#like let me enjoy writing and the dynamics

[esote-rika]

derision as prelude to desire | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader

Category: smut 18+ MDNI, fluff if you squint

Summary: Spencer Reid’s new coworker is mean but one night doing overtime together leads to the two of them bonding.

Content: glasses!Spencer, workplace rivals if you squint, Spencer Reid vs technology, reader is kind of mean and based on Blair Waldorf (in background, looks, and personality), Spencer is petty, his mind is in the GUTTER, use of eye drops, making out, sub!Spencer, fingering, oral (male receiving), whining and begging glasses!Spencer. Let’s pretend the BAU doesn’t have any CCTV cameras for this one m’kay thanks

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: This is an ITCH in my brain, like I’ve been thinking about a Spencer Reid x Blair Waldorf crackship since August last year it’s actually concerning. One of my favorite ship dynamics is loser boy x popular girl, so it makes sense. Still in second person to make it immersive. This isn’t a crossover, so there will be no spoilers for Gossip Girl. The reader's personality, looks and background are just based on Blair. Let me know if you want to read more of this dynamic because I have so many ideas for it oh my god. I hope you enjoy it! Also, tagging @darkmatilda as a fellow glasses!Spencer connoisseur.

Spencer Reid often muses on the series of events that had brought you from the streets of the Upper East Side to work in Quantico, Virginia. It would be easy to ask, of course, or even have Penelope do a quick background check on you, but he’s made a game of it instead, piecing together what he knows of your history, filling in the blanks of what would have gone wrong, what decisions you would have taken, in order to leave the privileged life you led and enter public service.

As far as he had been concerned, you don’t belong anywhere near the FBI, let alone the BAU. Spoiled, rich, with a mean streak he is all too familiar with from his time in school.  

He had been so sure you wouldn’t fit in when you first joined the team. You had been, and continue to be, perfectly made, every single hair shiny and curled just so, heels always so shiny and matching whatever designer bag you have slung over your shoulder. Everything about you screams high maintenance, and his profiler instincts point to several things: uncooperative, wants everything handed to you, ditzy.

But then you had shown your cards, had proved his assessment so wrong and he could never forgive you for the sting of that defeat.

It doesn’t help that you seem to enjoy riling him up as well. Every case is an opportunity to one up him, an attempt to claim his spot and it’s unfair. You already have everything, yet you still refuse to yield the title of team genius to him, the one thing he can cling to, the thing he knows is his. 

He is still glowering today, four months into your employment, passive aggressively hitting the keys on his keyboard. He’s a slow typist, and he’d agreed to write Morgan’s reports for him this week, a favor between friends he’s now beginning to regret. You are the only one keeping him company. The rest of the team has already left hours ago, but you’re typing away at your desk, fingers flying through the keyboard without even a glance. His own skills seem laughable in comparison, going at the keys one by one, with the speed of an old grandparent squinting over a typewriter instead of a man in his twenties. 

“Take a picture, Reid, it’ll last longer.”

He blinks, forcing his eyes back to the monitor. “You’re so original.” he mutters, pushing his glasses up to nestle on top of his head. He rubs his eyes, already despising the glare of the screen.

“Aw, what, the genius can’t handle a little blue light?”

He doesn’t bother with a response, blinking at the screen instead. The sooner he can get this done, the sooner he can leave. Sounds of tapping keys fill the air again, but he stops after a few moments again, rubbing at his eyes. He hears a sigh, and then your voice again, haughty but somehow concerned.

“You’re not supposed to rub your eyes, it makes it worse.” 

“I know,” he grumbles, “I don’t need you lecturing me about the importance of eye health.”

“It seems like you do, since you’re still doing it.” you reply derisively. He’d be rolling his eyes if he isn’t too busy rubbing them.

“Here,” you say, “Catch.”

Confused, he lifts his head, only to flinch as something hurls right at him. “What-” it hits his desk, then bounces off.

“Oh, look what you’ve done, genius.”

“You threw it at me.” his lips are pulled into a tight line of disapproval, “A head’s up would have been nice.”

“I did, genius, I said catch. You just have the reflexes of an eighty year old.” your voice is tinged with annoyance.

To his surprise, you’re up and walking to his desk, heels echoing in the empty bullpen. He watches as you gingerly kneel on the ground, bending down, and his eyes grow wide. The image of you bent down like this is surprisingly enticing, your skirt straining against the soft curve of your hips, hair falling down your shoulders like a curtain of the night sky. You’ve gotten close enough that he can smell your perfume, something citrusy and clean, and he subconsciously leans closer.

Mouth dry, he manages to croak out, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find the damn eye drops.” you snap, an arm extending towards him and for a moment he holds his breath, waiting for contact. Instead, you grab something from the ground, “There it is.” 

He watches as you straighten, lifting your torso upright, but still kneeling in front of him. An image flashes through his mind, your face between his thighs, those large eyes staring up at him, but he banishes it quickly lest his thoughts begin to stir his body. 

“Here, these should help.” You say, finally standing back up and placing the tiny bottle on his desk. A filthy part of him wishes you’d get back on your knees. He catches the tilt of your head, the confusion in your eyes, “Reid. Are you still with me? Has your brain finally short circuited from all those statistics?”

Oh his brain is short circuiting, all right, just from a different cause.

“I’m - yeah.” he replies, and then he rattles off the first thought his frazzled mind could come up with, “Did you know some people have used eye drops as a method for murder? Not these ones, but there are specific brands that contain—”

“Tetrahydrozoline,” you finish for him, “Yeah, I know.”

He blinks. There you go again, proving your intellect, your value, somehow matching his even though he’s pretty sure you are no genius, not in the same way he is. Still, perhaps it’s the late night, or your offer of relief, but the sting of being bested doesn’t resonate tonight. A softer feeling unfurls in his chest, something warm and addictive, something like understanding. He smiles, “That’s right.”

You nod, curls spilling over your shoulders again, “Mhm. Well… These are for your eyes, I’m not trying to poison you.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.”

A scoff, “Please, I’m not dumb enough to attempt murder in the office.”

His brows lift and he finds himself grinning, “So you’ve thought about it?”

“I will neither deny nor confirm.” you’re smiling now too, and he lets his eyes roam over the pretty lines of your face, memorizing how lovely you look in this moment, guards lowered and smiling at him with ease. He thinks he sees something flash in those pretty eyes of yours but he’s not sure. Reading people has never been his strong suit, regardless of his profession.

“Come on, I’ll help you.” you gesture at his glasses, and he immediately obeys, pushing it back up to nestle on his hair. He holds his breath as you come closer, bites his lips when your hand comes to his chin. It’s soft, unbelievably gentle, and you tilt his head back. From this angle, he can see the way your lashes curl, the soft hint of shimmer swept across your lids. Eyeshadow, he remembers from what Penelope and JJ have told him, and it highlights the shape of your eyes, making them appear brighter.  

He blinks as coolness hits his eye, and then you’re tilting his head to the other side, and he’s trying not to panic, trying not to be a creep, but in reality, he hasn’t been this close, this intimate to a woman in so long that it’s messing up his ability to inhale, to think, to function. Your hair flutters gently around his face, and the scent of citrus is stronger now, heady, and he feels so light headed he’s afraid he’ll faint.

The same coolness hits the other eye, and before you can pull away, before he can think it through, he’s curling his own hand over your wrist. He lifts it up, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm, admonishing any thoughts of germs and bacteria, and instead relishing at the tender flesh beneath his lips. He kisses your palm again, lips gently tracing the lines, before moving down to the inside of your wrist, before pausing.

He dares to peer up, waiting for a reprimand, a cutting sentence that would have him lashing back at you, but there’s none. There it is again, the flicker in your eyes, and now he finally knows the word to attach to it: desire.

He kisses the inside of your wrist again, and feels you pulse fluttering beneath his lips. Fast, to his surprise, almost matching the quick succession of thudding in his chest. 

“Reid,” you whisper, and he waits again, allows you time to pull away. You don’t, but he’s apprehensive now, afraid he’s crossed a boundary. He definitely has, but he would do it again if you express the desire to do so, to tumble into whatever this is with him. He just needs confirmation, one verbal acknowledgement that you want this too, because he doesn’t trust his ability to read you yet, not when he’s spent so much time despising you.

But you’re just looking at him, and the embarrassment is almost painful. His cheeks heat up, and he drops your hand.

“I’m sorry.” he murmurs, sinking back on his seat. He’s about to turn to his monitor, intent to forget about this, forget everything even though his memory would make that impossible, but he finds his face being tilted up again, cradled between impossibly soft hands, and then there’s lips against his own, your lips, oh god you are kissing him.

He wraps his arms around your waist, following the movement of your mouth to the best of his limited ability. Your teeth dig into his bottom lip and he lets out an involuntary whimper, his body jerking at the sting. He feels you smiling against his mouth, cocky even in the midst of a kiss, in the midst of the most heated kiss he’s had since - since - he can’t even remember her, the brief dalliance he had with an actress once upon a time, because all he can think of is your mouth, and your hands, nails scratching at his scalp, and every single thought is expelled from his mind when you climb on his lap.

“God,” he moans in between kisses, his breaths ragged, but he would gladly drown in you before stopping.

“Not god,” you correct him and nip at his lower lip with more force this time.

“Mhm.” he whines, and kisses you again, shifting so you’re more comfortable on his lap. He wonders if the chair is creaking from your combined weight, but then you’re grinding directly on his cock and he’s lost in a haze of white hot pleasure. 

Apparently, Spencer Reid cannot multitask, because his lips fall slack as you grind against his hardening cock. Your laughter tinkles in his ear, before your mouth latches on his jaw, down his neck, open and wet and sticky. He knows you said you aren’t god, and he’s never been religious, but he swears this must be heaven. Fitting too, in the same way he’s never thought he’d reach some place he doesn’t even believe in, he’s also never thought he would have you—beautiful, infuriating, untouchable you—grinding on his lap with a desperation that borders frenzy.

Recognizing that your need burns you just as his is making him reckless, he manages to whisper, “Tell me— tell me what to do. How do I make you feel good?”

You giggle, taking one of his hands away from your waist and leading it under your skirt. The fabric has bunched up over your thighs, and he grips the smooth flesh greedily. But you have other ideas, and he’s eager to learn, so he lets you move his hand higher, until the tips of his fingers brush against moist fabric.

His mouth goes dry. You’ve soaked through your panties. 

“Like this?” he dips his fingers past the lace, his mouth falling open at the slick that’s gathered at your core. You have your face buried at his neck, lips and tongue still assaulting the tender skin there, but he feels you nod, feels the shudder that runs through you, and he takes those as a good sign. His touch is exploratory, gentle, fueled by an intoxication over the fact that you’re here and you’re enjoying it, you’re making those sounds for him. 

He’s awestruck rather than cocky, and when he slides his fingers into your pussy, he’s immediately trying to figure out a rhythm that would draw out those pretty noises from your lips. When he finds it, he sticks to it, greedily drinking in your moans, no matter how muffled they are against his neck.

There’s a sense of degeneracy to this whole thing. Fingering his coworker in the office, right there on his desk, he could get fired should this get out, they both could. Still, he’s never truly had anyone want him so unabashedly and he simply cannot stop. You had been the one to kiss him, after all, the lines in the sand had been completely trampled by the time you had climbed on his lap. 

“You feel so good,” you whisper, and he feels you move, riding his hand shamelessly, and he has to bite your shoulder to keep himself from whining again. The sight alone nearly undoes him, and you’ve barely done anything. He’s been actively providing you with stimulation this whole time, fucking you with his fingers relentlessly, and somehow, he wouldn’t change a single thing. 

“Yeah?” he asks, pupils blown wide, wanting, needing the assurance that he’s doing good, he’s making you feel good.

“Yes, oh fuck, yes!” your voice grows sharper as he curls his fingers with every thrust. After a few moments of fumbling with your panties, his thumb presses against your clit and he’s rewarded by another groan from you. 

He draws figure eights against your slick core, finding a rhythm that has you tugging at his hair wildly, and he’s whispering into your ear, pleading, “That’s it, please come for me, please, let me see how good you feel, please, please—”

“Spencer!” you groan, and then you’re shuddering in his lap, and his fingers down to his knuckles are wet with your slick. 

He grins, helping you through your orgasm, pressing kisses to your hair, the FBI issued office chair creaking so much he’s afraid the two of you would break it if you don’t stop. The image is hilarious in its absurdity, making his grin widen, and you must have taken it for arrogance because he feels a slight smack on his shoulder.

“Don’t get cocky.” you mutter.

He takes you in, the flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, mascara now smudged along your lash lines, and he’s reverential instead of arrogant, grateful that he has brought someone so stunning and capable to the throes of pleasure, has taken you apart so much you’ve ruined your normally perfect facade. 

“You’re beautiful.” he tells you, his own eyes glistening with an unfocused daze. You roll your eyes and shake your head, and he’s seized with a desire to keep you hear and bury his fingers inside you over and over again until you believe him.

“Your turn.” You chuckle, hands unwinding from his neck and travelling down the length of his abdomen, coming to the buckle on his belt.

“Wait, I—uh,” he turns beet red once again, clearing his throat, “Are you on the pill? I don’t have—”

You tilt your head, as if the idea of a man walking around without a condom is foreign. Perhaps it is, but Spencer simply never assumed he would have any use for it. He turns away, teeth worrying his lower lip, but you pull his face to you again.

“I have hands.” you say as you resume undoing his pants. You shift, then slink away from him, and he whines at the loss of your warmth, but he sees you on your knees once again, and this time it’s not just his brain making up lewd, inappropriate thoughts, “And a mouth.”

“Y-you really don’t have to.”

“I know,” you grin, pretty as the devil and twice as tempting, and as your hands wrap around his engorged length, thumb circling at the tip, “But how can I not, when you’re this pretty?”

He blacks out, he swears he does, there’s no way this isn’t a perverted dream, no way that you’re actually stroking up and down his throbbing cock. Somehow he comes to, only to feel a warmth, a wetness, enveloping the swollen tip, and his hips buck up instinctively. He whines when your hands push at his thighs, holding him in place. 

“Please,” he gasps, babbles, really, “Please, oh god, that feels so good.” 

You take him further down and he throws his head back so violently the glasses slip past his ears and clatter onto the floor. He feels your laughter vibrating against his cock and it almost has him keening. He whines, wriggles against your hold with no real desire to break free. He finds that likes the force of your hands on him, nails leaving harsh indents on his flesh as he struggles. The pain is delicious, heightening his already frazzled senses.

You bob your head up and down, your hair swaying gently, and he manages to will his hands to move, gathering the soft tresses in his hand so they won’t impede your movement. Your eyes flicker up, meet his own, and he swears there’s a thank you in the glint of them. He cannot do anything else. 

Slack jawed, he watches you hollow your cheeks, saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth as you give him the best head he’s ever experienced. Never mind that it’s his first one, and that he doesn’t have a point of comparison. He’s convinced this is the best, you are the best, and he’s never been more thankful for his eidetic memory until this night, knowing that he cannot, will never, ever forget the way you look as you knelt down and sucked his cock like you were being paid to do it. 

“God, you’re so pretty, oh my god, yes, just like that, please, please, yes.” he’s aware that he’s whining, and there’s an amused twinkle in your eye that tells him he would never hear the end of this after. 

He knows you well enough to know that you would dangle this over his head any chance you get, that you aren’t above playing dirty. Instead of dread, it makes his stomach roil with another gush of desire, and he knows that that is even more concerning than whatever you were going to do.

(It never occurs to him to do the same, that he could tease you back and point out that he has had you on your knees and sucking on his cock like you were made for it simply because his brain cannot fathom ever associating the sight of you kneeling before him as something to be ashamed of.)

He’s drawn from his thoughts as he feels your hands cupping his balls, stimulating an entirely new area that has him thrusting up. He feels his cock brush against the back of your throat, and he pulls back immediately, eyes wide with worry as you gag around his length.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby you can stop if—”

But you do it again, soldiering past your gag reflex and taking him all the way, and he can hear someone saying oh fuck oh fuck I’m cumming agh, please, I’m cumming, and he thinks its his own voice but he’s unsure. His eyes are squeezed shut, colors exploding behind his lids as he feels your tongue swirling over and over his sensitive cock, before the cool air surrounds it, telling him you’ve stopped completely.

When he opens his eyes, you have your head on his thigh, cheek pressed against the fabric, a lazy smile on your ruined lips.

“God,” he whispers, reaching for you, wanting you close, “That was—wow, you—come here, please.”

He watches as a flicker of surprise flits over your face, before you mask it with a giggle, “Good?” you murmur, tucking his soft cock into his pants before climbing on his lap again.

“Incredible.” He holds you tight, your slick only half dry on his fingers, the taste of him still on your tongue, “You’re incredible.”

You’re quiet, contemplative, and he presses a kiss to your neck, wanting to bring you out of whatever funk you’ve gone into, “Hey, what is it?” He’s almost terrified of the answer, worried you would pull away and leave him cold.

“I just didn’t think you’d be a cuddler.” you reply, eventually sinking into his arms. Your voice is soft when you say, “Most men aren’t.”

The thought of her having experiences doesn’t bother him; it’s the fact that they callously left her after that makes him tighten his hold on her. “I’m sorry.”

“For the entirety of shitty men? You’d need more apologies than that,” you chuckle, fingers absently curling into his hair, “But thank you. This is— this is nice.”

“It is,” Spencer nods, leaning into your touch, eyes shut.

“You lost your glasses.”

“I did.”

Your laughter fills the air, “Hey, are you sleepy? You still have Morgan’s reports to finish.”

His eyes flutter open, a sheepish smile on his lips, “Why’d you have to remind me?”

“Because the sooner you finish it, the sooner we can do this again.”

Spencer laughs, kissing your shoulder as he relents, “All right, all right.” That’s more than enough incentive to brave staring at the monitor again.

Bestie I forgot to tag you lol @floraisunwell

[sasheemo]

Revenge and Reconciliation

Pairing: Ex gfs Bound!Agatha x Witch!Reader

Summary: When the hex shatters, the bond between you and Agatha reignites with a force too raw to ignore. Confronting her after decades of anger, betrayal, and yearning, you’re determined to make her pay. Power, passion, and a collision of unresolved emotions blur the line between vengeance and surrender.

Tags: Bitter Ex Gfs, Smut, Revenge Sex, Emotional Angst, Power Dynamics, Magic-Infused Sex, Magic Strap, Magic Cum, Magic Wrists Restraints, Slight Degradation, Cum Powered Reconciliation, Revenge Gets Sticky, Sub!Agatha (I know, wtf), Writing Sub Agatha Feels Illegal, Is It Subbing If She Still Wins Tho?

Word count: 6.6k

A/N: I wrote this fic as an attempt to wrestle my way out of the creative block that’s been clinging to me like an overly affectionate stray cat. I don’t think it’s the best thing I could have written, and I’m not entirely convinced by it, but the idea had been gathering dust on my list for a while, so here we are.

The concept of sub!Agatha has always intrigued me—mostly because, in my mind, it’s about as rare as a solar eclipse. I usually stick to writing Dom!Agatha, but hey, I think sub!Agatha is canon-compliant too… just in that “blink and you’ll miss it, alignment of the magical cosmos” kind of way.

For this fic, I decided to throw caution (and some very own personal hcs) to the wind and see if I could somehow make that dynamic work in an x Reader setting. Did I nail it? Definitely not. Do I feel like I truly captured the elusive sub!Agatha vibe that lives rent-free in my head? Eh, we’ll call it a work in progress. Maybe I’ll take another swing at it someday. For now, here’s my first attempt—enjoy! 💜

MASTERLIST

Read on AO3

It’s subtle at first—a faint ripple in the air, like a string pulled taut and suddenly slackened. But you feel it, deep in your body and soul, as if the ground beneath you shifted. 

The hex is broken. 

Agatha.

Her name lingers in your mind like a curse, dragging with it a torrent of emotions you’ve spent decades trying to bury.

Fury, white-hot and all-consuming, surges to the surface, clawing at the walls you’ve built around it. You can feel it all, the bitterness, the pain, the endless ache of betrayal.

Yet everything feels shushed by the unmistakable pull of her magic, faint but familiar, like the distant hum of a melody you can’t forget.

You’ve tried to sever this bond more times than you can count, poured every ounce of power into cutting the thread of magic that still ties you to her. 

But it never worked. Years of spells, rituals, and desperate attempts to scrape her magic from your soul couldn’t erase that connection, that cruel reminder of the love you once shared.

You don’t want to feel her. You don’t want to feel anything.

But with the hex shattered, she’s there—everywhere. The memories rise like a tide, drowning you in the ghost of what once was. 

The warmth of her fingers, trailing just long enough to leave a fire in their wake. Her voice, low and teasing, laced with promises that made your heart race. You remember the way she laughed, genuine and unguarded when she let herself forget the world, or the way her lips curled into a smirk when she caught you staring, daring you to look away. Those stolen nights, when her touch was tender and her kisses slow, felt endless, like she was giving you pieces of her no one else had ever seen.

And then… nothing. 

She left. Without a word. Without a reason. Without even a shred of decency to say goodbye. She disappeared like smoke, leaving only the cold, bitter truth: it meant nothing. You meant nothing.

The memories crash to a halt, mocking you, shaming you, for ever believing she could be anything more than one of her masterly crafted lies. 

Your magic surges in response, wild and vengeful, begging for release. You clench your fists, trying to ground yourself, but it’s futile. Her presence—or the absence of it—calls to you.

It’s been decades, but the wound is as raw as the day she abandoned you, as sharp as the moment you realized she wasn’t coming back. 

But you won’t give her the chance to run this time.

Without hesitation, you focus your energy, feeling the familiar pull of teleportation. The world shifts, and when you open your eyes, you’re standing outside her house in Westview. It’s dark and unassuming, the air around it heavy with the remnants of the hex’s magic.

The door slams open with a burst of energy, the wood groaning under the force of your magic. The faint remnants of Wanda’s hex still cling to the air, a metallic tang that pricks at your senses, but they’re nothing compared to the oppressive weight of her presence.

Agatha is sprawled on the couch as if she hasn’t a care in the world, her posture loose and unbothered despite the clear signs of exhaustion clinging to her. 

Her dark hair, longer than you remember, tumbles around her shoulders in wild, mussed waves, catching the light like ink kissed by moonlight. Her clothes are rumpled, the lines of her blouse wrinkled and her jeans have clearly seen better days, but somehow the disarray only adds to her maddening allure. 

And then there’s her face—those sharp cheekbones, that pale, smooth skin, and the glint in her icy blue eyes that even now refuses to dim. 

She looks up at you, her smirk curling with the same audacity that’s haunted you for decades, and for a moment, you hate how effortlessly breathtaking she is, how your heart still skips a beat whenever her eyes meet yours. Even now, even when she’s powerless.

“Well, well.” she drawls, tilting her head, her voice laced with a defiance she has no right to feel. “Come to gloat?”

You take a step inside and the air shifts, charged with the force of your presence. For the first time in decades, you’re the one with the power, and Agatha—bound, powerless, and alone—is at your mercy.

“You look terrible.” you say, your voice sharp, cutting. “What happened to the all-powerful Agatha Harkness? Shouldn’t you be out scheming, manipulating, destroying lives? Oh, wait—”. You step closer, savoring the way her smirk falters, “You can’t.”

Agatha’s smirk snaps back into place, but there’s a flicker—tiny, fleeting—of something behind her eyes. Fear? No, she wouldn’t let you see that. Regret? That would be even more shocking. Whatever it is, it’s gone in an instant.

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you.” she says, leaning back against the couch. “I guess that hasn’t changed.”

Your jaw tightens, so hard you’re lucky you don’t chip a tooth. The sheer audacity of her, lounging there like she hasn’t single-handedly fueled centuries of your bitterness, makes your magic flare. 

The air around you hums with tension, a wave of heat radiating from your skin, but she doesn’t even flinch. Of course she doesn’t. Why would she? Agatha has always been maddeningly immune to the consequences of her actions. 

“Don’t you dare pretend nothing happened.” you snap, stepping closer until you’re towering over her. “You left, Agatha. You abandoned me without a word. No explanation, no goodbye—just gone. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

“I had my reasons.” she murmurs, voice quieter now, almost too quiet.

Your laugh is cold, bitter. “Reasons? That’s the best you can come up with? You destroyed me, Agatha. For decades, I tried to understand why, to make sense of how I meant so little to you.”

Her lips part as if to speak, but no words come out. For a moment, just a moment, you see something raw in her gaze—a vulnerability she’s trying desperately to hide.

“Don’t.” you say sharply, your magic flaring brighter. “Don’t you dare try to justify what you did. You don’t get to play the victim.”

Her smirk falls back into place, but it’s weaker now, almost brittle. 

“You’re really milking this righteous fury thing, aren’t you?” she quips, though her voice lacks its usual bite. “What do you want, then? Revenge? Closure? Or did you just miss me?”

The last question catches you off guard, her tone teasing but her eyes searching. Your magic is screaming at you to be unleashed, the rage bubbling so close to the surface as you lean in closer, your face inches from hers.

“What I want,” you say, your voice low and dangerous, “is for you to feel even a fraction of the pain you caused me.”

The heat of your fury presses down on her, forcing her back into the couch. Her sharp tongue falters, her bravado slipping just enough for you to see it: the crack in her armor, the shadow of fear in her eyes.

“Give me one good reason,” you hiss, venom drenching your tone, “why I shouldn’t end this now. Why I shouldn’t take everything from you the way you took everything from me.”

“Because you still love me.”

Five words, and everything you’ve built comes crashing down.

It festers like an old wound torn open, flesh ripped apart to reveal something gory beneath, bleeding and pulsing. It’s a visceral pain that feels like it might consume you whole, a dark, twisting ache that blooms in your chest and radiates outward.

Your grip on your magic falters, and for a fleeting second, you see her as she was all those years ago—the woman who once held your heart in her hands, who kissed you like you were the only thing that mattered.

The memory bleeds into the present, stark and jarring, clashing with the image of the woman before you now. She’s still breathtaking, but there’s a hollowness in her now, a shadow where the fire used to burn brightest. 

The contrast churns something bitter and broken inside you—resentment, grief, yearning, perhaps all three at once. It’s unbearable, the way the past and present collide, leaving you adrift in the space between what was and what is.

You force yourself to recoil, your magic snapping back to you as if burned. 

“Love?” you spit, the word a venomous hiss that cuts through the charged air between you. “You think I could still love you after everything you did? I fucking hate you, Agatha.”

Her laughter startles you—a sharp, bitter sound that carries no joy, only a rawness that sinks deep under your skin. It’s the laugh of someone who’s long since made peace with their own destruction.

“Hate’s just love that’s been shattered to pieces.” she says, her voice cracking, the edges sharp enough to draw blood. “And we both know you’ve been holding onto those shards for decades.”

You want to deny it, to unleash every ounce of fury you’ve carried for all these years, to rip her apart for daring to speak such a painful truth aloud.

But you can’t.

And it’s in this moment of hesitation, of vulnerability, that the rage in your chest shifts—twisting into something far more dangerous.

The bond between you roars, electric and alive, as if responding to your emotions. It’s always been there, tethering you to her no matter how much you tried to sever it. And now, it’s pulling you closer, wrapping around you like dense smoke.

It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating. And you fucking missed it.

Even bound and powerless, Agatha looks at you as if she’s still in control, as if the years of pain and betrayal you’ve carried mean nothing.

Her eyes narrow, a glint of recognition flashing in that unnervingly sharp gaze. She sees it, she feels it, the way her words have struck a nerve. And, of course, she pounces on it.

“What’s the matter, hon?” she purrs, her voice a sickeningly sweet mockery of concern. “Can’t decide whether to kill me or fuck me?”

The words land like a match to gasoline, igniting a fire it’s far too late to extinguish. The line you’ve been toeing shatters, and before you can stop yourself, you close the final distance between you in one swift movement, your hand wrapping around her throat as you press her back against the couch. 

Her smirk doesn’t leave her lips—if anything, it deepens, her breath catching just slightly as her eyes gleam with something dark and infuriatingly pleased.

You can feel her pulse under your fingertips, quick and unsteady, and it only feeds the chaos roiling inside you.

“You don’t get to say that.” you hiss, leaning closer until your face is inches from hers. “You don’t get to act like this is a game.”

“And what if it is?” she murmurs, her voice low, almost daring. “What if that’s all we’ve ever been?”

The anger in your chest twists, warping into something raw and untamed. You hate her. You want her. The two emotions bleed together, inseparable, consuming.

Your grip on her throat tightens—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who has the power now. She doesn’t fight you, but she doesn’t look away either.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me.” you say, your voice shaking with the weight of everything you’ve held back. “No idea what it’s been like to carry this—this anger, this pain, this fucking bond I can’t escape.”

Of course, you don’t expect her to apologize, she never would, but the flicker of regret in her eyes is louder than words.

The bond between you hums again, relentless and unyielding, pulling you closer even as you try to resist. You do hate her, but you also can’t deny the way her presence calls to you, the way her magic—even diminished—feels like a part of you.

“Why, Agatha?” you demand, your voice breaking as you lean in closer. “Why did you leave? Why did you—”

She cuts you off by brushing her lips against yours in the barest hint of contact. It’s not a kiss, not yet, but it steals the breath from your lungs all the same. 

As her breath mingles with yours, the world collapses to the infinitesimal space between your lips, a charged, aching void that demands to be closed.

And then, as if honoring that demand, she closes the distance. 

Her lips crash onto yours in a kiss that isn’t tender—it’s a storm, a battle, a clash of wills. Her mouth moves against yours with a desperation that feels like surrender, but there’s no mistaking the way she bites at your lower lip, as if daring you to take more.

You growl low in your throat, the sound vibrating against her lips as your hands find her hips, pinning her harder against the couch. She arches into you, her body a perfect, infuriating fit against yours, and the bond between you flares alive, pulling you deeper into the chaos of her.

Her tongue meets yours, and it’s molten—hot and demanding, tangled in a rhythm that feels like a fight for dominance neither of you is willing to lose. The couch creaks beneath you as you press her down, your weight covering hers completely, your hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her gasp into your mouth.

This isn’t forgiveness. It isn’t reconciliation. It’s unfiltered emotion, punishment and possession, everything you’ve bottled up for decades exploding in a collision of anger and desire that leaves no room for restraint.

With a flick of your wrist, her clothes dissolve into shimmering wisps of magic, vanishing like smoke into the air. What’s left behind steals the breath from your lungs despite every part of you screaming not to react, not to let her affect you like this.

The sight of Agatha’s bare body, a masterpiece of soft curves and sharp angles, reignites memories you thought you’d buried—the way her skin once felt beneath your hands, how her body moved in perfect synch with yours, every sound she made etched into your soul.

It’s been decades since you last saw her like this, but time has done nothing to dull her power over you. 

Your pulse thunders in your ears, heat spreading like wildfire through your veins as your gaze trails over her, lingering on the lines of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the way her thighs tremble ever so slightly.

She’s bound and powerless in every possibile sense of the words, yet somehow she still holds the upper hand.

Her lips curl into the faintest smirk as if she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. “Still as easy to impress as ever, I see.”

The words snap you out of your trance, a surge of irritation mingling with the desire coursing through you. 

With another flick of your wrist, ropes of magic coil around her wrists, pulling them together and suspending them above her head. The glowing bonds crackle with energy, casting faint light over her bare skin. 

Her smirk falters, just slightly, as she tugs against the restraints, her muscles flexing in defiance and testing their hold.

And it’s that—that small attempt at resistance, her futile struggle against the bonds you’ve created—that makes something snap inside you. 

It’s not just power—it’s the realization that she, the woman who’s haunted your every waking thought and dream, is finally yours to control. The intensity of it almost scares you, the way it spreads through your chest like spilled ink, staining every corner of your mind in pitch black.

It’s a visceral, consuming need to claim her, to fill her, to mark her in a way that will sear into her soul, leaving no room for doubt or escape. The hunger burns through you, fierce and unrelenting, every ounce of your power thrumming with it, shaping itself into something tangible, something undeniable.

Your lower clothing dissolves into shimmering magic, leaving you partially bare—but not fully. The vulnerability of complete nakedness is a luxury you can’t afford. Not right now. Not with Agatha. You want the contrast to be stark—her, stripped of everything, exposed and powerless beneath you, while you remain in control. It’s a statement, a reminder, that here, now, you’re the one with the upper hand.

And then, as though summoned by your need, the strap materializes. And it’s not just magic—it’s a part of you, an extension of your body. 

The weight of it settles against your hips, grounding you, the connection immediate and intimate, as if it’s always been there.

Your gaze drops for a moment, drawn to the way your cock stands proud and commanding, and a smirk tugs at your lips. You take in its size, the thick, substantial girth that demands attention. You make no effort to hide your satisfaction as your hand wraps firmly around its base, stroking it in slow, deliberate movements that make your intent unmistakable.

Agatha’s eyes widen, her own gaze falling to your cock before flicking back to your face. Her lips part slightly, and her tongue darts out to wet them in a motion so instinctive, so sinful, that it sends a fresh jolt of heat through you.

For once, she seems utterly at a loss for words, the sharp wit you’ve come to expect from her silenced by the weight of the moment, and by you.

“Speechless?” you ask, your tone dripping with mockery. “Not like you.”

“Well,” she manages, clicking her tongue, her voice laced with an edge of forced confidence, “you’ve certainly… outdone yourself.”

You press the tip against her thigh, watching as her body tenses and her breath hitches. Slowly, teasingly, you trail it upward, letting it graze her glistening folds but never quite giving her what she wants. 

You see all of her defiance falter the second you tap the tip against her clit. You do it multiple times, teasing her until she’s a panting mess, her chest heaving as her body completely betrays her. 

And yet, her eyes stay locked on yours, burning with a mix of frustration and longing.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your hand sliding back to her throat, wrapping around it just enough to keep her grounded. Her pulse races beneath your fingers, and you feel her body relax into your touch, her submission becoming more evident with every passing second. “You’re supposed to be the powerful one, remember? The one who’s always in control. How does it feel to be at my mercy?”

She doesn’t answer—not with words. Instead, a broken moan escapes her lips as you finally push the tip of your cock into her. The sensation shoots through you like lightning, raw and electric, and you can’t stop the low hum that escapes your lips.

“So wet for someone who acts like she’s above it all.” you say, your voice carrying a teasing lilt. “Tell me, Agatha—do you always get this needy when you’re powerless? Or is it just for me?”

Her cheeks flush, and she glares at you, but the humiliation in her eyes only makes your smirk deepen. She tilts her hips toward you in an attempt to take more, the motion drawing a smug chuckle from your throat.

“Pathetic.” you mock, “You used to have me on my knees, begging for you. And here you are now, so desperate for my cock you can’t even hide it.”

Her lips part in a sharp, trembling intake of breath, her chest rising and falling as her wrists strain futilely against the glowing restraints above her head. 

“You think you’re in control now?” she spits, though her voice trembles. “That this makes you powerful?”

You laugh, cold and merciless, leaning in until your breath fans across the shell of her ear. 

“Oh, I don’t think.” you whisper, your words nothing but a cruel taunt. “I know.”

To drive the point home, you push deeper, and the wet, obscene sound of her body yielding to you fills the room. 

She’s molten, deliciously tight, and her slick heat draws you in like a drug. Every inch you sink into her feels like a conquest, you can feel how her body stretches to take you, how her walls tremble and clench around the pleasurable intrusion, pulling you deeper as if begging for more. 

The sensation is so vivid, so overwhelming, that a loud, unrestrained moan tears from your lips.

“Seems like I’m not the only needy one.” she murmurs, her voice trembling but cutting nevertheless. “Such pretty sounds for me.”

Her words strike a nerve, and the moment they register, your hips snap forward in one sharp, punishing thrust, driving the strap so deep your hips collide with hers. 

The impact sends a jolt through both of you, her sharp cry echoing through the air before it’s cut off as your fingers tighten around her throat.

“Is that what you wanted? Mmh?” you hiss, your voice trembling with the effort to stay in control. “To be fucked like this? To feel what it’s like to be under me for once?”

She doesn’t respond, her voice swallowed by a series of breathless moans as you pull back and thrust in again, setting a slow, languid rhythm that feels more like a claim than a motion. 

You want to break her—but not physically. Even now, even with the all this anger coursing through you, the thought of truly hurting her is unthinkable. You know you’re big, and despite everything, you couldn’t forgive yourself if you let the fury bleeding into your movements cause her pain.

Instead, you pour that intensity into control, into precision, into the way you angle your hips just right to drag your length against every sensitive spot inside her. The sound of her wetness grows louder with each thrust, mingling with the faint creak of the couch beneath you.

“Gods.” you murmur, your free hand gripping her hip to steady yourself. “You feel that, don’t you? How wet you are for me? How much you want this?”

Her head nods slightly, the motion almost instinctive, as if her body answers before her mind has time to process, before the final syllable of your last question even hangs in the air.

“Yes—fuck.” she whispers, the word trembling on her lips. “Yes, I—”

“Louder!” you command, your tone sharp as you feel it—a fresh gush of wetness enveloping you, slick and hot, pulling you in. 

“Yes!” she screams, her voice cracking under the weight of her need. “I want it—I want you.”

Her admission is a spark to the inferno raging inside you, and you give in to it, your magic surging wildly. 

Your pace quickens, your hips snapping forward with growing intensity, each thrust deeper and harder than the last, the slap of your hips against hers a relentless cadence of possession that blends with her cries.

Her wrists pull at the restraints while her back arches and her moans rise higher, each one a testament to your power over her, a surrender you claim with every punishing thrust.

Your gaze drops involuntarily, drawn to the mesmerizing rhythm of her breasts bouncing in time with your movements, and the sight instantly makes your mouth water. The memory of their softness, the way they felt against your tongue and lips, rushes back unbidden, igniting a primal urge to lean down and take one into your mouth.

But you catch yourself, clenching your jaw against the temptation. This isn’t about her pleasure. You’re not here to make her enjoy herself. You’re here to ruin her, to make her crumble under your control.

“Fuck, don’t stop.” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

Your eyes snap back to hers, a wicked grin spreading across your lips as your grip on her throat loosens, your hand sliding down to join the other on her hips. With both hands anchoring her in place, your pace grows ruthless, each thrust drawing louder and more desperate sounds from her.

Her walls tighten around you, squeezing your cock as the connection between you deepens, your magic tangling with hers in a way that feels both chaotic and inevitable.

And then, just as you feel teetering on the edge of release, you pull back, slowing to a maddening pace. 

Your thrusts become shallow, deliberate teases that barely fill her, leaving her gasping and writhing beneath you. Her frustration is palpable, her hips bucking in search of relief, but you hold her steady, a cruel smirk curling your lips.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” you purr, each word dripping with satisfaction. “Just say the word, Agatha. Beg me, and I’ll let you come.”

Her body tenses beneath you, every muscle taut as she fights the command with everything she has, struggling to cling to the last fleeting semblance of control. Even as her thighs quiver and her hips twitch uncontrollably, her pride holds her back, refusing to surrender to you so easily.

But as each thrust reminds her of what she’s being denied, drawing out her torment, her nails curl into her palms, her jaw tightens, and her resolve cracks little by little under the relentless pressure. 

Finally, her head tilts back, her voice breaking as the words tear from her throat. “Please—fuck… please, let me come.”

Her words ignite something feral and all-consuming. Power surges through your veins, setting your every nerve ablaze as you answer her desperate plea and resume fucking her with renewed vigor. 

You slam into her with brutal force, each thrust hitting that soft, devastatingly perfect spot inside her that makes her entire body jerk beneath you. Her eyes roll back, her cries turning into incoherent, panting moans that fuel the raw, insatiable need driving your every motion.

“That’s it.” you growl, your hand sliding down to her clit. You circle it with fast, precise movements, your fingers slick with her arousal as you push her closer to the edge. “Come for me, Agatha. Come on my cock.”

Her moans climb higher, until they peak in a scream that tears through the air as the tension within her shatters all at once. 

Agatha’s orgasm bursts forth like a supernova, bright and devastating, her walls clenching and spasming around you in rhythmic pulses that leave you breathless. She cries out your name, her voice splintering into a sob as her body quakes with the force of her release.

The sight of her—head thrown back, lips parted, her chest heaving as she trembles in the throes of ecstasy—is almost enough to undo you. But you don’t stop. You keep pounding into her, forcing her to take every inch over and over as you drive her higher, helping her ride out each wave of her climax.

And then, as you revel in the way she’s gripping you as though she never wants to let you go, and your own release threatens to overtake you, you falter.  

Because her eyes—half-lidded, blown wide, and dark with need—lock onto yours, piercing through the haze of control you’ve clung to. Her lips part, trembling, and her voice cuts through the storm.

“Fuck—please, baby.” she gasps, each word breaking into a whimper that makes your stomach tighten and your magic throb. “Come inside me. I need it—need to feel it, need you to fill me up.

That’s it. Her words, how she begged for it, the pet name falling so effortlessly from her lips, the raw desperation in her voice, the sheer thought of filling her up with your cum, of watching her take every drop like she’s made for it. It’s all more than enough to tip you over the edge.

How utterly ruined she looks beneath you only adds to it, and whatever fragile grip you had on your restraint shatters instantly, obliterated by the force of her need.

Your hips snap forward in one last devastating thrust, burying your cock into her as deep as it can go, your climax slamming into you like an explosion. 

And then it happens.

The magic within you surges implacably, a relentless flood that erupts deep inside her in thick, scorching waves. Each pulse of your cock forces more of your release into her, a molten rush that fills her completely. The bond between you roaring with life as your magic claims her from the inside out, leaving no part of her untouched.

Beneath you, Agatha’s body goes taut, her back arching violently as the blue in her eyes gets rapidly swallowed by a swirling, familiar, luminous purple. 

You can feel her magic pouring back into her, she gasps as it all overtakes her, her body trembling violently as another orgasm tears through her. But this one is unexpected, different, and even more powerful than the first. 

Her cry pierces the air, a sound of pure ecstasy and unrestrained power, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. It’s primal, otherworldly, and devastatingly beautiful. For a moment, you’re left breathless, unwillingly captivated by the sight of her. A vision that makes something inside you ache.

When the final waves of pleasure subside, you collapse onto her, your breath ragged, your body trembling with exhaustion and the lingering hum of magic. 

The restraints on her wrists dissolve, fading into shimmering sparks, and her hands hover for a moment, uncertain, before they settle gently on your back.

Her touch is light, not hesitant but careful, as though rediscovering something long lost. And as your bodies press together, it feels as if no time has passed at all since you last lay in each other’s arms.

Agatha’s chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, her lips parted as her hooded eyes lock onto yours.

Her gaze is a labyrinth, a tangle of emotions so layered and profound it’s impossible to unravel. There’s no trace of defiance, no smugness, no sharp wit lurking in the corners. Instead, disbelief and shock hum beneath the surface, while a glimmer of something softer—gratefulness, maybe even devotion—burns faintly. And yet, woven through it all is an aching, unguarded longing.

It’s a silent confession wrapped in questions, and the absence of her usual masks, the sheer vulnerability staring back at you, stirs something deep in your chest, a feeling too overwhelming to even begin to name.

As you pull out of her, you catch how her hips twitch instinctively at the sudden emptiness, and the sound she makes—a quiet, needy whine—makes your breath hitch. 

The cock dissolves in a flicker of shimmering light, fading back into the ether, but your eyes remain fixed on what it left behind.

You watch your cum drip from her, thick and glistening as it slides slowly down her folds. The sight is mesmerizing and utterly filthy, making a new rush of heat coil low in your stomach. 

Agatha notices the shift in your gaze, lazily tilting her head to follow it. When she sees what’s caught your attention, a smug grin spreads across her face, equal parts infuriating and intoxicating.

“Hmm.” she hums, her voice a sultry drawl that sends shivers down your spine. “You always did know how to leave an impression, darling.” 

She pauses, her grin deepening as her eyes flick back to yours, gleaming with sharp amusement. “Though I must say, I never expected to get my powers back this way… not that I’m complaining.”

As soon as you register her words your jaw clenches, a flush rising to your cheeks as frustration surges through you. 

That wasn’t supposed to happen. The thought echoes in your mind, relentless and deafening. You didn’t plan this—hell, you didn’t even know you could do that, and the realization leaves you stunned, reeling. 

You came here to break her, to strip her of whatever scraps of control she had left, to show her just how worthless she was without her power. You came here to make her pay.

But instead, as always, in the end, Agatha got exactly what she wanted. 

The smugness etched into her face says it all. It’s infuriating. Humiliating. Maddening. Everything always plays out in her favor, no matter how the odds stack against her. The universe itself seems to bend for her, conspiring to deliver her victory, while you’re left choking on the ashes of your intentions.

And yet, even in your frustration, there’s a selfish, shameful flicker of satisfaction burning in your chest. You gave her back her power, yes—but you did it your way. Intimate. Indelible. Something neither of you can ignore or undo. 

No matter how powerful she becomes again, no matter how she wields what’s been restored, she’ll always know who gave it back to her and how. She’ll owe you, whether she admits it or not.

In that way, you did make her pay. And the twisted irony of it feels like a cruel, bitter triumph.

Agatha notices the shift in your expression, the way your gaze has drifted into the distance as if lost in thought, and her voice slices through the haze with a softness that catches you completely off guard.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re like this.” she whispers, her tone impossibly gentle, like a secret meant only for you. ”When you’re all mine.”

Her words land like a jolt, anchoring you back to the present and cutting through the fog in your mind. 

There’s something in her voice, an aching sincerity you didn’t expect, that makes something deep inside you twist painfully.

But even if her tenderness disarms you, it still strikes a nerve, clashing violently with the anger and resentment still simmering beneath your skin. You cling to that anger desperately, using it to shield yourself from the confusion clawing at the edges of your control and threatening to drag you under.

“I’m not yours.” you snarl, but the words lack conviction, and you know she hears it.

Her grin returns, sharper now, as if she’s savoring your futile resistance. 

“Oh, darling…” she whispers, her voice dripping with equal parts confidence and affection. “You’ve always been mine.”

You open your mouth to reply, to hurl another retort that might restore some semblance of control, but the words die on your tongue as her hand moves with startling speed. 

Her fingers curl around the back of your neck, her grip firm yet trembling, and she pulls you down roughly, her lips crashing against yours before you can resist.

The kiss is instant chaos, scattering your thoughts like leaves in a storm. Her tongue slides against yours, hot and insistent, tangling and teasing with a fervor that steals the air from your lungs. 

It’s wet, messy, the taste of her flooding your senses as she kisses you with the same confident, consuming intensity she always did. 

But beneath the confidence, there’s something unspoken. 

It’s in the way her body shudders beneath you, in the way her fingers dig into your neck, in the way her lips cling to yours as though letting go might unravel her completely. The vulnerability in her touch and the aching need in her kiss cut through the haze of anger, leaving you trembling and unsure whether the ache blooming in your chest is pain, longing, or both.

But right now, whatever it is you’re feeling, you refuse to linger on it. 

You won’t allow her another second of your time, your presence. The very air around her feels oppressive, making it harder to breathe, and you know that if you stay a moment longer it will be too late to resurface.

With all the strength and willpower you can muster, you push yourself up, breaking away from her touch and from her warmth. 

You wave a hand, conjuring back your underwear and pants in a blur of hasty magic, your movements jerky and unsteady while every fiber of your being screams at you to put distance between yourself and her. To leave.

Suddenly, the bond hums again, loud and persistent, gnawing and mocking at your resolve. You grit your teeth and force yourself to ignore it, taking a couple of steps toward the door, refusing to look back. 

You’ll leave. You need to leave. You want to leave.

But with Agatha, it’s never that easy.

“Wait.”

It’s not a command. It’s not teasing or smug. It’s quiet, almost unsure, and that alone makes you hesitate.

You glance back over your shoulder, your voice sharp with all the frustration burning hot in your chest. “What could you possibly want now?”

She sits up slowly, still completely naked, making no effort to conjure clothes with the magic now thrumming through her.

“Answers.” she says, her tone smooth but tinged with a sly undertone, her gaze locked on yours with unnerving steadiness. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it? To finally hear the truth you think I owe you.” 

She pauses, her lips curving into a faint, almost teasing smile as her eyes flick downward to her still-bare body. “Especially after… this.” Her eyes return to yours, glinting with amusement. “I suppose it’s only fair.”

You fold your arms across your chest, your anger warring with the pull of her words. 

“You owe me more than answers.” you bite back, your voice cutting and cold. “You owe me years of my life, years of trying to understand why you left.”

“And you’ll have them.” her voice softer now, almost disarming. “But not like this.”

Your eyes narrow, suspicion curling in the pit of your stomach. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She rises slowly, her movements deliberate as she closes the distance between you. Her nakedness robs her of nothing—if anything, it sharpens her power, her control. 

When she reaches you, her hand lifts to cup your cheek, her touch infuriatingly warm, a silent challenge wrapped in unsettling intimacy.

“Stay.” she says, her thumb skimming your skin with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. “We’ll talk. Over dinner. But only if you stay.”

You bristle at the condition, your pride flaring. 

“Using my need for closure as leverage?” you ask, your voice biting. “How very you.”

Her grin returns, sharper now, but her eyes betray a flicker of something gentler. 

“Oh, darling.” she purrs, her voice dripping with confidence, “I know you want this, so, let’s not play pretend. I’d say we’re well past that point, wouldn’t you?”

Your jaw tightens, the weight of her gaze making it hard to hold onto your anger. You hate that she’s right. Hate that you want to stay, that the bond between you has wrapped itself around your heart so tightly you can’t bear to leave.

“Fine. Dinner.” you say, your voice clipped. “But no games, Agatha. You owe me the truth.”

Her smirk deepens for a moment, a glimmer of mischief flashing in her eyes, before softening into a genuine, almost nostalgic smile. 

“No games.” she whispers, her tone unexpectedly gentle. “Just dinner… like old times.”

You shake your head, as if trying to clear the lingering warmth of her touch. But it stays with you as you watch her move toward the kitchen, humming softly to herself.

As you follow her, you can’t help but wonder if staying will be your salvation or your undoing. But with Agatha, it’s never a question of one or the other—it’s always both, tangled together in a way that, after all this time, you’re starting to realize you were never meant to escape.

[star2fishmeg]

do you have any luke recommends meg? I'm with nonnie I think most of my fav luke stories were by deactivated accounts 😢😢

Of course!! Firstly, shamelessly plugging myself lmfao and I have a rec list here that should have updated links now! You may have already seen these before but here's a few recent ones too!

≡ᴍᴇɢ's ʟᴜᴋᴇ ʜᴜɢʜᴇs ғɪᴄ ʀᴇᴄs ɪɪ

—sᴍᴜᴛ

♥ 25 of diamonds by @puck-luck ➥ Andy delivered with this. And I ate the blurb up once, twice, thrice and many more. Can't recommend her stuff enough but this one, this one did things to me that I can't explain. It was a req BUT it was defo personal and I still read it.

♥ finger sucking blurb by @wineauntie ➥ Hot hot hot hot, Luke's fingers + Ivy's writing is incredible. I frequently go back to this whenever I need a quick read while cooking or need to get an extra fix of delusion.

♥ thigh riding blurb by @wineauntie ➥ Yes, I know, always dropping Ivy in here somewhere but THESE BLURBS ARE SO GOOD! This one, oh, this one is just spectacular and just yes, wet. You need to check them out if you haven't.

♥ honky tonk flame by @bewaryofpity ➥ COWBOY LUKE! That's hot enough. This fic is just so smooth and charming, you get to the end and hope they meet again! I needed more. Just Luke in jeans and a pool table? Salivating.

♥ "i'm all yours" blurb by @jo-speaks ➥ Oh I do love a bit of sub Luke and this is so hot with y/n's lil spell of jealousy. Gave me literal butterflies, kicked my feet and giggled. Honestly, all these blurbs are so yummy so go check them all.

♥ home for the holidays by @puck-luck ➥I read this, like, twice a week? It's jam-packed and the concept is literally a pussy killer. No sex over xmas? Seems easy but NOOOOOOOOO not with Luke. The stakes makes it sooo juicy. It's shocking to believe but I do enjoy dom!Luke too.

—ғʟᴜғғ

♥ more hearts than mine - her family's Christmas by @withwritersblock ➥ When I tell you adorable, I mean it. I felt the stress on a personal level with this one and my God, the things I would do to live this. I really loved the sibling dynamic in this, it was real and how siblings actually behave towards each other. Devoured this.

♥ you are in love by @withwritersblock ➥ STOP THIS ONE IS SO CUTE! My tummy went all fuzzy when reading and it's just-oh God they're so in love it aches and y/n's friends are so funny with their reactions.

♥ his name by @cupidbedsy ➥ Tooth rotting fluff. Loser Luke having a crush and is so awkward and it's the cutest thing ever. I think about this fic often, and you should too. The pacing is so perfect and I just think the emphasis of his name on her back reassuring her support is beautiful.

♥ "i'll give you a ride, don't worry." blurb by @hischierslovergirl ➥ Um hello? Perfect execution? Yeah, this one may have been requested by me but the writing makes me kick my feet and giggle. The only way to describe the ending is with a chef's kiss.

♥ next step is love by @bewaryofpity ➥ Dropped TODAY and did not disappoint. It's so domestic and I always eat up the team banter. If you adore best-friends-who-aren't-really-best-friends then you'll love this one. A lot. Tooth rotting and so so cute, I'm speechless.

—ᴀɴɢsᴛ

♥ let it happen by @bratbarzal ➥ Maggie made me violent with this series. It's so raw and natural, devoured it from beginning to end. If you don't like being happy, this is the series for you. On a real note, it's so well written and there is never a dull moment with the drama and almosts.

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 1!

happy new year, everyone!! we're kicking the year off with a slightly shorter rec list than usual - i've been spending a lot more time with family, and a lot less time reading - of lovely, lovely fics. enjoy!!

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

all i want for christmas... | Tizniz/@tizniz | 3.4k | GA

“So…I don’t think we’re gonna make it back for Christmas.” Buck closes his eyes and takes a breath, letting the full impact of Eddie’s words hit him for a second. “Y-yeah, man. Of course. I totally get it.” He swallows, “Your family is there, anyways.” i am still thoroughly enjoying a few more holiday fics and this one was an absolute highlight this week!! so soft and lovely <3

'cause i took the long road to find you wanting me | BekkaChaos/@bekkachaos | 6k | T

Buck can't bring himself to act normal around Eddie in the days after he reveals he's looking for houses in El Paso, he knows that Eddie leaving will be one of the most painful things he'll have to endure, but he refuses to tell him that he shouldn't go. After a few days, Eddie comes to Buck's loft unannounced to confront him about it, and everything becomes even more complicated. i LOVE this fic's characterisation of buck so very much <3 so good!!

every corner of this house is haunted | justhockey | 2.5k | GA

And now that love is everywhere, is in everything. It’s worn so deeply into the grooves of his skin that it’s changed the very structure of his fingerprint - is burrowed so deep inside of him that it has rewritten his DNA. His love for Eddie and for Christopher is carved into his bones - etched onto his heart like an epitaph: love lived here. Love left here. the excitment i feel whenever i see a new justhockey fic <3 i mean seriously, do you need to read more than those two little summary paragraphs to be convinced to read this gem of a fic? i don't think you do. click the link, you know you want to <3

honey came in and she caught me red-handed | lizzybizzyzzz/@lizzybizzyzzz | 9.3k | E

buck accidentally sends eddie nudes; they fuck it out. so hot so good so them <3 oh how i love buddie accidentally sending each other nudes, and this fic is right there among the very best of them!!

if only in my dreams | songbvrd/@songbvrd | 9.2k | GA

Eddie moves to El Paso a month before Christmas. Buck goes a little bit insane about it. at this point a michelle rec list isn't a michelle rec list without a fic by songbvrd on it lol. what can i say, i know what i like, and this author happens to write a lot of it! i love buck going a little bit insane over eddie moving and his decorating and the buddie and just everything <3

pluto is not a planet. | gooondocks (happyhauntt)/@happyhauntt | 3.2k | GA

buck finds out that pluto isn't a planet anymore and takes it very personally. this fic is so so gorgeously written. the most beautiful character study introspection buck fic. genuinely just that good <3

with all the clouds around (it's never been clearer than now) | seachanged | 2.4k | T

It happens on a Saturday. Or, it starts on a Friday that turns into Saturday, the easy joy of the night tipping over into the pale, vulnerable light of the morning; dazzling in its inevitability.  the buddie dynamic here is so so good, a little teasing and a little flirty but mostly so very soft <3 lovely fic!!

[sodaabaa]

kink headcanons, multifandom 18+

i finally got around to writing some headcanons that i have for my absolute favorite fictional characters!! these guys live rent free in my head so i thought it was about time to put my thoughts down. be aware, these are filthy. enjoy ;)

let me know if there's any other character you all want to see! i'd love to start doing more headcanons.

tw: kink, bdsm, dom/sub dynamics, morally questionable material and men, sexual content. 18+, mdni. all acts described are within the boundaries of limits and consent.

tvd

stefan salvatore

soft dom™ 

stefan is daddy. whether its inside the bedroom or outside, he makes sure to take care of you. 

nurturing, loving, caring, ATTENTIVE. he talks you through it. 

now, just because he’s a softie, doesn’t mean he doesnt get down and dirty. 

noo, when he finds out you’ve been secretly dying to get a little more spicy in bed, he JUMPS at the opportunity. 

his main kinks are choking, restraint, and that sort of faux-praise degradation. he is a dirty talking WIZARD. 

“thats right, thats my girl. you can take it. this is what you were made for.” 

makes sure you have snacks, water, a cozy blanket and plenty of reassurance afterwards. he’s incredibly gentle during aftercare so you get all the cuddles and forehead kisses – his favorite thing to do is watch you drift off as he runs his fingers through your hair. 

bonus: no humanity stefan is a whole other monster. 

will blood share if you’re also a vampire, will feed if you’re human. loves having you clench around him when he’s feeding off you. 

no humanity stefan is a little more sadistic and plays with pain if his partner allows it. 

damon salvatore

we all know this man isn’t vanilla. i mean hello – have you met him?

has a bit of a sadist streak.

restraint, impact play, marking, wax play…he likes to toy with you before doing anything else. 

looooves seeing you beg and whimper while he drips hot wax on your stomach, leading closer to where you want him to touch you. loves watching you squirm while you’re tied spread eagle. he is CRUEL. 

it’s only when you’ve almost tired yourself out from the tension and begging that he gives in. 

after several rounds of orgasms, he’ll finally get tired and pull you into his arms, holding you tight to help ground you after the intensity of the night’s events.

klaus mikaelson

another man who could never be vanilla. 

PRIMAL AS FUCK.

will chase you down through a forest while taunting you, telling you how you can’t get away from him and detailing all the things he’s going to do to you.

loves the chase. nothing gives him a greater adrenaline rush. 

once he catches you, he’s hyper aware of every breath you take, the way your chest rises and falls and your eyes dart between his eyes and his lips, the rapid beating of your heart.

this is where he unleashes.

he’s tearing your clothes off in seconds, unbothered by the fact that the two of you are literally in the middle of the woods.

he has you up against a tree and doesn’t hold back from pounding into you instantly. 

he revels in the sounds he brings out of you, filthy, filthy sounds.

continues to taunt and tease you degradingly, it only fuels you closer to your orgasm.

once you’re both done, your legs are all but jelly so he scoops you up and takes you back home.

he’s an aftercare king. he draws you a bath, lights some candles, and helps wash off any residue from the forest y’all just went crazy in.

he picks leaves out of your hair while you rest lazily on the side of the tub, gazing at him and his pretty face.

he can't help but smile and pull you in for a kiss (and probably another round...)

elijah mikaelson

definitely a lifestyle dominant. most likely a Master.

loves going to dungeons and taking part in high protocol parties (duh, have you seen the way he carries himself and how he dresses?)

he loves seeing you get all dolled up and being a good girl for him.

he doesn’t tolerate brattiness and WILL have you over his lap in an instant, regardless of where you are who you’re around.

definitely a hard dom type – he gives one word commands and you’re expected to obey. 

takes discipline and obedience very seriously. he takes care of you in every way, financially, emotionally, physically and he does ask that you obey him unless there is a serious issue – if there is, he is more than willing to talk.

definitely keeps track of your health and fitness. ensures you eat a healthy, well balanced diet and drink enough water. if you’re a vampire, he blood shares and keeps blood bags stocked just for you.

you are SPOILED. he treats you to spontaneous getaways on exotic islands, expensive shoes, bags, and jewelry. only the best for his best girl.

in bed, he’s gentle but firm. preferring to restrain you with his hands and body as opposed to using ropes. he wants you to feel his power and strength.

not much of a talker and he’s pretty quiet aside from a few grunts and groans here and there. 

definitely plays with long term denial because of the power it gives him over you. 

he loves watching you fall asleep in his arms and he’ll stay up long after you’ve drifted off, just to make sure you’re completely fine.

you wake up to a five course breakfast because as much as you serve him, he serves you equally.

bridgerton

anthony bridgerton

traditional man™

this means he’s very much about rules, discipline, and obedience (iykwim).

he loves it when you defer to him and obey him.

very much a service dom and won’t stop eating you out til you’re half way passed out. 

he’s very gentle but definitely has his moments especially when you’ve tested his patience.

you make sly comments and suggestive gestures when you’re around family and he has to take you to his study to relieve some of the tension.

slams into you almost instantly, knocking the breath out of your stomach.

"is this what you wanted, hm?" while punctuating his words with harsh thrusts.

you have to grip his arms to prevent falling off his desk.

will spank you afterwards to let you know he's not nearly finished with you.

acotar

rhysand

i think he could have been a switch pre-under the mountain. 

now, he’s definitely a dom unless he fully and completely trusts his partner with his life.

it takes some time for him to even be comfortable with you being on top.

but when he’s a dom, he’s a service dom and he goes ALL the way.

there’s not an inch of your body that he hasn’t licked or sucked or kissed.

he’s SKILLED with his hands. making you writhe and scream just with a single finger pressed against the right spot.

he loves having you caress his wings. if you happen to do it while he’s in you, it WILL make him pound into you suddenly.

stamina. that is all.

loves to lay with you on the roof under the night sky when you’re both absolutely worn out. 

azriel

CERTIFIED FREAK. SEVEN DAYS A WEEK. 

restraint, pain, impact, sensation, marking, overstimulation, denial…he does it ALL.

he has his own personal dungeon and its decked out in all sorts of toys, equipment, restraints, etc…

there’s a giant, plush, round bed in the middle for all sorts of activities. 

he’s a sadist. 

he gets off on blindfolding you and just experimenting with all the different ways he can make you squirm, moan, writhe, and even orgasm.

shadows will definitely be used to toy with you, restrain you, and blindfold you. 

sadism is an art and a science to azriel. you’re the muse and willing test subject of all his fantasies.

despite this, sometimes after a particularly rough mission, he’ll want nothing more than to have you gently and tenderly. 

goes to great lengths to ensure you’re okay afterwards. while you’re still floaty and lost in subspace, he’ll bathe you (while inspecting your body for any markings or wounds), clothe you in his cozy sweater that you love, and place you onto that plush bed with the velvety blankets. 

he’ll give you water and some snacks to help bring you back down from subspace and then talk through the whole scene the two of you just did.

he ensures you’re feeling safe and that you don’t have any soreness or pain before finally pulling you into his arms and letting you rest. 

definitely experiences domdrop. when this happens, you do your best to reassure him until he feels better. but sometimes, he just needs to come down on his own.

dcu

jason todd

bad boy type who definitely gets up to some kinky shit. mostly a dom, will let his sub pretend to dom him.

not into restraint.

loves choking and spanking though.

and gunplay.

blindfolds you for two reasons: he doesn’t want you to see his scars and it’s just erotic.

looooves overstimulation. 

when he finally lets you see him, you lay him down and kiss every scar until you get to his bIG FAT-

let’s just say you show him how much you love him with your mouth.

this makes him go feral. he pulls you up, flips you over and pounds the absolute living hell out of you. 

no mercy. this man has NO MERCY. he will ram into you despite how intense the pleasure you’re feeling is. hard, punishing thrusts. you can barely make a sound.

when he’s finally done (my man has stamina), he’s a big cuddly bear.

you wear his sweater to sleep.

bruce wayne

vanilla. after all the violence in his life, he wants physical intimacy to be soft, gentle, safe.

sugar daddy asf though. will pay you just to come to galas with him.

loves spending money on you.

will buy you extravagant things, dresses, jewels, cars. 

buys you hundreds of lingerie sets.

you dance for him as he sits back in a chair.

rips all the lingerie off when you get close to him. you protest and giggle about the ruined lingerie but he just pulls you in and promises to buy you more.

very attentive, loves coaxing those sweet sounds out of you.

is a whore for your touch.

bonus: the maddest obsession

christian allister 

DADDY? SORRY. DADDY? SORRY. DADD-

where do i even start.

dangerously obsessive and possessive. you belong to him.

isn’t necessarily a sadist in the sense that he loves hurting you. it’s more that he loves watching you get floaty from all the orgasms he gives you. back to back to back to- this man lives for your orgasms. the sounds you make, the way you squirm, the way the only word you can muster out is his name.

and he belongs to you. other people don’t even exist to him. 

when you’re out, his eyes are trained on you and you alone.

he’s a scary dom. all harsh commands and degrading taunts.

he loves controlling you. he picks your clothes down to your lingerie.

definitely gets you a day collar.

finds your brattiness amusing because it disappears as soon as he gives you that look.

will leave your ass red if you so much as smile at another man.

loves restraining you so he can freely explore every inch of your body.

toys with you like a predator would its prey before they pounce.

this man has you seeing stars just with his tongue.

loves having you on top so he can watch you bounce on him. but every movement is still controlled by him and he makes sure you know it by pulling your hair and keeping a firm hand on the back of your neck.

will leave you with marks all over. sometimes in very visible places so everyone knows who you belong to. most marks are in places only he can see.

stern aftercare. will force you to drink water before he lets you have any sweets as a treat for taking it all so well.

[flamsparks]

So, I finished Veilguard…

…and I need to vent…

The text ahead is mostly spoiler-free. Minor spoilers are present (and marked)… and it’s quite long. Apologies for that…

TL; DR: Veilguard is not a bad game. It’s just a bad Dragon Age. BioWare made most decisions on your behalf, so you don’t have to. You’re a hero in shining armour (mandatory), surrounded by NPCs in various shades of vanilla, immersed in a non-existent lore, having conversations that swing between generic and cringe. Nothing Dragon Age has ever been.

N.B. I tried to be as accurate as possible while writing this text. I took notes while playing on events and conversations to try and stick to the facts actually occurring during the game. But of course, the game is immense and guides to it are not as detailed or reliable as of now, so I couldn’t double-check most of it. So, if you find anything wrong with what I say, any details (or massive plot points) I missed or got wrong, please do let me know, and I’ll see to correct them!

Good things first. Because despite what the shitload I’m about to drop onto the game might suggest, there are a few changes they made that I genuinely appreciate.

First of all, the playability has greatly improved. When it comes to DA, one of the main issues I always had with every. single. game. was that the first few hours I was lost in the dynamics I needed to figure out before I got the hang of it. Maybe I’m just an idiot. But still, there are mechanics in all three previous games that need to be understood before you get down to actually playing (and enjoying) the game. Veilguard is not like that. It’s very intuitive, everything is pretty neatly marked… it’s something I sincerely appreciated.

I also don’t dislike the new combat mode. I was worried sick that a party of only 3 wouldn’t be remotely enough to cover everything that needs covering, but I’m glad this was not the case. I’m also a pretty non-strategic player when it comes to combat - the kind who’s content with swinging an axe around and decapitate whatever comes close enough to hit. It’s again a very intuitive format the one in Veilguard, and though 3 attacks may be few, they suffice imo. Same goes for steering your companions’ fight. Only downside is just how much you need to dodge. I was hoping to play an archer, but quickly realised that playing solely at range is basically impossible since enemies target you constantly. But melee combat has also become far more manageable than before, so not all that bad. But again, I’m a player who doesn’t really know what strategy is.

And another thing I really appreciated is the pacing. To have more minor main quests scattered all along the way rather than fewer, bigger main quests, interspersed with countless side quests, helps keep better track of the plot and the big events that just occurred (which are supposedly pretty urgent stuff, stop wasting your days picking elfroot!). And in a game as story-led as DA is, keeping the plot together is not a bad thing after all.

Good.

Now that we got this out of the way,

Let’s begin from something that alarmed me already ahead of release: the impossibility of importing your world state.

I’m generally not one to jump to conclusions before having thoroughly looked into the thing. But this could not not be an issue. DA games after Origins have always lived and breathed the lore they’re set in. Choices you made affect the world afterwards. And though in the major scheme of things, they all pretty much came together to the same core points, it’s always been nice to see how previous choices reflected into the new games. You could overhear people mentioning a certain event while passing by, you could ask how your companions from the previous game were doing… and cameos of characters from previous games were doubtlessly the best part of it. Some were just fleeting appearances, but some were so relevant to the game that you ended up doing entire quest-lines with characters you knew from before and cared for. What’s more devastating than having to choose between leaving Alistair or Hawke behind? (Don’t answer please, I know the list of tough choices is long, please, don’t make me suffer further).

In Veilguard, because you cannot bring up the previous state of the world, not only you don’t have any access to news from other parts of Thedas (like, c’mon, you can’t tell me that echoes of whatever is going on in the circles southwards is not reaching maybe not Tevinter, but at least Antiva or the Anderfells), but every cameo is so frustratingly underwhelming! Characters just make an appearance, you don’t really get to talk to them, and even when you do, you can’t ask them how they’d been doing since you last saw them in DA[X]. If I left Isabela to the Qunari, I wanna ask her how she escaped! If Dorian is in a relationship with Bull, I wanna be updated! If Kieran was born, I wanna know how he is! Morrigan is the only character from previous games you have decent conversations with, and you still don’t know shit! These are small details, often irrelevant to the plot, which make the lore of DA rich and alive, and help the player connect to the worlds before the current one!

But the sad truth is that Veilguard was made for new players. Not for old ones. And yes, I understand that after 10 years since the last game, it’s plausible to think that many old players will have forgotten the franchise… but how many people had been eagerly waiting to see this world further develop for a literal decade? I can’t believe they’re not worth enough.

And being unable to choose your own world state means that the rich lore is largely avoided. A big part of discovering new countries of Thedas in previous games was being immersed into the local culture, its traditions and customs, its politics, even its language, and they had an influence in the events. After Veilguard, what do I know about Rivain? Beeches. And they have food of some kind. That’s it. That’s the lore.

Oh no, wait. We know Rivain is a non-binary culture... or do we?

Please, help me out on this. Because I played this part twice, and twice I found a plot hole so massive I sincerely think I must have missed a very easy bridge crossing over it somewhere. Please, if I did, tell me. Because otherwise, this is what I saw. And it’s driving me insane.

When Taash needs to make their choice, it is spelled as “choose between the Qunari and Rivaini culture”. And beside the irony that was noted about Taash’s cultural identity to be forced into a rigidly binary choice, Taash embracing the Rivaini culture additionally translates into them embracing their non-binary identity… except… how does choosing that culture equate to choosing that identity? When is it ever stated that the Qunari culture is a binary one [it is made explicit later on, during that infamous conversation], while the Rivaini culture is not, before that moment? And that’s not even the whole problem! To do some “talks about gender”, Taash needs literally to go to Tevinter ([SPOILER] and since I had Minrathous taken over by the Venatori, the Shadow Dragons are literally missing atm, so how on Thedas did Neve manage to arrange not one but SEVERAL cozy talks between them and Taash?). How is that supposed to be “Rivaini culture” if Taash had literally never heard of it from them and needed to go to a whole other country to find out about it?

This is just how afraid Veilguard is of its own lore. Companions may be the soul of Dragon Age games, but their lore is their spine. Without it, they’re just a shapeless mushy blob. I literally went through every single game just to live and help build this world. That’s just how powerful it is. And Veilguard is so scared of it (and Maker save us from any mentions of slavery in Tevinter or THE CROWS), it won’t let you get any close to it, at the cost of not even giving you the information you need to make your own choices.

But even though the game won’t give you the elements to understand what you’re doing, it will always clearly mark in bright neon colours what’s the choice it wants you to make. And after all, you don’t need to be informed to make informed choices… if the choices are already made for you.

“You’re not very good at being evil” (Bellara, 9:52 Dragon) That’s right… why am I no? Oh yeah, because BioWare decided so for me.

In BG3 you can literally choose to go for a mystery background that forces you to kick a squirrel dead, and you can choose either to fight it or go down the horror lane of the Dark Urge. And regardless of the background, at the end of the game you can literally fuck off the entire mission and just decide to become god and enslave the whole literal world. You can fucking turn your companions into fucking brainless squids! That’s the amount of liberty you have!

Now, a disclaimer. This amount of liberty does come with a cost. The choices you can make are many, but Larian has its own standardised plot, and that’s the one you get. Jaheira can die in BG2, she will still show up in BG3. And if when Larian releases BG4, they will have chosen one path of events. And whatever you might have wished to see reprised in this new game, you can only accept what is chosen for you. This is the trade-off when have this much freedom of choice. And all in all, it’s nice to have a game like BG3, but my heart lies with my choices, and I want to see them reflected in my worldbuilding.

Veilguard instead has a course set for you and all your companions, and you have no power over it. And that’s frustrating not because I would make the evil choice, given the chance. I am literally the kind of player who manually saves before starting a conversation with any PG, so I can go back and try not to hurt their feelings the second time. And yet, having an evil option is important, even for me. Because that’s when I choose not to use it.

I elaborated further on the importance of the evil option here.

In DAO, your character literally doesn’t speak with its own voice, and needs you to select every single dialogue line it’s gonna use with NPCs. From there, PCs have grown more and more independent… until here in Veilguard, they basically do everything on their own! Entire conversations are carried out without you being able to intervene, if not to give a small input every once in a while. You don’t really need to read the options you have, because you know that anything you choose will inevitably be just nuances of the same answer. And even the “blunt” option is not necessarily blunt. Only mildly more determined, but even your personality is not your choice. And the one you get, well…

credit: @9lunarseas6 via @timo-0126 (link)

Like… really? Rook is a far, faaaar cry from the wit Hawke spoiled us with.

For the unlucky souls who’re not acquainted with Hawke, this in the video is one of the personalities they can have. And all these personalities are very starkly defined, and depending on which you’d been selecting most often, they end up colouring many of your interactions, even without your active control.

What’s Rook’s personality? If I had to describe them as a nuance in an array of colours, Rook would be a bleached rag. And it’s not like you can do much about it, because of course, there’s the matter of agency. Rook role plays on its own, and you’re just a companion, giving them your input and hoping that will affect their decisions.

And speaking of companions… let’s discuss them. Because for months, years on end, BioWare wouldn’t. shut. up. about how important companions are to them, how central they are to their stories, so let’s talk about the companions.

Companions have always been the soul of BioWare games, because they have a stark and faceted personality they’re not afraid to show in all its vivid colours. And then there’s Veilguard. I won’t say they’re soulless or without a personality, but they are... bland. They have personal challenges and peculiarities that give them colour, but they are still faint hues of the usual rainbow we’re used to.

To give an example, let’s discuss the irony of Bellara asking why the hero of the story she’s writing would save the world... and this is the exact question the whole game never asks to any of its characters once. None of them has any sort of ulterior motive to join the Veilguard other than the answer Rook gives Bellara: “because we’re heroes, that’s what we do.” (Seriously? That’s how you get away with it?)

In DAI, the world was ending too, and yet there was always another, more personal reason pushing your companions to join the Inquisition. Thom was desperate to give his life a purpose and to make amends. Bull needed to keep an eye on the Inquisition on behalf of Par Vollen. Dorian got sucked in at first because he was trying to save his mentor and his friend, and then remained because he literally didn’t have anywhere else to go. Cole... he didn’t even care about the world ending! He was there because helping others was literally his nature. And all these personal reasons helped shape these characters and build the depth of their personality.

What are the personal reasons pushing these individuals specifically to join the Veilguard? Taash might be tagging along to free the blighted dragons from their misery (or just because their mother told them). But even that is hardly exploited along their arc. And the same can be told of every companion. They struggle to have any depth to them, which is completely foreign to Dragon Age characters, even when too hasty writing made for poor plot and character development (looking at you, DA2). Even Varric! VARRIC! A character who’s had two whole games to build and solidify his personality! Who’s hands down one of the most loved character of the whole franchise! How do you even manage such a feat?? Oh yeah, by relegating him to a corner of your palace that you never visit, without ever giving him any relevance to the game. [non-explicit SPOILER] No, the explanation given at the end is not enough. Varric is repeatedly narrated to be a great man, but all you see him do is making a few motivational speeches and conclude with “I’m going to take a nap”. How can you do so much dirty to such a character so thoughtlessly? New players will never know that Varric is indeed a great character, because they are told so all the time, but never shown.

But this ton of telling and not showing and general flatness is not exclusive to the companions. It touches everything. The lore, the relations between factions and characters, everything is oversimplified, and often reduced to a few key features that characterises pretty much every aspect of them. Most are reduced to their species or faction or such, which doesn’t allow for overly faceted motives and which in turn impacts your freedom of personalising your own beliefs and purposes.

Davrin: “So, you met a god” Bellara: “Well, technically, OUR god”

No, technically, freedom of religion applies regardless of your species, and both Davrin and I made it repeatedly clear that we want nothing to do with these self-proclaimed “gods”. So WHY can’t I just tell Bellara to stop forcing her beliefs on us, just on the grounds that we’re elves? “Remember the nursery rhymes?” No, Bellara. I was raised in Tevinter by human parents. Why would I know elven nursery rhymes?

I chose to play as an elf raised in Tevinter – from where Dorian says the Dalish literally stay away – exactly because I wanted to see what consequences would bring to play as an atheist elf raised far from elven customs who has to take down two gods from the elven pantheon. And guess what I saw? Nothing. It changes nothing. Not in my interactions with others and not in the knowledge I have access to. Bellara will still talk to me and speak of “our” gods, and I will keep on knowing Dalish lore and speak (native?) Elven, because apparently I got that for free, no explanation given to justify such competences. Zevran, Fenris and Sera were all elves raised far from Dalish or any elven influence, and they went about it in three radically different ways. Zevran struggled for every bit of memory he could gather of his mother and her Dalish customs, Sera rejected them all together, while his elven heritage was not even on Fenris’ radar. Me, I just know. Because. And don’t even get me started on tattoos…

credit: @0alix0 (link)

But I can’t conclude this odyssey of an essay before I’ve touched one last subject.

Bellara: “I think we’re getting close” Rook: “How sure are you?” Bellara: “As sure as I can be?”

The script. Oh, the bloody script.

I sincerely hope someone organises a poll to vote for the cringiest scene in Veilguard. I’m sure a fan favourite will be that already infamous scene of Taash’s coming out with their mother. My vote would go to the final dialogue with Isseya though.

Beside the cringe though, most of the problems with the whole script of the game is that it’s just… empty. Dull. Generally uninteresting.

In DAI, I would literally stop whatever I was doing just to pay extra attention to whatever banter had just kicked in. And it was always amazing banter! The wit, the jokes, the stories, the developing relationships! In Veilguard, I appreciated a lot the fact that banters interrupted by STUFF start again from where they left. And I often went back to the Lighthouse to take a tour of all companions and eavesdrop their conversations. But soon I realised… that too was often not worth the trouble.

It’s just all cheap script, that most of the time fails to be interesting or even relevant. What’s the point of the conversation between Bellara and Rook I transcribed above? What does it give me? Nothing. It only feels like a need to fill empty bits. And this applies to every single conversation in the game, from banter to plot dialogues.

Oh, and beside the poll! Can we also have a drinking game with Bellara’s lines? A shot for every time she says “he was/is my brother” (double if she adds another “my brother” afterwards) and “my/our people/gods”. I swear 60% of her lines are just copy-pasted.

Dragon Age had been away for a decade, and I understand the need to call to new players to rebuild a base after so many years. I get it. But while Veilguard is not a bad game, it’s not a Dragon Age game. Because it’s devoid of everything that makes Dragon Age what it is.

So what's next?

First of all, stop your plans on completely wiping off every bit of previous lore by just saying “the south was blighted and destroyed everything”. I see what you’re trying to do there. Don’t. Destroying all previous worldbuilding to start off with no strings attached is not the way to go. Instead, find a way to call back all the writers you chased away over the years, starting from Gaider. You need people who live and love this franchise, who know it and know what made it the grand experience it is. You need them. And you need to listen to them.

Then.

Veilguard introduced us to a shit ton of never-before-seen locations. Now let us get to know them.

No Dragon Age had ever had this many places in one go. Previous games are set in one, two locations at best. And all of them allow you to dive deep into the lore by playing it. You get to choose who rules these countries, to decide on whose side you’d rather stand in a war... so pick one location, two at most, of the many you introduced in Veilguard, and let us go deep into it. Let us fight slavery by Fenris’ and Dorian’s side (in Joplin, maybe? *winkwink*), let us see the consequences of the mage-templar war, let us know whatever the Divine decided to do with the circles. And let us get INVOLVED. All Dragon Age games have always been about being involved in a vast lore, so let us do it! Let us experience and live this rich lore! And let us write a bit of it too.

P.S. is anyone else annoyed that elves and Qunari have gradually become just humans with funny features? Like pointed ears and/or big horns? I so miss Merrill’s and Fenris’ cat-like eyes and the Arishok’s dragon-like brow.

[randomfoggytiger]

Hello Tiger,

I've never spoken out on this subject and I'm not going to again, but seeing Sunday's discussion, I can't remain silent. We have different concepts of what it means for a young woman to “thrive” and what it means for a man to assume a relationship openly, without looking like a deer in the headlights every time he is seen with his partner. So far, so good. As for the glaring age difference, it's controversial, but it's not the end of the world either. But what about the fact that a 55-year-old rich man goes after a 22-year-old girl, enters into a sexual relationship and brings her to live with him? 22 years! Do we have a different concept of that too? Is a 55-year-old man with a 22-year-old girl acceptable to you? For me, there's no justification - I'm still a fan of Mulder, but only of the character. For now. Please don't be offended: I'm a long-time reader of your site and even though I don't agree with your position on this subject, I enjoy reading it very much and I appreciate your willingness to write about the series. I wish you a happy 2025!! 🙏

I'm not offended, don't worry. :DDDD Age gaps relationships boil down to whether an individual can stomach that sort of dynamic or not; and no amount of logic or reasoning is going to dissuade a gut reaction. So, I get it when others can't stand it.

And thank you for the compliments! I try to keep church and state (my irl opinions and the series' meta) separate. ;)))

My Thoughts

I don't mind age gaps because I've seen/heard them done successfully-- however, those successes are incredibly rare. Stereotypically, it involves someone younger with someone older, and there's usually money to some degree. Exploitation is a huge risk to watch out for; and I've found the toxic relationships have two prominent factors in common: A. they quickly lock down a younger individual by knocking her up, thus making it harder for said individual to leave; and B. they dangle and lie and push off the type of commitment the younger individual expected, dragging on the process as long as possible while demeaning and belittling the younger person's sense of identity.

Why am I okay with David and Monique?

First off, we don't know how old Monique was when she and David began dating. She first appeared publicly at The X-Files premiere (with her friends and boss from the smoothie shop) in 2016. The two didn't appear publicly together until 2017; and I'm pretty sure she was on set a time or two while S11 of the Revival was filming. She would have been 24 or 25 then.

However, let's assume they began dating in 2015 when she was 22 (after she followed Brad on Twitter or Instagram, I can't remember which): I would immediately raise my eyebrows and go on the defensive. That would lead me down a long rabbit hole of questioning and double questioning; and I would have to arrive at a final conclusion with some sort of evidence to indicate if this was a predatory, creepy, weird, neutral, positive, or healthy relationship-- part of that process would include looking at relationships outside of the two primary "targets": kids, family members, exes, etc. Which I did, because there was a lot of ruckus (on Tumblr, sometimes Twitter) about the nature of their relationship. Next, I would look at the individuality of the people involved: was there an improper balance between the two-- was one beholden to the other? Speaking of which--

Secondly, I long suspected Monique had independence of some form apart from him-- her Instagram posts didn't change substantially after they moved in together except to now include him; she hangs out regularly with her friends; she has hobbies and interests outside of the relationship; etc., etc.-- and confirmed my suspicions yesterday with an old interview. Her parents, per the interview, were well-off enough to give her horse riding lessons... and ice skating lessons... and tennis lessons... and violin lessons... and soccer lessons, all at once (?) She traveled the world for tournaments before meeting DD.

Regardless, I just don't see David as the type to leave an ex high and dry after they part ways-- he went above and beyond to pay alimony and his kids's expenses post divorce (at apparently higher rates than is usual for his $$ bracket in NY, if I recall), and he brings all his past associates, exes, and family forward in his projects. Even if one wanted to write off their relationship as a sugar baby transaction, MP would still have the ability to network as DD's ex after taking the assets both would split post- (potential) separation.

Now, for the moral/ethical aspect: while many are against and few for the idea of age gaps, I-- personally-- weigh each case individually. Most celebrity age gaps are based on transaction, but knowingly. Leonardo DiCaprio, for example, dates only women younger than 25; but his girlfriends seem aware of that fact, and he markets them and their careers pretty generously (comparatively) so that they're established as models or socialites or etc. etc. etc. by the time the relationship comes to a close. (I've never heard one speak badly of him, but there's always that possibility.) If there is exploitation there, it's at least propagated by both parties.

In David and Monique's case, she hasn't used her relationship with DD to market this or that venture-- despite speculation that she would-- but doesn't hide it, either. He, meanwhile, brought her everywhere with him; introduced her to friends, acquaintances, and professionals along the way; and snapped countless photos of her and let her snap countless photos of him. They seem-- on a surface level-- to be attached, in love, and secure in each other. Not to the same degree that he and Tea had, but he's not the same man post- public "sex scandal" and (especially) divorce. And having gone through countless paparazzi pics of the two of them over the years, I've noted that he doesn't treat her differently than any previous "private citizen" ex, and initiates more physical contact in public than she does.

Swinging back around to the moral/ethical argument, is it right that a man thirty years MP's senior should date her-- one with kids, no less? It depends, to me. What is the health of the relationship? What is the health of their relationships outside of that relationship? Are they growing and changing or stagnating and regressing? I've seen both seem to progress rather than regress-- he and his directorial and podcast efforts, she and her arts and crafts and flower business. He and his kids seem to have a solid, loving, loyal relationship even after she joined his life; he and Tea have a cordial, publicly supportive, even loving relationship after their divorce; and he never seemed to abandon his responsibilities to his mom in her last years on earth. As for Monique, she and her friends and family seem (don't have too much information to glean from here) to still have a solid, loving, loyal relationship; she seems to keep out of business that doesn't concern her (DD and Tea's co-parenting); and she seems to not push his kids into compromising or uncomfortable situations.

As far as age gap relationships go, this appears pretty drama free, even-keel, and seemingly positive and healthy-- 'healthy' as in there are numerous signs of personal growth from both parties.

Personally, I think people settle into relationships where they feel most at home, or ones that reflect where they are in their personal lives. Those dynamics could be healthy or wickedly unhealthy; but they're where the person wants to be. (It's up to family and loved ones to rescue an abuse victim, of course, but that person picked someone who reflects how they feel about themselves in their minds, for example.) I don't know what initially drew Monique and David to each other-- maybe she makes a mean green smoothie. Maybe he has a ton of money she likes to spend (though their rather unglamorous lives, factored in with her parents' more-than stable finances, leads me to take this with a grain of salt.) All I know is what I've seen written up on the internet-- that Monique "saved him, in a way" (said a close friend-- who was not a bootlicker, because she also had biting criticisms of David to share)-- or leaked online-- that DD is MP's world and she loves him.

So, in conclusion: I'm very skeptical of any relationship-- age gap or otherwise-- and need to see proof before I believe that two people are actually in love or thriving. Furthermore, it's their business; and as long as his kids aren't feeling neglected, abandoned, or "less than", and as long as there isn't abuse, manipulation, or control, then I figure let the two in the relationship sort themselves out. ;))))

[randum-famdoms]

Adding on that this definitely also applies to other fandoms than just DC. I personally saw some purism around the BNHA fan space regarding sub vs dub, the manga (and English vs Japanese within that), the movies to a lesser degree… just, so much meaningless debate.

And of course, the dreaded canon compliance.

I definitely agree that it’s all bullshit (though you of course put it much more elegantly and more approachable)

I accidentally fell into the Danny Phantom x Batman crossover fandom via tumblr, and then just pure Batman through that. despite having never once interacted with a single bit of canon from dc or dp. Shocking, I know. Have I really never watched a Batman movie? Not even Lego Batman?? Yes. I haven’t.

I still love the fandom. Side note, but weirdly enough, a lot of BNHA authors have started writing for dc and DPxDC. I’m convinced there’s a discord server or group of tumblr mutuals out there that’s the root cause for all of it, it’s just too noticeable of a shift for me to think otherwise. But that’s how I got roped in.

I love the character dynamics, the world, and it’s almost like reading published novels again like when I was a kid. I get to learn all the various worldbuilding and plots and villains and heroes over time, and it’s fun seeing the various through lines and guessing whether it’s canon or a very widely accepted but of fanon. Like a puzzle, almost.

I wouldn’t be confident writing my own fic, but that’s just because of my own perfectionism when it comes to “realistic” portrayals. Honestly, it would probably be a fun challenge to write a fanfic based purely off of what you can learn via ao3 and tumblr, with zero prior knowledge of canon, and then see what bits of lore the authors got right.

I should try that, actually.

But basically what I’m saying is: I’m having fun. I’m not hurting anyone. I respect canon, I just don’t feel the need to learn it when I’m already enjoying myself. If I get too confused I just google it, and I’ve only had to do that maybe three times in the kver a year I’ve been reading fanfics. I am also far from the average fan experience, but if I can enjoy reading and interacting with Batman fanfics, then I think that someone who has “only” watched Lego Batman or whatever else is probably doing pretty damn good too.

Just mind your own business, have fun, enjoy yourself, and don’t tell other fans they’re doing it “wrong” or whatever. No shoulds, musts, or have to’s about it. It’s like telling a kid that the only correct way to eat ice cream is to lick it instead of biting, and when the kid says they like biting better, you steal the ice cream until they apologise, read a book about the proper way to eat ice cream, and promise to lick it instead. No sane person would do that. So let’s all just eat our ice scream and not harass each other.

Hi. I'm not a canon purist and enjoy some fanon content very much, but I do think people in the fandom should at least familiarize themselves with the canon content and source material. It's easier to break the "rules" so to speak and experiment with canon when you know what that actually is. I've noticed a lot of fans that are only familiar with fanon criticise content that doesn't line up with what they believe to be canon but isn't. The Red Hood for example. I've seen writers who portray him as the violent criminal he is in much of the canon be completely decimated by Jason fans who only know fanon and the retconned version of Red Hood and completely deny canon even exists and refuse to even glance at the comics. Transformative works are important and playing in the sandbox is for everyone but fandom literally cannot exist without canon. Canon is important and people can do whatever they want with it but they should respect it enough to at least look at it.

Hi anon, I'm going to hold your hand as I say this, and I will say it as gently as I can: This is still a form of canon purism.

We can absolutely agree that readers shouldn't berate or abuse writers for how they choose to portray characters in fic, whether that's a more canon-faithful characterization or a popular fanon version. If readers don't like how a character is portrayed, we should encourage them to hit the back button instead.

I want to draw your attention to some of the words you used in your ask above: "should" "respect" "decimated" etc. Those are some strong words to describe how you think people need to behave, in order to exist in fandom. Of course, there is no fandom without canon source material -- I'm not denying that. But with such a wide and varied canon, the DC fandom has examples of the Red Hood you mention above, AND the "retconned" version you also reference. Both are canon, as in actually, officially, canon. WFA is canon, and that Red Hood looks very different from the Red Hood you describe.

Now, I think your issue is that you enjoy a certain version of canon, and you're frustrated that the fandom doesn't also, as trends ebb and flow, enjoy that canon as much as you do. Again, I want to acknowledge that just because a certain version is popular, it doesn't give folks the right to berate authors for writing a different version. But again, I don't think that's what we're really talking about here. From your ask's tone, I think you're suggesting that people should, in order to participate in fandom, read that older canon, that different version, or as you say, "glance at it" before enjoying or writing the fanon version.

Guess what? They actually, really, really, don't have to. It sounds like you have some issues with judging your fellow fandom members who don't read what you do or reference certain canon. But the magic of this fandom is, you can enter it at any point. We're a big pool, and if someone's entry point is the Lego Batman movie and that's it, that's still valid.

Fandom stems from canon, yes, but I almost never hear people talk about movies, or web comics, or other media when they talk about "required reading." It's always a comic. I really wish people would reflect on that before suggesting it as the one true path to being a fan.

The other thing I don't see asks like these reference ever is the reality that sometimes a fandom outstrips its canon material, and that that's an eventuality in some spaces. Fanon interpretations become popular, and people write about those specific characterizations or scenarios. They ebb and flow, like I mentioned, and some are more canon-faithful than others. Some completely reject canon, and again -- it's still fandom. It doesn't make it better or worse than a more canon-faithful fic. It's just different.

I had a couple asks about this topic a few weeks ago, and I'm assuming you haven't read those or you likely wouldn't have sent me this ask. But in them, I discuss how sometimes we need to suck it up and be unhappy that canon-faithful fics aren't as popular in a fandom at a specific time, and stop punishing fellow fans for writing and enjoying those fics. And we really need to stop shitting on them publicly on Tumblr.

Because often, what you're really saying is that you wish more people would write more canon-faithful fics, and stop writing ones about fanon topics you don't enjoy or think are accurate. And to that, I again say, there is nothing you can or should do to change that behavior from others. If you want to read it, write it, enjoy it, etc, do it yourself. Build the comic-faithful community here, write fics and promote challenges, create a discord channel and discuss your "required reading" there.

We are all writing and reading fanfiction at the end of the day. It is a great equalizer in many ways. My silly Lego Batman fic is just as valid as a canon-faithful rewrite of a certain Batman issue. One is not better than the other, or more deserving of respect. You will never get me to admit otherwise on this blog.

tl;dr: people should absolutely not berate authors who choose to write canon-faithful characterizations. however, there are layers of judgement and disdain many DC comics canon-faithful authors/readers have for their fellow fans that I think we need to examine critically in order to coexist respectfully.

[azrahelhasmoved]

in result to my last long ooc post; thank you all who messaged me and sent kind things. it means a lot. i love you guys and you're the real mvps.

[roomba-mangga]

thoughts on thistle and yaad's dynamic that i vomited in the tags of another post but will now try to articulate here: they're not actually family, or at least they shouldn't be. not in a conventional sense anyway. framing them as uncle and nephew (even in a non-literal, silly fantasy world way) rides more on technicality than anything concrete.

what i mean by this is yaad calls thistle by name and says he and delgal were raised "like" brothers. he talks about thistle like he's an outsider imposing himself into the melinis' space, and it's clear that thistle was never legitimized as a member of the family. for thistle's part, though we don't know how he would treat yaad pre-demon brainrot, it's safe to assume based on the way he punishes him—turning him into a doll—and how little is shown in the way of any sort of relationship between them that thistle only cares* about yaad as an extension of delgal (otherwise i'd expect something like kabru and milsiril, because it's not like another complicated interspecies family dynamic would be out of place, yet there's next to nothing on them even in bonus content, just their scant interactions in the main story).

in essence, they're strangers to one another. thistle's desperation to preserve the illusion of a family, a model where he doesn't even fit, was the snare they were caught in for the past thousand years of stasis. yaad-as-nephew is a prop to uphold that illusion, and thistle is playing a role he's unfit to play. in the context of post-canon interactions, attempting to reconstruct that facade would only be a reenactment of trauma for them both (in a deeply compelling way i'd love to watch unfold, tbh), as that "uncle and nephew" framing places thistle in an implicit position of power over someone he's already traumatized through misuse of authority in the past, a role which also perpetuates his adultification and yaad's infantilization in turn. it'd mostly be an obstacle to any real connection.

best to burn the melini family bridge, i think, and if there's still anything salvageable left in the rubble, let something different supplant it.

[shorthaltsjester]

free my complex female character, she did the same thing as complex male characters but the fandom takes Any analysis of her actions/choices/motivations that doesn’t strip her of all of her agency in bad faith and claims that only misogynists would dare to critique the things that they’ve noticed in her character because she’s a woman, completely ignoring the over-presence of discourse about similarly traited male characters in their fandom.

[kalofi]

zl fic idea

hii everyone i wrote something yesterday about an au idea i had for zolu and. i thought i'd share it here since its a bit too messy and disjointed in places to post on like. ao3 or something.

4.7k words, warning for temporary major character death but do not worry all will be fixed in due time. i'll put the rest under the cut

ok i have an idea for an au thats like kind of reincarnation but like reality displacement but like. okay just listen.

so we start at laughtale. its a couple years into the future from where we are in canon the strawhats are achieving their dreams luffy is about to find the one piece theres a big battle happening between them and the blackbeard pirates and whoever the fuck else is there idc. the rest of the strawhats are fighting the bb crew while luffy and zoro head off to find the one piece and also end up fighting black beard himself. luffy and zoro atp r like basically a thing but they never talk about it cuz theyre luffy and zoro and they kind of just exist with each other but like. theyre basically in love and everyone knows it. anyway they go off together luffy has the one piece almost in his grasp blackbeard attacks they fight its a big battle blood is shed bones are broken uumm in my mind luffy and zoro are like teaming up against bb bc his devil fruit is lowk broken and op and like ok theres gear5 too but i didnt rly consider that so lets just assume bb’s devil fruit can negate gear5 somehow or luffy exhausts it before bb is fully defeated. 

finally theyre able to knock bb down and hes out and theyre both tired and worn but they DID IT and the one piece is luffys and theyre facing each other grinning ear to ear and zoros saying “you ready, king of the pirates?” and luffy laughs and goes “not just yet zoro, i still gotta-“ and then theres a spear piercing right through his chest. and in the next moment its gone. 

theres a gaping hole through his captain and theres blood, theres so much blood and luffy’s still smiling like he hasnt realized it yet, like it hasnt even registered. zoros ears are ringing and he doesnt know what to make of whats hes seeing because its just not real, it CANT be. 

he looks over luffy’s shoulder and blackbeard is on the ground with his hand outstretched , black energy coiling back into his form and he’s laughing and laughing with bloodstained teeth. hes fucking laughing. one moment zoro is still standing parallel to luffy and the next hes in front of blackbeard and the mans head is rolling through the dirt and gravel, wado dripping crimson, a terrible gap toothed grin still stretching the man’s cheeks. 

zoro is breathing heavy, hes trembling and hes almost mesmerized by the blood pooling around a lacerated neck— then he’s remembering luffy and turning around and calling his name and he can see right through him theres a HOLE right through him and he chokes and stumbles and rushes to his side right as luffy starts to crumple to the floor . catches him and lowers him gently and doesnt know what to say. 

hes still shaking but cant move his mouth and everything is muffled, the sounds from the battle outside are distant and they dont matter but what does he do. what does he do. 

he snaps out of it when luffy gently calls his name. a strong “zoro,” like hes not fazed at all. like there isnt blood soaking into zoros clothes. 

his brain kickstarts and he’s speaking. saying things like “youre ok you’ll be ok” and “choppers right outside i’ll just call him and he’ll fix you right up” and “you always bounce back, right captain?” and hes thinking “dont die please dont fucking die. not now, not when we’re this close please dont fucking die” and hes silently praying to all the gods he doesnt believe in but luffy calls his name again and his mouth clicks shut. luffys saying it’ll be fine, that he had fun. that hes proud to have made it this far with all of them. and those sound a lot like parting words so zoro’s shaking his head no but luffy is still smiling. hes saying that hes glad he had zoro, that he made him happy. hes saying to tell everyone he’s glad they met, that hes glad they all had each other, that he knows theyll be just fine . 

zoro wants to say that luffy should tell that to them himself, when hes wrapped up and recovering and alive but his mouth is glued shut again and he feels that interrupting luffy now would be cursing him to death, like his words are the only thing keeping him tethered here, he just needs to get him to keep talking to stay awake. 

he tries to smile but it comes out ugly and wrong and he feels his lip wobble so he drops it. he settles on rubbing his thumb on luffys shoulder. something to keep him here. 

so he rubs and luffy talks little things until he cant anymore. until his eyes grow dull and his skin loses its warmth and still zoro rubs and he rubs.

—

thats how law finds them. zoro hunched over a body that should never be as still as it is. and its really no surprise hes there, hes been gunning for the one piece since the time he could captain a ship (or a submarine) but it all feels so wrong. 

zoro either doesnt notice him or doesnt care, but either way the man doesnt acknowledge law until he’s right behind him. its not like law can say anything to announce himself either, not after seeing the state of the body that zoros currently holding. the body that used to be luffy’s. hes still processing it all when the other man(the one whos alive) finally speaks. 

zoro asks if hes got a devil fruit. less of a question and more of a statement, but he should know anyway since theyve spent considerable time together and hes literally seen him use it. law cant unstick his jaw so he hums in affirmation. “and you can switch stuffs’ places?” another hum. “what about time.” 

that makes law pause. “what?” his voice comes out stronger than he feels. 

“what about time? can you switch things in time?” by this point law has awakened his devil fruit or some shit dont sweat the logistics but hes never tried anything of that sort so he kind of stumbles “im not- maybe? ive never attempted-“ zoro interrupts “send me back” 

“what?” 

“send me back so i can fix this. you can do that, right.” it clicks. law would pity zoro if he didnt know any better, instead he just feels mounting despair and resignation. 

he may not be crew, but he knew luffy too, he was allied with the man for fucks sake, and this just feels- wrong. he sighs, a tired, heavy thing. 

“what about your crew?” its useless. zoros as stubborn as his captain, with arguably a handful more screws loose. “it wont matter. they’ll never know because i’ll make sure this doesnt happen.” he still hasnt turned around. law doesnt know what expression hes making and hes sure he never wants to find out. 

hes ready to deny it, cut his losses and head for the one piece himself (hes not heartless, but if he stands here any longer and has to look at. well. he think he might never be able to move again) but then he really thinks about it. could he? would it even be possible? surely this isnt the way things were supposed to go, surely this isnt right. luffys never been one who was supposed to die just like that, like this, law knows that much. he thinks hes going to regret this, but he counts it as one last thank you for everything luffy did for him. 

youre gonna owe me big time strawhat-ya. if i even remember this, that is. 

he puffs a breath “i can try. i cant- promise anything but. i think we both know this,” he makes a vague, weak gesture, “isnt right.” 

zoro doesnt say anything, law didnt expect him to. he just bows his head slightly and law takes that as the acknowledgment it is. 

he brings his hand up, “dont do anything stupid, zoro-ya. or, at least, make it stupid enough to bring him back.” 

he positions his fingers in way so familiar, but the weight of it now is nearly unbearable.

room.

shambles

—

zoro’s world shatters, differently than before, and then theres nothing.

—

he wakes up in bed, bleary eyed and a pounding headache assaulting his senses. his alarm clock is going off which only adds to the drumbeat against his eyes. he grumbles and whacks around aimlessly to shut it off. the silence lasts a moment before his eyes fly open and he jolts up, sheets pooling around his waist. luffy. where was he? where was zoro? did the crew find him and take him back to the ship? did law fail? but this didnt look like chopper’s office.

he looks around to find hes in a room hes never seen before in his life, yet he instinctively knows is his. it all feels so wrong, like he doesnt belong in his own skin. he scratches lightly at his arm. he needs to go to work. 

work?

what the fuck is happening. 

its like his mind is at war with itself, one truth trying to dominate over the other. he trained at sensei’s dojo. he aged out of foster care. he was a swordsman, he was the first mate of the strawhat pirates. he didnt go to college, hes working construction. he made a promise, and kuina died. kuina…died. huh. his captain, his luffy, someone he knew so intimately and who knew him in turn. hes never met someone with that name his entire life. he needs to go to work, he needs to find his crew. 

he doesn’t understand what the fuck is happening. 

without his permission his legs stand him right up and he moves confusedly, surely, to the bathroom he didnt know he had. his reflection stares back at him in the mirror and its him, of course it is, he doesnt know why he expected someone else, but hes also…different. he has both function of his eyes, first of all. a scar in the same place as before but its light and healed over and doesnt seem to have blinded him like it once did. his hair is green, sure, but black roots peek out from underneath the familiar shade. hes grown stubble, he should shave. he needs to go to work. 

hes so confused, but his body moves like its been doing this its whole life. as far as zoro knows, it has. 

he continues getting ready, mind still at odds, and makes himself a cup of coffee (in his own kitchen. his own kitchen? the state of it leaves less to be desired. sanji would surely skin him alive) before tucking into his shoes, grabbing his wallet and keys and heading out the door. he seems to live in a single room apartment, and a crummy one at that. his legs move him faster, he has to go to work, he cant be late again (again?).

his car is parked outside the building, he has no fucking clue what it is but he unlocks it all the same and settles in. he feels like he shouldnt be operating this sort of machinery. franky would know better than him how it must work. he starts it up and backs out. trusting his gut to get him where he needs to be. he should be more concerned, he should be frantic and inconsolable, his captain was dead in his arms and now hes? what? going to lay some bricks or some shit? but he finds that part of him dulled in favor of following whatever mundanity this body is pushing him towards. 

uumm whatever whatever he arrives at work eventually i dont know how construction jobs work are there offices or something. idc thats not the point. johnny and yosaku are there and zoro is surprised to see them since, as far as he knows, the last time they were with each other was at arlong park which was years ago for him. but the two greet him like this is a daily occurence, like theyve been working together for years. and zoro thinks, knows, they must have. but this is good, this is great fucking news actually because until now theres been no confirmation if zoro was here alone (wherever “here” is) but now his proof is right in front of him because if johnny and yosaku are here, and they exist the same as from before, then that must mean everyone else is here too right? he clings onto this hope with both hands trembling. 

nami, usopp, the cook and chopper and robin and franky, brook, jinbe and fuck. fuck, luffy. theyve got to be here somewhere, zoro just has to find them. hes not sure if they remember things like he does but hes got to try because they are his as much as he has always been theirs and they should all exist together as it has always been. 

so then yeah he finishes his shift because its what hes ‘supposed’ to do but he doesnt go home. he drives around aimlessly before pulling into a random lot and pulling out his phone (theres no snail attached to it. weird.) he doesnt even know where to begin. hes not usually the one coming up with plans, he just goes where theres blood need to be shed. but no one seems to be in any danger here except for maybe himself, and its not like he has his swords anyway- shit. fuck did he still have wado? he must have right? he knows there was a kuina that existed here too, he knows because he remembers. and she, well she wasnt around anymore so he must have wado. he must. with shaking fingers he pushes that aside for now, though barely. he needs to find luffy, but he wouldnt even know where to start. luffy could probably find the rest of their crew by simply wandering around and happening upon them, thats how he did it before. but zoro has no idea where he’d be, he doesnt even know where he is. nami or robin would be a good bet to at least form a plan, but he wouldnt know how to find them either. 

is there even a coco village here? would robin still be part of baroque works? he needs someone who has a defined location that he could google or something (what the hell is google?). usopp would be at syrup village right? shit. is there even a drum island? these are all too broad, he needs something specific. specific…..a place with an identifiable name, somewhere smaller that would be easier to stake out…

a lightbulb goes off. 

fucking shit he thinks. of course. of fucking course it would come down to the cook. 

he types in “baratie” to his maps and a location pops up, just 27 minutes from where he is now. he hasnt eaten yet either, so he figures thats killing two birds with one stone. he taps the address, backs out of the lot and drives. 

(if it takes him nearly an hour to get there thats nobodys business but his own)

he pulls up to the building about a quarter after 7. it seems packed enough already, but if memory serves him right then that was just par for the course for baratie. he parks, gets out and locks his car, then shoves his hands in his pocket and resigns himself to another oncoming migraine hes sure to get upon interacting with the man hes certain is waiting somewhere inside. 

the tables are full, the host tells him, he slips a 20 from his wallet and suddenly (of course) theyre more than willing to serve him. 

he gets settled in a far and somewhat isolated booth and a waiter comes up to him, but he cuts the man off as hes introducing himself and says “you got a blonde working here? stupid ass side part with a weird eyebrow? goes by sanji” the waiter looks shocked and put off by his rudeness but quickly collects himself and says “we might. depends on whos asking” zoro snorts “just tell him hes got someone who wants to talk to him,” he cringes at this next part, tries to smile but knows it comes off as a sneer. hes not sure if he still has conquerors haki wherever he happens to be now, but he tries to channel that energy the same way he would if he were in battle and says “tell him im a fan.” the waiters eyes widen, in fear or surprise zoros not sure (most likely a mix of both) before he nods and scurries across the floor, weaving in between patrons and coworkers alike until he disappears behind the double doors to the kitchen. 

zoro sits with his arms crossed and skims through the menu out of boredom and impatience. its a couple minutes before he sees a familiar head of blonde hair emerge from across the way. a smile climbs onto his face despite himself. sure, the guy annoyed him to hell and back and their…friendship (if you could really call it that) was a tumultuous one, but it was good to see someone familiar nonetheless. he schools his expression before the blonde can spot him. a few moments pass before hes standing right in front of zoro, his stupid suit primped and pressed as always, and a cautious look on his face. 

“you asked for me?” his tone is the one he only reserves for men who he deems not worth his time. zoro grits his teeth but says “yeah, theres something ive gotta discuss with you.” 

hes never been one for tact, forever blunt unlike his swords. 

sanji quirks a brow “i dont plan on talking about anything with anyone unless theyre a paying customer” zoro feels his eyebrow twitch but grabs his menu nonetheless and points to a random item without looking “i’ll have this then, and whatever booze you got.” sanji leans in to see what hes pointing to before his one visible eye widens and a grin slowly overtakes his previously unaffected face. 

he speaks condescendingly. “wonderful choice sir, coming right up.” before zoro can get another word in he grabs the menu out of his hand, spins on his heel, and marches back to the kitchen. 

zoro clenches his fists and does his best not to grind his teeth into a fine dust. no matter where they are or what displacement in time the fucking curly brow never fails to be absolutely insufferable. at least this way though, zoro knows its him for real. 

its another 20 minutes before the shit cook reemerges from the back with a platter and a mug in his hand. he steps up to zoros table and places the plate and cup down in front of him with a smug look. zoro has no idea what the fuck hes looking at on his plate. he doesnt have time to question it before sanji plops down in the booth seat across from him, disregarding all previous faux-professionale and asking “so what do you want” zoro tears his eyes away from his plate and looks into sanji’s, trying to convey as much emotion, as much urgency as he possibly can. 

“luffy needs us. and we have to find him” whatever the cook was expecting him to say, it definitely wasnt that. the other man regards him more warily now, looking him up and down with a tense frown before replying “i dont know what the hell youre talking about. and i dont appreciate being mocked or having my time wasted” he goes to stand up but zoro grabs his wrist, yanking him back down unceremoniously. 

he blinks before rounding back on zoro, flaring his nostrils in a way zoro knows means hes about to get himself in deep shit “oi, what the fuck do you think youre-“ he doesnt let him finish “im not mocking you. this isnt some stupid prank or whatever youre thinking. and despite how much i would enjoy punching your teeth in right now im not looking for a fight either.” 

the cook still looks affronted but seems to actually be listening. zoro continues “look, i dont know what the fuck is going on. i was at laughtale with you and the others, with luffy, and then i woke up and now im here and i dont know how but this is all wrong. its all wrong but i need to find luffy and fuck, i cant do it alone. i need your help to find him. find everyone.” the blondes eye is wide, but he blinks and its gone. he looks more tired than zoro has ever seen him 

“im not paid enough for this shit. i dont know why i even-“ he looks like hes getting ready to leave again but zoro is desperate at this point so he blurts out whatever he thinks will convince the other man hes not bullshitting.

“we met you here, at the baratie. me and nami and usopp and luffy. luffy busted through one of your walls so your old man punished him by making him wash dishes. i dont, i dont know what luffy said to you, or how he convinced you to join us, but he changed your life like he did mine. we sailed together, and we had each others backs no matter how much we got on each others nerves. you were our cook. i was our swordsman. luffy was our captain and youd do anything to help him, i know you would, same as me. youre a pervert and an asshole and a damn annoyance, but youre strong. i could still kick your ass though” if the cook’s eyebrow could go any higher hes sure itd be clear off his forehead by now. 

“and you- your dream. you wanted to find the all blue.” he stalls there, engine sputtering. zoro doesnt know what else to say, so he snaps his mouth shut. 

the blonde is still gaping at him like a fish, but he mouths the phrase “all blue” like hes been searching for it his whole life, like he always knew but just never had the words. 

he blinks. 

then he blinks again, rapidly. there are tears pooling in his eyes. his mouth flaps for a moment before he seems to finally be able to push out words. 

“you- zoro?” he sounds small. he sounds hopeful. zoro grins. 

“yeah, yeah its me.” sanji stares at him a moment, then looks around, as if hes seeing everything with clear eyes for the very first time. zoro figures he might as well be. 

“holy shit. holy shit.” 

zoro laughs, a rough thing. theres a ball in his throat that he cant seem to dislodge. “nice to have you back, curly brow” sanji’s gaze snaps back to him before he scowls and tries wiping away the tears that are now streaking down his cheeks. its useless though, it seems they cant stop. zoro laughs again at the sorry state of the asshole in front of him, this time more full and genuine. he feels so relieved he doesnt know what to do with himself. 

“yeah yeah, whatever dick head.” sanji grumbles. zoro quiets down, glances away, lets him have his moment. “fuck, mosshead, im still on the clock and you unload all this on me? how the hell am i supposed to finish the rest of my shift?” his words are sharp but he doesnt sound angry at all. in fact, when zoro turns back to look, hes smiling. 

“you remember now though, dont you?” he has to be sure. 

“what does it look like, dumbass? think im tearin’ up cuz of pollen or some shit?” the cook rolls his eye. theyre both silent for a moment, trapped in their own heads, before he speaks up again. “so, what now?” zoro doesnt even have to think before he answers “we find everyone else, obviously.” “well no shit, but how?” zoro glances to the side. “i was hoping youd figure that out” sanji stares before bursting out laughing. zoro scowls and hunches into his shoulders. 

“of course!” sanji cackles “of course your dumbass wouldnt know what to do! you probably just typed in the most recognizable place you could remember and hoped one of us would be there!” zoro doesn’t answer, because yes thats what he fucking did, but it worked didnt it? he doesnt see whats so funny. 

“fuck you.” 

he wants nothing more than to bash that smarmy mouth in, but the familiar egging settles something in his soul. sanji gasps a few breaths before calming down, now wiping tears from his eyes for a completely different reason. 

“alright alright, well lets figure this out then, yeah? we figure out how we got here then we can figure out how to get back right? simple enough” 

zoro nods, “law was-“ he stops. remembers dull eyes and clammy skin and wrong wrong wrong. he shakes his head, “no, no we cant” sanji looks at him confused. 

“we cant go back,” zoro presses, “not until i fix things. i promised i would” the other man seems to pick up on his panic and his mood dampens, becomes more serious. “promised what?” 

zoros never been one to sugarcoat, but now he wishes he could find a way to soften the blow hes about to deal. he inhales, pushes the breath out. says, “luffy died, sanji.” the fact the hes actually using the other mans name seems to fly right over his head in favor of the first part. “what?” zoro huffs, is he really gonna make him say it again? “luffy di-“ sanji interrupts, angry now, fists clenched and whitened from the pressure “i heard what you said. but what do you mean.” 

he doesnt want to have to tell sanji what happened, doesnt want to talk about it at all, wants to slice it up into small enough pieces that it very well may have never existed.

he told law the others wouldn't have to know, that he would make sure of it, but he's realizing now just how unrealistic that is. as much faith as zoro places in his own abilities, he's aware he's only one man.

and, he figures, if there's anyone i can trust enough to share a burden heavy as this with, might as well be the one who's strength i'd count on just as much as my own.

sanji cant help if he doesnt know what went down once they got separated at laughtale, so zoro sets his shoulders, clenches his fists, prepares himself like hes riding into a battle he knows he has no chance of winning—hes the first mate for fucks sake—and resigns himself to filling the other man in on every horrible detail

by the end, the cook looks much the same as zoro feels, pale-faced and shaky. he runs a trembling hand through his hair and clenches his eye shut. “fuck mosshead, thats…” he doesnt bother finishing, and zoro stays silent—already knowing just how much of a shitty situation it is that theyve found themselves in.

—

(btw the reason sanji was so smug about what zoro randomly chose on the menu is bc its one of their most expensive dishes. even upon regaining his memories he still makes zoro pay it cuz hes an asshole like that. business is business 😁)

uuummm i dont feel like detailing the rest basically my idea is that they work together to try and track down all the members as well as law, since hes also a part of this. i dont know how or when or in what order but i do know finding luffy would come last. so yes its zolu but for a majority of it more in spirit than anything. maybe i can throw in some luffy pov of him living with ace and sabo . he knows something is off but cant place his finger on what. he knows something is missing but hes got his brothers with him so what else could he possibly need? etc etc. you get the idea

[shannonsketches]

He said "Fuck this shit, I'm out" I'm crying. Toriyama's Vegeta was so top shelf 🤌

(From Neko Majin Z Chapter 5!)

[pancakes-with-grounded-hazelnuts]

hsr: references to jingliu, jing yuan, and yanqing's backstories. interpretations + hcs roughly based on anything up to 1.4

(hi i don't make proper theories or analyses. i just scream my feelings into a void in a chaotic barrage of words.)

thinking about sword family again.

how jingliu’s readiness to teach anyone swordsmanship regardless of fame, talent, or circumstances transformed jing yuan’s life. i think about little jing yuan, whose passion for swordplay went against his parents' wishes, whose talent leaned far more into cunning than the blade. and yet jingliu acknowledged his desire to learn and acknowledged him as he was. even now, he still speaks of her with respect and fondness.

i then think about how jing yuan now, many years later, is mentoring a student of his own, yanqing. a boy with no known background but had a fiery passion for swordplay. how he went against public opinion to give him opportunities on the battlefield at a young age. the dubious ethics of this aside, i can see little yanqing felt his passion and abilities acknowledged.

i think of them being acknowledged by their masters, for not only their strengths and weaknesses, but their dreams. i can imagine a great sense of hope dawning on them. they will never forget it.

(extra headcanony territory) and then i picture, the student of her student, standing before her, hungry for another contest, hungry to learn more techniques from her. he knows she's deemed a criminal by the xianzhou, he knows her past is full of painful complications beyond his comprehension, but through all that, jingliu is still a brilliant swordmaster, and that's what matters to him. he will acknowledge her as she is. he will cut through her punishing memories with his sharp tongue. "what's the holdup? it's time for swordplay!" and she will smile the sweetest and most sincere smile she had for years, for there's fun to be had.

and so the cycle of hope has come full circle.

>> disclaimer: i might be too paranoid about this, but i feel the need to note that the positive way i wrote this (and other posts) doesn't mean i think what these characters do for each other is necessarily the best or healthiest (even by in-universe standards, let alone my own). i acknowledge the flaws and greyness of this world, but i prefer to read them in the context of its own setting and focus on the positives for a lot of these posts because it gives me the most joy.

[lurking-latinist]

⛵

[cloudbends]

new pokemon episode!!!