, long time. He holds you in place, not letting you move as he aids you to ride out the hard orgasm, you whine and shriek into the night air, blood rushing to your head as you let loose all over him and your inner thighs. He grunts behind you, fucking you harder as he begins to sloppily paint your walls. Leaving you both breathless as he slowly retreats him the heat of your body, he gives you ass one last slap.

“That’ll teach you to never disobey.” He chuckles darkly, landing a kiss on your shoulder blade.

“Quite the contrary, I want to disobey if this is the punishment I get.”

[raenegade-accio]

Beware the following mindless deranged rambling that randomly hit me at 3am, but I can't be the only one who felt this way when playing for the first time...

Not having Officer Singer conspiring with Rookwood was a big fat missed opportunity

And whether it was intentional or not, it was all perfectly laid out for a plot like this since the start!

From her first theatrically heroic appearance in Hogsmeade:

As a Magical Law Enforcement Officer, I assume Singer is equipped with the basic knowledge of evacuation procedures e.g. steeling all persons away from the ongoing threat and ensuring they exit the area safely.

But what did she do instead?

Luring the massive troll into rampaging further into Hogsmeade, leaving a pair of 15-year-olds completely out in the open, vulnerable to new imminent dangers. And sure enough, as soon as MC and Natty/Sebastian were alone, another troll bursted in, mere seconds after Singer left the scene.

What's not to say she was only there to clear of any potential civilian witnesses, using the first troll to scare them away under the guise of doing her job, while the second troll quickly comes crashing in, with MC being served up in a silver platter.

Later we saw Singer comes running back and is understandably surprised to see MC unscathed. We get this strange piece of dialogue:

She didn't bother assessing, or at least securing the crime scene when it's literally the first step to ensure an initial investigation can later be conducted properly. Instead she does the complete opposite by having someone else to practically wipe it clean of anything worth further investigating; there definitely would’ve been debris or bits of damaged armour with lingering traces of dark magic, now all gone. Then she just vanished, leaving a couple of teenagers alone in an deserted area, again.

Later we meet Rookwood for the first time.

From here we learned that Rookwood watched the whole incident unfold, implying he planned to abduct MC at the first chance he got, one which Officer Singer very conveniently provided. The only thing stopping him was seeing the new kid had absolutely Thanos-ed a troll using an unfamiliar form of magic.

And he wasn't exactly discreet either. Rookwood, an infamous criminal gang leaders was allowed to so nonchalantly wander around Hogsmeade in the broad daylight and it was clear he could to barge into public establishments whenever he wanted while openly threatening a pair of minors. A Dark Wizard who was now actively stalking a literal child got to walk away scot-free. Pretty lenient...

At this point it wouldn't be too outrageous to say Singer is systematically participating in organised wizarding crime. Here's an interesting piece of dialogue from Rookwood:

"Favours." now we have proof that Rookwood somewhat has a little power in the Ministry. There could've been a transactional relationship between Rookwood and Singer too.

British policing wasn't exactly well liked; venal and corrupt as it was, elite officers colluding with criminals weren't new.

Assuming it applied to the Wizarding World too.

At the era HL takes place (the 1800s), bribery and cover-ups were daily occurrences, which could garner favours that often came from the very criminals from whom corrupt officers have collected in exchange for "turning a blind eye".

This one's a bit of a stretch to be honest, but it may have explained how Rookwood evidently was able to be as active as he was for "months." And it certainly would make more sense in how Singer maintained keep her position a lawwoman that's reputable and admired by the locals as long as she did despite her blatant inactions, considering the possibilities he helped pulled some strings.

It'd be too easy to claim Officer Singer was never fired simply by theorising the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were as unfit, unintelligent and incapable as the forces from the Victorian Metropolitan Police.

But it's later found out the locals felt very differently:

People trusted her, relied on her. They felt safe whenever she's near and all have nothing but praises for her.

Imagine the potential - the level of public outrage and betrayal - among the common folk, that the person who was supposed to defend them has been aiding the Ashwinders extorting, threatening and bullying them this whole time, possibly allowing said group access to all the needed private information to terrorise them even further (e.g. their names, private residences, workplaces and occupations, and all that of their loved ones, too)

This can easily be backed up by Natty’s questline: A Basis for Blackmail

We meet a few of the victims - targeted by Theophilus Harlow, another notorious Ashwinder leader and Rookwood’s right hand man - most notably Mr Isko Rabe and his wife.

Harlow knew their names, where Mrs Rabe worked (Gringotts), what she and her husband do for a living (bank security and curse breaker) and where they lived (to plant the threatening note and destroy their garden). Both careers are as high profile as they are dangerous, so it’s not surprising Mrs Rabe was approached about extorting the bank itself. What is disquieting was that their private homes were infiltrated a little too easily, especially concerning her husband is a talented curse-breaker.

Interestingly, Mrs Rabe and officer Singer were likely colleagues (as per the cutscene of the first Hogsmeade troll attack, you can see Mrs Rabe following closely behind Singer). Someone with Singer’s position would have all the necessary connections and know-how to learn all she needs to someone of lower rank, especially when divulging them to a powerful gang leader she may had been conspiring with…

—

I got so excited because I was convinced there would be a twist of some sort, where we may get to pull a Houdini or a Scooby-Doo then unmask Singer as another sleazy dark witch that's been undercover and lying to the locals for years, secretly exploiting with Rookwood and manipulating the same people she's meant to protect.

I was so mentally prepared for the scandal, already so gleefully imagining the reactions of the villagers, the teachers or students from the sheer betrayal after speaking so highly of her and putting so much trust in that woman.

Imagine my disappointment when I find that she really was just hilariously incompetent 😂

Shit, even MC themselves pointed this out ( after local businesses were being extorted and a student was just kidnapped by a group of adults:

I can always incorporate this post in the fic, that'd be fun.

[somewhereincairparavel]

lmao I just finished defending an artist who got dragged into negativity unnecessarily simply because he drew Jason as a volleyball captain instead of Percy in an AU.

The comment was basically whining that Jason shouldn't have been better at volleyball than Percy, and that Percy should've been drawn as captain. Can y'all obsessive Percy fans/Jason antis stop pushing your opinion onto other people for once and make them uncomfortable? Like womp womp, Jason can be better at stuff than Percy, stop projecting your hatred onto him, Percy doesn't need to be good at everything, well, Unless you want him to be an invincible, one dimensional, all mighty Gary Stu who is the only one who can shine. It's giving a cartoon hero with all the plot armour and powers. Y'all r ruining canon Percy's depth with this aswell by giving him no minor flaw. But That's on you.

They're fictional characters for fucks sake, leave artists alone, stop coming into their page and tell them what to do or how to imagine a character. That's like going into someone's house and telling them to change the interiors. Get a life.

The percy obsession coming at the expense of disrespecting others, artists, specifically for having contrary opinions is seriously going to be the downfall of this fandom, y'all are going to drive ppl away with this bashing, and it better fucking stop.

Either appreciate their art, which they spent hours for, or go cry elsewhere, stop killing their mood and vibe with baseless opposing opinions when all they want to do is share their work and headcanons. It doesn't contribute a thing.

[achilles-rage]

achilles-rage’s twelve days of christmas

day ten: sleigh ride (ft. donovan rocker)

summary: 20 squad and 50 squad compete to see who can decorate the best armoured vehicle, which proves difficult for you; torn between your team, and your boyfriend.

word count: 1.9k

series masterlist

a/n: i’m like 99% sure that they only have one armoured vehicle instead of two, but simply ignore that for plot purposes<3 i’m so sad this series is almost over it’s been so fun, and also christmas is almost here?? i still need to go shopping for gifts (oops lol). anyway, enjoy<3

warnings: allusions to smut but nothing insane, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

You love being on 20 squad. Hondo is a great team leader, and you love all your teammates dearly; you never have to wonder if they’ll have your back, they always do. It’s like a family; one that you’re extremely grateful to be part of.

The only downside about it, though, is the stupid rivalry your team has with 50 squad; your boyfriend’s team.

You know they don’t really hate each other, that it’s more of a healthy rivalry with no hard feelings between them. But, on occasions like this, it’s difficult to be in the middle of their silly competitions.

This year for the holidays, 20 squad and 50 squad have decided to have a competition on the best decorated armoured vehicle, and the winners will be decided by a local class coming for a field trip right before Christmas. This competition had been decided about a week prior to the date of their visit, and you haven’t heard of anything else since then.

At work, Hondo and Luca have been bouncing ideas off of you, and at home, Rocker has been trying to get you to spill some details about your team's plan. You usually love Christmas, but this competition is beginning to get on your last nerve.

Two nights before the class’s trip, you’re lying in bed with Rocker, both of you propped up on pillows as you read your book, and he continues to research Christmas decorations. You’ve tried to speak to him a few times, asking about his day, or telling him about various drama you heard about at work, but each time he had merely mumbled a quiet “mhm, wow.”

Finally, you huff and close your book, placing it on your bedside table before you get comfortable. You lay facing away from him and turn off your lamp, and when he continues to type away on his laptop, the noise and the light keeping you awake, you sit up quickly, eyes narrowed.

“Donovan.” you say sternly, shooting daggers into his back.

“What’s up, baby?” he murmurs sweetly, his eyes not daring to leave his laptop screen.

“Don’t you think you should get some sleep?” you ask, your voice coming out softer. He hums softly, waving his hand slightly as he mumbles that he just needs another minute. 

You huff, and continue to sit there, staring at his bare back for a minute or two. When you realize that he’s definitely not going to bed anytime soon, you figure that you’ll have to try something else to get his attention.

You move towards him, now sitting beside him, and just slightly behind him, leaning your chest against his arm as one of your hands runs down his chest.

“Maybe you should take a break, my love.” you purr, your lips just inches from his ear.

This action seems to stop him, just for a moment, and he looks ahead of him as if contemplating your suggestion.

“In a bit.” he finally says, eyes dropping back down to the various pictures across his screen with lights, garland, and tinsel.

Did he seriously just turn you down, you think? You let out an exasperated sigh, then without another word, you take your hand off of him and move away.

He’ll have to pay attention to you after this, you think.

You stand up beside the bed and pull your oversized shirt over your head, letting it drop to the bed beside you, then round the front of the bed, standing right in front of him.

You slowly crawl onto the bed and up towards him, a devilish look on your face as your tits sway with each movement. You move right up to his screen, your tits almost brushing against the top of it.

“You don’t think you need just a little break?” you ask suggestively, keeping your eyes on him as a smirk grows on your face. When he doesn’t flinch, you sit back on your knees, grabbing your tits and massaging them with your hands gently. “Something to take your mind off things?”

Your eyes narrow when Rocker’s eyes still don’t move up to you, like he’s in a trance, and you laugh in disbelief when you realize that not even this will get his attention. He has got to get his priorities straight.

Finally, you take the laptop from him and close it, quickly throwing it out of his reach before he can react. 

He finally looks up at you, eyes darting between your eyes and your tits, and the protest dies in his throat before it can make it up to his lips. He swallows, a small smirk forming on his face as he watches you continue to crawl up to him until you’re straddling his lap. His eyes are glued to your soft belly and your chest as they move with each movement, and suddenly, he’s laser focused on you.

“Okay, you’re turning me down now. This has officially gotten out of hand.” you say, keeping a teasing edge in your voice despite your growing frustration. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s just- I really wanna win this thing. You guys win everything.” he tells you, a hint of insecurity laced in his voice as he massages your thick thighs. 

Your eyes soften at his words, and you sigh as you raise your hands up to cup his face. You run your thumbs along his skin, feeling the soft tickle of his stubble against your fingers, and you smile softly when you see him melt into your touch.

“This is really important to you, isn’t it?” you ask in a quiet voice. 

He nods quickly, the side of his lip quirking up in a slight smile.

“It is, I don’t know why. It’s not just winning, either. I wanna give the kids an awesome experience, I know the area the school is in, and I know a lot of those kid’s families don’t have the means to create a special holiday.” Your heart breaks at his words, and you can’t resist the urge to lean down and kiss him gently. 

Rocker tries to keep up a certain image at work, but you know that this is how he really is most of the time. At work, it’s all about beating 20 squad, but here, with you, it’s not really about that. Not completely, at least.

He meets your lips eagerly, one hand coming up to rest on the side of your neck as he guides you into the kiss, and the other gripping your thigh firmly. 

You finally break the kiss after a moment, eyes taking in his features as you think for a second. Then, you let out a heavy sigh. Your team would probably kill you if they heard what you’re about to tell Rocker; Luca most definitely would.

“Okay, fine. 20 squad’s plan is only focused on the outside of the truck. What if you decorated the inside of it, too? Blankets, lights, maybe some cookies or hot chocolate. Maybe Hicks would let you take them around the block in it, or something. But either way, they’d be able to get into the truck and be part of the magic.” you tell him, feeling increasingly guilty.

Your guilt disappears quickly when you see the grin erupt on Rocker’s face, however. He pulls you against him, hugging you tightly against his chest and definitely not focusing on your bare tits pressed against his chest as he kisses the top of your head.

“You’re a goddamn genius.” he mumbles against your skin, rocking you both back and forth as he hugs you. You giggle softly, rolling your eyes. 

You can’t believe you just guaranteed your own team’s loss just so you could see your boyfriend smile.

“And you can thank me by taking a little break, maybe do something to get your mind off things.” you repeat your words from earlier, raising a brow as you lean back and smirk down at him. 

He smirks as well, eyes roaming your bare skin, and letting a low groan escape his throat.

“Yes, ma’am.” he murmurs before crashing his lips to yours, then flipping you over on the bed and crawling on top of you eagerly.

The day of the class’s trip has finally come, and you and Rocker’s teams are placing final touches on your armoured vehicles before the students arrive. Chris and Street are fixing the wreath on the front of the truck, although from where you’re standing, it looks like Chris is fixing and Street is just standing there. Deacon, Tan, and Hondo are standing in front of Luca, rolling their eyes and laughing as he gives them last minute things to fix.

Finally, the kids arrive, and once they’ve had a tour of the inside of headquarters, you each take your turn showing them the vehicles. Your team goes first, Hondo taking the lead and showing them the lights and sirens, and how Luca had somehow found a guy to make the Christmas lights flicker in time with the police lights.

The kids love it, and you can’t help but smile as you watch their big smiles and wide eyes as they take in all the lights on the truck. All of them want a turn hitting the button for the lights and siren, and Hondo lets them, lining them up so they can all get a chance in the front seat.

Then, it’s 50 squad’s turn, and you watch with a warm smile as Rocker shows them around the truck almost the exact same as Hondo. 

He finally opens the back of the truck, revealing blankets, lights, and garland covering the entire back seat.

“And now, for a special treat, we all get to go in and go for a drive around the block!” he tells them with a smile, his eyes darting to you and giving you a quick wink. 

Your smile widens, and you’re glad that Hicks actually allowed Rocker to do this with the kids. It sort of makes you think about having your own children with Rocker someday, but you push the thought to the side, more focused on the care Rocker is putting into making a group of random children’s Christmases a little bit better.

“How did we not think of that!” Luca says with a huff, throwing his arms up in the air as you all stand in a group and watch the kids laugh and jump up and down excitedly. 

“I guess we’ll know for next time.” Street mumbles with a roll of his eyes, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed.

You don’t say anything. You try to keep a straight face as Rocker holds the door open as the kids all climb in. Right before he closes the door, he turns to look at you again with an appreciative smile and mouths “i love you,” which doesn’t go unnoticed by Hondo and Deacon.

“What? Come on, you gave him that idea?” Hondo says, nudging your arm. The grin finally makes its way onto your face, and you shrug, trying desperately to stop the smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you reply with a slight shake of your head, and your teammates all groan. You even see Street making a fake throwing up sound.

“Oh, shut up. It was to help the kids.” you say, and they all groan again, rolling their eyes at your lovesick expression.

“More like one kid.” Luca mutters as he glares at Rocker, and you laugh, turning back and watching the armoured vehicle driving out of the parking lot as the lights and siren come to life.

notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

click here for my masterlist!

click here to be added to my taglist!

click here to read my request rules!

taglist: @officiallyalbino @wanniiieeee @dreams-encapsulated-in-glamour @buckandeddiesverison @catkight @tatyhend @emilysuperswag @kulteule @korosevren @nyx3028 @sporadicmakerwerewolf @sherlocksbaby2323 @essienoe @p14th0mps0n @celestixldarling @brooke0297 @zelfanswhenshecan @avengersgirllorianna @bingbongsupremacy @nishinoyahhh @alyssanicole01 @outof-spite @supernatural-bangtanboys @x0xchristine @pear-1206 @swanshells @tpwkstiles @lulubelle14 @cannibalhellhound @odetolocksmiths @rafecameronsloverrrrr @charlie-winchester94 @hollandxxmix @evysian @starbyun92939798 @maxinish @uhmidkmuch @theking-mustdie @daeswash @911varietyposts @superlock-in-the-tardis @lilsquatch7898 @hufflepuff-spidey @starboygf @wnbweasley @damndirtylitch @eva-tts5 @alexxavicry @sammiejane22 @boybandbaby (if you interacted with my taglist post and are not on this list, make sure your blog is visible in searches or i can’t tag you!)

[tiredsurvivoronmain]

Wesker ensuring Chris survives in RE1

It's interesting that Wesker goes out of his way to save and protect Chris when he made it clear that his team was now expendable. (gonna ignore the plot/plot armour and all that here for a sec)

Waiting a second or two and Chris would have been out of the picture, one less member to worry about. He could have also fired and missed to pretend he was making an attempt to save Chris.

Then there's the gun left in the main hall (which was Jill's). Why would Wesker just leave it there and not take it with him? Surely it would have been smarter to take it with him and leave Chris defenceless and vulnerable. He must have known Chris could comeback to look for them (if he hadn't been killed by a zombie). Chris somehow lost his samurai edge as he was running to the mansion, Wesker would have noticed. When he takes Jill captive he left the gun for Chris to find and use.

Leaving notes, items and ammo for Chris outside safe rooms/areas as Chris progresses to help him survive would mean he may have known his whereabouts constantly or left them there on the off chance Chris would pass through the area. One thing in particular is something that has ?? me for a while; if Wesker was trying to be discrete/laying low and avoid his betrayal being known, why even let Chris know it was him helping? Could he have somehow pretended it was Jill leaving the items and make it seem she was okay? "Look for a way out." + "Make sure you can get away." why even write that? He didn't have show concern/pretend to care to keep up appearances, yet he seemed to want Chris to survive or escape instead of simply letting Chris die to a zombie or by Wesker himself killing him. And going out of his way to fix doors for him? That's just encouraging Chris to continue his investigations and survive.

Then the scene with Enrico. It only occurred to me much later that Wesker had actually saved Chris from being shot. Wesker had an opportunity to take them both out, or wait for Enrico shoot Chris and then take care of Enrico himself. It wouldn't have been hard for him to kill them both then and there.

Why go through all the trouble of keeping Chris alive long enough for him to find out the truth? Why want Chris in particular to survive long enough to see the Tyrant and his true motives? Ultimately I believe Wesker had faith in Chris to survive up until the lab moment, I don't think he saw Chris as expendable like the majority of his team and team bravo. If he was he would have made more of an effort to get him killed and wouldn't have helped/saved him. It was important for Chris to see Wesker's true colours. We don't really have much to go on in regards to what their relationship was like before the mansion incident, only by what the novels say and bits and pieces. One thing for sure is that Chris befriended Wesker and they were casual enough with each other for Chris to disregard Wesker's title as captain and calling him by his last name instead of 'captain' or even 'sir'.

Random thing I noticed but liked; in the opening cutscene there's a shot of Wesker aiming his gun to the right then it switched to Chris just after who's aiming his gun to the left, like they're aiming at each other.

[ivoryghostyy]

「 image, not mine. sourced from pinterest. 」

「 note: previously known as "love bite" and this is the actual revamp of the oneshot. "destined pair" feels too different from the original, so here's something closer. have fun. ^^ 」

「 tw: possessive, mentions of blood, non-consensual biting, non-consensual drinking of blood, slightly suggestive?, implications of stalking, violence — read with caution, i guess. 」

a dark chuckle reverberates through the winding hallways, filling you with a sinking sense of dread.

"come now, you can't hide from me. while i do enjoy this little game of chase, i'm beginning to lose my patience."

you do your best to calm the erratic pace of your heart, but the pressure is getting to you. you're bleeding out, for god's sake. for all you knew, you wouldn't make it out of this alive.

'how comforting,' you thought, as you basked in your own bitter notions. your mind blanks, however, when you finally notice the footsteps resounding nearby.

they're quiet—you barely heard them—but they're close.

dangerously close.

your first mistake was exposing yourself so soon. it was meant to be a quick mission: locate the target and take him down. but he had noticed you too early—almost instantly, as if he knew the whole time.

that should have been enough of a reason for you to back out, as even the slightest risk could lead to your death. you're dealing with vampires, after all.

yet, absurdly, you continued on.

why? somehow, you didn't know either. 'could be the alcohol. or perhaps, there was something bigger at play here. regardless, you kept your pace, staying at a distance and waiting for an opportunity to strike.

which, to be honest, took a lot longer than you expected. if only you could simply kill the witnesses, too.

he was a social butterfly, easily getting along with every person he conversed with. but then again, why wouldn't he? he manages a large organization, after all. with a handsome grin, he knocked everyone's guards down, leaving them completely vulnerable to his charms.

he's beautiful, you'll give him that.

after a while, he excuses himself, and you tail after him. as an experienced hunter, you've learned to mask your presence; to hide within the shadows cast beneath the soft moonlight.

it was going smoothly.

until it wasn't.

he stopped, turning his head to meet your alarmed gaze. it was brief, but it was enough for you to know: he knew you were there.

ruh-roh raggy.

you knew that playing ignorant wouldn't work on him. you've read his files—despite them highly lacking in details. he does a good job of keeping his information confidential—it's practically part of his job to find out if someone's lying or not!

seduction? he may be hot, but really, all you want to do right now is go to sleep. you are not getting laid tonight. really?

'alright, plan C it is.'

you booked it.

cursing under your breath, you ignore the painful ache of your poor feet. you'll be fine, probably. this isn't your first rodeo. for the record, you've once managed to escape with a broken leg, a stab wound, and a splitting headache. this should be easy! don't be so complacent, dear. plot armour can only do so much.

his looming figure casts a shadow over your guarded frame.

"there you are."

you're stuck. trapped between two unwavering arms as he grinned cheekily at you. his eyes are dilated, and he looks almost.. intoxicated.

"i warned you, didn't i? you can't hide from me, fawn."

fawn.

what a stupid nickname. you sneer.

"i'm impressed, really. not many can land a hit on me."

he refers to the healing cut on his chest, the wound beginning to weave itself back together.

righr now, you couldn't do much. with a bleeding gash running from along your hips, you're basically screwed. your hand clutches the wound, blood trickling through your palm as you struggle to apply enough force to your trembling hand.

god, you feel so weak. his eyes pull you into a trance-like state, and you're barely able to hold yourself together. he leans down with an angelic curl to his lips, reaching up to stroke your cheek.

"how cute. 'still resisting, dear? my, you're quite stubborn."

you grumble under your breath. unfortunately for you, he hears it. glowing optics bore right into you, and for a moment, you thought he'd kill you right then and there.

to your surprise, however, he simply chuckles. you release a breath of relief, shivering from the hot puff of air that brushes your neck.

then you wheeze; a pained gasp fumbling out of your lips as he slams you against the wall. a rough hand curls around your throat, sharp nails poking your skin—that should be enough of a warning to keep you still.

"now," your eyes trail to the side as you shift;

but he moves in, lips only an inch away from yours.

"ah-ah, what are you looking at, fawn? i don't want your attention straying. your gaze is meant only for me."

"shut up, you i-insufferable-" you cough, lightly gasping when the grip on your throat tightens.

"-oversized mosquito!"

…

goddamn it-

"pfft-"

his eyes crinkle as he laughs, and you're completely stunned; mesmerized by how genuine he sounds. seriously, has this guy considered making asmr videos?

"oversized mosquito? is that supposed to be an insult?"

his grip loosens for a moment, but he regains his composure before you can make a move. fuck vampires and their inhuman speed.

"i quite like you. you've always been an entertaining little fawn." he pauses, a thoughtful look crossing his handsome features before he smirks. "i've decided, i'll be keeping you." it shouldn't be a problem. you've always been his.

he smiles, but his eyes are dimly lit, glinting ominously.

"what!? no-" he interrupts you, a sharpened nail digging into the skin of your neck, drawing a few drops of blood.

"i don't think you heard me. see,"

he guides you impossibly closer. his lips now only mere centimetres away from yours. his thumb trails along your jaw as the other wanders up the skin of your thigh, landing on the small of your back. his touch leaves a trail of heat, a shiver crawling up your spine.

"i wasn't asking, fawn."

and in the next moment, you're pinned against the wall. he leans his weight against you, pulling your hands behind your back. his fangs graze your neck, and you can feel your heart beating frantically.

"i'll have you, even if i have to break you in the process."

the dread settles in, and for the first time in years, you're filled with pure, unadulterated fear.

"shh, don't worry, dear. the pain is only for a moment."

you're scared. he's going to bite you. he's going to bite you. as a last-ditch attempt, you move to stun him.

"stay still."

he's quicker.

fangs sink into your skin, and you whimper at the pain. the feeling of your blood being drained, of the unbearable sting of his fangs in your neck, you almost cry from the agonizing discomfort.

but this isn't what you fear the most. no, this doesn't even come close. you're not scared of pain; half your life was spent with pain playing the role of a clingy lover.

what you fear.. is what comes next.

pleasure.

you can't succumb to it. you can't! you can still take him down with what little strength you have left. you need to resist-

his fanks sink deeper, lulling the ache away and replacing it with a heated embrace. your tense muscles relax, and you stifle a guttural moan at the growing heat in your abdomen.

your instincts fight against the sedative effects, still trying to pull you out from drowning in pleasure.

wake up, goddamn it! he'll kill you!

breathing heavily, you once again struggle against his hold, forcing yourself to shove him off.

his jaw clenches, and you flinch. his hand pulls you closer, pressing against your stomach, causing a wave of heat to course through your trembling frame.

you feel so sensitive; almost like you're drunk on aphrodisiac.

as all fight leaves you, an open moan flittering through your lips. your eyebrows furrow. you don't feel the need to resist anymore.

why would you? you're safe with him. he is all you need.

your limbs grow heavy. why're you so tired? you groan, leaning your head back as he moves away. your wobbly legs can barely hold you up, so he takes the liberty of pulling you into his arms.

he grins in content, licking off the stray blood on your neck. you shiver, clutching the fabric of his clothes. 'you're so adorable. all vulnerable and dazed in his hold,' he muses to himself. you're disoriented, unable to think clearly as you nuzzle into his chest.

"look at you, darling. safe and warm, right here with me."

he'll make sure to take care of you. he's not just watching from afar anymore; now, you're finally in his arms.

'finally, mine.'

[evanhereonearth]

Banal Nadas

I wrote this literally years ago, but it actually became canon, so beware spoilers for Veilguard. (I feel powerful, lmao.)

Ilaana Lavellan meets a spirit in the Fade in a moment of anguish--a spirit with a lesson to help her save her beloved.

***

“It was not supposed to happen this way,” the spirit breathes, and it sounds so like him that I am rooted to this patch of the Fade.

“His words,” I say softly, looking around as if I will see his eyes upon me, as I so often have.

“Yes,” the spirit says. “You are here now, and it has happened this way.”

“This is also correct.”

I am in a vast forest, the Brecilian Forest, I think, though I have never seen it in life.

“To find interesting parts of the Fade, one must be interesting.”

“Also his words.” I look at the spirit curiously. It hovers between two enormous ironbarks, titans in their presence, the two trees so close they should never have grown to such size.

The metaphor sinks in a moment too late. I wince.

“Ar lath, ma vhenan.”

Curiosity will quickly become annoyance. I move onward, trying to hold tight to my purpose tonight. I’m running out of time. I’m running out of time.

“Var lath vir suledin!” The spirit is anguished, as I was anguished when I said the words.

I stop. “My words. Why?”

“In another world.” Something of this spirit clearly relates to me and Solas so strongly it seems to want to regurgitate much of our most painful conversations.

“I’ll bite,” I tell it. “Why not this one?”

“You are asking better questions,” the spirit says.

It turns away, in a different direction than I planned to go, but I have made friends with Acceptance, Compassion, Wisdom, Hope. I have even soothed Despair into Resolve. Apathy into Purpose. I am a Dreamer, now, in full. If I am not so skilled as Solas, well. Empires and nations rose and fell while he learnt what I have tried to cobble together in a handful of years with a ticking clock ready to explode the world. Demons come to me to find themselves. Sometimes they try to kill me. Usually I reach for them, and they change. Sometimes they change me, bit by bit.

If this spirit wants me to follow, I will follow.

It moves down a path between trees, and it gains form as I watch, but it holds nothing for long. It looks like him for a moment, then it looks like me. I see him as I saw him in Redcliffe, in Haven, in the ruins, over the broken fragments of his orb. I see myself with my vallaslin, without it. I see myself and Cullen, eyes full of love, under an arch at Halamshiral with Mother Giselle there to marry us. I am wearing a white dress, such a human dress, such a human thing, but with my long-gone vallaslin clear on my face. I am dressed as a sentinel, a Sha-Brytol, a Keeper, a scout. I am resplendent in robes of gold and silver, my hair sparkling with diamonds like stars. He stands proud, Fen’Harel, a rebel god who loves me. My freckles are gone. My freckles are darker, my skin tanned and weathered by the sun. Scars cut through my face. I am missing part of an ear. Solas is scarred with red lyrium that clouds his eyes.

I want to ask, but not yet.

Instead, I simply follow.

The trees give way to the Arbor Wilds, miles and miles away. I know this place. This is where I met Mythal.

“You should not have given your orb to Corypheus, Dread Wolf.”

The spirit looks like her for a moment, and then she is him, as I last saw him before the Qunari plot. He must have traveled by eluvian from Skyhold immediately after we vanquished Corypheus.

He is a broken man, for a moment. He still wears the jawbone I now carry around my neck.

“I wish it could, vhenan.”

This spirit seems to want to speak with our words, so I will let it. With a thought I am crosslegged in the grass, my fingers feeling the blades. They are so green here, as green as they are in life. The Black City is beyond, over the tree line, waiting.

“Tell me you don’t love me!”

“I cannot do that, vhenan.”

I thought I was somewhat prepared, armoured. But that—

Solas stands in front of me in Crestwood, his hands twitching between looking as though he wants to simultaneously crush me to him and fend me off. He is frightened, flighty, two things Solas seldom is.

The spirit reflects that moment, showing me again the precise moment my heart broke, when Solas decided to be Fen’Harel and not tell me himself.

“You do not have to destroy this world! I will prove it to you!”

My voice, thrown by the spirit, echoes through this bower.

“I will treasure the chance to be wrong once again,” it says sadly.

“Foolish wolf,” I mutter myself.

“There is a place where you can build, grow.”

I am growing weary of whatever games this spirit is playing. I relive these words in my mind every day, every grain of sand that ticks through the hourglass counting down to the moment I will have to face…I have no words for what Solas is to me. Some days I trace the lines of magic that remain in my severed arm, feeling out for the Anchor. Those days I hear him ask if it has changed me, my…spirit, as he hesitated to say with the sun setting behind me on my Skyhold balcony.

What if it did? What if the Anchor is the only reason I love him?

“You are you, old blood older than old. Like calls to like even without a cord to bind them.”

The spirit has resumed its state of formlessness, floated closer while I sat in my pool of constant grief.

“Very well,” I tell it. “Why have you brought me here?”

“Banal nadas,” it says, hovering directly in front of my face like a challenge. It is not Solas’s voice I hear, but mine, gentle. I have never said those words, not like that.

“Banal nadas!” The spirit bellows it at me with my own voice again.

My skin tingles like I am in the waking world in a place where the Veil is thin. I have never felt such a thing whilst walking the Fade, not as such.

“I want to help him,” I tell the spirit fiercely. “Our people have suffered enough.”

“Who are your people, Ilaana?”

“That is the question, is it not?” This time it is I who bring Solas’s words to life, another sentence from a Crestwood heartbreak under the watchful gaze of Ghilan’nain. My lips quirk with a cynical smile. “Solas is my people. Cullen is my people. Cassandra and Cole are my people. My friends on this side of the Veil are my people. You, as well. Dorian, my beloved friend. Varric. The Iron Bull. Sera and Vivienne and Thom. Krem and Maryden, Dalish and Grim. Svarah Sun-Hair and Skywatcher. They are my people, spirit. All of them. Abelas is my people. Mythal is my people. Clan Lavellan is my people. Briala. Charter. Samson. Leliana and Neria and Merrill and Hawke. Alistair is my people. The Wardens I exiled are my people. The templars I condemned are my people. Ser Barris. Belle. Gaspard. Mihris. That bloody piece of self-loathing nugshit Michel is my people. Felix and Alexius. Gatt and the Viddisala. Elera and Dagna and Valta and her titan friend. Rage and Despair and Pride and Wisdom and Acceptance and Justice and Vengeance. They are all my people. All.”

I am angry now, angry enough that I feel the energies blazing off me like a pyre. If Solas is walking the Fade just now, he will certainly see me, feel me. We never have had to try hard to find one another here, and I am screaming in an echoing hall loud enough to wake Elgar’nan himself. That stupid prideful Evanuris who likely started all of this, he is my people too, for all he’d scrape me off the bottom of his gilded fucking boot.

“Do you hear me? Do you hear me, Dread Wolf? Dirth ma, harellan, vhen’an’ara—ane emma!” I yell the words into the Arbor Wilds, at the Black City, at any spirit who will listen. “You are all my people, and I am trying to save your foolish, thoughtless chunks of Fade-stuff and meat from yourselves!”

The spirit in front of me looks suddenly pleased.

“An answer a long time in coming, Inquisitor,” the spirit says, almost preening.

“Who are you?” I ask it bluntly. “I am tired of trying to help those who are determined to cut off their own feet because they don’t like the shape of their toenails.”

“Vivid, as always.”

“I asked you a question.”

“You asked a good question. I brought you here to hear, to listen, to scream. Has it helped?”

“A bit,” I admit. I feel lighter. Apparently my quiet footsteps through the Fade were possible because I’ve been bottling up every part of me for so long.

“Good,” says the spirit. “You asked my name, and I will give it. But first, you need to understand the most important thing I have said to you.”

“Which is?”

“Banal nadas,” the spirit says again.

“That one isn’t leaving my memory any time soon,” I say. “Your name, if you please.”

“You carry a heavy weight, as you have for so long, Ilaana. Your name, Ilaana. In the place of sacrifice. How much have you sacrificed?”

“Enough,” I say. My arm twinges. That is the least of it. I am no less than I was for a foot or so of missing flesh. The words I said to Ameridan. It takes everything from you.

“You look ahead with purpose, and you look ahead with grief, because the weight pressing upon your shoulders does not let you breathe.” The spirit looks like me, now. My face, without my vallaslin, with my freckles, the new scar on my nose from some Qunari Sten or another. My dimple. “You cannot see a way out.”

We are back in the forest, a different forest, and the trees are oppressive. They crowd around us, leaning over my shoulder, draping their leaves over my neck. I can almost feel their breath.

“You are telling me everything I already know.”

“You may remember the words, but you need to know, truly know. Eolasas, da’len.”

It changes to Solas’s face in Redcliffe, his eyes pulsing with red lyrium. Its voice repeats his words.

“You would think that such understanding would prevent me from making such terrible mistakes. You would be wrong.”

Anger flares again. I am surprised that this place has not been swarmed with spirits. The trees could very well be rage demons, every one.

“I couldn’t stop him,” I tell the spirit, and with those words, my anger cracks in half. In its core is only sorrow. “He left. He left again. He left again, and he called me vhenan.”

“Yes,” the spirit says. “He has done these things. Over and over, he has done these things. He is as trapped as you are. But the trap is of your own making. Time is no flat circle, da’len. You are thinking in too few dimensions.”

I sit in silence for a time, feeling at the edges of my hurt. I long for Cole’s comforting presence. He is somewhere in the Fade. I suspect he is with Solas. He told me he had to go where he was most needed. Or perhaps Cole is simply with the other spirits, sharing himself with them, preparing them. Where he is most needed. That would be a very Cole thing to do.

Everything that has happened has happened. I could not stop it.

“Banal nadas,” the spirit says again, insistently. “You make a tragic mistake, Inquisitor. Ilaana, da’len, da’lath’in. You must listen. You must see. What are all of these voices, save one?”

The one the spirit is speaking of must be my own, yelling its words. The rest are—

“Memories,” I say flatly. “Reminders of my own failures. I should have told him in Crestwood that I knew—”

“He would have fled. Likely, anyway. Banal nadas,” the spirit says, this time almost as if a joke. “Your instinct held your tongue because you knew him to be afraid. You yourself were afraid, thought you could keep him near a while longer, that it would give you time you had no way of knowing was running out.”

“Yes,” I say. “And then he was gone.”

The weight of the jawbone against my chest is usually a comfort, even in the Fade. Not now, not really.

“What is a memory?” The spirit asks me this as if it is speaking to a very dense rock instead of a person.

“A fragment of perception rooted in a moment in time that has passed,” I say.

“Time that has—” the spirit leads.

“Passed.” I stop, looking at it. It looks like me again, hopeful. It looks like I looked when he asked me to dance at Halamshiral, that horrible night, that wonderful night, that night that gutted me from the inside and built me anew all at once.

The night I learned my lover's true names.

“Before the band stops playing, vhenan, dance with me.”

His hand outstretched to me, his smile full of love. Moments before, the easy pressure of his hand against my shoulder, a comfort, knowing I needed his touch more than anything else.

“The past,” I say slowly. “Banal nadas.”

“Yes,” the spirit says, and the trees pull back from their crowding, letting through a burst  of air, cool air, memory of a spring breeze. “You carry the weight of it, and you let it lead you, but you are letting it press you into the ground, da’len. You are like him. Like calls to like. His past weighs him as well, and it will crush you both, the past, if you let it.”

“You make it sound like…” I trail off.

I’m being obtuse, now. Of course I’m being obtuse.

It is easier to believe I cannot prevent whatever happens. It is easier believing, accepting, resigning myself to fatalism. Whatever will be will be. I remember what Acceptance said to me so long ago, that it could see many paths for itself without becoming any one of them. I have forgotten that wisdom. I have let myself become the one thing I cannot bear because some part of me thinks it is easier than believing I could build it better instead.

“I am frightened,” I say. “He said he walks the din’an shiral. He chose for me, and I am furious at him. He said he could not do this to me, but he will do it to himself. He says he will, and he condemns me to accept it. But what he accepts, I do not have to.”

“Yes, da’len, continue.”

“I am afraid.” Afraid does not even come close to what I feel. I am half a breath from shaking to pieces.

“I know, da’len.” The spirit looks like Keeper Deshanna now. It sits in front of me wearing June’s vallaslin.

“I have said I will save him, that I will prove to him, but I haven’t believed it. I haven’t been able to believe it.”

“Your love for him is so deep that it reached me in the farthest depths of the Fade,” the spirit says softly. “You are on the shore watching a hundred-foot wave threaten to crush you, and you believe if you run, if you fight, if you try and do something, it will wash you away no matter what. It is easier for you to believe that what is past will dictate what is future.”

“Yes,” I say. “You are correct.”

“But that is not how anything works, da’len. It may seem it sometimes, but do you know what it took for him to see you at all? How many ages he lay sleeping in sorrow, walking paths with friends but seeing nothing of himself wherever he looked?”

I shake my head.

The grove around us is quiet, peaceful now. It is the grove in the Dales, the one where we once moved together with our magic, our mana, our staves. It is the grove where he gave me his glyph-chilled water and I wiped a droplet of it away from my cheek and he told me that he had yet to see my indomitable focus dominated.

I wonder if it has been as fascinating as he expected, watching me crumble under our combined pasts.

“A thousand thousand variables, a weave of time and circumstance more delicate than the Veil itself,” the spirit says. “You are real, and it changes everything, but it can’t. Do you not hear the contradiction in his own words?”

“Yes,” I say.

“You are real, da’len. You are real, and you change everything.”

His words, and the spirit’s. They mould to something in me that I have not felt in months. I have felt this future bearing down on me like the wave in the spirit’s metaphor, ready to crush the life out of me, out of my people—our people—and the person I love enough to save. I have waited for him enough. Atisha, Ilaana.

I breathe slowly, my mind clearing. His words, to me. In hindsight they feel both inevitable and deeply cracked, waiting to be moved in another direction.

“Yes,” I say, this time because it is the only right word to say. “Thank you. Thank you, hahren.”

“Nuvu lasa su ma enaste, da’len.”

“Why have you done this for me?” I ask. It still has not told me its name.

“You are not the only one who loves him,” the spirit says simply. “I would not watch him suffer more. I would not watch the weight he carries grow. And he is not the only one who loves you, da’len. I would be remiss if I did not try.”

“You are saying—”

“I am saying banal nadas.”

Yes. Yes.

Banal nadas.

Nothing is inevitable.

“Thank you,” I say again. “Ma melava halani.”

“Sathem lasa halani,” the spirit says. “And now you must go. You have a great deal of work to do.”

“Wait,” I say as the spirit rises, once again formless, shifting every time I blink. “You promised me your name.”

I wait for a moment, wondering if it will be Hope. Faith. Even Love, something as simple as that.

The spirit looks like him once more, and it reaches out to touch my cheek the way he so often has. It tugs his favourite curl.

“Possibility,” the spirit says.

I wake.

***

Lavellan: Banal nadas. Ar lath, ma vhenan.

[my-pjo-stuff]

HIIIIIIIIII

Listen, I dunno if I've sent you one of these before, but I really love your PJO posts. I was wondering if you could make a detailed post saying exactly why you don't like Percy? No hate actually-I also don't like Percy's OPness at times. Jason should be able to wipe the floor with him, as well as Thalia.

And Luke? Well, Percy is NOT the best swordsman in 300 years after Luke. I'm pretty sure that Thalia would take that title. And Percy and Thalia definitely beat Luke because of their godly heritage.

Sooooooo, yeah. No problemo if you don't want to

Well it's less that I dislike Percy, I'm more disappointed with what he is and despise what the fandom makes him out to be. And as to Percy beating Luke simply due to his godly heritage- I'm just gonna mention here for a second that whenever we saw those two fight Percy either lost or it was a draw. He never outright won against Luke, and even when it was a draw Percy consistently either got sudden help from someone else and was fighting in conditions that favoured him a LOT. As for Thalia...eh, willing to give that one since we did see her win against Luke. Though it's still worth to mention that not only was Luke in a horrible and far worse mental and physical state than Thalia, but he also was most certainly not fighting with the same degree of killing intent as her. Either way, onto your ask now! To be quite honest I'm not too sure what you mean with "detailed", so imma just list off some of my reasons for not being Percy's biggest fan. 1. He's just a bland character. Genuinly compared to everyone else, Percy does not really have that much going on. His romance with Annabeth is, frankly said, cliche. They are the main boy and the main girl in a book series who end up falling in love with no major issues or drama along the way. Anytime some drama or threat for this relationship could come in (like Calypso for Percy) it gets written off almost immediately. We don't really get any deeper exploration of Percy's personality or struggles. PTSD, disorders or even conflicting feelings about the goods are barely (if ever) scratched. It is constantly said he dislikes the gods, yet he still does everything they want him to? Never truly questions their quests or anything? That just seems weird to me. 2. He pretends to have this super hard life when compared to everyone else, he's on game mode easy. The whole book (and fandom) constantly want to pretend like Percy is this super poor kid who had it super hard, yet when you look at his situation compared to everyone else it really wasn't???? Like don't get me wrong, this is not to say that Percy does not have a hard life. But I am going to say that for demigod standards Percy probably has some of the best lives people like him could get. Like what issues does Percy truly have? He was raised by a single Mom with a missing Dad- that's like a staple for demigods if we are all honest. Then he had to deal with an abusive prick for years, that's really bad ngl. But also it was solved the same book we even got to know him and Percy never seemed to have any issues after. He's forced to go on dangerous quest and be used as canon fodder by the gods- again, just another demigod staple. He even gets regular help from other gods and Chiron. And now compare that to everyone else? We've got people like Luke who had an insane Mom which basically saw him having to take care of himself for all his life even before he ended up living on the streets. Annabeth's Dad is neglectful and her stepmom emotionally abusive to some degree at least. Clarisse's GODLY parent is abusive! And she can't get rid of him! Meanwhile Percy has got a loving home he can always return to with a family that genuinely loves him. Especially after his Mom remarries and has his sister. So seeing him and everyone else constantly whine about how bad he has it just seems spoiled to me. 3. Percy is balls deep in plot armour aswell as not that impressive and no one wants to accept it. Here, I said it. Percy Jackson is not as strong as you all want to make him out to be and most of his "wins" were either just plot armour or the fans overhyping him.

Percy did not "defeat" Kronos. The entier "Defence" of Manhatten was a huge failure- remember how Kronos got up onto Olympus and destroyed it so much it needed Annabeth to rebuild it? That sure doesn't seem like CHB's goal of defending Olympus against the TA worked. Luke ended up offing himself and Kronos with him, not Percy. Percy would have been six feet under if Luke hadn't bricked himself and done the job for him. There's not a single book in the OG series that would have gone as it did if Percy hadn't gotten help from the gods. The only reason he managed to get out of the Underworld in TLT is 'cause Poseidon gave him those pearls. In SOM he needed Hermes giving him those gummies and the wind thermos. In TTC he had to let Artemis go fight Atlas for them. BotL literally had Hera guide his arrow to win the fight against Geyron. TLO didn't have a god help Percy but instead literally Luke killing the big bad for him. Also to return to TTC, and this is more a gripe with the fandom than anything, Percy didn't even hold the sky for that long as ppl want to make it out to be. He held it for what? Five minutes? Meanwhile we have Annabeth holding it for a day and Luke for even longer than that. Stop pretending Percy is somehow special or cool for something other people did much longer. Honestly I think those three points sum up why I generally am not a fan of Percy, that and ofc the fact that he openly supports the god which give me severe "Authoritarian Goverment who don't give two shits abt anyone but themselves with a huge propaganda mill to back them" vibes. Yikes.

[nahoney22]

By the Willow

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼　 ҉ ✼

❀ Secret Princess Series

❀ Tech X Female Princess

❀ word count: 7.5k

♔ Plot: When you meet a stranger at your spot of respite, you didn’t anticipate the connection the two of you have and to discover what you have been missing all your life.

♔ Warnings: Princess female reader, safe for work, strangers to friends to lovers, isolated reader, reader hides her identity, first kiss, fluff, light angst, reader wears dresses, small argument between reader and Tech.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼　 ҉ ✼

Peace, calmness, and an escape from reality was just what you needed right now.

The breeze was soft against your skin, playing with your loose hair. Your fingers drifted through the tall grass, petals of wildflowers brushing against your dress as you walked, the meadow offering you a brief moment of respite. Because out here, you could just be yourself.

In the distance, the familiar weeping willow came into view and a small smile touched your lips. This was your sanctuary, a place you would run away to when times got too tough; even as a child.

Though now it seemed even more of a safe haven as you could shed the weight of responsibility of being a Princess, if only for a little while. With the shade beneath its light green leaves that offered both protection and solitude, the sound of the stream nearby always helps calm your mind. Even if there was nothing to calm.

You approach with a small spring in your step, clutching a book that you decided to bring along with you by your side. But as you brush the dropping branches and long slender sleeves to the side, your heart stops when you find someone already there. In your spot.

"Who are you?" The words slipped out sharper than you intended, a flicker of alarm creeping into your tone.

All your life, it had been one of constant vigilance—surrounded by guards, attendants, and protocols. Even in the moments when you’d insisted on doing something yourself, there was always someone hovering nearby. And beyond the palace walls, you’d been taught to be wary of strangers, told that your position made you a target.

Luckily, they hadn’t clicked onto how you leave the Palace without anyone noticing just yet. And you hadn’t had a problem either, until now.

Yet, as you watched the man before you, your panic began to fade. He didn’t exude danger. Well, not in the way you’d been warned about.

The man glanced up from his seated position, his fingers adjusting the yellow-tinted goggles perched on his nose. He lowered the datapad in his lap, his gaze sweeping over as if analysing you. "I’m just exercising my mind," he said, his voice simple, almost disinterested. "I didn’t realise this spot was spoken for."

His nonchalance catches you off guard a touch but then you realised—he didn’t even recognise you or know who you were. What you are. There were no stiff formalities that made you feel awkward, no over-exaggerated bows. He just... existed. And so did you.

This was perfect. Kind of.

"I usually sit there," you replied, gesturing to where he was after you snap out of thoughts.

Your eyes began taking in his unusual appearance. His armour was unlike anything you’d seen before, and his features, though sharp, were somehow soft in the dappled light filtering through the leaves. His skin was speckled with sunlight, his wide eyes focused yet distant, as though his mind was always working, always calculating.

"I wasn’t planning on staying long," he said, his tone still casual, "but I can leave if you prefer."

A smile tugged at your lips, maybe some quiet company wouldn’t be too bad. "Actually, it's a warm day... I think I'll just sit over here, in the shade." You gestured to the other side of the tree.

He gave no response, simply returning to whatever task he had been doing before you arrived.

You watch him a moment more before you move round the large tree, resting on the ground with your legs spread outwards and your back perched comfortably against the bark.

For a moment, you listened for any movement from the man, but he remained quiet, absorbed in his own thoughts. With a soft sigh, you opened your book, allowing yourself to be drawn into its pages.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼　 ҉ ✼

As the hours passed, the golden light of the afternoon began to soften, and you decided it was time to head back. Closing your book, you rose to your feet, brushing the stray bits of grass and dirt from your dress.

You paused before leaving, glancing over at the man who hadn’t moved from his spot. He was still focused on his datapad, absorbed in whatever consumed him. For a moment, you debated whether to say goodbye. It felt odd—after all, you were little more than strangers who had shared barely a few words.

But something in his presence made you hesitate. Just as you were about to slip away, he lifted his head, meeting your gaze with a subtle nod. "I will be here tomorrow, too," he said, his voice steady but casual, before returning to his work.

His words caught you off guard, but not unpleasantly. There was an ease to his statement that felt more like an invitation than an expectation. You hadn’t planned on returning to the willow so soon—it was a retreat you visited only occasionally, once in a while when things got too much. But now, the thought of returning tomorrow seemed appealing.

"I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then," you replied, a quiet smile pulling at your lips.

As you walked back through the meadow, a sense of unease crept in. It was dangerous, speaking so casually with a stranger, especially someone who didn’t know who you really were. But the more you thought about it, the more you realised that perhaps, like you, he was just looking for a place to escape.

True to his word, he was there the next day, in the same spot, just as you arrived. It was oddly comforting to see him again.

"Hello again," you said softly as you approached, your book from the day before tucked under your arm.

He looked up from his datapad, and this time, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face. It softened his otherwise serious demeanor. "I’m surprised you came."

Raising a brow, you took a small step closer, closer than you had been yesterday. "Why’s that?"

He paused, his expression thoughtful before he cleared his throat. "I didn’t expect you to, I suppose."

"Well, I see you're in my spot again," you teased lightly, the playful tone slipping easily into the air between you.

He responded with a deadpan expression. "I don’t believe this spot belongs to anyone, except perhaps the royalty who owns this land."

"And yet you’re trespassing," you countered with a grin.

"As are you," he said smoothly, his gaze steady on you. "It seems."

"Actually, this is my—" You cut yourself off abruptly, the words catching in your throat. You hadn’t meant to reveal your true identity, especially since he seemed blissfully unaware of it. The less he knew, the better.

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if sensing the sudden shift in your tone. "Continue," he said, his voice calm but edged with curiosity. He studied you, his gaze patient yet expectant.

You shifted on your feet, feeling the damp earth beneath your shoes. "I just... work at the palace," you said, trying to keep your voice casual. "I come here for a break sometimes."

He raised a brow, clearly not entirely convinced by your vague answer. "Are you allowed to do that?"

"Yep," you replied quickly, eager to change the subject. Without waiting for him to question you further, you gestured toward the space beside him. "May I sit?"

For a moment, he didn’t respond, simply watching you with that same unreadable expression. Then, with a slight nod, he shifted, making room for you under the tree.

As you settled beside him, the quiet between you felt oddly comfortable. But curiosity got the better of you. "So... what’s your name?" you asked, glancing at him.

He looked up from his datapad what appears to be glued to his hand, barely lifting his head. "Tech," he replied flatly, as if the answer was self-explanatory.

A small laugh escaped you, catching him off guard. "Tech? That’s your name?"

"Yes, that is correct," he said, not bothering to look up this time. "Why do you find that amusing?"

"I’ve just never heard a name like that before," you explained, smiling. "What’s the origin of it?"

He finally shifted his full attention to you, adjusting his goggles with one hand. "It’s not particularly unusual if you understand the context. I am a Clone, part of a genetically engineered unit created for the Republic.” He explains, knowledge rolling off his tongue.

“Each of us was given a designation based on our individual enhancements. Mine happens to be… technical aptitude. So to speak. Hence, Tech."

You blinked, trying to process the flood of information. "Wait—clone?"

"Yes," he said as if it was obvious. Surely you’ve heard of the Clone Wars?"

"I—" you started, but the words got tangled. "No, actually… I haven’t. I’m not sure I understand."

Tech paused, clearly surprised, though his expression remained neutral. "You haven’t heard of the Clone Wars? Or clones? That’s... highly unusual. We were a critical part of the galaxy’s military efforts for years. We were created on Kamino, a planet known for its advanced cloning technology. You must be familiar with Kamino at least."

"Kamino?" you repeated, frowning slightly. "No, that doesn’t sound familiar either." Slowly, you start to feel a creeping embarrassment as you suddenly feel stupid for not knowing something that clearly is a large part of the galaxy. Then again, you were taught about your own secluded planet only and its history. Not anywhere else.

Tech blinked behind his goggles, staring at you for a beat too long. "You’ve never heard of Kamino either?" His voice was tinged with disbelief, as though the concept was nearly impossible for him to fathom. He continued with a brief description with the importance of this ‘Kamino’ and if you didn’t feel stupid before, you did now.

Embarrassed, you shook your head. "No, I really haven’t heard of it."

"Interesting," he said, more to himself than to you. "You live in a remarkably isolated environment if you’ve never encountered such basic galactic knowledge." His gaze then sharpened, scanning you almost analytically. "Have you ever even left this planet?"

You hesitated, then shook your head sheepishly. "No. But... I’d like to. One day."

"Hmm," he muttered, as if filing away that piece of information. "That explains your lack of familiarity with broader galactic events. This planet is extremely remote, sparsely populated, and largely irrelevant to the major political structures in place."

Was he always so blunt? You felt a slight pang of defensiveness at the description of your homeworld but quickly pushed it aside. "So, what is it you do?"

“I am a Soldier.”

“How come you are here?" You probe with a smile, already assuming as much that he was a soldier of some kind.

"We’re on a diplomatic mission," Tech continued, in the same detached tone, not quite meeting your enthusiasm. "We’ve been tasked with upgrading security systems at the palace. The assignment begins in a week or so."

You stiffened at the mention of the palace, your mind racing. "The palace?" you echoed, trying to keep your voice steady. "You’ll be working there?"

"Yes," he confirmed, missing the tension in your voice. "We’re to conduct a thorough analysis and enhancement of their current security protocols. Apparently, there’s a concern regarding the safety of someone of importance residing there."

Your heart skipped a beat, hands feeling a little clammy. "Have you—uh, you know— researched the royal family?"

"There isn’t much information available," he replied, adjusting his goggles again as he shows you information in his datapad. "And as I stated before, this placed is sparsely populated—fewer than a few hundred inhabitants, by my estimates. It’s not significant enough to warrant much attention in the galactic records. The royalty here is of little interest beyond local matters."

Relief and anxiety swirled inside you in equal measure. For now, it seemed your identity was still safe. "I see."

Tech glanced at you again, his gaze lingering in a way that made you feel slightly exposed. "You still haven’t told me your name," he pointed out, almost as if it were a loose end he needed to tie up.

You froze for a second, then quickly recovered, forcing a smile. "Willow," you said, the lie slipping out before you could second-guess it.

"Willow," he repeated, tilting his head slightly. "That’s an uncommon name. Does it have any particular significance?"

"It’s... just a name," you replied, keeping your tone light.

"Fascinating," he muttered, though whether he was genuinely intrigued or simply acknowledging the information, you couldn’t tell. “Also fitting.”

The conversation drifted on, with Tech providing details about his work, his unit, and the missions they’d carried out. You laughed at moments that he didn’t realise were quite amusing but you had clearly relaxed him enough to allow him to open up. And he talked… a lot. It was quite cute.

As the sky deepened into evening, you realised how much time had passed. "I should probably get going," you said, standing up and brushing off your dress. "I’ve enjoyed talking with you."

Tech glanced up, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something like hesitation in his eyes. "Will you be here again tomorrow?"

His question caught both of you by surprise, and his expression shifted slightly, as if he was recalibrating his own boldness.

You hesitated, then smiled softly. "We’ll see," you replied, knowing full well that you would be.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼　 ҉ ✼

And you did go see him.

That day, the next day, and the day after.

Each time, you found yourself more drawn to the odd charm of the man who barely glanced your way but still seemed to notice everything.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself each time you visited. You had noticed (that although his focus rarely strayed from his datapad) the subtle shift in the air whenever you appeared—the way his posture changed, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly as if he had been waiting for you. It was a good feeling.

Sitting beside him had become your routine, almost like breathing and the book you brought along served more as a prop than something to read. Your attention was inevitably pulled towards Tech and whatever he was tinkering with.

Truthfully, You were completely enamored by him. His mannerisms, the unintentional gentleness in his hands when he handled something delicate, and the way he occasionally muttered to himself, lost in his own thoughts.

Though the times he’d briefly look up, his eyes were soft with a look that felt almost... affectionate.

You didn’t want to overthink his gaze, but it gave you butterflies every time.

This day was no different. You’d settled in next to him, your book open on your lap. After several minutes of peaceful silence, your curiosity perks. You leaned slightly closer, peering at the array of circuits and small mechanical pieces strewn around him. “What are you working on today?”

Of course, he didn’t look up, but his tone warmed a fraction as he replied. “A calibrator. These,” he then gestured to the smaller parts in front of him, “are relays that modulate signal strength. It’s critical that they are adjusted to the correct tolerances—any deviation would result in unstable transmissions, or worse, complete signal loss.”

You blinked, absorbing what you could of the information, though most of it flew over your head. The palace didn’t hold such instruments and so everything he told you was brand new. “Doesn’t seem like it would fit with anything we use here,” you say.

“It doesn’t. This is from a planet called Ord Mantell. I happened upon it during a mission and kept it for study. I often collect such artifacts if they’re of unique construction.” He reached into one of his pouches of his beltand pulled out another small item—a hexagonal metal device with an intricate pattern carved into it. “For example, this is a fragment of a data chip from Naboo. It’s outdated, obsolete even, but I’m fascinated by its design and the potential for historical data retrieval.”

You stared at it, the weight of his words sinking in. He’d seen so many places you could only dream of, held pieces of those planets, moons and stars in his hands.

You smile gently, watching him with a mixture of awe and fondness as he spoke.

It did strike you how much he wanted to share all of this with you, how patient he was with his explanations, even if he sometimes forgot to ask if you understood. There was something grounding about his presence, something that made you want to listen, to learn.

Lost in thought, you didn’t realise how long you’d been staring until he glanced over, brows furrowing slightly behind his goggles. “I have a question,” he said suddenly, snapping you out of your reverie.

You blinked, then nodded eagerly. “Go ahead.”

“I’ve observed that you’ve been on the same page of your book for the past four consecutive days,” he noted bluntly. “Is there a reason for this behaviour, or have you simply found something within the text that holds your interest?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, embarrassment flaring up as you glanced down at the page in question. It was a silly romance novel, and you hadn’t even realised you hadn’t turned the page once. “I—um, no,” you stammered, looking away. “It’s just... hard to focus on the story when I’m with you, I guess.”

Tech blinked, clearly taken aback. He tilted his head, studying you with the same clinical curiosity he reserved for complicated puzzles. “You... read the same page repeatedly so you can spend time here?”

Swallowing your nerves, you nodded, your fingers brushing over the edges of the book. “It gives me a reason to be here and see you.” Your voice was small, the admission much braver than you felt. “Otherwise, I’m not sure if I’d have the courage.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly processing. “You don’t need to bring a book if your primary intention is to converse with me,” he said after a pause, his tone as blunt and matter-of-fact as ever. “I don’t mind your presence. In fact, I’ve grown accustomed to it.”

A soft laugh escaped you, the corners of your mouth lifting. “You’re really something, you know that?”

He frowned, seeming unsure of how to interpret your reaction. “Is that meant to be complimentary?”

“Absolutely,” you said, smiling. “I like being here with you. I like talking with you, you make me feel normal.”

“Do you often not feel normal?”

You pause but quietly shake your head, “Not usually.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken thoughts and a hint of something unnameable. For the first time, you found him staring at you, his gaze lingering as if trying to read you, to decode something unfamiliar. The air felt warmer, more intimate somehow, and you couldn’t help but notice how much closer you were than when you’d first sat down.

Tech cleared his throat abruptly, breaking the moment. “You’ve mentioned you enjoy our discussions,” he began, his voice a touch quieter. “But I still know very little about you. Your name, for instance—‘Willow.’ It doesn’t seem to align with any of the traditional names or designations I’ve encountered in my data banks.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, the question you’d been dreading surfacing at last. “Like I said, it is just a name,” you murmured, guilt gnawing at you. He still didn’t know the truth, the title you carried, or your real name. And with each passing day, the prospect of him finding out grew more daunting.

“Tech,” you started, then hesitated. You needed to tell him. Before everything got too complicated. “There’s something you should know.”

“Yes?”

The words caught in your throat, your resolve faltering the longer you looked at him. The words are on the tip of your tongue but they don’t leave. Instead, your mind completely diverts and you blurt out the next unexpected and unexplainable statement:

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

His eyes widened, genuine surprise flashing across his face as he dropped the gadget in his hand. It clattered to the ground, the sound startling both of you. “Ah—neither have I,” he admitted, clearing his throat as he picks it back up and dusting off the dirt. “It’s not something I’ve had much opportunity to… experiment with.”

You both sat there, frozen in the tension of the moment. You felt your pulse hammering, the soft breeze in the air suddenly chilling.

Supposedly, the thought of kissing him had slipped into your mind at some point. It was so innocent, so impossibly daring. But the moment felt right. And never had you been so certain of anything.

“Maybe…” you ventured softly, almost shyly. “Maybe we could try it together?”

For the first time, you saw Tech falter, a faint heat warming his cheeks. He blinked rapidly, as if recalibrating. “You want me to—?”

“If you’d like to,” you murmured, eyes flickering from his lips to his astonished gaze, “only if you want.”

He lets go of the gadget again, his hand reaching out tentatively, brushing against your cheek in the softest of touches and then down to your shoulder.

You held your breath as he leaned closer, his expression still unreadable but his gaze locked onto yours. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he closed the distance, lips hovering a fraction of an inch from yours before finally, gently, he kissed you.

The moment was brief, delicate and tentative, as if testing the waters. When he pulled back, his eyes were wide behind his goggles, his fingers still ghosting against your skin.

“That was… different,” he murmured, his voice almost breathless.

You couldn’t help but smile, “Different in a good way?”

Tech’s lips twitched, a faint smile forming as he nodded. “Yes, in a good way. Very much so.”

You watch as he lingered for a moment, his gaze unwavering, still clearly processing what had just happened. His lips parted slightly, as if tasting the memory of your touch before he finally spoke. “I believe I would… like to do that again.”

Your heart fluttered, warmth flooding your chest. Without another word, you leaned closer, letting your eyes flutter shut as you pressed your lips to his once more. This time, the kiss was different—bolder, more sure. Tech’s hands, trembling ever so slightly, slid down from your shoulders to rest at your waist. His touch was cautious but steady, pulling you closer, encouraging you to deepen the kiss.

You responded eagerly, feeling yourself melt into him, losing yourself. His lips, surprisingly soft and gentle, moved in time with yours, and his breath hitched when your fingers traced the lines of his jaw. There was a sweetness to his inexperience, a hesitancy that made your heart swell. It felt innocent, pure, and you couldn’t help but be drawn in even more by the way his hands tightened slightly at your waist, anchoring you to him beneath the willow’s cascading branches.

The world seemed to fade away, the only sound the soft rustling of leaves and the quiet, shared breaths between the two of you. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and a soft gasp escaped you as the intensity grew. There was something impossibly addictive about the way he kissed you—clumsy yet deliberate.

But then, the guilt struck.

Like a sudden, icy wave, the reality of it all crashed over you. You were lying to him—deceiving him with a false name and a false identity, all while he kissed you so earnestly, so honestly. He didn’t know who you truly were, didn’t know that the girl he thought was just a mere palace worker was actually the princess of this very land.

You broke away, breathless and shaken, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. “I— I’m sorry,” you stammered, forcing yourself to pull back from his embrace, ignoring the bewildered look that flashed across his face. “I— I have to go.”

“Go?” he echoed, brows drawing together in confusion. “But—”

“I just remembered, I have… something to attend to.” The excuse tumbled from your lips as you stood, weak and unconvincing even to your own ears, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him properly. Couldn’t bear to see the confusion, the hurt that might start to form as he tried to piece together why you were suddenly pulling away.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice slow, as if trying to make sense of the sudden change. “I had presumed you were comfortable.”

“I was. I mean, I am!” You stumbled over your words, taking a step back and placing a shaky hand against your forehead. “But I just— I need some time to think.”

Tech tilted his head, eyes narrowing in that analytical way of his. “Have I misstepped?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral, but the underlying uncertainty made your chest tighten. “If I have done something to make you uncomfortable, you need only inform me, and I shall correct it.”

“No, no, it’s not you,” you interrupted hastily, guilt twisting deeper inside you. “You’ve been… perfect, Tech. Really. It’s just… me.”

As you go to retreat, his voice stops you one more time: “Wait.”

You froze mid-step, eyes widening as he suddenly pushed himself to his feet. The abrupt movement caught you off guard as he had never once stood up when you were around, always preferring to remain seated.

Now, seeing him like this—standing, back straight and shoulders squared—you truly took in the stranger you’d been growing so fond of these past few days.

He was tall, no denying that. noticed was his height as he towered over you, lean and built in a way that spoke of quiet strength. “Are you,” His brow furrowed, mouth twisting into a slight frown as he searched for the right words. “Are you going to return later? Or perhaps… tomorrow?”

You blinked up at him, still processing the sight of him standing there “I…” You hesitated, the lie teetering on your lips, but it felt almost impossible to say it now, not when he was looking at you with those clear, curious eyes. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly.

A flicker of confusion passed over his face, and his head tilted ever so slightly. “Why not?” he asked, straightforward as ever, without any hint of reproach or accusation—just a genuine desire to understand. “Have I done something wrong? If there was an error in my conduct—”

“No, Tech,” you interjected, shaking your head vigorously. “It’s not that. It’s not you.” You repeat. “I’ve just—” Your voice faltered as you struggled to find the right words.

You looked up at him again, properly taking in every detail of his face. The way his lips were slightly parted in thought, the sharp line of his jaw, the soft brown of his eyes, which were surprisingly gentle despite their constant, calculating focus.

“I’ve just been dishonest,” you finally confessed, the words spilling out before you could stop them. His brows furrowed further, confusion deepening.

“Dishonest?” he echoed, voice almost clipped, like he was analysing the word itself. “In what capacity?”

Your heart ached. There was no way you could tell him the full truth—not now, not after everything. “I… I can’t really explain right now.” You took a shaky breath, feeling the familiar pressure of tears pricking at your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

For the first time, a flash of something like concern crossed his features, and he took a tentative step closer, his gloved hand lifting as if to reach out to you but then faltering, dropping back to his side. “Then when will you be able to explain?” he asked softly. “I would like to understand.”

His sincerity made your chest tighten painfully. You bit your lip, willing yourself to keep it together. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “But I— I have to go.”

You turned away before he could respond, afraid of what you might see if you looked back—afraid of the confusion, the hurt, or worse, the acceptance that you were walking away from him for good.

But you hadn’t even taken two steps when his voice called out again, halting you in your tracks. “You will return, correct?”

It wasn’t really a question, more like a statement of fact, as if he couldn’t conceive of an outcome where you wouldn’t. He stood there, looking almost vulnerable in his rigid stance, the datapad long forgotten at his feet.

Your mouth opened and closed, the lie so easy, so simple, yet your heart rebelled against it. “Yes,” you breathed out, hating yourself for it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The words were a bitter promise on your tongue, and you forced yourself to keep moving before you could take them back. You didn’t dare look back, even as you felt the weight of his gaze lingering on you.

Tech stayed where he was, feet firmly planted on the ground as he processed your departure. But he didn’t call after you again. Instead, he remained still, watching you leave, the ghost of your warm kiss still lingering on his lips.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼　 ҉ ✼

“Are you feeling well, Your Majesty? You have been awfully quiet this morning.”

The voice of your handmaiden gently pulled you from your wandering thoughts. You gasped softly as she tightened your corset, the constricting garment pulling you uncomfortably upright. “I’m fine, just a little queasy, is all,” you replied half-heartedly.

In the mirror, you caught her frown, concern evident as your eyes met. “Would you like me to fetch the Royal Doctor?”

“No, no,” you answered quickly with a short, forced laugh. “That won’t be necessary. I am fine.” But truthfully, you were anything but fine.

For days, you had avoided seeing Tech, despite telling him you would. Guilt gnawed at you, eating away at every moment you spent replaying your last encounter. Kissing him and running away without an explanation had been cowardly, and you knew it. But you couldn’t face him—couldn’t face the confusion or possible disappointment that would come after your revelation.

Everything with Tech was new, unfamiliar but exciting. He made you feel things you never had before, things that made you want to escape from the world you’d always known. But you lied, and now the consequences of that deception were about to catch up to you.

The clones were coming. The same group Tech had mentioned, sent to assess the palace’s security. You had been informed by your advisors the night before at dinner that almost had you choking on your desert

How would he react? What would you even say to him? You’d barely slept, tossing and turning in the night, your thoughts spinning uncontrollably. To which, another handmaiden had discreetly suggested extra concealer that morning, noting the dark circles under your eyes.

You sighed softly as you clipped in a pair of jewel-encrusted earrings, slipping on an array of rings that glinted in the sunlight streaming through the curtains. Your fingers lightly touched your painted lips, the memory of his kiss still lingering.

The gown you wore was one of your more extravagant ones, designed to impress and restrict your breathing and you adorn a tiara to your head, setting it straight with slightly shaken hands.

“Have you been in the gardens lately, ma’am?” your handmaiden asked as she picked up one of your simpler dresses, the one you had worn during your secret outings. The fabric was stained with grass and dirt.

“Oh… yes, I apologise,” you muttered, glancing at the dress. “It might be tough to get that out.”

Your handmaiden, thankfully, said nothing more, simply nodding and continuing with her work. But your thoughts remained tangled. You had been careless.

Before you knew it, the time had come. Tech and his squad were arriving soon, and you were expected to greet them. Your heart pounded in your chest as you descended the grand staircase, each step feeling heavier than the last. Your gaze remained firmly planted on the polished marble floor, unwilling to look up.

The squad had already arrived by the time you reached the grand hall. They were being formally greeted by the palace guards and your advisors, who stood in a stiff line, watching the group with hawkish eyes. Your steps faltered, but you pressed on, shoulders square, as one of your advisors stepped forward and introduced you to them.

“Her Royal Highness, the Princess Royal,” your advisor’s voice rang out, the weight of your title hanging in the air as they spoke your name.

Finally, you lifted your gaze, and your eyes locked immediately with Tech’s.

He stiffened, almost dropping his helmet that he had tucked under his arm. His usually calculating expression narrows into something unreadable. His intense gaze bore into you, unblinking, analysing. He looked… almost surprised, but the emotion flickered so quickly across his face you couldn’t be sure.

“This is interesting,” Tech said aloud and to your advisors and guards, out of turn.

Hunter gave Tech a sharp look, clearly catching the undercurrent in his tone. But it wasn’t just Hunter’s attention that had been caught—your advisors were staring at you now, suspicion quickly creeping into their eyes. “What do you mean by that?” one of them demanded, their voice tight with irritation.

You could feel the panic rising in your chest, your pulse quickening as words become stuck in your throat. Your advisors were already displeased, and now Tech’s cryptic statement had put you directly in the spotlight. You swallowed hard as all eyes turned to you.

“We’ve met before,” Tech said plainly before you could come up with a lie, a bad habit you find yourself repeating.

A ripple of surprise passed through the gathered group, as well as an odd glance between the rest of his squad between one another.

Your advisors exchanged sharp, incredulous looks. “You’ve… met before?” one of them asked, their tone laced with disapproval as they now look to you. “Where?”

“By the Willow Tree,” you admitted quietly. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room as you said it as steam almost blew out of their ears.

“What were you doing there?” another advisor snapped, their gaze narrowing with judgment. “Meeting with strangers outside the palace grounds? You could have put yourself in danger!”

The blame was quick, sharp, and unyielding, and you shrank beneath the weight of their accusations.

But before things could escalate further, Hunter stepped forward, raising a hand. “We weren’t aware that Tech had already met the Princess,” he said evenly, his voice calm and authoritative as he looks to you with a kind gaze and then to the ones reprimanding you, “But there was no harm intended. I can assure you of that.”

His words seemed to take some of the heat out of the situation, but the tension still lingered. Time stretched on, and as much as you wanted to say something, anything, to diffuse the situation further, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to murmur, “Excuse me,” before turning and walking away, the pressure of the room suffocating.

And as you moved swiftly down the palace corridors toward the library, you risked a glance back at the clones. Your heart stops when you spot that his gaze was the only one that lingered. Your eyes silently pleaded with him for understanding, for forgiveness. But he turned away, leaving you alone with the ache of unspoken words. It was going to be a long, unbearable day.

Hours passed, the sun slowly going down, and yet you could not shake the need to speak with him. There had been moments, small chances when you crossed paths in the palace, but each time either your royal duties or his own tasks pulled you apart. Once, you almost approached him in the hallway, but one of your advisors immediately demanded your attention. Another time, Tech had been speaking with Hunter, and just as you gathered the courage to interrupt, Crosshair called him away.

It wasn’t until evening, as the clones prepared to head back to their ship, that you finally found your opportunity.

You were on your balcony, watching as the squad began walking towards the landing pad, their silhouettes growing smaller in the fading twilight. And then, without thinking, you called out his name. "Tech!"

Wrecker and Crosshair turned first, exchanging amused glances. Crosshair smirked. "Looks like you’ve got company, Tech."

Wrecker chuckled deeply. "Don’t keep her waiting!" he boomed, nudging Tech forward.

Hunter gave Tech a pointed look. "Don’t be long."

Tech blinked, adjusting his goggles, as though processing the sudden turn of events. He glanced up at your balcony, then back at his brothers. "How am I supposed to get back inside after the guards have secured the palace?" he asked.

Crosshair rolled his eyes, while Wrecker stifled another laugh. "I’m sure you’ll figure it out," Hunter said, his tone suggesting there was no real problem to be solved.

Tech looked up again, spotting a set of vines climbing up the side of the palace wall. You saw him eye them thoughtfully before he gave a small nod to himself. In one smooth motion, he started climbing.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Heat rose to your cheeks as you watched him ascend, the scene very familiar from the pages of a romance novel you had read far too many times. By the time he reached your balcony, your face was flushed, and your heart was racing.

When he finally stood in front of you, his expression was as composed as ever, though there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your words tangled in your throat, your heart pounding as you tried to find the right thing to say whilst twiddling your thumbs

Tech however broke the silence. "Should I bow or kneel before you, now that I know who you are?" he asked, his tone serious but laced with dry humour.

The question took you by surprise, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes. "I feel that if you knew who I was before, you wouldn’t do that anyway.”

Tech adjusted his goggles again, his head tilting slightly as he considered your response. "You may be right."

You smiled, though the weight of your earlier deceit still lingered between you. "Tech, I’m sorry for lying," you began, turning toward the edge of the balcony and leaning against the railing. You stared out at the sprawling palace gardens in bloom. "I didn’t mean to deceive you."

He stood beside you, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze analytical as ever. "I’m uncertain why you felt the need to lie in the first place."

You sighed, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the stone railing. "At first, I didn’t. It just happened. When I saw that you didn’t recognise me, it felt… perfect. For once, I didn’t have to hide behind a title or a mask. I could just be myself."

Tech was silent for a moment, processing your words. His eyes drifted over the gardens before returning to you. "I see. You valued anonymity."

You nodded, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. "It was freeing, in a way. But now… I feel like I’ve ruined everything by not telling you sooner."

He adjusted his goggles again, a familiar gesture you had come to associate with his thoughtfulness. "I don’t believe the delay in revealing your identity changes the nature of our interactions. You were still ‘yourself,’ as you put it, regardless of what title you carry."

You turn to him, surprised by the ease with which he accepted your explanation. There was no judgment in his tone, no reproach—just the simple, matter-of-fact logic that was so quintessentially him.

"I appreciate that, Tech," you said softly, feeling the tension in your chest begin to ease. But there was still a heaviness lingering. "It’s just that… with you heading back to your ship and what we…” you trailed off, unsure whether or not to address the kiss you both shared but after weighing it up, you decided not to. For now. “Well, I will miss the company. Greatly.”

"I see no reason why we cannot continue conversing, if that is what you desire. Your title changes nothing in that regard." He states, stepping closer to you.

You smile but it’s weak. To him, it was all so straightforward. But to you, it was far more complicated.

"Maybe," you murmured, though a part of you knew that your advisors would be very much against you keeping contact with him; and it’s not like you had a commlink at hand either.

You stood there for a long while in silence, watching the last of the evening light fade from the sky. It was peaceful, but at the same time, you could feel something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

“Can I ask you a question?” Tech’s voice broke the stillness.

You turned to him, nodding. “Of course.”

“Why do you allow your advisors to speak to you that way?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly behind his goggles. “They are not exactly the friendliest people I have come across. I thought you would have more authority being royal.”

His words hit you like a stone in the chest. He was right—completely right. You had never really thought about it before, not in such blunt terms, anyway.

It was just the way things were, the way you had been raised. You had no family to lean on, nobody close to guide you through the tasks of royal duties. All you had were your advisors, and over time, they had come to control much of your life. You didn’t feel like royalty; you felt more like a figurehead, a pawn they could move as they pleased.

Your silence was enough of an answer for him. Tech’s gaze softened slightly as he realised he may have hit a nerve. “I apologise if I’ve upset you,” he said, his voice quieter.

You shrugged, brushing it off with a small smile. “It’s fine, you’re right. I don’t know why I let them.” The admission felt heavier than you expected, like a truth you had been avoiding for too long.

Tech didn’t push further. He simply nodded, and for a moment, you were grateful for his straightforwardness. He wasn’t the type to overanalyse emotions or linger on feelings. He just saw things as they were, with clarity and logic.

For a while, the two of you spoke about lighter things—small talk about the palace, the gardens, and the clones' mission. But as the conversation meandered, you both became aware that time was slipping away.

“I should be going,” Tech finally said, glancing down at his wrist device. “I have some tasks to complete before we leave tomorrow.”

Your chest tightened at the thought of him leaving. You tried to hide it, forcing yourself to smile as though it didn’t bother you. But before he could turn to leave, you reached out, your hand finding his. The gesture was sudden, and you felt a wave of heat rush to your face. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and you could see the brief flash of surprise in his eyes as he looked down at your intertwined hands.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “For the time we shared by the willow tree… for everything.”

Tech blinked, clearly flustered by the contact. He opened his mouth to respond but quickly fell into one of his usual rambling explanations. “Well, it wasn’t entirely a planned event, but I suppose I could say it was… pleasant, or at least an efficient use of—”

You smiled and gently pulled him toward you, cutting off his words with a kiss. It was softer than before, but deeper, more certain. His hands instinctively moved to your waist, holding you close, and for a moment, neither of you wanted to pull away.

When you finally did, your breath was shaky, but your resolve had never been stronger. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his as a wave of determination washed over you. “Take me with you,” you whispered.

Tech blinked, visibly caught off guard. “Take you with me? To the ship?”

“To the stars,” you corrected, your voice filled with a yearning you had never felt so deeply before. “I want to see them. With you.”

He frowned, clearly uncertain. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Your advisors—”

“I don’t care about them,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “I just want to go. For once in my life, I want to see what’s out there. And I trust you.”

Tech hesitated, his mind undoubtedly running through all the potential consequences. But there was something in your eyes, something raw and sincere, that seemed to sway him. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, his expression softening as he looked at you.

“If you’re certain,” he smiles.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼　 ҉ ✼

Reblog to support writers and artists 💛

♔ Part One Tech - By the Willow

♔ Part Two Crosshair - Stranger, Saviour

♔ Part Three Echo - When Stars Collide (WIP)

♔ Part Four Fives - Masquerade (WIP)

♔ Part Five Hunter - Sparks of Nobility (WIP)

♔ Part Six Wrecker - Speeding Into Love (WIP)

♔ More Clones to Follow…

Tags and those I think may be interested 🩵: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet t @dangraccoon n @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets s @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @tentakelspektakel @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia a @thesith h @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @yunggoblin @photogirl894 @the-bad-batch-baroness @lulalovez @vodika-vibes @seaofsunberries @99tech99

[scribeofmorpheus]

Bellanaris [Part 2]

N.B: The "Your hands are cold" moment is a call back to chapter 3 in Harellan. Though the plot about the Ring of Obliteration can be skipped over, it's the main plot behind "Not Some Fanciful Story", so read that first if you don't want spoilers (though I haven't posted the final chapter yet)! Summary: Lavellan is given a clue by Varric that Solas might have been in Rivain, searching for an artefact (takes place before "The Missing" comic). While there, she's betrayed by her Rivaini informant who is revealed to be a cult leader seeking revenge against "the Dread Wolf's Whore"--who he discovered was the Inquisitor because of old sketches Solas had left behind in the deep roads. The ring is destroyed in an effort to break the blood-magic-fueled block against the Fade. [Part 1] [AO3]

They had returned to the Fade, slipping past its membrane with ease.

It seemed impossible, and yet there they were, finally in that other world he had once wished for their spirits to be joined.

A torrent of emotions washed through her, wringing her spirit at the final crescendo.

Revas emerged disoriented.

Grateful for the sense of touch, her arm was still anchored to Solas’ shoulder when she stumbled backwards. He’d been quick to pull her towards him, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face under her chin.

Solas was bent so awkwardly, his weight growing heavier with each shuddering breath, his form sinking deeper into her embrace.

She had almost forgotten how tall he was. Perhaps he had grown taller in the years they’d been apart. Perhaps she’d shrunk.

From over his shoulder, she could see how different the Fade was from how she remembered it, how strange it was.

Not blinding as it had been the first time she’d been drawn in. And not tainted by the crippling fear and confusion of the Fear demon's powers the last time they’d both journeyed into it, side by side. But a different thing altogether.

This iteration of the Fade still affected her to her very core, but it was stripped of all the dangers she'd anticipated. No giant spiders or wailing spirits. Somehow new, faded beyond compare, but imbued with something ephemeral, just as powerful as any fear, maybe more so. It wasn’t frightening but familiar. Like coming home without the memory of ever having one. A warped understanding of belonging. One that was trying to reach out through the clamour of confusion and the ringing madness of concern. A snuffed flame trying hard to burn as it used to once before, a long, long time ago.

These were his sensations that were passing through her. The repressed emotions left behind from the one-man war still waging under his armour. Obstacles of atonement.

The entire expanse was exactly as he’d phrased it. Empty. Greyed. There wasn’t the weight of mist in the air, the dryness of summer, the crisp coolness of a breeze. It was simply still. An expanse of colourless light and shifting space.

They stood on what looked to be the solid ground of a floating ruin with incredible similarity to that of Skyhold.

As the Veil closed behind them—the last one they’d ever close together, side by side—she heard Solas sigh in deliverance before he sunk to his knees, slowly pulling her down with him.

Once they were grounded, Revas turned to him, panicked. She opened her mouth to speak, to utter his name, call to her heart, but she was unsure if her voice would carry. Then, as he wrapped his arms around his frame, his breathing turning ragged, eyes shining with what should have been the glassy violet of a lavender field, she found her focal point. Doubts be damned.

She placed her hand upon his cheek, meaning to wipe the tears that had begun to flow as ardently as a waterfall, but the image had conjured that same feeling she had in Crestwood; when she’d been left alone with her reflection, bare-faced, hurt. That had been one of the few times in her life when the only solace for her pain had been to sit in the misery.

Suddenly, a large halla statue rose from a sea of empty void, bringing with it the faintest of colour. The kind of crystal blue that had built the waters of Crestwood.

Without knowing how, she managed to make her will manifest in the Fade.

Solas, too weak and bloodied to notice this, let out another heart-wrenching sob. He could not keep up the guise any longer, he could not feign being the ageless beacon of determination she had always seen him as.

With little effort, he collapsed onto her, his head resting against her folded thighs.

“It’s okay,” she whispered into his ear before placing a kiss to his temple, and then to his cheek. “You fought long enough. We both did. Rest now.”

“Vhen’an… I am so sorry,” he whimpered, hand gripping her sides with such strength, such care. “All those years you spent… All the things I never got a chance to tell you. So much pain! And I am the cause.”

“And despite it all, we endured.”

“But I turned away!” he shrunk further into himself, knees rising up to press closer to his chest. He had shut his eyes too tight, like a child afraid.

When she was younger, she had often imagined grabbing him by the cuff, bitter and enraged, demanding answers to all the questions that refused to leave her in the dead of night. Why was it so easy for him to leave? Was she not enough? Did he dream of her? But now, now there was just the old pain, the subtle sting.

“Did you? Truly?” she tucked her fingers under her jaw and pulled his face towards her. “Open your eyes, my love.”

He did. They became transfixed on the scars across her face, the ones she had gotten after he’d removed the vallaslin, after she’d adorned the Ring of Obliteration from Dorian, after Varric’s first letter that led her to Rivain, when the Fade had been closed to her.

Revas fought the urge to turn away and hide the discomfort which resided behind each line and curve that had been made by the necromancer’s blade. Though it had been years, the trauma lingered. On bad days, it made it difficult to face old friends or walk past polished mirrors. On the good days, it was the scar she used to remind herself that all things can heal with time given the right impulse.

Refusing to hide behind her hair as she had done out of habit throughout the years, Revas’ index finger trembled above the curling lines scarred into her forehead, “It happened a long time ago.”

“I know,” he sighed, tears rolling on either side of his face. He balled his hand into a fist in the air, biting down hard enough to form tension in his jaw. And then another sob eked out, “I should have been there to stop it…”

“Don’t say that,” she kept her voice steadfast in the face of the brewing storm inside her. Seeing pain was a daily occurrence for her, but nothing cut her as deeply as seeing it come from him. O, how foolish she’d been when she was younger and full of anger. How foolish indeed, if this was what she had once wished upon him, Yet, she had been right. For them to share these moments, the dinan’shiral had to break him. Lightly, she explained: “Without these scars, I might not have been able to share this with you. You see, I know you never truly turned away from me. You showed me that.”

Revas thought back to Rivain and the Cave of Misfortune, to the strange figure that had interrupted Regillus' ritual that attempted to tap into remnants of the Fade magic she had once possessed. The same figure who’d taken an arrow to the side as Sera unknowingly stuck Revas’ saviour with an arrow. A scar she was sure she’d find if Solas removed his armour.

“There was a time when I had been trapped,” she recounted. “A stranger in a strange land, seeking remnants of her past, trusting those I knew little of, risking the little time of peace the world felt obliged to offer me. And when I found it, what I had been unintentionally searching for—that love you undoubtedly carried, etched so beautifully on countless pieces of paper—I knew I had found what I was looking for. Proof. Proof that you still cared. And when I awoke on that ritual table, alive, able to dream again… I knew it had been you who saved me. I do not know how you sensed me with the ring, but I am grateful you did. You gave me more time to be with those I loved. You made me realise my mistakes. And I could only hope to do the same for you… before it was too late.”

“A spirit such as yours could not remain shrouded from me forever,” he reached up to touch a stray curl that had slipped from behind her ear. “I hear your song, even when there is nothing but the quiet. Rare and marvellous… the life we could have shared had I not been so blinded by my duty—”

“There is nothing but time for us now,” she reassured him. “This is the end of the dinan’shiral, for us both. This journey, these first steps that have never been shared between two of our kind before, we make our own. La ghilana ma var lath. We choose this. Together. And together we will form a bright and lasting new world. Even here.”

“How can you be so certain?” he sighed softly.

“Look,” she gestured to the world slowly forming around them.

A pantheon of shining new pathways and hopeful young colours bled into the grey. Muted, ever-so-slightly fading, but still filled with the promise of blooming deeper, perhaps into shades of things other than regret, that was the first sign. Perhaps the green of envy or joy would creep as the vines did in Skyhold. Then maybe the yellow of warmth, like Josephine’s silk dresses, would sway with the passing of time. And then red of passion and blood—desire and rage—that colour she was certain would bleed through. Beyond that, the possibilities were endless.

Where he saw nothing, Lavellan saw a canvas still forming.  

“Try as I might,” he shuddered, enraptured at the golden shimmer that formed far off in the horizon, “I could never manifest colour.”

Softly, she pressed her lips to his, imbuing their kiss with every emotion she carried, good and bad, and the sky above them turned a shade brighter.

“This is the power of our love.”

Hearing those words, seeing the introductions of colour, Solas relented whatever reservations he may have had and simply wept under the shelter of his lover’s gaze.