#it was so... beautiful and painful and beautiful again (still)

[reidsdimples]

Like Puzzle Pieces

18+ ❤️‍🔥 MDNI ‼️

Spencer Reid x Reader

no plot, just spice (who’s surprised) 🤣

“You can do it baby,” Spencer exhales.

He grips your hips as you hover over him, trying desperately to sink down on his cock despite the aching stretch you felt. Your legs shake and the delicious sensation of being too full, too stretched out mixed with a dull ache.

You whimper and jerk upward with your fingers curled in his hair as the pain intensifies.

Spencer had warned you of this. His… girth mixed with his impressive length was challenging for most of his partners to take. You were determined, however, despite his protests that you didn’t have to.

“Do you want to stop?” He asks gently as he cradles your cheek in his large hand. You pout your bottom lip out.

“No, I want it. I want you,” you frown.

“I know,” he pauses for a moment. “Lay on your back, we’ll try missionary.”

“We probably should have tried that first,” you admit. It was you who insisted gravity would help and you just HAD to ride him. He argued that missionary allowed you to relax more. Hopefully he was right.

He moves on top of you and nuzzles his nose into your neck, inhaling slowly and planting kisses there. You run your hands up the planes of his body and moan against the sensation of his cock rubbing upward between your folds.

He bares his narrow hips downward, inching into you with cruel slowness. Still you gasp, your walls stretching as they try to accommodate him. This time though it feels more delicious, more sinful, less painful to open up for him.

The gasp he lets out is like floating in space, breathy uncontrolled. It’s unreal, having him like this. Where at work he’s the picture of control, logic, wit. Here he’s a panting mess as you take that final inch of him. Your swear he’s in your stomach and you moan his name.

“So so good,” he shudders.

“You like that I can take all of your cock, Dr.Reid?” You purr and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Your fingers twist into his hair as he works his way in and out of you again.

He mutters an incoherent answer and buries his face in your neck. Your pull you knees up higher, giving him an angel to get deeper. You think time stops when he obliges and pushes himself down into your core. Fuck.

“Look,” he grips your jaw and turns your head so you can the reflection in the mirror.

The way his muscles flex as he thrusts into you? Your legs dutifully moving to wrap around his waist, his hair falling around you. You want to paint the image into a masterpiece, one to rival the greats. The beauty of him inside of you is unreal, its art. Fantasizing about it didn’t do it justice.

The sight has your heart racing, your pulse chasing your orgasm to the edges of eternity while he makes certain to hit that spot inside of you.

And when he moans your name?

You’re done.

Cosmos explode in your vision your nails dig into his back and your legs tighten around him, trying to keep his hard cock inside as you pulse and come apart. He shudders at the sensation, exhaling open mouthedly as you capture him and force him to still inside of you as your finish rupturing.

Chills shoot over your skin, goosebumps left in the wake of your orgasm and you can’t even see straight. A simple Spencer shaped blur above you. But he starts moving again, pulling something like a pleasure laced cry from your chest.

“You fit me so well,” he huffs. He’s right, you were scared at first but now it’s like the two of you are puzzle pieces, destined to connect.

He feels amazing, you can’t escape the feel of him as if he’s touching every part of your insides. It’s delicious, it’s torturous, it’s perfect. But you can’t imagine ever not feeling this full, how could you adjust again to not having him within you?

Your nails claw down his back, causing him to suck air through his teeth as he murmurs a string of praises and you’re climbing again. Climbing toward that peak, towards him.

His hands grip your heart, wrenching your head back slightly. Those damned hands…

You lose sight of reality as your second orgasm threatens to take you and he’s close to it wouldn’t it be perfect if…

“Spencer!” It takes you by surprise.

Your orgasm rolls violently through you, a malevolent being conquering your existence. Then you feel him tense, hear that moan, that string of whimpers, then he’s pumping into you. You feel his warm cum filling you and it’s so delicious mixed with the way you’re soaking him. His groin, his stomach, his hips, his bed, all coated in you.

He looks down at the mess and exhales a small laugh in awe. You try to catch your breath and cover your face in embarrassment, your cheeks burning.

“Hey,” he implores in a gentle voice as he moves your hands.

“Don’t hide from me. I want everything you have to offer,” a devilish grin plays on his lips and he leans down to kiss you.

[inkedinshadows]

Tea, Cookies, and Love

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: Azriel takes care of his mate while she's on her period.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.3k

@azrielappreciationweek

You hated being on your period.

Even after years, it was still hard to deal with the cramps and pain, so strong that most days you couldn’t even get out of bed. Instead, you curled up under the warm sheets, clutching a hot water bottle tightly over your aching tummy. It didn’t help much with the pain, but you liked the comfort it brought.

The door opened silently, and Azriel slipped inside. He had a steaming mug in one hand and a small plate with chocolate cookies in the other. “I made your tea, love,” he said quietly as you lifted your head from the pillow. “I know it doesn’t do much, but it’s better than nothing.”

You just frowned, watching as he set the plate and mug on the nightstand. The smell of ginger and peppermint reached your nose, but you didn’t touch the tea. You would likely burn your tongue if you took a sip now.

“I thought you were going to Rita’s,” you murmured.

“The others did,” Azriel confirmed. As he sat down next to you, a few tendrils of darkness wove through your hair, drawing a small smile from you even as you clenched the muscles in your stomach at the stabbing pain.

You closed your eyes, taking a few deep breaths to work through the next cramp before you could ask, “Why didn’t you go with them?”

Azriel lifted a brow, visibly trying to hold back a smile. “You're really asking that?”

Sitting a bit straighter in bed, you nodded weakly as you reached for the mug. Even if you couldn't drink it yet, you could still savor its warmth in your hands.

“I'm not leaving you alone and in pain while I’m out having fun,” he stated. His voice was soft, but it carried that underlying determination that told you he wasn’t going to change his mind.

Yet, as he stood up and began undressing, you still tried, blowing over the hot tea. “I wouldn’t be mad if you wanted to go with them, you know.”

“I know,” he replied, pulling on some sweatpants and a shirt. He turned to you with a smile. “But I don’t want to.” He climbed into bed next to you, slipping under the blanket and wrapping you in his arms. “No, I want to stay here and take care of my beautiful mate.”

A new warmth spread through your body, one that had nothing to do with the mug or the hot water bottle. You actually removed the latter from your stomach to place it on the nightstand instead, so that you could snuggle closer to Azriel.

“Don’t you need that?” he murmured, letting you move around to find a comfortable position. You settled for curling up against his strong/muscled chest, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Not really,” you answered in a whisper. You finally took a sip of the tea, and its pleasant taste filled your mouth, warming your throat as you swallowed. Hopefully, it would soothe your aches, but you knew how unlikely that was. “It’s not that hot anymore.”

“Do you want me to go heat it up again?”

You looked up at him, a soft smile on your lips. You shook your head slightly. “No, it’s fine. I just want you here.”

“Then I’ll stay here.” Azriel pressed a kiss to your temple, then draped his wings around you. “Whatever you need, my love.”

You wanted to answer, but you grimaced instead as another cramp twisted your gut. It felt like being ripped apart from the inside, and you almost spilled the tea while trying to find a position that would bring you some relief. Azriel’s broad hand covered your lower stomach, gently massaging the area to offer what little comfort he could.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he whispered.

“Yeah, I hate feeling like this too,” you mumbled once the pain settled, at least for the moment. You drank some more tea, and your eyes took in the chocolate cookies he had brought you. “Are those Elain’s cookies?”

Azriel nodded, his hand still drawing soothing circles on your stomach. “She made them this morning. I thought you might want some before they're all gone.”

“Gods, I love you,” you breathed. You turned your head just enough for your lips to brush against his, but you didn't kiss him yet. “You just make it so easy.”

Azriel's lips curled into an amused smile. “I love you too, beautiful. But what is it that I make easy?”

You set the mug down, cupping his face with your now-free hands. “Loving you, Az.” You finally kissed him, pouring all your feelings and gratitude into the kiss and down the bond. “You make it very easy to love you.”

You chuckled as a faint blush crept up his neck. “Thank you,” he murmured, “but I don't do anything special.”

“He doesn't do anything special, he says,” you scoffed playfully. You gave his cheek a kiss, then reached for the mug again and took another warm sip.

Snuggling closer to him, you tucked your head under his chin and closed your eyes. Azriel held you tighter, cradling you against his body. As he opened his mouth to reply, you knew he was going to say that it was true and he didn't do anything special, so you beat him to it.

“For starters, you're here with me instead of out with our friends,” you pointed out. You didn't even open your eyes, instead simply listing all the reasons why he made you fall in love with him every day, all over again. “You made me tea even if I hadn't asked for it. You rub my aching belly. And you brought me Elain's cookies.”

“I just want to take care of you,” he said. His tone was soft, and he sounded as if he was defending himself and his choices. He really didn't see what was special about it. “And I know how much you like her cookies.”

You sighed quietly. You picked up a cookie, but even though you loved them, you didn't feel like eating anything right now. You'd save them for later, when the cramps would hopefully relent. So you offered it to him without a word.

Azriel took it, brows furrowed. “You want me to feed you?”

Your quiet chuckle was interrupted by a twinge of pain deep in your core, and you quickly disguised it by saying, “I want you to have it.”

He shook his head and handed the cookie back to you. “They're for you.”

“The others are for me. That one is for you.” You didn't even touch it, opting to simply sip from your mug again. “It's how bonds are accepted.”

“We accepted the bond years ago,” he mused. He didn't take a bite, instead waiting to see where you were going with this.

“I know.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eye. He was beautiful, and he was yours. Your love and your home. Your mate. Just as you were his. You knew he considered himself lucky to be with you, but he never realized you were the lucky one.

“Every day, I am beyond grateful that the Mother blessed me with you as my mate,” you murmured. A sudden lump formed in your throat, and you weren't sure if the tears prickling your eyes were caused by the hormones or the depth of your feelings for him. “And I want you to eat that cookie. Because I want you to know that I would choose you in every life, no matter what.”

Azriel was silent for a long moment, but you could see the swirling emotions in his hazel eyes. The love and care, the vulnerability he showed only to you. He slowly lifted the cookie to his lips and took a small bite, his eyes never leaving yours, your ache momentarily forgotten.

“I would choose you in every life too,” he said softly. “I would find you, and I would love you. In every life, every world.”

When you kissed again, the bond between your souls glowed stronger and brighter.

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

[daisymbin]

https://www.tumblr.com/daisymbin/767035170329149440/2104-kim-mingyu-warnings-fwb-angst can you make a part 2? 🥺

a/n: thank you for requesting a part2 🥹 I was debating between keeping it the way it is at angst or happy ending but....here we are with both. whichever fits your cup of tea, I hope you enjoy it!! (I'll admit my heart hurt a little when writing the angst one)

check out my masterlist! // read part1 here

v.1_angst ending

warnings: angst!!!

it’s been a month since mingyu walked out of your life and everything feels like its crumbling. food tastes like ash, laughter sounds like echoes of something you used to know, and the world continues to spin while you feel like you’re standing still, trapped in the wreckage of a person that used to feel so safe, like they'd never hurt you.

you find yourself wandering the streets today, hoping that moving through the city might make you feel alive again. but your heart sinks when you see him, mingyu, standing outside a small bar, the neon lights painting his silhouette with colors too bright for the pain you feel. he’s there, a girl tucked under his arm, her laughter ringing out clear, sweet, & god, she’s beautiful, she's so beautiful that it twists the knife deeper.

you should look away. you should. but you don’t. you can’t. instead, your feet root to the spot as your heart crumbles, the wound you thought was starting to scab over splitting wide open again. you watch mingyu’s eyes flicker over to you, and time slows.

he sees you. he sees you, and for a heartbeat, you think you catch a glimpse of something—regret? sorrow? but then his lips curl into a smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, and whatever hope you clung to evaporates. because he just looks so cold.

the girl beside him tilts her head up, oblivious, and mingyu’s hands starts to roam, sliding slowly down her back, to her waist, lingering in a way that makes your insides churn. & then, he pulls her impossibly closer by her waist as he presses slow kisses along her neck. you watch as he darts his tongue out and lightly drags it across her skin, deliberate and intimate, and the worst part? he does it while looking straight at you. his eyes never leaving yours, holding you in place, they burn into yours, dark and defiant, and it feels like he’s taunting you, as if daring you to do something about it, but really, its almost as if he's challenging himself to break you apart; like how fast he can do it? how many times he can break you? just how many times?

it’s sick. cruel. a sinister, sadistic challenge, and you don’t know if this version of mingyu is someone he’s always been, hidden beneath the boy who used to hold you so tenderly, or if he’s became this monster just to twist the knife a little deeper. either way, it doesn’t matter. the pain is real, and it’s yours.

you clench your fists, your nails digging into your palms threatening to draw blood as you try to steady your breathing. every cell in your body screams at you to do something, to scream, to demand answers, to yell that this isn’t fair. but you can’t. you won’t give him the satisfaction. instead, you force yourself to stand there, swallowing the anguish that rises like bile in your throat.

the girl giggles again, tilting her head to give mingyu more access, and your vision blurs as your tears threaten to spill. he’s touching her the way he used to touch you, and it feels like he’s shattering your memories one by one, tainting all of them, taking everything beautiful you once shared and warping it into something twisted and unrecognizable.

mingyu keeps his eyes on you, and for a moment, you think he might smirk. there’s something almost victorious in his gaze, and you wonder if this has been his plan all along—to break you until there’s nothing left.

you tear your gaze away and force yourself to move, each step feeling heavier than the last. your chest aches, and your breath comes out in short, jagged bursts, but you refuse to let him see you break down. not here. not in front of him.

the tears spill over as you walk away, hot and unrelenting. your whole world feels fractured, like a puzzle missing its most important piece, and the realization hits you like a freight train: mingyu has moved on, and he did it in a way that leaves no room for doubt. he’s not coming back, and even if he did, the person he used to be is gone.

you turn a corner, wiping at your eyes with trembling hands, and wonder if you’ll ever be whole again. life continues to pass you by, indifferent to the destruction left in mingyu’s wake, and all you’re left with is the hope that, maybe one day, this pain will dull. that one day, you’ll find a way to start living again instead of merely surviving.

but today is not that day. and mingyu’s laughter echoes behind you, a sound that will haunt you for as long as you let it.

you don’t look back no matter how much it feels like the echo of his laughter is calling you back because you can’t bear to see how easily he’s replaced you. and maybe that’s the final, bitter lesson: some people don’t just break you—they ruin the way you see love, the way you see yourself. and mingyu? he’s done both.

v.2_happy ending

warnings: slight angst with happy ending?

here’s how it feels to be without mingyu: like the world has lost its color. every day bleeds into the next, a monotonous blend of grays and shadows that never seem to lift. it’s like the sun has stopped trying, its warmth gone with the person who used to bring light to even your darkest moments.

you sit at the small table by the window of the coffee shop, the one you and mingyu used to claim as your own. it’s where you’d both spend hours talking, laughing, and holding hands over cups of lukewarm coffee. now, the memories feel like ghosts, haunting every corner of this place.

your fingers trace the rim of your mug, cold and forgotten. your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the past, replaying the way mingyu used to smile at you like you were his whole world. the tears you thought had dried a long time ago threaten to return, but you push them down, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“mind if i sit here?” a unwelcomed voice asks, and it startles you. you barely register the question, lost in the echo of mingyu’s last words to you.

you give a distracted nod, not even looking up. your gaze stays fixed on the steam rising from your mug, your thoughts heavy.

you don’t realize who it is until you feel a warm hand cover yours, gently but firmly. the touch shocks you, the heat of it burning into your skin and making you jolt slightly. you almost pull away, but then you hear it.

“it’s me,” the voice says, soft, familiar, and full of something that sounds like regret. “it’s mingyu.”

your head snaps up, and for a moment, you don’t believe it. it can’t be. but it is. he’s sitting there, eyes wide and filled with emotion, holding your cold hands between his.

“mingyu?” you breathe out, the name coming out cracked and broken, like a plea.

his grip tightens, desperation in the way he clings to you. “i'm here,” he says, voice trembling, “i'm sorry I took so long."

your chest tightens, and you try to pull your hands away, but he doesn’t let you, his hold on your wrist tighter than ever. “what are you doing here?” you manage, your voice barely steady.

“i couldn’t stay away,” he admits, and there’s so much pain in his eyes that it makes your own heart ache. “i missed you. i tried to let go, but i can’t. i’m so sorry.”

you swallow hard, shaking your head. “you left,” you whisper, the words heavy with all the hurt you’ve been carrying. “you said you couldn’t love me the way i wanted you to.”

his face crumples, and he looks at you like he’s been shattered, like every piece of him is breaking right in front of you. “i was wrong,” he says, his voice cracking. “i thought… i thought it was the right thing to do, to protect you from me, from all the things i thought i wasn’t good enough for. but god, i was so wrong. i hurt you, i-i made you cry and i hate myself for it.”

you bite your lip, tears welling up in your eyes. “you don’t get to come back and say that,” you choke out. “you don’t get to just… show up and expect everything to be okay.”

“i know,” he says quickly, his eyes pleading. “i know, and i don’t expect anything. but please, let me explain. let me make it right.”

you stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. it feels too much, too sudden, like the wound he left behind is being ripped open all over again. “what’s there to explain?” you ask, your voice thick with tears. “you made your choice.”

“i thought it was for the best,” he says, his voice breaking. “i thought you’d be happier without me holding you back. but I.. I can't stop thinking about you and how I hurt you and it’s killing me.”

the confession doesn’t bring relief. it only makes the pain sharper, deeper. “well, congratulations,” you say, your voice shaking. “because it did kill me, mingyu. it broke me. and now you’re here, expecting what? me to run back into your arms as if nothing happened?"

his hands squeeze yours, and you feel the tremble in his grip. “i was scared,” he confesses. “scared of not being enough for you, of ruining what we had. but being without you—” his voice breaks, and he takes a shaky breath. “being without you is the worst thing i’ve ever done. i can’t breathe without you.”

you can’t hold back the tears anymore. they spill over, and you look down, not wanting him to see you break. “you hurt me,” you whisper, "you hurt me so bad, gyu." and the pain in those words makes him flinch.

“i know,” he says, his own voice thick with emotion. “and i’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it if you let me. please.”

you finally look at him, and he’s staring at you with so much desperation, so much fondness & adoration, that it almost makes you believe him. almost.

“how am i supposed to trust you again?” you ask, your voice small.

he lets out a shaky exhale, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “i’ll prove it,” he says, his eyes locked onto yours. “however long it takes, whatever it takes. whatever you want. just… give me a chance..teach me how to love you the way you want to be loved, the way you need to be loved."

you close your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you, suffocating. you don’t know if you can trust him, if you can ever let him back in. but the way he’s looking at you, the way his hands hold yours like he’s terrified if he lets go, you will really be gone for good, makes your heart falter.

but for now, all you can do is breathe. breathe and try to make sense of the chaos he’s brought back into your life. because love isn’t simple, and heartbreak never truly heals. and mingyu — mingyu is both the hurt and the cure.

[imorynn]

"i have loved you since i saw you the first time, long ago. i am consumed and rattled by you at every waking second.." her hands pull you in, and you hum at the gesture. your eyes are closed, not because you hate this, or don't want to be there, but because the way you long for her in this moment now is too painful for you to bear. a lump forms in your throat when you feel her wet cheek graze your neck. she was in tears, and you needed to console her; but how? how should you console her now? you did not have much time to think. her lips, warm, soft, and gentle, were on your neck. the kiss she blessed your skin with felt like one that existed prior to the world, and forever past the present. it was torture, it was devastation, when she pulled away. it hurt, it was brutal.. so brutal, your lips parted, and you gasped quietly. your hand reached back for her head, and you enveloped your fingers in the curly, silver locks of her hair. you held her head close to yours, as her thumbs rubbed gently upon your hips. her voice broke as she completed her confession, and your heart broke with it; you'd do anything to protect her, to keep her from harm. "i'm a witch, y/n.. how could you ever love a witch?"

my chest literally ached — I am unwell but in the bestest way possible —

the sight of her, so weak, so doubtful of herself, so ashamed.. your heart shattered like a broken mirror.

her face was lined with streaks of wet. she had cried for this, she suffered for it. she couldn't even look at you, her eyes were avert.

The way I see this ^^^ — those EYES. I am NOT okay — I am a hole for this woman — The way you embody her is just… *loud smacking chef’s kiss*

your hands raced to cup her cheeks, and you gently wipe away her tears. her lips part, in astonishment, followed by her eyes meeting your gaze. finally, you saw those beautiful eyes again. your heart skipped a thousand beats at the sight of those irises. you smile, and your face softens.

"lilia." you whisper, your forehead pressed against hers now, "i've loved you since the sun rose opposite the moon. i've chased you in all of my wildest dreams. i've loved you in every moment and i would not stop because of what you are or are not." at your notation, her lips fold into a smile. she grabs your wrists softly, holding them. once more you spoke, "you are my witch, my little piece of divinity. you are mine, and my heart is yours." you watch as her eyes move from your eyes to your lips, and you wish for nothing but her to kiss you.

your pen is so immaculate and beautiful — this is poetry right here : “my little piece of divinity”, oh my fucking gosh😭

you yourself breathe heavy, panting almost. lilia's lipstick is smudged, and you smirk at the notion that you've just kissed this marvel of a woman. she notices your cocky smile, and a single eyebrow lifts. she now wore a smirk herself.

"you're looking at me like you've just seen me naked, y/n." you chuckle when she says this.

"while i wouldn't be opposed to that, i'm just a little satisfied with the fact that in the midst of kissing me, you forgot about your lipstick."

her smirk faded and her lips parted again, she pop looked offended, but you could tell it was just her beautiful sense of sarcasm.

"fix it for me?" she asked this with a lower tone and a wink, and you felt your core throb at the sound of her voice. she wanted you to kiss her again.

Again : I am a hole.

she looked serious, determined, but her eyes were still as dark as before. you blush at the sight of her face covered in your taste, your slick. her mouth opened, and you heard every word with such a heavy impact. "do not close your eyes again. i want to see your eyes, your face, at every moment. do you understand?"

your heart starts to race again, there was just something so inexplicable about the way her words made you feel. you nod your head, scared that if you spoke your words would be jumbled. she didn't accept it though, her voice changed, from demanding to mischievous. "you understand..? what do you understand, dear? how does it make you feel..? tell me how i make you feel."

THIS IS WHAT I MOTHERFREAKING YEARNNN FOR. AND THE WAY I CAN HEAR THIS LEAVING HER LIPS. FERAL.

you finished your thought, giving her what she asked of you. "it makes me feel like abandoning everything for you, to have you like this, every second, every moment.”

You took the words right out of my mind and heart — The preciseness and literature used in your writing — did not fail to create such PERFECT and BEAUTIFUL imagery! This is so passionate and beautiful — I just want to close my eyes and shift into the reader’s position. You are indeed a wonderful author, and I look forward to reading more of what you give us! <33333

"you are my witch"

lilia calderu x reader • pure smut • 3.2k w/c

summary: you've been friends with lilia calderu for years. drunken from the poison of wine, you confess your love for the woman. although reluctant to admit her feelings, because she harbors a secret you don't know, you learn that lilia feels the same way. years of yearning come to an end, and you find yourself falling into your desires, unable to control what has been kept away for so long.

taglist: @setsuna1415 @honeypiperpizza123 @valarmorghuli @allseingeye @im-a-carnivorous-plant @worstendingever @ramblininsomnia @wandamaximoff-simp @mrsines @onlyv4use @kenzie-floops @screamsin-gay @numenamortenia @valkyrierain @babythere @inlovewithalcinadimitrescu @astrophilliaxx @giona45-5 @evilregal2002 @crescendoofstars @yourbasicqueerie @primalnight @darkangelchronicles @sapphic-girlss @thegoddamnfeels @doctormaviatorres @i-hate-most-insects @brisgayshit97 @iheartmilfzzsposts @redrouge7e7as @novavala @finnza @wandringlightsaber @romanoffsho @kingpreciouswrld @emilyprentitss @elobv10 @wandasreallover @kaypastore38 @thegayassbit-ch @marinalunaestrella @gryffindor-forlife @lorrainemylove @anais-casablanca @girlwithissuesworld @ofgoldandbraid @justgaygirlthings @beachhausu @deathly777 @confuseuniverse @eepyvampy @whyilovewomen @r-3-becca @roksana6448 @bugcolector @etw12 @heartsfromelle @zyguard118 @thelesbianapollokid4 @opossum-in-disguise @snoopyaah @amberwhale @marisacoulterswife @ionlylikefictionalpeople @derry-n @evie-101 @ganyulover123

author's note: so first i'd like to just THANK all of you for blowing up my post asking for who'd like to be tagged, because the taglist isn't even done, i can't fit them all in the blog. also, i tagged you if you liked or reblogged the tag ask post, because i bolded i would tag those who liked or reblogged. second; i'm sorry this isn't a longer fic. it was originally planned to be, but i don't want to use my idea i came up with in a one chapter fic, i'd like it to be used in a longer more meaningful one. i really hope you enjoy this. if you have any positive, negative, or general feedback, please let me know! i want to become the best author i can be for you guys. also, i'd love to receive any asks for fanfiction or one shots! i'm currently focused on my big multi character x reader fic, but im 100% open to and willing to write for your requests.

content includes: fingering, oral stimulation, biting, praise, hair pulling, pet name usage

you noticed the difference in her eyes like it was bolded in bright red ink. her smile fell, like an angel to descend from heaven. 'this is it' you thought, 'she’ll hate me.' you turned away in shame, your heart dropped. words flooded out, stupid, careless words. "i love you, lilia." 

you couldn't bear to look, you feared the disagreement would show on her face. your body tenses, and you scrunch the bridge of your nose with your fingers. you expect her to tell you to get out, or leave.. but you hear nothing. 

but you feel, oh, you feel. 

you feel her behind you, closer than when you had muttered those stupid, damning words. her fingers gently traced your neck, and you closed your eyes, the yearning in your soul up to its brink of expression. each breath you take is shaky, is heavy. you tilt your head aside, desperate to feel her warmth on your skin forever. 

you open your eyes when you feel her breath on your neck. she must've noticed your body's reaction, because she paused, and remained still. lilia traces her fingers down your body, to your hips. she stops here, her lips close to your ears, as her body presses into your back. 

you lean into her, your head slightly leaning back, at the pure and utter pleasure you feel being so close to her. her lips part, and with such composure, yet so little solidity, she delivers a line that would come to send shivers down your spine. "i have loved you since i saw you the first time, long ago. i am consumed and rattled by you at every waking second.." her hands pull you in, and you hum at the gesture. your eyes are closed, not because you hate this, or don't want to be there, but because the way you long for her in this moment now is too painful for you to bear. a lump forms in your throat when you feel her wet cheek graze your neck. she was in tears, and you needed to console her; but how? how should you console her now? you did not have much time to think. her lips, warm, soft, and gentle, were on your neck. the kiss she blessed your skin with felt like one that existed prior to the world, and forever past the present. it was torture, it was devastation, when she pulled away. it hurt, it was brutal.. so brutal, your lips parted, and you gasped quietly. your hand reached back for her head, and you enveloped your fingers in the curly, silver locks of her hair. you held her head close to yours, as her thumbs rubbed gently upon your hips. her voice broke as she completed her confession, and your heart broke with it; you'd do anything to protect her, to keep her from harm. "i'm a witch, y/n.. how could you ever love a witch?" 

your eyes opened, and you stopped breathing, for just a moment. you were sure you'd heard wrong. with a furrowed brow, and a worrisome expression, you broke away from her touch, from her hold. you turned to her, and your head tilted to the side, as tears began to form in your waterline. the sight of her, so weak, so doubtful of herself, so ashamed.. your heart shattered like a broken mirror. 

her face was lined with streaks of wet. she had cried for this, she suffered for it. she couldn't even look at you, her eyes were avert. 

your hands raced to cup her cheeks, and you gently wipe away her tears. her lips part, in astonishment, followed by her eyes meeting your gaze. finally, you saw those beautiful eyes again. your heart skipped a thousand beats at the sight of those irises. you smile, and your face softens. "lilia.." you whisper, your forehead pressed against hers now, "i've loved you since the sun rose opposite the moon. i've chased you in all of my wildest dreams. i've loved you in every moment and i would not stop because of what you are or are not." at your notation, her lips fold into a smile. she grabs your wrists softly, holding them. once more you spoke, "you are my witch, my little piece of divinity. you are mine, and my heart is yours." you watch as her eyes move from your eyes to your lips, and you wish for nothing but her to kiss you. 

after all these years, of being her "friend", you have never wanted anything more than for her to kiss you. it's like an insatiable hunger you cannot destroy. 

lilia bites her lip, and she grabs your chin with her pointer finger and her thumb. you start to breath heavy, and your heart begins to race. she brings your face to hers, so close that your lips graze against one another’s. you ache for her, you long for her. you need to taste her, to merge your body, your soul, your heart, with hers. you need her to kiss you. 

and she does. her lips mesh with yours in perfect harmony, like the melody of heaven’s sea. your mind is adrift, clouded. you cannot form a thought, you do not desire to form a thought. her unaccompanied hand caresses the small of your back, and you pull her closer with the hands you hold on her face. 

she slips her tongue along your bottom lip, and you moan softly into the kiss. her grip on your chin releases, and she holds your jaw instead. she guides you through the long, heart-felt kisses. her lips control your body, your mind. 

warmth builds between your thighs, and your head is still covered by nothing but a blanket of emptiness. lilia is the first to pull away, her lack of oxygen in her lungs being the culprit. you curse the living necessity of air. 

you yourself breathe heavy, panting almost. lilia’s lipstick is smudged, and you smirk at the notion that you've just kissed this marvel of a woman. she notices your cocky smile, and a single eyebrow lifts. she now wore a smirk herself. 

“you're looking at me like you've just seen me naked, y/n.” you chuckle when she says this. “while i wouldn't be opposed to that, i'm just a little satisfied with the fact that in the midst of kissing me, you forgot about your lipstick.”  

her smirk faded and her lips parted again, she pop looked offended, but you could tell it was just her beautiful sense of sarcasm. 

“fix it for me?” she asked this with a lower tone and a wink, and you felt your core throb at the sound of her voice. she wanted you to kiss her again. 

you ran your tongue across your bottom lip, and you couldn't help your smile. her hands guided your face close, and you pushed a curl behind her ear. she grew desperate, unable to wait. her lips caught yours, and you shut your eyes at the contact. in your head you pictured her eyes, beautiful and brown, like the rock embedded and shaded on the side of a mountain. your grip on her hair tightened as she pushed you back softly, making sure not to break the kiss. her lips were soft, so soft it felt like the comfort a pillow brings in the hour of sleep. you moan as your lower back makes contact with her counter, and your head leans back, which breaks the embrace. 

the wetness between your thighs grows, and you figure your underwear must be utterly ruined. lilia's fingers stroked your hair, and she shook her head slightly, a whisper following shortly. "let me taste you.. every inch of you.." you bite your lip, and hold her gaze, nodding hesitantly; even though you don't feel hesitant on your answer at all. her smirk returns, and her hands descend, down from your hair to your neck. she drags them further down, past your shoulders. she stops at where the unbuttoned cardigan opens, pushing the material off of your arms and body. her warmth intoxicates you when her skin brushes against yours. she plants hot kisses on your upper arms, which are exposed because of the camisole top you wore. 

her hands found the straps to your shirt, and she pulled them down slowly, kissing the empty place they used to cover. you tense, and your eyes shut as your lips purse together while you try to conceal the soft hum of pleasure you make.

lilia's fingers pull away the top, leaving you completely naked and exposed from your waist up. she smiles at the sight, her hands cupping your breasts. you feel the slick between your legs, it seems the inner part of your thighs had gotten soaked by extension.

her thumbs grazed over your nipples, and the sensation was enough to drive you wild. you pulled her head into the curve of your neck, your lips parted as soft moans escaped. she chuckles and her lips start to kiss your neck. 

your knees go weak, simply from the ecstasy her lips brings you. her thumbs lose the feel of your sensitive buds, and she begins to creep down your throat. she leaves sloppy kisses down your collarbone, and down to your nipples. her eyes close as she takes one into her mouth, suckling on the sweet spot. your eyes fall back, and you inhale, biting down onto your lip to stop yourself from being loud. her fingers play with your lone nipple, and you feel as though you will not be able to take much more of this before becoming pathetic for her. 

the witch releases your areola from her mouth and takes in the other, her tongue lapping around the bundle of nerves. her hands trace the curves of your body. they pause when she's reached your hips, and she digs her nails into your skin. the pain blends with the pleasure beautifully, and it's as if they are interchangeable. 

you breathe heavily, your stomach twitching when she starts to drag her lips down your stomach. your pussy was so wet that she could smell the scent of arousal from your waistline. her fingers pulled up the black skirt you wore, and it revealed your soaked nude panties. she chuckled, looking up at you with eyes that were darkened and overwhelmed with lust. she bit her lip and furrowed her brow, which made you roll your eyes. 

“you're so wet, darling. i could just devour you.” you gently pull her hair, forcing her head back a little. she smirks, and you pout. “please, i need you” you say, pleading for her tongue, for her fingers, for her to be the one to shape you into a mess of a woman. 

she winks, bringing her mouth to your inner thigh. she leaves kisses along your skin, and it seems as though she’s teasing you. her eyes stay locked onto yours with each touch of her lips, she wants to see your face as she tortures you.

your hands release her hair, and grab onto the counter behind you, your nails scratch the surface with each new touch. her eyes look so dark, and it turns you on even more. 

but your view of them is gone as she bites into your other thigh. her teeth are sharp, and your jaw drops, you whimper. her teeth release, and she kisses the bite mark. you open your eyes to see it, to see the mark she had left. it was dark red, and your expression changed, you felt your core throb uncontrollably, and you grabbed her head by her hair, guiding her to your cunt. your eyes pleaded with her. 

lilia opened her mouth and licked the wet slick on your panties, all while looking you dead in the eyes. the touch was faint, but it was all your body needed to jerk up. it was so cruel, the way she left you needy and desperate for her. you couldn't think beyond her tongue on your clit, or her fingers buried in your warm folds. 

she bit the material of your under garment, pulling it slowly down your legs. her eyes were stolen away by the sight of you completely naked and in front of her, soaked, ruined. you were such a slut for her. you wonder if she would tease you about how soiled you got for her later down the line. 

the witch sighed, and her lips kissed the very inside of your thighs, right beside where you writhed for her. you thought you might faint. 

using your hand, you rubbed her cheek, shaking your head at the sight of her, down on her knees, ready to please you.  

she turned her face, kissing your gentle fingers. you smiled, and you took a deep breath as she brought her face as close as possible to your core. her eyes were focused on your face, you could tell she wanted to watch your face as she ate you out. so typical of her. 

her face buried between your legs, her tongue circling your clit. your hands shot behind you to the counter once more, desperate to hold yourself up. your eyes closed, and your back arched. the moan that echoed through the room was inevitable. she took her time, finding the nerves that were more sensitive and paying more attention to them. you thought she must've found you stupid to be so wet and needy for her. 

her tongue sped up, and she took your clit into her mouth, suckling the bud. you couldn't control the way your hips bucked, or the way your knees fell wobbly and weak. her hands grabbed your hips to stabilize her, and she pulled her mouth away in a flash. 

you were worrisome, you thought maybe you'd messed up, or maybe she'd realized she didn't want you like this. it was almost heartbreaking to feel her pull away. 

she had never stopped looking at you, though. you of course couldn't tell because your eyes had closed before out of the extremity of what you were feeling. 

she looked serious, determined, but her eyes were still as dark as before. you blush at the sight of her face covered in your taste, your slick. her mouth opened, and you heard every word with such a heavy impact. “do not close your eyes again. i want to see your eyes, your face, at every moment. do you understand?”

your heart starts to race again, there was just something so inexplicable about the way her words made you feel. you nod your head, scared that if you spoke your words would be jumbled. she didn't accept it though, her voice changed, from demanding to mischievous. “you understand..? what do you understand, dear? how does it make you feel..? tell me how i make you feel.” 

you bite your lip, looking up at the ceiling. maybe you were throwing up a prayer that you wouldn't mess up, or maybe you were just trying to prepare yourself for what she wanted from you. her right hand slipped from your hip, and you didn't notice, so fixated on her request. you went to start speaking, but as you did, you felt her fingers inside of you. 

your head leaned back, and you closed your eyes. a hushed “fuck!”, was followed by a loud humming. she smirked, “what did i say about closing your eyes, baby?” 

you forced them open, forced them to lock their gaze down onto her own. you wanted to make her happy. you needed to please her just as badly as you needed her to make you cum. 

“i'm sorry, darling—” as you began again, her fingers started to pump inside of your pussy, and your mouth lay agape. she didn't stop, even as you took a moment to continue, and you took a deep breath. 

“you want me to look— oh, fuck.. god.” it was like she went faster with each word you spoke. you took note of her devilish grin, thinking that you'd someday get your revenge. “you want me to look at you, you want to see me when— shit!” your body flinches as she curls her digits inside you, her speed still gradually increasing. “come on, princess, you're doing so good” she whispered this against your clit, right before sucking it into her mouth again. 

you bit your lip and your hands pulled her by the hair, just giving you something to hold onto. “when i cum for you, when i'm just a puddle for you.. you want to see me when i take your fingers!” 

the words came out shaky, spaced between your moans and whimpers. her fingers started to go as fast as they could, and lilia lapped her tongue around your wet clit, stimulating every single part of your cunt. she was still looking at you. you held her gaze as you started to tremble, your body shaking as it came to the brink of an orgasm. 

you finished your thought, giving her what she asked of you. “it makes me feel like abandoning everything for you, to have you like this, every second, every moment.”

her eyes closed, and you watched her remain between your thighs. your body hit a climax, and your hips bucked up, your back arching. you yelled for her, her name. your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you bit your lip to muffle any further sounds as she fucked you through your orgasm. 

when you had came, your white fluid casing over her fingers, she pulled her mouth away from your clitoris. 

you, with your head still fuzzy, had managed to pull her back up to you by her hair. her lips were so wet because of you. you immediately pull her in to kiss you, tasting yourself on her tongue and lips. she pulled away, breaking the contact. her teeth captured your bottom lip and you sighed when she pulled it back. 

lilia’s lips started kissing your neck, and she brought them to your ear, whispering hushedly, “clean your pretty little mess, my love.” 

you whimper, and you open your lips, as she slips her two cum-covered fingers inside of your mouth. you suck off your fluid, and the growing wetness between your legs returns.

the older witch laughs, kissing your neck again. her lips find yours once more, and she kisses you like there is no other action in this world. her tongue invades your mouth, as she tastes the sweetness that remains. 

[torchwood-99]

Galadriel's Successor

Two White Ladies

It has always interested me how both Eowyn and Galadriel are referred to as "the White Lady". I decided to dig deeper into their characters, and the similarities they share, to understand the significance between them sharing this title.

The conclusion I drew from this reading is that Eowyn's ultimate role is to take Galadriel's place, and become her successor in Middle Earth.

It is Faramir who dubs Galadriel and Eowyn both as "White Lady". He first uses the title in reference to Galadriel, whom he expresses a desire to meet, after hearing that Sam and Frodo have met her.

"Yet I envy you that have spoken with the White Lady.’ ‘The Lady of Lorien! Galadriel!"

Faramir later gets the chance to meet, and woo, a White Lady of his own, that of Eowyn. While the narrative named Eowyn "The White Lady" on her introduction, Faramir is the first character in the text to do so.

"Eowyn, Eowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!"

Appearance wise, Eowyn and Galadirel certainly share some commonalities. Both of them have a predilection for wearing white (hence the nickname), both of them are tall, beautiful, with glorious golden hair.

"Galadriel, most beautiful of all the house of Finwë; her hair was lit with gold as though it had caught in a mesh the radiance of Laurelin."

"Lady of Rohan came forth, golden as the sun and white as snow, and she bore a filled cup to Eomer."

Warriors

Their similarities go beyond the physical. Both of them were known to be skilled warriors.

"she (Galadriel) was then of Amazon disposition and bound up her hair as a crown when taking part in athletic feats".

"But am I (Eowyn) not of the House of Eorl, a shieldmaiden and not a dry-nurse? ....But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death.’"

And both Galadriel and Eowyn came to the aid of Rohirric Kings. Galadriel's magic shielded Eorl the Young and the  Éothéod with a white mist, Eorl would go on to be the first King of Rohan. Meanwhile Eowyn famously stood between Theoden and the Witch King of Angmar, sparing Theoden from the Witch King's torment and allowing him a peaceful death, and taking down a powerful enemy herself.

"But Theoden was not utterly forsaken. The knights of his house lay slain about him, or else mastered by the madness of their steeds were borne far away. Yet one stood there still: Dernhelm the young, faithful beyond fear; "

Queens

More than appearance and military skill unite Galadriel and Eowyn. Both of them were proud, and had aspirations of queendom. Galadriel came to Middle-Earth in the hopes of having a realm of her own to rule, while Eowyn wished to marry Aragorn in order to escape what she saw as her dishonourable position in Rohan.

Both Galadriel and Eowyn intended to leave their homelands in pursuit of queendom, and in some ways, their pursuit of queendom was born of a desire to leave their homeland, and the restrictions placed on them there, restrictions on Galadriel's power, and Eowyn's freedom.

In time, both of them come to reject official queendom.

"You will give me (Galadriel) the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night!"

"Then she (Galadriel) let her hand fall, and the light faded, and suddenly she laughed again, and lo! she was shrunken: a slender elf-woman, clad in simple white, whose gentle voice was soft and sad. ‘I pass the test,’ she said. ‘I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel."

"And again she (Eowyn) looked at Faramir. ‘No longer do I desire to be a queen,’ she said."

However, while they both turn away from their dreams of queendom, and are officially known only as "Lady", they are still viewed as queens or queenly figures by those about them. Their deeds, their goodness, place them as "honourary" queens.

Galadriel is queen in all but name.

"Land of Lórien where dwelt the Lady Galadriel. A queen she was of the woodland Elves"

And while Galadriel turns down the Ring and the power it would give her, she is no less queenly for it.

"he (Frodo) saw her again standing like a queen, great and beautiful, but no longer terrible."

Eowyn's royal lineage is noted upon, and while she does not bear the title of queen, she is held in contrast to her queenly forebears and is not found wanting.

"For she is a fair maiden, fairest lady of a house of queens"

In fact her actions elevate her among the greatest of them all.

"Alas! for her deeds have set her among the queens of great renown.’"

And even as Eowyn begins to heal from her prior despair, which she sought to escape by elevating her position to that of queen, and when that failed, through death, and starts to look towards hope and healing, still she is a queenly figure.

"Faramir had sent for this robe and had wrapped it about her; and he thought that she looked fair and queenly indeed as she stood there at his side."

Equals

Eowyn and Galadriel may reject official queendom, and Galadriel accepts her powers will "diminish" with the destruction of the Ring, yet neither Galaldriel nor Eowyn diminish or submit themselves to the authority of others. Most pertinently, to the authority of men.

Galadriel is noted to be equally (if not more) powerful as her consort.

"They stood up to greet their guests, after the manner of Elves, even those who were accounted mighty kings. Very tall they were, and the Lady no less tall than the Lord; and they were grave and beautiful."

And while Galadriel rules alongside Celeborn, who is a mighty elf, she isn't afraid to criticise him, or show scorn for his judgement.

And if it were possible, one would say that at the last Gandalf fell from wisdom into folly, going needlessly into the net of Moria.’ ‘He would be rash indeed that said that thing,’ said Galadriel gravely. ‘Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life."

Eowyn spares subjecting very characters from the sharpness of her tongue. Even Aragorn, who she holds in high esteem, she does not hold back from criticising.

"And she answered: ‘All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more"

The Warden, under whose authority and care Eowyn is placed into after being hurt, likewise isn't spared Eowyn's sass, when she thinks his words misjudged.

"It needs but one foe to breed a war, not two, Master Warden,’ answered Eowyn. ´ ‘And those who have not swords can still die upon them. Would you have the folk of Gondor gather you herbs only, when the Dark Lord gathers armies?"

And even Faramir, whom she loves, and who encouraged her to find happiness and hope once more, and turn away from bloodshed in favour of healing, experiences some teasing, when she calls out his people's racism.

"Then must I leave my own people, man of Gondor?’ she said. ‘And would you have your proud folk say of you: ‘‘There goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North! Was there no woman of the race of Numenor to choose?’’ ’

Eowyn then informs Faramir that before they wed, she must leave Gondor and help Rohan to heal from the aftermath of war. That she is in the position of taking on a quest that will take her away from her love, and he is in the position of waiting on her to return when her duty is done, sees something of a reversal of gender roles between the two (a reversal or mutual combination of gender roles that is consistently seen elsewhere in their narratives, in Faramir taking on the role of gentle caregive and prince(ss) in distress, and Eowyn taking on the role of jaded soldier and valiant knight), and indicates the level of equality that will be shared between them as they take on the rulership of Ithilien.

Gifts

While the "White Lady" title was the first similarity I noticed between Galadriel and Eowyn, it was the act of gift-giving that struck me with the idea that beyond them simply being somewhat similar characters with matching titles, Eowyn was to act as Galadriel's successor after Galadriel has left Middle Earth.

Arguably, one of Galadriel's most significant roles within the narrative, is that of gift-giver. After sharing the cup of parting with the Fellowship (a duty we also see Eowyn regularly fulfil), she presents the Fellowship with gifts.

"We have drunk the cup of parting,’ she said, ‘and the shadows fall between us. But before you go, I have brought in my ship gifts which the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim now offer you in memory of Lothlorien."

The presents she bestows upon the Fellowship play crucial roles in seeing them through to the end of their quest, particularly the phial she gives Frodo.

"In this phial,’ she said, ‘is caught the light of Earendil’s star, set amid the waters of my fountain. It will shine still brighter when night is about you. May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out. Remember Galadriel and her Mirror!"

In Eowyn's final scene, she takes the role of gift-giver, and presents Merry with "an ancient horn".

"This is an heirloom of our house,’ said Eowyn. ‘It was made by the Dwarves, and came from the hoard of Scatha the Worm. Eorl the Young brought it from the North. He that blows it at need shall set fear in the hearts of his enemies and joy in the hearts of his friends,and they shall hear him and come to him."

Both of these gifts are marks of friendship as well as tools to be used in times of crisis. Frodo (and Sam) puts his phial to good use when facing Shelob.

"The Lady’s gift! The star-glass! A light to you in dark places, she said it was to be. The star-glass!’ ‘The star-glass?’ muttered Frodo, as one answering out of sleep, hardly comprehending. ‘Why yes! Why had I forgotten it? A light when all other lights go out! And now indeed light alone can help us."

While Merry blows his horn during the scouring of the Shire.

"Come on! I am going to blow the horn of Rohan, and give them all some music they have never heard before." "Then he heard Merry change the note, and up went the Horn-cry of Buckland, shaking the air"

As well as having practical uses, they both do harm to their enemies, using the same qualities that bring solace and hope to the heroes.

Galadriel's first appearance in the Fellowship concludes with her presenting these heroes with their gifts, and by the end of the novel, Eowyn takes her place as gift-giver, presenting Merry with the horn. She does so as Merry prepares to depart with the rest of the Fellowship, following shortly after Arwen has remained in Edoras to bid farewell to her kinspeople, including Galadriel. As Galadriel takes her leave, Eowyn takes Galadriel's place.

Ladies of the Forest

While Eowyn taking Galadriel's place as gift-giver harkens her ascension to Galadriel's succesor, the point of this succession is not to take on the mantle of gift-giver. Eowyn's role goes beyond gifting others with the means to go about their tasks. Eowyn has a task herself, a task that Galadriel once took up, and must now put aside.

Both Galadriel and Eowyn become the ruling ladies of fair forest lands, both of which are noted for their great beauty, and sharing a similar beauty, one described as "fair",

"There lie the woods of Lothlorien!’ said Legolas. ‘That is the fairest of all the dwellings of my people."

"When the Enemy returned our folk were driven from Ithilien, our fair domain east of the River""

"So they passed into the northern marches of that land that Men once called Ithilien, a fair country of climbing woods and swift-falling streams. "

with a particular emphasis placed on the trees that grow there.

There are no trees like the trees of that land (Lothlorien). For in the autumn their leaves fall not, but turn to gold. Not till the spring comes and the new green opens do they fall, and then the boughs are laden with yellow flowers;"

"Before them, as they turned west, gentle slopes ran down into dim hazes far below. All about them were small woods of resinous trees, fir and cedar and cypress, and other kinds unknown in the Shire, with wide glades among them; and everywhere there was a wealth of sweet-smelling herbs and shrubs....Here Spring was already busy about them: fronds pierced moss and mould, larches were green-fingered, small flowers were opening in the turf, birds were singing. Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness."

While Ithilien has fallen to the enemy, Lothlorien is protected and allowed to prosper by the power of Nenya.

"This is Nenya, the Ring of Adamant, and I am its keeper. ‘He suspects, but he does not know – not yet. Do you not see now wherefore your coming is to us as the footstep of Doom? For if you fail, then we are laid bare to the Enemy. Yet if you succeed, then our power is diminished, and Lothlorien will fade,"

Neyna's powers protects Lothlorien from the evils of Mordor, but when the One Ring is destroyed, Nenya's powers will fade, and so will Lothlorien. After this, Galadriel and her people will be forced to depart Lothlorien. The glory days of this fair forest land will be over.

As one fair forest land fades as its "White Lady" departs, another will blossom and grow once more, thanks to the arrival of another "White Lady".

"I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren.’"

Faramir, who has been charged with defending Ithilien, who longs to see it restored to its former glory, and who envied Sam and Frodo for meeting the "White Lady of Lothlorien", has his wish come to fruition, when he meets a "White Lady" of his own, who will take on the duty of healing, nurturing and protecting the forest of Ithilien, as Galadriel did the Golden Forest.

"Yet I will wed with the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will. And if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien and there make a garden. All things will grow with joy there, if the White Lady comes."

Where Lothlorien must be allowed to fade if the Ring is to be destroyed, Ithilien can only regain its former glory if the Ring is destroyed and Mordor brought down. In this way, the fates of these two lands are intertwined. One must fall for the other to rise, just as the Age of the Elves must end, to allow for the Age of Man to begin.

Galadriel, the White Lady of Lothlorien, must leave Middle Earth as the time of the Elves comes to an end, and Eowyn, White Lady of Rohan, Lady of Ithilien, takes her place, a mortal White Lady for the Age of Man.

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic: Something to Sink Your Teeth Into 22/?

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Vampire/Witch!AU

Read on Ao3 (current chapter)

Read on AO3 (from beginning)

“Would witch blood heal you faster?”

Tommy didn’t think he had heard correctly, at first…or perhaps had just imagined that Evan had spoken at all. That was far, far more logical, far more possible than the idea that Evan would willingly offer to let Tommy drink from him. He went still, even the burning, pulsing pain that radiated through his torso as his body struggled to heal the grievous wound, fading to a dull, background throb on the edge of his consciousness.

Evan stared at him unblinkingly, his eyes as blue as a sunlit sky, nothing but calm curiosity in them. He hadn’t misheard. He wasn’t imagining it.

“Evan,” he breathed out. His teeth ached at the thought of tasting his witch’s blood again, his whole body throbbing with want at the memory of the power, the warmth, the sheer life that had poured into him with every mouthful. To have that again; to have it willingly. To take Evan in his arms again, to have his witch offering himself—the bolt of sheer longing that shot through him nearly sent him to his knees right there in the motel room. But…

“No. I’m not going to ask you to do that.” Evan didn’t want it. He couldn’t possibly want to let Tommy drink from him. He was being pragmatic, strategic. He wasn’t wrong that allowing Tommy to drink from him would heal Tommy faster. Another infusion of witch blood would make them both safer. It was a smart move.

But God he didn’t think he could bear it if his witch offered himself to him and didn’t want it.

Didn’t want him.

Not the way he wanted Evan.

And oh, he did. He wanted Evan so, so badly. It had been building practically from the moment he laid eyes on his witch, and the full truth of it washed over him now, with Evan’s offer hanging in the air between them. He wanted this brave, incredible man. He wanted his witch’s loyalty and his selflessness, and his quick wit and intelligence. He wanted to take his witch to his bed, to map out every inch of his body until he knew it as well as he knew his own; knew what made Evan moan, and writhe, and sigh. He wanted his witch’s body.

He wanted his witch’s heart.

He wanted to know that this strange connection that had been surging between them was reciprocated, wanted to know that Evan felt the same desperate urge to protect and possess and just be near him. He wanted it all.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” Evan said quietly. He swallowed, and Tommy’s eyes were drawn helplessly to the motion of his throat. He could detect no trace of hesitance in Evan’s voice, no fear in his heartbeat or his scent. God, his scent.

It would hurt. It would hurt so much to have this, have him and know it wouldn’t last. Wouldn’t be offered again. It might just kill him to have Evan like this and know that to his witch, it was just an alliance…when to him, Evan was becoming everything. But he wanted him so, so badly.

Evan stood, and whatever strength Tommy had to resist crumbled like a sandcastle under an ocean wave. Despite the terrible injury his body was still struggling to heal, a shudder of desire wracked through him, and he scented the air, inhaling the delicious, maddening smell of his witch. He reached for Evan, only to curl his hand into a fist and force it back down. He had to know Evan was consenting to this—had to know his witch was certain.

“Are you sure?” he gasped out, his voice low and snarling, a growl reverberating in his chest that he couldn’t conceal. For a moment, he thought he saw Evan shiver at the noise, his eyes darkening slightly…but that couldn’t be right. It had to be a trick of the light.

“You can do it without hurting me, right?” Evan asked, as if the idea of harming him wasn’t impossible to Tommy now. As if Tommy could ever do anything to hurt his beautiful, beautiful witch. He reached for Evan again, desperate to touch him, to hold him…but at the last moment he remembered the gore that encrusted his hands and arms.

“I’d never hurt you,” he swore, and knew it for the absolute truth.

“Then let me help you,” Evan said.

Tommy felt his eyes shift, the scarlet glow of the hunter he was shining through in anticipation. His fangs dropped in his mouth and he called upon every bit of control he had to rein it back in. Evan’s heart did not so much as skip a beat in fear, and somehow that was his undoing. He looked down at his hands and then held them out to his witch, silently begging. He needed to touch. “I—can you?” he asked, nearly groaning aloud when Evan needed no further explanation.

His witch murmurs the same spell he’d done in the car, and the same rush of warm wind kicks up between them, swirling around him and whisking his skin clean of dried blood and debris. The scent of Evan grows richer, closer, more prominent, carried by the manifestation of his magic, and Tommy thinks he could quite happily spend the rest of eternity wrapped in that delicious scent. Before it had even died down, he was reaching for his witch, finally wrapping his hand around the warm skin of Evan’s wrist, pulling his witch closer.

Evan went came willingly, closing the distance between them until Tommy could feel the heat radiating off of his witch’s body. He was close enough that Tommy could let go of his wrist, could wrap his arms around his trim waist and pull him close, bury his face in the soft skin of Evan’s belly and just breathe him in. He wondered if Evan would let him.

“How do you want to do this?” Evan asked. “Um, are you gonna—” He raised his hand and gestured vaguely towards his own neck.

Instantly, Tommy shook his head. “No. No, not there,” he said. No, that would be…too much. He had to have some kind of self-preservation. He could not imagine drawing Evan into his arms again, sinking his fangs into his witch’s vulnerable throat, and ever being okay with not having that again. It would ruin him. He knew it would ruin him. He squeezed Evan’s wrist gently, brushing his thumb over the throbbing beat of his pulse and looking up at his witch questioningly.

Evan nodded, and Tommy felt his fangs fully descend; knew his irises were gleaming a solid ruby-red. “Lie down,” he said, barely able to keep his voice steady. If his heart could still beat it would be pounding out of his ribs by now. “I won’t take much, I promise. But just in case.”

He was only going to drink enough to accelerate his healing. No more than Evan would lose if he went to donate blood. Not enough to hurt him, never enough to hurt him—but he wanted his witch to be comfortable. He levered himself to his feet and watched as Evan pulled the comforter that he’d been unable to avoid dripping blood on off the bed. His witch kicked off his shoes and crawled up onto the bed, stretching out and looking up at him with calm, steady eyes.

“God Evan,” he whispered under his breath. “Thank you.” Inadequate words for the gift his witch was giving him—not just the power of his blood, but the trust of letting him do this. Gingerly, he sat down on the mattress next to Evan’s hip, wishing with all his heart that he had the right to stretch out beside his witch, to draw him into his arms and hold him close. “I—it won’t feel like it did at Gerrard’s party without the thrall,” he warned, not wanting to frighten Evan, but also unwilling to leave him unprepared. He would be as gentle as he possibly could…but it wouldn’t be painless. He hesitated briefly, and then offered, “I could put you back under.”

He didn’t want to. Selfishly, he didn’t want to experience this knowing that Evan was lost in the false haze of his thrall. If this was the only time Evan gave himself over to Tommy willingly, he wanted it to be real. Still, he also hated the thought of causing his witch any pain. He was relieved, though, when Evan quickly shook his head.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Just take what you need.” He held up his hand for Tommy to take.

Everything, Tommy thought desperately, taking Evan’s hand in his with a sense of wondering disbelief. Will you let me have everything?

“I can stop myself,” he promise. “If it starts to hurt too much, or you start to feel dizzy or sick, just tell me.”

Evan was silent, still staring up at him with eyes that Tommy thought he might happily drown in if only his witch would let him. “I trust you, Tommy,” he said, and Tommy thought it might be the first time Evan had said his name deliberately. It sounded even sweeter than the other times, sweeter than he thought it could.

He closed his eyes, drawing Evan’s hand closer to his mouth. He could not resist dragging his nose against the soft, vulnerable skin of his witch’s wrist, inhaling deeply, filling his long-still lungs with the heady, tempting scent of his witch. “Evan,” he whispered, every bit as fervently as he had ever recited and prayer or litany of saints.

He bit down.

*

He was sitting next to his witch in a cheap motel room, the glorious, rich taste of Evan’s blood exploding on his tongue, sliding down his throat, filling him with heat and warmth and life like he hadn’t known since the days when he could walk under the sun.

He was standing in the middle of a moonlit, snowy field, surrounded by an arcane symbol sketched out in river rocks, watching with quiet despair as a woman knelt in the snow, a squirming, crying bundle of blankets on the ground in front of her.

He was thrashing in his father’s arms as his mother chanted, the discordant, harsh sound of the words scraping over his ears, their wrongness filling the surrounding air like smoke.

“Dad! Daddy stop! Stop! Evan’s scared!” he cried, but his father’s arms just tightened around him, holding him close, holding him still.

“It’s all right, Danny,” Dad muttered. “It’s all going to be all right.”

Mom’s spell reached its crest, and she raised the knife again—not the small, silver blade she used in rituals sometimes, this was longer. Sharper. She’d cut his baby brother, he realized, that was Evan’s blood on the ground, black under the moonlight.

His witch’s blood was sweeter than nectar on his tongue, the best thing he’d ever tasted, liquid fire pouring through him and he could feel his tissue start to knit together faster, muscle and bone and skin repairing itself.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t cry out, couldn’t rush forward and knock the knife from the woman’s hand. He never could. He watched with tired eyes as the woman—his mother? No…no, not his mother. His witch’s. Evan’s mother. Daniel’s mother.

Who was Daniel?

“Daddy,” he whimpered, his brother’s cries growing louder and louder. “Daddy, she’s hurting him.”

“It’s all right, Danny. Soon everything will be okay,” Dad whispered. All around them, the river rocks started to glow—but not the comforting white light of witch magic that he was used to. There was something sickly about it…like gray, half-melted slush instead of crisp white snow. Dirty. The magic felt dirty and tears rose in his eyes, spilled down his cheeks.

“Bring him here,” his mother ordered, and her voice sounded so strange. Colder than he’d ever heard it. Tighter. There was something hard and harsh and awful in his mother’s voice, something that scared him. He wanted Maddie. Something was wrong with their parents; they were hurting Evan! Where was Maddie? He needed his sister.

Dad carried him forward, quickly kneeling down in the same section of the river rocks that Mom and Evan were in. He tried to scramble back into his father’s lap when Dad set him down on the snow, but his father pushed him away.

“Be a good boy and hold your brother, Danny,” Mom said, gathering Evan up and holding him out, the way she did when he asked to sit on the couch and feed Evan his bottle.

He was crying now, big gulping sobs that made it hard to breathe, made his head hurt. Evan was screaming and some part of him wanted to believe he was dreaming. He wanted to open his eyes and find out he was dreaming—his mother hadn’t hurt his baby brother and made him scream like that; the air wasn’t filled with magic that burned and hurt when it brushed his senses; this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

Mom was still holding Evan out to him, though, and he let her put his baby brother in his arms, let her settle Evan in his lap like they did when they sat on the couch together. He couldn’t shove Evan away. Never. Mom and Dad scrambled up as soon as he was holding Evan, stumbling out of the lines of river rock.

“Mama?” he whimpered. “Daddy, I’m scared!” Evan was still screaming, and he tried to bounce his brother like Maddie did, tried to rock him and make him feel better, but his shoulders were still shaking with his own sobs. Eventually, he just curled over his baby brother, holding him as close as he could while the magic swirled around them.

He watched the little boy clutch the baby close, watched as their parents collapsed into each other’s arms, the woman staring at her children with a wild, almost crazed light in her eyes as the dingy, grayish magic danced around them in a cloud. His heart clenched in his chest, knowing what was coming and knowing just as well that he couldn’t stop it. This had already happened.

He drank, the power of his witch’s blood surging through him, tangling around him, drawing them closer and closer and closer. He could feel Evan, could feel the essence of his witch, could feel him down to what was left of his soul after so long. There was no part of Evan that was not laid bare to him, no part of him that was not laid bare to Evan. He had no idea where he ended and his witch began and he could feel the magic between them, drawing them together, holding them together.

He held his brother tighter as the strange, wrong magic swept over and through him…over and through Evan. Something pulled at them, circled around them, and he could feel it dragging at his magic, dragging at Evan’s magic, tying the two together in a way that didn’t feel good. It was like they were sitting in the middle of a whirlpool, a current racing between them. He could feel it, could feel Evan’s magic like he’d never been able to before.

It was pulling Evan’s magic toward him.

The thought skipped through his head as his baby brother screamed. Oh.

Oh.

He didn’t have a familiar, yet. He hadn’t had anything but the most basic training on how to control his magic. But he was a Buckley witch. One of the strongest coven lines in the country—he was not trained in magic, yet, but he understood it.

They were trying to take his brother’s magic and give it to him.

The understanding slammed into him, and he held his brother tighter.

The memory played out in front of him, and he wished to God he could turn away from the pain of it.

The connection surged between him and his witch, and he never wanted it to fade, never wanted to lose it.

His parents were trying to give him his brother’s magic, and he wanted to scream. It wasn’t right…this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Evan’s crying started to get quieter, weaker, and he knew in his heart that the spell was hurting Evan. Was hurting his baby brother. The sucking, dragging pull on his brother’s magic would leave him empty and hurting and weak. It would make him stronger, would give his coven’s healing spells and rituals more to hold onto, more to work with. It might save his life.

But it would kill his brother.

He knew it, even if he didn’t know how he knew. Whatever his parents were doing, it was going to kill his baby brother. He sat up from his hunched-over position, tried to get his knees under him so he could crawl out of the lines of stone, tried to drag himself and his brother free…but the spell held him fast. He couldn’t move.

“Don’t be scared, baby. It’s almost over!” Mom called out, and she sounded like she was crying too. She sounded scared, sounded like she wanted to scream. He didn’t understand. Why were they doing this? How could they do this? Evan was just a baby! He was his baby brother and he and Maddie loved him. They loved him so, so much. They’d been so excited when Mom and Dad told them they were having another baby…how could his parents do this?

The spell swept around them. Around and around and around, yanking at Evan’s magic, pulling at Evan’s magic, draining it into him. Evan wasn’t squirming anymore, wasn’t screaming or crying. Dying. His brother was dying.

No. No, he was the one who was dying. Mom and Dad tried to pretend it wasn’t true. Maddie tried to pretend. But he knew. He was dying, and nothing could change that. Nothing was supposed to change that. He looked down at his brother’s sweet face. It was supposed to be him, not Evan. It wasn’t fair of their parents to make it be Evan. It wasn’t fair.

He was too young for formal training in magic; too young for a familiar or a spellbook or lessons. But he understood magic. He understood how it worked. Every spell was built on intention. To make magic do what you wanted it to, you had to want it.

He was Evan’s big brother. It was his job to love him, and protect him, and look out for him. The same way Maddie loved, and protected, and looked out for him. He was Evan’s brother.

And he wanted his brother to live.

He took a deep breath and held his brother closer to his chest. “I love you, Ev,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “I’m not going to let you get hurt.” He held that thought, concentrating as hard as he could on how much he loved his baby brother, how much he did not want this to be happening. He bit his lip, and wished that he had been able to tell Maddie how much he loved her, too.

Then, he faced the dragging, sucking pull of the spell that was stealing his brother’s magic to give to him…and refused the intention.

The whirlpool slowed, as though the spell didn’t quite understand what he was doing. The flow of his brother’s magic into him stuttered, and he pushed harder. I don’t want it, he thought, and tried to put all of his power, all of his magic behind it. I don’t want it. I refuse it. Give it back to him. Give it back…give it back…give it back!

The spell seemed to creak and crack around them, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw his parents suddenly straighten up. It didn’t matter. He could feel the spell trembling, shaking, the power that his parents had poured into it, the power his brother’s blood had given it needing somewhere to go. The spell had to complete. That was okay—he’d made his choice. And he wasn’t going to let his little brother get hurt for him. He was going to protect Evan, no matter what.

He felt it when the spell latched onto him and started reversing itself, knew that it was going to hurt. Knew that this was probably the last thing he’d ever do. That was okay, too. He was tired of being in pain all the time…maybe whatever was coming after wouldn’t hurt. He felt the spell building again, felt it tear into him with sharp, sharp claws and start dragging his magic out of his body, funneling it into his brother’s.

He bent over Evan again and pressed a soft kiss to his baby brother’s cheek. “It’s okay, Ev,” he whispered, his voice already fading and weak. “I’ll keep you safe.”

*

Tommy gasped, his eyes flying open to find Evan staring at him in shock, his mouth hanging slightly open. Slowly, as gently as possible, he withdrew his fangs from his witch’s wrist, barely resisting the urge to press his lips against the wounds, as if he could soothe them like a child’s injury.

He held onto Evan’s hand, meeting his witch’s eyes in confusion as the images of the snowy field played over and over in his mind. But how? Sure, it wasn’t unusual to experience flashes of thoughts or memories when drinking from a thralled victim—and he’d assumed the intensity of the vision he’d first experienced at Gerrard’s party had been somehow tied to Evan’s magic. But Evan had not been under his thrall just now!

The power of Evan’s blood rushed through him, the pain of his wound diminishing to nothing as the flesh of his torso finished knitting itself together. But Tommy’s attention wasn’t on the relief of the pain disappearing, or the incredible strength that filled his limbs and tingled in his blood.

He could only stare at his witch. He felt as though he had just been handed the answers to a hundred questions that had been plaguing him from the moment he rescued Evan from the party….and he didn’t understand a damn one of them.

“Evan,” he said, and his hand tightened on his witch’s involuntarily at the quiet devastation filling those gentle blue eyes. “What was that?”

[dreamofhircine]

A lucky hit, impossible odds with how fast the mech was dodging, diving, sliding around the battlefield. A clean entry straight through a sensor pod and down into the armor beneath it at such a perfect angle it takes you a precious second to realize that it it didn't ricochet away and that you aren't dead to counter-fire yet.

A miraculous penetration into the cockpit but not back out. Bouncing around inside and shredding whatever wicked thing is in there you hope, pray, beg. The way the mech lurches unsteadily forward is promising, the way it zeroes in on your totally outclassed walker-frame is terrifying.

It never manages to close the distance, though you're tensed so hard you'll feel the muscle cramps for days after. The tension releases like a spring, violent relief as the slender mech in front of you twitches, stumbles, swings weapons mounts in wild firing arcs as it hits the dirt like a puppet with the strings cut.

You consider approaching it, just for a moment, before training your weapon back on it. There's a lot of fluid leaking from the puncture point, something pink and vital looking spurting from the entry wound where a digital eye had been. Anti-g fluid, immersion cockpit liquid, the reason it can pack so much thrust onto such a light frame without the pilot blacking out during the ride.

The wreck hisses loud enough to make you flinch in your walker, enough for you to be visibly afraid if there was anything left alive around you to notice. More of the liquid floods out, dirt turning to mud around the mech as part of the cockpit pops open and something small and unsteady slides out.

A pilot. An enemy pilot. Head to toe in black interface suit, shiny with the immersion fluid, face obscured by a cold featureless helmet and frame weighed down by trailing twisted cables still linking it to the chaotic sensory feed of the dead hulk behind it. It's clutching at one coming out of a port where it's mouth is, pulling at it even as it scrambles in the mud in a pained panic, all wounded animal response now.

The probe-cable slides free with a gush of fluid, the helmet slips off and your weapon automatically tracks the pilot to the ground as it falls to its hands and knees and starts to wretch up more of the immersion fluid, heaving as it tries desperately to clear out its lungs. You think some of it might be blood, too. Too much of it.

The pilot thing, dying worm in the dirt, is beautiful and ugly. Starvation-slender, pale as death, red-dyed hair longer than you'd have expected from a military pilot, face dotted with shiny piercings and a few neural interface studs. It passes out and collapses before it even registers you watching.

You make a note to save a picture of it, like this, zoomed in through your sight-pods when you review the guncam later. You give yourself a second more to watch it twitch and try to breath then finally pull the trigger. Again. Again. Again.

You report back to command site sanitized, enemy wreck secure, an urgent request for reinforcement tacked on to the end of the transmission.

You hope it was alone.

[loulovingho]

I was planning to wait to see how this episode played out but the clip annoyed me so much I had to write to ABC.

I’ve waited a week to write in because I hoped to feel more settled with my emotions before I sent off a message to whomever is responsible for collecting and dispersing the responses received in the aftermath of 8x06. I feel more clear headed now that the initial rush of disappointment has passed but, unfortunately, that does mean that I’ve had the ability to look at both the handling of Buck and Tommy’s relationship from a bisexual perspective and the show in a larger context.

I had hope that 9-1-1 was improving when it joined ABC after the dull and inspired final seasons on Fox. The excitement of the opening disaster combined with the revelation of Buck’s bisexuality gave me hope that this show was turning a corner. Having read interviews after the fact from the show runner, Tim Minnear, who said that he intended to treat this storyline with care, I was optimistic. Sadly all of that optimism is gone. Season eight has been a rushed disaster. We’ve barely had any time to spend with the characters—Hen and Karen have, yet again, been stuck fighting for their child only to have it all resolved in the space of 42 minutes; Eddie is still in desperate need of therapy and yet has made no moves towards that aim; Bobby and Athena are still struggling with communication; and now Buck is single again after a beautiful episode that highlighted his relationship with Tommy that made me truly believe the show was going to honor its promise to the audience in how it handles Buck’s sexuality.

The disappointment I felt at not only the played-for-jokes reveal of Tommy’s engagment to Abby (that doesn’t even make sense in the context of the show’s history) but the fact that many characters seem to have forgotten that Buck is bisexual and not gay to the abrupt and deliberately painful ending of his relationship with Tommy is real and true. Although this is a silly firefighter show, it was set up to deliver a truly beautiful love story between two adult men learning how to love each other in this world with all their baggage and it was thrown away for what? It’s hard to tell.

I did think, perhaps, that maybe there was a larger plan at play but given the clip released from 911 today of Maddie and Chimney telling Buck to move on and the casual biphobia of “which pond?” (in case help is needed, it’s all the same pond) has filled me with the realisation that there’s nothing there. We were—and I don’t say this lightly—queer trapped by the show, the show runner, and the network into watching because of Buck and Tommy but now that you have your viewing numbers, it seems fair game to play fast and loose with the viewers.

I am so incredibly disappointed in the show and specifically disappointed in Tim Minnear. He knew exactly what he was doing when he crafted 8x05, manipulating us into investing in this relationship only to pull it away because he’s incapable of planning a story arc more than a day in advance of shooting.

Furthermore, the silence from everyone involved in this show on the death threats and harassment received by Lou Ferrigno Jr., for simply doing his job is unacceptable. The guest stars on this show have always been treated appallingly by a toxic subset of fans who believe that bullying and vitriol is what will reward them with their much-vaunted ship of Buddie (Buck and Eddie). It’s hard to ignore that the show runner is playing into this and perhaps he needs reminding that they are only a small minority and that the wider, quieter viewing audience have been much more captivated by the romance of Buck and Tommy.

I hope that this reaches someone’s ears and makes the smallest difference because you had gold in your hands and threw it away for absolutely nothing.

As a final note, please have someone from the LGBTQ+ community consult the scripts before they’re filmed because there is no excuse for the type of biphobia that keeps cropping up.

Yes!!! I am so proud of you for writing in!!

[respectthepetty]

The Loyal Pin - Episode 15

Before I actually began this recap, let me just bask in Patricia freaking the hell out when Kuea's pregnant wife, who she was warned about, actually shows up to the wedding she forced onto Pin.

Well it if isn't the consequences to your dumb ass actions, Patricia!

LOOK AT HER!

Oh shit! And now Pin has passed the hell out! I knew a girl in high school who would pass out whenever she got in trouble, and we all thought it was a medical condition at first, but one time, she passed out on the band field during morning practice, yet fell in such a way that her flute didn't get damaged, and the entire band spread that news like wildfire, so I, a kid who would NEVER be caught dead near the band hall, heard about it by second period, and homegirl was roasted accordingly in fourth period Stats when someone told her to pass out before the test so we could get out of taking it but to make sure not to damage her the calculator. Point is - Pin is band girl. This is triflin' behavior. This is not a medical condition.

And Prik is just rubbing salt in her wounds. "Anin was fighting all the way until the bitter end for your love, but once she realized you were still going to marry a man who had a whole ass pregnant wife, she decided to go to the beach instead of attending your dumb wedding"

I really disliked Aon at the start of this show, but now her faces with Anin on this beach trip are amazing because Anin is going through it, and Aon is just like, "You wanna put some cucumbers on your eyes since you've been crying so much." She is helping, but also judging, and I like that.

This is what a true ally looks like. Shit was going DOWN in his palace, and all he could think about was telling his sister.

Take notes, Anon! Ya sloppy!

Look how happy a Blue Beauty is when her girlfriend's wedding is stopped by the pregnant woman nobody would believe existed. She is smiling for love. I'm smiling for spite.

And Pin is wearing Anin's color as she, too, looks up at the sky. Glad Prik's little guilt trip worked.

PENELOPE, NO! NOT AGAIN, GIRL!

Okay, existential crisis Barbie. Quit being so damn dramatic.

Penelope planned to go through with that wedding, yet is acting all sad because Anin didn't immediately rush back to her. BARBARA! YOU'RE DOING TOO MUCH, SIS!

And now Patricia is wearing Pin's color to show she cares. You know what would show she cares? Her actually apologizing TO PIN! Her saying "sorry I fucked up and told you to die" or something like that. Doesn't haven't to be those exact words, but anything would be better than the NOTHING she is doing right now.

Penelope always has a dream about Anin leaving her or DYING, and even in her dreams, Penelope is too damn dramatic. ¡Cálmate, güey!

Wait. Is this green or orange? Someone needs to get the colorist on the phone because night time does not make a dress an entirely different color!

But the entire scene is beautiful, so the colorist made some decisions, and I cannot say they were bad decisions.

Anin laughing while Penelope is in pain is food for my petty soul.

Because Penelope is too smart to be this dumb! How did she not realize that Anin was upset that she was marrying a man and moving that man into her palace? Anin TOLD her that, but did she think Anin was joking? WTF, girl. Shut that pretty mouth of yours. I've heard enough stupidity come out of those beautiful lips for a lifetime.

Now Anin is laughing at Penelope in the house! Thank goodness because Penelope is still wildin' with these ridiculous questions! She knows nothing happened between Anin and these other women because she HEARD Anin crying about her MARRYING A MAN, yet has the audacity to pout. Penelope, just pass out again, so we can stop hearing you say irrational shit.

Anin is wiping her down with a blue towel *wink* but the green/orange dress is throwing me for a loop, so I cannot properly enjoy this.

For two chicks that just got back together after shit hit the fan when their relationship was exposed, they do not have any sense of self-preservation. Standing out on the balcony hugging each other after having sex is a choice. The wrong one.

WHY IS ANIN APOLOGIZING TO PATRICIA?! And why hasn't Patricia apologized to Pin?! And why is Anin still wearing green?! She is not a Green Girl! There is nothing chill about Anin!

There is one episode left and I need Patricia to apologize to Pin and for Anin to wear pink for her Pink Person because Pin is struggling with her color still. Quit playing with my emotions, show!

This mama is scared. She has me convinced that the closet is better than telling the dad. I'd listen to her, but Anin would never because she has no chill; therefore, she is not a Green Girl. GET THAT COLOR OUTTA HERE!

At long last, we have made it to the final boss. I don't play video games, but if this is anything like Kirby, shit's about to get messy!

But I know all will end well since Anin still has to wear pink to solidify her love for Pin.

Or this really will be the final stage of Kirby.

Pink. On Body. NOW!

[randomfoggytiger]

So, ehat was your take of the podcast of these two old friends? I thought it was lovely and different than his other podcasts. She gets him to relax.

Now, what about the recreation of the picture they said they would do?:) I think they might have talked about the picture but not when the photoshoot would happen. Xmas is around the corner. Come on guys, give the Fandom a merry David-Gillian gift of all time! It's been a dry spell without your loving craziness. Hike up those stockings on your little legs, G, and hop onto those DD shoulders.

It'd be funny if they did, wouldn't it? It'd also be funny if they recreated it in a way that wouldn't hurt either of their backs, shoulders, or knees, too. XDDD

I had an excellent time with the podcast! It confirmed every single one of my suspicions, theories, and guestimations of their friendship: their personalities, their focuses, their dynamic then, their dynamic now, etc. It was refreshing. It was, for lack of a better word, simple: the facts were the facts were the facts, and there wasn't anything big or grand to be made of their interactions, past or present.

I liked hearing them talk over each other. I liked that both admitted to already butting heads in Season 1. I liked that both admitted they'd never thought to trade childhood stories, or cross their personal lives over.

Most of all, I loved their candor: David admitting he felt dumped in the Revival, and that Gillian didn't know and felt sorry in retrospect. That Gillian didn't feel dumped during the first run. That Gillian thought the Revival's story line reduced her character, especially the ending. That David felt trapped and villainized over the pay gap issue; and only later learned his pay wasn't due to his merit so much as internal favoritism. That Gillian now understands and feels for his pain. That David still feels the sting of Vancouver hating him and being forced out of rehab anonymity, and all the pain he gathered from both incidences. That Gillian admitted she doesn't process shame, just stays too busy to have to face it. That David felt comfortable to say that was unhealthy, and that she felt comfortable enough to hum in agreement. That both know their children have to fail, because they would fail their own children if they stopped those failures. That David tried to drill into his son that he's a miserable person and nothing is as it seems; but that that perspective hadn't worked. That Gillian feels motherhood is the most fulfilling thing for her, yet chooses her work over and over (again, staying too busy to feel shame.) That DD knew as early as Season 1 that Chris intended for Mulder and Scully to be an end goal-- asking CC if he wanted to send GA and himself to couples' counseling as their characters. That GA forgot and laughed over the memory. That Gillian arrived late after he offered her a ride on his private aircraft; then wrote him a beautiful letter, on the plane, instead of saying those words in person. That he marveled she hadn't gone insane from the pressure. That she no longer feels the need to run from Scully's legacy. That both admitted that communication, though important, was non-existent during that time in their lives.

There are so many good bits. But I have two takeaways:

They have the same frenetic drive, the same "crazy" as David calls it; but I can see why it drove a wedge between them (and could, now): they wouldn't be able to tolerate that same freneticism in each other in large doses. (Hence, why they didn't speak for weeks while on set, and were already exchanging "blows" in Season 1.)

Most importantly, they were two old friends who purposefully dug in and rediscovered new things about each other. The camaraderie was different: settled, more "in-character" to how I think they talk when David doesn't feel like he has to perform (though there was a bit of that) and Gillian doesn't feel uneasy, or anxious, or "watched."

In short: they felt wholly the same, but in a new way. :DDDDD

[thatonewriter15]

Oh, my gossssssssssh. I am in love with this fic and him!

Okay, this girl's got a lot to point out. Please bare with me. xD

No matter how he fought it down, a small tinge of worry, and the beginnings of disappointment churned in his gut. His brows furrowed. Did you regret it already?

My stomach actually sank.

“We take it day by day,” he’d told you, with a sizzling kiss that stole your breath. “All I know is…this feels good.”

Controlled breathing was necessary. But also, I feel like there were some great layers here. Dean allowing himself to feel good? And not just for one night. Admitting it and actually pursuing more? Yessssss. He deserves that.

Him sleeping better with her next to him--a classic. Never gets old. <3

What’s more, after years of looking into your eyes and seeing all the possibilities of what if, he was finally getting to make those images solid, and real. He could touch them, taste them, feel them under his calloused hands. He finally had you for real.

This whole paragraph was beautiful. Also, it was a moment where, if someone simply handed it to me with no other context, I would know it was yours. It felt like you.

Her rings being such an identifier was a great detail that fit so well with the reveal at the end. Smart, smart writing!

His disappointment was settling high in his chest now; an ache approaching pain.

More stomach sinking.

“What’s this?” you whispered, swiping two fingers between the crunch in his brows.

Loved this! Definitely have had something similar in my head while daydreaming. A little sassy, but mostly lovingly concerned. (Again, so very you.)

“When I woke up, I saw one fell off the nightstand. Have a feeling it had something to do with the bedframe knocking against it." At that, Dean couldn’t contain his lazy smirk.

My stomach was doing something different this time. LMAO.

The end of the first section--how he still had questions but just decided to trust her and her judgment. Brilliant. And proved that he really is ready for more.

And in that first section, I simply could not figure out what she was off doing or what it meant for them. The reveal was as satisfying as the guessing. That might actually be my favorite part of this piece--the fact that I could not figure out where it was going. But also, she spent her early morning baking him a pie? My heart got gooier than its filling! =']

And it just got better from there. He forgot his own birthday? OUCH. His emotion over her gesture? Love, love, love. And their use of touch? So tender and sweet.

So, yeah, I was a fan of this one. xD<3

Restless Nights

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: After a tryst you instigated in the backseat of his Baby, you and Dean have started something new. He’s just not sure that you’re as “all in” as you claimed to be.

AN: As promised, here's a bonus one-shot to follow Maybe More Than Enough, though it can be read as a stand-alone. This is based on a request from @lacilou, one of my lovely Patreon members!

Bonus! It fulfills the @spnfanficpond monthly prompt. (Can’t give it away until the end though!)

Request: A Dean story based on the song “I Remember You” by Skid Row.

Word Count: 1.2K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, fluff, implied mentions of sex, bit of a twist ending… 

Dean woke to the sound of pouring rain hitting the roof of the bunker.

It must’ve been some torrential downpour, because it took a lot for him to hear anything of the outside world from inside this place. Good thing the old heaters kept out the January cold, too. Nothing worse than frigid rain.

Blearily he cracked his eyes open, unearthed an arm from where it was tucked under his pillow, and carefully raised his phone to check the time, trying not to let the light from the screen burn his retinas in the still dark room.

4:00 a.m.

He groaned. Goddamn it.

He turned over onto his other side to face where you should’ve been lying next to him. He frowned when he saw nothing but the sheets pulled back and a dented, empty pillow.

No matter how he fought it down, a small tinge of worry, and the beginnings of disappointment churned in his gut. His brows furrowed.

Did you regret it already?

After his first make out session with you (turned more session) in the backseat of his Baby, you two struck a tentative agreement to figure what this could be—more than hunting partners, allies, and friends. Despite the fact that you kissed him first (a fact he didn’t easily let you forget), afterwards, you’d been a little hesitant about what came next.

“We take it day by day,” he’d told you, with a sizzling kiss that stole your breath. “All I know is…this feels good.”

It felt right. You had definitely agreed with that.

Dean sighed through his nose, turning back onto his other side. It wasn’t unusual for him to be a light (restless) sleeper, but the handful of times you’d joined him in his bed had been beginning to make his nights calmer. He was actually starting to sleep through until morning.

What’s more, after years of looking into your eyes and seeing all the possibilities of what if, he was finally getting to make those images solid, and real. He could touch them, taste them, feel them under his calloused hands. He finally had you for real.

He looked past your empty spot in his bed and didn’t see your phone, or any of your rings on the nightstand. They were the first things you put on in the morning, and the last things you took off at night.

If those were gone…

His disappointment was settling high in his chest now; an ache approaching pain.

Until he heard the light sound of bare feet padding back toward the bed. Your hand slid gently up his arm, and after the surprise wore off, the corners of his lips tugged upwards. Your hair was a bit wild and frizzy. It tickled his neck and shoulder when you leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“What’s this?” you whispered, swiping two fingers between the crunch in his brows. Dean relaxed with a small smile.

“Nothin’,” he claimed. His voice was deep and rough with sleep. “Had an appointment to get to or something?”

You smiled and settled into bed, embracing him from behind. He turned onto his back and welcomed you over, with an arm curling around your waist. He rested his hand on yours when it smoothed across his chest.

Subtly glancing down, he didn’t find any of the silver you wore on the daily, including the ring with a small turquoise stone he’d bought you a couple weeks ago, on a hunt in Denver. That one, you now almost never took off.

“I put them away in a drawer,” you said, wiggling your fingers under his hand. Your hand felt dry, and a little like you'd been handling something dusty. Had you been up reading in the library again, lost track of time? “When I woke up, I saw one fell off the nightstand. Have a feeling it had something to do with the bedframe knocking against it.”

At that, Dean couldn’t contain his lazy smirk.

“My bad,” he said, sounding anything but sorry.

You laughed, shaking your head. You still laid a kiss below his shoulder before you settled back down. He gave your waist a gentle squeeze, pressing a kiss of his own to your forehead. A deep breath fell from between his lips, and his eyes closed.

A question was on the tip of his tongue. Where you were, why you got up. Was it something he could help with? Or was it one of those moments you needed to have alone, not unlike the times you gave him to settle with his thoughts, after a hunt gone sideways. If it was important, you’d level with him, wouldn’t you?

So he let it be.

In the morning, you somehow once again managed to get out of bed without him feeling it. He didn’t hear you either. Curiosity led him down the hall and glancing inside the cracked door of Sam’s room. It was empty, his running shoes gone from the side of his bed. Dean rolled his eyes.

All right, Lance.

Oh, wait, that was biking. …Whatever.

Dean’s next path inevitably took him down to the kitchen. His stomach was already percolating—in need of good coffee and (hopefully) good food.

The smell wafting from the kitchen surprised him, however. Cinnamon apples?

He turned the corner, and there he found you.

The fuck?

You looked a bit of a mess. Your hair was thrown up into a haphazard bun, and you’d stolen his apron. Though in his eyes, you made it look better, the white fabric hugging around your curves like you were Rachel Ray or something. You were frazzled when he came downstairs, but happy to see him. You beckoned him over and sat him down at the small kitchen table.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on here?” he asked, eying you curiously.

“Just stay there!” you called from the kitchen. He heard you opening the oven, cursing when you nearly dropped something.

What the hell were you doing baking before 9:00 a.m.?

He turned to ask you what was going on (and if you needed help), but before the words could come out of his mouth, you came over and carefully set down the pie in front of him. The rich aroma, the golden flaky crust, the flecks of cinnamon and glossy apples peeking out from the divots in said crust—it all had Dean’s mouth watering, and his shocked gaze fixed on the shiny pastry.

He startled a little when he felt your hands on his shoulders, sliding part of the way down his arms. You kissed the side of his head.

“Thought I wouldn’t remember, did you?” you teased. “Happy Birthday, baby.”

Dean’s throat constricted. He tried not to show it, but your gaze gentled when he finally met yours, like you were seeing through all his layers anyway. He realized then what you were probably working on last night, and he really couldn’t fucking believe it.

He’d forgotten his own birthday. Couldn’t see much use in celebrating, when year after crappy year…

But he closed a hand over yours on his shoulder, and he brought your hand to his lips.

Every word he couldn’t yet say to you was etched in that single gesture.

AN: Short and angsty sweet! lol And the monthly prompt was "pie!" 🥧 For Dean of course. 😂

Hope you guys enjoy this one! 💜

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[jpitha]

Between the Black and Grey 70

First / Previous / Next

Fen awoke to Ma standing over her, smiling with her eyes. "Fenchurch, you really know how to get into a mess, you know that right?"

Fen sat up. Here, she didn't hurt. "What can I say Ma? I'm tired of being told what to do, and am doing things that I want to do."

She nodded once and put her hand out to help her up. "Good. You're learning." Fen stood up and looked around. It was the same old place it always was, but they were alone in the forest. "It'll be hard though."

"hmm?" Fen wasn't listening.

"Doing things that you want to do. It's hard. It's easier to just listen to everyone else and do what they say."

Fen chuckled. "That's hard too Ma. No matter what I pick, it's hard."

"Yes," Ma agreed. "That's life."

Fen came back, pain still there, disorientation still there, but now she was also floating in space. Her suit was helpfully flashing all kinds of warnings about being adrift in space but she was able to dismiss them. The beacons on her head and shoulders flashed to alert any potential rescuers that she was out here, but scans from the - admittedly - low power radar on the suit indicated she was alone.

Except she wasn't.

Where once there was just her expeditionary force and the white hole was now a... nebula.

It was beautiful.

No, more than that, it was stunning. Rainbow colors, swirling, dancing around her, visible in every direction. She was awash in a sea of color. But why? Was it the nanites?

As she floating in space, Fen stared at once location while time passed. She was sure that the nebula was very slowly moving. With a gasp that turned into a coughing fit, she realized what she was seeing.

It was a war.

The Nanites and Han'iel's nanites had consumed the entirety of the expeditionary force as raw material, and were now around her in the tens of trillions, fighting. The concentration of machines was so dense that she could see them.

Fen thought to herself, well okay Fenchurch. You came back here and you're making your own decisions now. So now what? Fen thought about the implant. It would make a dent in the volume of nanites here, and might be the tipping point to end the battle, but was she ready to do that? No. Not yet at least. Besides, if she did that now the virus in her body would never spread. She had to get closer.

Ugh, but how? The suit had maneuvering jets, but they weren't meant to be used for millions of kilometers. She could link again and get closer, but then that would be it. She'd be stuck. She queried the suit. 'Power options?'

INTERNAL BATTERIES 80%. USEFUL LIFE AT CURRENT POWER OUTPUT - 100 SOL STANDARD DAYS.

Well. At least she's starve to death before she froze to death. She tried again. 'Are the batteries sufficient to operate the wormhole link backpack?'

QUERYING... NEGATIVE. SUIT BATTERIES WOULD BE DEPLETED.

'Recharging options?'

CONNECT TO POWER ON SHIP OR STATION.

Ugh, it didn't have like, solar panels or anything? Fen had no idea about suit design, but she felt like something like that as a last resort would have been useful. 'Radio?'

LOCAL AREA ONLY. NO SIGNALS IN RANGE CURRENTLY.

Dammit. It turned out that an emergency rescue spacesuit wasn't just a teeny spaceship after all.

While Fen was working through her options and arguing with her suit, the nebula slowly came closer to her. She noticed as the color outside her face shield changed, and she looked up and gasped. What she had thought was a slow wheeling progression of the nebula was actually the nanites moving at tremendous speed. They had traversed the distance to her in less than two hours. Before she realized what was happening, the swirl of color surrounded her suit. Red warnings flashed in her vision SUIT INTEGRITY COMPROMISED. SUIT INTEGRITY COMPROMISED. Her suit was being eaten for material.

"Oh fuck." She said aloud, "now you've done it."

Ah, Empress. You are alive after all. The voice was practically liquid in its smugness.

"I could say the same thing about you. How goes the war with Han'iel's creation?"

We persevere, Fen. We were built well.

"Oh goody. You can talk to me as well." Fen sighed. "Well, as it appears that I am being consumed for raw materials in your battle, you had better say your pieces before I'm gone entirely."

Gone? You're not going anywhere. You forget we can manipulate matter on any scale.

Don't worry Fen. Once these nanites are destroyed, we will take good care of you. Han'iel's nanites spoke to her with a K'laxi accent. Almost but not quite sounding like Han'iel himself.

Take care of you? They can't even tak-- Her original nanites started to argue again but stopped sudddenly. What did you do?

"Whatever do you mean?" Fen said innocently, while grinning wickedly. It was going to work.

You have introduced a... pathogen. How?

"Don't worry about how, worry about your own damn survival now. I don't even care that I'm out in space alone because I got you. Neither of you will be able to come up with a counter in time."

We shall see about that.

Both of the nanites pulled out of her mind quickly, without taking care to be gentle. Through the blinding headache they left, Fen was laughing. It worked! It really worked! Her idea worked! "See Ma? I did it! I beat them. Not Gord, not the Empire, ME!" She shouted.

Before her eyes, the nebula changed. Rather than a dancing, swirling rainbow colored cloud, it was slowly - but surely - turning gray. The virus was taking over the nanites, using them to make more, and then disassembling what was left.

Fen floated, between the black and the gray, and watched them die.

****

"They think we have Fen!" Chloe shouted, as Gord took control of the ship's operation to dodge the attacks.

"Well, we kinda did." Gord said, trying to keep his voice reasonable as he concentrated.

"We - you - saved her life!"

"Yes. but they don't know that, Chloe. We never told them. I was going to, but then there was the nanite thing, and we had to put her in hibernation, and then the virus... I dropped the ball." Gord did the virtual equivalent of a shrug. "They don't usually shoot first and ask questions later though."

"They don't? Gord, are we talking about the same humans?"

"Okay okay, sometimes they do. Open a channel, I'll explain it."

"They closed communication." Chloe scanned the logs. "Looks like they opened all frequencies and asked for an explanation... and someone told them to kick rocks."

"Who?"

Chloe shook her head. "Don't know. They were far away, probably out near Jupiter or further. They were on at least a couple minute delay."

"Dammit!" Gord swore and went over to the comm set. He set the power output to full and opened all the channels. As he did so, he moved some relays and rerouted power from the reactor. As environmental powered down, his array powered up. Across Sol, everyone's comm array was overcome with static. Media players, comm arrays, and even some larger metallic structures all obeyed his command. For now, Gord was the Loudest thing in Sol. "Attention Humanity. We do not have Empress Fenchurch. We did, but she left on her own. If you stop shooting and take an Ancestors damned BREATHER, we can discuss this." Gord cut the connection and put the power back where it was. Times like this he was annoyed that he couldn't snap a physical toggle closed. It was much more satisfying.

****

"Empress?!" The weapons officer looked over at Penny.

Penny was trying very hard to hide her expression, but she didn't have Fen's experience. Her eyes were giving it away, Zhe noticed. She was frightened out of her mind. "S-Stand down. Weapons to idle."

As the weapons powered down, and the ship got off of its battle footing, one of the younger officers eye's went wide. "Empress... you should see this," and gestured. She and Zhe looked down at their pads.

And stared at the stardrive of Home.

Before Home was the... well, home of the AIs, it was a colony ship. Nearly a third the size of High Mars Hyacinth, it was designed to streak through interstellar space, bringing thirty thousand humans in hibernation and enough supplies to start up at least three cities. Six were launched, three made it, one blew up just outside of Sol, and two were lost. This was one of them. In order to thrust up to 50% of C, the colony ships had positively titanic star drives. Large enough to swallow a Starjumper, their exhaust would streak behind for hundreds of kilometers when under full thrust.

And one was pointed directly at them.

They hadn't planned on running, they had planned on lighting their stardrive, Zhe realized with a shudder. Her fur puffed out in fear. She knew the value of the human's old drives as a weapon. She looked over at Penny; she hadn't figured it out. Zhe flicked her ears in irritation. Leave it to humans to forget about their own weapons.

"Penn-Empress." Zhe said gently. "They pointed their stardrive at us. They were going to fire it."

"And run away? They have a wormhole generator, why run away with their old stardrive?"

"We-el, yes, they would start moving." Zhe said carefully, "but more importantly the drive exhaust would have reduced us to our constituent atoms."

"Oh" Penny said, and then her eyes widened when she parsed what Zhe said. "Oh."

"Yes," Zhe nodded. "On the Heap we're taught to never go behind a human ship. We were never going to win this engagement."

Penny's shoulders slumped. "They don't have Fen and we were nearly destroyed." She looked at Zhe and mouthed "What do I do?"

"Empress?" Zhe said, in a normal tone of voice. "I recommend we open a channel to Gord's ship and take him up on his offer to talk. We can learn what they know, and maybe work together to find out what happened to Fen. After all-" She flicked her ears as she spoke "-if the AI faction supports you, then your claim to the throne is that much more valid."

Penny's eyes shone. She was holding back tears. "Yes, that is an excellent suggestion. Comms, reach out to Gord's ship and let the know we wish to talk." She looked again at Zhe, blinked her tears away and whispered, "Thank you."

Zhe's face was impassive, but her tail swished behind her.

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

The Tortured Fangirl Department - How Did it End?

| Gale Dekarios x fem!reader

summary: after weeks of fighting, Gale and y/n have broken up in the middle of the journey, leaving one another, and the party, bereft and reeling.

cw: aaangst, tragic break up, spiders, drinking, mentions of intimacy

an: I made myself sad with this one

wc: 2.3k

Dawn broke over the horizon, painting the mist silver and cerulean, and y/n emerged from her tent alone.

Astarion glanced up from fire, towards the ephemeral horizon, then snapped his head back to y/n. Karlach’s bite of jerky fell from her slack jaw.

The last time y/n slept in her own tent…well, no one could remember the last time she slept in her own tent. From the moment she and Gale connected, they'd been inseparable. As entwined as blood and tissue.

“Morning, y/n,” Wyll said, much more couth than the other two waking members of the party.

“Morning,” she said, walking past them and towards the path that led to the lake, a bundle of clothing in her arms.

“You don't think…” Karlach said, nodding towards Gale’s still closed tent.

Astarion shrugged. “Their fighting was growing rather tiresome anyways. I'll be glad for the quiet.”

Wyll rolled his eyes. “We have no idea what happened. Don't presume.”

Ten minutes later, there was shuffling from Gale's tent and finally, the wizard emerged. He was pale-faced and sallow, his hair ruffed and tunic rumpled.

No one spoke as he approached the fire and dropped heavily onto a log. Wyll passed him a pewter mug of ale, and Gale swirled it around, but didn't drink.

“Well, you look like shit,” Astarion said, red eyes narrowed.

Gale didn't look up, didn't even appear to have heard the vampire at all.

Wyll shot Astarion a scathing glare. “Dekarios, what happened?” he asked.

Gale lifted the mug to his lips, taking a tentative sip of the lukewarm brew. His mouth was so dry, he could barely speak, his throat raw. The words nearly choked him, shards of a misery tearing apart his tongue.

“It ended,” he said finally, more breath than language, and a tear rolled down his cheek, soaking into his uncombed beard.

The three of them gasped.

“Over an idiotic fight?” Astarion scoffed.

A ripple of anger broke Gale's stoicism, and he leveled the vampire with a loathsome glare.

“Love is dead!” Karlach wailed, flopping back onto the dirt with her arms flung wide.

“How did it end?” Wyll asked, half concerned for the wellbeing Gale and y/n, half concerned for the future of the party. If this disrupted their dynamic…

“I can't pretend like I understand,” Gale said, resting his forehead on his fingers. “But that doesn't make it hurt less.” The pain was a live thing in his chest, a serpent constricting his heart, tangling his intestines, choking his lungs. No injury sustained in battle compared to the agony of losing her. He would take a thousand stab wounds, a million lashings, over this.

Why was his love never enough?

For most of the night prior, he wondered if it would kill him. The grief. When his eyes opened this morning to see her side of his bedroll empty, he wished it had.

He wished he'd never left the tower. The safety of his books and spells. That was where he belonged, not adventuring with a beautiful dryad, exploring the realm hand in hand, heart to heart.

Now, he was lost.

“I'm sorry, friend—” Rustling from the trees interrupted Wyll, and Gale lowered his head between his knees.

Y/n returned from the lake, her hair hanging in wet tangles down her back. Her damp skin shined in the early morning sunlight, and Gale felt his heart shatter all over again.

Her eyes lingered on him a fraction longer than they should, noting the disarray of his hair, his usually immaculate clothing wrinkled. Her splintered heart gave a painful lurch, the agony stealing her breath.

It took every ounce of resolve to walk past the party, walk past her lost love, and into her sparse tent. So many of her things were still in his. So much of her was tangled with him, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever extract it all. Gale would always have a piece of her.

Tears ran down Gale's face, dripping onto the ground below as he fought to control his breathing, to hide from her, from all of them the depth of his hurt. It was his own fault, after all.

If he had just let the stupid books burn…

But he couldn't, he wouldn't. It was antithetical to who he was, everything he believed in. So what if he risked his hide in the process? That was his risk to make.

Still, he knew how badly his decision hurt y/n. How angry she was that he would risk himself, risk abandoning her in this horrible, merciless world over some paper and ink. And he knew that if she put herself in the same amount of danger he had, it would rock him to his core. He'd never let her out of his sight again.

She said she could no longer trust him or his judgement. Couldn't trust her heart in his flippant hands. And broke his spirit clean in half.

Y/n slipped into her tent, wiping hard at the tears rolling down her cheeks. She wanted so badly to be angry with him, to blame him for the death of them. She wanted to scream, to roar, but their ending was little more than a death rattle.

It was just…over. Ended.

So why was her mind in shambles? A torrent of blame and guilt and fear? Gale had been her anchor, her harbor, and now she was left reeling.

Desperately, viscerally, she wanted him. So much so it hollowed her out inside, tears pouring until she floated like a ghost, bereft and empty.

Her tent flap lifted, and Karlach poked her head in. “Wyll wants us to move out in ten. Astarion is staying behind.” Which meant she and Gale would be going on a mission today. Together.

Y/n slumped back onto her bedroll. “Understood,” she said.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For the two days journey, they barely spoke. It had been a grueling treck up the western mountains though blistering wind and snow.

Y/n had been forced to share a tent with Karlach both nights to ensure she didn't freeze to death.

Gale had also placed a warming spell on her blankets, rousing himself every hour to ensure it didn't lapse. But, y/n didn't need to know that.

She'd probably rather die of hypothermia than accept help from him at the moment, a thought that brought him momentary amusement, then a deep, gnawing sadness.

Countless nights like these had been spent curled up together in his bed roll, warmed to sweltering by the cantrip and searching hands, greedy mouths.

"Gale," she'd gasp, hushed and honeyed as he lapped beads of sweat from the valley of her throat, the plane of her sternum. Her thigh slung over his hip, the hearth of her pressed against him, beckoning him closer as they rocked together, one fluid tide of movement.

The soft heat of her was everything he'd ever dreamed of, everything he'd never dare hope for. He wanted to sink into her depths, into her skin, into her bones. Bury himself like this forsaken worm into the chambers of her heart, the most sacred tomb.

An ache radiated through his entire body, rendering him unable to speak, unable to stand up straight, to eat, for the rest of their journey.

He'd never felt so weak in his life.

When they reached the summit of the mountain, a den of Giant Spiders separated them from the treasure they saught: a long-buried tomb of an ancient wizard, inside one which was allegedly a powerful relic of healing. One they hoped may rid them of their squirming ailment.

The battle with spiders was never-ending, wave after wave of arachnids descending from the web-covered stalagmites. More then once Gale’s carelessness nearly got him poisoned, or worse, flung from the side of the mountain. Y/n, per usual, fought valiantly and with unshakeable focus, a lethal fighting force unto herself. A quality he deeply admired and envied in equal measure.

Lost in his heartache as he watched her fell one of the largest of the pack, a lesser spider managed to knock him off balance, sending his staff skittering across the stone. The beast loomed over him, venom dripping with an acrid hiss onto the stone by his head.

For a horrible, exhilarating moment, he thought it might kill him. End his suffering once and for all. But then a vicious snap echoed across the cavern. A tendril of magic wrapped around the spiders forelimb more inches from his nose, then wrenched it away from him. Y/n and her thorn whip never missed. Another lash, and Y/n bound it's other legs, giving Wyll an opening to deal the death blow.

He held her stare for half a dozen heartbeats, trying to convey the torment of his soul, his gratitude, his anguish. Why didn't you let it kill me?

Y/n’s expression wavered, offering him the briefest glimpse of her heart, and cleaved through his chest like she'd lashed him.

He had done that, had wounded her so mortally. And still, she saved him.

How could ever make this up to her? He didn't deserve forgiveness, but did that mean he shouldn't try?

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Halfway back to camp, during his watch, Gale noticed y/n’s breathing shift over the roar of Karlach's snores. She woke with a start, a cry at the edge of her lips as she often did at the start of their relationship.

Nightmares had always plagued her, but with Gale, they had retreated almost entirely. He'd bundle her in his arms, her ear pressed against the mark of the netherese orb, and he'd start recounting whatever he'd read that day in excruciating, mind-numbing detail, or hum whatever song was top of mind. The words mattered not, just the coordinate drone of his voice was often enough to lull her into a dreamless slumber.

Goaded by the memories, Gale began to hum, a low, throaty song of unknown origin, one he'd picked up somewhere over the last decades.

Y/n slid back under her bedroll, trembling slightly, and tried to focus on the timbre of Gale's voice, let it wash away the gruesome images in her mind. Gale's face half melted from venom. Her parents home engulfed in flame, their bodies charred and husk-like. Curled up like children.

He began to hum another song, a lilting ballad they'd danced to this past Midsummer Festival. She'd been wearing an impractical, gauzy thing, dyed the most gorgeous lavender shade. A color she'd picked just for him. He was rendered speechless when she stepped into the summer sun, and instead offered a devotional of open-mouthed kisses along every stitch of bare skin, blazing a sinful path that she felt the rest of the evening, and for days after.

He had held her so gently while they danced, his forearm bracketed between her shoulder blades, claiming but not commanding. The air smelled of saltwater and citrus, a drowsy heat dulling their worries of tomorrow.

When the song ended, Gale dropped a kiss along her exposed shoulder, up her neck, until his lips found hers, delicate as spun sugar and just as sweet.

The memory warmed her, settled into her bones and sinnew. She nearly caved. Nearly crawled across the rough, frozen ground to him just so he'd make a fuss over her, use his magic, his body, to warm her back up.

But she resisted, covered her ears against the torture of his melody, and did not move until morning.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“How long has it been?” Gale asked Wyll, clapping the tome in his lap shut.

Wyll rolled his eyes. “Twenty more minutes than the last time you asked me.”

Karlach, Astarion, and y/n had gone into town together for dinner and a few celebratory drinks. Normally, Gale would have insisted he accompany them, but he couldn't stomach hours of his drunken party members vying for his vacant spot at her side.

He knew y/n had no interest in the others beyond companionship, but Gale was jealous by nature, and was unwilling to subject himself to further torment.

Voices floated through the trees, drunken and obnoxiously loud, and Karlach and y/n stumbled into camp.

Karlach had y/n by the waist, keeping her upright. And from wandering off and into trouble, from Gale's experience. Astarion was right behind them, blood on his chin and tunic, his hair a wild halo of white.

“Have fun?” Wyll asked, his tone sharper than his expression let on.

“Hyuk—yes!” Y/n shouted, tripping over her boots and nearly collapsing.

Gale gave Karlach a warning glare, and the tiefling scoffed.

“You take care of her then, Mr. Perfect Wizard!” Karlach shoved y/n into his arms, almost knocking them both over with her strength.

“Look! All better!” Astarion cooed, petting Gale’s hair as he sauntered by. “The misery was worse then the fighting. Honestly, how long until you kiss and make up?”

Wyll grabbed the vampire by the hair and shoved him into his tent, but Gale paid them no mind, too busy staring down at the giggling bundle of darling in his arms once more.

“Hi, Gale,” y/n whispered, her eyes wide and watery.

“Hello, sweetling,” he hummed, adjusting her so her head rested more comfortably on his shoulder. It was the first words they'd exchanged in weeks, and they left Gale reeling with hope.

Stupid, feckless, traitorous hope.

She traced a finger over his nose, through his overgrown beard, and across his jaw, the muscle feathering with tension. He grasped her smaller hand gently, brushing a kiss over her inner wrist before placing it back into her lap. A tiny indulgence, a moment of weakness.

“Gale,” she breathed, fisting his violet coat.

They couldn't do this. Not while she was drunk, not while the party stood idly by and watched. Not when he knew she'd regret it as soon as inhibition returned.

He couldn't add another regret to the ledger.

“C’mon, love. Let's get you to bed.” He rose with her cradled in his arms, a gesture that once felt like birthright, but somehow became foreign.

She didn't protest, instead buried her face into the warm crook of his neck, breathing in his scent of parchment and candlesmoke. Her lips moved of their own accord, pressing against the drum of his pulse, and a shiver rolled down his spine.

He set y/n down on her bedroll, carefully removing her boots and weapons before tucking her into it. He thought she'd drifted off, her eyes closed and breathing even, limbs heavy against the ground, but when he turned to leave she caught his wrist.

“How did it end?” she asked.

“This isn't the end,” he murmured, brushing and errant lock from her cheek. “We simply learned the right steps to different dances.”

Her brow furrowed, her head shaking side to side. "I'm a terrible dancer"

For the first time in weeks, Gale felt himself smile. He leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead, then another on the corner of her mouth.

“Then, we'll learn again, my love. As many times as it takes.”

Fin. 💜

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Thank you so much for reading!

If you're interested in exploring my published work, you can find my debut novel here.

Much love,

Allie

[bigbigpushes]

At The Break of Dawn

Part two of Beneath The Stars (part one found here)

At 4:03am, her eyes opened wide as her belly contracted again and she felt the urge to push again, intuition telling her this was more than just the afterbirth. “Maggie. I think there’s another one…”

Ellie had gone to all of her checkups, had the scans and tests recommended to her and never had twins been suspected. She looked to Maggie, sure her midwife wasn’t going to believe her, instead the older woman was deep in thought before she simply nodded. “Okay, we’ll take a look, it could just be your placenta.” She said kindly before she did her checks, feeling her belly and then her cervix. She didn’t show any indication either way until she looked at Ellie with a smile. “Well, it seems someone was hiding. A hidden twin, love.”

Her pregnancy had been a surprise, her partner of eighteen months leaving had been a surprise, she let out a laugh, in shock. “How was that missed? Actually, answer that later.” She let out a low groan, eyes closing as her uterus contracted again and she gave into the instinct to push, just lightly to begin with, her newborn still cradled to her chest.

She didn’t realise Maggie had headed inside quickly until she was returning with the bassinet she had prepared in the living room. Contraction now passed, she looked up to her midwife, with a raised eyebrow. “You’re about to deliver again, this way if you feel you need to put your daughter down, she has a safe place to lay,” Ellie was told softly and she nodded, feeling the need to move.

The cord cut, her daughter now resting peacefully in her bassinet, Ellie stood, hands supporting her belly as she rocked side to side, contractions kept coming and with each one, a new urge to push. 4:54am, just under an hour since this all began again and the redhead was bearing down as she felt the head of her second begin to emerge. The contraction soon ended, leaving frustration in its wake as the head receded. “That’s normal, love. It happened before but you’re close.” Her midwife assured her.

“I’m so tired, Mags.” She was couldn’t stop the tears from falling, trying not to panic over the prospect of twins, she wanted to leave that until after they were both safe and in the world. “I know.” She heard, feeling her cheeks being wiped dry by a gentle touch “you’ve got this.”

Breaks between the pain were now even shorter than they had been before, soon her muscles were tightening and she was pushing once more, as the burning began, her opening stretching as the baby finally came to a full crown, she let out a cry as the head popped free.

She barely registered Maggie kneeling down in front of her, moving Ellie’s hand to her shoulder for support as she did all of the cheeks, barely registered the light tap on her thigh to give her the all clear, she was so entirely focused on giving birth. Another contraction, more pushes, legs shaking until she finally felt the baby slip free into Maggie’s hands, leaving Ellie to shakily fall back onto the sofa once more.

“It’s another girl.” She was told as her second child was placed in one of her arms, her firstborn quickly placed into the other. Ellie couldn’t believe her eyes, looking between her beautiful, perfect daughters as the sky began to lighten and dawn began to break.

[ratatatastic]

hey god so its me again....we're somehow still here...

im thinking a lot about ekky throwing a wad of bills into the crowd and forsy seeing him and joining in and like posture is so wack...why are you...so stanced up for throwing dollars 😭😭😭 this isnt a discus throw adonis calm tf down 😭😭😭😭

and like you see the way forsys hand steadily creeps towards ekkys waist in efforts to balance himself because hes so offbalance with that stance as he chucks a whole brick of bills...and i just think

somehow the nightclub is not a nightclub and has turned into a wedding reception, all are invited

Club E11even | 6.27.24 (x)

[magesforthedas]

Just have to share this, because I keep seeing critiques of Veilguard that like, try to guilt people who say they love, or even like the game. And HEAVY critiques of the protagonist, Rook, and how they aren't really a hero.

ALSO it contains some SPOILERS so just be warned ☺️

Like, yeah I have a couple gripes about the game, but overall it's emotional and amazing and I care about the characters so deeply. I keep seeing how people are saying how Rook and the party were not well written because they caused a lot of death?? This is Dragon Age, everything always goes from bad to worse, but the characters always bring out the light.

Rook was put in a very shitty situation, and I've seen people say they caused the destruction of thousands by trying to prevent the hundreds. But how many people, before the game came out, said Solas's plan to tear down the veil was a bad idea? Not all, I'm sure, but most. I always viewed it, and I know I wasn't alone, as that by trying to "fix" things Solas was just justifying his selfish wants, when he knew somewhere in his heart that the people of today, including the elves that he was "doing this for", would rather live alongside their friends & family in a world without their old magic, than live in a world with it alone.

That being said, even with differing views in and out of the game, it's very reasonable that a group of people would try to stop him, not know the consequences. And the beautiful thing about Rook, why Varric chose THEM, is that they saw what they had created, and didn't give up, didn't leave it to someone else to fix. Whether or not it was really their fault they stepped up and tried to save the world the best they could, from the mistake they unwittingly made (which I would argue against the fact that they made a "mistake", looking at that they were hired to do a job & by successfully completing that job there were unintended consequences).

Parallels anyone? Dragon Age loves those. But the difference, again illustrated in the game, is that while Solas couldn't move past the regret of his mistakes, Rook could. And on the topic of the deaths of those around them, not everyone that died in the past was Solas's fault, but some he did directly lead to their deaths. And he accepted that, did it over & over. Rook never led anyone to their death. Rook walked willingly into it themselves, and the love and trust their companions felt led them to choose to die for Rook, and the world instead.

And people who say the destruction of the south means the earlier games were for nothing? How so? 20 years ago, 10 years ago, things were happening, people were dying that needed saving. The heroes of that age saved the world so it would still be around to save now. And who knows what the south really looks like, or what it might look like as and after rebuilding? We will, in another 10 years once BioWare comes out with more content I suppose, and I wouldn't be surprised if everyone we knew is dead, but I also wouldn't be surprised if many, many of them lived.

Because that is Dragon Age. Death, betrayal, sacrifice, cruelty, pain. It's a dark, dark world. But there is always a ray of light, of hope. And characters who will do their utmost to protect that .