#just to be clear it’s absolutely fine for you to not like him

[nochepsicodelica]

The door to your shared bedroom creaks open, and Toji is greeted by the sight of you sleeping. It's five in the afternoon and you're bundled up in the covers, soft breaths exiting through your mouth because your nose is congested. You look all cozy, like a hibernating bear, on his side of the bed. It would be a more adorable sight under different circumstances, but this is the product of you catching a cold.

Toji sets the small bag filled with your medicine and other little things he hopes will make you feel better, on his nightstand. He crouches down in front of you and brings a noticeably cooler hand to your heated cheek.

"Hey," Toji calls, gently pinching your cheek. Your hearing must be muffled, because you don't budge and remain in your deep sleep. "Ma," he tries again, shaking you by your shoulder this time. You stir and attempt to roll over in the other direction, towards the center of the bed, but Toji keeps you steady by tugging on the blanket you're cocooned in. "Wake up, mama. Just for a little. I got your stuff. Medicine, snacks— you probably won't be able to taste them, but they're there."

You open your eyes, and simply blink. The room is darker and more shadowy since you went down for your supposed nap. It's been hours, but your body still feels so tired and your head is pulsing.

"How are you feeling?" Toji asks.

You were trying to say "so so", but no sound came out, so it seemed like you were mouthing the words instead. You felt the effort your vocal cords made, but your voice was shot. Nothing is audible unless it's strained. A huff and a roll of your eyes let Toji know how bad of a time you were having.

"Gotcha," Toji responds to your attempt to speak, a soft smile on his face.

He stands up from his crouched position and turns to the bag on his nightstand, rummaging through it to grab the box of medicine at the bottom and your water bottle. He sees you untangling yourself from the covers and sitting up to rest against the headboard, in his peripheral vision. Your hair is messy, some of it is stuck to your forehead from how much you've been sweating, even though you've felt cold the whole time. You can't breathe properly out of your nose, and your throat is sore. Your entire demeanor just screams "sick".

Toji offers you two gel capsules and twists the cap off your bottle of water, before handing it to you as well. You toss the pills into your mouth, and wash them down with a swig of water. In an attempt to clear your nose, you sniff a few times, getting absolutely no change in your ability to breathe through your nose.

"Go back to sleep. I'll get you some soup for when you wake up, 'kay?"

You nod and set your water bottle down on Toji's nightstand, before you slide back down the bed and shift comfortably onto your side. The blanket is wrapped around you, again, and you're ready to shut your eyes. Toji comes closer, crouching down like he did when he woke you up.

"Mm-mm," you hum, the sound cracked and barely audible, a response to Toji leaning in and trying to kiss you.

"Come on, ma. It's been a whole day. Just one. A peck?"

"No," you whisper, only able to communicate verbally in this hushed voice.

"Oh. You want me to have two?" He says, with a playful smirk.

You give him a deadpan expression and shift in the blanket, bringing it up to cover your mouth.

"Okay, fine. Just one."

You shake your head, minimally. Just enough so that you don't shake your brain and make your head hurt even more, and he still gets the message.

"Be nice, mama. Just one, then i'll leave you alone--" he pauses, briefly, "--until I come back with your soup. Then you gotta give me another one. You know, Toji Tax."

You roll your eyes and huff. The Toji Tax is just Toji's way of getting extra loving from you. There's a Toji Tax on just about everything he does for you, so you're not surprised that your sickness doesn't exempt you from it.

Your reaction showed the signs that let Toji know that he's about to get what he wants. The barrier you raised over your mouth is lowered, your involuntary pout now on full display, ready to be kissed whenever Toji's ready.

"Don't look too excited," Toji jests. He chuckles at the gloomy expression on your face. You look absolutely miserable in this state. It's adorable, and while he would love to keep teasing you, he decides to move faster so that you can get your rest.

It starts with a peck—as promised. He's slow with separating his lips from yours, to keep the contact with you going for as long as possible. Then he goes in for another one—just as gentle and delayed in separation. You still haven't done anything to stop him, so he keeps going in for more and more, each kiss more fervent than the last. Within seconds, he's barraging you with quick kisses, back to back, as if to make up for the last twenty-four hours he went without feeling your soft lips against his. He's getting closer, almost climbing into bed with you, so you hum and turn your head. He starts following your movement, like an eager puppy, chasing after more of your kisses.

"Don't care if I get sick, ma."

You hum in disapproval and push his face away when he starts leaning in, again. Quickly, you cover your head with the blanket and roll to the other side of the bed.

Toji sighs, a mischievous smirk lingering on his face. He got way more than he expected, but when it comes to you, he can never have enough. He stands up from the awkward position he got himself into while he chased after your lips, and looks at your bundled up figure, now out of his reach.

"I'll be back, doll. Gonna go get your soup, but remember... Toji Tax."

[spencahreadreid]

Anyone else but you

fluffy, night in with spencer, he's absolutely SMITTEN with you. no y/n, no gender specifics! (i imagine spencer in the gif attached but any is fine)

Face to face in bed, his hand on your cheek, caressing the smooth skin, eyes wandering over your face as if you were a piece of Roman art. The short glances, smiles, were nothing compared to the way his clear admiration in this form made you feel.

Spencer could feel the warmth of your cheek in his hand, a pink blush covering both of them when his thumb brushes just below your bottom lip. Stifling a laugh, he takes his hand away, slotting it under his own head, between him and the pillow.

"You look beautiful tonight, sweetie.." the tone is doting and warm, as always. He couldn't take his brown doe eyes away from you. From any of you.

If his eyes left your face they would slowly trace down your exposed neck, collarbone, the shirt you wore for bed. Or they would travel up, your messy hair, the way it splayed out against the pillow so elegantly, as if you were painted by Da Vinci. Maybe they'd go both ways, up and then down.

You were silent, but the smile that mirrored his, suddenly plastered on your face after his small but meaningful compliment showed him your appreciation enough. Sometimes you two wouldn't talk, instead, bodies tangled, taking each other in.

Comforted by the sheets, covering both of you, the small gap between you making it dip. Spencer had chosen them when you first moved in together, he knew you loved the stars, and how much you hated white sheets. Stains would show too easily, of course he agreed. So black sheets, it had to be, adorned with small illustrated sparkles, stars and one image of the moon in the top right corner.

They fit you perfectly, that's what he thought at least, as if all of his thoughts were never about you. They were.

He would never admit it, but you knew, maybe you had never known love before him. Maybe you were delusional, reading into the delicate man's looks far too much, constantly reminding yourself: 'hes the profiler here, not me!'. But it was so clear, so obvious in everything he did. Anything he brought home; flowers, jewelry, clothes, usually just a small pastry from down the road.

Every. Single. Last. Gift. Every interaction, already planned out in his head, he knows what you like, what you want, what makes you happy. He feels as though he's made for it, put on this earth just to make you feel good, feel safe.

You wouldn't have it any other way, neither would Spencer. Even when he came home to music he'd never listen to if he was alone, allowing you to take 'selfies' with him although he hates modern technology.

Then of course, letting you hold his hand, even when it's safer to kiss. But you do both anyway, so why does that matter?

[solxamber]

Good morning/evening/ whenever you're reading this.

May I request Silver, Malleus, and Ace with someone who's like a sheep in wolfs clothing? Basically someone who seems intimidating and scary but is actually nice if that makes sense. Romantic or platonic is fine.

Malleus, Silver, Ace with a Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

hi! thank you for waiting, i hope this is what you wanted <3

Malleus Draconia

At first, Malleus is absolutely enchanted by the way you carry yourself. Your cool exterior, fierce glances, and aura of danger? He’s genuinely impressed. In his eyes, you’re practically royalty, strolling through campus with an air of mysterious authority that rivals his own.

But one evening, when the two of you are alone, he watches as you carefully kneel down to help a tiny creature—a shivering, injured bird, fallen from its nest. He’s speechless as you whisper gently to it, cooing softly as you tuck it into a makeshift cradle from your scarf.

“Ah, so even the fiercest can be kind,” he says, thoroughly charmed.

You look up, cheeks red. “What? No, I mean— I wasn’t… fierce,” you mutter, trying to explain away your rough side.

Malleus lets out a low chuckle, genuinely amused. “There’s no need to pretend with me, Child of Man. I find this side of you… endearing.” And with that, he offers his arm, as if escorting the most dignified person he’s ever met—like of course you’d be kind.

And every time he sees you after, he watches you just a little bit closer, hoping to catch more glimpses of the sweet, gentle heart beneath your “terrifying” façade.

Silver

Silver’s first impression? Oh, you were fierce, alright. With that intense stare and sharp wit, he thought you were the kind of person who could take on a horde of fire-breathing dragons without blinking.

But it doesn’t take him long to notice the little things: how you’re the first to offer help in a quiet, unassuming way. Or how you gave Grim half your lunch when he wouldn’t stop whining about his empty plate.

One day, he finally works up the courage to ask. “You’re… not like most people expect, are you?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh… how do you mean?”

He tilts his head thoughtfully. “You seem… gentle. Like someone who cares more than they show.” He says it simply, but with a warm smile.

“Oh! I—well, I guess…” You clear your throat, trying not to look too pleased. “Yeah, I try to be. Is that… weird?”

Silver chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Not at all. I think it’s admirable.” And with that, he goes back to his usual quiet self, though you notice he hangs around a bit more often, maybe just to keep an eye on you—or to be near you, enjoying the company of the sweetest “wolf” he’s ever met.

Ace Trappola

Ace was 100% convinced you were bad news when he first saw you. The way you stood, arms crossed and serious, maybe even a little cold, he thought for sure you were a total menace. So when he finds you one day, crouched down and helping a stray cat drink from a cup you’d brought, he actually does a double-take.

“You… feed stray animals?”

You look up, blushing furiously. “Uh… yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”

He bursts out laughing, clapping his hands. “Oh man, and here I thought you’d, like, fight a cat if it came too close!”

You roll your eyes, trying to act annoyed, but you can’t help but laugh, too. “Yeah, yeah, real funny.”

After that, Ace doesn’t let you live it down. He’ll pull you along when he sees a lost animal just to watch you fuss over it, teasing you the whole time. “Oh no, don’t let the fearsome ‘tough guy’ break out the baby voice again!”

But despite the endless teasing, he genuinely loves seeing you drop the act and show your soft side. And even if he won’t say it out loud, he thinks it’s pretty awesome having a friend as kind—and surprisingly tender—as you.

Masterlist

[meanbossart]

Ask compilation: DU drow, Orin, Astarion, lore things and little fun facts.

Trying to make a dent in this dang inbox. As always, thank you so much everyone for your patience and curiosity! Sorry that it is straight up no longer possible for me to reply to everyone, but I will keep doing my best within reason. Enjoy!

Absolutely! I had a lot of requests for bottom Astarion on my patreon which is why I was kind of on a roll there for a minute.

Though, for the record - I am really not very invested in strict bedroom roles at all. Or clear and distinct dominant/submissive dynamics. So please don't overthink it whenever there's a switch, no pun intended.

You wanna know how often they smash? Man, I don't know, I guess fairly often considering their lifestyle post-game (very active, often on the road).

Assuming that everyone agrees that sex doesn't have to involve penetration, I'd say once every other day or less, really depends on the circumstances though. DU drow's libido is much higher than Astarion's, but he's not an animal and can hold off fine. Astarion is likely to be pickier in regards to location and how-recently-have-we-bathed status as well.

I keep meaning to draw him, but I have like... A million things I want to do 😂 so its rough!

BUT you will at least continue to see him in ANE! And I'm sure i'm bound to draw him again in the future.

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

If you mean in his bhaalist "AU", where he has the red robe and the extra scars, I imagine he would have gotten it through killing Isobel.

I think as a changeling she probably has the ability to just... Transform her hair however she likes at will, right? And based on her attitude plus some lines we get from Sceleritas about her own former-butler, it sounds like she would be really opposed to being serviced in that way, to me at least.

I see her as pretty aggressively independent with the way she operates, which is another factor that sets her apart from DU drow, who really enjoyed lording over the other Bhaalists and making an errand boy out of Sceleritas, to the point where he practically depended on their help to function.

Neither! I wasn't willing to let anyone take either of my eyes in my first playthrough, LOL.

I have since always given the Volo eye to SOMEONE, usually Gale, but I don't consider that canonical. I don't think anyone was desperate enough to let mister frumpy-hat over there ice-pick their eyes out.

He did do them himself. It was a profoundly stupid display he got caught up in because of Gortash. Also, de-handment is kind of a theme in his life, at least inside his head.

I have a comic about it planned for the future ;)

What do you mean, that's canonical to the game and everything! He loves the cuck chair!

He is an angsty 29-year old in denial. Your interpretation is still perfectly accurate.

Hates the guy. Hates when Shadowheart Astarion people joke about him being the Drizzt of his generation. Hates the guy like literally any countercultural weirdo hates Taylor Swift or the Weeknd. If he saw him at the line in the grocery store DU drow would find a way to roll his eyes loudly just so he could notice being an asshole.

Stay tuned, I'm cooking 🧑‍🍳

If you're asking about game strats, badly, LOL. Pretty sure I died twice to her in my first run and it was a rough way of being thrown into "serious" DnD combat.

With the exception of a couple of encounters that just so happened to turn out SURPRISINGLY cinematic, I'm just realizing that I actually don't think too often about how most of the fights went in real-time! I imagine Autie Ethel's in particular wasn't one that DU drow went into of his own accord, probably rather at a companion's insistence. That's as deep as I've thought about that personally.

Now... Back to game strats. I personally try to get a surprise round on her however I can by sneaking and shooting an arrow or AOE in her general location, since she always stands on roughly the same spot while invisible. I have my companions spread about the arena so we can take her clones down as fast as possible, and as soon as I identify who the real Ethel is I just have the strongest martial characters wail on her until she begs to be let go. Hers is one of the few fights that is actually pretty dang easy at this point for me - and I SUCK at this game.

That would certainly take a while! But, Bhaalist DU drow does kind of have an end goal, actually.

That might also turn into a comic eventually, but it would a rough one.

He pretty swiftly disposed of her, DU drow doesn't like being talked down to, which Minthara very promptly does. Him (and I, by extension) had very limited exposure to her and she was just kind of a speck of dust in his story in particular. Though I have since grown to adore her character in my proceeding runs where I do recruit her!

I guess if he got an invitation and it wasn't particularly painful to arrive at the venue, sure! He would specially love to take Astarion to Gale's wedding ceremony and purposely upstage him at every at every opportunity, LOL.

Yes. He got pretty freaky with the pain-priest. This is gonna sound like a lie but I made him get naked for it without even knowing there was a buff to be gained (I didn't get it, unfortunately, I don't remember whether I failed a check or if I had camp clothes toggled on, so it didn't count as being truly nude). I wasn't taking the game very seriously and just doing dumb roleplay things to see what would happen, LOL.

And I consider that canonical. I think DU drow saw the opportunity to show off his physique And had a strange inkling that this was a practice he was... Somehow familiar with.

Imagine my joy when Astarion and Shadowheart start having a back-and-forth about my absurd display. That's when i knew those were my people, to be honest.

[hainethehero]

The energy in the 9-1-1 fandom space as of ep.8x06 has been off.

The 9-1-1 official page not posting much about any of this episode (specifically the disingenuous ending of an anticipated queer r/ship) is weird... especially considering how much traction the show got when they introduced AND MARKETED the Bisexual Buck-GayTommy relationship for even more traction.

Oliver just posting some random photos from bts (i know he's had no electricity due to fires) -but then posting & deleting a story of his bizarre response to fans criticism of his latest comments on Buck's sexual habits....

I personally think the main criticism for me is how poorly both he and Tim handled this plot, and the character of Tommy. They yapped so much about being respectful about queer relationships and bisexual representation and then just ended it with a lame, disingenuous conflict after NEVER making a genuine attempt to develop said relationship after season 7. The fact that they never included Buck & Tommy's relationship as a main plot for a single episode tells me that they were NEVER going to treat this queer relationship with genuine care or respect.

Ryan just posted stuff about Eddie (kudos to him, love me some Ryan content)

Aisha posting absolutely NOTHING

Kenny hasn't posted either

Lou just saying it was an honour & dipping. (I DO NOT blame him with the bullying he's faced from buddie stans)

It could very well be the elections & how absolutely insane the world is right now. And it could be stuff that went down bts (we'llneverknow). And trust me, this isnt sour grapes, if they were going to break up eventually, im fine with it. But all I know is, it was made clear that the Buck & Tommy queer relationship would be handled with genuine care & class (Tim) and that they'd "work through their hurdles" & "working out if their relationship [barely developed by the writers/show] was worth fighting to stay together for" (Oliver) and NONE OF THAT HAPPENED.

While the Eddie scenes were amazing & I love that Ryan's getting to explore more of his character, the Buck & Tommy scenes were made to look hopeful & promising, then they lazily scraped a "It's not you it's me" bs plotline &ended it abruptly.

It's NOT queerbaiting, but it's giving, "Yes we know we sold y'all a promising queer r/ship, here it is for 2 episodes, & now, it's done. Gone. Vanished into nothing. Thanks for your invested interest in s7&8a." [Maybe it's like an advanced level queer-stringing-along- ALQSA💀😭🤣]

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

SVT with an ADHD partner

Requested? Yes! (and they are still open!)

Genre: comfort

Seungcheol

Whether you’re a student, taking on new responsibilities at work, or picking up a big project at home, Cheol always encourages it, especially if it’s something that you really want to do or are passionate about. But he’s concerned when you’re carrying a lot of stress related to these things. Over dinner, you lament that you’re having trouble prioritizing everything you need to do because everything feels both important and urgent. He asks you to make him a list and your eyes glaze over a little because you definitely don’t have one, but he’s insistent. So you jot down what you can remember and the meal is long forgotten as he helps you work through the order things need to be done in by due date or how long it will take, and how important things really are (is this for an elective class or a major class? Is this for your boss or for someone else? Is this part of the project a hazard to leave unfinished in the house for long or will it just be a little bit messy if it sits for a bit?). He does it in such a delicate yet detailed way that the next day you don’t feel so overwhelmed by the long list because you actually have a game plan. 

Jeonghan 

You two regularly play a little game called ‘Hannie, can you help me find something’. You never know where you last had it or saw it, but he always asks just in case. He helps you look, tearing apart the house if he has to, especially if it’s an important thing. When this lost item is found (and it almost always is), he’ll hand it back to you and teasingly say something like, ‘what would you do without me?’. But if you ever seem upset by this comment or having lost the thing in the first place, he’ll be quick to reassure you that he’ll always play this game with you. Still, he buys little things to give you visible ‘homes’ for things - like a hook on the back of the door so your favorite sweaters and jackets don’t get wrinkled in the floor, or a decorative bowl to drop your favorite jewelry into so you don’t lose your favorite ring, or getting clear containers for things and labeling them so you know where to look for something. These little things make your life easier, so he’ll keep doing them. 

Joshua

You often lament about how cluttered your space is. You say it’s an organized mess and it wouldn’t normally bother you because you feel that you can function in it just fine, but you’ve been shamed about it a few times, whether it be the wrinkled, free-floating papers in your backpack, or the haphazard stacks of random things on your desk at work, or a total inability to keep your closet organized and not all over your floor. Where as Hannie is worried about your object permanence and losing things, Joshua is worried about adding some structure to these things to take stress off of you and reduce the shame you might feel about it. He buys you folders for each of your classes in colors you like, or a few cute labeled baskets for your desk to sort things by status, or installing a new closet organizer that might be more user friendly. He also absolutely doesn’t mind to come behind you and pick up and straighten a few things here and there if it prevents you from stressing about it when you see it later. 

Jun 

When you ask him how to make that one recipe that you both really like, Jun mindlessly rambles off the instructions. You don’t answer and he notices that your eyes glaze over. You ask him to repeat it again, but your glazed look doesn’t change when he does. He asks if you’re okay, and you admit that it’s a lot of steps and you’re afraid you’re going to mess it up. You’re not a bad cook, not by a long shot, but he sees that you need to take one thing at a time. So he goes to the kitchen and cooks with you, guiding you through the recipe. The following week, you find a neat little binder with handwritten recipes and detailed step by step instructions. There’s even a long strip of tape on the margin of each page, allowing you to mark off what you’ve done and not done with a dry erase marker. (I’m low key emotional thinking about this level of thoughtfulness.)

Hoshi 

No matter what he’s had to do that day or how tired he is, he is never too tired to match your energy. If you’re restless and need to get up and do something, he’s going with you. No request is too wild. A walk around the block? Sure. A sprint around the block? He’ll laugh but say ‘why not’ and start a game of tag. Need to blast music? He’ll hand you his phone to pick what you want to play on speaker. Need something visually stimulating? He’s putting on some bright, flashy game for the two of you to play. Genuinely, his creativity knows no bounds. 

Wonwoo

Everybody has bad days and you’re included in that. Wonwoo might have a little bit of a temper, but does everything he can to squash it with you, even when you are particularly quick to anger. It doesn’t prevent every single fight, but most often, he’ll tug you over to sit with him and ask what made you so angry and what he can do to help. Sometimes it’s something he can help and sometimes it’s not, but he does his absolute best to meet you with understanding when your temper flares, knowing that it could be a thousand (sometimes seemingly unrelated) things that made it bubble up in the first place. When the fights are unavoidable, he’s so apologetic afterwards because he absolutely hates fighting with you.

Woozi

He absolutely understands that sometimes some things just can’t be finished in a timely manner or at all, but he gets a lot of satisfaction out of finishing things when he can. One day, you’re watching him put away things you’ve left out or closing things you opened but forgot to close. He does this wordlessly without an ounce of bitterness, but still, you lament because you can’t seem to be able to close a damn cabinet, much less finish a big project. Will not let you linger on that because he genuinely doesn’t mind doing these little things, but he’ll always offer to help you make progress on those big projects. Literally does not matter what it is, he’ll take an active role by working on it with you, or take a more inactive role by just accompanying you as you work on it. You’ll never turn it down because you enjoy his company.

DK

Now I promise I’m not recycling ideas here, but the concept mentioned in my bipolar reaction for Seokmin applies here too. You like to talk and he likes to talk so really, you guys are the perfect match. He gets you, but sometimes others don’t. If anyone ever makes a comment that you’re talking too much, he will go out of his way to be even worse just to prove a point, because no one makes his baby feel bad!! He will not let you feel upset by this for long because he loves that he can talk to you about literally anything. He’d skip almost anything if he could just to keep the conversation going sometimes. Will forever be both the #1 fan and #1 defender of your yapping. 

Mingyu 

Now he’s protective naturally and you fire up a lot of those instincts. At first, he thought it was just because of how much he cares, but then he realizes it’s your bravery (or rather your impulsivity) that makes him that way. Because you will walk home alone at night, or go out and overdo it on the drinks, or go toe-to-toe with someone twice your size just because you’re pissed off, or speed when you drive. He loves your bravery, admires it even, but dreads the thought of you getting hurt when you sometimes lack this sense of danger for certain situations. So he walks with you or drives you everywhere, and accompanies you to the club every single time he can, and deescalates a tense situation or pulls you away all together. It really is just another reason for him to never leave your side, like he needed another one. 

Minghao

He knows stress is unavoidable to some extent, but he’s sometimes very worried about how it weighs you down more than most people. While Cheol might help you manage the source of the stress, Mingaho will be more worried about reducing the stress itself because it’s a good tool to have when you can’t avoid stressful situations or prioritize your way through it. Again, I promise I’m not recycling ideas here, but I genuinely think he’d be all over making sure you eat and sleep and find ways to relax. Even if you aren’t into meditation, he’ll have you try things like deep breathing, painting, and tai chi. Will not let you feel bad for a second about how other people seem to be able to handle this sort of stress. It doesn’t matter if other people can because it’s you he’s worried about. 

Seungkwan

While you’re a big picture person, he’s a small details person. It’s never bothered him, he actually enjoys that you think differently than him and open his eyes to things. But the cool thing is that he can do the same for you. You’re overwhelmed by or totally miss details sometimes, but he’ll do little things to show you that it’s not so scary. Like if you’re watching a movie together, he’ll pick out a little detail and say, “Oh my god, did you notice that?” He’ll roll the movie back and let you focus on it. Or he’ll encourage you to slow down for a second and reread the email you’re about to send. Or he’ll assure you that it’s okay if you made a mistake and that you can fix it. He will never, ever let you feel stupid for needing the little reminders to take a moment and pay attention to the details.

Vernon

Now, here’s the thing. He’s forgetful and yet not. Let me explain. He knows you forget to pack your lunch, so he does. He knows you forget your laptop charger when you put away your laptop, so when he sees the lone charger, he’ll put it with your laptop. He knows you sometimes forget to put the cap back on the toothpaste and puts it back on wordlessly. But you help him too. You remember names when he doesn’t. You don’t complain when he forgets to put the toilet seat down. You sometimes remember his schedule better than he does. I’m actually really soft thinking about the way you guys might help each other out with your own versions of forgetfulness. 

Chan 

In the beginning of your relationship, he thought your impatience was kind of cute. Don’t get me wrong, he still does, but he has come to realize just how frustrated you are sometimes because of it. Sometimes it’s little things like something taking too long to bake in the oven. Sometimes it’s that it takes too much time to actually fold your laundry. Sometimes it’s that slow driver in front of you on your way home. Sometimes it’s that you have an appointment in a couple hours and you can’t fathom squeezing anything else in before that. He helps by trying to counter this impatience in ways, sometimes subtle, sometimes not. He distracts you while something bakes, or he offers to fold your laundry, or he drives you wherever you need to go, handing you the aux cord. And on those appointment days, he wakes up early with you to help fill the time in a way that doesn’t feel constricting, assuring you that you won’t be late because he won’t let you be.

[elliehase-blog]

We're simply meant to be

I just had to write something about them. ❤️💜 This time it's longer than usual, and not proofread (sorry) but if you enjoy this little piece, you can read the rest on AO3.

~*~

In the afternoon, Roman is still quite relaxed. He polishes the blade of his sword, humming verses of Sally’s song. Hey, why not? He is only 51% sure that this is a kind of date tonight. It’s not as if Virgil was in any way clear with his all-but-nothing sentence.

»You're right, Roman. We can live like Jack and Sally if we want to.«

There. The word 'date' has not been used in any form.

Virgil had laughed at this point, to Roman’s utter bewilderment. A delightful little laugh that took up all of his attention and everything else outside had ceased to exist. And of course Roman had not known how to help himself other than to take the whole thing to the next level.

»And sit together, now and forever,« he had said, and had taken Virgil’s hands carefully in his. In this moment, Roman had only felt his heart pounding against his ribs in a whirling drum solo.

After that, Virgil had turned away in embarrassment and mumbled something that sounded like, »See you later.«

So maybe it is a date after all.

Perhaps.

(It’s certainly not.)

For seconds Roman bites his fingernails helplessly. He had seen so many cheesy romance movies in his life that he liked to consider himself an expert in the field. There was nothing to surprise him, as he knew all the signs and all the rules. And if you can no longer rely on cheesy romantic movies, then what?

But somehow all these rules never apply to Virgil.

How did they get here in the first place? Aren't they supposed to argue and fight like in the good old days? Sometimes, Roman likes to picture the deep, passionate rivalry he and Virgil have for each other. He imagines them having endless discussions about Disney characters, staring at each other in a fiery way. And when no one is around, Roman sighs deeply and longingly at this point and buries his heated face in velvety soft red silk pillows.

In the evening, Roman takes a look at his imaginary wardrobe and starts hyperventilating. He’s never had a no-date before. With nobody.

He has no idea what to wear and if he has any piece of clothing that says, 'When you look at me, I can’t breathe, and whenever you’re around me, I talk a lot more nonsense than usual, but if this is a date, I’d be totally fine with it.'

Lately, Virgil had just been too nice and peaceful around him. He means, nice… within the scope of his limited possibilities. Roman can’t say that this is terribly unpleasant, it’s just very… irritating. He has to do something. Or rather, he has to delegate this problem very quickly so that someone else does it for him.

Roman was great at delegating. This talent was practically innate. That's why he calls Logan.

»We have a… situation,« Roman explains dramatically. »I don't know what to wear!«

Logan throws a 'What do you want from me?' look at him. He raises his eyebrows wordlessly and completely unimpressed and makes absolutely no attempt to move even a millimetre from the spot.

»C’mon, Teach, I need your advice here!«

Usually, Logan would not have been his first choice in terms of clothing and taste, but he also has that unclouded and focused sight that Roman needed right now.

»Pleeeaaase!«

Logan sighs and Roman strongly assumes that this is supposed to mean agreement. Probably, Roman had convinced him with his astute argumentation and natural authority. That, or Logan, for once just doesn’t think a discussion is worth the trouble.

»What's the occasion?« he asks without further ado, pushing his glasses up in an unconscious gesture.

»Something… important,« Roman says vaguely.

[crooked-wasteland]

im guessing the point of pentious being in hell because of guilt for not snitching is suppose to make people angry and confused because it’s trying to show how unfair heaven is, but the writers are looking at Dante’s inferno which states guilt gets you sent to hell and the reason that is, is because when Dante was exiled from Florence no one came out to defend him and speak out against this outrage and injustice so he’s was very angry at the people of Florence and as a result he had written guilt be a sin. In Christianity guilt is a sign repentance and the path of redemption, so pentious guilt would’ve got him sent to heaven when he died.

Also how did pentious go from lonely reclusive to loud and destructive? Also i despise when other characters are telling another characters backstory. It happened with vaggie now it’s gonna happen with alastor, pentious backstory is fine just absolutely nothing.

1) Guilt as a sign of repentance is, from my understanding, more commonly found in Catholic and Orthodox Christianity. In more Protestant Christian faiths, Guilt is actually seen as a sign of sin. You are only guilty when you are a sinner. Feeling like you have done nothing wrong is a sign of forgiveness. This is found in the Millerite religions of the United States and all it's offspring denominations such as:

Baptists

Evangelists

Mormonism

Jehovah's Witnesses

Seventh Day Adventists

Presbyterians (this is the religion Medrano was raised in).

So perhaps that could clear up some of that confusion. (As well as the confusion about why America is like this.)

2) When I saw the leak for Alastor, my spouse did a delightful Alastor impression saying "Yes, Rosie, I know. I was there." In response to him being told his own backstory.

[milkteabinniechan]

♡With My Bartender - Seungmin

(this is a membership exclusive + a preview👀 you can read the whole depraved story here)

pairing: bartender! Seungmin x fem! reader

summary - Being stood up sucks but it isn't so bad when the cute bartender keeps you company. But what happens when your boyfriend does show up but with another girl? Looks like the bartender needs to teach this guy a lesson he'll never forget.

warnings: mentions of alcohol, cheating, physical fights, rough sex, public sex, praising, breeding kink, creampies

“What can I get ya?” The bartender's eyes met yours only for a second. A deep brown that seemed to pull you in and hold you close before he pulled his gaze away to the person behind you. You waited for his attention to move to you again before leaning over the bar to say, “rum and coke, please.”

The bartender smirked at your order but said nothing. His strong hands slid across the finished wood of the counter and grabbed a small glass. Then he turned to grab a large bottle of rum. He poured a generous amount of the Amber liquid before filling the glass the rest of the way with Coca-Cola. He slid the glass towards you and landed it perfectly in your waiting hand. He was a seasoned pro and he knew it.

“That will be $5.50, miss.” He said, cleaning a glass as he watched you reach for your wallet. You handed him a $10 bill and told him to keep the change. He nodded appreciatively at the tip and watched you slowly drink from your glass. “So, what brings you out tonight?” He leaned in, his focus now solely on you.

You mindlessly swirl the small straw around your drink before answering. “I'm meeting my boyfriend…” your voice trails off for a moment, “if he even still is my boyfriend anymore.”

The bartender’s expression turns sympathetic as he watches you. “I see. Sometimes relationships can be a bit... complicated.” He leans against the bar, his arms crossed as he looks at you with concern in his eyes. “Is everything okay between you two?”

You nod your head solemnly, a part of you still trying to stay positive. “Yes, we're fine. He's just been distant. And I got all dressed up for him, too.” Your hand motions down to your little black dress. The fabric almost seems to pour over your body perfectly.

His eyes briefly flicker over your dress, taking in the way the fabric accentuates your curves. He clears his throat and looks away, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “You look absolutely stunning, I must say. That dress is…” He pauses, searching for the right word. He chuckles nervously, his blush deepening. “Quite...revealing. Your boyfriend would be a fool to not appreciate the effort you've put in tonight.” He looks back up at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. “I'm Seungmin, by the way.”

You shake his hand and introduce yourself before taking another long sip of your drink. Seungmin watches as you drink, his gaze fixated on your lips wrapped around the straw. He quickly looks away when you lower your glass, clearing his throat. “So, what does he do for a living? Your boyfriend, I mean.” He asks, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

[sorinethemastermind]

Blackest Night (3/4)

In which Soren's family search for him in the hopes it's not too late, and Soren has to choose his destiny. @honeii-puff here's like 9K words of emotional devastation.

 Soren opened his eyes, but he might as well not have. His surroundings were pitch black. Until they weren’t.

 A beam of light pierced the endless darkness overhead, shining directly down onto him. He squinted, throwing up a hand to shield his eyes. It was then, with his hand over his face, that he realized the purple veins were gone. He turned his hand over and over, inspecting it. The cut on his palm was gone as well. And… he felt fine?

 He looked around, eyes slowly adjusting to the dichotomy of complete light and darkness. There were no trees, no sky, no grass beneath his feet. And most importantly, no Aaravos.

 “Hello?” he called, turning to take in the endless dark surrounding him. No shapes loomed out of it, no figures appearing to tell him where he was or what this was. Did he cast a spell on me? Soren wondered, beginning to panic. Does that mean Aaravos survived? 

 “Hello? Is anybody there?” he called again, stepping out of the beam of light. Or, trying to. It moved with him and he glanced up, searching for a source. That was a mistake, it was blinding, and he looked away quickly, blinking rapidly. 

 “Alright, fine.” he said to the darkness. “If you won’t tell me what you are, then I’ll just figure it out myself.”

 He started to walk. The light followed him, the darkness on every side remaining otherwise absolute. It gave him the impression of walking in place, which as good a work out as that could be, was not his intention. But he had to be going somewhere. This place couldn’t go on forever. Could it?

 It took him a little while to realize that there was something different under his feet. Soren looked down, confused to see footprints that weren’t his own. He looked behind himself, the vague outlines of them just visible in the dimness where the light met the darkness, fading out of view behind him like they went on forever, too. He turned back ahead and saw them stretching before him as well; definitely not his own footprints, then.

 He followed them, his own feet fitting them perfectly, as though the path had been made for him. As though some other version of him had walked it long before he had ever come to this place. Or, Soren thought more logically, maybe I’m just going in circles and I didn’t realize it. 

 But that made less and less sense the more he thought about it. He’d been walking straight this entire time, never even weaving to one side or the other. Which could only mean one thing; he wasn’t alone.

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 Thankfully, Corvus was a tracker and Soren wasn’t the most subtle man in the world. They were able to pick up his trail fairly easily, once they realized he’d left straight out the main gate. His footsteps in the ash led them to the edge of the road, and from there into the woods. His destination was clear to all of them, and they picked up the pace, moving as quickly as they could over the uneven ground. 

 Aaravos had thought of that, too. Callum thought bitterly. The trees were too thick for horses, the ground uneven enough to make sure a larger force would have a hard time picking their way through. 

 “Why would Soren do this?” Ezran was asking, panting as he trudged alongside them. His shorter legs were having to work twice as hard for him to keep pace with them. 

 “I don’t know.” Callum said, the animosity between them forgotten under the current circumstances.

 “You two don’t pay very good attention, then.” Corvus said from up ahead, turning back to them. “He would do anything for you.”

 “But we didn’t ask-”

 “You didn’t have to.” Corvus said, turning back to the trail. 

 Callum felt chastised, and maybe rightly so. Soren had always been there for them, even after things got complicated. Sure, there had been some bumps in the road. But he was practically their brother. Callum shook his head.

 “I just don’t understand why he’d be so stupid as to go and do it alone.”

 “He’s Soren.” The other three said at once.

 Callum grimaced. The spell had certainly seemed like a better idea when it had been his own life on the line. Now though… he just hoped they wouldn’t arrive too late.

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 Soren followed the path of footsteps for a long time. He wasn’t honestly sure just how long, but it was enough for him to start to wonder if he really had just been going in circles this entire time. He was on the verge of giving up; breaking off and walking into the darkness in some other direction just to see what would happen, when he saw a glimmer of movement in the distance. He picked up the pace, at first shifting into a light jog, but it turned into an all out run not long after.

 The glimmer slowly gained a form, and then features, and then Soren came to an abrupt halt. He was close enough now that the light shone on the both of them, and he reached out towards the familiar figure.

 “Clauds?” he asked, hesitating for a moment before grabbing her arm. “Claudia, is that you?”

 She didn’t wrench away from him like he’d expected her to, instead turning slowly to face him. Her skin was a pale gray, marred with the dull purple scars of dark magic. Her hair, once black, was almost entirely white. 

 “Sorbear?” she asked, eyes going wide, her smile wider. “Oh, it is you!” 

 She threw her arms around him in a tight embrace, catching Soren off guard and nearly throwing him off balance. 

 “I’ve missed you.” she said before releasing him, stepping back to smile up at him. “But now you’re here!”

 Claudia grabbed his hand and started pulling him on along the path, their footfalls landing perfectly in the indents already laid out before them. Even though he’d found Claudia, the prints were still stretching ahead of them both; like a preordained road to… somewhere. He didn’t know where, and didn’t know if he wanted to.

 “Claudia, wait.” Soren pulled his hand from her grasp, forcing her to stop and turn back to him. “Where are we?”

 “We’re not there yet, silly.” she said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, we will be soon.”

 “No.” Soren said, glancing around them in steadily growing alarm. “Where are we right now? Did Aaravos trap you in here, too?”

 “Trap me? We’re not trapped. We’re almost there.” She reiterated, trying to take his hand again. He pulled away from her. 

 “Clauds, I don’t think this is right.”

 She frowned, eyes flickering solid black for a split second, and Soren took a step back. But then it was gone, like he’d made it up. Maybe he had, along with the rest of this place. Or maybe…

 “Claudia, it’s okay. I’m going to get you out of here.” Soren placed his hands on her shoulders, only seeing the smiling face of his little sister despite the gray complexion and violet markings.

 “It’s going to be okay.” he repeated.

 “What do you mean it’s going to be?” she asked, tilting her head to give him a confused half smile. “It’s already okay. We’re almost there.”

 “I don’t know where there is.” Soren told her. “But if Aaravos wants us to go that way, we definitely shouldn’t.”

 “Aaravos is dead, Sorbear.” she told him, patting him on the shoulder. “You killed him, remember? Now come on, Dad is waiting." 

 “Dad-” the word shot through Soren like lightning, his grip on Claudia’s shoulders tightening. 

 “Ow!” she pulled away from him and he released her instantly. “Soren, you’re scaring me.”

 “I- I’m sorry.” he stammered, reaching out for her momentarily before pulling his hands back. “It’s just… Dad is dead, Claudia.”

 “No.” She shook her head. “No. No, no-”

 “But it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of here. We still have each other. We’ll figure it out. ” 

 Claudia’s shoulders were shaking, and Soren glanced around desperately for a way out, another pathway, anything.

 “No-no-no-no.” Claudia was saying, the words bleeding together as her voice climbed higher. “No-no-no-no-no!”

 Soren turned back to her, searching for something to say, some way to explain what had happened. But before he could say anything she threw back her head, a hysterical burst of laughter escaping her throat.

 “No, no, no!” she screamed, and when she looked back at him, purple tears were leaking down her face. “Dad isn’t dead, because if he was, then it would be your fault. And you wouldn't do something like that, would you? Not again. Because I don’t think I could forgive you a second time.”

 “Oh, no, no, no.” Claudia shook her head. “I don’t think I could forgive you a second time.”

 “Clauds, please, you have to understand.” Soren reached for her, his voice breaking.

 “How could you?” She screamed. “How could you? How could you?”

 Soren covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, the shrill sound echoing through the darkness around him. 

 “How could you? How could you? How could you?”

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 Rayla was pretty sure this was all her fault, somehow. Then again, she was pretty sure that most things were. She was exhausted; both mentally and physically. But she couldn’t let that stop her. Not now, not when Soren could be dying around any corner. 

 If only I hadn’t asked Callum to come sleep in my room, she berated herself. How dumb am I? How could I have not seen this coming.

 “Rayla, are you okay?” Callum’s voice broke through her internal litany and she turned to where he was walking beside her. It was nearly midday, and she could see the sweat on his brow, the tired bags under his eyes from another sleepless night. Even when they did reach the glen, they were in no position to face Aaravos. Their only hope was that Soren had succeeded in casting the spell and killing him. And that meant hoping that Soren had, in fact, poisoned himself with Dark Magic. It was a grim hope. One Rayla would rather not have. 

 “I’m okay.” she sighed. What else was there to say? It wasn’t like they could turn back. Not when this was their fault in the first place.

 “Do you need to rest?”

 “We can’t rest, Callum.” Corvus told them from up ahead. His lead had only grown over the last couple hours; nearly doubling so that now she only caught sight of him when he doubled back to check on them. Now must have been one of those times.

 “Soren could be anywhere, don’t you realize that?” he continued, voice hard and pointed. “Because of your spell.”

 “I didn’t ask him to do this!” Callum snapped back, instantly defensive. “And anyway, when did you start to care so much about Soren?”

 Rayla could see instantly in Corvus’ face that Callum’s words had actually hurt him, and she stepped between them. If Soren wasn’t here to do it, then she would have to fill his shoes. 

 “Stop it, both of you.” she told them. “Callum, I’m fine. And Corvus is right. We don’t have time to rest, anyway.”

 She turned to where the tracker had stopped in the woods up ahead of them. “And Corvus, you know he didn’t mean that. We all care about Soren. That’s why we’re on edge.”

 Corvus just sighed, the hurt in his eyes lingering despite her words. But it wasn’t hurt from what Callum had said, Rayla slowly realized. It was something deeper, older.

 “I just… couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to him, and I’d never told him.” Corvus said, slowly. 

 “Told him what?” Rayla asked softly, taking a few steps closer to him.

 Corvus didn’t meet her gaze, instead leaving it firmly fixed on his shoes. “That I love him.”

 She heard Callum’s stifled gasp behind her, but didn’t pay it any mind. Instead she crossed the remaining distance separating her from Corvus and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be able to tell him. I know it.”

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 When Soren opened his eyes, Claudia was gone, the shrill echoes of her laughter fading into the luxurious, if somewhat threadbare, upholstery of his father’s office. He let his hands fall back to his sides. What kind of prison is this, he thought desperately.

 “Ah, Soren, you’re here.”

 He whirled at the sound of his father’s voice, hand going for the blade at his side, except, of course, it wasn't there. Viren was facing a bookshelf a few steps away from him, one hand absently tracing the spines of the books even as his eyes roved over them. 

 “Good. Here it is." He took one of them down, walking past Soren as though this was a normal occurrence - as though he wasn’t a ghost - and cleared a space for it on the table. The tome made a loud thump as he dropped it onto the scarred wood, the cover falling open to reveal a page near the end, the paper creased and stained.

 “Come. I want to show you something.” his father said, beckoning him forward with a finger. Soren found his feet moving nearly of their own volition, carrying him towards the table. He considered resisting, but there was something oddly comforting about his father being there, just like he used to; dressed in his old robes of office and hunched over a book.

 “What is it?” Soren asked as he came to a halt beside Viren, only to find that he was too short to see over the top of the table. “I can’t see.” 

 His voice had climbed in pitch, and when he looked down at his hands, he found a familiar dragon plush clutched in them.

 “Daddy?” he asked, looking up. “Daddy, I can’t see.”

 His father reached down and picked him up, setting him on the edge of the table. Soren sat there, legs dangling over the side of the table, and peered at where Viren was pointing. The book depicted a smiling family; a mother, father, and two children. A son and a daughter. 

 “It’s us.” Soren declared, pointing at each in turn. “That’s you, and that’s Clauds, and that’s me, and that’s-”

 Except when he went to point at the mother, she was suddenly gone, and in place of the little family portrait were the instructions to a spell.

 “Where did Mommy go?” Soren asked, looking up at his father. His eyes, once smiling, had gone cold. Viren turned away. 

 “She left.” he told Soren, and the lights in the office began to snuff out until only one remained, directly above Soren’s head. He squinted against the harshness of it as his father’s form retreated into the dark.

 “Daddy?” he asked, the dragon plus falling from his grasp as he reached for him. But the darkness continued to swallow the room, and him with it. 

 “She left, just like you did.”

 “I- I had no choice.” Soren stumbled to his feet, legs suddenly long enough to reach the floor again. He grabbed for his father, but he was trapped inside the light, unable to reach him. “You didn’t give me any choice!”

 “You always had a choice.” Viren spat, turning back to him, eyes shining black, dull purple scars creeping out from beneath his collar and stretching up across his face. “I made sure of that. You would be dead without me, Soren. I gave you everything. And you still left. What did you want from me? What more could I have given you? I gave you my heart.”

 And the darkness ate up his father, and it ate up the room, and Soren was falling. 

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 Neither Ezran nor Callum really knew what to say to Corvus’ proclamation, so they just continued on. Rayla walked beside him for a little ways, offering comfort. She understood more than most, Ezran guessed, what waiting too long felt like. If in a different sort of way.

 Ez looked up at his big brother, plodding along beside him. He could see the tired lines in his face, reminding him of the way their father had looked after an especially long council session. 

 “Are you okay?” Ezran asked him, quiet enough that neither Rayla or Corvus could hear. He knew his brother well enough to know that if Rayla was present, he would be too worried about her to really talk about whatever was bothering him. They were both so silly, sometimes. 

 “I’m fine.”

 “You sure?” Ezran pried. “You certainly seem like you’ve got some big feelings in there.”

 “I said I’m fine.” Callum snapped, but after a moment his expression softened to one of remorse. “Sorry.”

 “It’s okay. You just needed to get it out of your system.”

 “I- I’m sorry, about a lot of things.” Callum admitted.

 "Well?" Ezran waited, raising an eyebrow at his older brother. Callum sighed, half laugh and half exasperation.

"I'm sorry about the way I've been treating you." he continued. "And I'm sorry about not warning you about Runaan, and I’m sorry about-"

"Wait, Callum." Ezran interrupted him. "I'm sorry, too. I… I understand why you brought Runaan back. I don't necessarily agree, but I understand. You did it for her."

 Their gazes both trailed up the path to Rayla and Callum smiled a little weakly.

 "I'd do anything for her." He looked back down to Ezran. "Just like I would do anything for you."

 "I know, Callum. But did you ever think that maybe I don’t want you to?”

 Callum paused, looked away. “That’s not how it works.”

 “Are you glad that Soren did this?”

 “What? No, of course not-” he broke off, shaking his head. “You’re good, you know that?”

 “I know it.” Ezran said, flashing his brother a quick grin before continuing; “So… you wish that Soren had come to you for help, and let you help him? Do you, maybe, I don’t know; wish he hadn’t of run off to sacrifice himself for the greater good even though you didn’t ask him to? Do you maybe wish that you could do something to help him other than just hope he’s alive?”

 “I think you’ve made your point.” Callum told him. Ezran stopped abruptly in the middle of the forest, turning to throw his arms around his brother.

 “Good.” he said, voice muffled by Callum’s shirt. After a moment his brother’s arms closed around him, and he rested his chin on Ezran’s head the same way he used to when Ez was small. He still was small. Sometimes even Ezran himself forgot that. 

 “No more stupid hero stuff.” Callum told him.

 “No more stupid hero stuff.” Ezran agreed. “We’re family. We’re supposed to be stupid together.”

 “Are you going to tell Soren that if we find him?”

 “When.” Ezran said, pulling away and looking up at Callum, expression set. “When we find him.”

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 Soren landed on something hard, and cold, and distinctly familiar. He gasped as the wind was knocked from his lungs by the force of the impact, taking a moment to regain it before trying to push himself back up to his feet. But his arms and legs didn’t obey. He tried again, but only achieved the same result. 

 A familiar panic filled him, and Soren fought to keep his breathing steady. Rain began to fall from the sky as he lay there, alone in the dark, unable to move. It was just him and the boulder. Until it wasn’t. Somewhere nearby a dragon roared and Soren flinched, or he tried to, but he couldn’t. 

 It’s okay, he told himself, desperation rising in his chest even as he tried to remain calm. His heart thudded against his ribs, the sound climbing in his ears. It’s okay, this isn’t real. It’s all just a trick. 

 But the roar of the dragon came again, closer this time, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing it away. It’s just Pyrrah. You and Pyrrah are friends. You’re friends with dragons. You’re one of the good guys now. 

 The roar sounded so close he imagined she had to be right in front of him, and his eyes flew open. But there was nothing there; only more darkness. 

 “Hello?” he tried, voice wavering. The rain filled his mouth when he opened it, and he spat it out. It tasted acrid, not like rain at all. “Hello!? Anybody?”

 Nobody appeared out of the darkness, not even Pyrrah. Was it Pyrrah? What if it was someone else, like the dragon that had destroyed Katolis? 

 As if summoned by the notion, buildings began to loom out of the darkness around Soren; crumbled battlements and the charred remains of the stables. His breathing quickened, what once had been rain turning to ash. It landed on him; coating his skin and filling his nose and mouth with every breath. Soren coughed, choking on the thick, cloying flakes. 

 “Help!” he called, watching as the ash began to build up on him. He tried again to move, but it was pointless. “Help! Help, anybody, please! I can’t move!”

 The ash was endless, covering everything in sight. It wasn’t long before it had built up enough of a layer on him that he blended into the already covered ground. 

 “Help!” he called again, but it just filled his mouth more. 

 Then, movement. Soren’s eyes tracked it along the edges of his peripheral vision, wondering if it was the dragon, come to finish him off. 

 “Hello?” he called anyway. If it was, then it was. And if it wasn’t, then maybe they could help him.

 “What is it that you said?” A voice answered from the dark, almost playful. “The castle is just a building, we need to save lives.” 

 “And how did you save those lives?" the voice asked, becoming painfully familiar. It was behind him now, but Soren couldn’t turn his head. It answered it’s own question. “By taking one. You really are your father’s son.”

 “I’m nothing like him.” Soren snarled.

 “Oh, but you are.” Aaravos crooned, stepping into view from around the other side of the boulder. “Asking others to sacrifice themselves for your greater good. Isn’t that why you left him, after all? And here you are, turning to Dark Magic the moment it’s convenient.”

 “There was no other way.” Soren said. “I- I didn’t ask him to do it. I offered to-”

 “Oh, you knew he would never agree to that.” Aaravos waved the notion away, but paused at the look on Soren’s face.

 “You really thought he would do that to you? Your father was never that much of a monster.” he laughed. “No matter how much you want to think him one, he always cared for you and your sister. It was his greatest weakness. It was what stopped him from being great.” 

 Aaravos clucked his tongue and gave a shake of his head. “A pity, really. He couldn’t be good, but if he hadn’t of had you holding him back, at least he could have been great. Your sister, on the other hand.” he smiled. “Now she will be great.”

 “You stay away from her!” Soren shouted, desperately trying to move. His body didn’t listen any more than it had before.

 Another voice came from the shadows then, and Claudia stepped into the light beside Aaravos. Her hair was solid white, her features scarred and distorted. Soren’s eyes widened. 

 “I thought you wanted me to make a choice?” she said, lingering at the elf’s side. Aaravos reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

 “No.” Soren choked out. “Please, Clauds, he’s dangerous.”

 “You said that about Dad, once. And look where he is now.” She waved a hand and gestured to the debris surrounding them. “Buried under the rubble of your failings. Maybe he wasn’t the dangerous one. Maybe it’s you.”

 “Claudia, please.”

 “You wanted me to choose, Soren. I made my choice.”

 “No, Claudia, you can’t do this.” But they were already fading into the darkness and he couldn’t even try and reach for her. “Claudia! He’s using you!”

 “Then what were you doing?”

 “What-”

 “I’m like this because of you.” she turned back to him, stepping out of the dark just enough for him to see her face again. Her hair had reverted to it’s original black, all but for a single white streak. “Everything I did, I did for my family. But you, you abandoned us. Just like Mom did. Just like everybody does.”

 “It wasn’t-”

 “You left me.” she sobbed. “You left me. You said that no matter what happened, we would always have each other. And then you left me.”

 She turned away again, her form retreating into the darkness. “See how it feels.”

 “Claudia! Wait, come back! I won’t leave you! I’m sorry! I won’t ever leave you again!” he called after her until his throat was raw and every breath was choked with ash. Until the rubble around him was buried in it, and he was too. Until all he could see, and taste, and breath was gray.

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 When they found him, they almost couldn’t believe it. They arrived well after sundown, the moon and flitting forms of lighting bugs offering the only light. Corvus almost didn’t see it through the darkness, but at the last moment the moonlight reflected off a half broken statue of an elf, standing in a clearing, and he stumbled forward, feet crunching on something jagged.

 He looked down, lifting his foot carefully off the smashed glass jar on the ground. A book lay on the stone next to it, small droplets of blood smearing the page with the incantation.

 “Soren!” Corvus cried, not caring who might hear. “Soren, hold on!”

 He stumbled forward, hearing the others picking up the pace behind him. They burst into the clearing at about the same time that he spotted him, lying on the grass near the statue’s feet. But he wasn’t alone. There was a cloaked figure leaning over him, small and frail. Corvus’ hand drifted towards his weapon even before he realized who it was.

 Claudia looked up at him, the hood falling back from her face to reveal hair almost entirely stark white. The only thing that stalled his hand was the sight of the tears in her eyes, her cheeks already wet with them.

 “What did you have him do?” she asked, voice harsh and quavering. 

 Corvus came to halt above them both, and Claudia looked past him and towards the others. Her mouth twisted into a snarl. “What did you have him do!?”

 Ezran was the one who answered. “We didn’t ask him to do this, Claudia.”

 “And why should I believe that?” she hissed, standing up to face them, hands going to the staff slung across her back. “All you’ve ever done is use him.”

 “What are you talking about?” 

 “You- you manipulated him, lied to him. It’s the only way he could have… have turned on us. Turned on me. You did something to him.”

 “We didn’t do anything, Claudia.” Ezran’s voice was gentle, like he was trying to calm a wild animal.

 “Then why-” her voice broke, hand falling from the staff as she dropped back to the ground beside her brother, both hands clasping one of Soren’s. “Why would he leave me? Why would he do this?”

 “Aaravos is the one using people.” Callum said from behind Corvus. “Or, he was.”

 “Don’t talk about him that way.” Claudia snapped. “Aaravos believed in humans. He gave us magic.”

 “He destroyed Katolis! He killed your father!” 

 Claudia turned to them then, horror painting her features, but it was just as quickly replaced by disbelief. “He would never. You killed my father. You and your elf.”

 Corvus let them argue, he couldn’t care less. He dropped to Soren’s side even as Claudia rose from it, her and Callum’s voices rising as they began a shouting match. It wasn’t long before Ezran and Rayla joined them.

 Corvus brushed Soren’s hair from his face, clutching one of his friend’s hands to his chest. It was crisscrossed with purple veins, standing out against his pale skin.

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 “Come back to me, Soren. Please.”

 Soren was floating, drifting lazily through the dark as he sank further and further below the surface. The ash had given way to the endless churning of a gray sea, the crashing waves just vague flashes of movement far above him. But the familiar voice pierced the depths like a ray of light, illuminating the water around Soren. 

 “Corvus?” his question emerged as a stream of bubbles from his lips, and Soren was suddenly aware of the fact that his lungs were full of water. He choked, gasping desperately for air even as the feeling returned to his limbs and he began to kick towards the surface.

 He swam upward, but the churning waves above him never seemed to get any closer. Pushing frantically at the water, he tried to propel himself further, but what oxygen had been in his body was swiftly running out, the water in his lungs like a weight dragging him down further. He fumbled awkwardly with his armor, detaching it and letting it fall away. Lightened, he tried again, kicking at the water until-

 “Soren, please. Please come back to me. I need you.”

 His head broke the surface, coughing up water, and then his father was there, leaning over his bedside, and the waves had transformed into the rumbled sheets of his bed.

 “It’s okay, Soren.” His father said. “Breathe. Just breathe. In through-”

 Soren threw the remaining covers aside, stumbling from the bed and towards the door. He wasn’t going to do this again. He wasn’t going to fall for whatever trick this was.

 “Soren?” Another voice brought him to an instant standstill, and he stood there, eyes squeezed shut, as though that would stop him from hearing it. Stop it from being real.

 “Soren, are you alright?” his mother stood from her place at the foot of his bed, crossing the room to place a gentle hand on his arm. And suddenly he wasn’t trying to escape, he was trying to stay. To stay there in her arms, because she was enveloping him in a warm hug, and somehow she smelled the same way he remembered from when he was small. He hadn’t even realized he remembered until now. 

 He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, as though she could slip away at any moment. 

 “Soren, it’s okay. It’s okay, now. Just breathe.”

 And he did, shakily at first, but growing stronger and steadier, until his lungs weren’t burning anymore. She let him go, stepping back to look at him with a smile in her eyes and on her face.

 “There we go. Isn’t that better?”

 “You’re not real.” he choked out. “None of this is real.”

 “Of course I’m real, Soren.” she reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair out of his face. “I’m right here.”

 “No, you’re not.” he managed, almost as though convincing her would make it better. Would make this all end. “None of this is. You’re… you left. And Dad-”

 “What about me, son?” his father stood up, looking at him the way he used to. The way he looked at him before he got sick.

 “You’re dead.” Soren told him, voice breaking. “I killed you.”

 Something crashed above them and the beams of the house shook, but neither of them so much as glanced up. Soren could hear screaming outside, and he looked around wildly for the door. 

 “What’s happening?” he asked, but when he turned back to them, it was only his father, dressed in rags, standing in his cell. 

 The cuffs clattered from his wrists as Soren watched, and the screams outside rose in pitch. When Soren looked down at his hands, he found the Staff of Xiard clutched in them. He dropped it in horror, staggering back against the cold iron bars of the cell.

 “It’s okay, Soren.” his father stepped closer, leaning down to pick up the staff. “I have to do this.”

 “No.” Soren shook his head, blocking his way to the door. “I- I’m not going to kill you again.”

 “Oh, my son.” Viren took a step forward, reaching out for Soren hesitantly before letting his hand fall back down to his side. “You didn’t kill me. I made the sacrifice, the same way you did. Anything for family. However dangerous, however vile.”

 “But I-”

 “Don’t. Let me do this for you.”

 Soren hesitated. Anything for family. His expression hardened. “You’re right.”

 He reached out, snatching the staff from his father’s hands and running from the room. He let the cell door clang shut behind him, turning swiftly to lock it before his father could follow.

 “Soren!” Viren called, reaching for him through the bars. “Soren, don’t! Dark Magic is dangerous!”

 However dangerous. Soren ran for the stairs that led from the dungeons, turning back one last time as he neared them, just long enough to see his father’s sad smile. 

 “I’m so proud of you, son.”

 Soren turned and he ran away. He didn’t even notice that he was crying.

 The great tree in the courtyard was burning, raining flaming leaves onto the stones below. They singed Soren’s arms and face as he ran beneath it, yelling at everyone to get out; to leave everything and run. He thundered up the stairs and down the halls, barely stopping to catch his breath, and crashed through the already damaged doors and into the king’s quarters. There, he thought. That's where he did it. 

 Soren glanced around wildly, searching for a weapon. Ezran wasn’t the type to keep a blade in his chambers, but King Harrow had been. Soren pulled the halberd from the iron grip of the suit of armor that clutched it, trying desperately to remember what the rune was that he had seen on his father’s chest when he pulled him from the rubble. Despite his attempts not to look at it, the image had burned itself into Soren’s mind. He’d never thought he’d be grateful for that one day.

 He went to the edge of the bed, bracing the thinnest point of the metal against the footboard and applying as much pressure as he could. The cold steel cut into his hand as he pressed on it, but he didn’t stop until a small part of it snapped away. Discarding the rest of the weapon, he lifted the shard from where it had landed on the ground and - realizing he’d already abandoned his chestplate in the gray sea - set to work. 

 He hissed with pain as the metal bit into his skin, but the rune didn’t need to be deep. He hoped. Once he had finished, he let the shard of bloodied metal fall back to the floor and staggered towards the open doors of the balcony. He could still hear people screaming, their voices rising as he stepped out into the open air, thick with smoke and ash. Flames crackled nearby, and he could feel their searing heat on his face and exposed skin.

 The dragon swooped by overhead, and he could swear that he heard laughing. The cold, ruthless laugh of his enemy. Soren staggered forward, supporting himself on the carved railings of the balcony. Reaching the end, he hefted the staff before him, fingers slotting into place as though he’d done it a thousand times before. As though it were destiny.

 Maybe it was, some bitter part of him though. A destiny he’d spent his entire life running from. Well, he wasn’t running now. 

 “Hearts of cinder… do not burn.” he muttered it to himself the first time. “Hearts of cinder.. do not… burn.” he said it again, more forcefully this time. And when the dragon swooped by again overhead, he raised the staff, and he proclaimed it to the sky.

 “𝔑𝔯𝔲𝔟 𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔞𝔠 𝔯𝔢𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔠 𝔣𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔢𝔥!” the dragon’s head swiveled to face him at the sound of his voice, and it roared. But Soren wasn’t afraid. 

 “𝔑𝔯𝔲𝔟 𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔞𝔠 𝔯𝔢𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔠 𝔣𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔢𝔥!” he told it, watching as the purple light shone from the staff and washed over the people below him. It moved like a wave across the courtyard and the castle, enveloping everyone. It was kind of pretty, Soren thought dimly. 

 The dragon roared again, mouth opening wide, and he could see the flames building in its throat. But he just roared back. “𝔑𝔯𝔲𝔟 𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔞𝔠 𝔯𝔢𝔡𝔫𝔦𝔠 𝔣𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔢𝔥!”

 And the spell settled into place, protecting everyone below him. “My heart for Katolis!” he screamed at the dragon as it spewed it’s fiery breath down upon them. 

 And nobody burned, but Soren did. 

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 Claudia shouted at them until her voice was hoarse and none of them had anything left to say. She probably would have kept shouting, even then, except as she was opening her mouth to do just that, Soren gave a horrible, blood curdling scream behind them and everything else was forgotten.

 Claudia fell to her knees beside her brother. Clasping his hand in hers and clutching it to her. His chest was rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, and she could feel her own quickening to match. 

 “What’s happening to him?” Corvus asked her in a panic. Even as the rest of them argued with each other, he had never left Soren’s side. Claudia looked up to meet his gaze, finding tears in his eyes. She felt her own fill as well.

 “He’s dying.” she managed. Nobody, not even Callum, had the heart to yell at her then.

 “What do you mean he’s dying?” The elf - Rayla - dropped to the ground beside Corvus, looking anxiously down at Soren before glancing back up at Claudia. “He- he can’t be…”

 She trailed off, eyes roving over the spiderweb of deep purple veins stretching under his skin like tiny fissures. Some of them had burst, forming deep violet and magenta bruises across his body.

 “What’s happening to him?” The elf asked, a quaver in her voice. 

 Claudia remembered what her brother had said in the Drakewood about being friends with elves and dragons. Maybe he hadn't been full of it after all. But if he was right about that, then… she looked up at the statue looming over all of this, Aaravos’ face frozen forever in a snarl, a single line of moisture having leaked from his eye and down his cheek.

 She had tried not to think about what the others said. Not really. Aaravos had tried so hard to save her father, why would he turn around and kill him? And destroying the castle, that didn't make any sense at all... except that it did. And that reality had kept nagging at her even once they’d all stopped shouting and fallen into angry silence.

 Because the pearl had been there, waiting for him. Waiting for her. And the dragon that had done it - and died in the process - was an ancient enemy of his. Like from the story. She remembered Terry telling her how things got twisted along the way; warning her that she couldn't trust Aaravos.

 She didn’t know if she could bear it all being a lie. If she had just been a pawn. Claudia squeezed her eyes shut, lying her head on Soren’s chest and listening to the rapid thumping of his heart.

 “He won’t die.” Rayla said, as though willing it to be true. “Soren is strong. He’ll get through this.”

 “You don’t get it, do you?” Claudia murmured, not bothering to raise her head. “This isn’t like when Callum or I used Dark Magic. Soren is different.”

 She waited for them to put the pieces together, but they didn’t. Instead, after a moment, Callum asked; “What are you talking about?”

 Claudia did raise her head then, just enough to glare at him. “Can you really not put two and two together? The spell is reacting with the Dark Magic already in his system.”

 Callum looked like he was about to snap back at her, but Ezran interrupted his brother, raising a hand to shush him as he turned to Claudia. “Already in his system?”

 “Do you ever even talk to him, or do you just send him off on errands for you?”

 “Claudia, please.” And it was Corvus this time, voice filled with pain and fear, and she couldn't snap at him; not when it was so clear how much he cared about her brother. Claudia remembered, bittersweetly, how Soren had tried to shave a scar into his eyebrow like the one Corvus had. How cool he’d thought the older guard was, even then. So she sighed, and there wasn’t venom in her voice as she answered; only sadness.

 “You act all high and mighty, like it’s beneath you, but Soren wouldn’t be here without Dark Magic. Without me and my Dad’s magic. You were there." she said, looking up at Callum and his elf friend. "You saw the dragon. Did you really think he just got up and walked away after it slammed him with it's tail? Threw him into a rock?"

 She shook her head and laughed bitterly. "Of course you did, because if that's what happened, then him getting hurt wouldn't be your fault. This-" she thrust his hand out to them again, making them really look at the purple lines stretching across his skin. "This is how he's still standing. So you're welcome."

 Nobody interrupted her as she continued, the story pouring out of her now that she’d started. “He was paralyzed. None of my other spells were working, but I knew I couldn’t leave him like that. So I did what I had to do. However dangerous, however vile. Anything for family.” 

 She looked up at them, and she could imagine the way they saw her then. The monster they thought she was. “Anything.”

 But nobody called her names, or told her she was wrong, or that she was evil. Instead they just watched as she gently brushed her thumb across the back of Soren’s hand, willing him to wake up. When he didn’t, she went on.

 “You probably don’t remember, it was before you moved into the castle, Callum. Before Ezran was even born. But you do remember your Dad. You talked about it sometimes, after. Not much. Nobody likes to talk about those things. But I realized, later, that it must have been the same thing. When Soren was little, sometimes he couldn’t breathe. I didn’t really understand what was happening at the time, I was too little. But it was scary. And then it got really bad. He would just lie in bed all day, trying to breathe, and I could hear him through the walls. Fighting for every breath, every second of life.”

 She looked up at all of them, daring them to judge her. To judge her father. “So my Dad fixed it. He did what he had to do for our family. However dangerous, however vile. Soren is only alive because we’ve been willing to do whatever it takes. And I would do it all again. And maybe you think you wouldn’t, but you would. If it was Ez, or Rayla, or your Dad. You would do it too.”

 She was just speaking to Callum, then. Because he had always been the one who hated her for it the most, she knew. Who had been the most afraid. The weakest. But he didn’t look weak now. Or afraid. Instead she saw the harsh recognition in his eyes that yes, he would have done the same. However dangerous, however vile. 

 “And now he’s going to die.” Claudia said. “Because of all of you.”

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 Soren was ashamed to admit that he had screamed when the fire washed over him. It had only burned for a moment, but it had been one moment too many. He hated to think how long that single second had dragged on for his father. If it had been more than one; how long he might have lain there, alone, as the castle crumbled around him.

 But Soren had gotten lucky. From the fire he fell into a deep, cool blue ocean, and the water washed the heat and the burns away. Soren let it hold him, let it fill him up with peace and quiet and float him away wherever it liked. He was tired. He was done. He didn’t want to see what the next vision had in store for him.

 But eventually the waves washed him ashore and he found himself on a sunny beach, looking up at a blue, cloudless sky. Soren closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed himself to his feet. He couldn’t give up yet. 

 Surveying his surroundings, Soren tried to imagine what sort of monster would appear this time. Maybe a dragon, swooping down from overhead? Or an endless army of foes, rushing at him from the woods? Maybe it would be nice and simple; a Banther or something, come to gobble him up. He trudged over to the forest’s edge and snapped a large branch off one of the trees. At least this time he would have a weapon. But nothing came. 

 After a while of standing around, brandishing a stick at every rustling leaf or twittering bird, Soren began to feel silly and returned to the beach, settling down with his legs crossed before him to watch the gentle lapping of the waves. It was peaceful, and he was exhausted. First he let himself sprawl out on the beach, feeling the waves wash over his feet and enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face. Then he let go of the stick, using his arms as a pillow instead. Finally, he let the drowsiness of sleep take him .

 Soren dreamt of worried voices, calling his name and asking him to wake up. They started as a low murmur; the voices undistinguishable from each other as they wove in and out. But slowly, steadily, they grew in strength until he could hear Claudia and Corvus, Callum and Ezran and Rayla. Soren tried not to listen to them, to the worry in their voices and the fear, knowing that it was all just some cruel trick by whatever purgatory he was trapped in. 

 But then Claudia’s voice started to sob, begging him to wake up, telling him that he was the only family she had left; pleading for him not to leave her again. Saying that she needs him. And Corvus told him that he wasn’t allowed to die, that he had something important to tell him, if he would just wake up. And Rayla was saying that he was stronger than this, and Ez told him that he needed him, and Callum said that he was a part of their family, and Soren couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t ignore them and pretend that they weren’t there; because he needed them too.

 So he forced his eyes open, hand reaching for the stick, expecting to find himself back on the beach. But of course not, that would have been too easy. Instead his hand closed around his sword, lying at his bedside, and his eyes opened to find himself in his bedroom at the castle. Alright. He thought, standing and rolling his shoulders. Prepare to be dominated, evil dream world. My family needs me.

 Or maybe that was just a part of the hallucination, too. He pushed the thought from his mind. No. They need me. I just need to wake up. 

 Soren tried pinching himself to be sure he was still asleep and hadn’t just somehow been brought back to the castle, but while it hurt like all heck (he might have done it a bit too hard) he still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t a part of whatever hallucination he’d been having.

 Especially not when it was suddenly the dead of night. 

 The change had occurred as soon as he stepped out of his room and into the wider halls of the castle; the torches along the walls all bursting into flame, shadows growing in the dark recesses of the corridors until it was night inside and out. Soren’s grip tightened on his sword as he began to creep down the hall, feet carrying him towards the distant sound of fighting. It grew steadily louder as he approached, until he was stepping over what must have been the beginnings of it; fallen guards, pierced through by arrows with terrifying accuracy. 

 Soren almost came to a halt as he recognized the fletching on them; the all too familiar blue and green of the Moonshadow assassins that had taken King Harrow’s life. Alarmed, Soren glanced down at his armor, horrified to find that it was the old model; familiar silver, black, and gold. As if called into existence by his realization that it was there, his old cape billowed around his legs. Soren gritted his teeth and continued onward.

 The sounds of fighting only continued to grow in pitch and intensity until the clang of blades and muffled grunts of combat filled the entire hall, echoing around Soren like the chorus of some especially brutal song. His pace quickened, knowing now where he was going, until he was running through the halls of the castle. He skidded to a halt before the great doors, already pierced through and peppered with arrows, just like the bodies of the guard strewn before them. 

 He pushed them open and stepped inside just as one of the assassins withdrew their blade from King Harrow’s chest. Except it wasn't King Harrow. Soren let out an anguished cry as Ezran’s body slumped to the ground. The moonlight glistened off the polished silver of the assassin’s weapon as it dripped blood onto the floor, and they turned to Soren, pushing the hood back from their face to reveal a horrifyingly familiar face.

 “Rayla?” he gasped, taking a step back. She unsheathed her other blade, falling into an attack stance. “Rayla, please, I don’t want to fight you.”

 “I thought that was all you wanted?” she hissed, springing towards him with superhuman agility. He just barely managed to bring his blade up to block her strike in time, the pair of them stumbling back out into the hall. Soren fought desperately to keep his footing as she pressed him with everything she had, but he was exhausted, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. 

 “Rayla, stop! This isn’t you!”

 Her next blow sent the sword flying from his hands and she kicked him hard in the chest, knocking him to the ground at her feet. She leveled her blade at him, the tip of it hovering just above his face.

 “I thought this is all we were to you? Monsters to hunt for sport.”

 “I never-”

 “A dead dragon and a dead elf all in one day.” she mocked. “Everything’s coming up Soren.”

 “I’m sorry.” he told her, desperation entering his voice. “I was wrong.”

 “You bet you were.” Rayla snarled, eyes flashing with cold anger. “And now you’ll pay the price. Justice will not be denied.”

 She raised her blade, and Soren looked away, squeezing his eyes shut. But not before he saw that every fallen guard around him had Corvus’ face.

 “I’m sorry.” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 Soren had stopped breathing. Why had he stopped breathing? 

 Corvus’ own breath quickened, as though to point out just how much Soren’s wasn’t. His voice climbed in pitch as he turned to the others, all of them already exchanging worried glances even before he told them.

 “Soren isn’t breathing.” he said, panicked. “What do we do? Does anybody know what to do?”

 Claudia was sobbing quietly, her hair falling in curtains around her face as she clung to her brother’s body. Corvus heard Rayla’s sharp intake of breath, another stab in the gut of what precisely Soren wasn’t doing. And Ezran buried his face in Callum’s shirt, shoulders shaking. His older brother’s stunned expression slowly gave way to horror.

 “Why isn’t anyone doing anything?” Corvus nearly shouted, clutching Soren’s hand so tightly that he worried he might hurt him. “We need to do something.”

 “There’s nothing we can do.” Claudia sniffled, rubbing the tears from her eyes. They just as quickly refilled. “There’s nothing we can do. No spell to fix this.”

 “Then we don’t use a spell.” Corvus said, placing a hand on Soren’s neck, feeling for a pulse. It was still there. Faint, but present. “I’m not giving up on him.”

 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

 “Come on, Sorbear. Wake up.”

 Soren’s eyes snapped open, and the light above him flickering into life, illuminating a small swatch of the empty blackness that stretched all around him. He was back where it had all begun; the path of footprints stretching behind and before him. Claudia was leaning over him, her face still scarred with Dark Magic, but she didn’t seem angry anymore. She offered him a hand and he took it, letting her help him to his feet.

 “Why am I back here?” he asked her, surveying his surroundings. Rayla was nowhere to be seen. None of them were. It was just as blank and empty as the first time he’d set foot here.

 “Don’t worry about it.” 

 “Of course I’m worried about it.” Soren said, snapping a bit more than he’d meant to. He checked his tone back immediately. “Sorry.”

 “Hm, well. It’s okay I guess. I’ve decided to forgive you. Everybody makes mistakes. And anyway, it doesn’t matter. I fixed it. Come on, Dad is waiting for us.”

 Soren could have laughed, or he could have cried, he didn’t know which would have happened first. Maybe both. But he was too tired for either. 

 “Clauds-” he began, but she shook her head,  stamping her foot like she used to when she was little.

 “Stop it! I fixed everything. You’re okay now, and he’s okay too. That’s all that matters.” She took his hand in hers, gentler this time. “Now come on. He’s waiting for us.”

 Soren let her start leading him down the path, following in their father’s footsteps. At first it was kind of nice, listening to her talk about what they were going to do when they finally reached Dad. She said that they would all be together again; one big happy family the way they used to be. She said that she would make pancakes, and Dad had a surprise for them. She said he wanted to make up for lost time; that he was different now. That he’d changed. And Soren wanted to believe her, he really did. And when he’d seen his father in the dungeon, he had seemed different, even if believing that had felt dangerous.

 So he followed her, and he ignored the fact that she was leading him deeper and deeper into the darkness, and he didn’t think about the fact that the light around them was growing smaller, fainter. But after a while, he couldn’t ignore the fact that they weren’t alone anymore. 

 He didn’t know when the other person had started following them, and hadn't looked back to see who it was. Soren didn’t really want to know; it could have been anyone or anything. But whatever next torment this place had dreamed up, Soren figured the longer he could go without having to face it, the better.

 But now it was beside them, keeping pace with them just out of view in the darkness. He felt like he recognized the silhouette, the stride, the way the figure carried itself. But he couldn’t place where he’d seen it before. Not until it strayed a little too close to the light.

 Soren dropped Claudia’s hand, coming to a standstill. The figure kept on walking, going past them and continuing into the dark, and Soren watched himself march past. His blonde hair was streaked with white, his skin a chalky whitish gray, marred by violet scars. Whereas Soren usually wore a sword, the other him held a staff, one that was far too familiar.

 Soren closed his eyes and waited for the apparition to pass. 

 “Sorbear, what’s wrong?” Claudia asked him after a long moment of silence. 

 “You- you saw that, right?” he asked her, sure that if he opened his eyes it would still be there. Maybe it would be looking right at him with its pitch black eyes and twisted sneer, just like the one his father used to wear.

 “Soren, you’re not really scared of your own shadow, are you?”

 He opened his eyes at that. “That thing isn’t a shadow, Claudia.” 

 “Sure it is. Well, maybe more like you’re his shadow. And don’t call yourself a thing.”

 “That wasn’t me.” Soren said, putting extra emphasis on each word, as though that would make it true. “It wasn’t.”

 “I mean, not yet he’s not.” Claudia held out a hand to him, smile gentle. “Come on, Sorbear. Dad is waiting.”

 “No.” Soren flinched away from her, fists clenching at his sides. “I’m not going if that’s who I’ll be when I get there.”

 “Sor-en.” she complained, rolling her eyes. “Come on. It was always going to be this way. This is your destiny.”

 “No.” Soren said again, taking a step back from her. The light moved with him, leaving her half in shadow. “No. That’s not who I want to be.”

 “But it’s who you are.” Claudia insisted. When he still hesitated, her face scrunched up, tears filling her eyes. “Come on, Sorbear. Please. It’ll be okay, I’ll be there with you. We both will. Don’t leave me again.”

 “Come with me.” he begged, reaching out to her. But this time it was Claudia who took a step back, disappearing into the darkness.

 “I- I can’t.” she whispered, her voice seeming to come from all around him. “This is our destiny…"

 “It’s not my destiny.” he told the darkness, searching it desperately for his sister. “And it doesn’t have to be yours. Please, let me help you.”

 “I made my choice.” the darkness told him, and he knew without having to see it that she was gone.  Soren squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears away, and he turned to walk back the way he’d come; forging his own path through the endless black. We all have choices to make, he thought. This is mine.

[queenlua]

okay, wow, uhhhh, apparently my comment section Yearns for me to do some mean-spirited unfair goofy dunking, lol.

here's the Cliff's Notes version, as a compromise between What The People Desire and The Spirit Remaining Relatively Inert In Me. there's probably not much new here if you already saw me yell about Chambers and/or Mishima over on Dreamwidth, but here we go!

(for context, the only Chambers i've read is A Long Way to a Small Angry Planet (henceforth referred to as ALWtaSAP). i've read Mishima's entire Sea of Fertility tetralogy plus The Temple of the Golden Pavilion.)

((SPEAKING OF WHICH: this is Total Desperation Hours, but if anyone reading this has read the entirety of the Sea of Fertility tetralogy, SLIDE INTO MY DMs IMMEDIATELY, I WISH TO TALK TO YOU AT GREAT LENGTH. SPECIFICALLY I WISH TO TALK ABOUT KEIKO AND THE FUCKING CHRISTMAS PARTY IN BOOK 4. i have only ever met one other human who read the whole thing & it was at a mediocre taco bar & i was so overcome with ECSTASY and WONDERMENT at finally getting to talk about THAT FUCKING SCENE that i accidentally doused all my tacos in far too much hot sauce to be even remotely edible, but i ate them anyway because i didn't want the conversation to end, and i suffered so hard for that but. it was so worth it. ))

anyway.

the lazy handwave-y case for "ALWtaSAP is fascist actually":

the way the narrative treated Corbin in ALWtaSAP REALLY bothered me, right?

all the other crew members in the book have very Nice™ interpersonal skills, and would flawlessly succeed in any corporate Crucial Conversations training...

...whereas Corbin is kind of a dick, has rough edges, and would absolutely get reported to HR for generally having a bad attitude, etc...

...but the narrative treats this as, instead of an instance of Normal Human Variation... well, it's treated as a profound and intractable moral failing.

it's treated this way to the point where, when Corbin's life is in peril, the whole group makes it clear they're only rescuing him out of their own magnanimity, not because he's, y'know, a fucking human worthy of consideration. he *deserves* to get fucked over for the "being a clone" thing or whatever, and it's implied to be related to his garbage personality (even though his personality has absolutely nothing to do with his predicament!)

first off: gross! even if you don't accept my mean-spirited "let's link this back to fascism" argument, it still sucks bigtime.

but you're here for me to kick hornets' nests, so:

you know how, e.g. the recent film The Zone of Interest portrayed the nice "domestic" side of nazi official life? there's that whole "herrenvolk retaking the countryside" meme, right. certainly one of the most visible fash aesthetics is Violent Masculinity and Glorious Battle and what-the-fuck ever, but... "tradwives preserving Family Values in peaceful farm-y settings" is a pretty essential part of the whole ideology too. Hedwig is just as much as complicit as Rudolf. you could perhaps call this the "soft"/"femme" side of fascism. which is lazy and hand-wavy and reductionist but here we go

so okay, ALWtaSAP is the soft/femme side of fascism. the entire narrative is very DOMESTIC, but like, Zone of Interest was very domestic too, right. there's a very thin veneer of queer-friendliness over it—the interspecies relationships/gay characters/etc are in fact considered Totally Fine... but the narrative makes it SO clear if you're not Nice and Interpersonally Polite in exactly the correct ways, they actually do view you as a bad person.

and, like, fascist ideology absolutely has carve-outs for "this is fine if you do it in Exactly The Correct Way," right. like, Intense Homoeroticism Between Manly Dudes is certainly a thing in fascism, as we'll get to in a bit. which doesn't make fascism queer-friendly, obv, but it makes it friendly to someone who's queer in exactly the right kind of heavily circumscribed way and God Forbid You Step Off That Path Slightly Or Piss Off The Wrong Guy

(isn't it weird how the entire crew of that fucking ship, sans Corbin, never seems to display any real interpersonal unpleasantness? how convenient for all of them. how fucking convenient. wonder what would happen if any of them did do anything to fall outside the Tightly-Prescribed Ideal Of Domesticity. they replaced "make babies" with "be nice to found family" but whatever it has the same vibe)

anyway yeah, i think that's sort of fucked! (especially given that, y'know, plenty of Real Actual Queer People are in fact not nice in exactly the correct ways but that doesn't make them less people or someone you get to jettison, etc)

you could push back against this argument by pointing out that these attitudes—(interpersonal Niceness, broad tolerance for certain types of non-normative activity so long as they can be rendered Legible, etc)—are more neoliberal-y than fash-y in nature. and you'd probably be right! i'm not much of a theory girl, haha. i would have to actually read some literature instead of just vibes-ing it if i wanted to make this anything more than a particularly spicy Vice article. but this is just a spicy Vice article, so....

...though, come to think of it, let's further bolster the "actually it's fascism" case: remember that bit in ALWtaSAP where Corbin "cures" Ohan?

brief recap for those who (wisely) bleached this book from their memory: Ohan is an alien whose culture revolves around the "Whisper," a virus that exclusively infects Ohan's species. if you get infected by the Whisper, you get much-enhanced intelligence plus the ability to pilot spacecraft (via enhanced reactions/reflexes/Knowledge Of Complex Space-Math or something)... but your lifespan is also drastically reduced. Ohan likes being infected by a Whisper very much; he was given full knowledge of the virus's effects prior to being infected; he understands it reduces his lifespan but is still happy just the way he is.

so, near the end of the book, Corbin just... non-consensually administers the cure to Ohan & kills the virus? lmao?? and everyone yells at Corbin a bit, but also the narrative does seem to lowkey endorse this as The Correct Outcome; now Ohan will get to live much longer!!! everyone agrees that's Good and Correct, right!!! like sure there WAS a moral dilemma here, but we gave The Evil Action to our Designated Shitbag, so now all the Good characters can just enjoy the good results of his bad action.

again: this is a huge part of Ohan's species's culture! they have a whole religion built around this shit! and the narrative just kinda endorsed... y'know... robbing him of that? on the basis of bodily integrity/purity...?

you see where i'm going with this, right. You Know Who Else Is Obsessed With Bodily Integrity/Purity? that's right it's the fascists lol

anyway.

the argument for "Yukio Mishima is the Macho/Hard/Manly side of fascism"... i think that case writes itself lol? uhhhh, lmk if i need to spell that one out, because i sure CAN blather on about Mishima at exhausting length, but i'm pretty sure i don't need to lol. like, i love me some Spring Snow just as much as the next bitch, and i don't think "damn this dude was fashy as hell" is the only reading you can do (particularly wrt Spring Snow, it's really interesting to think of it as a reimagining of the Tale of Genji story with modern sensibilities, its relationship to 18th-century romanticism, etc), but like... dude does make it pretty incontrovertibly clear that Heroic Violent Action Is The Only Way To Save Your Nation And/Or Yourself, the aesthetics are very Sexy Murder Poet, the books' absolute contempt for fragility/age/weakness are pretty clear, in book 3 whenever he's writing a female character you desperately wish he'd just go back to the universe where Everyone Is A Dude And Also Very Gay For Each Other, because while that universe was obviously also sexist you at least didn't need to read whole passages about how much of a bitch Honda's wife is for *checks notes* having a kidney condition... uhhh i'm losing the plot here somewhat lol. let me know if i need to go pluck some books off the shelf

anyway @bogfox @radicarian @spiralingintocontrol @pretty-rage-machine @vintar @midori-verte , as requested, that's the Take lol

"the work of Becky Chambers and Yukio Mishima are two sides of the same fascist coin" is a Take that would be mean-spirited & kinda unfair & extremely goofy, but... i do think i could pull it off. if the spirit so moved me.

it might be too niche of a comparison to actually piss someone off, tho, & if i went to all the work of kicking the hornet's nest only to hear a faint buzz in return then what was the point

[starblizzard247]

Me, a Yanqing lover since before I started playing HSR, seeing (some) Yanqing haters realize he’s not a horrible character after 2.4:

The grateful part of me: Yay, my boy is getting more love!!!

The spiteful part of me who’s been dealing with their bullcrap for the past 8 months, eye twitching and veins popping:

Thank you for finally seeing the light, you illiterate hive mind of rude *ss blood boiling rage-inducing sh*tstains, F*CK YOU-

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Kiss Kiss Fallen Tree!

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[thedreadvampy]

sometimes I forget that my experience has been. um. not 'your experiences are not universal' vibes but more like 'your experiences are EXTREMELY atypical'

[nejackdaw]

Thinking about Celann and his ever present grief at the life he could have had, he and his wife and (he always hoped) their daughter. A life where he was a father--he'd hardly ever wanted anything more than that. So full of love he was ready to burst and needed somewhere to put it, wanted a life with his favorite girls.

Thinking about how the ever present desire haunts him no matter how deep he buried it. It keeps coming back, relentlessly, this anguish that he threw it all away. He could have had exactly what he wanted and he was stupid enough to abandon it all, and for what? Because he was upset? But then he always remembers how hollow he felt after the incident, like if you rapped him with a knuckle you'd hear he was just a shell. He forgives himself, then, remembers how wrong everything felt, and he thinks about all the time he spent desperately trying to make everything feel right again.

Remembers when he realized he was the problem, what needed to be fixed. Removed.

He abandoned the life he had and every dream he'd ever held close because he wasn't him anymore. Celann would never have killed anyone, would never have done... that. He was some other Celann, different, trying to make himself fit in the life of a man that no longer existed. And so he left.

And he has no right to ache so badly at the thought of what he gave up, no right to ache at the loss of a family (of two families, but he starts thinking that and breaks every time, so he's gotten good at simply skipping over the thought) when he was a killer--an adept one, a practiced one--that could mangle and maul and kill and do it again and again. What right does he have to still want that happy little dream?

But the dream is a ghost and it haunts him, is there every time he's out on a supply run and sees kids playing around the marketplace, sees women cradling infants and fathers carrying sons on their shoulders. (He reminds himself of the blood on his hands, is scared he might stain them with it if he reaches out to touch them.) It's there when he has a bag and his axe hanging from his hips and finds a girl crying for her mother, lost and separated, jostled by the crowd.

It's there as he calms her, kneeling on wet and gritty stone, hovering between her and the flow of the crowd so they give her space. He lifts her and holds her against his side with one arm and something in him weeps, feels something soft in him as her tiny weight settles and she starts chattering at him about the groceries she and her mother came to buy.

They weave their way through the marketplace as they help each other--she tells him where he can find what he needs, and he silently curses the nords and their height as he tries to peer over shoulders to catch a glimpse of the woman she described--and that cold weight that's usually settled in his chest, his grief and remorse, lightens with every step. She's warm through his sweater and splutters indignantly every time the ever changing wind blows her brown hair into her mouth and he laughs, quiet and warm.

They check places she's already been, in case her mother doubled back looking for her, and take detours so Celann can fumble to place newly acquired groceries in the bag beneath her, unwilling to hold her over the side with his axe and equally unwilling to put her down, awkwardly shifting her weight as she laughs at him. He's silly for buying such expensive things, she tells him, and he light heartedly tells her Skyrim is silly for not having the things he used to use in High Rock. The revelation he hasn't always lived in Skyrim excites her to no end, and the rest of the trip is a Q&A of the sort only a small child can provide.

He feels warm inside, in his chest, where usually he feels vaguely cold at best, and for a moment he's reluctant to relinquish her when they finally find her mother, guided by the sounds of panicked calls of her name. There's a fond sadness as he sets her down on the stones again, and the woman looks at him oddly for a moment before the look turns knowing, though he's sure the conclusion she reached is slightly off.

She quietly asks if her daughter reminds him of her. He stands there silently for a moment, looking down at the little girl as she rifles through the things her mother's found.

He tells her yes.

[moe-broey]

VIVID fucking idea I had last night....

Background info, I think Moe has some really distinct tendencies that Alfonse ends up being able to immediately identify it by (and finds a lot of comfort in doing so). One of which, is it doing a quiet, hesitant, but steady knock. Persistent, but with long pauses in between.

ENTER..... the Vision........ just. This entire sequence. "You'll never hear from me again". Into, the quiet knock only a few hours later. Into bursting in with the MOST enthusiastic, "HOLY FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Moe really is Some Type of Guy LMFAOO

Fave panels.......