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starry-bi-sky · 1 year ago

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I saw a post a few months ago (and damn was it really months? In PLURAL?) that was a cracky dpxdc au where the LOS were making Damian clones but the clones kept getting snatched by ghost portals and dropped into Danny’s lap and Danny just goes “ok ig this is my life now” and takes care of each one until he has his own mini army of Damian Clones.

And I remembered it a few days ago, and now I've been thinking about it again. Because I love clone aus (see: clone danny au, the 'danny is thomas wayne' au) because it itches the part of my mind that loves exploring personhood and the exploration of identity and what it means to be clone.

(What do you do when nothing about you is unique? When your face, your eyes, your hands, your hair, your voice, all the way down to your heart, all belong to someone else?)

(When it comes to nature vs nurture what of you came from your environment and your experiences, and what of you was already programmed into you from the DNA that made you?)

(What do you do to make it unique? What do you do to make you unique?)

And if I could remember who made that post I'd @ them right now because it was their original post that inspired this, but I'm just thinking of if the au only had One Singular Damian clone that fell into Danny's life.

(a read more because im apparently incapable of making posts that are less than 1k words...)

One Damian who knew he was a clone and knew that he was to either bring the original back to base or kill him to take his place, who was being trained the same way but kept getting compared to his original over and over again. Like an older sibling who you can never match up to. Who is still a child who craves adult affection and validation and praise, and can't get it because nothing about him is original.

One Damian who, at six years old, in a twist of fate is sucked through a swirling portal and lands in Amity Park, directly on top of, in front of, or in line of sight of one Daniel Fenton, half-ghost extraordinaire and local hero.

What happens next?

Well, for one, Danny recognizes him immediately. He would recognize the face of Damian Wayne anywhere because his best friend was ranting about him all week about Damian Wayne's environmental stuff he does.

And for two, he would recognize that the Damian Wayne in front of him was not Damian Wayne. Because Damian Wayne was a teenager. And the Damian Wayne in front of him is a child. Six years old.

Getting this not-Damian but also-Damian to go along with Danny is not, not an easy task. The tiny Damian is aggressive, regal, and at this point in time, six years old, barely understanding english. He also has a sword.

It takes all day and a google translator to get this Tiny Damian to finally agree to go home with Danny. It's a miracle. Seriously. A tried and true miracle. And its also only when Danny has to fight a ghost does he finally agree, saying something in arabic that Danny doesn't understand.

Danny flies them both home, carrying Tiny Damian like a koala. The ensuing conversation in his room is not any better. It is tiring, long, and exhausting. Tiny Damian is six years old, and every single thing he says when Danny asks where he came from is met with a poorly translated "that's classified".

Danny keeps an eye on the news. There are no reports of Damian Wayne going missing, in fact he's been rather public. Bruce Wayne is not one to lie about his children going missing, and Damian's secretive behavior and young age draws Danny to one conclusion: Damian is a clone.

He doesn't know why Damian Wayne is being cloned. Frankly he doesn't really wanna know, because whatever organization that did it doesn't seem too pure-of-heart if tiny-Damian's immediate attempt of murder when they first met is of any indication. But he's too busy taking care of his city, that he doesn't have time to deal with whatever shady business Tiny-Damian was produced from.

In the end though, he decides that this Tiny-Damian is not going back to whatever place he came from. Tiny Damian disagrees. It is a long, nebulous problem of Damian trying to run away, Danny catching him, and Danny pulling him back home.

In that time, Danny downloads a language app and starts learning Arabic so that they can talk to each other properly. Damian slowly, slowly, starts picking up English.

In that time, Danny also has to inform his friends and his sister about Damian. Tiny Damian is not a fan of this. That is another argument they have. Tiny Damian does not like Sam or Tucker for a long, long while. He only really "listens" to Danny, citing something in arabic that Danny still cannot understand, but has a repeated use of the word "lieazir". It's the only word that Danny can catch in a sentence immediately, because its what little Damian calls Danny.

Tiny Damian, in that front, is very interested in Danny's powers and in his parents work. He finds tubberware of ectoplasm in the fridge once while they're down in the kitchen and calls it something with the word lieazir in it. The other word is something that Danny later learns means water in arabic.

It makes him feel even more uneasy of whatever place little Damian came from.

It takes weeks for little Damian to finally give up on escaping, and then a few weeks more for him to almost entirely lose his spunk. Danny isn't sure what started it. It was as if he'd been flipped with an off-switch.

(Damian had been so confident that the League would go looking for him after his disappearance. He was wrong, and he is crushed. He is still a child, alone, in a country very big and very busy, where nobody understands what he's saying. He feels powerless, helpless.)

(The lazarus boy who calls himself Danyal is nice to him in a way the league has never been, and he's making an effort to learn Damian's language. But he leaves for hours at a time and Damian doesn't have much else to do but wait in this house for him to come back.)

(He tried leaving, many many times, but he doesn't understand the street signs, the roads, the people. He doesn't know where he is, and he feels scared in a way that he's not felt in the League. Danny finds him every single time, hours later when Damian is lost somewhere in Amity Park)

(And he never yells at him. Never. The first time this happens, Damian puffs himself up and prepares himself for this strange lazarus boy to yell at him. Damian feels like he's tripped on the last step of the stairs when Danyal doesn't yell at him.)

(He can tell he's frustrated by the tone of his voice, but when Danyal lays eyes on him he just looks relieved. He gets scolded on the flight home, but Damian doesn't understand any of it other than Danyal just sounds worried. Not angry. He gets a proper scolding once they get back, with Danyal typing into the google translator and playing it for Damian to hear.)

(This happens every single time until Damian finally agrees to stop running away.)

It's with Jazz's help that Danny finally realizes that Damian was depressed. It's with her help again that Danny tries helping with it. It's like trying to get a stray cat to trust him. And with everything else they've done, it takes a long time.

And it is so, so worth it when it all works out.

Tiny Damian doesn't really like Sam, or Tucker, but he likes Danny. And he finally starts calling him his name. His full name, but his name nonetheless. Danny doesn't bother correcting him. He's not looking a gift horse in the mouth. And it's endearing hearing Damian call him Danyal.

Damian in this time, also begins to take more initiative into learning English. And they teach each other words they know. Danny buys flash cards and writes the english alphabet on them, and then finds a book on arabic to teach himself and Damian. Sam and Tucker and Jazz start learning as well.

And then when Danny knows enough arabic and Damian knows enough english, and Damian trusts Danny, Damian tells him he's a clone. It's a quiet moment, late at night when Danny takes Damian up to the ops center to look at what stars they could see through the light pollution.

It'd be very easy for Danny to tell him, "I know. I could tell from the start.". He doesn't, it's not the time nor the place, and Danny's matured enough to know when to open his mouth and when to keep it shut. He lets Damian, almost seven now, tell him that he's a clone of Damian Wayne. Lets him tell him why he was made, what his purpose was.

(Danny will need a minute later to process the fact that Damian Wayne originally came from some kind of... assassin league with an obsession with immortality. But he's focused on Damian.)

In the end, he puts an arm around Damian Wayne's clone and pulls him into his side. Thanks him for trusting him, it must've been hard to tell him, that he's brave for being able to. And if he wants to, they can find a way to get into contact with the Waynes and let Wayne know about him.

Damian hides his face in Danny's ribs and holds him tight, and tells him he doesn't want to. Danny leaves it at that.

Perhaps it would be more morally ethical to alert Damian Wayne that there was a clone of him running around, that his... uh, grandfather was making clones of him. Hell, Danny would have liked it. But little Damian has asked him not to say anything, and little Damian needs someone to rely on; someone he can trust.

And in the end, its not that hard of a decision to make. Danny knows little Damian more than he knows Damian Wayne, and while Danny likes to think he's a good person, he knows he's not a great one. Nor a perfect one. He cares more about someone he knows than someone he doesn't.

If Sam tries to argue with him about it, then Danny will just double down. If Damian doesn't want to tell Wayne about his existence, then it's not their place to say otherwise.

There's a lot more to talk about over Damian's cloning, like what he wants to do moving forward. But that's a long conversation not meant to be one taken late at night. Little Damian is falling asleep at his side, seemingly much more relaxed than he did before, and Danny wasn't gonna ruin that.

And later he's right, it is a long conversation, and a slow one. Talking with Jazz about it helps him figure out what to do moving forward, and their best bet is to let Damian figure out what he wants to do. So he sits Damian down at the dinner table the next morning and tells him before breakfast that he doesn't need to be Damian Wayne.

He doesn't need to learn all the same things Damian Wayne did. He doesn't need to do anything that Damian Wayne does. And little Damian is seven, and he's smart, but Danny still has to word it in a way that's not too complex for him to realize.

And in the end, what he says essentially boils down to "You are not Damian Wayne, you are just you. Don't be anyone else but you." and it'll take more time to drill that into his mind when all he's ever heard and learned from is that he was a copy of Damian Wayne, and he must act like Damian Wayne. But it'll happen.

It's a hard task when Danny's the only person Damian really trusts and he can't be by his side all the time, but he starts to warm up to the rest of Danny's family. The Fenton parents know of him, it's hard to keep a six year old child a secret for as long as Danny did without eventually having to come clean about it. His parents, much to Danny's relief, are very welcoming to Damian.

Damian figures out what he likes. Slowly. He's six years old, almost seven, and nobody expects of him to figure out who he is immediately. No child knows who they are right off the bat. So like any child he begins to explore. His english is better but still rough, and he struggles to read said language, but the Fenton family are happy to help even if Damian learns words that no normal seven year old does. (Many of them scientific.)

Damian realizes he likes stars, even if said interest is influenced by the association to Danny. Danny is all too delighted to tell him all about them, and in the process takes him flying out somewhere where the light pollution doesn't reach and showing him where constellations are.

Damian is six-almost-seven, so he doesn't find all of them, but Danny helps him figure out the easier ones. He tells him the scientific facts behind them, and then tells him about the mythos of the constellations. Later on they make their own constellations and make up stories about what they are.

(Damian adores Danny out of anyone else in the Fenton Family. The name Danyal turns to Dany. If anyone asks, Daniel Fenton is Damian's big brother.)

(He still refers to Jazz as Jazmine, and Danny's parents as Mrs. and Mr. Fenton.)

He realizes that, like his original, he loves animals, and he becomes vegetarian too. Sam is smug and Tucker is disappointed, but Damian doesn't super care about their opinions. ...he's getting better at liking them, even if he thinks Manson is a bit snobby and Foley is too much at times.

Its inevitable that the conversation of school comes into play. Damian can't stay home all day and he needs proper schooling. So after a long talk with Damian, they agree to send him to elementary school.

...And before they can do that the Fenton Family goes through with legally adopting Damian into the family as Damian Fenton. It takes convincing to get the administration to enroll him into the first grade without a proper schooling background.

(On his adoption form, Damian asks to change his birthday to the day he met Danny. Perhaps its not the most responsible thing to agree to, but Danny wants Damian to find himself. And its not like they know when his actual birthday was.)

And despite where he learned it from, Damian quite likes sparring. And he quite likes sparring with Danny in particular. Danny makes it fun, something that was foreign in his old league training, and Danny never hurts him. It's a lot like roughhousing.

Danny tells Damian how he got his powers, and how his parents don't know. Damian wakes up late at night to Danny sneaking out of the room (their house is not big enough to give Damian an individual room, and Danny agreed to share his) to go fight ghosts.

It's upsetting. Damian knows that Danny gets injured in those fights, even if Danny never comes home until after those injuries have been fixed up. He wants to help, and he voices it, and Danny shoots him down.

It becomes an argument, something that has happened less and less over the months.

Damian is experienced.

Damian is a child.

Damian knows how to fight.

Damian is mortal and fragile. He is a tiny, squishy human boy and the people Danny fights are ghosts who are near-indestructible. Who are intimately acquainted with death but also do not remember that humans are capable of it. Especially when they're fighting.

Damian says that Batman's rogues are capable of the same thing, that he lets his Robins help him fight.

And Danny says he is not Batman and he will not allow Damian to fight ghosts with him. Those ghosts will kill him and it will hurt. Dying hurts in a way that is terrifying and unimaginable and he will not risk Damian experiencing it. Not even Sam and Tucker help him in his fights most of the time, they are not able to. Not in the way Danny can.

Damian doesn't talk to him all day the following morning, but Danny does not budge on his decision. Damian tries to follow him out the next night, and Danny catches him and takes him back. Over, and over, and over again.

Until finally he gets intercepted by Skulker while taking Damian back home and is forced to fight him in front of Damian. (If it had been his choice, he would not have let Damian see it at all.)

It's not pretty. Skulker has new weapons, weapons that hurt, a lot. Danny is stuck between trying to take him down and trying to protect Damian from Skulker's attacks at him and from all the debris being created from the fight. It's with Damian's quick thinking and fast feet that finally helps Danny take Skulker out. But Danny is badly injured in the aftermath.

He doesn't have time to take Damian home and get medical attention. So he takes Damian with him to wherever he has his supplies stashed. He doesn't call Sam or Tucker or Jazz, and has to stitch himself up alone, with Damian watching.

Damian is quiet the entire time, he feels awful. Danny's not mad at him -- well, he is. But not because he had to protect him. He's just tired, and a little disappointed in him. Damian doesn't sneak out again. But he still feels helpless.

Danny tells him that that is why he doesn't want Damian to help him. Ghosts, his ghosts, are hard to fight. They are powerful, and his 'rogues' are mean. They will not care that Damian is a mortal child, if he picks a fight with them, they will fight back. And Damian is not immune to certain ghost powers like Danny is.

Damian is silent. He wants to help. But Danny is right: he is a squishy, mortal, living child. There is not much he can do to help Danny. Not without any gear to do it. Not without any powers to do it. He wants to help. He cannot.

Damian, almost-seven-years old, begins to cry. It is the last thing Danny was expecting, and for a moment he is at a loss of what to do.

Damian reaches for him -- in the Fenton family, physical affection is expected. Damian is getting used to it, but Danny is the only one he likes touching him -- and then stops, cringing away like he only just remembered that Danny was hurt.

He only cries harder.

Danny meets him halfway and pulls him into his arms, situating Damian between his knees from where he's sitting. Through his tears, Damian says he wants to help. He wants to help. He doesn't want Danny to get hurt anymore. He doesn't want Danny to fight ghosts alone anymore. He's scared that Danny will stop coming back.

Danny doesn't have anything to say to reassure him. Can't say anything to reassure him. It'll all just be lies. He's not going to stop fighting ghosts, he can't. He's not going to stop getting hurt, he can't. He's not going to bring Damian with him, he can't. He'd never be able to live with himself.

"I'll always come back." He says though, because that is something he can promise. Whether dead or alive, he'll come back.

When the tears finally stop, Damian doesn't say anything again. He sniffles, and presses his ear to Danny's chest, listening to the steady, slow heartbeat. If he puts his ear to his sternum and strains his ear, Damian would almost hear the low hum of Danny's ghost core, like a small dwarf sun.

"If you die, I'll drag you to the Lazarus pools myself." Damian mumbles eventually, his voice sleep-full. It's spoken in arabic, and Danny only understands half of it.

He laughs quietly, and smoothes his hand over Damian's hair. He hasn't had a haircut since he arrived, it's gotten long and there are curls beginning to form. "Okay."

Damian falls asleep shortly after, and with much consideration to his own injuries and Damian's sleeping form, Danny flies them back home.

It's hard to say, but not much changes in routine afterwards. Damian hovers close to Danny, more than usual. Danny still goes out at night, he still stitches himself up before going back, he still goes back home where Damian is waiting worriedly for him. Damian doesn't like falling asleep without knowing Danny is there.

Now the hard question is: when does little Damian finally meet the Waynes for the first time? There's plenty of ways to go about it, both easy and hard. Perhaps we go this way:

The Fenton family are visiting Maddie's sister in Arkansas. And Damian is dragging Danny around through the surrounding forest. It's his first time being in a forest this large since he moved in with the Fentons. Safe to say he is delighted by all of the nature, and he's dragging Danny along with him.

Danny likes the peace and quiet it gives him, he's found that he enjoys the rural area more than he likes the city. He's happy to let Damian point out every plant he recognizes, even if some of it is in arabic.

They walk around all day until Damian gets tired, and then at night when the sky is clear Danny and him go look at the stars. It's peaceful at first.

On the third day of their visit, Damian drags Danny out far from the house. It's slightly worrying, but Danny can always fly them back if it gets too late.

It's in the woods that Danny and Damian stray much too far from Alicia's house, and from there in the early evening that they run into Batman and Red Robin, both of them in rough 'just got out of a fight' shape.

Safe to say, it was the last thing any of them expected to run into. Damian and Danny had stopped at a small crik to rest, and the two vigilantes came through the tree line on the other side.

It was... quite the staring contest.

Damian, now seven years old at this point, forgot to mention that the Waynes were vigilantes when he told Danny he was a clone. But he was told that Batman was his original's father.

Before anyone can say anything, little Damian wraps his arms tight around Danny's middle and stares Batman and Red Robin down. His sharp edges have softened around the Fentons. But he makes no exceptions to anyone else outside of Danny's immediate social circle.

Danny's arm automatically goes around Damian's shoulders, and he looks between both Red and Batman uneasily. If they were here then it meant that there was something unsafe nearby. Danny did not fight the living, and he wasn't going to put Damian in the crosshairs of anything that does.

"Should... should we leave?" He asks, brows knotted together with a frown. He stands. "Is there something going on nearby?"

Batman suddenly grunts, and looks at him. "It's been handled." He says, and his voice is gruffer than Danny imagined it. Lower. Danny is not all that comfortable with that answer.

"Do you guys live nearby?" Red Robin asks, and Danny can't help but notice that he keeps looking at Damian. Warily. In fact, so is Batman.

He pushes Damian behind him slightly, and Damian's grip tightens on him. "Not... exactly." He says, his eyes narrowing slightly. "My family's visiting my Aunt and my brother wanted to explore since it's his first time out of the city, I guess we wandered too far away if we're running into you."

There's no visible indication of whether or not both Bats reacted to him calling Damian his brother. But he can all but feel little Damian preen at the title, it makes Danny's mouth twitch into a smile as his hand finds Damian's hair.

"Would we be able to go back with you?" Red Robin asks, startling both Danny and seemingly Batman, who looks at him instantly.

"Red Robin." He growls out, and Red Robin throws Batman a look of annoyance.

"We are lost, B. They jammed the comms and our trackers back there and it hasn't come back on yet, his aunt may have the signal we need to let the others know where we are."

They end up walking back with Danny and Damian. It's silent, and awkward, and Danny has Damian walking on his opposite side so he's not near the vigilantes. Red Robin is fiddling with a phone but still can't get a signal.

Batman is silently brooding.

Red eventually gives up and shoves the phone into a pocket on his belt, then turns to make conversation with Danny. "I never thanked you for letting us walk with you. Thanks, by the way."

Danny blinks at him, and smiles awkwardly. "No problem, man," he says, "I'm uh, Danny." He glances down at Damian, who looks up at him with big green eyes, and Damian nods quietly.

He looks back at Red Robin, and says, "This is my little brother, Damian." And Damian peers over his side and glares at Red Robin -- and Batman, who looks over when Danny says his name.

"He looks like Damian Wayne," Red Robin notes, head tilting like he's inspecting him.

Danny huffs dryly, "We get that a lot."

Red Robin smiles at him, its a tilted thing. It makes Danny uneasy. "Where did you say you were from?"

"I didn't," Danny says bluntly, and he really doesn't want to tell them where he's from. Not when Red Robin was acting strange, but they're vigilantes and notorious for their detective skills. If he's suspicious, they'll look into him. "But I'm from Amity Park."

Damian in that moment, peers around Danny again and scowls at Red Robin. Full on scowls at him, as if it were the first months when he met Danny. "You're being nosy." He sneers, his hand squeezing Danny's.

"Damian," Danny hisses, suppressing a smile. Damian jumps like he's been startled, and looks up at him with big green eyes. "He's just being curious."

(He lets his smile slip through briefly, just to let Damian know he's not that upset. A tension leaves his little brother's shoulders.)

"But he is." Damian continues, a whine leaking into his voice. Danny jabs him in the ribs with his fingers, and Damian jumps, swatting away his hand with a squeak.

"Would you rather have us walk in dead silence, Dames?" He goes for Damian's ribs again, a grin stretching across his face as Damian jumps back again and swats his hand. "Hm? Hm? We could just walk in awkward silence for the entire trip back, I know you just love awkward silence, little brother."

(It's funny, saying little brother always sounds so uncomfortable when he reads it in books and watches it on tv. But Jazz always makes it sound so natural when she does it, and Danny finds that he sounds the same too.)

Damian continues to bat away his hands, but it's not enough to prevent him from squealing with laughter when Danny gets a good hold on him and starts tickling him. Danny's grin only gets bigger, and he swoops Damian up with his arm and holds him like a football.

"Is that it? Huh? Me, you, and two vigilantes walking back to Aunt Alicia's cabin in complete, utter silence." He says, "You won't get to hear any of my amazing jokes."

Damian's wriggling, trying to pound on Danny's ribs, he's giggling uncontrollably. It's the best sound Danny's ever heard. "Your jokes are awful! Laeazir! Put me down!" He cries, grinning from ear to ear.

(From the side, both Red Robin and Batman tense up.)

Danny chuckles, and through a short series of flips, has Damian sitting on his shoulders. "I will not. You're sitting up in air jail for insulting my hilarious jokes."

Damian tugs on his hair in revenge, harrumphing at him but making no move to get down. Danny squeezes his ankles playfully, and looks back to Batman and Red Robin.

Both vigilantes look at him like he's grown a second head.

....Red Robin looks at him like he's grown a second head. Batman just stares, and then looks away. Danny tilts his head at them, his smile waning. "You guys look like you've seen a ghost or something."

(Damian tugs on his hair again. A silent boo at him.)

Red Robin jerks, "Oh, sorry." He says, not sounding all that sorry. "It's just... I've lost count to how many times I've saved Damian Wayne from the occasional kidnapping and he's always been very... serious. It's just weird seeing a kid that looks like him be... not serious."

From his shoulders he feels Damian hide his smile in his hair, that's another thing they can put on their "Things That Damian Does That Damian Wayne Does Not" list. It started as a joke, but it's been surprisingly helpful for when Damian is questioning himself.

However, Danny is not a fan of the comparison, and he smiles widely, perhaps a tad passive-aggressive. "It's a good thing that my Damian isn't Damian Wayne then." He says, giving him the slight stink eye.

Red Robin picks up on it quickly, and nods.

The rest of the way is spent in idle conversation. It's oddly casual, even if most of the conversation is Danny talking about himself. It's annoying, but he unfortunately understands the reason. Secret identities and all that.

Damian interjects a few times, some parts to talk to Danny, and other parts to throw shade at Batman and Red Robin. Mostly Red Robin, who seems begrudgingly used to it.

("I'm surprised you haven't asked me much about myself." Red Robin says at one point into the conversation. Over his shoulder Batman glares at Red Robin. "A lot of civilians do when they're able."

Danny stares at him. "You're a vigilante." He says, frowning, "Isn't it superhero 101 that you don't ask superheroes for their secret identity?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Huh. Well, no. I'm not gonna ask you about yourself. I quite like talking all about me.")

When they finally reach the cabin, it's late into the night and Danny has moved Damian from his shoulders to his front in a koala-like carry. Damian's fast asleep with his head on Danny's shoulder.

His family was also frantically searching for him, and Jazz sees him first. She immediately turns behind her and yells "I FOUND HIM!". And then sprints over to him, his parents thundering not too far behind.

Both vigilantes are subsequently ignored as Jazz dotes over him and Danny, and soon enough so is his mom and dad. They're all talking all at once, asking him where he was, they were worried sick, did he know how late it was.

He shushes all of them, loudly. And whispers that Damian is sleeping. His family then immediately quiet themselves, and go back to yelling at him in a more appropriate manner.

"Me and Damian walked too far by accident." Danny finally says when he can get a word in, and then he jabs his thumb in Red Robin and Batman's direction. "We also found two superheroes who need assistance."

The speed of which his family all snap their heads over to the direction he's pointing is almost comical. As is all of their expressions of shock.

His mother is the first to regain her senses, and she sighs at him. She sighs! "Only you, Danny." She says, and Jazz snorts into her arm.

#dpxdc #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danny phantom au #dpdc danny fenton #i am incapable of making short posts it seems. heavy sigh #this post is open to add ons if anyone's interested 👉👈#this entire au is essentially the song 'Strange Sight' by KT Turnstall from the Tinkerbell and the Neverbeast #This post mostly goes into how danny and damian's relationship develops because i think that's the more important part of the au #also damian's like six i firmly believe he wouldn't know much english #no no he's learning arabic first and then english LATER. if he would ever even get there with the league #iirc all the damian clones liked Danny so i wanna explore how their relationship got to that point. Like what happened for Danny to get eve #getting one Damian clone to like him enough to go up to bat for him? that takes time and patience and i wanna explore that lol #danny's in his late teens here btw.#Clone Damian is a 7yo child and I'm writing him as such because its fun. I thought about having Clone Damian change his name but nothing fi #little clone damian is also A Tad Clingy. Danny is the First Person to have shown him a kindness and Damian Imprinted On Him Like a Duck #i love clone aus and clone aus love me #clone damian and danny are bROOOTHEERSS #i thought about making clone damian's name damon bc its close to the name damian but also i like the idea that clone damian keeps the--#original name and then makes it his own. something about taking the name you were given thats not really yours and MAKING it yours

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eunsuri · 1 month ago

Text

The Lighthouse

Pairing: Solas x Lavellan

Summary: Lavellan explores The Lighthouse and reunites with her heart.

Word Count: 6,608

Warnings: ANGST. Lots of emotions. Lots of love. VEILGUARD SPOILERS.

A/N: Hi everyone! Happy 2 weeks until Veilguard! This has taken me way longer to write than I'd hoped, but I MADE IT! This was inspired by a beautiful piece of art by @pani-artz, I couldn't resist! I've kept Lavellan's description vague for those who would like to keep their own Lavellan in mind while reading! Also posted on AO3!

“We’re here.”

A cold breeze swept through the crossroads, cooling Lavellan’s skin as she stepped up the stairs, Harding, and Leliana flanking her from behind. The three stood before the Eluvian, the shimmering surface glowing faintly. The ancient mirror reflected the crumbled pieces of the ruins floating within the crossroads, flickering with ancient magic and ready to draw them into another world.

Anticipation stirred in Lavellan’s stomach, her senses heightened and glaring at her warped reflection. The faint glow of the mirror’s surface cast a strange light across the stone floor through the overgrown foliage around its frame, and the chill in the air seemed to seep into her bones.

Harding and Leliana exchanged glances behind her, but she hardly noticed, her heart thudding rapidly in her chest like a wild creature trying to escape its cage. Harding had seen this Lighthouse before, She knew what lay behind the Eluvian, all the memories hidden in Solas’ base of operations.

Lavellan knew Solas wouldn’t be waiting for her on the other side. Instead, what awaited was everything he had left behind—his memories, his isolation, the echoes of a life spent in the shadows. The thought of stepping into his world, of facing the remnants of his past and the pieces he had chosen to keep hidden, sent a wave of dread through her. She wasn’t sure she was ready for what she might see—for how deeply his loneliness would be etched into every corner of this place

He had stopped appearing in her dreams, no matter how hard she searched the endless distance where he once stood, always watching over her from afar. Even when she reached out, he’d slip away like a shadow, yet his presence had brought her comfort. Night after night, she would speak to him—tell him how much she missed him, how she longed to change his heart. The wolf never answered, but the sorrow in his eyes cut deeper each time, and her desperation to find him only grew over the years.

Now, her dreams were empty, filled with nothing but the ache of waiting for a love that never came. Sleepless nights blurred together as she wondered if he had forgotten her, or if something terrible had happened to him. When Harding had brought news that Solas was alive but trapped in the Fade, it brought a measure of relief, yet doubt still gnawed at her. Would she find any sign that he remembered her in this place, or had she been lost to him as well?

Harding broke the silence, her voice gentle but laced with tension. “It’s… a lot to take in, but I thought you might want to see it.” She paused, then added, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Lavellan’s breath caught in her throat, a fresh wave of anxiety washing over her. Ready? She didn’t think she ever could be. How could anyone prepare to see the deepest, most private parts of someone they loved, but had lost so long ago?

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She needed to do this, no matter how much it hurt. She needed to understand him in a way she hadn’t before, to see his world, his pain, and his purpose. Where he had been all this time, if he remembered her. Even if he wasn’t there to explain it himself.

Lavellan took a shaky, deep breath and stepped toward the mirror, the surface rippling as she neared. With a final glance back at Harding and Leliana, she stepped through and the two followed.

Emerging on the other side, her breath caught in her chest. The three stepped into a realm bathed in a warm, golden glow, as if suspended in the sky. Floating islands hovered in the distance, each dotted with autumn-hued trees as if kissed by sunlight, gently swaying in an unseen breeze. Ancient elven ruins, crumbled yet graceful, drifted among them, suspended in the air like forgotten dreams.

Before them stood a weathered statue of Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, positioned in the heart of the courtyard. It was a figure of a protector—his posture calm, watching over the space with an almost serene presence. Cracks ran through the stone, softened by patches of moss that had claimed him over time, as though nature itself had embraced him. The statue seemed ancient, yet resilient, a symbol of an age long past, guarding the Lighthouse like a silent sentinel.

Beyond the statue, the Lighthouse rose, stretching impossibly high into the sky, its top crowned by a bright magical light encased in a spinning golden roof. The beacon pulsed with an ethereal glow, guiding not only the lost but also wandering spirits seeking refuge. The golden accents that decorated the Lighthouse shimmered in the sunlight, long streams of green fabric dancing in the wind.

Lavellan marvelled at the beauty and serenity of the place as she continued towards the entrance of the Lighthouse, carefully stepping down the broken staircase. The large door opened as the three approached, allowing them to enter the towering building.

Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced at the faded murals stretching along the pathway, their muted colours leading into the centre of the Lighthouse. Each one told a story—Solas’ time in Arlathan, his stories of rebellion, and the ancient history of the elves, including the tale of the Evanuris' downfall.The images on the walls, the stories painted into the stone, all reflected the weight of millennia.

Murals she had seen variations of before caught her eye, depicting Fen’Harel freeing slaves and removing their Vallaslin, as he had once done for her. Another told the story of the Evanuris’ rise to power and their tyrannical ways, with Fen’Harel’s outstretched arms attempting to show them they were not truly gods.

The Dalish legends she had grown up with had taught her to fear the Dread Wolf, to tread lightly lest the trickster god hear her footsteps. But now, knowing him as she did—not as the villain in their stories, but as the man who had fought to free his people, the man she loved—her heart was torn. The fear remained, lingering like an old scar, but it was now tangled with love, understanding, and sorrow for what he had become.

Lavellan wandered through the Lighthouse, her steps slow as she absorbed the surroundings. Relics of a world long lost lay scattered around, each one steeped in both history and longing. The air felt thick with memories—some sorrowful, others sacred—echoes of a time far beyond reach.

She found herself in a large room that appeared to be underwater, giant framed glass windows as a barrier between the water, with many schools of fish swimming through the depths. A lone green leather sofa was situated in the middle of the room, stuffed bookshelves lined the walls, and an array of candles scattered across the floor creating a cosy warmth that drew her in.

It was then that a soft flicker of candlelight against brilliant colours drew her gaze to a mural, its glow pulling at her like a distant memory. A set of candles was arranged on either side of the mural, almost as though it were a shrine. As she made her way towards the artwork, her heart sank deep into her stomach, a heavy weight settling in her chest.

The painting depicted a woman—one hand raised high, a radiant burst of green light pouring from her palm, the other clutching a sword close to her chest. Below the hilt, the familiar mark of the Inquisition gleamed. It was her.

The weight of this realisation struck her in an instant, chest tightening with disbelief, an ache settling deep as sorrow wrapped itself around her heart. Her likeness, immortalised in these ancient halls, was a reminder of what she once stood for, of the time they shared and the distance between them now.

Her fingers traced along the lines of the mural, imagining the strokes Solas had made, his hand dragging the brush across the stone with care. Every detail, every line, told her this was more than a mere addition to his collection of stories. This was crafted with love. He had painted her not just to remember her, but to hold onto her presence, as though each stroke was a vow to never let her fade from his memory.

Tears pooled along her eyelashes. She didn’t know whether to feel honoured, heartbroken, or both. Every detail of the mural seemed to call out to her, each brushstroke a whisper of what had been, what was lost. Slowly, Lavellan’s gaze fell to a small wooden box resting beneath the mural, its presence unassuming, as though it had always been waiting for her.

Hands trembling, she reached for the box, dragging her fingertips along the warmed wood, and gently lifted the lid. Inside, nestled among the old wood, lay Solas' jawbone necklace. The one he had always worn. Lavellan paused, inspecting the familiar necklace before reaching to lift it from the box. The sensation of the cold bone and thick rope looped around it was almost foreign, yet the weight of its meaning was still heavy.

As the jawbone rested in her palm, memories surged through her mind—fragments of what they once had. She recalled how she’d often tug him closer by the necklace, his lips moving against hers, fervent and desperate, as though her touch were the very air he breathed. She remembered idly tracing the rigid texture of the necklace as she lay against his chest, listening to the gentle rise and fall of his breath as he shared quiet stories of the Fade. Each moment felt as tangible as the cool bone now in her grasp.

She could no longer hold it with the same warmth she once had, but the connection to him, to their shared past, lingered still. The weight of the jawbone in her hand felt like a lifeline to the man she had been hunting for all these years. Desperate to keep that feeling close, she gently lifted the necklace over her head, letting the familiar curve of bone rest against her chest. It settled there, and for a brief moment, she felt as though she had him with her again.

Lavellan clutched the bone in her hand while blinking away the lingering tears which threatened to fall at any moment. As she moved forward, every step felt heavier, unable to shake the palpable sense of solitude that hung in the air. This place, with all its beauty, was not just a refuge for spirits. It was a place of mourning—a sanctuary for Solas’ lost hopes, where his memories whispered through every crack in the stone, and his loneliness lingered like a shadow.

Further in, a large dining table sat in the centre of the room. The long wooden surface stretched out before her, grand and ancient, yet only a single place setting lay at its head—a lone plate, a single cup, and neatly arranged cutlery beside them. An ache squeezed in her chest at the sight. This table, large enough for a gathering, bore only the quiet signs of one man’s solitary meals. Solas had sat here alone, day after day, surrounded by memories and ghosts of his old ambitions.

She couldn’t bear the thought of him there, sitting quietly, the vast emptiness echoing through the room as he contemplated the burden of his mission. He had been so steadfast, so determined, yet the loneliness had seeped into every corner of his existence. How many nights had he sat here in silence, the weight of his choices pressing down on him, thinking that this was the only choice he had.

The simple setting was a stark reminder of everything he had left behind for his mission—companionship, love, the simple joys of shared moments. The pain choked at Lavellan's throat and the tears she had fought streamed down her skin as she took in the sight. She rested a hand on the back of the chair, picturing him there, staring into the distance across the table, as he grappled with the weight of millennia. He had shut everyone out, even those who would have fought beside him, and in doing so, had consigned himself to this eternal isolation.

Lavellan stood still by the table, the weight of her thoughts pushing down on her shoulders like a storm cloud on the verge of breaking. Her sadness gave way to a simmering anger that twisted deep in her chest. How could he have left her—left them—like this? If only Solas had confided in her—trusted her with his truths. If only he had let her share the burden that had twisted his path into something unrecognisable. Things could have been different; they could have faced this together. She could have stood by his side, helped him bear the weight of his cause, find a better way, and maybe, just maybe, spared them both the pain of this isolation.

The thoughts of what could have been pierced through her, sharp and unyielding. How different would their lives have been if he hadn’t pushed her away, if he hadn’t shrouded himself in secrecy and left her to chase shadows for years? Heavy and unrelenting regret settled into her bones. They could have shared this—this fight, this journey. She had loved him enough to stay, to fight for him, but he had locked her out, too consumed by his purpose, too afraid to burden her with the truth.

Her fingers curled into her palms, hands clenched at her sides, frustration clawing its way up her body as she thought of the pain he had caused—his actions had left Varric wounded, with the false gods free to wreak their havoc upon the world. He had condemned himself to isolation, convinced he was sparing her the pain when, in truth, he had only deepened the wound.

Maybe he had been too proud, too wrapped in his conviction that he had to bear this weight alone. He hadn’t let her love him the way she could have. If only. If only things had been different. If only he had trusted her.

Lavellan’s thoughts were then interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor. She wiped at her eyes hastily, straightening her posture as Leliana appeared at the doorway.

“They’ve returned,” Leliana spoke softly. “Rook and the others are back.”

Lavellan turned, her heart still heavy from the weight of her reflections. Without a word, she nodded, following Leliana out of the room and towards the group that had gathered in the main hall.

There was more to it now—she’d learned that Rook had formed a connection with Solas. A tether, almost, caused by the disrupted ritual. She had to know if there was a way, some hidden thread she could pull to reach him herself, to bridge the distance between them once more.

A spark of determination tingled through her skin. If Rook had found a way to connect, perhaps she could too.

Later that same evening, with the sharp sting of her discoveries still fresh in her chest, Lavellan found herself standing in the Fade.

Rook had spoken of how they had become connected to Solas through the ritual gone wrong, their fates intertwined, and Lavellan had seized upon that fragile link. It was all she needed—a thread, however thin, to follow him.

With Varric’s warning in her ears and Solas’ necklace warm against her skin, she stepped forward, stumbling through the dark and desolate landscape of the Fade. The twisted remnants of broken elven statues loomed around her, their cracked surfaces glinting dully in the ethereal light, like forgotten memories trapped in stone. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt magic, a bitter tang that clung to her tongue, tainted by a ritual gone horribly wrong.

As she moved, the ground crumbled beneath her feet, each step sending a shiver through her body as she navigated the uneven terrain. She could feel Solas’ presence—distant, yet unmistakable—like a flickering flame in the depths of her mind, pulling her forward despite the air of despair that settled around her like a shroud. Echoes of lost voices whispered through the stillness, their lamentations brushing against her ears, urging her to keep searching in this forsaken place.

She had worked so hard to find him over the past ten years, constantly reaching for him in her dreams only for him to slip away like a fading memory. Her relief at hearing he was alive warred with the anger gnawing at her heart. He had stopped appearing in her dreams, and for so long she had feared the worst—afraid he had been consumed by his mission, or worse, by his pride. Yet here he was, trapped in the Fade, perhaps lost in his own way.

The thought of him being trapped, cut off from everything, pulled at her heart. Just as she had found him again, he was suffering. But that grief mixed with a simmering anger. He had hurt Varric, who had only been trying to stop him from making a terrible mistake.

Her steps quickened, the greyed path through the Fade twisting and bending as though it were alive. She remembered Varric’s words—how he had tried to stop Solas, how Solas, in his struggle tugging at the lyrium dagger, had let it go too far. The thought stung, reopening the old wounds that had never fully healed. He had hurt someone they both cared about. Had it been an accident, or had his obsession with his plan blinded him to everything else?

It was then she saw him. Solas stood at the edge of the platform, his presence powerful and untouchable like a distant star. His eyes caught hers with a knowing look, as though he had been expecting her all along.

His strong stance wavered ever so slightly, a near imperceptible shift. Somehow, he was even more beautiful than she remembered. He was draped in dark leather armour that hugged his frame, his broad shoulders embellished with gold which decorated his chest as well. His face remained sharp and regal, though it now carried a colder edge. The weight of his millennia-old burden clung to him, as heavy as the Fade around them.

The sight of him sent a rush of warmth through her, but it was quickly swallowed by the bitter pang of nostalgia and regret, memories crashing over her like an ice cold wave. Lavellan’s voice faltered, the carefully rehearsed words slipping from her grasp, lost under the crushing gravity of his presence. For countless nights, she had imagined this moment—each conversation, every plea, practised over and over. But now, as he stood before her, all those thoughts scattered like dust, leaving her speechless.

“Solas.”

Her voice trembled with the only thing she could utter, a raw mix of anger and longing breaking free. Lavellan felt the years between them collapse. The sorrow, the love, the pain, and the anger—it all surged forward, overwhelming her in an instant.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Solas’ expression remained guarded, though the tension in his jaw and the weariness in his eyes betrayed him. His lips parted, as though he might speak, but the words died unspoken on his tongue. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken history.

Lavellan’s heart raced as she struggled to steady her breath, emotions crashing over her: love, anger, and grief all vying for control. She wanted to scream at him for the pain he'd caused—to her friends, to her. She wanted to demand answers, to weep for his loneliness, for how lost he had become. But she also longed to run into his arms, to hold him so tightly he could never leave again, to feel the warmth of his lips, to taste the love they once shared.

Across the distance, Solas silently soaked in the sight before him. Amidst the boundless darkness of his prison, his heart stood before him once more. A dull ache crawled from his chest into his throat as he noticed how time had touched her. Soft lines had etched themselves across her skin—subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone but him. She looked exhausted, as though the years had been heavy, yet her beauty had not faded. Her eyes still held the same fire, the same brightness that had captivated him.

His gaze fell to her arm, the gleam of metal catching his eye—her prosthetic. The sight of it twisted his heart into a deep, bitter knot of guilt. She had lost her arm because of choices he had made. Though removing it would save her from an untimely end, her connection to the Anchor would have consumed her had the arm remained. However, that knowledge offered little comfort.

It was because of him. she had been marked in the first place, that she had been forced to bear that burden, to lose part of herself for a cause that had never truly been hers to fight. He carefully swallowed the pain in his throat in an attempt to mask the surge of sorrow that threatened to break through.

For a heartbeat, the distance between them seemed insurmountable and never ending. Yet the connection they had forged so long ago, deep and unshakable, remained—like a tether drawing them together even now.

Solas shifted subtly, searching the depths of his mind for words that could bridge the chasm of time and pain between them. No words could repair the damage that had been done, not a single syllable could undo the devastation he had caused.

“Vhenan…” he whispered at last, his voice rough, heavy with all the things left unsaid. It was the only word he could manage, the only truth left to him, spoken as though it held within it all his love and regret. The word hung in the air like a fragile promise.

The harsh and unforgiving hand of grief gripped Lavellan’s heart at the sound of his endearment. It had been so long since she had heard the word leave his lips, and yet it was the same—soft, full of meaning. She placed one foot in front of the other, taking a tentative step forward, her fingers brushing against the jawbone necklace, grounding her in the reality of the moment. The memory of their love flooded her, the fluttering which overwhelmed her belly when he would call her his heart, mingling with the anger that still smouldered in her chest.

“What have you done, Solas?” Her voice cracked through her cutting words, the accusation spilling through her lips before she could bite her tongue. “You stopped coming to me. You were…tearing the Veil apart, and then Varric—” She swallowed hard, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “You didn’t stop. You hurt him, and now… the false gods are free and ready to destroy this world.”

Her words were sharp, biting, but beneath the anger was the raw, unspoken truth: she loved him. She always had. And seeing her proud, cunning love like this—trapped in the cage of his own creation—cut deeper than any wound she had ever known.

Solas’ eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head bowing beneath the shameful weight of her words. When his eyes found her again, there was a subtle flicker in his gaze—something raw and aching, a depth of emotion she couldn’t quite define. Regret, perhaps, or something far more tangled and broken.

“It was not supposed to happen this way,” he murmured, voice thin and weary, as if even the admission pained him, the words almost too heavy to continue. “I had a plan. The ritual, I was moving them to another prison. But Varric interfered, he disrupted a dangerous ritual. I did not intend for him to get hurt.”

The flame in Lavellan’s eyes blazed with fury, her voice trembling as the words tumbled out without a second thought. "Varric was our friend, Solas. You’ve gone too far. He wasn’t aware of your intentions. He tried to stop you, tried to make you see reason, and you—" She faltered, the pain caught in her throat reducing her voice to a weak whisper.

Though Varric still lived, his fate was uncertain, the magic from the lyrium-infused dagger weaving through his veins unpredictably. Her dear friend had only wanted to help—and yet, he had paid the painful price for it.

The hardened resolve in Solas’ eyes wavered, his brow furrowing with the slightest shake of his head. “I’m sorry,” he uttered, the words quiet, but laden with everything left unspoken.

“That’s all you have to offer? After everything that’s happened? After all this time?” Lavellan’s words sliced through the air, her voice was low yet biting. Her fingers curled in, hands tense at her sides as her frustration simmered just beneath the surface.

She was torn between the depth of her love and the hot flame of her anger. She had missed him so achingly—every day without him was a quiet torment—but now, seeing him like this, the one she’d loved so fiercely, all she could feel was the cold sting of his absence, the ache of betrayal. He had left her, and worse, he had hurt Varric in his reckless pursuit.

And now, after everything he had done, he stood there with regret etched into his sharp features, yet offering nothing more than a simple apology. She could see the remorse in his eyes, he meant it, but it wasn’t enough—not after everything. She longed to reach out to him, to close the distance between them, but the wound was too fresh, too raw. How could she bridge the gap when all he had to offer were those meagre words?

“Nothing can change what I have already done,” Solas sighed, the sound long and weary, as though carrying the burden of centuries.

“I know,” she replied, her voice trembling with the heaviness of her admission. “You can’t undo what’s been done… but you can still do better. You can still choose differently.”

Solas studied her, his expression unreadable for a moment, though the gravity of her words seemed to hang between them. "Better choices do not erase what has already been set in motion," he spoke quietly, his tone almost resigned, as though he carried the inevitability of his fate like a burden.

“So what, you'll just let the world fall apart because it's already in motion? You think destroying this world will somehow lead to salvation?” Lavellan began, her voice cold and cutting. Her eyes locked onto his, unflinching as she took a hard step forward. “The elven people you’re trying to save? There’ll be nothing left for them if you don’t help us stop this madness now.”

Her words hit him like a sudden gust, rattling the walls he had built around himself. For a moment, his defences collapsed under the truth of her words. But then, almost instinctively, he pulled them back up, his expression hardening as his gaze held hers.

”'Did you come only to scold me, Vhenan? Or is there more you wish to say?”

Lavellan’s breath quickened at his response, the fire in her eyes dimming for just a moment as his question hung in the air. The silence between the two stretched, filled with all the things that had never been said, all the pain, all the longing in their time apart. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, struggling to speak past the heaviness of her own heart.

"There is plenty I wish to say. But in truth, I came because—" She managed to murmur, the words catching in her throat. Her feet moved before her mind could stop them, stepping slowly towards Solas. "Because I was worried about you. Because I wanted to see you." Her voice was raw, as if speaking the truth aloud burned at her tongue. "Because…even after everything I—"

Solas’ head tilted ever so slightly, his expression softening as his furrowed brows relaxed, and for a fleeting second, something in him seemed to break. The unspoken bond between them, ever-present and undeniable, pulled at him once more. He reached out, almost as if drawn by the force of her words, but stopped himself just short.

He wanted nothing more than to hold her close to him and never let her go again. To let every thought spill from his lips and confess his love for her as if it were the first time. The warmth of her presence was only growing closer as she stepped further in his direction, her beautifully intoxicating scent stirring memories of their past together. He craved her fiercely—the softness of her lips, the feel of her smooth skin beneath his fingertips, her lovely voice whispering words of love that echoed in his heart.

But the shrinking space between them felt like a chasm born not only of time, but of all the hurt and chaos he had left in his wake. He didn’t deserve her. Not after his failure. Not after what he had done. He couldn't bear to drag her into the darkness of his journey, a path that he believed would only lead to death. She deserved so much more than the ruins of his mistakes.

He imagined the weight of his choices suffocating her, dimming the light that had always drawn him in. Yet as she drew nearer, he could feel the pull of her more acutely, as though the Fade itself conspired to draw them together. The ache of her absence, the torment of his own regret—none of it could dampen the magnetic force that still lingered between them.

"You should hate me," he spoke quietly, his voice barely more than a breath. "After everything I’ve done. All of the pain I have caused."

Lavellan had closed the never-ending distance between them, the air around them thick with an intensity that took her breath away. Her already racing heart quickened, emboldened by a sudden rush, a defiance against the pain that had lingered for far too long. With a trembling hand, she reached for him, her fingertips brushing against his cheek. The connection was electric, sending shivers through her, reigniting a fire that warmed her very core.

In that moment, all his carefully constructed walls began to crumble, melting away beneath her touch. She could see the tension in his shoulders ease, the weight of his regrets momentarily lifting. Their breaths mingled in the space between them, a fragile intimacy that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

It had been years since they last stood face-to-face, their encounters reduced to her lone whispers in her dreams. Each night, she yearned for the warmth of his presence, the comfort of his touch, imagining the feel of his skin against hers, the sound of his voice calling her name. The ache of separation had clawed at her heart, and she knew he had felt it too—a longing that transcended the boundaries of their worlds.

"I tried," she confessed, her voice heavy with emotion, barely above a whisper. "I tried to hate you, but I can’t, Vhenan. I could never."

Solas’ resolve crumbled even further, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes undeniable. “I never wanted you to see what I’ve become. I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he pushed further in a weak attempt to suppress the overpowering love that threatened to consume him.

“I know you cannot change what you have done,” She began through her breath, gently placing her prosthetic hand against his armoured chest and meeting his eyes directly, as though reaching into the depths of his heart. “But I see you, Solas. I see the burden you carry, I’ve seen what you hide in your Lighthouse. It hasn’t changed the way I feel about you.”

Her touch unravelled him completely, cutting through the barriers he had so meticulously built to keep her at a distance and protect her. For all the power that pulsed within him, he was utterly powerless before her. His breath was hitched in his throat, his senses overwhelmed and intoxicated by her nearness. All words escaped him, and instead, he clutched her prosthetic hand to his chest, his knuckles brushing the delicate skin of her cheek, drinking in the moment as if it were the last.

The space between the two vanished, the long-forgotten warmth of each other’s touch easing the ache of a lifetime apart. Starved of the love they had once shared, the air around them grew heavy with anticipation. The energy between them hummed, drawing them closer with each breath, until their eyes flitted shut, surrendering to the inevitable pull of their connection.

“Vhenan…” Solas found his voice once more, before the thread which held him together finally snapped and his lips found hers.

The kiss, at first tentative, quickly deepened as the years of distance, longing, and unspoken words melted between them. It wasn’t gentle; it was desperate, filled with the ache of years apart, with the pain of betrayal and the hope of forgiveness. Lavellan’s hands instinctively reached for him, fingers curling against the cool, textured surface of his armour as if he might slip away again, as if this moment might vanish like a fleeting dream. His hand cradled the back of her head, pulling her closer still, like a drowning man grasping for air.

Solas trembled against her, the control he had so precisely maintained for years finally unravelling in her embrace. Every heartbeat, every breath shared in their kiss spoke of the time they had lost and the memories they had clung to in the dark.

He clutched at her waist, tugging her impossibly close, as though she might disappear if he allowed any distance open between them. The taste of her lips—familiar and sweet—sent a rush of emotion surging through his mouth and into his heart, blooming with love. It was a taste he had dreamed of, mixed with grief, regret, and the bittersweet recognition of all the time they could never reclaim.

For Lavellan, kissing him felt like breaking the surface after endless years submerged in sorrow. She had imagined this reunion, longed for it in her loneliest moments, but nothing could have prepared her for the rawness of it now, the intensity of feeling his warmth, his breath, after so long. Her lips moved fervently against his, as if she could anchor them both in the present, as if this kiss could hold them together while the world threatened to crumble around them.

Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into eternity as their spirits reached for one another, desperate to bridge the chasm of all that had been lost. The air around them shimmered with the intensity of their emotions, the soft crackle of magic lingering like static electricity. Tears mingled between their lips, and Lavellan found herself unsure if they were born from her own heartache or Solas’ sorrow.

When at last they reluctantly parted, it was only enough to breathe, their foreheads pressed together and breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. The warmth of Solas’ skin contrasted with the coolness of the Fade around them. His fingers brushed her cheek, wiping away a tear, his eyes searching hers with a mix of reverence and sorrow, as if committing her face to memory all over again.

“I have missed you,” Solas admitted through a trembling breath, his voice fraying at the edges, each syllable thick with longing and vulnerability. “Every moment, I have missed you.”

Lavellan’s heart stilled at his confession, the pain she’d carried for so long softening, giving way to a quiet joy she had scarcely dared to feel. It was real—his yearning, his regret. He had missed her, and in hearing those words, a wave of warmth rushed through her, filling the hollow space his absence had left behind, like sunlight breaking through a dark, heavy cloud.

“As have I,” she whispered, her voice a breath, an ache. “I love you, Solas.”

The distance between them vanished once more as she closed the space with her lips. An electric tangle of desperation and love crackled in the air, as if they could pour every stolen moment of the past ten years into this one kiss. She breathed the words against his lips— Ar lath ma. I love you, I love you, over and over, with each fleeting pause for air. One hand gripped his broad shoulder as though holding onto the thread of the life they might still have together, while the other skimmed gingerly across his sharp jaw, the cool metal of her fingertips shooting a shiver down his spine.

As their lips moved together, she tasted the faint remnants of the Fade on him—like the bittersweet tang of twilight and the warmth of embers long extinguished. The air was thick with unspoken promises, Solas’ scent enveloping her, an earthy blend of ancient forests, fragrant herbs, and a whisper of magic that felt both familiar and achingly distant. Her heart raced, a wild drum echoing in her ears, as she felt the world around them fade into insignificance. In that moment, nothing else mattered—just the two of them, entwined in a dance of love and longing, the taste of their shared past lingering sweetly on their tongues.

Solas drew a tight breath, his lips forming the words in return, “Ar lath ma, I love you,” each confession fragile and tender, as if speaking it aloud made the moment more real. His hands cupped her face with reverence, fingers tracing the contours of her skin as if rediscovering her all over again, as though he needed to believe this wasn’t some fading dream. She was truly here with him, loving him still, despite all that had come between them. And with each kiss, each murmured promise of love, he felt the final crumbling of the walls he had built to protect himself from this—this undeniable truth that she saw him, truly, as he was: Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. And still, she chose him—Solas.

Warm, fresh tears streamed down his cheeks—tears of relief, not of sorrow, and for the first time in an age, he felt lighter, the burden of millennia softening in her embrace.

Lavellan’s fingers traced the familiar lines of his face, feeling the tension in his jaw slowly release. She caught her breath, pressing her forehead gently to his once more, letting the moment wrap around them like a fragile cocoon, holding them together.

They no longer needed words. There was no need for promises, no talk of what came next.

For now, they were simply here—together.

Solas’ hands held her tightly against him, as if memorising every curve of her, grounding himself in her presence, in the warmth of her body pressed to his. He drank in every bit of her, enraptured by the way her eyes sparkled with the tears she had shed. There was no one more beautiful, in body and spirit.

The world beyond them faded into the abyss—no ancient gods, no torn Veil, no crumbling ruins. Just the rhythmic sound of their breaths mingling between them, the quiet beat of their hearts within their chests, steady and sure. For so long, he had dreamed of this, and yet the reality of it was more than he could have ever imagined.

Lavellan clutched him closer, as if to say all the things she couldn’t form with her lips, as if to tell him that here, in this moment, she chose him—not Fen’Harel, not the Dread Wolf. Just Solas.

And as they stayed there, lost in each other, neither knew how long the moment would last—only that, for now, it was enough.

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veilantares · 8 months ago

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Dark at the End of the Tunnel

Sink into an Anglers grasp in a dream, like the undersea the Night cradles screams

Been inspired by anglerfish recently, so I'm going to try to do at few of these dark background ones back to back and see if I stumble into something new. I noticed I tend to draw characters / mechs / robots in these oneshot illustrations extremely lanky, but I wonder if I made a comic, whether I'd keep these exaggerated proportions - I'm often indecisive about how much mech vs character is in these biomechs, so I usually just don't think about it and draw what feels interesting in the moment.

This gives me a chance to lay down a meandering anecdote - many years ago as a dumb teenager, I'd stay awake every Friday evening / saturday morning till 4 am, hoping to catch my favourite developer, Digital Extremes' weekly devstream. I vividly remember during closed beta in 2012 people would introduce the game as being about futuristic space pirates zipping through corridors - the games fidelity back then was really quite different, one of the early warframes, Ember, even had her whole model redone at one point. Around 2013-2014 ish when I was most excited for these streams, I noticed the games tagline was "ninja's play free", nothing at all to do with pirates - but it was catchy, and you'd see all over in the advertising because of the parkour moves you could pull off in the game were genuinely sick.

Incidentally, both the Defiance MMO (rip) and Destiny 1 (rip) were what warframe tended to be compared to at the time, both released a little after warframes closed beta, neither of which were piratey or ninja-ey , I think probably 80% of the reason for that was that they all had both guns and abilites ... I guess they were also all live services, I don't know if they were called that back then.

Compared to Defiance and Destiny, I was puzzled at what it was about warframes identity that made the aesthetic feel "itself" - and I got my answer on one of those devstreams - the art lead at the time brought out what they called a "faction pitch bible" a one pager showing all the factions they had in the game at the time, each of them with a few lines of flavour text.

What struck me from that faction pitch was that the Tenno / warframes "cyber knight" description was nothing at all to do with pirates or ninjas, it was a third, wholly other thing, and yet by virtue of being first, it might as well have been the "true" description.

But there was another original, even more original than the "true", Warframes predecessor game, Dark Sector, was a spy thriller with biomechanical aesthetics, or perhaps a powered suit superhero series. Would this original, more original than even the initial, not be what it truly was?

I think what my takeaway was from all of these, is that first an foremost, the aesthetic is "itself" rather than any arbitrary descriptors - I enjoy this about my own pieces, that they mostly still feel like they were made by me even if I can't quite categorise them or explain myself. Perhaps I'm happy if the takeaway is "cool mech", "weird robot" or "wacky character" because maybe it's all of those things and even more!

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jemichi90 · 4 months ago

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okay OP, in your recent art you mentioned that "you will explain if needed" and gave a detailed explanation of what might have happened (to Charlie and Maxwell).

I'd LOVE to hear more of your thoughts, and the "explanation" that you said you'd provide (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

ps i really like your art.

Oh! Hello there! 👀

And yes indeed I did. Alright then, get ready for the brainrot. xD

For a long time I've thought that Charlie died and came back wrong, and in the recent updates there have been several things hinting at it.

Here is a list of the ones I can remember right now:

Maxwell says ”There's a story behind that...” when inspecting a touch stone.

After the recent update, the ”dark side” Winona can sense traces of Charlie on the touch stone, confirming it's related to her (the quotes vary).

In the Encore animated short, there is a brief flashback of Charlie with the Ancient Fuelweaver behind her, and then her Chess piece is seen falling and sinking inside a black square on the board - some heavy symbolism there, sparing us from the gory details, I guess...

In Charlie's stageplay, the doll that represents her breaks, but she's brought back to life by the Mirror (Them?) - alive but different, as she says.

And then there are things that fall more into the headcanon territory, until more evidence comes up that either proves or debunks those ideas entirely, but I'll explain those as well, since they heavily influece my art inspiration.

I subscribe to the idea that the two characters in the ancient murals represent Maxwell and Charlie themselves in their early years in the Constant (but depicted by the locals that were unfamiliar with human anatomy). Time moves differently in that world so it could have been thousands of years ago, but the two made contact with the locals and briefly improved their life through the use of Their magic – until it backfired and the entity that must have been sealed for a reason broke free. Assuming the character with the torch really is Charlie, she died protecting Maxwell from the consequences of his own mistakes. In the final mural image, only her cracked head can be seen.

Another headcanon I have comes from the fact that one of shadow Charlie's arms seems to be entirely made of shadows (curiously, there are also arm bones attached to the touch stone, although they could have belonged to a pigman too, like the heads), so I think that whatever happened to her basically shattered her to pieces, and some pieces may still be missing - like that arm. But details like this are only a headcanon for now.

This also falls in the time period between 1906 and 1910-ish, when apparently some crazy stuff happened that Klei hasn't showed us much about – yet (according to their own post some years ago). ^^

So based on all this, my idea is that Maxwell summoned the Fuelweaver (as seen in the murals), but he messed up big time and Charlie got caught in the crossfire trying to protect Maxwell. She died a gruesome death (that may have torn her to pieces even more brutally than in my drawing). Maxwell in his desperation made the touch stone in a hurry (which is why it looks so rough compared to all his other constructs), carried what was left of Charlie there, and made a deal with Them to bring Charlie back to life no matter the cost. And they did. They just didn't bring her back exactly like she used to be, and she would probably fall to pieces and die instantly if she was separated from the entity that she now shares the body with...

I think Maxwell had been able to move freely in the Constant (maybe even out of it, based on his disappearances earlier) until then, but deals like that come with a price, so he lost his freedom and became Their tool (sold his soul to save Charlie?). Or something like that anyway.

There are also the parallels between Charlie and Abigail with their connection to their special flowers, as highlighted in the newest animated video. Charlie just might be another ghost inside a flower herself, but thanks to Them, she got to keep her body, or at least a form that resembles her body.. But I prefer to think that her actual broken body is still a part of the deal, as messed up as that is. We already know that They can keep a body that should have died a long time ago alive for an eternity, thanks to Maxwell. When he was released from the Nightmare Throne and time caught up to him, he didn't just die, he turned to a skeleton that crumbled to dust in an instant..! That's some old corpse, but he'd been conscious all that time because They wouldn't let him die.

So yeah, these happy thoughts inspired that piece. I might draw more about that if I still feel like it later. :D

#reply #3447 #thanks for asking #I hope you won't regret it #ask #don't starve #maxwell #charlie #theory #theories #don't starve together #JeMiChi talking #I'm so glad I've got all these screenshots saved on my computer

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unofficial-underfell · 9 months ago

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Hey guys, I've been thinking about making this post for a long time and I think its finally time I do so. After realizing that some of my last work was done over a year ago, I don't think I can really ignore it anymore. While I haven't quite thrown in the towel on this quite yet, it's pretty evident to me and I'm sure to everyone who still follows this blog that my fervor for the project has drastically decreased. And has been kind of dead for a while. The comic has not been a priority to me, or posting online much at all actually. I did some soul searching and found that I'd started relying on outside approval for my art instead of doing art for the sake of wanting to tell a story and express myself throughout my work. I have limited energy and depression and sometimes it feels like i get such little progress done even though it takes all of my energy. While I'm trying to go to the gym more and build better habits my energy levels and mood still have a lot to be desired, and I'd rather use the limited energy I have to work on something I'm more passionate about.

I've been trying to grow my skills and absorb more stories and I've moved around a lot and started to listen to what I really felt, and I found that a lot of the art I want to focus on deals with heavier and more mature topics. I do love this story, and all of the characters and I feel like I could make a really clever subversion of what is expected from an Underfell comic. But I feel like in these uncertain times with the world and with all of the stuff going on right now, I'd like to use my energy to work on stories that hit closer to the things that I feel are important. So that's why I've not been posting much.

I'm working on a book, and I've actually got quite a lot of progress done on it, but because of all the horror stories online about people stealing author's original works, I'm kind of holding off on publishing any chapters before I can copyright the first draft of the novel. So my online activity will still be pretty scarce for a bit, though I'll still post occasionally on my @cosmicpixel01 account. I'll try better to not be so radio silent though lol. Even if that means I'll post something boring about my dog or books I'm reading just so everyone knows I'm still alive.

I don't want to call it quits on the story. But I also feel like you guys have been kept waiting to see what happens for a really long time, and that makes me feel so guilty. I will try to finish up the pages I have in the works, and I'm probably going to switch to a different format that is some drawings, some writing to finish the story. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to finish it the way I intended for you guys, even with all of the support and kind words and even the fanart that I've kept in a folder on my desktop. I am letting a lot of you down, but I feel like the radio silence is probably more irresponsible than just going out and saying something. And I'm sorry I've kept you all waiting for a not-so-happy update on the blog.

I hope that some of you will continue to follow me for some of my other exploits and see whatever other things I have going on, but I understand that you all followed me for Undertale so I don't want you to feel any sort of guilt if you decide not to. I'm just happy you all supported me for so long.

I'll try to work on this blog again soon, and if anyone has any questions, my asks are open, though I'll probably keep the asks private. Until then I hope everyone stays safe out there. And from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

-Avery

#not pages #unofficial-underfell #this was so hard to write i dont want to be a quitter but I'm tired #avery speaks

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lucisfavoritedemon · 3 months ago

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Through The Poral: Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: A mystery girl comes through the portal with Ford. Little did anyone know she has a bigger connection to the brothers than anyone thought.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, age gap, flash backs, mentions of hopelessness, age gap (reader looks 21)

Pairing(s): Stan x platonic!reader, Ford x platonic!reader

A/N: Retelling of a Tale of Two Stans. The events and ideas are based on a theory I have about the Nightmare Realm. This is in no way canonically true, just my theories based on what we canonically know about the Nightmare Realm.

40 long years of waiting. Waiting and wondering whether the time would come if I would ever be able to go home again. 40 years of hiding in plain sight from the one they call Bill Cipher, a dream demon who reigns over the nightmare realm, the place I have resided in for 40 years. Unaged and unchanged physically, but mentally I feel like I’ve lived for centuries.

When I first arrived in the nightmare realm, I had found refuge with a group of asteroid miners. I wasn't sure how much time had truly passed when an unknown man joined us, Stanford Pines. He told us stories of how he managed to get there as escapes Bill's grasp.

That was a long time ago. It seemed longer than what it actually was. Stanford had gone off and managed to hop between dimensions, and here we're I standing at the ready to take down Bill for good, his quantum destabilizer complete and in hand.

“We have one shot at this.” Stanford whispered to me.

I nodded in agreement, but as we went to strike, a rift opened up in front of us. Stanford, knowing the stakes of this mission knew that either we walked through, or Bill would and wreak havoc upon our home dimension, so with a heavy heart we walked through entering back into our home dimension.

It felt surreal. After being gone for so long, I was finally back home. Yet, where I stood was not familiar to me. I recognised nothing. A dark space that was placed, I assumed, underground. I could hear the whirring of the machine as it fizzled and died. Home, a place I'd long forgotten, yet this place felt nothing like that. I felt like I was an imposter entering a realm I did not belong in.

Stanford and I stood silent. Taking in our surroundings. Unmoved by anything the people standing in the room were saying or doing. That was, till a man in a fez spoke up amongst the group.

“Finally, after all these years long years of waiting, you're actually here! Brother!” The man opened his arms, a goofy grin spread across his face.

Then Stanford punched him square in the face before speaking, “this was an insanely risky move, restarting the portal. Didn't you read my warnings!?”

Never had I seen Stanford so angry. Usually he was calm and collected. Even still, he may have lashed out, but he wasn't yelling, he was calmly speaking down to this man that claimed to be his brother.

“Wranings, schmarnings. How's about maybe a thanks for saving you from what appears to be some sci-fi sideburn dimension.”

“Thank you? You think I'm going to thank you after what you did 30 years ago!?” Stanford raised his voice for the first time since I met him. He always was soft spoken, and kind. Never have I heard someone draw such anger out of him. Not even Bill himself.

Something didn't seem right. The physical confrontation, the yelling. It all screamed something more beyond the surface of what I knew.

Stanford had pinned his brother to the ground after dodging his punches. That's when I noticed the three of us weren't alone. There were three others that joined us in the dark, dingy underground.

“Hey, hi, Mabel here. Quick question, what the heck is going on here?” A girl in a pink hand knitted sweater spoke up.

“Stan, you didn't tell me there were children down here. And some sort of large, hairless gopher.” Stanford quickly gained his composure as he looked between the three people we didn't even notice. The larger man chuckled at Stanford's comment, seeking unphased. I took quick note of this.

“They're your family poindexter. Shermie's grandkids.” Stanford's brother, or Stan as he supposedly goes by, gestured to the two young kids, I'm guessing, were twins.

“I-I have a niece, a nephew?” Stanford's voice turned to one of fondness before he knelt down in front of the girl, Mabel, reaching out to shake her hand, “greetings. Do kids still say greetings? I haven't been in this dimension for a really long time.”

“Woah, a six fingered hand shake, that's one finger friendlier than usual.” Mabel beamed.

Mabel's twin brother, who had been absolutely silent up until now, finally spoke up, “I-I can believe it. You're the author of the journals.” The boy then began to hyperventilate and almost threw up.

This whole thing felt like a lucid dream. I let Stanford get used to the new information he had received. I, on the other hand, had nothing to take in. I again, was lost in the world of unknowns. Maybe I no longer had a home to look for anymore.

“There'll be time for introductions later. But first, tell me Stan, are there any security breaches? Does anyone else know about this portal?”

“No. Just us. Also, maybe the entire US Government.”

“The what!?” Stanford's face was fuming. I never saw him so angry.

They all looked through the window where the security footage showed the government outside searching for Stanford’s brother and the two young kids. Everything was so chaotic right now, which I hoped wouldn’t be the case when we entered our home dimension. I guess chaos followed us wherever we went.

“Okay, it’s alright. We’ve got a while before they find this room. We just need to lay low and think of a plan.” Stanford stated, the calmness returned to his voice as he pulled out the journal he had picked up off the floor, and began to write in it.

“It looks like we’re going to be stuck down here for a while. Who wants to tell us their entire mysterious back story, and also, who is she?” Mabel stated, finally pointing in my direction.

“This is Y/n. She is a friend I met on my travels. Yes, though, I have some questions about all of this myself, Stanley.” Stanford finally introduced me.

Stanley? I had not heard a name like that in 40 years…a name so familiar to me yet so foreign all at the same time. An old friend from home. A friend I left behind all those years ago. There was no way this was the same Stanley. Right?”

“Stanley?” Mabel’s brother asked.

“But your name is Stanford.” Mabel pointed out.

Stanford’s face and mine said it all. What the hell was happening here? What had happened in the time Stanford was gone? Why had his brother assumed his identity? I hoped we both got the answers we needed.

“Wait, you took my name? What have you been doing all these years you knucklehead?” Stanford turned angry again.

Whatever happened between Stanford and his brother, it still hit a nerve with him. Something about Stanley made Stanford’s normal demeanor turn angry. A side I never thought he had. He was cunning for sure, but downright hateful was not on the list of traits I had listed for Stanford.

“”Okay, okay, okay. I know I have a lot of explaining to do. It all started a lifetime ago…” Stanley began telling his version of his life growing up with Stanford to everyone.

As he spoke, things started to piece together slowly in my mind. There was a reason Stanford and I were brought together. The more they spoke the more I connected my life to the eldest Pines twins. I reached into my pocket, there I kept a picture of my dear friend that I left behind. The one person I wanted to get back to the most. Stanley Pine.

“The old me was dead, and I faked a car crash to prove it. By day, I was Stanford Pines, mr. Mystery. But by night, I was down in the basement trying to bring the real Stanford back. I couldn’t risk anyone learning the truth and sabotaging my mission. So, I lied to everyone. The town, my family, your parents. Even you, kids.” Stanley finished his story.

Everyone was so enthralled in the story that the brothers were telling, we all forgot about the government agents upstairs. Dipper, I learned was the name of Mabel’s brother, had a device in his bag that could erase people’s memories. Stanford hooked it up and changed the frequency to sync to radio headsets.

We all plugged our ears as Stanford set the device off. Soon enough the agents were dazed and confused about where they were and what was going on. Stanford greeted them and sent them away, pretending to be a government official.

“Nice work Stanford.” I smiled as I walked up to him.

He smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder, “thank you, Y/n. How are you holding up?”

“I’ve been better. It’ll take some time to adjust, but I feel like I know you better than I did before, and your brother as well.”

“It’ll take us both some time to adjust, but I promise, as soon as we get settled in, and things quiet down, I’ll get you back home where you belong.”

I shake my head, “no. You and I are a team. I’m not leaving your side. Plus,” I pull out the picture of Stanley, “I think my home is here now.”

Stanford took the picture from me, “i-is this?”

I nod, “I didn’t recognize him at first. He’s older now, and with that fez, I couldn’t see his hair, I always said that was his most defining feature.” I laughed softly.

Stanford smiled softly, “I think you should get some rest. You and Stan can discuss this in the morning. I know of a room you can stay in, if it’s still there that is.”

I nod as Stanford leads me inside and to the room that he said used to be his. It consisted of just a couch and wasn’t much, but it was a place to rest my head at night, and probably more comfortable than a cold gravel ground.

I was settling in as I heard the brothers talking. Stanford said that at the end of the summer he was to give him his house back, his name back, and the Mystery Shack business was over with. I could hear the pain in Stan’s voice, and I felt sorry for him, but after what he told us today, I didn’t blame Stanford for being the way he was. Stan hurt him badly, and I didn’t blame Stanford for holding it against his brother

I was finally settled in when Stan knocked on the door. I sat up and invited him in. He had a few more blankets in his hand that he was ready to offer up.

“Y-you settling in okay?” He asked softly.

I nodded and smiled, “as good as one can. It’s been so long since I laid on anything other than the ground in years.”

“Ford tells me you’re originally from this dimension too?”

I nod, “yeah, I’ve been away for I think 40 years…the world definitely seems different now than it did in the 70s.”

“Th-the 70s?”

“Yeah, I know, kind of a while to be away from home. No trace left of me. Nothing left except my failed experiment.”

“Y-you didn’t happen to grow up in New Jersey too, did you?”

“I actually did…” I hesitate whether I should tell him I’m exactly who he thinks I am, but I also didn’t want to assume that’s where he was going, and overwhelm his mind.

Stan just nods and goes to leave. Before he does, he says one final thing, “how is it you haven’t aged a single day, toots?” With that he walked away, closing the door behind him.

#xreader #stanford pines #stanley pines #angst #gravity falls #stan pines x reader #ford pines x reader #bill cipher

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kasagia · 1 year ago

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Familiar flame

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/General Kirigan/The Darkling x fem!Grisha! reader Summary: Aleksander lost his Y/N the day he created the fold. The king's soldiers killed his one true love in front of his eyes. His despair and anger led to the creation of a dark fold. After centuries, Aleksander meets a girl identical to his beloved… her reincarnation. Will he be able to restore your memories? Could he get you back after centuries of mourning you? Or maybe Aleksander finally lost his mind... Nonsense from me: This is request from @morrigan-crowmwell I hope that you like it! ♡♡ And I'm veeeery excited to write your next request! (and to publish it soon ♡♡) P.S. I'm sorry it took me ages again, luckily I'll have a lot more free time now, so I promise it'll get better. 😅 Warning(s): references to reincarnation; Aleksander misses the reader and can't resist her (even if she doesn't remember him); the reader is a bit hysterical; the reader behaves like a little child spoiled by Aleksander; the reader has Aleksander wrapped around her little finger, but he doesn't care; the reader has a panic attack and hyperventilation; de@th mentions; NOT CHECKED grammatically and so on - I wanted to publish it as soon as possible Word count: 9,4k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @morrigan-crowmwell

"So many centuries on this earth, and you're still a naive, hopeless romantic. Tell me how do you do it, boy?"

Baghra taunted him without even looking up from her dinner. Aleksander growled, irritated by her lack of interest. He slammed his fist on the table, drawing the unfazed woman's attention to him.

"It's true, I saw her! It was her!"

"Aleksander... you must move on." Darkling snorted, jumping up as if burned from his chair. Baghra followed her son as he ran out of her hut, not giving up. If they both had something in common, it was their great stubbornness. "How many times have you seen this girl? You have to realize that she's not coming back. Y/N is dead, Aleksander. For hundreds of years."

"She is here! I danced with her month ago at the ball, you can't tell me I didn't because I remember her face perfectly. It is etched in my mind more permanently than any other memory."

"You wanted an answer to your question. Here it is. There is no such thing as reincarnation, the reappearance of someone on this world. We die once, Aleksander. Once and successfully. So whoever you met yesterday, even with a face that looks like her, is not Y/N. So you'd better leave the innocent girl alone."

The Darkling laughed bitterly, shaking his head. His mother would never see him as more than a small, quick-tempered, silly boy. He should get used to it after all these years.

"You think I'd come to you with this if she was just one of the faces like her? Me and my people have been watching her for a month now, ever since some snobbish nobleman's daughter came back to the palace and turned out to be the only woman I ever cared about in this saint-damn world. It must be her. I don't know how, why, and honestly, I don't care as long as it's really her. Neither should you - as far as I remember you cared for her more than for me."

"Aleksander. I know you loved her, but you have to let her go. People just don't rise from the grave." she tried to reason with him. But he knew better.

It must be you. Somehow the Saints took pity on his tortured soul and returned you to him, and he wasn't going to stay further away from you than necessary.

He will have you again in his life, arms, and bed.

No matter what he has to sacrifice to restore your memories.

"Just as they don't live forever, and yet we do." he growled as he mounted his horse and galloped back towards the Little Palace. He was in for a long night spent in his library, poring over books. If Baghra didn't want to help him, he would find the answer himself.

"You stupid boy..." Baghra snorted, shaking her head in disappointment.

Your death was both the worst and best thing for her son. You would never live as long as they did - your death would have come anyway, just in a less bloody way. Ordinary people were fragile, and their lives were shorter—one breath of Baghra or Aleksander equaled thousands of them. She had no idea why her son was so stubborn about getting you back, even though you were truly reborn. Aleksander would lose you again. Even he couldn't fight death itself and go against nature in such a matter... or so Baghra hoped.

The boundaries that Aleksander wouldn't cross in your name were practically nonexistent.

And she would be afraid of him more with you by his side - the most powerful Etherealki woman this earth has ever seen… a tribrid with the powers of Squaller, Inferni and Tidemaker.

~•♤♤♤•~

It all started a month ago.

Aleksander was at another of the king's balls, circulating among the generals of the First Army, trying to win their favor and consent to a slight modification of their plans. For his and Grishas' benefit, of course.

He would never have guessed that a conversation with General Petrova, the king's irritating, faithful soldier, would bring him more than a headache. It was usually with him that the Darkling had his greatest disputes during war councils.

However, while the general caused him the most trouble of all in the king's court, he was one of the few who respected the Darkling not for his powers, which instilled fear among other soldiers, but for the sake of his tactical, sound thinking.

Never in his life would Aleksander have thought that General Petrova's daughter would be a faithful doppelgänger of his long-dead beloved.

He was stunned as soon as he saw you enter the room.

Anywhere, even on his deathbed, he would have recognised that mischievous twinkle in your eyes whenever you were given full attention. You were a vision. Apparition. A fairy tale that was etched forever in his memory.

And he may have lived many lives, met millions of ordinary people and thousands of Grishas, but this face, the face of his loved one, whom he only met in his sweet dreams and darkest nightmares, had never ever flashed a second of his hundreds-year life. There were no humans even close to your beauty...

And then, after hundreds of years of sorrow, pain, and grief, he saw you again. He was again enchanted by your mesmerising eyes, your sweet, mischievous smile, your tempting lips... He let himself be lost for a while in the view of his beloved before questions started to cross his mind.

How? When? Who is she? From where? Could it really be you? Hundreds of years in pain, only for you to walk casually one day to one of the balls of a king whose ancestor killed you?

Aleksander didn't even notice when you approached him and General Petrova. But YOUR voice, his Y/N's voice, definitely brought him back into the world. Like a strong, vicious slap.

"Father. It was definitely too long." Aleksander almost broke down there. Being so close to someone who looked like you, hearing your voice again in REALITY, smelling the perfume so damn well know to him - the same one which made him lose his mind ages ago for you...

"General Kirigan. My daughter, Y/N. Y/N. General Kirigan, commander of the Second Army." your careful gaze finally met his. And Aleksander was gone.

Saints save him… even those bloody, fucking eyes he would die for were the same….

"It's a pleasure to meet you, General Kirigan." Aleksander couldn't do anything else but reach for your hand and kiss it—something he'd also dreamed of a thousand times, but in his dreams you only used his true, real name. "Your fame extends to the farthest reaches of Ravka. I am glad to see the legendary Darkling with my own eyes." Aleksander shivered as his title spilled out of your mouth. Not with mockery or insult or fear, but flatteringly, strongly… He had to control himself. It wasn't his Y/N… unless…

"I think these aren't very… flattering stories."

"You'd be surprised, General…" Aleksander could feel himself melting under her attentive gaze. The number of long-buried emotions overwhelmed him. And he himself felt his long-forgotten, dead, cold heart come to life again under each of your charming smiles, warm tone of voice, and enticing looks.

Now that he had had the opportunity to look at her more closely, he noticed all the (perfectly familiar) small details.

The way your hair was styled—so that a few strands stand out from your perfectly styled hairstyle, no long earrings, only small pearls that your hair would be harder to get into, delicate jewellery, not flashy like most women's, jewellery that instead of testifying to your wealth emphasised your beauty.

You seemed so familiar to him…

"Do you dance, General?" your question snapped him out of his mind about HIS Y/N.

He didn't dance on such occasions. Never. But he would be damned if he didn't try to find out how far your resemblance to his Y/N goes.

"If you wish, Lady Petrova." he replied with a charming smile, reverting to his image of a confident general of the Second Army.

"Please..." she grabbed his hand. The touch of her delicate skin against his rough made him shiver uncontrollably. He was putty in your hands... but he would be cursed if he let go, if he loses again the one thing that holds him firmly in this world. "Call me Y/N."

"Y/N." he mumbled, leading her to the dance floor. He gripped her securely around the waist, pulling her close enough to be considered appropriate. "I'm dying to see how this one's ends."

"Not only you… general." you peeked at him over those beautifully painted eyelids, biting your lips lightly. Reincarnation, doppelgänger, or real you, you always had to tease him, you always challenged him. And he was more than willing to play that game with you again… even if he wasn't holding his Y/N in his arms.

"Please..." he turned you around to pull you back to his chest. He smiled, remembering how those Y/E/C irises were the only thing that mattered to him hundreds of years ago… he marveled at how they still enchanted him. And having you in his arms again, so close he could smell your scent again… it made him dizzy. "Call me Aleksander." he whispered into your ear, getting close enough not to touch you but to feel the warmth of your cheek against his.

Was it wise to tell you his name? Absolutely not. Did he regret giving himself up to this moment? The answer came to him after a few seconds.

"Aleksander..." your soft whisper made him shiver. The old memories, the ones he tried to bury in his mind, the ones that were both sweetly blissful and devastating, came back to him. Foolish hope rose in him the moment your brow furrowed as if you, too, recognized the significance of what had just happened.

If he'd had any doubts before, he definitely knew now... he was cursed. And he didn't care enough to break this spell you put on him.

~•♤♤♤•~

"Y/N! Rise and shine, you lazy ass!" you groaned, covering your head with a pillow.

"Go away demon. It's too early for anything." you mumbled, snuggling into my comfy bed. You snorted in surprise when suddenly your friend threw herself on your bed and brutally tore the pillow off your head, laughing like a madwoman. "Y/F/N!"

"What have you been dreaming about?" she asked with a sly smile.

"About nothing." you muttered as you got out of bed and walked over to your closet to pick out your outfit for today.

"Yes? Is that why I found you grinning like a psychopath in love and mumbling someone's name? Is there some poor guy you finally like? Who could it be? A soldier? Maybe a nobleman?" you huffed in amusement as you walked out from the wardrobe.

"I haven't gone crazy yet. The world will burn before I voluntarily muzzle myself with marriage."

"Doesn't change the fact that someone caught your eye, does it?" she inquired with a curious smirk.

"Let's go, you hopeless romantic. I believe you dragged me out of bed over that very exciting tea time with the queen." you sighed, knowing full well that this meeting would give you a terrible headache.

"We're going to suffer together, sweetie. But cheer up. Genya will be there. You've liked her company lately, haven't you?"

"She's too good for these royal assholes." you replied, taking her arm and walking out of your room towards the palace gardens.

During that month, you quickly fit into the role you had to play at court. And thanks to your numerous travels, you managed to win enough favour with the queen to become a permanent member of her "group of snobbish noblewomen". You also met Genya, Grisha, an angel among the palace demons who was rather unpopular at court… well, at least not when the queen didn't need her Grisha's skills.

The meeting with the queen dragged on as usual, you couldn't help but wander your mind to your today's dream interrupted by Y/F/N.

"Aleksander!" you laughed, punching him lightly in the chest. "Stop teasing me."

"I don't do anything, milaya." he replied smiling innocently which made you snort. You crossed your arms and gave him a meaningful look.

You were in the little library at his house. (By the way, it's a miracle that he and Baghra found a place for their books in such a tiny hut.) You tried to get to one of the books on the upper shelves, but Aleks had other plans. He stood in front of you, and every time you stood on tiptoe to reach the book, he took the opportunity to grab your waist and pull you into a kiss.

"You do not?" you asked, trying to get to the book, but Aleksander caught your lips in a kiss again. "Aleksander!" you huffed, punching him in the chest with a laugh. "Your mother will kill me if I don't at least start reading this book." you complained, laughing at the smug man. He was so childish sometimes... You squealed as Aleksander suddenly grabbed your waist and pulled you close, burying his nose in your hair.

"I am more than strong enough to protect moya milaya from my bloodthirsty mother." he whispered, placing a tender kiss on your temple.

"Aleksander." you moaned as he moved his lips to your neck. You ran your hand through his hair, giving in to the feeling for a moment, until you remembered what you were supposed to do today. "How about a compromise?"you asked, taking his attention away from your neck for a moment.

"A compromise? And how do you want to negotiate your freedom, lapushka?"

"I'm not blind. I see you're clingier than usual today. Of course you won't let me out of your arms, which I can't really say I'm complaining about… But since I'm about to spend the rest of the day on your lap or in your arms, then you could at least read me the book Baghra told me to learn by heart." he was thinking, rubbing his nose against yours.

"I think I can accept it." you squealed in surprise as he picked you up bridal style, lifting you up so you could reach the book you needed. "But I reserve the right to give you some breaks. As your beloved I've got to make sure my little tribrid doesn't overwork herself." you giggled, making his smile of satisfaction only grow wider.

"What a good and caring lover you are, Aleksander." you teased, knowing full well what the study breaks were for… or rather, for whom.

"Have you ever doubted it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, the sparkle of amusement in his dark eyes only made your mood more up. You loved seeing him so happy, carefree.

"No. Never." you whispered, kissing him with all your love and tenderness…

Such nonsense dreams have plagued you almost every time since you met the general. Visions of his younger self and yours, as if the two of you lived together hundreds of years ago. It also didn't help your plan that, for some strange reason, you felt this... attraction, this desire to be close to him.

You didn't know where your sudden fondness for the Darkling came from, but one thing was certain. You had to get rid of it. And that's before your father presents the king with plans to permanently disband the Second Army and return all the Grishas to the slave system. You couldn't give in to some stupid feeling towards their general... not when everything you and your father had worked for was coming to an end.

"Lady Petrova. You're surprisingly quiet today." the queen has distracted you from the thoughts that have plagued you for weeks. You put on your learned, polite smile.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty. I'm not feeling well today. I think I have a slight migraine, but it should pass soon, Your Highness."

"You look paler than usual… Genya, lady Y/F/N. Take lady Y/N to the healers." you had to do your best to keep the frown from appearing on your face. This old witch…

"Your Grace." instead, you bowed to the queen and walked away with the two women at your side. You didn't speak to Genya until you were sure you were out of earshot of anyone other than the three of you. "I'm fine, Genya. I just had to get out of there."

"Then I should thank you for saving me from there too." she replied with a smile as tired as yours. "But the queen was right. You looked a little pale earlier. Are you sure everything's okay? I can improve your appearance and cover up those little dark circles under your eyes if you want."

"No need, sweetheart. But if you somehow have power over dreams, it would be really helpful." you joked, knowing full well that Grisha are incapable of entering other people's dreams… though you doubted it after the general's face haunted you at night in those strange dreams.

"It would be great to be able to do that."

"Anyway, thank you, Genya. You can hide somewhere in the palace. You deserve some time off." the woman nodded to you and headed towards the Grand Palace, leaving you and Y/F/N alone in the gardens.

"Okay, what's the matter? What are you dreaming about that you can't sleep? And why are you hanging around Grishas and Darkling lately? You want to settle him down or something?" your friend asked annoyed. You looked around, making sure you two were still alone.

"I'm not going to settle him down. My father wanted me to take care of our strong, dark general. After all, what's the best way to steer a man who doesn't care about anyone but his people, than an affair with a pretty, nobel woman?" you asked with a cunning smile.

You preferred to keep your strange dreams to yourself… at least until you were sure it was just a stupid figment of your imagination and growing teenage crush on a dark general.

"I don't quite understand… so what exactly are you doing with him?" she asked, growing suspicious as you headed towards the Little Palace.

"It's just a game. I charm him with my beauty, spend time with him, and so on, which makes him less interested in the war, and I don't have to put up with my father's complaining about me finally getting married. I serve both Ravka and my own interests. Isn't it wonderful?"

"You'll get burned. Be careful with him. He's a Darkling. If he finds out…" she warned you, slightly scared. You snorted, shaking your head. You looked around one more time before whispering conspiratorially to her.

"Then what will he do to me? It's in his interest to keep our little affair as a secret, the dignity of a man and all that crap won't let him seek revenge openly - he'll only embarrass himself even more. I'm perfectly safe." you replied confidently as you left the gardens. You smiled. According to your plan, the general should leave his palace right now to meet the council. It was your job to make sure he didn't get there… well, at least not for the most part.

"If you say so… But you have to admit, even you, that he's hot."

"That's true... which only makes it more interesting..." you saw Kirigan coming out of the Little Palace with one of his loyal dogs by his side... Ivan or the other, you couldn't remember. You smiled slyly, sensing a good opportunity. "Excuse me."

You didn't waste any time. You immediately approached the general, inwardly triumphant with the smile he sent you as soon as he saw you… the grimace on his companion's face was also the reason for your good mood.

"Lady Petrova."

"General Kirigan. So you do occasionally leave the Little Palace."

"Indeed it happens sometimes." he smiles back at your teasing, keeping his distracting dark eyes on you.

"Then I can't pass up this opportunity to take you anywhere other than the path leading to the Grand Palace or the gardens. It's a beautiful day for a ride, don't you think? Perhaps you could accompany me?"

"Actually…"

"It's a wonderful idea. Ivan, could you get our horses ready?" the general interrupted his Girsha. You lowered your head, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling victoriously. As Ivan passed you, you stepped closer to the general and turned your careful gaze back to him.

"He doesn't like me very much, does he?" you asked, catching the arm he offered you as you two walked to the stables together. "Your gruff companion." you added seeing his confused look.

The general snorted, placing his hand over yours, which made you shiver uncontrollably. You internally chastised yourself for such a… pathetic reaction to his little touch.

"Ivan is… specific." he finally replied making you chuckle.

"I saw the look he gave me when I took you away from him, like I was stealing his favorite cuddly toy." Kirigan snorted, which made you smile. You felt how your cheeks redden involuntarily at the sound of his laughter. "You don't have to always defend your people at all costs, General. Well, at least not in such a case." you replied with a smirk.

"Ivan is a good soldier and comrade… he can be funny once you get to know him."

"Then I guess you find volcra hilarious too."

"And maybe one or two of the queen's nobles." you gave him an offended look, placing your hand over your heart in a hurt gesture.

"Ouch. That's good that my company at least gives you some fun. It must be really hard to always be that grave, grumpy, dark general."

"Surely it can be lonely sometimes." his thoughtful, sombre statement ruined the fun atmosphere between you two.

For a brief moment, you could see the familiar twinkle of grief in his eyes before he hid it behind his mask of indifference. You knew that feeling. Especially after being transferred to different courts so many times. You had to master your emotions to perfection… especially the feeling of loneliness that was getting worse every day.

"Well, that's good that I have enough time to play a foolish, wayward, snobbish noble around you… maybe you won't feel so lonely, anymore." you joked, not knowing if you were saying it out of a duty to get close to him or from the depths of your completely lost and confused heart, which always acted like that near him.

"You're not the worst noblewoman I've ever met." the amused note returned to his voice, as did the twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"Maybe you just didn't know me good enough?" you asked, stopping by the stables and letting go of his arm.

"Maybe..." he replied thoughtfully, not letting go of your hand.

You turned back to him. Your gaze lingered on your joined hands for a moment, until you shifted your confused gaze to him.

The moment your eyes met his, any questions you wanted to ask him escaped your mind. You could only stare blankly into his eyes. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you flashed an image of the younger Aleksander you dreamed of... the exact same one who was giving you an affectionate look like the general was doing now.

"Aleksander." you whispered, not even realising when the idea of saying his name popped into your head.

You were besotted, too mesmerised by the dark irises that stared at you like some saint, like you were all he ever wanted to look at for the rest of his life, to think of anything other than getting closer to him.

And the worst of it all was that you had no idea how you knew the smell of his cologne and why it reminded you of home, of safety. Or why he seemed so familiar to you…

"Yes, milaya?" you trembled. You knew he felt it; you knew he saw how you reacted to the nickname his younger version gives you every night in your dreams… and although it reminded you of something only a close person could say to their beloved, for the hell you didn't know what it meant or how he knew about it. But before you could answer something (or take the one little step that lasted between you and him to feel his lips on yours), Ivan arrived with your horses. "Thank you, Ivan." the general cleared his throat. You could tell by the tone of his voice that he wasn't happy about being interrupted either.

"General. Let me remind you that in two hours…"

"Postpone all my appointments. I'll be unavailable." you couldn't help but send Ivan a victorious smile from behind Kirigan's shoulder, which made heartrender wince. Aleksander turned to glance at you, and you gave him a nice, polite smile, making sure the flash of malice disappeared from your eyes. The man shifted his confused looks to Ivan. "I'll be back tonight. Lady Petrova needs an escort."

"Of course, General, have a nice trip."

"Thank you, Ivan."

You gave Grisha a fleeting glance and malicious smile before you and Aleksander left the palace grounds. Ivan has tried to stop the general from joining you more than once this month... he has failed miserably each time. Seeing Grisha grumpier than usual was another advantage of your quest... besides being with Aleksander.

"Wanna race?!" you shouted, not giving him time to answer as you galloped your horse along, laughing as the general chased after you.

~•♤♤♤•~

"Forgotten fountain in the middle of the forest? I didn't think you knew such romantic places, general." you said with a teasing smile as you dismounted from your horses.

"You find it romantic?" he asked, throwing an amused glance over his shoulder as he tossed out the branches in the fountain. You smiled, internally laughing at how the great general commanding the entire Second Army was preparing the atmosphere for your pseudo date.

"Oh, don't tease me. You know what I meant. It's amazing that with your work schedule you have time to wander around and find places like this."

"You do realize I have free time sometimes, right?"

"Rearranging figures on a war table is no leisure time, General." Kirigan snorted, shaking his head in amusement. You smiled as you walked over to the fountain to stand next to him. Only then did you see what was so amazing about her that the general brought you here. It was dedicated to the Black Heretic. "Wait… that's your ancestor's story, isn't it?"

"You know it just from those old pictures?" he asked, apparently impressed with your knowledge, to which you snorted indignantly.

"Of course. Every child in Ravka know his story... well, or at least they should. To be honest, I'm not sure how ignorant the other nobles are, but I hope they're not that bad after all. But I'm guessing you didn't bring me here for a history lesson, did you?"

"When I was a boy, I used to run away and hide here once I realised I was the descendant of the most hated Grisha in Ravka. I've come here to throw a coin and make a wish in the fountain that I could be anyone else."

"A dangerous wish." I murmured as I looked at the pictures on the fountain to avoid his scrutinising gaze. "You never know what fate may befall you. It may turn out that things weren't so bad after all." I replied, remembering all the stories of noblewomen I had the opportunity to know... not all of them lived wonderful, fairy-tale lives. At least not the ones with powdered bruises.

"I devoted my life to undoing the greatest sin of my forbear. But I never seen this as a solution. Only as a reminder of the problem. They always need someone to blame."

"Every story needs a villain." you replied, sitting on the edge of the fountain, facing the general. "Sometimes it happens that there are several of them in one, if we look at the matter from the perspective of someone else. So forgive me if I say that I don't consider your ancestor to be evil incarnate."

"Why wouldn't you?" he asked curiously, walking over to you and sitting across from you.

"Every coin has two sides. Maybe he created a fold; maybe he wanted more power, but no one ever told it from his side. Maybe he wasn't the only villain in this story. Also, I don't believe in a golden hero and a vicious villain fighting doggedly against each other. There are no pure black or white people; we are all grey in our own way." you said, dipping your hand in the water, playing with it, and making small waves with your hand movements.

You glanced at the general, noticing that he was closely watching as you played with the water. You furrowed your brow, not knowing what so interesting he sees in this childish behaviour.

"And how gray are you?" his question snapped you out of your thoughts. You shrugged, still running your fingers through the water.

"I think I still have a long way to go to find out."

"What if I already know?" you frowned as you looked at him, which turned out to be your worst mistake. His dark eyes were to be your undoing…

You felt it again. This need to be close to him, this bond between you and him that was formed from the moment your eyes met in the ballroom a month ago. You were supposed to be his undoing, the downfall of the great, black general... so far, he's been the one who's been messing with your mind effectively, making you doubt everything your father ever taught you about your superiority over the Grishas. And you played the role Kirigan expected of you, like a foolish, naive girl.

"And how would you know that?" you whispered, cursing yourself for the obvious weakness in your voice.

Kirigan placed his hand on yours, the one you used to lean on at the fountain. His touch sent that weird feeling into your chest and made you shiver uncontrollably again. You were losing control… and the worst part was that you didn't mind at all.

"I feel like I've known you and waited for you my whole life. As if you were long lost part of me, which finally came back." you couldn't get rid of that terrible feeling of déjà vu that came over you after his words.

Somewhere in the back of your mind and deep in your heart, you had the feeling—no, you were SURE—that you had been in this situation before. That he once held your hand, telling you that you were destined to be together and that the stars, fate, destiny, saints, gods, or whoever was watching over you were responsible for bringing your souls together.

But it was impossible. You didn't know him before, you couldn't. You've never been to the king's palace until now…

However, everything ceased to matter the moment he leaned in, crossing the short distance between you and catching your lips in a kiss.

You gasped in surprise, your only warning being his tighter grip on your hand, which you only noticed after his soft lips gently pressed against yours. However, you had the sense to return his kiss, deepening it just as you felt Aleksander about to pull away from you.

He grabbed your waist tightly with one arm, pulling you to him, but he never let go of his firm grip on your hand.

You groaned, sinking into the so damn familiar closeness of his body against yours, taking in every ounce of his warmth and scent. But it was his gentle biting on your bottom lip that made you forget anything other than his lips on yours and let yourself get completely lost in the moment. You took your hand out of the water, grabbing the back of his head to get as close to him as possible, when suddenly a huge wave of cold, chilly water splashed you.

You gasped, breaking away from Kirigan. You sighed as cool water dripped from your hair onto your already-soaked dress that was sticking to your skin. You shifted your confused gaze to the equally wet man in front of you, who stared at you with an incomprehensible, fascinated twinkle in his eye.

"What have just happened?" you gasped, glancing at the now empty fountain.

"Are you asking about our kiss or the fact that you just demonstrated tidemaker's abilities?"

"What? No. I can't be Grisha. I…"

"Have you ever been tested, milaya?" he asked softly, so calmly he almost managed to calm your frantically beating heart. But you couldn't shake the feeling of panic rising within you. All plans would go to hell if you turned out to be… one of THEM.

"You know perfectly well what it is like among the nobles. They would rather kill or throw away a child with such powers." you replied, marvelling at how you managed to sound cold and emotionless despite your growing fear.

Kirigan frowned, obviously dissatisfied with your ability to cover up your emotions. What you didn't know was that your eyes betrayed all your emotions to him. He'd stared at them for so long that it would be impossible for him now not to be able to read your emotions.

"Well… it's always better to know, isn't it?" you stared at him for a moment before you nodded uncertainly, swallowing nervously. You couldn't be Grisha. That… whatever happened, it couldn't be it. "May I?" he made sure, pointing to the sleeve of your dress. You nodded silently.

For a moment, the world stops. It's just you and the general, who, with unusual delicacy for him, rolls up the sleeve of your wet dress and uses his sharp-pointed ring to cut your skin.

You're both shocked and oddly excited to see the water gushing out and the hot fire coming from where he cut your skin. Suddenly, a wind rises around you, drying you both and blowing some of the leaves off the trees into the empty fountain. You freeze, feeling the dormant power coursing through your veins, which the general's touch awakens with incredible ease.

It's like he's bringing to life a version of yourself you don't know...

"You are a Grisha. Etherealki Tribrid to be precise." he says, breaking the silence between you. You raise your confused gaze back to him, noticing that he's still studying your face. Weighing, evaluating, expecting something, and having hope so clearly written in his dark eyes that for a moment you are at a loss for words.

"You… you don't seem surprised." you manage to get out of you. You are terrified of your weakness right now. But with the general staring at you with such... tenderness and longing, you're not sure which of you has put your heart in more danger. You just don't know what caused this sudden, overt display of affection for you.

"I felt your power. Only someone special could carry such a huge amount of energy. You and I are going to change the world, Y/N."

"But… I can't… no one can know about this. Please, Aleksander." you pleaded in a panic, gripping his hand tightly. "Promise me that this will stay between us. If my father finds out about this… if the court finds out… Please, Aleksander." the man was staring at you. Apparently, the prospect of having a tribrid in his army was too tempting for him to just forget what had happened here. You had to convince him otherwise. "Wouldn't it be better if it stayed between us? You could train me yourself. Secretly teach me how to use… this. Wouldn't it be better to have a secret weapon? Someone who can be summoned to the battlefield if needed and used as an element of surprise?"

"I don't want to use you." he growled, wrinkling his nose as he realized how sharp his words had come out. "I want you to be my equal, Y/N. But fine. We'll keep everything that happened here to ourselves. You'll come to my office every night so we can train."

"Every night? You want to cause a scandal, General?" you ask, regaining your ability to joke and banter.

For now, you hide all your doubts, fear and greyness that your life will change irreversibly in the back of your head. You allow yourself to get lost in the general's eyes for a while before returning to real life… before you have to decide what to do about the "Grishas case", knowing your newfound abilities now.

"Do you care?" you know what he's asking you, but he doesn't know how many different meanings his question has for you. And you're afraid that once he finds out about your plan against him and against his people, he'll stop looking at you with that... adoration in his eyes. Because, for some strange reason, you want him to look at you like that.

"No…" you replied, moving your gaze between his mouth and eyes. "I guess not."

~•♤♤♤•~

"I can't believe it! How did you know that was my favorite dish?!" I ask him after another grueling session of our training as he returns with a dinner brought to his door by servants.

"I have my ways." he responds, laughing as you practically pounce on the food ravenously. You didn't realize that using Grisha's powers was so… exhausting.

"Just like my allergy to the awful pollen that's out now, what particular, specific type of tea do I like, and what books do I prefer to read? What's next? Just hand me my favourite flowers and tell me it's pure case?" you laugh over your plate, glancing at him briefly. The general blushes slightly and clears his throat awkwardly. "Oh, Saints, you do have flowers for me, don't you?" you asked as a little smirk started to form on your face.

"It seems to you, vain little tribrid." you tremble at his words, and that sick feeling of deja vu follows you every time his damn dark irises pierce your soul. If he wanted you to go crazy, you're sure he was well on his way to making it happen.

Aleksander, on the other hand, stared longingly at you, searching for any trace of recognition in your eyes. How many times in those training sessions has he wished your memories of living with him would come back to you? He didn't know. Ever since he made sure you displayed the powers of virtually all ethereals, he's spent countless sleepless nights in his bed dreaming of the moment you'll whisper that damn nickname you love for him.

But nothing like that was coming.

Instead, he had to fight this urge to kiss you to death, to hold you forever in his safe arms where nothing could hurt you. He had to fight his longing for your slightest touch, your tender gaze, and the unconditional love you had. And with each passing day, he cursed himself for his inability to remember the life you two had spent together.

He was desperate enough to talk to his mother about it. He went to her as soon as he was sure it was really you to brag about his hunch and victory over her judgement. And complain about your innate ability to spite him and not remember him when he worked so hard to make it happen.

"If it's not her, then explain to me how she's already ruining all my plans and is getting on my nerves?" he asked, raising an inquiring eyebrow at Baghra.

"Just because you have a natural bad luck with women doesn't mean Y/N is back from the dead." she replied ironically, not even looking up at him.

"It is her. And when I prove it, forget about seeing her, because I won't let you."

"I'm not a spoiled child, General." you laugh back, snapping him out of his thoughts as cool water hits his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you, failing to keep an amused smile from spreading across his lips.

Saints, how he wants to kiss that malicious smirk off your alluring lips. But he has to be careful with you. He has to control himself. He can't lose you or scare you away now, not when he's so close to getting HIS Y/N back.

"You're definitely acting like one." he replies teasingly as he takes out the flowers hidden behind his back and hands them to you.

You sigh in shock before another heart-melting smile appears on your lips. You dip your nose in the flowers, and Aleksander tries to remember this moment forever. The silent hope that you will remember one of the many times he gave you those special flowers you loved bursts into unwillingness in his chest.

"Please, as if you don't like to spoil me…" you just reply teasingly, reminding him how fate was never on his side. It would be impossible for him to just get you back like that.

"I'd throw all the jewels in the world at your feet just to see that beautiful, wide smile spread across your lips." you tremble under his heavy, intent gaze, feeling him ignite that familiar, strange fire inside you, calling for him.

The answer to his confession just slipped out of your mouth as a whisper.

"You don't need jewels to make me smile like a fool in love."

Aleksander flinched as he recognised the words you said to him—the exact same words you used in response to his confession hundreds of years ago. You liked torturing him with it. Remind him of stolen moments with you in the woods, away from the king's men, his mother, and other envious people too scared of your abilities to see you as anything more than a dangerous monster. You loved throwing him into the past, while you stuck hard to what was happening now. At times like this, he promised himself that once he had you back, he would never let you go. He won't be that weak to let someone take you from him again.

You, in turn, watched him bewildered as another vision/memory flashed before your eyes. His warm lips on your wind-cold skin, his whispered promises in your ear as he held you close to him, his shadows dancing around you, shielding anyone from seeing you two.

That memory revived in your mind as the general's lips met yours.

Kissing him, enjoying the firm grip around your waist, you had those strange visions again. You were beginning to wonder if the general had seen through your cunning plan and decided to punish you by driving you crazy with these supposed memories.

But you didn't want to do anything about it. Not when he felt so good against you.

You kiss him greedily, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling him closer to you. He picks you up, placing you on his war table. Your hands travel up his shoulders to the buttons of his kefta and his to the strings of your corset at the back of your dress...

Just then, a loud knock interrupts you.

You laugh in disbelief that they're bothering you again. Aleksander smiles, biting his lip as he looks at you with amusement in his eyes. How he missed your sincere, carefree laugh.

"Go see what it is." you whisper to him as you slide off the table to stand on your own feet. Aleksander smirks mischievously and leans in to steal a kiss from you. You giggle as you push him away and whisper a softly "go".

You blush, feeling like a teenager caught kissing a boy. And you have a very strange feeling that this has happened before...

"Aleksander!" you squeal, laughing as quietly as you can. "Someone will see us!" you reprimand him by tapping him lightly in the chest.

"Only if you keep being so loud. Besides, how can you blame me for wanting to kiss my beautiful beloved after weeks apart?"

"Your secret beloved I would like to point out. Baghra and my parents will kill us if they find us here." you remind him, only smiling wider as his grip tightens around your waist.

"They'll have to go through my shadows first… that gives us enough time to escape."

"Well, well, what a cunning boyfriend I have. I like that plan of yours." I whisper into his lips, teasing him, as I move away each time he wants to kiss me.

"Y/N?" Aleksander's whisper and his gentle grip on my shoulder pulls me out of my memories. "Everything's all right?" he looks at you with concern in his eyes and something else, something like longing mixed with hope. You have no idea what it could be.

NO. I have strange visions of you where you love and need me more than anything in this world. I have dreams of a reality where it's just us, too busy loving ourselves to see anything else or care about all the problems in the world. And I have a feeling that I'm going to go crazy if you once again arouse in me that feeling of familiarity and fire that for some unknown reason cries out desperately for your slightest touch and affection. - you think.

"I'm fine, just thought of something. What did Ivan want from you?" I ask with a gentle smile.

"I have to go now. The First Army soldiers and my Grishas have reportedly gotten into some kind of fight. I need to investigate it."

You freeze, knowing full well what's going on. Your and your father's plan. Kirigan is about to get into the middle of a fight caused by the people of the first army (actually hired by your father's thugs). A fight with a general defending his people in the main role will start, which your father and the king are supposed to come across by "pure accident". You were supposed to let him get into your trap.

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't worry, it's probably some stupid skirmish." he assures you, but you know better. You know that once he goes there, he will be banished at best for suspicion of treason and wanting to start a rebellion - rumours your father is now spreading to the king.

Your brain screams for you to let it go. You were Grisha, but people like you would never accept you; you knew that. And the nobles would kick you out if they found out about your powers; it was safer for you to get rid of the general, the only person who knew about your abilities.

But your stupid heart already bled at the thought of putting Aleksander in danger and being the cause of his downfall—the thing you were supposed to be so proud of only a few months ago.

"Wait!" you scream, reaching for his hand before he steps away from you. You lost. You lost the war with the devil and sold him your heart and the soul he had anyway, since he kissed you at the fountain, since he started appearing in your dreams as a strange vision of an alternate world where you live with him as his. A vision you desperately wanted to come true. "Please don't go."

"Why?" he asks, placing his hands gently on your shoulders.

"I... you can't... trap... my father... and king... they..." you hyperventilate, tears welling up in your eyes uncontrollably, and an indescribably great feeling of unease seizes you, making it a huge challenge to take even the slightest breath.

Suddenly, all you hear is a buzzing in your ears. Slowly, your knees weaken, and you fall straight into the waiting arms of Aleksander, who looks like he's screaming something. You are enveloped in blissful darkness.

But before you lose your consciousness one thought runs through your mind.

What the hell did I did?

~•♤♤♤•~

You opened your eyes. It was dawn. You were in a clearing near some castle ruins. There were a lot of soldiers around you.

You slowly got up on your elbows and lifted yourself off the ground. You tried to push your way through the crowd of soldiers, but as soon as your arm was about to touch one of them, you felt yourself walking through it. You froze in place.

The sound of Aleksander's voice snapped you out of your daze. You walked forward, passing through the soldiers as you reached the stairs of the palace ruins.

It was a younger version of him, exactly the one you saw in your dreams. But this time it wasn't a pleasant dream. The love in his eyes was replaced by pure fear and fury.

You turned to where he was staring and gasped as you spotted a beaten, bloodied version of yourself held by one of the king's soldiers.

"Surrender. Or your girl will die." Aleksander stared at the younger version of you, trying to make eye contact with you, making sure you were still holding on to your life for him, despite the gruesome state you were in. "This one was brave. She was willing to die than reveal your hiding place. Fortunately, we got another, weaker one. Now, you better hurry before that bitch bleeds to death."

Tears began to form in Aleksander's eyes. He raised his trembling hands in surrender. You lifted your head with difficulty, watching him.

Then all hell broke loose. You set a soldier on fire and started a great fire. You tried to approach Aleksander and he came to you, but the soldiers around you were faster. One of them caught you; the rest kept Aleksander, who was struggling with all his strength, from rushing to your rescue and summoning his shadows. The soldier drew his dagger.

Your eyes and Aleksander's did not separate for a moment. Desperation and fear were reflected in his eyes, which met your gaze full of sadness and fear for his life.

"Aleksander, I love you-AGH!" you tell him when a soldier pierces your heart with a dagger in front of your beloved.

"Y/N!" Aleksander screams, tears in his eyes obscuring his vision at your last breath and your last look at him. He is overcome with rage, grief, and frustration so great that he can do nothing but scream.

His scream proves deadly. Deadly for his enemies.

His grief, desperation, and tremendous pain piercing his heart and seeing his beloved Y/N die raised within him a power so great that it covered the world in the darkness of his shadow.

And so the fold is born.

And Aleksander remains utterly alone in his darkness.

~•♤♤♤•~

You jump out of bed, screaming. You just saw yourself die... but it wasn't you, was it? It's just your twisted imagination. Aleksander couldn't... couldn't create the fold. The Black Heretic lived hundreds of years before you; it couldn't be true. It's just your sick imagination. You kept telling yourself.

You looked around the room, recognising that you were in the general's bedroom. You changed out of his black shirt, which you don't know who put you in, and left the bedroom in a hurry. You didn't know how Aleksander would treat you after he found out about your father's plan, and he certainly did after your panic attack in his war room. You also didn't want to risk getting caught in the general's chamber.

You were about to leave Aleksander's chamber, but someone's hand grabbed your arm tightly and covered your mouth. You tried to wriggle out of his attacker's grip, but in vain. Fortunately, the stranger let you go as soon as you entered one of the secret passages of the Little Palace.

You turned around, freezing as you came face to face with the woman haunting your dreams…

"Who are you?" you whispered in horror, recognizing the woman as the light from her torch illuminated her face.

"It doesn't matter. You need to get out of here as soon as possible." she grabbed your hand again in a strong, bruising grip, but this time you managed to pull away from her.

"Who the hell are you?! Why am I dreaming about you and some Aleksander?! How do I know you, Baghra?!"

"Hush for the saints! We're not far from his room." she tried to silence you, fearing that at any moment you would bring Aleksander back to his chambers here.

"Whose room? General's? What does he have to do with it? What the hell is going on here?!"

"Shut up you stupid girl before he comes here. I'm trying to save you."

"Saved me from what? I don't need a hero, thank you very much. All I want to know is why I'm having these fucking visions about you. Who are you? Why am I having some weird flashbacks about you from hundreds of years ago?" you ask, tired of it all, trying to finally get to the truth, whatever it may be.

"Aleksander was right… it's true. It's really you." she says in shock, eyeing you closely as you use all your powers in anger, summoning both fire, water and a light breeze in the deserted secret passage.

"Aleksander? Which one? Kirigan or some other? Answer me for the love of saints!" you scream at her, feeling like you're about to lose your mind at any moment.

"Child, there is only one Aleksander. My son. Aleksander Morozova. Black Heretic. General Kirigan and many other names he's taken since you died."

"What? What are you talking about? It's impossible, a Black Heretic lived hundreds of years ago… wait. Since I died? What do you mean by since I die?" the vision you just had haunts you again. Your blood, Alexander's screams. Screams of people turned by his grief, anger and rage into volcra as he creates a fold...

"You real name is Y/N…"

"BAGHRA!" Aleksander's furious scream echoes through the deserted corridor. He walks over to me faster than I can blink and stands between me and his supposed mother. "Go away."

"Aleksander..." she begins in a serious tone, but one dark look from the general keeps her silent. Never, not even during their worst quarrels, had he dared to oppose her so openly, so hostilely.

"I said... Go. Away." Baghra looks at you. Half in disappointment, half in fear, knowing full well the reason why her son is ready to use his shadows on her.

She lets go. This time. She knows full well he can't bring back your memories anyway. Or at least she hopes so.

Shee leaves you alone in a dark corridor. Aleksander slowly turns to you and reaches for you, but you pull away before his fingertips even try to touch you. He freezes. He watches you fearfully, afraid of what Baghra might have told you to make you so disgusted by his small touch.

"Don't take a step further. Why do I know you? Why did YOU know me before anything started between us? What the hell is this all about?!"

"Y/N... you need to calm down." he tries to calm you down as he sees you gasping for breath again. He reaches out to touch your cheek tenderly but you jump away from him. The fire begins to slowly circulate around your hands as you unknowingly summon it.

"DO NOT TOUCH ME! Who are you? Who are you to me? That's true? Are you a Black Heretic? What is going on here?!" you scream, you feel an indescribable power flowing through you that you are unable to control, a flood of emotions floods your mind, and your powers go out of control as a great wind rises and the corridor begins to slowly fill with water. The fire in your hands grows bigger, more alive, more uncontrollable.

"My milaya, please... try to calm down for me." he says, taking a step towards you with his hands up so you can see his every little move, every attempt to touch you.

"What am I?" you whisper, your tears flow freely, the water begins to rise faster and faster, the wind is so great that it blows both his and your hair and his black kefta in all directions, and the living fire from your hands prevents him from approaching you without risk of burning himself. But Aleksander doesn't care.

He wades towards you through the water that comes up to his hips and cups your face with both hands, forcing you to look him in the eyes. As soon as his skin touches yours, everything stops. The wind stops blowing, the fire disappears, and the water stops at a constant level. It is quiet. Eerily silent as you stare at him in a daze, tears dripping from your eyes into the makeshift river you created in the hallway.

"You know who you are. Just reach for it. Please, come back to me, Y/N Y/L/N. Moya milaya, moya lapushka..." he pleads, resting his forehead against yours.

You close your eyes. The flood of vivid memories makes your head hurt, but as soon as all the images are gone from your eyes, you open them to look into those familiar dark irises that pierce through you. And you cry with relief, finally knowing perfectly well how you know him, why you associate him with home, peace, love, unconditional devotion.

"Sasha?" you whisper, afraid you've gone completely insane, that it's all a nasty, twisted figment of your imagination.

And Aleksander sighs with relief hearing that damn diminutive he missed so much.

"It's me. My beloved Y/N. My life. My Light. My tribrid. You are finally here." he takes you in his arms as tears flow freely down your cheeks. You snuggle into him, your nose brushing his neck as you inhale the damn good smell of his perfume. Aleksander buries his nose in your hair, trying to hold back tears as he trembles uncontrollably. He finally had you. After hundreds of years, months of torture where he had you at his fingertips but couldn't touch you properly, you were finally with him. "Eya fyela chi." he whispers in old Ravkan, making you laugh in relief.

"I love you too, Sasha. I promise I'm not going anywhere anymore. Nobody and nothing will take me away from you."

"Brave of you to think I'd let you go anywhere. You stay by my side. Forever. I won't waste such a wonderful gift from the saints, my little flame." he says, kissing your temple.

You shiver for the first time enjoying the familiar feeling of love and warmth that comes with this tender gesture, often repeated by him in the past.

He leaned in, catching your lips in a passionate, long-awaited kiss. And you couldn't do anything other than enjoy the taste of his lips on yours and how you could create new memories with him without the old ones attacking you with every touch he made. You are no longer an intruder in your own body. And the unknown fire calling for him turned into the familiar flame of love.

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radkindoffeminist · 1 year ago

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I am 13 years old. I have boobs bigger than any other girl in my year and I stopped growing in height a year ago. People tell me I could pass for 16-18 easily. Girls ask what size I am. Boys mock me for having tits. Men hit on me. Most people think I am a lot older than I actually am. I am confused by everything.

I am 14 years old. I begin turning to online chatrooms and camsex for attention because I am so lonely and horny. I don't speak about them to anyone in my life because it's never spoken about. Women and girls don't have sexual desires. I start speaking to a guy, Glenn. He's 28-years-old and knows how old I am. I speak to him for years and he's the first guy I camsex with. He speaks to me like a person and not a child and I love him for that. One day, he doesn't respond and I never hear from him again, but spend weeks hoping that I will see another message from him (he had a habit of disappearing for weeks only to come back). He doesn't message again. My heart is broken.

I am 15 years old, just about. I continue using these online chatrooms because I am such a lonely teenager and need some sort of attention and this is the only place I can find it. I meet a guy, David, who I ask to be my boyfriend. He was 21 years old. We speak every day for a month and have camsex all the time. He is sweet and mature and has his own car! Our plans to meet fall through and then he suddenly stops talking to me one day. Two months after that day, he messaged me again. His grandmother died so he couldn't deal with life. I feel empathic towards him but feel forced to take him back. When I realise that he won't take responsibility for the fact that cutting me off for months hurt me because he says that he was hurt, I break up with him. He insists on staying friends. I agree because I still feel bad for him.

I am 16 years old. I start college and I'm still speaking to my ex David, but then I see how possessive he is of me. He wants to meet up with me but will only do so on his terms, when he can kiss me all he wants because he still sees me as his. I try and speak to him about the guys at my college and he gets jealous. I stop speaking to him. I begin to realise just how toxic him and these chatrooms and camsex all is. I make a vow to stop it for my mental health, but it is hard to stop something when what draws you there is the fact that you're incredibly lonely.

I am 17 years old. It has been three years since I first opened a chatroom and had camsex and I actively try to stop. I have spoken to dozens, if not hundreds, of men by this point and they are all the same: they want to use me and will put on a little play to ensure they can get me. Some are just nice and upfront with me, using me and then never speaking to me again. Some put on a show, pretending that they like/love me so I become wrapped around their finger. Some are kind and caring, but then threaten me when they realise that they won't get what they want. Too many of them are angry when they hear the word no and if they aren't straight up agressive towards me, then they're making me feel guilty for having boundaries or trying to convince me to break them because they're different from the rest. I've met dozens of men who've claimed that they're different from the rest but they never are. They're all the same. After so many times of promising myself to stop, what really gets me to stop was someone threatening to share naked photos of me he'd taken while we were on a video call on my Facebook. I block him. I realise just how manipulated I'd been over the years and come to accept the fact that most, if not all, of these men had taken photos without my permission and some probably still have them saved somewhere.

I am 18 years old. I have managed to mostly stay away from the chatrooms and camsex, but I ended up speaking to one more guy. He seems so lovely and kind and caring. He is 26-years-old. We live far apart but he promises that he'll come and visit me sometime, even though he dodges the question every time I ask and never seems to be around or available when I'm available. We talked on and off for months. One day I tell him that I've decided to completely give up on camsex. It is too toxic and traumatic for me. I never want to do it again. He stops talking to me. I slowly realised how he was just nice to me because he wanted camsex and nudes. He never loved me but I loved him.

I am 19 years old. I start dating my ex-boyfriend. He is a genuinely wonderful and kind person. He does not disrespect my boundaries regarding camsex and nudes. He used to do a similar thing and understands how toxic and horrible these spaces can be. He's a good person, other than the fact that he mocks my interest in feminism and occasionally breaks some boundaries. We stay together for a year before we end up drifting apart.

I am 20 years old. I have severe depression. For the first time in my life, while I am incredibly drunk, I talk about my ex David and all the camsex stuff. I feel a weight lift off my shoulders knowing that other people agree that I was groomed. I had convinced myself for years that I was not groomed because I asked him out so everything that happened to me was my own fault. But I realise that while I was a stupid teenager, it still wasn't right for men to take advantage of me. I learn to accept that camsex and nudes will always be a point of trauma for me and something that I can never do again. I am so proud of myself for not doing it for two years.

I am 21 years old. I am the same age my ex David was when I dated him. I look at the freshers at my university and I couldn't imagine dating someone who is just out of college (high school). I had realised some years earlier that my relationship was toxic and pedophilic but it took me getting to the same age he was to realise just how horrible it was. I wish I could warn so many other women but I know I have to live with it because I was that teenage girl who dated that older man so I know that every single one thinks that they're the exception to the rule. They think that there's no way they're getting groomed by and older man because they really are that mature. I wish I could tell them but they'll just run into their groomer's arms even more.

I am 22 years old. I am off anti-depressants and glad that my sex drive is back. I decide that now, post COVID, would be the perfect time to have some fun. I sleep around, but the sex is so unsatifying for me most of the time. The women are good but the men spent five minutes inside of me and are then done. Half of them don't do anything to make me cum and never ask if I have. One of them complains that I take ages to cum after spending two minutes rubbing me off (badly). After feeling guilty for cancelling something last minute, I end up hooking up with someone who I shouldn't have. I cannot remember the last time I felt so repulsed by someone's touch. I stop hooking up with people. For the first time in years, I broke my no nudes, no camsex rule. I feel awful about myself.

I am 23 years old. I realise that my hooking-up with people phase was just a copy of my camsex stage. I realise that the men I hooked up with used the exact same tactics as the men I had camsex with: seemed like nice people so they could use me; got angry at me when I said no to them because they felt entitled to whatever they wanted for being nice to me; and thought that they could drop me for weeks at a time because I will always come running back to them. Sometimes I feel so assured in myself because I have spent years learning about all the maipulation tactics that they all use and because I can say no to them when they try to guilt me; sometimes I feel like that same 14 year old girl who ignored every red flag that she ever saw because she was so deperate for love and attention from anyone.

I am 24 years old. I am 2 years younger than my ex Sam was when I dated him and 4 years younger than Glenn was when I started talking to him. I look at the 18-20 year olds in our office and they are basically children to me. If I feel this way now, how much creepier will it feel when I actually hit 26 or 28? I tell people I have no interest in men and for the first time in my life I truly mean it. I stopped dating them years ago but all interest in them is gone now. Sometimes people tell me that I just haven't met the right man yet. I shrug it off but I want to scream at them. I have met dozens of men who have told me that they're different to the rest but they are all the same in the end. The right man doesn't exist.

#long post #one day I will make another post detailing so many of these men I remember from my cam sex and hook up days #the stories I have are pretty horrid #but they do explain why I don't trust men

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iamnotoriginalphil · 5 months ago

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The Hurt (Kate Stewart x gn!Reader)

Synopsis: You're just a little too in love with your boss.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: unrequited feelings, like one swear word

AN: I loved how much Kate we got to see in the last season so I figured I'd see if anyone else loves her like I do.

It shouldn’t be so difficult. It shouldn’t. You sat, and you worked, and if you were lucky you got to go out in the field. You were living your dream. Science that made a difference. Science that could one day change the world. Science unlike anything you could imagine when you’d been doing your undergraduate degree all those years ago.

It shouldn’t hurt.

And it wouldn’t, if not for her. The woman who turned your dreams into something not quite so sweet. The only one who made your work torture.

Kate Stewart. Your boss. And the only person in the room you couldn’t look away from.

She was electrifying. So passionate. When she spoke you couldn’t help but listen. You’d follow her into fire with little more than a single look. The perfect leader, a mix of compassionate and hard working and so smart it blew your mind. She lit up the room and made everyone want to work that little bit harder.

It didn’t hurt that she was beautiful.

Her commanding presence only added to it. She was intriguing, drawing you in, and if she wasn’t so passionate about her work she wouldn’t be nearly so enticing. Just being in her presence was enough to turn your knees to jelly and have your heart beating too fast.

The hurt was deeply embedded in your identity, you weren’t sure who you would be without it.

You weren’t anyone important. One of the brains down in the labs, analysing the tech that came in and learning to replicate it. You doubt she even knew your name. But you knew her and it was slowly destroying you from the inside out.

You kept thinking that maybe if you put in more hours, if you proved your worth, if you had some massive breakthrough, she might learn your name.

That was until the love of the job pulled you in again. You were, at your heart, a scientist. Alien technology was like showing a child a magic trick. You were determined to figure out how it was done. It was the kind of playground most scientists could only dream about. And you were one of the lucky few that got to be in the sandbox.

The point was, it was easy to get lost in your work. You didn’t realise how late it had gotten until you looked up and realised you were completely alone in the lab. Stretching your arms above your head, you felt the ache in your spine. You’d been hunched over too long, fiddling with all the tiny bits of a something that had been dropped off to you that morning.

“I see I’m not the only one burning the midnight oil.”

You startled, almost falling off your stool. Grasping the edge of the bench you righted yourself before turning around. Kate, in all her resplendent glory, not even having the decency to look as tired as you were beginning to feel, was making her way towards you. One hand in her trouser pocket and a small smile on her face, you felt like a deer in the headlights under her amused gaze.

“What are you working on?” she asked.

“Oh, uh… I think it’s some kind of energy… convertor… thing,” you replied, “I’m still figuring it out.”

“Did that come in from the York site this morning?” she asked.

“Mmhm,” you hummed, looking back down at it.

You only looked up when you saw her taking a seat across from you. Even now, in a mostly dark lab, she didn’t look half as tired as you felt. Blonde hair still sleek, brown eyes with the twinkle of curiosity, dressed impeccably. It wasn’t fair when you were sure you looked a mess.

“You’re often here late,” she said, those warm brown eyes landing on you.

“There’s so much to learn,” you replied with a small shrug, “sometimes it’s hard to drag myself away.”

“Now that’s a sentiment I can understand,” she said with a small chuckle.

You weren’t really sure what to say. It was so easy to feel tongue tied around her, basking in her commanding aura, the way she wielded her personality like it was nothing, like it wouldn’t fucking wreck you. When she looked at you the way she was now, all soft edges and familiarity and intimacy, it made your head spin.

But maybe that’s what made her such a good leader. She could talk to the grunts as if they were just as important as the leadership teams. She could make you feel like she was interested in you. Which was dangerous for a number of reasons.

“Sometimes I miss being in the lab doing the science. Truth is, this place feels more like home than my desk upstairs,” she said into the silence, looking around the darkened space.

“You could always come back,” you said then immediately felt a wave of embarrassment. Of course she wouldn’t. She had more important things to spend her time on. Like saving the world, mostly.

“If I had the time, believe me, I would.” The small smile she sent in your direction had your heart fluttering.

“I can’t imagine ever giving this up,” you said, not sure if you were talking about your work or the moment you were sharing with her.

“There’s really nothing you think might be more important or worth your time?” The twinkle in her eye was really beginning to make you feel breathless.

“I like being in the guts of the thing. Other people are better suited for the brain,” you replied with a small shrug.

Her laugh was throaty, warm, intimate. The kind of thing you’d hear while sharing a drink in a secluded bar. Not like your boss asking you about your work. Not that she really was. But looking at you from under lowered lashes, in the dim light, lit up by the lamp sitting on your desk to highlight the alien tech, the soft look on her face, it was hard to remember she was your boss.

“Although I think you’re the heart of the whole thing,” you murmured.

Something in her face brightened, gratification softening every line of her body. The way she smiled was enough to make you willing to do anything to see it again. It was dangerous, the way you would give her every part of you to earn that smile.

“When I was a little girl, I resented UNIT so much. It stole all of my father’s time and attention and he had none left for me. I didn’t realise what he was building. All I knew was that it was more important than me to him,” she said, voice soft as her mind drifted.

You froze, listening to her, wanting to hear more.

“But when I did see him, the stories he told. Oh, they were wonderful. Stories of aliens and time travel, and a man in a small blue box. I wanted to know more. I craved it. I dreamt about the universe out there and all the things it held. I wanted to know it all.”

You lent forward.

“It took a while but I got my degree and I joined UNIT. And I got to do science like I’d never seen before. So many species I'd never even imagined, coming here to Earth and I had access to them here. Not in this exact lab. Back then we were more hidden and a few decades behind technologically speaking, but one like it. I spent hours here. Nights. Weekends. You couldn’t drag me out of here. And then I understood why Dad spent all his time here. It’s an addiction.”

You were nodding. Because you got it. This job, the things you saw, the puzzles you got to take apart and put back together again, it was like nothing you’d ever experienced. Just look at what you’d been working on when she’d found you. You wouldn’t get that working at Google or for a pharmaceutical company. This was the kind of stuff science dreams were made of.

“It’s that moment when it all suddenly makes sense. The fog clears and you understand how something works. All of the long hours and the frustration and the confusion are worth it. And then you know more about this universe and how it works and no one else on the planet has that information. There’s no feeling like it.”

Your breath caught. The way she spoke about it was like she was reaching into your chest and grasping your heart in a tight fist. Twisting your guts. Because that was it. That was exactly it.

“And that’s not even the parts that make me love science. Unravelling the secrets of the universe is wonderful but it’s not what gets me out of bed in the morning. It’s satiating my own curiosity. It’s understanding the world we live in better. It’s getting the chance to ask questions and find the answers as I give in to my own need to know. It’s looking at something like this…”

One finger tapped the top of your alien device.

“And knowing just a bit more than the day before.”

Your lips parted as you dragged your gaze back up to her, finding her already watching you. She was leaning towards you, over the bench and you realised how close your faces had grown. You blinked, ready to draw back, put more space between you.

“My father always said ‘science leads��. A quote from the Doctor. But it’s the work being done in this lab and others like it that make my job possible. This work guides the decisions I make for this organisation. And through it I can continue my father’s legacy and build something he would be proud of,” she said, her fingers still on the unknown device on the bench. And still looking at you.

“I think he’d be very proud of you,” you said.

“Thank you.” Her hand drew back, putting her back on her side of the bench, “I know what I do is important, but I still miss this.”

“Do you want to help with this? Might scratch that itch,” you offered.

When she settled beside you, on your side of the bench, you felt your heart flutter. Shoulder to shoulder, you bent towards the wiring and the metal, her hair brushing against your skin. It was strange, the conflict you felt inside, sitting there with her in the small circle of light.

On the one hand, she was so confident in the work, almost as if she was able to read your mind. She could predict what you were thinking and what you were going to do with ease. On the other, she was close enough you could smell the perfume that clung to her skin, and the warmth of her body washing over you. It was a very specific kind of torture and one you would willingly submit to every night for just one more moment like this.

“Your work on that laser bomb was brilliant,” she murmured, “and that report you wrote on the blue tree was beautiful.”

You startled, dropping the tiny screwdriver you’d been holding. Her warm chuckle against your ear was enough to have your heart fluttering without pause.

“I didn’t think you knew who I was,” you admitted, picking it up again, trying not to let her see the shockwaves of her laughter still moving through your body.

“You’re one of my best,” she said, so unaware how that one little word made your heart skip a beat. My. A claiming you hadn’t known you’d wanted. Even more than the compliment.

You turned your head, finding her so close. You were practically sharing the same air. Noses close to brushing. You froze, not sure what to do when she was so close. Her lips quirked up in a small smile and your gaze darted down to them then back up, embarrassment curling in your stomach. But you were only human. And she was so very tempting.

“Of course I know you,” she whispered.

The moment hung between you, strung out until it was taut. Any moment it would break, time speeding up once more to compensate for the stolen time between heartbeats. But for now, you could marvel at the way she was looking at you, like you’d split open right down the middle, baring your soul to her. Those eyes, never missing a detail, looked at you as if she could see you. Really see you. Right down into all the crevices no one ever bothered looking at. You were splayed open for her to see.

The way her eyes burned, you thought she might like whatever it was she could see.

One of the night guards rounded the corner of the hall, whistling loud in the night’s silence. Your breath stuttered in your chest and she lent away from you, disappointment swimming in dark eyes.

“It’s late,” she said.

“It is,” you agreed, not able to say anything else.

“You should return home, get some sleep,” she said.

“Is that what you’re going to do?” you asked, surprised by the need to know, to be able to picture her once she was no longer standing in front of you.

“I hope so,” she said, that same small smile back on her face.

“Goodnight,” you said with a small nod.

“Goodnight,” she said, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder, “sweet dreams.”

Her hand squeezed, lingering a moment longer, sending heat licking over your skin. She turned, a hand in her trouser pocket, and you watched her walk away from you. The shadows swallowed her, heels echoing down empty hallways as she left you with your work.

The hope that had welled in your chest remained, slow to drain. You could still smell her perfume on the air, feel the warmth of her body, hear her chuckle soft in your ear, more vibration than sound.

And maybe that was the truth of it. That hope, when it came to Kate Stewart, hurt worst of all.

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