#it is not all for naught ! as long as people see what i try to do and feel its effects

[shdwtouch]

Different anon here, I also love all the positivity you share on the dash. You are a breath of fresh air.

bless ye ; A ; I know I haven't been as present on the dash lately, nor have I been able to engage with the dash / check in with folks, but I really do try to be positive and supportive and keep my blog as light and nifty as I can !

[councilofcastamere]

WINTER NIGHTS | CREGAN STARK X TARG!READER ꧂

a b r i d g e m e n t : With tensions rising, your elder half-sister Rhaenyra arranges for you to seek asylum in the freezing land of the North. And fortunately for you, Cregan is there to show you how Northmen operate.

TW: penetration, loss of virginity, breeding kink, mentions gender roles but in a sexy way, sexual tension, sibling jealousy, childhood neglect, mentions of death by birth, shitty character development

A/N: I know the girly portrayed is Visenya but her body is tea in this so maybe I do know best…

The second daughter. The oh-so passed over maiden. Not belonging to anything, nor belonging to nothing. Not the first, and not the last. An ever enduring memory to a passed over era. Nothing significant. Never anything significant.

That’s what you were. Insignificance. A beautiful insignificance, if you could see beauty in tragedy. Beauty in all the ways of life. All the little horrible things that make up a big, beautiful, picture. People shan’t look close, you’d assure yourself.

But you were you. Born to the everlasting way of royal life. To the peaceful Viserys, and his second wife, a woman whose name is not all that important. Another maiden from a noble house that perished to childbirth. Lost her life, giving life.

And as it did not to many maidens, the Gods did not grant you the chance to grow up with your mother. The blood that dripped down her thighs had covered you from head to toe as you came into existence, and she had naught of you in her arms before a deep and long slumber overcame her. The stranger had come for her, and he did not slow down on its way. He’d taken her as quick as she’d given you to the world. A quick exchange, you’d suppose.

Now and then you think about her. What she might have looked like, what she might have liked, what she might have been had she survived the wretched burden of your existence. You’d often wonder if infants who survived childbirth ever felt as deep a burden as she did. To have your very first breath of life tainted with the death of an innocent. Tainted with tragedy.

Growing up in King’s Landing hadn’t been all that as it sounded. You’d never really been that happy, as ungracious as it sounded.

You had an older sister - Rhaenyra - who’d occasionally humoured you. You’d never seen much of her, really. Perhaps it was your own fault as well. For not actively seeking her out. For not being the younger sister one was supposed to be. Some people - as close to you as they may be - are just unattainable in your mind. Your kin aren’t your kin until you allow it.

You have better companions than her, you figured. You had your lady-in-waitings. Lady Vievenne of house Swann. Lady Laycie of house Oldflowers. Lady Claere of house Ambrose. Lady Evelyne of house Hightower, who was, by all accounts, a gift from your newest stepmother, Alicent of the house Hightower.

What you also had was younger siblings. Such as Aegon. Though he is naught but a skirt enthusiast, swimming along the sea of young maidens at his whim. But he cares not whether they are, does he?

And oh, do not get yourself started on the one-eyed prince and that smug little smile on his sharp-featured face. Nonetheless, he was gentle. Oh so gentle with his touch. And oh so sinister in the way that made you feel important enough to be in his good graces.

However, you chose to distance yourself from all parties involved as fate made it clear what it had in store. A great slap to the great Targaryen dynasty. A dark cloud looming over the already curse-clad clan.

For even you knew that the only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon, was itself.

“Sister.” you greeted one late evening, having taken flight to Dragonstone on your she-dragon, Starfyre. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“…y/n.” the elder sister called out, a small smile on her lips. “I… am glad for your visit.”

“…I’m certain you are,” you say, trying with all your might to contain a frown.

You eyed her awkwardly as she wiped her sweaty hands off her dress, letting out a sigh as the elder royal wasn’t quite certain how to approach the topic.

“I… understand… things quite haven’t been… that active, in our kinship,” Rhaenyra speaks up, taking a step closer. “And for that, I apologise.”

You could only nod, a small smile gracing your lips at the heartwarming confession of absent love.

“I apologise, also.” you smiled, your hands finding each other behind your back. “I suppose I should have been the one to seek your company and counsel as well.”

“Good.” Rhaenyra smiled awkwardly, a silence engulfing the echo-ridden chambers. “The reason, as to why I called you, might be surprising.”

You froze slightly, heart pounding as the possibilities of implications travelled through your mind. The goosebumps on your arms grew more prominent as a cold breeze passed through.

“Oh?” you answered, cocking a brow. “And what might that be, sister?”

“I ask of you to travel to the North,” Rhaenyra admits, a tone of seriousness overshadowing the warm moment. “I have already sent a raven to Lord Cregan Stark, and he has agreed to host you. If it pleases you, of course.”

No answer came out of your lips, save for your a mere breath. You felt a pang in your heart, consuming your every emotion, making certain you cannot detect how you feel about the news.

A dragon in the north? What a jest. You’d do better in Dorne, surrounded by sun-kissed squires and stable boys than laddish lordlings and Northern butchers.

“And… why should I?” you asked, respect in your tone. “Pardon me, my sister, but why have you made this decision for me?”

“Tensions are rising, y/n. You know that as well as I do.” Rhaenyra sighs, her body language giving up on its tense posture. “And I am aware of your… complex feelings on it. But to the North you must. I’m sending Rhaena to the Va-”

“Yes, because Rhaena gets to be hosted by a relative of yours, in safety. Meanwhile you sent me off to some Northern stranger!”

“Y/n.” Rhaenyra warned, raising a brow. She took a step closer as you composed your words. “You are my sister, and I will have you safe in the North. The Northmen are honourable men, and in time you’ll know.”

✫彡

And so you were, clad in thick fur, lady Vivenne and lady Evelyne at both sides of yourself. Across from you sat three servants, and somewhere else sat your sworn shield.

“It will be splendid.” Evelyne beamed, properly adjusting her hair, tied up in a bun, similar to the ones the older maidens wear. “We shall meet every dusk, and speak about our day. In front of the fire.”

“Not if I can help it.” you sighed softly. “Apologies, my ladies, but I’ll let you two get at it. I’d love to explore the North in solitude.”

“Right…” Vivenne nodded, looking through the small peep holes as the carriage slowed down, just outside the gates of Winterfell. “We’ve arrived, I suppose. You’ll have to greet Lord Stark. If he’s anything we’ve heard of and more, I wish you luck.”

You only nodded, watching as your ladies exited the carriage, standing at the side of the door. Their faces are cast down, as if in mourning. Perhaps they’re mourning the life of luxury provided at King’s Landing.

You could not blame them for it, really. From growing up in their own house, to growing up in the Royal house, to trade it again to live to see the snowy winters of Winterfell.

You shook slightly, the cold air hitting your face in an instant as you slightly lifted your dress, taking a step out of the three provided for the carriage.

You looked ahead of you, eyes locking on the noblemen and women, standing straight and proud. The women bore clothes of low quality, so obviously sewn to fit any class. The men wore dark furs, contrasting to the blue clothing of the opposite sex.

And in the midst of it, stood Cregan Stark, accompanied by a mere little boy of just two years of age. Your eyes locked upon his stormy-grey ones, his face etched into a stern expression, eyes focused on yours.

You maintained the eye contact, taking each step closer to him.

“Princess Y/N.” Cregan greeted formally, taking your soft hand in his. “Welcome to Winterfell. I am Lord Cregan Stark.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark.” you smile, curtsying in a fashionable manner. Your eyes stood glued on his as his lips brushed against the palm of your hand. “I’m truly honoured to be here.”

“…I’m certain you are.” Cregan answered, eyeing you skeptically.

Hearing false compliments wasn’t out of the ordinary for the wolf of Winterfell. He knew well enough that you weren’t suited for the North. You were a Southern lady, used to the life of feasts, luxury, and sparkly dresses.

“Let us go inside, shall we?” you smiled charmingly, looking up at the tall castle with dread in your eyes.

“Aye, so we shall.” Cregan nodded, his broad shoulders most notable as he sauntered into the opened gates.

✫彡

The first night went unfamiliar to you, the harsh blows of the cold weather creating a prominent presence looming over the already melancholic times.

You sat in your chambers, sitting at the stony window sill as you watched Cregan from above.

The lord was overlooking young squires on the courtyard, engaged in conversation with the knight in charge of guiding the young to-be-knights.

All dressed in fur, shoulders looking as if they were padded. Cregan’s hair was tied up, with two front strands escaping and hanging loose. His grey-blue eyes stood glued at watching the young squire’s techniques, and you could only sigh as you got lost in his appearance.

Ever since stepping foot into the North of Westeros, you’d developed a strange sense of interest in the beauty of Northern men. How they all dressed so grimly, but intimidating. How they’re oh-so honourable and hard working. How they always seemed so clean shaven but rugged all at once.

And you could not help but wonder what it would be like had you wedded one of them.

Being completely honest, you’d never really been the sort of maiden to stay inside of her chambers, waiting for her husband to return from his duty, deprived of affection.

With any Southern lord, being a doting unappreciated wife would never cross your mind.

But with Northern men, however, you had the feeling your efforts wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Before you could continue your vulgarly confusing thoughts, you saw Cregan’s eyes shift to yours, finding your gaze.

You could only lean against the window, a hand on the stony side as you gazed back at him. Your hair was loose, and you were dressed in your creamy beige nightdress.

You held his gaze for a moment, until ultimately turning away, leaving the implications of that gaze to his imagination.

✫彡

By the third day, you’d been reading in the old library belonging to House Stark. You’d sat on a plush seat, the dusty book on your lap as your gentle fingers flipped through the pages.

But you weren’t alone.

Cregan Stark sat near you, his knees in almost touching proximity to yours.

“Aye, the North is cold, but it’s honest.” he tells you, gently shutting his own book. “The snow doesn’t lie about its intention. No courtly games like they play in the South.”

“Oh, please.” you smiled, shutting your book as well. your body shifted so it was facing his, resting your head on one hand. “The courtly games are what makes it so fun.”

“Now, riddle me this.” You smiled, noting his full attention on you. His body language exuded calmness, and you felt secure in the knowledge that his comfort lies with you. “How do you not like courtly games? Personally, it makes my life all the more amusing.”

“I suppose it’s all jesting for you, princess.” Cregan said, his eyes resting on yours. “Amusement or not, I’d rather know where I stand…”

“With you, however…” His eyes trailed down to your bare shoulder, the white nightdress you’re wearing very much a sight of sore eyes. “I think I know.”

“Oh, do you?” you teased, cocking a brow. “And how so, pray tell?”

“Well…” he grunted, shifting in his seat to tighten the proximity around you two. “You’d do well not to cross any Northern man. They don’t take well to… courtly games.”

You only smiled at that, your upper body instinctively leaning in, albeit torturously slow.

“And, uh, suppose I… marry a Northern lord.” you teased quite coquettishly, a hand moving to rest on the thick fur coating his body. “What am I in for.”

You watched as his smirk only widened, gently taking the hand that rested on his fur, and taking it in his.

“Marry a Northern lord like me, and have your nights warmed under the thick fur of blankets.” he says, his thumb rubbing against your knuckles. “Northern loyalty runs deep, princess. That’s what you’d be in for.”

You nodded slowly, and you could not help but notice those coloured eyes of his descending onto your perky breasts.

Great, this was all going well so far. “I’d imagine… do you think he’d gift me a pup? I’ve always wanted a tiny pet, to keep.”

“Yeah?” The lord licked his lips, a hand resting on your waist. “You think you’d handle a wolf properly?”

“Well, I would.” you smiled, nodding in agreement. “I’m a dragon… and dragons do not surrender that easily.”

You smiled, shifting in your seat again as Cregan amusedly indulged you in your silly thoughts. “Just imagine it, my lord. I’d be holding that pup every night trying to get it to warm to me.”

Your hand slowly, but surely, trickled down to his clothed thigh, trying to maintain a sense of quiet intimacy.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you, then.” his voice lowered, bordering on husky. “Wolves aren’t so easily tamed, not even by someone with…”

He paused for a moment, a hand gently taking the one you placed on his thigh.

“…your charms.”

You’d have a cheeky comeback on the tip of your tongue, had it not been for Cregan’s lips descending upon yours, clashing together like Blackwoods and Brackens.

You let out a soft breath as you eased into the kiss, feeling his large hands grip your waists as if his life depended on it.

Your hands moved from his shoulders, to his neck, and then to his armoured chest. The armour he carried felt cold to your hands, yet it made it all the more sinful.

“Did you have this in mind?” you murmured against his lips, tongue circling his as you so sloppily attempted to kiss him. “Seducing me?”

The silence engulfed you two for a moment, only being overshadowed by the sound of soft breaths.

“You have it wrong, princess.” he breathed, firmly planting you upon his lap, your back pressing against his chest. “Do you take me for a halfwit?”

You smiled, looking over your shoulder as you attempted to chase his lips with yours again.

“No, but I certainly did not take you for a man so easily seduced.” you teased, guiding his hands to your clothed breasts. “You don’t seem the type to give in that easily.”

“Because it’s untrue.” he spoke up, lips brushing to against your neck. “But do you honestly think nothing would be done about the way you saunter around, looking as you do?”

His hands slowly tugged against your nightdress, pressing a hard kiss to your achy jaw before pulling away.

“Lay yourself down on the carpet.” he commanded, hands shifting to peel off his fur coat, along with his armour and tunic.

All you could do was nod and watch on as his armour went discarded on the floor, the metal material cranking against the stone ground.

His bare chest was now visible, the defining abs illuminated by the glowing fire. His hair messed up when he threw his tunic over his head.

“Cregan, I-"

And in one moment, you felt his large body overshadow yours, clashing lips again. Cregan lifted his body as to not crush you, hands on either side of your head.

You only permitted yourself to breathe unevenly, stead of moan. Your hands found his shoulders, desiring to pull him closer than possible.

“Ever since you’ve arrived you’d been nothing but trouble.” Cregan murmured, lips finding your throat. “Sauntering around with your ladies, endlessly teasing me.”

Your legs only shifted to wrap around his waist, back slowly arching at the kisses.

He took notice, and let one of his hands pin you down, lips descending towards your perky breasts.

“Gods, you’re wrong for this.” he grunted, swirling his tongue around the nipple. “For provoking me, as you did yesterday, and the day before that.”

“For thinking you have the authority to do this to a lord.” he breathed, your small breast fitting into his large palm.

“For…” he continued, kissing down your stomach, before ultimately glancing back at you “…thinking you’d get away with this.”

“I did not think I’d get away with this.” you tease, watching as he moves face-to-face again. “Which is why I did it.”

Your hands find his muscled arms, squeezing it gently. “I want to know how Northern men do it.”

You’d think you were jesting, but were you truly?

You’d have opened your mouth to say anything else, looking up at him, if it weren’t for the Northern lord himself roughly flipping you to your stomach.

“You wish to know, my princess?” he murmurs, unlatching his breeches. “You’d have your first time be with a Northman?”

You nodded, cheek resting on the carpet fabric without surrender. “Yes. Gods yes.”

He hiked your skirt around your waist, your plump ass visible to his peering eyes.

“You’ll be ruined for other men, aye.” He grunted, his hand wrapping around his rock hard cock.

“That’s good, because I desire no one save you.” you smiled, allowing him to lift your hips up and arch your back.

“Yeah?” he smirked, the tip of his cock rubbing against your damp hole. “You’ll have me make you my wife?”

You nodded, impatiently moving your hips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“You’d be a good wife, wouldn’t you?” he grunted once again, head finally pushing into your unloosened clit. “No Southern games, no poignant looks of yours.”

“You like that about me.” you painfully breathed, feeling the uncomfortable ache of his cock in your newly penetrated cunt.

His head descended, placing gentle kisses upon your shoulders. “A maiden. Perhaps you aren’t as well-equipped to handle a wolf as you said you were.”

“I am.” you protested, pushing your hips back. “Move your hips. I wish to prove myself.”

He only speeded up his thrusts, and as you allowed the moans to fill your lips, his hands found a way to push your head down.

“You’d carry my pups?” he asked, thrusting into you aggressively, pumping his cock in and out. “Wait on my cock every night?”

You only moaned incredulously, asscheeks clapping along with every snap of his hips.

“Yes.” you breathed, gasp and claps filling the room. “Fuck, put a babe inside of me. I want your children.”

“We’ll have to wed sooner, before the babe gets born in wedlock.” he grunted, hands gripping your hips, pushing you back onto his thick length. “But that’s what you wanted all along, was it?”

You gripped the fabric of the carpet, cheeks burning as it rubbed against the irritating carpet.

“For a thick cock such as this.” he teased, tugging at your hair.

“Yes.” you moaned pathetically, cheeks flushed as you felt a knot forming into your stomach.

Your lips parted, your eyes rolling above-ways.

“Yes, yes!” you moaned loudly, feeling his hands grope your breasts. “Fuck, you’re moving fast.”

“Never fast enough.” he murmurs, member sliding against your wet slit.

He could feel your tight walls clenching around him, milking his cock for all it is worth. His grip on you tightened as he thrust down to meet your upward motion.

And with one sharp thrusts, you felt the knot loosen and the cream dripping out your twitching clit.

Yet, he didn’t stop, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he rode you through your orgasm.

The feeling of your walls clenching around his cock was enough to send him reeling as well, burying himself deep inside of you.

Hot spurts of cum dripping out of your hole, you completely got yourself spent, closing your eyes and deciding you could just fall asleep on this carpet.

“No sleeping in the library.” he scolded lightly, putting on his fur coat, covering his naked physique. “Come here.”

You exhaustedly crawled over to him again, and snuck yourself into his coat, the clothing covering both of your naked bodies.

“I’m taking you to your chambers.” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “And for the next time, do not attempt to get so exhausted. I went easy on you this time.”

[xazse]

hiii pookie I LOVED your hybrid post like it got me foaming from the mouth ngl 🫶 you're so talented!!

If you're into it, can we get cowhybrid! reader and Farmer!Gojo specifically please and thank you? I need to see the reader all needy and desperate and Gojo being the only one who can truly give her release and and what she truly needs (feel free to remix or add anyone/anything that you please)

If you're not into it, please ignore this ask instead of refusing because I get embarrassed hihi🎀🫶 anyways mwah mwah love u take care pookie

ANOTHER TRY?

Notes: THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMENTS IM GLAD YOU ENJOYED MY WORK!!! and to the second ask I’m very happy you requested that bull!hybrid work lLOVEDDD WORKING ON IT!! You guys are so creative I need to eat ur brain!!! THIS IS FOR ALL THE OTHER PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN ASKING FOR A PT2 I SEE YOU GUYS!!! (IF UR READING THIS TO MY OTHER INBOX OFC YOU CAN BE 🪬 ANON!!)

Pairings: CowHybrid!Reader x Farmer!Gojo

Warnings: Lactation + big!boobedReader + implied chubby!reader + nipplesucking + grinding + mean!Satoru + pussy!slapping + teasing.

Gojo has spoiled you for far too long it makes his blood boil and temples wrinkle when you continue to go see Toji and Suguru, it becomes a habit for you to come back in the early mornings after having a night of “fun.”

Confronting said men proved to be so fucking useless, they just laughed in his face when he said he’d kick both of them to the curb should they continue to corrupt you.

“You need us Satoru, why are you allowed to have your nightly routines but she cant? It was gonna happen eventually.” Tojis face was decorated with a fat sneer, all those times he tried to make sure you stayed as far as possible were all for naught, it’s hilarious seeing him seething behind a cool facade.

“Never knew what Toji seen in the woman but now I completely understand his point.” Suguru yelled from where he was transporting some wood.

Talking to them proved to be useless, as a little payback he made them clean the shed from top to bottom.

Trudging back to the main house in his thick boots Satoru comes to face you relaxing on the couch without a damn care in the world.

Why is he trying to get them to be on his level when he should be punishing you, you’re the one who didn’t listen, you’re the one sneaking out every night. He doesn’t know why he feels this hold on you, you’re such a beautiful girl that he can’t help but keep you in this small bubble.

When your eyes land on him you don’t say any kind of greeting, simply ignoring his presence for the movie on the huge ass tv he bought for you and eating the expensive food he bought for you.

You look extremely good right now, your fat boobs not swollen, but your pretty lips are. Satoru won’t say it but his pants tighten at the thought of what they do to you.

He needs you right now, he’ll make it up to you as much as he can.

He approaches you calmly and collected, sitting down at the edge of the couch where your legs are propped up, you still don’t acknowledge him. His trained hands start circling on your soft supple skin, you surprisingly don’t push him away. You give Satoru an inch he’ll take a mile.

He starts groping your thighs, the pudgy things hold within the creases of his hand. He pushes your thighs apart and gets a good look at your panties: you always choose to walk around the house like this.

They’re extra tight the way they emphasize your fat pussy, the groan that slips from his lips aren’t-something he tries to hold back, he needs you to know how much he wants you, especially wants you all to himself.

The rise and fall of your chest makes you look so cute, why are you so shy all of a sudden? You’re averting your eyes as well.

Satoru starts teasing your clothed folds, dragging his thick finger up and down, he pushes extra hard on your clit eliciting a small moan from you. He continues this for a little, he needs you wet to take him properly.

He peels off your soddened panties and positions himself above you, finally face to face with you. Your boobs are the first thing he attacks, pulling on your shirt and letting them spill out, the little droplets of milk call to him. He’s grabbing one and putting it into his mouth: he loves your taste so sweet like honey as it cascades down his throat so smoothly.

“Nghm… Toru..” finally you’ve decided to grace him with your sultry voice.

He bites down a little on your nipple making you jump away. He reels you right back in and sucks even harsher, there’s barely any milk left but he’s going to make sure he gets his full.

“Toru.” You call his name so panicked and yet you’re grinding against his fully hard cock. He’s so desperate in the moment that he unbuckles his belt and lets his cock bob free.

His fat tip prods agaisnt your folds, messing with your sticky wetness, he smears it on his tip even grinding down on your clit, but he doesn’t put it in, you don’t deserve that.

He teases you, pretending he’s going to give you what you want just to take it all away.

“Please…” a harsh and loud smack is delivered straight to your clit, you yelp and buckle your legs closed.

“Shirt, take your shirt off.” He commands, of course you’re gonna listen, Satoru has never taken that tone with you.

Your boobs now freely spill for him to gaze at. He spreads your legs back open.

“I’m gonna give you ten slaps, close your legs for even one I’m restarting. Understood?” You nod and your ears move along with it. He likes this look on your face: confusion, arousal and a little bit of fear.

On the first slap you make the mistake of shutting your legs closed: completely an accident but he’s having none of it, he hits your little clit again and again.

“Ahn..” you’re still so fucking wet by the sixth slap, creating a nasty mess that drips to your ass. Gojo’s cock is still throbbing, he jerks himself off, smearing his pre all over.

By the tenth slap you’re gone, completely dazed and only able to whine outloud, he decides that you’ve had enough with the tears that sit on your eye line. He pushes your legs back and lines his weeping tip. The feeling of sliding into your sopping wet cunt is better than any pussy he’s ever had.

His strokes against you are fast even though he should be letting you adjust, the sounds of skin against skin meeting each other is downright lewd.

He tells you to rub your nipples, it adds so much more stimulation that you can’t find it in you to hate it.

His cock drags agaisnt your walls over and over, till you can’t feel anything but the sensitivity of your nipples and the twitching of his fat cock.

He fucks you like that all night, even when you’re meant to meet Toji and Suguru, you can’t stop creaming around farmer Gojos length and nor do you want to.

[stxneflxwers]

tough love.

⋯⁂ summary. he could use tough love, but only yours.

⋯⁂ a/n. this glorious idea hit me... i had to write it immediately !! also if it reads weird halfway thru, it's cuz my internet fucking died and i had to finish this at two different times D:

⋯⁂ characters. aventurine x gn reader.

⋯⁂ cw. post-penacony. all lowercase. reader is brutally honest. aventurine gets some tough love. hurt/comfort. you knew each other pre-penacony. some cussing. awkward confession. you give him a hug.

aventurine is tired. fatigued. exhausted.

penacony has been one brutally eye-opening experience after another for him, and many others. a part of him wants to sleep for so long, so so long. perhaps not permanently, but when he feels well enough to face the world again. maybe.

this place is a goddamn nightmare, he thinks with a wry and weak chuckle.

right now, he's standing in clockie studios theme park – a place he's grown to partly resent, partly appreciate. he stares down the repaired big screen with crossed arms as he leans against a wall. it's now so isolated here, but people have bigger fish to fry, he thinks. yet... he can't help but feel so small in comparison. briefly, he feels relieved he isn't in the spotlight.

"you know, that was pretty shitty of you. maybe the shittiest. but... maybe you've learned your lesson, hm?"

a familiar voice nearby echoes in his ears – your voice. your sweet yet painfully forthright voice. you're perhaps the only damned person in this unforgiving universe that could hope to understand his inner machinations.

now, he finds himself appreciating you more than ever. maybe he's ready to be seen, even just a little. but only by you.

he smirks, "yeah, maybe i did." he laughs weakly.

silence casts a thick blanket over you two. maybe for a moment too long.

"you know," you start again, "i've been incredibly worried over your dumb ass." you sigh, yet it's the sweetest sound to him.

"ah," he mutters shyly, "my bad." he can't stop smiling, but it's hardly one borne from his false bravado.

"...damn right it's 'your bad'," you frown slightly, the sight hurts to see. and then you stride up to him with tentative confidence, "...i missed you, too." you stand a couple of paces away from him.

"you know what? i missed you like hell too." he confesses, there's something mysteriously soft in his gaze as he stares you down. his gaze lacks its usual lightlessness, it's the first time you've ever seen a shimmer of something honest in him.

"you're finally changing, then!" you grin, finally closing the distance, "i believe in you, aven. i always have, i always will. and, well…" you hesitate, a rare occurrence. "…i'm honored to witness your growth and change. you're not immutable… and, inevitably, everything is mutable." you whisper.

aventurine can't stop himself from blushing.

he's not sure why he's blushing – is it the proximity? no, he's used to standing near you. is it your words? no, not that either. is it your mere presence? ...maybe.

you notice his pink cheeks immediately. and you grin.

"what's with that look on your face, huh–"

"i love you."

you damn near choke on your own oxygen. (not that oxygen is entirely a necessity in a dream.) now you're the flustered one. actually, both of you are flustered – his red face rivaling your surprised expression.

"i–" he starts, "uh..." his mouth hangs open. why in the absolute hell did he just blurt that out? "haha! got ya! you know me and my–"

"that wasn't a prank, so don't even try pulling that on me..." your surprise shifts into a half-hearted glare, and a little pout that he wants to kiss so badly.

"haha... o-okay, not a prank..." he raises his hands defensively.

and then there's naught but silence. very awkward silence. the most awkward silence. he's still blushing, you're still glaring. he glances around, as if searching for the nearest exit, and when his eyes land back on you, you've taken a step closer to him.

"i love you too, you reckless idiot."

you sigh as your expression softens, even your voice is as light as a halovian's feather. it's music to his ears. he cracks a small smile, it's genuine and bashful with the way it curves his lips.

"...and i know my love can't fill the holes in your heart," you whisper, "but... you'll let me at least help you out with putting band-aids on for now, right?" you smile, he can taste how bittersweet it must feel for you.

"heh," he laughs breathily, "as long as it's you helping out."

"good. i can't keep pushing my way into your world, anyway, so... please... let me stay a while longer." you pull him into a tentative, careful hug – holding him like he's made of glass. and maybe he is.

"i..." he trails off as a sudden surge of emotions threatens to overwhelm him, bubbling in his chest. "stay." he hides his face in your shoulder.

"for as long as you'll have me."

"then... always?"

"always."

[nonexistant00tmblr]

I love ii but it WILL be the death of me. I keep thinking about how Baseball's storyline is just so damn tragic, and nobody notices. "Always strikes out", And he 𝘩𝘢𝘴 his whole life (his whole time on the show).

Not rejoining, even when he earned it (Paper most likely had the sympathy of fans due to Paper having been there the longest, but Baseball had also been there almost just as long, and- 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. He 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 threaten to kill anyone upon his release! /sarc)

having a constant stream of ridicule from the other contestants regarding his weight lasting S1 AND the start of S2. Why do they even CARE about his weight brah. Ohhh, that's right! Meshart4 fated him to never get what he wants, like people 𝘯𝘰𝘵 seeing him for only his weight. Womp womp, I guess. Wow Mephone, projecting, much? (Also [in my opinion] weight seems VERY irrelevant for objects to care about, due to how most things that could change the appearance of a human [such as; diet, physical strength, hygiene.] Don't really change an object's appearance.) ((Also also being criticized for his armless-.. ness(?) Ouch.))

As much as being a team leader seems like it would be a 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 thing, with the team he had, it was like being a single mom of 10. Having to mediate all of the drama in his team whilst leading it in the first place put so much pressure on him, not to mention having the weight of his friend's problems weighing on him making things harder to deal with. The reason he and Nickel had that lil tussle back in s2e10, was BECAUSE Baseball had so many bad things happening to him. He just wanted that little reassurance that even with all the crap happening, he was an at least half-decent leader, and all he got was his best friend making a joke about it, and downplaying Baseball's very real feelings. He tried to save it, but just that first comment I feel definitely affected Baseball in a negative way.

//(Lil detour time, I wanna talk about how Nickel affected Baseball in GENERAL [for the better AND the worse.], Baseball clearly views Nickel as his best friend, even after everything they've gone through in season 2, but I don't think that's necessarily a good thing. I think it shows that Baseball was too scared to try and make new friends in the game, as to not accidentally make an enemy. I feel this is because Baseball was slowly realizing that most things he tried to do wouldn't go his way, so he'd cling on to Nickel as his only friend, hoping not to lose him, feeling lucky to have him at all (and Nickel would know all about luck/jjjjjjj). This lead to Baseball disregarding some of Nickel's actions towards himself and Suitcase as to preserve his relationship with Nickel. Though, I do feel that the bond they had was real. It started in season 1, where there was less drama built up over time(ex; Tophy and Knife in s2e1 planting the seed for their inevitable rivalry, vs Taco randomly being that bitch and that hoe. /silly), so Baseball most likely wasn't thinking about "preserving his friendship" with Nickel, but rather being friends with him in general. This gave them that time to have genuine interactions that build up the trust between the two. This is why Baseball played along with whatever Nickel did, 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮. That friendship was real, and Nickel was taking advantage of Baseball without even realizing it. I doubt his did this consciously due to his s3 arc, and how he was programmed that way. Nta. /silly. Nickel getting eliminated was a real roadblock for Baseball because (as aforementioned) Nickel was Baseball's only real friend in the game at this point, and Baseball still had that very real connection with him. This is why I feel he was so awkward in s2e14, as he was trying to have that confidence that Nickel had, and he never did. As much as that's really good for him- like, yay! You go girl!! It's inadvertently horrible for him specifically, because he is hardwired to have all of his efforts for naught. It took Baseball all of s2e15 talking to Suitcase to realize all of Nickel's wrongs, and how ignoring them put him in the wrong too. Once he finally realized that, it seemed like Baseball was really coming into his own! Working out his own issues bit by bit.

WRONG!!🤑👅💜 s2e16. We got only one Baseball and Nickel interaction, but it was enough to change Baseball for the rest of the life he had left. Watching Nickel die/get X'd was like s2e13's elimination put to an extreme. It's clear that - even thought he was working out his issues - Baseball still had that strong attachment to Nickel. People respond to grief in many ways, but when things get too much for one person, they can simply go numb. Baseball was in a very sensitive mental state, and this really hit him where it hurts most. His best friend. He went numb, not telling anyone what he saw. Even in Baseball's last moments, he tried to take that leader-like stance, and help everyone but himself, just as Nickel told him he could.) // lil detour over (I say lil as if this wasn't long as HELL💜)

Though I did connect back to the main claim occasionally, Nickel was a very important part of Baseball's character development that matters to this conversation imo.

Getting out in s2e15 was also (possibly) a place where Baseball's programming played a part (alternatively, he got out because Suitcase had too many negative experiences with Baseball, and thought that her deep emotional views of him would impair her gameplay in the finale.) "Always strikes out", even with the people he thought were friends. Even with the person he thought was his friend. Even with Suitcase. I feel the reason Baseball had the response he did, was him coming to terms with things just not going his way, which sets him up in that sensitive mental state in s2e16. He seemed to have come to terms with Suitcase choosing Knife, and didn't want to procrastinate on the obvious, that he was just never enough. Not enough for Suitcase, not enough for his team, not enough to win the game.

He just wasn't the guy who could do it. And he knew he never would be.

He always strikes out.

[lanitalay]

In the cover of night, star-crossed lovers meet.

a/n: I'm back from the dead!!! this time with Covid. Enjoy this lil Cassian x autumn court princess drabble.

Pairing: Cassian x y/n (autumn court princess)

word count: 1k

warnings: mentions of scars and implied violence

“I’m not worth fighting a war over.” Your eyes cloud as the plea falls on deaf ears. 

“Yes you are.”

You brush the rogue strands that frame his face behind his ears, placing both your hands firmly on his cheeks. “No, Cassian, I’m not.” His thumbs are drawing circles on your hips, feeling the heat rise. 

“You’d do the same for me.” 

“I’d think twice about it.” Your hands were on his chest now, firm. 

“What alternative do I have?” 

Here you were, back to the same place you always ended up. Your hand was promised to a lord from the Continent. Your father found it advantageous to match his only daughter with a wealthy male across the sea. Prythian was becoming too tumultuous for his liking, the tides were turning in favor of Night and he would rather have you shipped away. Securing funding for the battles that were sure to be waged soon. He did not account for your resistance and utter refusal to marry. 

The gods gave you a kindness, the male refused to take you without consent. 

But the betrothal still stood. 

Mikaiel would visit once every few months. Beron was furious at the delay. His torments have become more violent, intent on making you succumb. 

“I-” there was no alternative. If you joined him in Velaris on your own accord or if he knocked you unconscious and dragged you there it would all end the same. “You could always find some-”

His grip on you tightened, a warning to not finish the sentiment. “There is no one for me but you.” It was supposed to come out rougher than it did. But the general was tired of making his case for your love. “We’ve been through this a million times-”

“And my point stands, Cassian. If only one person gets hurt because of this… it would be too much. The Night Court is strong, and loyal and I’d argue bloodthirsty-” Cassian opens his mouth to object but you go on “-but Autumn is not. My father, yes. Our people, no and they would be the ones who take the brunt of battle.” 

He lowers his forehead to yours. “I can’t keep meeting in secret like this, y/n.” 

“The alternative is not worth it.” His grip changes to your wrist and he lifts the long sleeve of your gown up to your elbow. “This is not worth it either, you are not saving anyone by letting him burn you piece by piece.” 

You step back and yank the sleeve back down. “It’s only until I wed and it isn’t anything I haven’t handled before.” He’s ridiculous if he thinks that you’d send your people, most of whom are farmers, to war over a few burn marks. 

“If your people saw your skin they’d riot too, you know. They’d fight for you if given the chance.”

Your eyes roll before you can stop them. “My people will never fight for me, they will follow the commands of the High Lord and general, even if it leads to no good end.” 

“And marrying a lord in the continent will save them from what exactly? You father isn’t trying to secure funds for Court Peace you know.” 

He closes the gap between you again, breath ragged. “Y/n, my love, war will come no matter what. I’d rather you be by my side when it does. Not in some palace where I’d never see you again. We have wards, powerful wards that will keep you safe-”

“It’s like you’re not listening to me!” You swat his hands away. “It matters naught to me if I am safe! It's my people, my brothers, my mother who will suffer while I lay behind wards.”

“Do you want me to kill Beron?”

“Watch what you say.”

“I’m serious, I’ll rip his throat out if that’s what it takes, I’ll raise my army against him right now if it means you’ll be happy and safe and mine.” 

“Cassian… he’s High Lord-”

“Say the word and he’s dead, y/n. I’m your sword and your shield. I’m yours entirely-” 

“Stop talking.” You run your hands through your hair… not a war but an assassination. Eris is ready, you’re sure of it. Mother would be free. The Court would be free. You’d be free. 

“I have- I’d have to talk to Eris.”

Cassian’s brows shoot up to his hairline. “You can’t tell anyone about this conversation, y/n.”

“He’s heir, if you want me to agree he must vow to not wage war against Night.”

“My love-”

You hold your hand up “that’s my condition.”

“Don’t you think he’d be warning Beron before we get the chance to-”

You cross your arms on your chest. “If you think my arms are bad you should see his back, Cassian. He won’t warn him, but he deserves the heads up.”

He sighs and rubs his eyes. Mentally arranging the pieces so this plan might work. He needs you home, desperate to see you free from the confines of the Forest House and the cold chambers of the Hewn City. 

“Fine.” 

“Fine what?” 

He cups your face “How you escape your current situation is up to you. I’ll do as you wish.” 

You soften under him. “I love you, you know that?” Half his mouth quirks to a lazy smile. 

“You make me crazy, and if it were up to me I’d demolish Prythian entirely just to kiss these lips.” 

“And?” 

He chuckles. “I love you.” 

[imperator-titus]

Favorite Party Banter [Minsc Edition]

[Astarion (Ascended)] [Halsin/Jaheira] [Gale] [Karlach] [Lae'zel] [Minsc] [Minthara] [Shadowheart] [Wyll]

I often miss party banter because of party comp (and sometimes just straight up can't hear??) so here's a collection of my favorite bants while going through dialogue files. I know the wiki has the banter (most? all?) but I added the file names and dev notes.

Either Minsc is the main speaker/subject or I think Minsc's reaction is good shit.

Not in any particular order.

[PB_Minsc_Astarion_UpperTracks]

Minsc: Oh, I do not know, Boo. If you buried the nuts here before we were stone, I am thinking they might have gone bad.

Astarion: Minsc! Enough! The hamster isn’t saying a damn thing and you know it.

Minsc: Well, Astarion. Boo is of good breeding, and so only speaks when he has something nice to say. {Devnote: Haughty, offended, ‘Well, I never’}

Minsc: Perhaps this is why he has never seen fit to speak to you.

Astarion: How delightfully vicious. I’m beginning to like the hamster.

[PB_Minsc_Astarion_EasternDocks]

Minsc: ASTARION! FISH! ASTARION! {Devnote: Struck by a brilliant idea, so excited he cannot use his words}

Astarion: Minsc, please - slow down. Use your words.

Minsc: Minsc has thought how you might be a more virtuous vampire - feast on fish instead. They are made of naught but neck! {Devnote: Delighted with himself, as if it’s a matter he’s been mulling over for some time. If he must travel with ‘bad’ people, he will try to make them ‘better’}

Astarion: It’s a sweet thought, but fish just doesn’t have the flavour of full-blooded red meat.

Minsc: No, you do not ‘agree’, Boo. I told you you have been spending far too much time around the pale one… {Devnote: Hushed, style of a whispered argument that’s been had before, trailing off to be discussed later. Minsc is worried that his hamster is being corrupted} 

[PB_Minsc_Astarion_BasiliskGate]

Minsc: Ah, but it is a fine thing to walk with friends beneath the warming sun! {Devnote: just spontaneously happy}

Astarion: 'Friends' might be a stretch, but otherwise - yes, I fully agree!

Minsc: You might have your cloudy locks to keep the heat off your head, but do not forget that Minsc has Boo! We will be like twins, eh?

Astarion: We will? Gods - two hundred years and I've never missed seeing my reflection more.

[PB_Minsc_Gale_HouseOfHope]

Minsc: Gale! You will perhaps be able to explain where Boo has not - what exactly is the difference between a devil and a demon?

Gale: A fascinating question, one that boils down to which criteria we choose to apply. Are we speaking about the physiological? Theological? Etymological? {Devnote: in teacher mode - up for an in-depth, intellectual discussion}

Minsc: Eh. Just how-to-kill…-ical. {Devnote: Nonplussed, echoing gale’s ending every word with ‘ical’}

Gale: Oh. Then for your purposes, they are exactly the same. {Devnote: Disappointed}

[PB_Minsc_Gale_ROM_Act3]

Minsc: Gale. Minsc worries you might send a fireball up his butt, with all of this stringy hair in your face.

Gale: Is that why you keep your head shaved? I assumed that was a custom of some sort. {Devnote: Curious, referring to Minsc’s origins}

Minsc: Oh, no! Most warriors of Rashmen wear long battle-braids, weighed down with stone. Minsc can show you, when next we camp?

Gale: Thank you, but I’m more wizard than warrior. I’m not sure my scalp would stand up to such a plaiting. {Devnote: very politely declining}

[PB_Minsc_Shadowheart_ROM_Act3_Selune]

Minsc: Shadowheart. I saw you pluck Boo from the ground, when you thought no one was watching. {Devnote: Had been mulling this, now broaching it}

Minsc: It pleases you, to hold him? And you have truly cleansed yourself of Shar? {Devnote: Suspicious, but giving the benefit of the doubt}

Shadowheart: I suppose you're right. On both counts. {Devnote: Arc: SH has turned from Shar, got to hold hamster}

Minsc: HMMMMMMMM. Then for one day only, you may carry him in your pocket. So long as it is clean. Padded. Well-aired. {devnote: Dubious but willing to extend this great honor to her against his better judgement. Listing off Boo's rider}

Minsc: And full of nuts! {Devnote: Rushing in the most important condition of all}

[PB_Minsc_Gale_SorcerousSundries]

Minsc: Minsc has never trusted places such as this. Too much of a wizard's power can be simply packaged and picked up. {Devnote: Grumbling as we make our way through the shelves at Sorcerous Sundries}

Minsc: Well, picked up by all but Minsc. When he touches the many delicate little jars, oh how the wizards shout and stare! {Devnote: revealing that his objection to Sorcerous Sundries is not in fact a philosophical belief that wizards have too much power - they just make him feel stupid and awkward when he pokes in their things}

Gale: Fear not, Minsc. You have a wizard at your side who positively encourages such curiosity. You'll fit right in. {Devnote: Reassuring}

Minsc: Obliged, wizard. Should we find our way to a weaponsmith, Minsc will rough you up a little - so that you too can fit in. {Devnote: Warm, comradely - would genuinely be doing Gale a favor}

[spnexploration]

A Christmas Case

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Dean drags you out of bed to go to a case, ruining your Christmas plans. But does he have a plan to make up for it?

Words: 1.1k

This is my submission for @spnfanficpond Secret Santa 2023 (ignore the fact it was posted in Jan 2024...) and is a gift for @apocalypseornaw ❤ Sorry for the delay!

Supernatural writing masterlist

“Come on, we’ve got a case,” Dean said, shaking you awake.

“Fu’ offfff,” you grumbled at him. “You’re not allowed in my room.” What you’d really like was Dean to stay in your room permanently, maybe some ravishing… But that was never going to happen.

He chuckled, “Just channel that energy to the monster. We leave in twenty.”

---

You sulked in the backseat. It was December 23rd, why the hell were you off on a case? You’d put in a little bit of effort at the bunker, getting a tree and some dollar shop baubles. That was all for naught, now.

Dean caught sight of you in the rear-view mirror. “What’s up with you, princess? We interrupt your beauty sleep?” You didn’t appreciate his teasing.

“I don’t see why monsters couldn’t give us the bloody holidays off.”

“It’s just another day in our line of work, don’t know why you got your hopes up.”

You glared at him. “Yes, how could I, when known Scrooge, Dean Winchester, was going to be trawling for cases at 6am on Christmas Eve Eve.” It was his own damn fault he wouldn’t be getting the present you’d spent a lot of time choosing for him.

“Hey! I didn’t even find it!”

You turned your glare to Sam, “Got anything to say, Second Scrooge Winchester?”

“I just have some google alerts set up, sorry.”

You crossed your arms.

“You might have been expecting a bit too much from a Christmas at the Bunker anyway,” Dean said in a tone of voice as if he was trying to make you feel better. “We’re not very good at Christmases.”

You rolled your eyes and looked out the window. The boys decided to let you be.

---

You decided to keep a tally of how many people said something about the FBI making you work so close to Christmas: you were already up to 4 and it was only mid-afternoon on the first day. Happily the drive hadn’t been too long from the bunker to the crappy town where the case was, so you’d been able to get started straight away.

There was a giant Christmas tree in the main street of town. You felt like it was mocking you.

You dragged your feet as you followed the boys into the library, conveniently still open. You wondered if Dean even realised everything was going to be closed on Christmas Day. Serve him right if he couldn’t get pie that day.

You half-heartedly trawled some books, not really contributing to the research effort.

“Sorry,” Sam said quietly as he came to sit by you. “I didn’t mean to ruin your holidays.”

“It’s alright,” you said, not really feeling it but not wanting to sound petty, either.

“I can tell you’re upset. Hell, even Dean can tell you’re upset.”

“You know, Dean’s better at reading people than people give him credit for,” you said, always quick to defend inappropriate criticism of Dean.

“Ok, you’re right, that was a low blow. But you’re still upset, and I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, solve the case fast enough and maybe we can do Christmas on Boxing Day at least.”

He gave your arm a friendly squeeze before standing up again and heading back to the shelves.

“I think I found it!” Dean called from somewhere. You stood to go find him.

---

It turned out to be a very quick case, over by late evening Christmas Eve. It was late enough that ordinarily you’d all head back to the motel room and go home early the next morning, but Dean suggested something different. “How about we head back to the bunker tonight, I’ll drive.”

“It’s pretty late,” Sam said, nursing a couple of injuries.

“You can sleep in the backseat until we get there. Won’t it be better to get to sleep in your own bed?”

“If you’re doing this for me, you don’t have to,” you said. “It’s fine, it’s just a stupid day. You don’t have to kill yourself driving late at night just for me.”

“No, come on, it’ll be nice to be back home.” He gave you that beautiful smile and you couldn’t help but melt.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Sam mumbled agreement and so you all piled into the Impala, Sam stretched out on the backseat. He was asleep almost instantly, and you weren’t too far behind.

---

“Hey, hey,” you woke to Dean whispering your name and gently shaking your shoulder. “Wake up.”

You looked around blearily, this wasn’t the bunker. It looked like the middle of nowhere. You started to ask Dean, but he held up his hand.

“Shh, don’t wake Sam,” he said, still whispering. “Come out of the car for a sec, I’ll explain it all.”

You looked at him quizzically but followed, closing the door as quietly as you could behind yourself. Dean took your hand and pulled you around to the front of the car. Your heart was racing; this was different…

“I’m sorry Sam and I ruined the Christmas you had planned,” he said, standing very close to you. You looked up into his stunningly gorgeous face wanting nothing more than to kiss him, but knowing that he saw you like a little sister. “But I thought we could look for Santa delivering presents,” he said, gesturing to the huge expanse of the night sky you could see.

You laughed, “What am I, 7?”

“Well, ok, it doesn’t have to be Santa. But it’s a nice night for stargazing, and I wanted to make it up to you.” He reached up and brushed his thumb over your cheek. This was definitely new. You nodded in agreement and he took your hand again, pulling you up on to the top of the bonnet.

He scooted very close to you. You could feel his body heat, which was good in the freezing night air. You felt a wave of goosebumps break out over your skin, but you weren’t entirely sure if they were because of the cold or the proximity of Dean.

He reached behind him and grabbed a blanket you hadn’t seen was there, then put his arms around you and draped it across your shoulders. He was so close, so beautifully close. And yet, always so far.

He didn’t put his arms back down, like you were expecting.

He put a hand on your shoulder. What was he doing? He put his other hand on your cheek. So warm, so close. So... intimate.

You looked up into his big, green eyes.

He leaned in close.

Oh. Oh! This was happening!

His soft, Adonis-like lips were suddenly on yours. You closed your eyes and leant into the moment.

He pulled away, “Merry Christmas. Hope this makes up for having to be on the road.”

“Oh, this definitely makes up for it,” you said before capturing his lips again.

The stars looked down from above, forgotten.

.

.

.

Dean Winchester tag list:

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@lyarr24

@waynes-multiverse

@deans-spinster-witch

@zepskies

Everything Supernatural tag list:

@leigh70

@malindacath

@ellie-andthemachine

@iprobablyshipit91

@123passwort

@kazsrm67

@nerdymuffinbonkcloud

@magssteenkamp

Spnfanficpond Dean Winchester x reader fluff tag list:

@babypieandwhiskey

@bkwrm523

@buckys-zomdoll

@canadianspnhunter

@cas-backwards-tie

@castieltrash1

@deanwanddamons

@ellewritesfix05

@emilyshurley

@emoryhemsworth

@firefly-in-darkness

@idreamofplaid

@ilovedean-spn2

@kalesrebellion

@katelyn--renee

@kayteonline

@kickingitwithkirk

@lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell

@manawhaat

@melbelle45

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@mysupernaturalfics

@notnaturalanahi

@plaidstiel-wormstache

@sinceriouslyamellpadalecki

@supernatural-jackles

@there-must-be-a-lock

@thing-you-do-with-that-thing

@trend90s

@waywardjoy

@whispersandwhiskerburn

@akshi8278

@ssonia13

[loveephia]

ENEMIES | kita shinsuke

sypnosis: in which you can't believe that someone like kita exists, and you hate him for being so perfect.

content: (🦷) tooth-rotting fluff, enemies to lovers trope (although you guys aren't really enemies, per say), kita is a cheeky boy, mentions of marriage toward the end.

⚠ warning/s: none.

kita shinsuke is your long-time mortal enemy.

actually.. he isn't really your enemy. if we're being honest, the hatred felt a little more one-sided.

everything about the captain is just so perfect that it annoys you. not only does he have this irritatingly handsome face, but he's straightforward, too. his uniform is always well-groomed with not a single string of lint found, his hair is always thoroughly combed, and he had everything kept in his circle of simplicity.

he never even struggles in academics or athleticism. so much so that he knows naught of a failing grade, nor is he far behind from the people while running laps. in fact, he's probably at the very front.

the multi-talented kita doesn't stop there. not at all. as you've heard from the plenty of girls in your school, he can cook delicious meals worthy enough to be rated five stars, gracefully play a number of musical instruments, write short yet beautiful poetry, and so much more. he even volunteers to clean up classrooms without a single complaint!

it was as if a prince had just hopped right out of a fairytale and decided to live in this modern world. such nonsense!

"he has to have some kind of weakness!" you told yourself, stomping around the corner, only to bump into the one person you dreaded seeing the most. kita shinsuke.

with the click of a tongue, you're quick to interrogate him. "kita, what are you doing here? it's past school hours." you sternly reminded. kita smiles a small one, "i appreciate your concern y/n, but i actually stayed behind to help the botany club."

ah, and there unfolds another one of his many talents. kita's skills for gardening.

and hold on.. concern?

"i wasn't concerned about you!" you held your ground.

you only see kita's smile getting wider at your little denial.

"i see. i apologize for my assumption." kita says, "i suppose i can't help it. you're quite cute, you know?"

have i mentioned that one of the other reasons why you absolutely despise kita is for his cheekiness?

he's not even like this to other girls, which pisses you off even more! is he aware of your scheming plan to find his weakness? is that why he's doing this?!

"what are you talking about?" you cringe. "i mean it as it is." kita only replies, ignoring the expression on your face as he still finds it cute. even if you look sour and skeptical like a bright and yellow lemon.

you sigh, "i'll get straight to the point since you're already starting to annoy me," you slam one hand against the wall, successfully pinning kita (who is.. taller than you and absolutely unfazed).

"what is your weakness, kita shinsuke?" you ask.

kita widens his eyes at the personal and sudden question, but he doesn't hesitate to answer with a short and simple: "you."

you blink up at him, "what?"

"you are my weakness, y/n l/n." kita replies. "i think about you every day. you're frequently on my mind, almost too much for my liking. you've achieved many great things at a young age, probably even more than me, which i find admirable. you got a scholarship at tokyo university, you found a group of friends that you can always rely on, you have a unique personality that i can't help but be attracted to,"

he pats your head gently with his dominant hand, "and on top of that, you're very cute."

all the blood in your body has rushed its way onto your face. you can feel your heart racing, trying desperately to register all of kita's words. was this a confession..?

you break eye contact, feeling shy.

kita raises his brows, "oh, i didn't know that my words had such an effect on you." he blatantly stated.

"s- shut up! how else am i supposed to react when the golden boy of inarizaki has just confessed to me?!" you yelled in defense.

kita chuckles. even your reaction was one he found absolutely adorable. he really can't get enough of you, can he?

"i like you a lot, y/n. please be mine?" he politely and patiently asks. you look up at him, displaying an appearance that was similar to an angry kitten. "i only.. date to marry." you muttered stubbornly, quietly hoping that it wouldn't scare him away.

"that won't be a problem," kita brings the back of your hand to his soft lips before mumbling, "so do i."

© lowercase intended | loveephia

[serenehells]

Vivid Shadows 2024: Dinosaur

Man is but one of many species which have stood upon the Earth. Before them, they drove great beasts to extinction, only those who evolved alongside humanity surviving. Despite it, man has come up with stories of terrible monsters, massive beasts which terrorized man in their infancy, stories to tell one another in the darkness of a fire. But as mankind’s knowledge grew, these stories of monsters fell away as simple myths and stories. That is, until the bones of these ancient beasts were discovered, as terrible and magnificent as the tales of monsters of old. As humanity’s fascination grew with these beasts, so did the desire to see them return to the world. And I worked to bring about this new age, to see these awe-inspiring beasts of old to return back to our world. I spent years of my life to work on bringing them back. But it seems it was for naught.

The program I was the head of was cut as I was on the precipice of returning them to the world, to showing everyone that it could be done and that we were the masters of nature to return these magnificent beasts back to our world. But they called me a fool for seeking it, they said this would have consequences that we were not ready to handle! I have studied these beasts for my whole life, I knew what I would unleash. But they were just afraid of this change. They were afraid of man no longer being the ones on top of the food change, afraid of the beasts we told stories to scare ourselves in the dark past becoming real. But despite it all, despite being forced to vacate my position, despite seeing them destroy my life’s research in front of me to make sure nobody could bring these awe inspiring beasts back, I was prepared.

I was prepared for these fools to let fear guide their actions and attempt to destroy my life’s work. I was ready to usher in this new age weather humanity wanted it or not. When they left me alone in my office, assured they had done anything they could to destroy the research I worked so hard and so long to get, I grabbed a vial I had stored in a secret compartment of my desk for such an occasion. It was the concentrated DNA of a whole host of predatory dinosaurs I had sequenced and studied, the mighty carcharodontosaurus, utahraptor, giganotosaurus, of course the tyrannosaurus, and my favorite species which inspired this love for these ancient beasts, spinosaurus. There were many other species whose dna was used as basis for allowing these species to return to life, notably many species of flightless birds and birds of prey. However, unlike what I planned to do initially with these sequenced DNA, this was not intended for embryonic specimens, it was intended for myself. It was one of many at least, some intended for other specimens, but this experimental one was for myself, to change me and allow me the strength to drive out these people from my facility and keep them out.

It was a choice that will change me forever, and sever me from being able to call myself a part of humanity again, but after what they did out of fear, I do not think I wish to be part of humanity, there is a new age approaching, and if humanity is not to let it come gently, then I will begin this new age with the blood of those who tried to hold me back on them. With no further hesitation I injected the mix of dna into myself, and what I felt first was a sweltering heat as my body went into overdrive to try and deal with these foreign bodies. But they would fail, I designed them to be much stronger than humanity’s poor immune systems, and soon I began to feel a sharp pain run down my spine as the beginnings of a tail began to form. It was pain, but I knew it was merely the first step to a true evolution past humanity towards something beautiful. The pain would all be worth it when I reached this perfection, perfection crafted through pain. As the pain flared up, I collapsed to the ground, and could feel my body begin to change more, bones cracking, tendons tearing, my body breaking down to recreate itself from scratch. I could feel the start of my claws grow, and my skin begin to itch. It was so much so that I had to scratch at it, and underneath, shimmering green scales now revealed beneath the weak flesh. But there was more, there was always more. My body continued to develop, the tail growing longer, and my legs taking on a digitigrade gait. Along that, the pain in my spine took a new form, as from it, a spine began to form.

But finally, it was done. Through the pain and agony, I was reborn. I found myself able to cope with the new gait rather easily, and in turn, found that I was no longer able to stand up fully in my own room, that the dna had accelerated the growth of not only new body parts, but bringing them to a size consistent to the beasts of old. But once I got my bearings adjusted, I found that my body was blessed with colorful plumage. I knew it was likely not from any of the dinosaurs whose DNA I sequenced, but that of their descendants, colorful birds. It suited me, beyond the mere aesthetic enjoyment I got from it. It also showed others that I was something large, and dangerous. I took a deep breath, and could smell the trespassers on my land. They did not know what they had unleashed. And now, with everything ready, it was time to usher in a new age, and topple man from its throne.

[twistedtummies2]

Top 6 Epic Mickey Characters

Today is the release of the new “Rebrushed” Edition of a game I loved a ton growing up: “Epic Mickey.” I was OBSESSED with this game when it came out way back in 2010, and at the time it came out, it was treated as a big deal! There was a ton of merchandising and advertisement for this title, more so than you would get for most Disney games, and it’s not hard to see why: the game promised to provide a different kind of adventure for Mickey Mouse, with a darker tone and a focus on more obscure Disney characters and old cartoons. Nowadays, in hindsight, I feel the game could have gone even further than it did (and, apparently, the creators WANTED it to go further than it did, but either due to budget constraints, corporate meddling, or a bit of both, they couldn’t), but I still have a huge soft spot for it. It’s probably my favorite thing to feature Mickey Mouse as a heroic character, and it still has a notable cult following. Ironically for a game that focused on the obscure and the forgotten, the game itself sort of faded into obscurity for a while; despite the release of two sequels (namely a console follow-up called “Power of Two,” and a portable spin-off called “Power of Illusion”), the franchise sort of fizzled out pretty quickly, and for a long time it was seen as naught but an unusual footnote in the history of Disney and its presence in gaming. To celebrate the return of this game to store shelves (and, I believe, online distribution), I decided to do a quick rundown of my Top 6 characters from the games. Why Top 6, you may ask? Simple: because after six, it all gets kerbobbled. It’s harder for me to choose and rank characters beyond that point, simply because who I favor among them changes depending on my mood and how recently I’ve revisited portions of the game. My Top 6, however, have consistently been my Top 6 - both in terms of choices and ranking - pretty much from day one, and I don’t think will ever change, so they’re the ones I feel most comfortable discussing. Also, I’m going to attempt to avoid spoilers with this list, so I’m going to keep focused as much as possible on the first game, with less emphasis on the sequels. (Fortunately, all six characters appear in the first game, though some of the Honorable Mentions are from later titles.) I'll also try to avoid giving away too many of the twists in the plot, for those who will be playing Epic Mickey for the first time via this Rebrushed Edition. With that said, let’s dive into the Wasteland! These are My Top 6 Favorite Characters from Epic Mickey!

6. Pete.

What many people may not realize about Mickey’s famed arch-enemy is that Pete is actually the single longest-lasting recurring Disney character in history. Pete doesn’t just predate Mickey himself, he even predates Oswald the Lucky Rabbit: the character first showed up as a recurring villain in the silent animation/live-action hybrid “Alice Comedies,” with his first appearance dating back to 1925. That’s a whole three years before Mickey, and two years before Oswald! It’s therefore not entirely surprising to see Pete in the Wasteland, especially since the character has had so many different guises and roles throughout his long history…a fact that Epic Mickey takes humorous advantage of. You see, there isn’t just ONE Pete in the Epic Mickey universe. Oh, no. There are no less than FOUR. “Pete Prime” (the one picture here) is Big Bad Pete, who appears to be the town sheriff of Mean Street. Next there’s Small Pete, who lives in the Gremlin Village and is comically dressed up like a little Dutch girl doll. Then there’s Petetronic, who is basically what you’d get if Pete cosplayed as Commander Sark and is the head of Tomorrow City. Finally, there’s Pete Pan: a parody of Peter Pan who flies around Ventureland, mostly spending his time annoying the Wasteland’s version of Captain Hook. Interestingly, most of these Petes seem to be relatively nice characters, rather than real menaces to toon society…but be careful: a character with such a long and checkered past may not always be trustworthy.

5. Gremlin Gus.

Of all the characters left stranded and forgotten in the Wasteland, the Gremlins are easily the most obscure of the bunch. The characters were conceived in the mind of Roald Dahl - the author best known for his works of children’s literature, such as “The BFG” and “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” Dahl wrote a story simply called “The Gremlins” that was going to be transformed into a Disney movie…but for various reasons, the film never came to pass. The book itself has fallen into utter obscurity, and the scrapped project is largely unknown by even the most ardent Disney fans: I, myself, only knew of the Gremlins prior to Epic Mickey because of a paper ad for a re-release of the book in the early 2000s. In “Epic Mickey,” however, the Gremlins are a major part of the universe: since the movie was never really a thing, and the book is so little-known nowadays, the creators of the game were able to create their own twist on the Gremlins unique to this world. They are essentially the custodians of the Wasteland, performing a variety of jobs and services to keep the place ship-shape. The most prominent of them all is their leader, Gus. Gremlin Gus is a sort of “Papa Smurf” figure for the Gremlins, and acts as Mickey’s guide through the games, providing bits of advice and various hints along the rodent’s journey. Think of him along the lines of the Cheshire Cat from the American McGee’s Alice games, or one of Link’s many companions (such as Navi, Midna, or Fi) from The Legend of Zelda. In the first game, the vocal effects for Gremlin Gus were provided by veteran voice actor Bob Joles. In “Power of Two,” Gus was given a proper speaking voice, provided by none other than the Dread Pirate Roberts himself, Cary Elwes…and I can’t help but think such casting is why they perhaps gave Gus a few TOO MANY lines in the sequel, buuut that’s another story for another time.

4. Mickey Mouse.

I debated whether or not to give Mickey a place in the ranks of his own, for various reasons, but after some deliberation…yeah. I think he’s earned it in this case. As I said in the preamble, this is probably my favorite thing made to feature Mickey himself, and Mickey is part of that. This is one of those rare occasions where the premise of the story largely results from Mickey’s own actions and inactions, rather than the machinations of some other scoundrel: it is due to Mickey’s own foolery that the Phantom Blot and the Thinner Disaster are created. It is due to Mickey’s popularity that Oswald and several other characters in the Wasteland are forgotten to begin with. Now, Mickey has to essentially remember and salvage the very things that are in ruin because of him. The game plays around with this idea of saving and destroying through its chief mechanic: the magic paintbrush Mickey uses can destroy things by shooting streams of hyper-acidic thinner, or create through use of an enchanted paint. Different obstacles can be overcome by different uses of the two tools, and some can be dealt with in multiple ways: choice is a key factor of Mickey’s story, as well as the player. Originally, the game makers wanted to go even further with this idea, with the player’s decisions making Mickey more good or more evil throughout the story, but while the final result may be toned down from their initial schemes, I think it still works brilliantly. Mickey is still the fun-loving hero we all recognize, but there’s that little bit of mischief and extra depth to the character present because of this idea of choice and the way he’s depicted. The sequels continued these ideas, with choice remaining a major part of the story in “Power of Two” once more, and paint and thinner still being equally useful in “Power of Illusion.” Bottom line: move over, Kingdom Hearts. THIS is how you make Disney’s most recognizable rodent into an action-ready gaming star.

3. The Phantom Blot.

This character is the main antagonist of the original Epic Mickey, and has been referred to by multiple names: Shadow Blot, Storm Blot, King Blot, or simply “The Blot.” Whatever you call this character, I’ll always refer to him as “The Phantom Blot,” since that is who the character basically is meant to be. In Disney comics and cartoons, the Blot has been an enemy of Mickey Mouse for many years - dating back to the 1940s, in fact. Typically, he’s depicted as a campy supervillain; a costumed criminal mastermind garbed in an inky cloak and cowl. However, in “Epic Mickey,” the Blot is reimagined as something far more monstrous: a creature made of ink, accidentally formed by Mickey when he meddled with some magic in Yen Sid’s workshop, the Blot is the cause of all the misery going on in the Wasteland. This Blot eventually turns out to be bigger than a castle, and able to send out swarms of “bloticles” to literally drain the life from the Wasteland. The Blot is intelligent, but not complex: he has no purpose other than to destroy, and longs to take Mickey’s heart, since only toons with hearts can leave the Wasteland. With that power, he can venture forth and continue to devour other worlds of their energy and life. I had heard of the Phantom Blot before Epic Mickey, but I really didn’t know much about the character: this radical reinvention, for a kid, was quite the introduction. And while I’ve since looked into the ACTUAL Phantom Blot and found great joy in his exploits, I still enjoy this reimagining. In my opinion, the Blot is one of the best video game villains of all time; more a force of cruel nature than anything else, he is a terrifying beast few players will ever forget.

2. The Mad Doctor.

So, here’s something interesting to note: out of all the “forgotten” characters featured in Epic Mickey, I actually knew almost all of them when the game came out. Some of them I knew pretty well, others I didn’t but I had at least heard of before the game’s release. The one exception to this rule was this guy: the Mad Doctor. The Doc was the titular antagonist of the Mickey Mouse cartoon “The Mad Doctor” from 1933 - one of the few Disney cartoons that’s actually managed to fall into the public domain. Many consider it to be one of the darkest Mickey cartoons ever made, and in “Epic Mickey,” the infamous mad scientist has not mellowed much with age. It’s explained that the Mad Doctor, when he first came to the Wasteland, was seemingly a friendly figure, and became an ally to Oswald. He was considered one of Oswald’s best friends, in fact. However, it’s ultimately revealed that the Mad Doctor was always just as wicked as he was in the cartoon; biding his time till he could make a grab for power. When the Blot came to the Wasteland, in the wake of the Thinner Disaster, the Mad Doctor turned on the good people of the kingdom, creating an army of cartoon cyborgs called “Beetleworx” (part toon, part machine) to help conquer everything. There’s a lot more I could say about the Mad Doctor that makes him interesting - especially in regards to the sequel games and a few twists in the launch title - but since I’m trying to avoid spoilers, I think it’s best I save a lot of that for another time. Suffice it to say, this was a great introduction to a great villain and a great cartoon, and I’m glad that Epic Mickey was able to give a little bit more attention to the Mad Doctor for modern audiences.

1. Oswald the Lucky Rabbit.

Oswald was the main reason I got so interested in Epic Mickey so long ago, and was, in fact, more or less the reason the game happened to begin with. One of Walt Disney’s earliest creations, Oswald - who was the inspiration for not only Mickey himself, but also Bugs Bunny of WB fame in real-life - was the world’s first major cartoon star. After copyright issues led to Walt Disney breaking away from Universal Studios, and forming his own company, Oswald rapidly declined in popularity, and eventually pretty much vanished off the face of the Earth. In the real world, when Disney bought the rights to Oswald back from Universal many years later, this immediately transitioned into using him in a big (marketable) way, which led to the idea of Epic Mickey. Warren Spector (head of the team behind the game) became interested the instant Oswald was mentioned, being a huge animation buff, and as production went on, Oswald became a richer and richer character. In early concepts of the game’s story, he was actually going to be one of the main villains of the story, but by the time the game came out, he had transformed into the secondary protagonist. In the fictional story of the games, Oswald is the ruler of the Wasteland…but unlike others who are more or less happy with their existence, Oswald’s feelings of dejection have steadily consumed him. He is portrayed as Mickey Mouse’s long-lost brother; he resents the fame and fortune Mickey got, while he was basically left to rot. He is so obsessed that he creates a place called Mickeyjunk Mountain, where he spends countless hours brooding over his failures and his lost family, surrounded by remnants of Mickey’s fame that span decades; everything from bubble gum machines to NES game cartridges. The adventure in the Wasteland gives Mickey a chance to not only connect with his past and save the world, but to reconnect with and save Oswald, too. It’s the relationship between Oswald and Mickey, beyond all else, that makes the games so powerful, and Frank Welker - who provided Oswald’s vocal effects/voice in all the games - gives probably one of my favorite performances in his entire career. And keep in mind, this is the guy who played characters like Megatron, Garfield, Mr. Mxyzptlk, Fred AND Scooby from various takes on Scooby-Doo, and more “creature voices” than you can shake a stick at. To call this among his best is saying a LOT. For both his fictional prominence and historical significance, it’s no surprise that I name Oswald the Lucky Rabbit as My Favorite Epic Mickey Character. Case closed.

HONORABLE MENTIONS INCLUDE…

The Three Little Pigs.

Horace Horsecollar.

Gremlin Prescott.

Clarabelle Cow.

Captain Hook.

[receival]

warrior of darkness starters.

the following is a collection of sentence starters from shadowbringers, the third expansion of square enix's final fantasy 14. part 1.

sounds like tedious work. but not as tedious as waiting around, i suppose.

look how many people there are!

well, if it isn’t the hero of the hour.

stay with me. focus on my voice.

oh, do not look at me so.

we did everything right, everything that was asked of us, and still - still it came to this.

your time has not yet come.

something vague … yet urgent … calls me to action once more.

every face in this city i know. yours i do not.

pray forgive my less-than-cordial welcome.

come with me. i will answer whatever questions you have when we are somewhere more private.

do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused?

i can only beg your forgiveness - matters here forced my hand.

you don’t have that whiff of indolence about you like some folk i’ve met.

we can speak here without fear of being overheard.

what say you? have i earned your trust for the moment, at least?

are you there, my friend?

now, a full and frank discussion in the privacy of my study would seem to be in order …

i’m going to guess you’re new to our fair city?

i see you’re no stranger to honest labor.

should you find yourself confused by the local language or customs, i’ll be here to answer your questions.

i understand it was something of a chore, but ‘twas necessary that you grasp these things before we proceed.

… i am not familiar with that name. is there something i should know?

mayhap we can revisit that mystery another time.

considering the ... circumstances of our meeting, you would be forgiven for doubting my version of events.

i promise i will not rest until i have found a way to help you return home.

you came from beyond, didn’t you? you came from beyond the rift!

what a brave and reckless and marvelous thing you did.

after careful consideration, i have decided to grant you my assistance.

make a pact with me, and the fun can begin.

pray rest and recuperate, and we shall reconvene anon.

we are denied the comforting blanket of night, but may peaceful dreams attend you nonetheless.

i am a shade, cursed to do naught but drift.

this world is beyond saving - like those who try to save it.

do me a favor. be careful out there. this world has had its fill of heroes.

me? i was more worried about you.

i thought i’d lost you.

i may be a stranger to this world, but i will not stand idly by and let innocent people be slaughtered.

what say you, old friend? hungry for another adventure?

thank you again. you saved my life.

there’s naught to be had here but cobwebs and memories.

just look at it … can you imagine a more beautiful city?

disapprove ...? it frustrates me, certainly. that is only part of it, though. the whole situation makes me uneasy.

however unjust this system seems to me, if these people claim to be content with their lot, it is hardly my place to criticize their choices.

i am not so naive as to think there is some miraculous solution to all of this.

there has to be a better way.

'tis fortunate that you arrive when you did, (name).

… is there something i can do for you, friend?

someone must have been eavesdropping on our conversation.

no one here gives a damn about me.

i’m giving you a chance, nothing more. what comes of it is entirely up to you.

i do not regret my decision ... yet i will admit that a part of me wonders if it was for the best.

i thought for certain i was dead.

redemption is beyond us.

‘tis good to see you back. you were taking so long i began to worry something had happened.

what then is a man of mercy to do, but offer the sinner another way to show his contrition?

what in the blazes did you do? they have the entire city looking for you!

i am sorry, (name). there are more important matters to which i must attend.

pray press me no further. i am leaving.

the outrage i witnessed must not go unanswered.

thank you, my friend ... for staying at my side through this whole sordid endeavor.

… (name)? it feels like an age since i last saw you!

i had it under control!

i knew you’d turn up sooner or later, but i had been hoping for sooner.

they either perish … or are warped into mindless abominations.

that’s an exaggeration! and i don’t sound like that, either!

i’ve no doubts she deserves all the admiration she gets. just as you do.

what, and twiddle my thumbs while you work yourself to death?

sooner or later, every single one of them will turn.

i feel just as helpless as before. no matter how hard i fight, it's never enough.

you needn’t have gone through the trouble.

in a place like this, you learn to take what moments of happiness you can get.

it’s never easy, ending a life you’ve cared for.

without a body, we can’t even give her a proper burial.

you weren’t hurt at all, were you?

hurt? there wasn’t even a fight. i was too late. too slow …

you can’t blame yourself for things beyond your control.

forgive me, (name). i couldn’t stay there a moment longer.

(name)? you’ve gone pale …

… i’m fine. we should keep moving.

we were too slow to save them …

there are … things which we can ill afford to lose.

forgive me. i fear the events of the day may have taken their toll.

how quickly you have justified my faith in you.

would you be so kind as to conceal your involvement in this endeavor for the time being?

i expect to be told the whole truth of it one day.

please. i wish to be left alone for awhile.

i promise to find you later, when i feel myself again.

sleep well, (name). i hope untroubled dreams find you.

these are my "private" quarters …

it’s when you charge ahead trying to save someone else that you end up losing those you love.

not that you need telling. i’ll bet you've lost plenty. but i wonder ... what will it cost you this time?

i don't remember when it was that i learned regret wasn’t worth the bother.

you get numb to it all over the years. the lost comrades, the broken promises, the abandoned principles - just more nagging burdens to ignore.

stay your weapon. i am not your enemy.

they tracked me down, and conscripted me to their cause.

i have more questions, but now is not the time.

you are come at a good time. as you may have heard, we have something of a quandary on our hands.

‘twas inevitable they would come knocking. the only question was how soon.

the world is dead, and writhe as we might, like maggots in its rotting corse, it will not be reborn.

i waste my breath. you have made your stance clear.

am i imagining things, or did he just stare straight at us?

while i am grateful for your support, my lord - i cannot in good conscience put your people in harm’s way.

there is, however, much to say, and precious little time in which to say it.

might i trouble you for a word, (name)? outside?

(name)! what brings you here?

i do not wish to show our hand unless absolutely necessary.

so long as hope burns in our hearts, we will fight on regardless.

there may come a day when all hope seems lost. but even should the rest of the world give in to despair - we shall not.

trust you to spoil the moment!

yes? what do you require of me?

there you are, (name)! mayhap you could lend me a hand!

you certainly took your time.

let’s rejoin the others and quit this place.

all this trouble because of me … i’m so sorry …

save your apologies until after we’ve escaped.

it’s quiet. too quiet.

you will regret coming here.

it is for your own protection.

you are made of sterner stuff than the rest. but will it be enough?

as if i didn’t have enough on my hands already …

mayhap there is another way. one which does not require bloodshed.

we should be safe enough here.

it’s good to see you again, my friend. i don't know about you, but it feels like years since last we met.

this is not the sort of place one visits on a whim.

you really have outdone yourself this time.

i’m sorry. thank you for saving me.

why can’t i remember?

we are now, i am sorry to say, entirely at their mercy.

[wishcamper]

Nessian Week Day 6 - Legends & Destiny

Happy second to last day of @nessianweek! I have for you a Witcher!Cassian and sorceress!Nesta AU.

You can read here or on ao3!

Out of the Fog, Into the Mist

CW: consensual sexual content, reference to underage marriage and sex trafficking.

In the town of Mulbrydale, just north of the river near Hanged Man’s Tree, whispers rode the chill autumn air like restless ghosts. For weeks, the townsfolk held their breath as a dark shadow loomed over them: girls had begun to vanish. Four in total, all last seen in the gnarled woods at the fringes of their fields. And so a notice was put out on boards around Velen, that anyone who could find the girls (or the culprit) would eat and sleep well in any house, and could lay claim to a hefty sum.

It smelled like trouble, the sickly sweet of a body left long to rot, but Cassian needed the coin. And after four nights sleeping on the hard-ass ground of this war-ravaged cesspool, he wasn’t picky about how he got it.

“They go over the ridge to let the goats feed in the scrubs. Come sundown the goats come back, but not the girls,” the local innkeep explained, and Cassian saw the ripple of fear pass through him as he said it, the curl of his stooped shoulders.

“Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the stink wafting off his new employer, though maybe he’d ceased to be nose-blind to himself. “So you want me to find what’s killing them.”

“Not killin’, Master Witcher - snatchin’.” The man’s voice was grave despite the lilting accent. “We’ve searched these wood a dozen times and found naught, not a bone. Tweren’t even no blood. Must be a fearsome thing to take them without a trace.”

He gave Cassian a look he’d seen a thousand times then, the furtive dart of a gaze that lingered on the cat-like yellow of his mutated eyes, the two swords at his back: steel for men, silver for monsters. He tried to ignore it, along with the rage that bubbled up at how common folk saw him, a beast barely better than those he slayed.

“And it’s only girls? No boys, too?”

The innkeep shook his head, leaned in to whisper, “The boys come home all dazed-like, remember nothin’. Except for Young Ian, but he were half mad already.”

Cassian sighed and considered the possibilities. There were the tragic but mundane - the girls got lost, or else ran off, ending up for the wolves either way. Then the tragic and unjust, that someone or something was abducting them: slavers, traffickers. It seemed less likely the cause was supernatural, though hags were known to have a penchant for young females, maybe a lesser vampire.

He didn’t relish any of the outcomes, if he was honest with himself. But he’d seen the lavish church at the end of the high street and knew there could be no drought of money in this town, despite the dilapidated dwellings. Crisis had a habit of making converts of even the most secular, and the people of Mulbrydale shed their coin for the Church of the Eternal Fire like the yellow birch leaves now littering their street.

“What did this Young Ian claim to see?” he asked, and the innkeep shrugged where he’d turned to wipe a grimy mug. Whether beast or bastard, Cassian figured the snatcher must have a stash spot nearby since none of the bodies had been found, or else there’d be tracks from a caravan or band of outlaws. 

“He says he saw a lady in the wood, the same day the last girl disappeared. Said she spoke to him day afore yesterday when he went lookin’ for his own sister, Abby. Didn’t find no trace of her, but came back babblin’ like a loon about how he met some Gray Lady. Blue eyes and hair spun of gold, he says.”

Instincts prickling, Cassian leaned closer across the grubby counter, trying to hide his voice below the din of other midday patrons who apparently had nothing better to do than drink. “Did he seem.. Out of it? Acted strange ever since?”

“Well he’s never been quite right, but he did turn down a sympathy romp with Marna over there when he came to tell the tale. Never afore he done that.” 

The aforementioned must’ve heard her name, for a dull-eyed woman rose her head from where it had been plastered to a scrubbed wood table and offered him a watery smile. The innkeep gave him a significant look, eyebrows raised.

The pieces were beginning to fall into place, an artist’s first pass of paint over a canvas. It definitely wasn’t wolves, and while he hadn’t ruled out some other creature it was clear this being was intelligent, enough to cover his own tracks. That left fewer options, all of them dangerous.

Cassian straightened, confident he’d wrung every bit of useful information out of the man, tossed his last few coppers on the counter before draining his ale.

“Thank you. Tell me where to find this Young Ian, and the families of the girls, and I’ll be on my way. And as for my fee..”

They haggled for a moment, and he managed to get the innkeep up a few more crowns, enough to see him through until he reached Oxenfurt. Once there he could rest a bit easier, in more comfort with the dearth of contracts in the city. Maybe even spring for a sympathy romp himself.

Cassian left his horse tethered outside the inn and made his way to the main street. Townsfolk froze in their churning and smithing and general idling to gawk at him, some spitting in his path or crossing themselves and mumbling prayers to the Eternal Fire. Even the reedy looking man in the pillory had the gall to sneer at him, but they were all reactions he’d endured for many years, and Cassian only sent his well-practiced curse to his parents for selling him off so young.

For it was a witcher’s lot in life to be both needed and reviled, a freak mutated with poisons to be stronger, faster, with keener senses and quicker healing. His kind were made, not born, though he might as well have been for all the choice he had in it. 

At the first three girls’ houses Cassian found similar scenes - weeping mothers, dull-eyed siblings, fathers crackling with impotent rage. And the same story thrice over: that their daughter walked over the ridge to the forest like she always did, and at sundown only the goats came home, no trace to be found. 

The tale was simple enough, but something snagged in the back of Cassian’s mind as he trudged up the lane toward the last house. Maybe it was that all the girls were near age thirteen, all described as both comely and disobedient by their fathers. The way the mothers cringed away from their husbands, the young boys in each house better nourished than their sisters.

Abby was the third girl who’d gone missing, who also happened to be the sister of the young man who’d claimed to see the phantom in the forest. Her former house was a sad little cottage of pitch and straw at the end of the lane, leaning drunkenly to one side from time and shoddy construction. Its owner leaned in much the same manner where he sat out front, propped up on a stool with a jug between his feet, dirt and sweat caked along his hairline.

Cassian cleared his throat and the man jolted upright at the sound, somehow startled even though Cassian was big enough to cast a shadow across him from several feet away.

“I hear your daughter’s gone missing,” Cassian bit out, already expecting no useful information. “And your son saw a woman in the woods. What can you tell me?”

The man hiccoughed and blinked up at him, weaving slightly though he was sitting still. “My Abby. She’s gone. The Gray Lady took ‘er.”

“What Gray Lady?”

“Ian seent her, my - hic - son. When he went lookin’ for his sister.” He gestured toward the forest and belched wetly, making Cassian take a step back. “Said he saw a figure in the woods before passing out, and when he woke this was - hic - in his pocket along with one of Abby’s hair - hic - ribbons.”   

The man nodded downward. Cassian looked closer now at the jug between his feet and saw a small flower sticking from the opening, an ordinary celandine. But the yellow petals shimmered in the light, strange, unearthly, and he felt his witcher’s medallion hum against his chest at the presence of magic.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It won’t die. The priest says it’s an omen from the Eternal Fire, that it marks the unnatural has - hic - taken ahold of her. That I gotta pay to have my home cleansed so the blight don’t spread to my others. But I think she sent it as a sign she’s still out there, that she needs me to come save her. Somethin’s not right in those woods, I’m tellin’ you. Somethin’ wicked snatched my girl, I feel it.”

Zealots and swindlers, all priests of that bloodthirsty religion, but Cassian couldn’t deny the wrongness that radiated from the flower, a clumsiness in how the magic wavered he couldn’t quite place. The girl’s father burst into pitiful tears then, and Cassian almost felt sorry for him, as much as he was capable of, anyway. 

“And it would take her of course, my Abby. Most beautiful girl in Velen. She was supposed to be - hic - married next month, you know. I knew one day some important man would come through and see her and have to take her for a wife. Offered a handsome sum, too. My girl. Knew she couldn’t have been born so pretty for - hic - nothin’.” He dissolved once more into weeping, mumbling to himself, a man lost in his own head.

Yet despite the way his voice trembled, something about his grief left a bad taste in Cassian’s mouth, like beer gone slightly off. And not because of the myth that witcher mutations robbed one of normal human emotions - he had more of those than this man was having coherent thoughts at present - but he seemed much sadder about the lost coin than his own flesh and blood.

After a few additional questions that got him nowhere, Cassian left the man cradling the flower, stroking it with one delicate finger and muttering about farm equipment that needed repairing. 

The mystery was starting to come together more clearly, though parts still felt obscured, a thick bank of fog blocking the places where it all connected. The flower was strange, the magic rudimentary, but Abby at least had reasons to run away, or perhaps a suitor uninterested in paying her father what he thought she was worth.

He trudged back up the lane, stomach growling.

With information from a street urchin he cajoled by letting her hold his sword, he soon found Young Ian hiding in the community stables. He could’ve been no older than twenty, sprawled in a pile of straw with one hand tugging hard at his fluffy hair, a ragged feather quill in the other. There was a piece of grubby parchment stretched over his knee, and Cassian wondered if the innkeep was right about his sanity when he saw line after line written and crossed out, fitful scribblings of an unsound mind. 

“Wanted to ask you some questions about the missing girls,” Cassian said gruffly, and the sandy-haired head whipped upwards, startled.

“I didn’t see nothin’,” he grumbled, muddy green eyes hazy. “Now git on with ye, I’m in the middle of somethin’.”

“Yes I can see that. Mind taking a break so we can both get on with our business?”

Ian bared his teeth to retort but seemed to catch himself, spotting Cassian’s leather armor, his twin swords. “Aye, you’re one o’ them witcher’s, ye are. I heard stories about ye. No feelings, none at all.”

“Thanks for your input. Now tell me about the woman you saw.”

“N-no, I didn’t see no-” Ian stammered, but Cassian felt his patience growing short. His belly was empty and so was his coin purse, and none of that would be remedied by debating his own emotional capacity.

“I don’t fucking care what you were doing out there, just tell me what you saw.”

“She told me not to tell.”

Beyond aggravated, Cassian felt his hand moving up to cast Axii before deciding to do so. Ian’s eyes instantly went glassy, his own will dampened, and he glanced out the stable door before leaning in close.

“I saw her,” he said, voice wavy with delight. The reverence that broke across his face crinkled the dirt at the corners of his eyes. “The Gray Lady. She was there in the woods, in naught but a robe, and she was the most beautiful -”

“This was a human woman?”

“Tweren’t nothing human about her, Sir Witcher, sir. She was - She -”

A faint buzzing sounded, and Cassian felt his medallion hum against his chest again. Something was preventing the young man from telling what he’d seen despite Axii’s influence, perhaps from remembering it altogether. He could read now the scribbled lines on the parchment - poetry, declarations of love to a golden-haired goddess. The gifts he’d lavish upon her, where he’d lick - 

With a groan, Cassian lumbered away from the young man, who returned moony-eyed to his musings with hardly a second glance. This job just kept getting worse.

It was too late to back out now, he reasoned, and he returned to the inn to wait for nightfall. And to stew over what the fuck he was going to do.

For this was no common trafficker or hag or even an incubus that took those girls, any of which would be preferable to what it probably was. It was most likely a creature more formidable than all others, against which he had a particular weakness. Cassian sharpened his silver sword while the townspeople descended into drunkenness that evening, trying to ignore the dread that had begun to coil in his stomach, wondering if the blade would even make a difference.

When the moon was a pale wisp on the horizon, he slipped out of the tavern and proceeded into the woods on foot, not trusting his horse to resist whatever tricks may lay in wait. The forest was dense and silent, quieter than it had any right to be, and he met none of the usual night creatures as he wound further between the trees. Cassian found himself holding his breath at intervals, the creeping feeling that he was treading somewhere he ought not go, pressing ahead in defiance. Perhaps in foolishness, too. 

Water sounded close by, the smell of wet earth and something sweeter, trunks thinning to indicate a glade ahead. The ground was softer here, and with his witcher’s sight he noticed a crisscross of small footprints in the mud, a scrap of flowery fabric snagged on a branch. A twist of magic drifted on the air, sharp and metallic, making his lip curl and his medallion shudder.

Yet at the same time his better sense begged to turn back, a thread tugged low in his gut, pulling him forward. With the blessing of vision in the dark, Cassian crept through the trees until he came at last to a starlit clearing.

A gray-robed figure stood in the pool of a silver waterfall, hood shrouding the details of her heart-shaped face. He could tell it was a woman from the contours of her body, from the long, golden-brown hair that swayed like reeds in the updrafts from the falls. Though he’d approached on silent footsteps, she turned in greeting like he’d come crashing through the brush, her full mouth bracketed with annoyance as if he’d kept her waiting.

Slender hands reached up to remove the hood, and the woman beneath was unlike he’d ever seen, tall and willowy, her face glowing like the moon. And those eyes - he could see why Ian was trying to put his passion to paper. They were the blue-gray of a winter sky reflected in his sword, smoldering like white-hot embers in the night. His empty stomach fell out then, for such unnatural beauty only graced one kind of creature.

A sorceress.

All around him plants rustled in a phantom breeze, giant tropical flowers, willows with branches that trailed in the clear pool at his feet. He could see silver-scaled fish flashing in the water, chiming where they brushed against one another, against her shapely legs. Legs he’d die to have wrapped around his waist, or crushing his head as he -

A tendril of magic wrapped about his throat, choking off his breath before he could shield himself. Cassian saw one elegant eyebrow raise when he didn’t pass out immediately, knew it was a trap but oh, what a trap to die in.

Fucking sorceresses.

“You seek the missing girls.”

Her voice was like liquid starlight, and he tried to stammer out an explanation but found only a dumb groan pouring from his throat. “Do you mind toning down your glamour?” he managed once he’d collected himself enough. “It’s giving me a headache.”

The woman’s brow furrowed, and he wondered if she expected him to fall to her feet as the village boy had. As many others had before, he suspected. 

But she relented, the intense aura around her dimming somewhat to reveal a woman more earthly, yet somehow more beautiful still. She had a severe look about her, her face all angles, and he couldn’t help how his eyes traced her lush body, more gorgeous than he’d seen in many long years. Not that it meant anything about her potential to rip him in half, though it certainly was an.. Obstacle.

“You know where they are,” he choked out.

She smiled, cloying, and the wind brought the scent of lilacs drifting toward him once more. “I take it you’ve come to rescue them from evil, brave knight.”

Her countenance was soft and inviting, but Cassian knew what wolves could live in pretty clothing. Knew the dangers in taking her kind’s word, drilled into him through experiences both vicarious and personal.

Don’t ever trust a fucking sorceress.

He should be better at learning from his mistakes by now.

“Where are they?”

“Safe.”

“And I’m supposed to take your word for it.”

He’d heard of crooked mages snatching girls to sell to the academies, earning commissions based on each student’s aptitude. In a dream world the law would put a stop to it, a fool’s dream given Velen had a skewed view of justice these days. But something about the woman before him gave him pause, a crispness in her manner that belied a stronger moral code. Mostly the fact she hadn’t killed him yet.

“What other choice do you have?” she said in her silvery voice, and a shudder threatened to steal through him.

“I could kill you.The families think some evil creature stole them. Want me to bring back its head.”

He knew it was a gamble, but he wanted to gauge her power, how much of a threat he posed to her. Her moonbright eyes darted toward his weapons - he saw genuine fear there, and Cassian wondered if he’d misjudged her before her expression melted back into smugness.

“Two swords. I should’ve known.” She wrinkled her delicate nose and gods, he wanted to kiss where the skin crinkled. “They’ve hired you to dispatch the monster, and here you are.”

“Tell me where the girls are and there’ll be none to kill.”

“Those zealots wouldn’t know a real monster if it were clawing at their hollow legs,” she muttered to herself before straightening. “Then it seems I must plead my case. Come. Let’s see if I can’t convince you to spare me.” 

She flashed that sensual, terrifying smile again and Cassian was half tempted to turn around and sprint away. Sorceresses were of a duplicitous ilk at best, abjectly cruel at worst, and whatever this one was doing out here on her own, the whole thing spelled trouble. He got the distinct impression she was concealing something, though what it was difficult to say. But when she extended a hand out toward him, Cassian couldn’t find it in himself to deny her, to think anything but whether its owner would let him press his lips to it, among other places. 

“Well?” she asked. “Are you coming in, or must we do this in the cold?”

She beckoned him forward before turning and walking straight through the waterfall. Cassian  followed dumbly on leaden legs, braced himself for the rush of chill water but was met with only a whisper of warm air, the scent of lilac and parchment dancing on the wind.

They emerged into a circular courtyard, surrounded on three sides by a stone villa tucked into a mountainside, archways leading to various chambers beyond. The remaining side stood open to the night air, the steep drop beyond, shadows shifting in the light of several braziers along the perimeter. His hostess looked different, too, her roughspun cloak transformed into a high-collared gown, the deep plum fabric spotless where it swept against the polished stone floor. A lush banquet was laid out before them, and even as his stomach growled Cassian knew this was a mistake, knew she already had her hooks in him and was just waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“Let’s have dinner before you decide to kill me.” Her smile was luminous and terrifying, and he swallowed in spite of himself. She gestured to a plush-cushioned seat at one end of the long table, draping herself in the one opposite. “Well, witcher. Have you the courage to drink for a sorceress’ cup?”

Along with her clothing, she’d transformed into an even smoother, more self-assured woman now they were in her bower, a spider biding time at the edge of her web. A goblet appeared before him when he eased into the chair, as if dropped out of thin air. The wine within was blood-red, and Cassian felt himself overcome with a thirst that he tried to resist.

“Depends.”

“On what?” She quirked her head to the side, amused.

“Whether I can be of some use to you.”

Her eyes flashed, and he thought saw something like his own hunger mirrored there, but it might’ve been a trick of the light.

“Oh I’m sure you can be very useful, Lord of Bloodshed.”

He balked when she used his nickname, the one he’d earned on the battlefield in the last Temerian rebellion. Her smile widened. 

“Let’s negotiate. You believe I’m involved in the girl’s disappearance. The villagers have asked you to come kill me, and offered you a certain amount of coin to do so.”

“That’s right.”

Cassian eased his swords off his back and set them against the table beside them. That she’d let him keep them would’ve been comforting to a novice, but he knew enough now to tell she wasn’t foolish. Just secure enough in her own power not to worry.

“So it would stand to reason that if I offer you the same amount of coin, you’d happily be on your way.”

It might not be an empty promise - along with the fine dishware on the table, all manner of gemstones and arcane artifacts cluttered the high shelves between the archways, any one of which would’ve doubled his commission.

“That would be true if I didn’t have a reputation to uphold. A witcher doesn’t skip out on a job without good reason.”

“Am I not a good enough reason?” she asked, fluttering her lashes. 

His eyes were immediately drawn to the supple curves of her breasts visible above the table. With great effort Cassian managed to keep his expression stony and shake his head. 

She huffed. 

“You’re a harder nut to crack than the rest. I don’t imagine threatening you out of it would work either. Oh, don’t get twisted about yourself,” she added when his hand moved automatically toward the hilt of his silver blade. “All that would happen is you’d break a lot of my things and then I’d have a great bloody mess to clean up. Truthfully I can’t be bothered.”

“You’re wasting my time, sweetheart,” he growled, patience waning. “Where are the girls?”

“Don’t be beastly,” she scoffed, disgusted, and Cassian bristled at her offense, at the accusation in her eyes. Here she was trying to lure him into a trap, bribe him from his duty, yet acted like she saw nothing but a brute across from her, just like the townspeople.

“Snatching children from their homes, I could argue you’re the beast. No better than a bog hag, bathing in blood to stay young.”

It was a low blow but he didn’t care, wanted to see her face twist with fury, relished the silver fire that sparked at her pale fingertips.

“Of the two of us at this table, who was crafted to kill?” she snarled, jumping to her feet to lean toward him, an accusing finger pointed at his heart. Rage pounded harder through his skull, and Cassian found himself on his feet too, fuming at her across the banquet table.

“Tell the truth for once in your crooked life, sweetheart. All this is an illusion. At the end of the day, you’re just like me. Blood and guts, bones and coin. Only you like to pretend the dirt doesn’t cling to your skirts.”

“The girls are never going home.” Her skirts whipped up in a sudden wind, a whirl of violet, lighting crackling overhead. “Tell the families they’re dead, bring back my head if you must. It will not change the facts.”

“Then you’re every inch the fucking monster you pretend not to be.”

He braced himself for her wrath, the wave of magic coming to steal his breath. But to his surprise she stilled, watched him for a moment, that same evaluating stare from the clearing. Something sad passed across her face, and Cassian felt like he could see through a chink in her armor, just a peek at the scared girl she’d likely once been.

“You think I look at you and see a brute. But I know you and I both have curses to bear. Doomed to live on the outskirts, worth just what we offer to others. I only wish for my freedom.”

An understanding passed between them, of two people stranded in an eternal no man’s land. For himself, Cassian had surrendered long ago to his fate straddling the fringes of society, helping people who smiled in his face and spat at his back. He’d tried living away from civilization altogether for a few decades but found it brutally lonely.

There were respites, of course, when he found favor with a noble or a woman who could tolerate him for more than a night, but he aged so much slower that eventually everything permanent proved it was not.

They both sat back down in unison, a truce. Cassian took a sip of wine, and her stormy blue eyes tracked the movement, a blush creeping across her chest.

“You could have both,” he observed, and she wrinkled that perfect nose again. “A sorceress like you could easily find home in a court. Why hide out in this shithole?”

“A boring, sad question with a boring, sad answer. You and I have more interesting things to discuss, I think.”

The hunger rose in her eyes once more, and he saw them rove over his body, pink tongue coming out to wet her lips. He chuckled. So this was the trap at the web’s center.

“You must be wanting for bed partners if you’ll have me, sweetheart.” An understatement given he’d been sleeping outside for a week, but his hostess stood after downing her own glass, waving a bored hand.

“Nothing a little water can’t fix.” 

She crossed to one of the archways and opened the door to a lush bathing chamber, the sunken pool steaming with fragrant water, lilac and sage. Cassian rose and followed, but he caught her arm on the threshold, heard her breath hitch when he pulled her body flush to his.

“I don’t make a habit of bedding women whose names I don’t know.”

“It’s Nesta,” she said, smiling, and the wind echoed her: Nesta Nesta Nesta.

He let her have her way with him the first time, knowing from experience she wouldn’t be satisfied until he was on his knees before her, where he belonged. She combed his hair while he recovered, and atop her silk sheets had her way with him again, only allowing him to explore her once she was wrung out and purring. Squeezed those lovely legs around his head and ceded the high ground at last, crying out beneath him as he took her as he’d wanted to from the beginning, hard and fast and desperate. Whimpered so sweetly when he kissed a line down her back and claimed her from behind, though they both knew who was in charge. He thought he might die from it, from her pressing back into him just as eagerly, the roundness of her hip in one of his hands, her pleasure in the other.

He brushed the hair from her forehead where she lay against his chest after, skin glistening under the soft blanket of the moon. Her bedchamber was cluttered with books, piles of them on the dresser, the small desk. A portrait of her and two other young women hung over the hearth, all with the same gold-brown hair.

Nesta flinched when he bent to kiss her soft cheek, just the smallest amount, that mortal eyes would likely miss. There was something heartbroken about her he couldn’t quite place, a loneliness even their coupling hadn’t remedied. Like she still expected to have to kill him.

Then light shifted in one of the archways, the air rippling, and he knew.

“They’re here.”

She hummed in annoyance and kept her eyes closed. “Don’t speak yet. You’re ruining this for me.”

“Tell me where they are.”

She pulled back and regarded him for a long moment, evaluating, and he tried to be whatever it was she was looking for, if only so she would keep looking.

Nesta nodded, having found it, and strode toward one of the archways wrapped in the blanket, drew back a curtain of air with a graceful sweep of her arm. A portal.

Inside lay a stone chamber filled with moonlight, a round table in the center carved with runes and littered with herbs and gemstones. Beyond a door on the far wall he could see rows of bunks built into the stone, the forms of children sleeping, their gentle snores carried to him on a lilac-scented wind.

“Are they here of their own will?”

“Somewhat.”

“So, no.”

“They are my pupils.”

“Some would call them hostages.”

She clenched her fists, incensed, and he saw the waves of power gather about her, Chaos begging for her touch. “What shall I do, leave them to be used as pawns by their families? Sold to wretched old men or wasting away in that cesspool? I’m giving them a way out.”

“And condemning them to walk alone in the process.”

“They deserve to decide their own fate.”

“And be like you? Hiding in the woods?”

“Do you pity me, witcher?” She was so close he could see the veins of magic in her eyes, as if her very blood was luminescent. “I may not have the splendor nor the influence of a court mage, but I am shackled to nothing but my own desires. Do you not seek the same?”

I seek nothing but a warm bed and a hot meal, he thought. But when he tried to say it, Cassian bit his tongue so hard he drew blood, and her eyes blazed brighter. He tried again and bit down even harder, the spell preventing the lie from passing his teeth.

“Do you not?” she repeated, and he heard the broken edge there, the plea. “When you sleep on the ground, do you not do so with a glad heart because it is ground you have chosen?”

“We’re all shackled to our fate, sweetheart. Trying to defy it only makes it come faster.”

Before Nesta could respond, there was a small cry from the bunk room and she rushed to attend to it, exposing her back to him without a second thought. Guilt leapt in his stomach, and Cassian couldn’t tear his eyes away as she comforted the girl, pulled the quilts back up over her and stroked her hair.

Feeling intrusive, he moved to don his trousers, and was just reaching for his shirt when she reappeared. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You weren’t wrong. About the solitude. Though it does help to have visitors, to pass the time.”

She trailed over to kiss him again and her mouth was sweet as Toussaint wine. They tumbled back to bed once more, slower this time, and he pretended not to see the shine of her tears in the starlight.

“One of your pupils sent something to her family. An everlasting flower. Gave them hope she’s still alive,” he panted when they were spent, having somehow ended up on the rug before the fire.

“Foolish girl. Her father was preparing to sell her to a traveling merchant. Thirteen years old.”

“One of them will go back one day. Bonds of family are strong. ”

“Not for us though, right?”

Cassian swallowed, knew it wasn’t worth bothering to refute her. His own family was likely long dead by now, and he didn’t even know where they were buried.

“You put yourself at risk doing this,” he warned, not wanting to touch that tender spot any longer. “You’ll have to stop or move on soon.”

“I don’t recall asking for advice.”

“Not advice. Concern.”

“I can take care of myself, witcher.” Nesta looked down from where she sat astride him now, smirking. “Haven’t you learned that by now?”

Cassian woke hours later at the edge of the waterfall’s pool, a spray of shimmering lilacs tucked in his pocket, sunrise just a few breaths off. Felt the ringing in his head as he plodded back through the woods, the fuzz of wine, the ghost of her fingers in his hair.

He didn’t bother thinking of a tall tale to appease the townsfolk, didn’t even consider stopping at the inn to finagle his commission. On the way out of town he passed Abby’s father sprawled stone drunk by his front gate. Clutched in his hand was the enchanted celadine, still glinting weakly.

Cassian made the sign for Igni and set the flower alight before kicking the man awake.

“Your daughter’s dead.”

He turned his back on the howls of despair, tucking his cloak tighter about him as he headed down the road toward Oxenfurt.

[celenawrites]

play pretend

pairing - Gaz x Reader

warning - Just some light angst. Nothing graphic, as far as I can remember.

word count - 1.1k

AO3 Version

note -

This is a product of a medicine reacting badly + with migraine + sleep deprivation. I am unhinged and I regret nothing, except for not proofreading this fic before posting. Bone apple tit, y'all!

You can tell that Kyle is falling out of love with you.

Distance seems to have that effect on people it seems - it has the strange ability to turn companions who have promised each other affection for an eternity and more into mere strangers in the blink of an eye. 

You had sworn to yourself that you won’t let this happen to you. 

And you’re failing miserably. 

His deployments now last for months (going as far as stretching up to six or more months), and sometimes you forget what he looks like - his face turning into a blank haze of nothing as you desperately look at photographs you have of him and you try to remember the love of your life between hysterical sobs. He’s eager to please his squad and make his leader proud (you had met Price only once and he had seemed a kind enough man, and he cared deeply about Gaz) and despite your objections, you swallow your words and see him off with a watery smile and a light kiss against his cheek.

You rarely call, and his muffled voice from the mobile speaker sounds foreign to you as he promises to return home to you safe and sound. You hum at him, not entirely trusting his light promises and the background noise of your television sounds more convincing anyway. Otherwise, the pre-recorded sound of his voicemail message greets your ears whenever you muster up the courage to give him a ring, and when the beep follows soon after, you find yourself staring dejectedly at the phone in your hand before you press the red button to end the call.  

It’s easier to text him, easier to pretend over carefully typed out letters and words over the small screen device than to admit to yourself that the grasp you had over this frail relationship is slackening. The man of your life turns into someone different, someone unfamiliar day by day and you’re not sure you can fight fate for the demise it has in store for your relationship. 

He comes back after eight months of distance and unbearable silence.

You’re a light sleeper, so you feel his warm arms wrap around your waist tightly and you breathe lightly and pretend that he has not just dragged you close so that his bare chest touches your back as he falls asleep in a proper bed for the first time in almost a year. 

You act as if you didn’t notice how his arms hold you more out of force of habit than out of love. How he didn’t gently wake you up with a soft kiss against your skin, reverent as he turns you over to face him and let him memorize each square inch of your very being, memorize the love his heart holds solely for you. 

In the morning, it is strange to see him occupy the empty spaces that rightfully belong to him - the chair beside yours at the dinner table, the extra pile of war books he has recently borrowed from the local library, and his aftershave and toiletries all stocked up in the vanity cabinet of the bathroom.  You’re not used to it. 

The atmosphere at your home is stifling - you can tell he’s trying to make up for lost time; he invites you to the sofa to watch a romance movie, like you used to. He offers to order takeout for dinner, and even tries to fix up your car engine that keeps on whirring weirdly. You politely refuse his kind offers to assist you throughout the day with a myriad of excuses - legitimate and forged  (the idea of spending time with Kyle making your heart ache). 

All this progress for naught, you think. 

Things will go back to the way they used to be when his burner phone rings with a familiar number and his captain summons him back for another long mission. You pity him, really. 

A high-stake job where he could lose his life, and a girlfriend he could not fully commit himself to; a shitty girlfriend who’d always want more out of him like a bottomless pit of despair and want - more love, more attention, more time. 

More More More More-

No wonder he doesn’t love you anymore. 

When you come back home from work, you find Kyle plating up takeout from your favorite Vietnamese place - pho, bánh xèo, and cao lau noodles. He invites you to eat first before you dress down into PJs and go to bed. The food is steaming hot, and he laughs as you burn your tongue on the steaming broth. It reminds you of when you first fell in love with him. 

He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you cannot help but blush at the gesture as he asks you to pick out a movie for both of you to watch while he cleans up the plates and the takeout bags set on the dining table. He settles down beside you as you press play and watch ‘How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days’ before you settle in for the night. 

What an apt choice, you think in dry amusement as you curl up on the sofa and cover yourself up with the throw blanket kept nearby. 

The warmth of another body sitting beside you is welcoming yet unfamiliar. Kyle focuses his sharp eyes on the screen and his arm slowly stretches behind you until he finally gets the claw clip out of your hair and his deft fingers curl up into your scalp, gently massaging your stress away. You almost melt at the gesture, your spine tingling with comfort and pleasant shivers as your boyfriend plays with your hair at intervals for the duration of the movie. 

There’s an air of finality in the room that you can feel as you lean onto your boyfriend’s firm shoulder, your head resting on him as your heavy eyes focus on the stream of color and blur of characters the big television screen reflects back to you and illuminate the otherwise dark room with. 

You know what will follow next after the night is over. You’ve worried and cried and mourned over the untimely death of your relationship for weeks now. Your tears have dried up, and despite the sweet gestures Kyle bestows you with, you know that this will just make it harder for you to deal with the final blow. His sweetness just makes it harder for you to deal with all of it. You’d rather deal with him being mad, or being an insufferable asshole - anything that will make it easier for you to accept the end of your wonderful relationship, instead of him being his amazing self after so long and giving you a glimpse of the past you so cherish and miss dearly. 

But for tonight, for your sake and his, you play pretend that everything is alright. This is just another night of the many nights you have spent with Kyle. Everything is alright, and Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick is still madly in love with you, as you are with him. 

Everything is the way it should be. 

[20001541]

so about chapter 423 and how it stands as a conclusion to the ofa and afo plotline....

overall I think it's a fitting end for afo. I know what I've said before with not wanting a repeat of 410, and while this is similar in some ways it's still different enough to not bother me as we see the true afo instead of the afo clouded by hate.

while we got the "yoichi without you it's all for naught" in 410, afo at that time had his mind clouded by hatred and is mainly concerned with getting to tomura and izuku. there's no true confession of the extent of his feelings nor is there any conclusion with yoichi, besides he didn't even speak out loud then. he couldn't he was a baby, what we saw were only his thoughts. what bakugo really heard was just wah and you can see that if you go back to the chapter. that's why I wasn't satisfied with 410 as a conclusion to his character. I think 423 does a good job of this instead.

now getting into the details of 423, I'm glad we finally got to see him and yoichi have one final conversation with each other. it's what I've been wanting for the past hundred chapters and man did it hurt to read. he spent the whole story acting composed and as if everything will always go his way, but here we see him for who he truly is: just a man who is desperate to be with his brother again.

when he thought yoichi fully shattered immediately all his arrogant boasting and smiles were gone. he could no longer hide behind the persona of the demon king, yoichi's supposed shattering was too much for him. he didn't care about looking tough in front of his enemies, he made it clear that without yoichi there's no point to anything he does. this last conversation they have together really highlights just how much he is emotionally dependent on his brother.

and while the only reaction we saw from afo witnessing yoichi die in front of him was a blank stare, I feel like this chapter shows just how devastated he was to lose him. he's screaming at him to show him his face and he's trying to hold onto him as long as possible because he's scared of him disappearing again. without yoichi his life is completely meaningless and he doesn't care what happens as long as yoichi stays by his side. I think it's fitting that his last moments are spent with him begging for yoichi to show him his face and not being allowed to see it in return. yoichi didn't owe him anything after the hell he put him and many others through. all yoichi wanted was to put the fighting to an end after a whole century so he allowed the others to kill afo that way he wont ever hurt anyone again. kind of poetic to see all of the people afo victimized come together to end him as afo holds what's left of yoichi.

I still wish this confrontation was longer, the brothers should've been allowed to have their own chapter. I know some argue that yoichi wouldn't have had much to say to afo anyways as he's made his peace of what was about to happen, but maybe we could've gotten some flashbacks to their past where we see yoichi keeps trying to put afo on the right path and afo just doesn't care to hear it. I know there's two instances where we see yoichi trying to tell afo to stop what he's doing, but I would've liked to see some more of that. that's one gripe I have is that we didn't get to see enough of yoichi's perspective concerning their past. we saw some in 193, but I feel like it would've been a lot better if more was shown from his viewpoint as it would've fleshed him and their relationship out more. for now all we can hope is that we get some extra content about them in the future.

as it stands this was a good way to end their plot line. I've been worried that their conclusion wouldn't be that great, but I'm happy with what we got. I'll miss both of them dearly.

[akunoniwa]

To Build a Home

AN: once again, i will use dottore to dispose of my emotions

Synopsis: In which Dottore comforts you... or something

Pairing: Il Dottore x fem(ish)!reader

Warnings: it's... sappy... it's fluffy..., the reader has vague mentions of childhood, a grain of angst

WC: ~2.1k

You feel like there is a good chance he may not know how to store the things you confess to him, yet his words in return are adorned with care as if he’d reserve every thought for you. Out of the vast population, there are more of him than there ever will be of anyone else, his segments collecting experiences and stimuli all on their own… With that logic, perhaps he is the most qualified to sift through your mind, having also gathered and simulated dreamscapes and nearly constructed a ‘god’.

Though the more you thought, the more intimidating it became… Your problems were naught compared to the lifestyle of malevolence he cultivated, but here you both sat anyway. His fingers wisp mindlessly beneath the hem of your shirt as you lay back upon his chest. To you, he was a puddle of sunshine that poured through the window to lay in, his heat lulling you as if his embrace were the safest, most secure place to ever be. Your eyes were not squeezed but closed gently as the tides of his breathing buoyed your body ever so slightly. He watched his own hand as it brushed your skin, caught up in the fact that you both were here like this, so easily… Naturally.

“Darling…” He called lightly from above you, your heart must’ve been in a fragile state leaping like it did as he’s called you that hundreds of times.

“I’d just rather lay here like this, on second thought… Please. I don’t want to burden you, especially with things I can’t control or change.”

You could feel the pull of his furrowed brows at your throat, “Burden me. I want your burdens just as desperately as I require any other part of you…”

Your head rolled back and forth in the crook of his neck, “I’d really rather these thoughts go away on their own, but it appears that may never happen.”

“Precisely. Thoughts aren’t flies that simply die when trapped for too long, instead, they will mutate to ensure they stick around until you air them out… No matter how you’ve branded them, or how much value you think they may or may not have, I’d like to hear them… If you’d let me.” His voice implored your mind gently into the open as if coaxing it with a treat.

Lashes hung slack in your vision as you searched for the willpower, “I’ve just been feeling… It’s been reduced to vague depression, really. I try to choke out my emotions about certain things, and I am well aware that that method isn’t really effective. I feel disappointed but I don’t know why anymore.”

“You don’t know what’s causing you to feel this way?” He paraphrased as he followed your words.

“See? It’s idiotic to even mind the past, especially childhood when nothing was up to me… Yet here I am, decades later, contemplating the same people as if they’re supposed to mean something to me by default. Where these things, still, cannot be helped.”

“If I may…” His voice barrelled through his throat despite it being not much beyond a whisper, “I’m not particularly versed in handling emotions myself, darling, I’ll be frank, but I find that you have an issue with accepting that you even have them to begin with. In doing so, you’re not really creating a space within yourself to, at the very least, just… Be.”

“I know… I have thought about my parents for all my life, in fact, they were most likely the first thoughts I ever had… I am so… So tired of wondering what could’ve been. I just want all of it to disappear.” Your face tensed, eyes painting the back of your eyelids frantically.

“I understand…” He opted to let the silence interject as need be, not knowing the best words to use and when.

“...All I ever wanted, like any child, was simply just a family. I just wanted to be wanted by them, yet in what I thought to be my own home, I felt as if I’d been orphaned. I often wondered why our dining room table had more than one chair. It just feels so pathetic, what I’ve been left with now… I thought I’d outgrow the loneliness I felt as a child, like my clothes, but…” Much to your dismay, you felt the wetness from your eyes trying to pry its way out in streams.

You couldn’t even hear his breaths as he’d maintained his stone silence while he listened, it was almost unsettling, “I’m sor–”

“Don’t.” His response snuffed out your apology, “I didn’t necessarily know you felt this way… Then again, I don’t really know much of anything about your family.” His hand meandered up to twist a random strand of your hair, you weren’t sure if this was as a means to comfort or to distract, “I can say… There are two chairs at our table for a very intentional reason I’d never allow myself to forget. The most lovely reason I get to look at almost every evening, wondering how… How she has the patience, for one…” You smiled abashedly as he spoke through a floating chuckle, “And how she chose me to be a part of her family. If not anything else, you and I are family and I will always be at your table, darling. Anytime.”

Your face was scrunched in an attempt to fend off bursting into tears, which couldn’t have looked very pleasant. He could feel your breaths trip over themselves as you sniffled, making him blush slightly as he recalled his own sappy monologue, but he meant every syllable. It wasn’t so much the desire to soothe that embarrassed him, but the realization that you made him feel so at ease, that even in sadness, he knew there was safety. He wasn’t very familiar with the concept himself prior to meeting you, a journey it surely has been.

“Of course you’re my family, Zandik… Absolutely.” Your glassy voice scraped his heart, shattering his own composure, as the more he contemplated a way to console you, the more he realized, too… He’d never had an ideal family life either. Your words were those he never knew he needed as he sat helpless within the first high of this unfamiliar feeling of blatant security.

He turned so as to set his lips heavily on the top of your head for a moment, practically absorbing you into him, a strange kind of aggression brewed. He wanted to dote on you so hard that any antagonizing thought would be minced to dust, embrace you so as to wring out anything that brought you sorrow… He wanted to give you so much more than just this metaphorical table– perhaps the entire home, with as many floors as you like, a grand garden in the backyard, a pool... Why determine bounds to what he’d give– He took in a breath to stop himself from letting the rabid, emotional dog loose in his mind.

The accepting silence gathered your tears as you were able to just lay in his presence comfortably once more, “I feel the inescapable need to kiss you but I also don’t want to move.” You shimmied in his grasp so as to get even more snug.

He couldn’t agree more, “Quite the predicament, as I’m pretty comfy myself…” He hummed, completely content… Aside from the brief chill that brushed his lips where yours should be. He waited for a moment to see if you’d break first, finger still intertwined in your strands.

You forced a breath into your lungs, seeing as he wouldn’t budge beneath you, not even for show. You sat forward, leaving what felt like his entire body bare from where your warmth was, adjusting yourself to straddle over his outstretched legs to leisure on his lap. He couldn’t fight the tickle of a grin pulling at his already taut features, eyeing you with a dense kind of anticipation. Your hands instinctively found either side of his face, admiring him as you did so. It looked as if his face were hewed and sanded with an artisanal attention to detail, while sharp at first glance, his features were accentuated with an unexpected softness. His gaze seemed to dance with yours like yin to yang, amused by your gawking, mirroring you with his own observations of your delicate face.

Your right hand wandered to brush a piece of frosty blue hair away, his eyes closing as he found peace in your movements. You could almost hear the summer breeze whirling from within your heart at the sight, the sickening delirium of sheer love for this curious man before you causing your trees to sway.

While he undoubtedly loved when you kissed him, this kind of moment made his soul broil in an inexplicably intoxicating way. Like watching the strands of a rope unravel between you two, the tension pulled sweetly at every ligament, every nerve. He kept his eyes closed as you pecked the tip of his nose, crinkling it upon contact.

“Thank you for listening to me…” Your words were hesitant, almost peeking around your back as you spoke them.

He allowed his hands to mold to your waist, holding you, “I’ll always listen.” His eyes a rich mahogany as they fixed themselves on yours, “Please never feel guilty for sharing yourself with me. Or, at least know that I would never be annoyed or angry with you for doing so… You know very well that I’m somewhat of a glorified mess, darling.”

Your lips stamped the apple of his left cheek, “I like your mess, though. Very much so.”

“You would be the only one, I can hardly stand myself, especially with the… Other clutter.”

A kiss to his right, your hair grazed his forehead each time you neared. You could feel his cuffed hands rise up your sides, wondering how long you’d neglect his lips, “Just kiss me, please?”

“I have been…” You grinned, obviously avoiding him now.

He lightly grabbed your face in return, halting your game as he rolled his eyes playfully, “‘Inescapable’, you said earlier, yet you opt to tease me instead…” He tsked. Your face reddened slightly, he could feel the heat in his palms, “Adorable. Can’t even stand up to me when I call you out, huh?”

“Maybe I don’t want to.” Your voice flicked at the end in suggestion.

He leaned into you, giving you a few quick kisses around your chin, finally landing on your lips as he was unable to wait any longer. The crowd in your heart was growing belligerent as if he’d never touched you before now. To be able to still taste this frenzied feeling between you swept you into your own sea. You sang a light hum into his mouth as his lips pressed into yours, properly breathing you into himself.

He made you so addictingly dizzy, each of your senses completely captivated by him as your movements were like a leaf in an almost stagnant pond, slow with purpose. Becoming too aware of the sounds between you made your face burn even harder yet, a bashful smile caused you to break it briefly.

Your expression was impossible to divert from as he fed off of the overt desire embroidered into every pore of your face. Your lips were wet and plush, your eyes uncertain about where they should land, all making him want to be locked in a perpetual kiss with you for as long as time. His body seethed, trying to maintain a certain genre of composure, but he couldn’t help but become acutely aware of the weight of both your body and your gaze on top of him. He sealed your lips once more, ignoring which way his thoughts pulled him, just focusing on you alone.

You noticed the clear increase of intensity, following the accidentals of his movements as he let his hands fly all about your silhouette. You’d not allow the way he groaned softly into you to miss your ears, causing you to stop before a point of no return.

“Are we just… Incapable of not obliterating the other at any moment?” Your breaths were chasing each other quicker than before, you leaned your forehead on his.

He laughed through his nose, defeated, “It often appears that way. You just… I have a hard time reserving myself around you, especially when you’re sitting so pretty on top of me like this…”

You nudged into his forehead in playful reproach, “I love you.”

His insides bloomed upon your words, or perhaps… The entire process of germination and a few cycles of photosynthesis happened spontaneously as he felt his body renew itself, almost painfully so, “...I love you.”