#like that is the sort of thing i would entirely make up if i needed everyone at the table to fuckin hate an npc

[starlightsuffered]

My Girl

A/N - wrote this bc I’m cold and I miss the sun also I had a dream about it

Info - fingering, friends to lovers, pda, a little sex, getting caught in heavy make out, tasting pussy juice, finger sucking

I popped a cherry into my mouth and noted how Timothée looked at my lips. The air was thick, though humidity was low. My ponytail brushed my shoulder as I turned to grab another piece of fruit.

I felt a tentative hand on my bare ankle. I pretended I didn’t notice. His thumb moved slowly over my skin.

Since winter, things had been very different. Timothée and I had been friends forever, but in December he’d become single again. On new years, he’d decided that we would kiss to usher it in. At that moment, everything had changed.

His moustache was gone, and his hair was now fluffy and tousled like it used to be. He’d been home spending time with his niece for a while. He hadn’t taken a new project for a while and I wished desperately that even a little of it was for me.

We’d reconnected in a heavy way. We spent days and nights together. He seemed to always be inviting me over. We shared bottles of wine and late night confessions. The alcohol always had us falling over each other with giggles. Then we’d take a moment and stare into the others eyes. Our friendship wore thin as one of us would inevitably push a lock of their out of the others face.

That was how we had lived for months. We’d walked that edge of the precipice so many times. I wondered if we were both waiting on the other to make the final move. I wondered if he’d find me less desirable if I broke first. I wondered what was taking so damn long.

“Would you rather,” he mused, picking up the game again.

We were having a picnic in the park. I wore a new sundress that he had barely removed his eyes from the entire afternoon. He was in jeans and over sized t-shirt. The sun had finally begun to warm New York City and he’d eagerly called me, begging for a picnic lunch in the fresh air.

“Kiss someone, or hug someone?”

“It depends,” I said, tilting my head to the side.

“Oh?” He asked as his fingers drummed on my leg. I wanted to pounce on him.

“Hugs are almost always good, kisses are only good with some people,” I shrugged. I threw a blackberry in my mouth now.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“What makes someone the right person?” Timothée asked in a dangerous voice. I gulped and looked up to meet his gaze.

“Someone who is kind, sexy, matches your energy, knows you well, cares for you the correct way…” I trailed off. I felt a burning between my legs even though this was just a conversation about kissing. He always launched me into neediness so easily.

“And am I-“ he sucked in a deep breath. If he was breathing harder, I wasn’t breathing at all. He was preparing, I could tell. He was closer to that precipice than he’d ever been. He was going to jump.

“Am I the right sort of person?” He whispered.

I leaned back on my elbows. Ever so slightly, I spread my legs. His grip became tighter on my ankle. His eyes darkened and he watched me as if I were stripping instead of leaning back casually.

“Yes,” was all I breathed.

He lurched forward, a desperate hunger in his eyes. My back hit our fuzzy blanket. His mouth was glued to mine. His large hands held my face. I was hot all over as our tongues danced together. I couldn’t have cared less who would see us.

His hand moved to my thigh and went up, lifting up my dress. I gasped into his mouth.

“I love you, fuck I love you, I’ve wanted this so long,” he heaved, he was panting as he grabbed at every bit of my skin. My leg wrapped around him. I pressed myself into the feeling of him, memorising it.

“I want you, I need you,” I repeated myself over and over. He mouthed over my neck. His long fingers crawled to my pink panties.

“Shit!” He sucked in a breath when he felt my wetness.

“You’re perfect, I can’t breathe, I don’t want to,” he told me. I was keening and arching as his deft fingers plunged into me. He curled them in my wet heat.

“You’re so pretty in this dress. I can’t keep my eyes off you,” he whispered, kissing the hot skin of my clavicle.

I loved how he worshipped and praised me, as if he hadn’t been around a million celebrities. He could see me as less or not be interested at all. Yet, he touched me like one would touch a deity. I was in heaven.

“Mmmmm,” Timothée moaned as he lifted his digits to his mouth. His fingers were so slick. I watched him mesmerized by the beauty.

“Baby, you’ve got to taste yourself. Come on pretty girl, it’s ambrosia,” he coaxed. He looked love sick and hazy. He smiled dreamily as his finger were sucked by my needy mouth.

“Atta girl,” he whispered. He was kissing me again now. My bottom half was almost completely bare. The grass was on my ass and my dress was hitched up around my waist. Timothée’s hands dipped into the cups of my bra. He massaged as he kissed me and kissed me and kissed me.

“What are you two doing,” asked a harsh voice. A park ranger took in our heady gazes and the tent in Timmy’s pants, and the way I was scantily clad.

“Get up!” He snapped gruffly.

Timothée had Trouble moving from his hard on. He was pulling me along desperately. He’d left behind the blanket, the lunch, all in an effort to get to his car.

He whips open the door and pulls me on top of him in almost one movement. Out kisses are sloppy and hot. His hands are up my dress again. I could hardly catch a breath.

“Fuck me, there will be pictures everywhere,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he actually cared that much.

“Fuck that,” I giggled as I nipped at his lip.

“Fuck me,” he moaned, a request.

“Absolutely,” I agreed. I pushed my panties to the side and he pulled out his cock. I sunk down and settled into the place I was meant to be.

“My girl,” he groaned as I began to bounce and he began to thrust.

“My girl forever.”

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker

[fae-morrigan]

@lotorsgloriousempire Aight. I gave you your thirty minutes to delete this comment and apologize. Now we have to have a WIDER conversation, hm? Cause I'll be DAMNED if a I let a voltron fan talk down to ME about race.

First of all, I cannot BELIEVE you would have the audacity to insinuate I am LYING about this being a common issue when this is like, THE THIRD TIME I have had to make this sort of post in the span of three months. It has happened SEVERAL TIMES NOW where racist white people, when called out ON their racism towards Jay, explain they somehow thought he was white. You have multiple people of color in the tags commiserating on how common of an issue this is in fandom spaces and all you can think to say, is "oh, well, there's always someone, but I doubt it, you're overfocusing." That is NOT an appropriate response to this sort of conversation and you should've kept your mouth shut.

Second of all, are you so fogged up in the head that Jay needed to turn to the camera and say, "I'm asian!" for you to get it? Gamorra is in Asia. I SAY IT IN THE ORIGINAL POST IN CASE YOU SOMEHOW MISSED IT IN SOKE WHEN IT WAS SAID SEVERAL TIMES. The entire plotline of SOKE is EXPLICITLY about REAL WORLD American Interventionism in small asian countries. Korea, VIETNAM, do NONE of these things ring a bell to you? You genuinely have to be either a moron or just straight up RACIST to read SOKE and ignore the messaging there. And I don't know if you missed the part where I said authors have confirmed this, but just to reiterate- Nicole Maines is an acquaintance of mine. We have talked about this, albeit briefly. She knows what the fuck she's writing about. Do you know what the fuck you're reading?

I am also DISGUSTED by the implication that being created by a white person means that a character cannot or should not be read with race in mind. That eliminates JOHN HENRY IRONS, Bronze Tiger, Duke Thomas, Lady Shiva, and MANY others from ever having meaningful analysis about how their race effects how the story is meant to be read. I hope I do not have to explain to you why that is the dumbest thing I've ever head. It is also not like Tom Taylor specifically hasn't written about these topics before- He originated DC's first Aboriginal hero in another story specifically about colonization and American interventionism (Suicide Squad: Bad Blood).

This kind of slack-jawed, racist, insensitive ass reply can ONLY come about if you are reading these books with your brain turned off, which is NOT how ANY of the books with these characters were meant to be read. Take your fucking Yaoi goggles off and engage with the themes of the story as it is meant to be engaged with.

I will stop taking things "uncharitably" when people stop TALKING uncharitably. Most of the shit people say against Jay is based in real world racist stereotypes about men of color, and I refuse to shut up just because it makes people uncomfortable to be confronted with. You have waltzed into a conversation that you have neither the context or wit for and expected to what, calm me down? Fuck your head and the neck it rode in on.

It has officially happened enough times that like. I feel the need to make a formal post about it because good fucking god.

Jay Nakamura is an Asian man. His last name is one of the most common Japanese last names... ever. His first name is extremely common in Asian communities and is likely a romanization or shortening of the many many asian names that start with the syllable 'jay'. From a (fictional, but created BY ASIAN MEN specifically as a commentary on japan/korea) Asian country that is historically exploited by the United States. His entire story focuses on the fact that he does not have white privilege and is often exploited by white people. He LOOKS LIKE THIS.

The fact that Jay is nonwhite and is marginalized for being nonwhite is something that has been acknowledged multiple times by multiple authors. Namely Nicole Maines, his current main writer, who has retweeted analysis threads and made comments about how his development and radicalization is informed by this lack of privilege.

Yet numerous people have approached me, specifically when I am actively talking about how important it is that Jay is a man of color, and gone, well, isn't he white?

I cannot even BEGIN to FATHOM why this happens. You have to be a certain kind of dumb to look at JUST HIS NAME and go, ah, a white man. Do people think Nakamura is a French name or something?

But I can guess it comes down to a few things:

People just don't see Asian folk as people of color, I guess, outside of when they can be fetishized. This actually has been a problem in DC fandom specifically for a long time; I've noticed it particularly with Cass Cain and Damian Wayne, where their heritage will either be erased in favor of their white halves, or they'll be sexualized in the context of their cultures being orientalized.

In this same vein, race is often treated by fandom as purely cosmetic, and not something that could impact how a character is meant to be read or thought about in the story. This is part of how you get headcanons that end up leaning into racial stereotypes.

Jay is very obviously visibly queer. White people tend to assume we are the arbiters of queerness. Therefore, whenever a character has queer signifiers (dyed hair, piercings, etc), is queer, they are presumed to be white. It's the goddamn pink hair again, people can never be normal about it!

People who don't want to look racist online, but who also don't like Jay (and haven't read his stuff), are trying to convince themselves and others that they aren't actually putting down a character of color.

jay hasn't had a writer to whitewash him yet, so the fans gotta pick up the slack

[mumms-the-word]

Notes on a Caretaker

I find something about this note so fascinating. Every time I pick it up or scroll back around to it I have to sit with it and just...linger, trying to understand it.

So this is my attempt to break it down and sort through my thoughts about this note, which I think is so obviously from Solas. I think it hints not only to his spirit background, but also his perspective on the path he feels is set before him. Which, idk, is cool!

Mini analysis under the cut! Also a lot of Veilguard spoilers!

This note has a smear of paint on one corner: Have they always been here? There are beings in the Crossroads unknown even to the wise, though the most ancient ones make any domain their own. Certainly, this Caretaker belongs here now.

We’re led to believe this note must be from Solas because of the smear of paint. And I would argue the paint perhaps clues us in to when this might have been written. No doubt Solas was painting murals when he was running around as the Rebel Fen'Harel, since we see some of them in Trespasser, but I think he painted the murals in the Lighthouse after he left the Inquisition (in part because we have that last mural where he kills Flemythal, and he left his paint pallet in the music room after recreating the Inquisition murals there). So it could go either way, but...

I can just imagine Solas, lost in the throes of his regrets, painting his sins on the walls of the library and his memories of the Inquisition in the music room, finally noticing the Caretaker who has arrived, or perhaps was always there. Perhaps he pauses to consider the nature of the Caretaker, and the mystery of when it arrived. We find this note in the kitchen/dining area, where Solas still has a single place setting laid out for himself. So perhaps the Caretaker arrived to take care of him?

Or maybe this is a really, really old letter from when Solas first retreated to the Lighthouse and began to use it as his base of operations. How ancient is the Caretaker? Did they arrive to see to the Lighthouse during the days of the rebellions against the Evanuris, or did they arrive later? Did they arrive because they were drawn to the needs of dozens, hundreds of rebels and refugees, or drawn to its echo after they were gone? Which is it?

I personally go back and forth about it, but it's fascinating that the letter subtly supports both perspectives. Anyways!

I wonder what we look like to them. Need is a scaffold, and the needs of the living ever rise and fall upon it. Hunger, thirst, sleep... imagine the constant cacophony to one sensitive to such things.

The "we" suggests maybe this is a much older letter. I can see a much younger Solas leading his rebels to the Lighthouse and contemplating the nature of this Caretaker, worrying about how so many physical bodies in one space might affect a spirit sensitive to physical needs. But I can also see a much more recent Solas pondering this new (or new to him) creature, so I don't know.

Either way, "we" vs. "them." Solas is well and truly part of the living here, as opposed to viewing this all entirely as a spirit. It's like he's wondering what these spirit-born elves, or even mortals in general look like to a spirit like the Caretaker. A spirit whose focus is on needs, surrounded by these elves with physical bodies who now have very real, tangible needs. Hunger, thirst, sleep, things a spirit does not feel. But the Caretaker does, at least, sense these things in others.

The chorus of one person's needs must be a lot, but the cacophony of dozens, hundreds, as there would have been when the Lighthouse was in its prime? No wonder Solas has a moment of concern for this benevolent spirit.

Or am I too simple? Wants are fleeting; needs have deeper roots. Perhaps that's why I find this particular spirit's presence both comforting and disconcerting. The prospect that our heart's desire and our truest need could differ—or are even at odds—is hard to contemplate.

This. This is the most fascinating part of the note.

Or am I too simple? I think this is a hint, super early in the game, that Solas is a spirit. Spirits are the pure manifestations of emotion and thought. Complexity comes with personhood, with being part of the living in the tangible world. But spirits in the Fade (even before the Veil) are always pretty simple.

Solas is grappling with his nature here.

Wants are fleeting; needs have deeper roots. Perhaps that's why I find this particular spirit's presence both comforting and disconcerting.

I wonder if this is Solas struggling a bit with the unique experience of being both spirit and elf, undying but also very much alive, originally intangible but now physical. Wants come with being a spirit—spirits want to see beyond the Veil, if they're curious enough, or Cole as Compassion wants to help, he wants to look like the boy who died in the Spire. But here it's like Solas is suggesting that need is an intrinsically mortal or at least physical thing—something he didn't need to consider much before he had a body.

After all, spirits who don't have purely physical bodies don't seem to have the same needs. Like when Dorian talks with Cole about having a body, despite him not seeming to have physical needs:

Dorian: Do you need to eat, Cole? Or sleep? Cole: I thought I had to. But I don't. The Old Songs can pull me.

Or Blackwall suggesting that now that Cole is more human (if you take that path) the physical needs will likely come up:

Blackwall: So now that you've dealt with the templar, you're a real boy? Cole: Realer. Blackwall: Good enough. I suppose you'll stop looking into people's heads soon? And you might want to look into, I don't know, eating. Cole: Blech.

Often I think Solas struggles with where he stands, what he is, what he can be, what he should be as someone whom was first a spirit and then a person with a physical body. Short of dying, it sounds as though the process of going from spirit to elf is irreversible. He cannot return to the Fade as a pure spirit anymore. After the Veil, he can only return in dreams, at least until he finds ways of tearing through to the Veil to enter physically again.

But time and again he thinks and acts like a spirit with a simpler, focused nature rather than a complicated nature like a person might have. When he asks, Am I too simple? it feels like he’s acknowledging this. Is he too simple, too focused, too spirit to understand the experience of being fully, complexly mortal or physical?

The Caretaker’s presence is both comforting, because Solas knows that his (or others’) needs will likely be tended to, and yet disconcerting because it’s probably weird to even have those needs.

Ah but here we come to my favorite part.

The prospect that our heart's desire and our truest need could differ—or are even at odds—is hard to contemplate.

I’m sure this is hard to contemplate even for a normal person. How often do we struggle with knowing what we want isn’t always what we need? We may want the sugary cake, for example, but our bodies may need the healthier vegetables or fruits instead.

But going deeper, it’s easy to conflate needs and wants when it comes to abstract things. Like, say, vengeance, penance, atonement, or restoration.

Solas wants to repair the mistake he made thousands of years ago by creating the Veil, but he doesn’t need to do that. Yet in his mind, he treats it like a need, with roots so deep he can’t escape being bound up in them.

He wants to honor Mythal, who died because of his mistakes, who died again at his hand, but he doesn’t see that he can let go of that purpose, because somehow this want isn’t fleeting or fading like wants normally do. It sticks around. Therefore it must be more than want, right?

His heart’s desire is for the elven people to be restored, immortal, free, prosperous, and he throws his entire being into making that goal come true, that dream a reality. But he doesn’t see that his truest need is actually to be freed himself. Free from the purpose he’s given himself in the wake of Mythal’s death. Free from a path of vengeance that no one asked him to take, but that he feels obligated to walk.

His truest need, which he can’t see, because he can’t seem to sort through what is more want versus what is more need (and who can really, when they’re in the thick of things?), is not to cling closer to Mythal and honor his friend (or whatever it is they were), but to be freed from any and all entanglements with her.

He doesn’t want to let her go, but he needs to.

But without her around to release him, he clings to his plans to restore the elven people, restore her people, and hope that that will be atonement enough.

I think that’s why in the redemption ending, when we do see Mythal release Solas, he nearly collapses with this mixture of grief and relief. When he finally straightens up again, yes he’s hurting, but he’s the calmest he’s ever been in the entire game. As in, not tense, not plotting, not agitated. You get the sense that he can see or think with clarity now. Perhaps even breathe freely for the first time in ages.

And he finally sees that what he needs to do is not fix his mistakes, if doing so only causes more chaos and heartache and death for thousands or millions around him, but to seek atonement.

I love the line Rook can say when they’re trying to talk him down and make him bind himself to the Veil.

“[Making the Veil collapse] is what you want. Making amends isn’t about what you want.”

It doesn’t convince Solas, because he still doesn’t see removing the Veil as a want. He views it as a need. Not his need, but the world’s need. The world needs to be restored to the way Mythal would have wanted it, or so he believes.

I think that’s why Mythal has to release him before he can see everything clearly. She is the only one who can give him what he needs but does not what—freedom from her service.

It may not be everyone’s favorite choice, but I understand how we get here, especially since we find this letter so early in the game. Whether this letter is Solas from the distant past or the more recent past, it sets up a trajectory that we can trace all the way to the end of the game. And I just find that fascinating.

[mllemaenad]

To clarify about bringing down the Veil: I did say, and I did mean, that I don't think we should just let Solas do whatever. He's clearly having some sort of Mythal-related nervous breakdown and is intent on going it alone. This is stupid, and we really need to have an actual plan for this.

But.

Primary issue seems to be demons. Demons are often created by being pulled through the Fade, so bringing it down actually solves a problem. Demons can be complex people who aren't necessarily a problem to have around. When demons are problems, we have: the Avvar, the Chasind, the Rivaini, the Nevarrans and whatever spirit allies Solas has as experts who could line up to deal with this. This feels like the same argument the game would make about Circles and possessed mages. I want to get rid of the Veil like I used to want to get rid of Circles.

Secondary issue is Blight. Blight was contained prior to the Veil going up, so we've definitely got methods for doing that. The Veil is clearly not working as Blight-related security because Thedas has been up to its eyeballs in the stuff for centuries. You put a big mysterious city in everyone's dreams and guess what happened.

While Blight is present in the Fade outside the Black City, it is not everywhere in the Fade, and with the presence of eluvians we've got people wandering physically all over the Fade anyway. You can wander into Tainted bits of the Fade and get Blighted just like you can by wandering into Tainted bits of the Deep Roads. Don't do that! Also: make sure the Black City is properly locked up! It's common sense.

Blight, while undeniably still dangerous, seems to be operating on diminishing returns: the First Blight took two centuries to defeat and nearly wiped out civilisation; we just knocked over an Archdemon in a single battle at the cost of a few hundred lives and one fortress. And I'm betting we take out the seventh by the end of the game. Ghilan'nain has apparently been genetically engineering worse darkspawn, and we're still kicking their arses.

We should absolutely have Grey Wardens on cleanup duty in the Fade, though. I really do want to do this sensibly.

Darkspawn are also people, who can be cured of their compulsions by a modified form of the Joining. I'm certainly not wringing my hands over killing darkspawn in self-defence, but I think it's worth remembering that Davrin is wrong: they are not mindless monsters and if we can help them we should.

Tertiary issue is the Titans, who are attached to the Blight problem. The Titans were severed from their dreams in what sounds a lot like a form of Tranquility. This is a practical problem (Blight!) and a moral problem (we've got some mutilated people here!). The thing about Tranquility was that it was this utterly irreversible nightmare condition ... until it turned out that there had always been a cure, and it just involved reaching out to a spirit for some assistance. I'm not suggesting that the situation with the Titans is identical, but I am saying: bring down the Veil, reconnect with magic and spirits and start brainstorming. We can and should fix this.

Quaternary issue is just the Veil itself, which is increasingly tattered and in some places almost entirely absent. It is stupidly easy to thin the Veil and people are going to keep doing it, whether they mean to or not. So if there's, for example, Blight loose in the Veil, there is nothing stopping somebody from accidentally thinning a Blighted bit. And the damn thing will fall apart eventually. I for one would like to know its end date and be prepared for it.

So ... look, unless the game gives some last minute information on this ... Yeah, I think I want the Veil down. Solas can be a pain in the arse, but he's right about this. I've looked at his memories, and the flashbacks in the Fade: I know about the evanuris messing with the Blight, and Mythal's murder, and the ritual to lock up the gods not going as he intended. It's a mess, but it hasn't changed my mind.

Now: again, that does not mean I'm on board with Solas's actual plan. I want to grab him and tell him to sit the fuck down and work this out as a group project. Do it carefully, do it as safely as possible, and be willing to wait another year or two until we're organised.

But yes. BRING. DOWN. THE VEIL.

[sirxlla]

In Times Of Need

------------------------------------------------

Warnings: My distaste for Tommy slips through quite a bit. Other than that? Fluff.

Prompt: After Tommy breaks up with Buck. Buck calls you to get comfort

Notes: Female Reader, italics are actions and thoughts.

-With that said it's all under the cut-

The last thing you thought you would hear when you picked up the phone to him with him crying, you never heard him sob to this degree before and he sounded very upset.

"Ev, Hey. What's wrong?" Your mind immediately filled with the worst because of the fact of the matter was that his job was extremely dangerous and if not that you knew that there were days that were extremely hard as a first responder.

"I just- We were planning on going on a date tonight and he just dumped me." He's sniffled trying to keep this snot from running down his face.

"What? Tommy, broke up with you?" You tried to swallow the irritation that you felt rising in your throat. You really didn't like Tommy in the first place but breaking up with Evan seemed very out of the blue.

"Would you like me to come over or anything?" You asked with concern the both of you had keys for each other's places because the way the both of you saw it was that you had a home in each other, whenever you guys needed each other the answer was never no.

"Yeah...please?" He asked as his voice shook. Buck was so brave and he was so excited about this relationship because he never been with a guy not longer than a one night stand anyways and Tommy was supposed to be different.

As much as you understood that Evan cared about Tommy you could not stand him, not only because he seems like a self-absorbed asshole every single time you came around even though Buck tried to destroy you he wasn't....but it was also because somehow he almost inspired Eddie to be an asshole as well which was so out of character for him but it was almost like he was peer pressured into it... don't even get me started on Halloween because we be here all day.

The only reason that you were nice to Tommy is because of Evan if buck wasn't there it would be an entirely different story or if Buck wasn't dating him it would be an entirely different story because it was so hard to keep your mouth shut. It was even harder when Tommy was being an asshole especially to Buck... it also wasn't that he was overly an asshole, it was these passive aggressive and snide comments that he made twords Evan that taken out of context could slightly sound like it wasn't being rude but put in the context sounded extremely rude...

You tried to push all that aside because right now the only person that needed you was your best friend. You arrived to his place fairly quickly and gave him a hug as soon as you saw him... Buck was still understanably a complete mess and you can barely make out what he was saying but you started to piece things together after a few minutes.

"He said that 'he was your first but he's not going to be your last?'" You asked him as you tried to keep the clear irritation out of your voice. Evan nodded, his eyes were red and he was just completely distraught over this.

"With that mentality why would you ever get in a relationship? That sort of ideology completely negates the entire purpose of one." You asked him as a bit of anger slipped into your voice.

"I don't know." His voice cracked as he sat on the couch and pulled you into his lap like a kid holding a teddy bear. You rubbed his back and tried to soothe him, pushing that anger away to focus on the most important aspect of it all right now, Evan.

"You know this isn't your fault, right?" You asked quietly as you tried to reassure the sweet man infront of you.

"I don't think it's anyones fault."

'No, it is. It's Tommy's for being so insecure he didn't think your relationship with him would ever last. An asshole like the rest of your exes' You thought to yourself, you'd never say that to him, especially not right now when he already felt really shitty...

A bit if time past and Buck's crying had made him tired and he just picked you up and took you to his bedroom like a kid holding onto their stuffie for dear life. You wrapped your legs around him, this wasnt the first time he'd carried you to bed like this.

He placed you down on the bed and turned out the light before crawling into the bed next to you, he wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back and just wished to take all of his sadness. His hand found yours and your thumbs brushed against his knuckles as the pair of you laid in the dark bedroom under warm sheets. Slowly he started to calm and slipped off into a peaceful sleep followed by you. You'd always have Evan and he always had you, always...

(Send me prompts if you want)

Masterlist

[starrycassi]

Zaunite Sign Language

We see in the show that touching foreheads with one another seems to be a very intimate thing to do for Zaunites. It is not necessarily romantic, but signals to a deep, strong bond between those who do it. Well, since Zaun was clearly a mining town, I think this habit comes from those times. We also see Felicia putting her fingers to her forehead as a way to greet her children, which could just be coincidence but I am insane and refuse to believe that coincidences exist in this show.

I think that, as deeply clothed as miners have to always be, letting someone else touch your forehead and general face eventually became a sign of intimacy between them, since it was one of the completely exposed areas of the body. Now, I know we see young Vander and Silco with not-so covering clothes (edit: yeah they put on those big ass coats. for some reason I forgot while writing this lol), but I’m being a bit more realistic here. I have family that lives somewhat close to Mina del Limón, which is a mining site here in Nicaragua, and people usually try to cover themselves up to avoid getting dirt directly on the skin, since a lot of the times this not only gets them dirty but ends up in mean rashes or other sorts of skin infections, depending on what layer of soil they’re working on at the moment.

All of this to say: I think Zaunites have a lot of signs that involve touching your forehead and involve only one (the other one usually busy with a tool or doing something else), since the noise in the mines would make spoken communication difficult and you can not just stop and walk over to someone in the middle of an excavation and signaling on other parts of your clothes would be harder to see if your hands are covered with soot, since their main light source would come from the helmets, ergo: their forehead/face would be the best illuminated part of their bodies. I headcanon things like touching up their index and pointer finger to their foreheads to then flick them up would mean things like “I’ve got you”, dragging their finger across their entire forehead “This is over/We can leave”, dragging their fingers from top pf forehead to tip of nose would be “I’m down/Can’t keep going/Help me/I need assistance” and so on. In a lot of circumstances where normal communication is stunted, languages tend to develop in other ways (like the Silbo Gomero, a whistled language in Canary Islands developed due to the distances)

I also think that, eventually, this evolved in Zaunite Sign Language (in a similar way to how Nicaraguan Sign Language evolved), which is what I personally Isha as being able to speak. I think almost everyone would know the very basic signs, since their parents teach them before they start going to work (and we see a lot of children working, so, very early) and these children would eventually teach their peers, even the ones that don’t work on the mines, so it’s a fairly widespread way to communicate. Add to this the time after the revolution, where a lot of miners would surely need to go into hiding for a time if they survived, or even before that, when they were planning and could not risk people hearing them — those would be circumstances that would surely foster and improve these signs!

I don’t know, I just really like linguistics and am a huge sucker for the development of cultural communication methods. Does this make any sense. Does any care. Should I expand on this. I mean I probably will because this blog has become a warped version of my journal but I still have to ask. To be polite.

[yoredoesmore]

Can I request for Soshiro Hoshina and if possible Soichiro Hoshina (I know he barely showed up yet in the manga but I love him so much- dw you can decide to not make for him) I just want headcanons or like a fix of them being in an arrange marriage- you can choose if they were at first enemies to lovers or childhood friends,can you also make gn reader a badass and for a bit of angst they almost died during a mission- like if you know that scene from spiderman where Gwen fell and Peter couldn't save her- but just have this end in fluff 🏃🏻‍♀️💨 I'm sorry if this request is complicated sorry- YOU CAN IGNORE THIS IF YOU'D LIKE HAVE A NICE DAYYYY💕💕✨✨✨✨✨

a/n: I take so much time making these requests but I hoped you stayed patient with me > <

Till Death Do Us Part | Hoshina Soshiro

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x Gn!Reader

genre: /romance/slowburn/enemies to lovers/angst/fluff

summary: your mother may have the power to give you and your entire life away to secure your family's survival but only death itself could ever actually make you fall in love with that man..

wc: 2,4k

a/n: I don't know what this format of writing is called but I hope it isn't too confusing > <

Enjoy!

An Arranged Marriage – When those words first slipped from your mother's lips, you wanted to scream. Your heart pulsed with unease, anger even but you knew all too well that this was for the best. If there was one thing your mother held dear in life, it was the clan. Its prestige and well-being were of great importance to her and the only way to keep those secured was to give you away to a good family.

A childhood long lost – Your clan's reputation has become as bad as it could be. Your father passed away, your relatives were at each other's throats, holding onto old grudges and most traditions have been lost in time and ignorance. Only a fool would take someone as tained as you in, thus you wondered what clan would be idiotic enough to have you carry their name.

“A childhood friend?” You scoffed, the mockery in your voice as evident as the stars on the dark firmament. Not knowing who was stupid enough to have you join their family kept you up all night, therefore you decided to confront your mother. Turns out that she too had her own demons that kept her from getting any sleep.

“I never said friend.” The woman took a long drag from her Kiseru, relishing in the flavor of the tabaco before letting go of it all in one long puff.

“His father is an old acquaintance of mine. If you remember his child is of no importance, all that matters is that they are in our depths.”

The Farewell Before Death – The day of your wedding was as uneventful as one could imagine. You did not get to see your husband until moments before the ceremony. Most of your time on that day was spent in the botanical garden next to the shrine, a beautiful place where all your thoughts roamed free. You enjoyed the peace and quiet, until they were broken by an unfamiliar voice.

“The ceremony is about to start.” A man you have never seen before stood before you, dressed in what seemed like some sort of uniform.

“Can I not enjoy my last moments of peace without any disturbances?”

“Well, I was just-”

“About to leave?” Your smile sat gentle on your face, yet it reeked of toxins similar to the ones the flowers were producing. Without raising another word the man took his leave, allowing you to mourn your last seconds as a free individual in silence.

It wasn't your intention to be rude, but you were not in the mood to entertain guests. Thus, you sat there in silence until your mother came looking for you.

The Groom – As you kneeled in front of the altar, you yet had to register in your mind that this moment sealed your future forever. Other's would call you foolishly selfless but you have always found yourself putting the need of those you were close with above yours.

You didn't get to see the groom until he kneeled by your side. It would have been a lie if you said that you weren't at least the tiniest bit curious, so you allowed yourself a small peak.

“Can't tell me to leave now.”

That voice..

The man from before sat to your left, a sheepish smile lingered on his lips. Finally, the fact that you were to be married and bound to him to eternity registered in your mind.

Oil and Water – After a week of the ceremony passed, the situation became clear for all to see– this marriage was going to be difficult. Your mother had claimed that you knew each other from the past but neither of you were able to recall any interactions. But that's besides the point. Your opinions, thoughts and approaches to a situation– they could not vary any more from another than they already did. Like oil and water, the two of you stood on opposing sites, unable to find common ground.

And it didn't help that you had infiltrated his workplace.

It was one of his “demands” that his partner would join his journey– it was either that or make yourself useful in the estate. You scoffed when you heard your options and immediately declared that you would become one of the greatest defense force officers Japan has ever seen.

And you were right.

Unwanted Attention – Only two weeks after your enlistment, you already became the talk of the base. Everybody wanted to know who this new cadet was and how they were so skilled without having attended any training courses. The focus on your person only increased when people found out that your last name was Hoshina.

The attention was quite bothersome, to the point where you couldn't go anywhere without having someone ask you about your relationship with the Vice Captain. But to your surprise, everything died down one day. After asking around, you found out that Soshiro mildly threatened to personally deal with those who continued to bother you about your personal life.

After that, people only came to your for training advice or other work related things. Your skills were admirable after all.

Before he passed, your father used to train you. He was once a defense force officer himself, stationed in Kyoto but when he suffered a life changing injury during battle he was forced to retire. But still being full of passion and spirit he made the decision to pass all his knowledge down to his child.

A common ground – Although your marriage was blunt and flavorless (with little to no interactions outside of work or even at home) both you and Soshiro seemed to get along just fine during missions. He would give you commands, which you followed precisely. And whenever you came up with a way to defeat a Kaiju, Soshiro would execute your plan perfectly. Your performance on the battlefield earned you acknowledgement and respect from your peers and even Ashiro. You were greeted with smiles and bows, a different vibe from what you were used to back at your home.

Time Brings Progress – The more time passed, the more you found yourself interacting and being with Soshiro. You still didn't see him as your husband but he was no longer a mere stranger either. In fact, he has grown so comfortable around you that he started to tease you like he did with his squad. He would throw in a couple sneaky remarks every now and then and you would give him the same amount of sass back. It was a fresh breath of air in between the usual blunt atmosphere.

What Couples Do– You noticed a subtle difference in Soshiro's presence over time. He showed a more tender nature when he was alone with you, a soft side you had never seen him embrace before. It was small stuff like him making sure that you were included in conversations or checking in on you when you were working overtime. Even at home, he made the time to leave little notes behind for you when he had to work on your day off or asking you if you needed anything before going to bed.

When you addressed his behavior during dinner, all he did was chuckle.

“Ain't that what couples do?” He simply smiled, placing a neatly cut piece of steak on your plate. He sounded so carefree and calm, different from his usual cheerful demeanor.

“But ya warmed up to me as well.” He suddenly said, looking straight into your eyes.

A Sacrifice – It was an attack like you have never seen before. After the night of the dinner, you mustered up the strength to ask your husband if he wanted to go out for the evening– since it was your first day off together, but unfortunately you never made it to the restaurant. A Daikaiju of a fortitude level of 8.1 showed up and all troops were called to the scene.

You were fighting alongside Soshiro, your guns reaching the monster where his blades were unable to cut, yet the situation continued to stay dire. The snowfall was hindering everyone's vision and the troops seemed conflicted about the outcome of the fight– but then you saw an opening.

A weak spot that has been off radar due to the heavy snow blocking your view of the monster. You immediately alarmed Ashiro and told her of your plan. But for it to succeed a distraction was needed.

That is when you looked at Soshiro. It took him a moment to realize what you were about to do but it was already too late. You began to set up one of the big guns the force had brought along and aimed it at the beast.

Soshiro's hands pulled and pushed on your shoulder, trying to stop you from the reckless action you were about to perform but you stayed persistent.

“I can't let the less experienced cadets handle this, Soshiro. I promise you, I got this.”

Your voice reeked of determination but deep down concern sat in your chest. The weapon was only strong enough to mildly injure the Daikaiju and hopefully draw its attention towards the high rise you stood on. But the final strike had to be executed by the Captain and it had to be perfect, since you only had one shot.

Soshiro trusted your skills but he did not want to take any risks. This was your first huge mission and if he were to lose you here, he would never forgive himself. Especially now that your relationship was taking such a good turn..

“Ya have only been here for two weeks, Y/n. Don't try to act cool.” He sighed as he suddenly pulled you into a hug. It was the first time he had shown you physical intimacy since your wedding but it felt oddly comforting. His hand pressed onto your back a little bit too tightly but you saw it as a sign of concern.

Soshiro had to be physically pulled away by the other members when the time came.

Where the Snow Falls – You waited patiently, anxiety pulling on your skin as the cold winter night claimed your consciousness. But when the moment came for you to deliver the shot you did not falter. A clean beam aimed right at the Daikaiju's back, and just as predicted it came charging towards you. As it's tail came swinging for the building, your hands reached into your pockets, grazing over the wedding ring inside the fabric.

At exactly that moment, Ashiro aimed her weapon at the weak spot you had mentioned before, a thin layer of skin right at the sole of the Daikaiju's feet. The Monster came crashing down in an instant but instead of falling backwards due to the lack of balance, the Daikaiju came crashing down onto the building you stood on.

“Y/n!” The fear in Soshiro's voice echoed through the entire street.

The sudden impact of the monster with the building left you no time to react. You fell off the edge in an attempt to escape the masses of its body, caught in a deadly free fall. The world around you came to a sudden halt as your brain tried to come up with a way to escape this situation by going through memories of a similar essence– and to your surprise it found soemthing.

Fragments of your childhood, that day, featurin a snowy day like this one. You were outside of your estate, playing with a child whose face you did not remember. The snow fell heavy on the land, yet the boy you were with played recklessly without a care in the world. That's when it happened. The snow under his feet began to shift and dissappear, threatening to take the boy with it but in the last second you reached out for him and grabbed him by your hand.

“Y/n!” He had yelled out back then as you pulled him back to safety.

“Soshiro!” You screamed out as the ground came closer and closer.

Your husband came charging towards your body in inhumane speed, the safety of his suit long disabled. He wasn't going to reach you in time it seemed, thus you simply closed your eyes and held onto your ring.

But to your surprise the impact with the ground never came. Instead you felt something pull on your back, yanking you bank up before gently swaying you around in the air. A parachute?

Your heart beat so intensely, you feared it was going to spill out of your chest. As you landed on the ground, your knees immediately gave in, causing you to slump down into the rubble.

The other's wasted no time and came to your aid but Soshiro was the first to reach you. His arms embraced you in a desperate hug.

“You put the parachute on my back..” Your voice was a mere whisper as you pulled the man even closer into your body, filled with shock and trauma.

“Yes, because my partner is as selfless as they come.” He sighed, rubbing your back in comforting motions.

Soshiro refused to let go of you, even after the medic team arrived. After that day he stayed by your side, like a shadow, and refused to leave it ever since.

The Beginning of Something Beautiful – To think that it was a near death experience all those years ago that led to your marriage and another near death experience that strengthened your bond was borderline amusing.

You and your husband have become inseparable, finally taking your relationship status to heart. It did not happen immediately but over time you found yourself embracing his love more and more and of course you gave him some warmth back in return. It was the beginning of something beautiful.

“Y/n, Soshiro, are you guys down to drink with us tonight?” Kafka asked, one of his arms wrapping around your shoulders in an excited manner.

“Can't do. Soshiro and I rented a bunch of movies for tonight for our little marathon.” Your husband immediately came to your side as he heard his name slip from your lips, a proud smile on my face.

“Let's hope we don't fall asleep like last time.” You both laughed and got ready to leave the base.

You wondered if Soshiro remembered what happened all those years ago. That you saved his life and now he has saved yours. Perhaps this was all destined to happen and the heavy snow was there to set it all in motion. The two of you were indeed only able to be separated by death itself.

a/n: I have no idea if this story makes sense. I re-read it so many times and changed and added so many things it's loose in my head. I'm not super satisfied so pls give feedback if there's something I can improve :<

[floralcrematorium]

a little band AU concept i'll never go back to,,,

I don't know why I keep making Nat suffer, but alas I enjoy working with her and like to build her up after I break her

Anyway. Band AU Nat... Nat's stage presence is very dramatic and there's a bit of symbolism in most everything she does. This specific exploration was about the breakdown of AmeBel -- It was a mutually destructive relationship and both Natalya and Alfred lost sense of their identities. This specific costume sees an engagement ring on a chain, a sheer dress (which I had originally colored white to play with it looking like a wedding dress, but I didn't like it with the color palette and think the black fits better with the theme of mourning), and simple undergarments. The sheer dress is a bit of a veil, a way to symbolize how Natalya's true character was always shrouded from the public. The leotard and corset "undergarments" are meant to show that she's bare - She's showing her true self now, this is Natalya, and she won't be wearing the vision of a false version of herself like a costume anymore. The engagement ring with the broken chain was her way of saying how her relationship with Alfred was something keeping her trapped, it is that very relationship which saw to her rise in fame, and her subsequent feeling of being bound to play pretend.

Both succumb to the pressures of fame and needing to form their images to stay relevant; Alfred wasn't as well known before his relationship with Nat & his newfound identity is fraudulent. Nat on the other hand had an established career, and everything she once knew comes crumbling down (think back to this summer and how Chappell Roan practically became famous overnight)

I don't think Nat would usually lose sight of herself in a relationship the way she does in band AU -- she knows what she wants and is bold. My typical Natalya characterization is that while there are some things she's insecure about, they're not overwhelming and she's rather content to just be her. The difference with Band AU Nat is that under the spotlight, her means of making a living depend entirely on popularity and public perception. When she enters a relationship with this up and coming star whose audience is very different from her own and she's suddenly catapulted into the mainstream, it's incredibly difficult to adjust to.

I think post breakup she works through the events of the last few years in her life in a sort of "comeback" album - a return to form for her, using the genre, sounds, and imagery she used prior to the relationship. Things that make her, her. The artistry which makes her happy. Her comeback album is one of mourning, anger, and begrudging acceptance for not only the failed relationship but for her own character and journey as a musician. She ends up pretty well off in the end, I think. I want her to have a happy ending. I want Nat to make the decision to leave herself, to take back her identity.

Another thing I'd thought of is that down the line, Nat and Tereza (Miss Czechia) end up in a relationship. Natalya and Tereza have history together in the industry -- Tereza is a set designer with as much love for symbolism and visual narrative for Nat. She loves to incorporate hidden messages into the stage and music video sets she composes. Nat adores working with Tereza -> They respect one another as artists and no ideas are weird or shameful

Lyrics from:

• Love Will Bring You Nothing, Mishkin Fitzgerald

• THE DINER, Billie Eilish

• Seventeen, Birdeatsbaby

• Nothing Lasts, Glycerine

• Truce, The Dresden Dolls

Natalya Playlist

[horizon-verizon]

A reminder, and yes, I do and will continue to like or think Visenya differently over Alicent, and NOT bc she is a Targ. Just because Visenya and Alicent were both usurpers who put their sons before others egregiously AND wanted power or soem sort of prestige through their sons, doesn't mean they like each other and/or politically support or approve of the other or that they are one-to-one comparable nor "the same" type of person. Criminals who even are a part of the same syndicate or gang or whatever do not need to like each other! They are not the same not under similar circumstances and they both would acknoweldge that. I do think both wanted a "reward" for their parts in what they were enlisted for as part of the dynasty maintenace, but there's also too much particular differences that would never make Alicent like or admire Visenya and vice versa, like Rhaenyra does Visenya. Really, the fact Alicent disliked Rhaenyra even before she had her kids should tell us how she'd view Visenya.

But getting back to the real thing, even if it weren't a question of "like" and was a question of "exact sameness"...just no. Commonality rooted in gender, sure. "Same"? No. Instrinsically the same? No. That's ignoring the impact of their circumstances on who they are/became.

Visenya's ambitions are not mired in the same contexts of "tradition", as Alicent's are. They do not have the same sort of motivation in regards to "saftey" of themselves or their house' prospects. Alicent did not "need" to protect herself and her kids liek Visenya did with the entire dynasty.

The State of the Kingdom

One also has to consider that unlike Alicent, Visenya had to have observed what sort of mess Aenys left behind in just a few years with SEVERAL rebellions popping up against the Targs. A FRESH (more or less) dynasty she herself had fought to make with her siblings through warfare. She had a real crisis on her hands. The entire dynasty did.

Later her sister dies a presumably ugly death with one fo their greatest assets--her dragon--that could have been bonded to later Targs. She tries to complete the "mission" or the goal by conquering Dorne, the last bastion of the previous 7 kingdoms (No matter how one in the audience feels about Rhaenys and the Targs trying to conquer Dorne and being conquerors as Nymeria was, nation-building and conquest was how one of Visenya's most treasured people died and we will need to consider how this sould have motivated her later on, perhaps to honor her sister's and hers and Aegon's efforts by making sure the house stays up. We're talking about characterization and development, here.)

It is not conjecture, but FACT that the Targs were in danger of losing all that they had "worked" for after Aenys died. Concerning Aegon--Aenys' son and heir--or even just Rhaena--the girl Visenya said should marry Maegor for virtue of being the eldest of Aenys' kids when concersn of the succession came up and before Aegon was born--he was very young who hadn't yet bonded, what less ridden a dragon yet to face the wars and rebellions. Maegor had that experience, intimidation factor, etc. and he was much older, had already bonded and claimed and ridden Balerion for a time--Aegon I's dragon, both symbolically and practically favorable since Balerion was the oldest and largest and most experienced dragon in the Targaryen arsenal of the time.

Alicent usurped a woman when she had no real need to and had convinced herself she did. Book or show. Once again, dragons literally change the game from the usual succession crises; with dragons, her kids would not have had many people try to use them against Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra herself said she would have kept them in her court, and she said she'd do away with Akicent and otto AFTER these two crowned Aegon...not before. Bec those 2 were the ones who we the reader AND Rhaenyra saw and knew had put them all up to this for years. Finally, Rhaenyra had far more support from the lords as we see. She would have likely peacefully ascended and if there were soem lords eho foolishly tried it, she and the Targs collectively had way more dragons than was really necessary to put down rebellions of dragonless people who would have more liekly had been smal in number bc no one eants to mess with dragons without one of their own. I mean, the 3 conqueros had way less soldiers and only 3 at the tiem of the Conquest and during and afterwards....but they won relatively quickly. The pre-Dance Targ generations collectively had way more: Dreamfyre, Syrax, Caraxes, Meleys (if Rhaenys could be persuaded), Vhagar, Sunfyre...

The Targs' (or just her own) Personal Wounds

I must repeat myself -- yes, Visenya could have ALSO seen this as opportunity to finally obtain some power for herself and to have some gains for her work.

A "Queen" would mean something different for her versus the court she's ruling. I think there's a possible interesting question here about whether Visenya at some point looked at the value put into having male heirs and had some of the same anxieties of her perspective of herself versus how the court she and her siblings ruled saw her/them but I am talking here about Visenya alone:

she is Valyrian and the court she/they conquered is Faith-worshipping or old gods worshipping Andal and First Men desended MAJORITY; she would have had to observe and navigate what sort of subtle, nonrecorded compromises of how she'd perform her queenly power due to her gender she can make, which I suspect she succeeded but the performance itself may have or may have not grated on her more and more as time went on (thus a simmering frustration there) -> there is a close proximity to the "ultimate" sort of power that she performed the militaristic labor for like Aegon did in near the same ways...well really yes, the exact same ways, and yet she's also still on the side

motherhood & value of the female body to those she rules vs how she may have witnessed such on Dragonstone even with her being so confident and capable, etc.

bc one could never be immune to a systematic/social organization of value. You can't be immune to society. She didn't socially conform, but it's possibe that her vulnerability/blindspot when it came to Maegor's early "troublesomeness" and cruelty stemmed from her wanting a means of self validation. NOT FROM MEN THROUGH SEX AND OBEIDENCE OWED TO A HIGHER AUTHORITY OR REPRODUCTIVE LABOR IN THE TRADITIONAL SENSE AND FOR MEN TO "PICK" HER in case some want liken her to show!Alicent, but validating her "work" and becoming a bastion of Targ rule in a way Alicent didn't. Yes Alicent's producing male spares was important and put her in danger, I'm merely sayign that Visenya did that with Maegor AND was in many battles, procured a whole knigdome without violence, created the Kingsguard--i,e., did a lot more than the "average" woman got to do--and maybe she wanted something that "equaled" that sort of set of accomplishment. soemthign that "matched" it.

I also agree with hamliet (linked above in the OG post) & think she could have looked at Aegon and Rhaenys' relationship and possibly wanted something of her own and this got tangled with legacy bc feudal families and politics are enmeshed with each other through the idea of "legacy", which manifests as something the individual comes to try to gain to create meaning for themselves, of themselves.

Together Now

Through Maegor, the ideal warrior (not knight, that's Andal I mean just warrior but to her he might have surpassed such since he fit with a lot of Andal ideals of such as well), she might have thought she was both validating herself AND pushing the dynatys forward. And that she wanted said dynasty to preserve a literal piece of herself through said son. Have a lineage to trace back to her like Rhaenys looked like she was going to have when she birthed Aenys before she herslef birthed Maegor. Be "immortalized" through those heirs Maegor would have like Daemon wanted heirs through him as well as all the other stuff as well as the action of him ruling under her guidance/support/dragon/reference, bc Visenya was never far from Maegor when he ruled until more towards the end. That she'd have a less mitigated influence than before, bc I suspect that Rhaenys also did court stuff a lot better than Visenya, espe the subtler stuff, and Visenya would retreat more often.

It's a "my turn" sort of situation. A lot more centered on "my" than in Alicent's case.

It's very easy to see how she justified this all as her needing to preserve the house first by making sure it not just puts down the reblllions but also stays "down". (In answer to "why not Maeor or her be Aeon's commander instead of ousting him altogether?") It is especially when Maeor's cruelty brought on other threats & he couldn't sire an heir, she herself began to have some regrets - a lost gamble. And I do not think this makes her "evil" or "overly ambitious"; like with Rhaenyra, who also was and felt jilted from her usurpation and people trying to use her gender against her, it makes Visenya fallible and desirous of getting what is her "due" when opportunity strikes.

Yea, Alicent would ave felt jilted in that she and like other noble women, Targ or not, she expected her sons to pass over the oldest girl from a previous marriage.

Anyway, this is why I prefer Visenya, not bc she is Targaryen as if I superifically like Targaryens and their dragons, but bec there is substance & textual evidence to contextualize my preference. They are the drivers of Westerosi history for a reason other than being conquerors. It's not just having dragons, it's the effect of having dragons on humans reflected in the Targs and the way they ruled and created Westeros as it is known today. To summarize.

Targaryens are usually like reflectors or agents who have so much tension, are somehow both cronically rebellious against the Andal-FM Westerosi status quo and trying to make use of the status quo or survive under it in a particular way(s) that is very fascinating to me. Even as a lot of them don't actually conform, ever, no matter the generation. Because they actually can't in a lot of ways.

That and I personally just can't stand ult-trad people, esp those who practiced Christian-like religions. Of which Alicent is of.

Visenya usurped the throne because Aenys was weak and unfit to rule. Visenya would see Aegon as unfit to rule, he’s a lazy, unambitious, self-indulgent, lecherous, and gluttonous alcoholic. And Aemond LITERALLY FAILED HIS FIRST DIPLOMATIC MISSION.

And let’s not forget that Visenya/The Conqueror’s trio advisor was a dark-haired Targaryen bastard and very likely their half-brother, Orys Baratheon, who later founded house Baratheon.

If Visenya was around during the Dance, what she’d do to the Greens would make Castemere look like a joke.

No disagreements. It is just a straight delusion to think otherwise, that she'd congratulate the greens in any way shape or form. I think this is the green stans way of combating the black stan headcanon that Rhaenyra favored and aspired to be like Visenya or recognize that Aemond rides her dragon, and thus wishes to claim/twist more of her to legitimize him...forgetting that she also ushered in Maegor, so what does that make Aemond?

And the greens themselves would not thank Visenya even if she were inclined: she's a woman-warrior who was reputed to have done magic arts, is not their direct ancestor as Rhaenys was (even if she was her sister, it is not through her womb/blood the Targs continued) and, again, MAEGOR--the most hated pre-dragon-loss Targ king.

Why would any of them want to associate anything of themselves with her except to make use of her dragon? Funny.

Still, all of this describes her best intentions and not the fuller picture. It IS true that she usurped Aenys' heir Aegon, and not Aenys AND that she also very likely was willfully blind to Maegor out of love [headcanon post by hamliet] and a desire to have a legacy/grow a lineage with him. She was not perfect & willfully blinded herself, but hardly as evil as some people try to make her out to be.

In my opinion, she clearly came to have regrets about Maegor ("Sons of the Dragon"):

Unlike Maegor, Visenya knew when to be diplomatic but also be effectively threatening AND not overpower those who she needed to collaborate with (how she dealt with the Vale; her partnership with her siblings).

[rawbin-hsr]

OMGGG Your latest smut fic is so amazing!!! The smut is absolutely delicious! but....the angst is breaking my heart so...could you please write a continuation or part two where the reader confronts Aventurine's dark internal thoughts and comforts them? A fic where they actually get him to believe that they love him for real, where they tell him that he's not a monster and that he wasn't ruining them.

You've got it ! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves. (Part 2)

Read part 1 here !

CW: dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), lots of mentions of death, passively suicidal Aventurine, violent imagery (through metaphors, nobody is actually physically harmed), intrusive thoughts, Aventurine thinks kind of vicious things about you (refers to you as "stupid", "brainless", "naive" etc), cursing.

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

Small note: Spoiler alert sorry, but you will not completely fix Aventurine in this fic. Making any real progress would take YEARS. The trauma he's gone through and his beliefs about his own humanity are EXTREMELY deep-seated, just one conversation would not be enough to make him truly believe he was loved. Super sorry since I'm sure that's not what you wanted (you specifically requested they "truly get him to believe that they love him for real", but this does still end on a hopeful note so I hope you won't be too disappointed (•ᴗ•,, ) )

Sometimes Aventurine gains enough clarity to remember where he stands. More importantly, he gains enough clarity to remember where you should stand. That is to say, as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately, you are never keen on doing that. 

In these moments of clarity, he distances himself. If you won’t do it, he has to. He needs to. He needs to even when he can feel the little pieces of him that you’ve managed to haphazardly glue together splinter into tiny shards again, even when it feels like every step away is a step walked on shattered glass. He can hardly be called a ‘person’ anyways, what does his suffering matter? He has already lost so many good things, why not add another loss to the tally?

He reads your texts, but he doesn’t respond. He hangs up on you the moment you call. By doing this, he makes sure you know he is alive. Both because he knows it would devastate you if you thought he died, but even more so to make sure you know he is intentionally ignoring you. He hopes at least some part of you hates him. He thinks part of him hates you.

But he can never stay away for long. Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. Thoughts of you always cloud his mind too much to do what is right. He reminds himself he will destroy you. He comes back anyways. He is too selfish not to. 

And you welcome him with open arms every time. Sure, sometimes you yell. Sometimes you berate him. Sometimes you cry. But he never does something beyond the bounds of what you’ll forgive, even though he tries to. You’re patient to a fault. Though he feels bad, he never takes it fully seriously, because you always hold him with so much sweetness, even when your words are filled with righteous anger and justified hurt. You always end it by reminding him that you love him. Something clenches in his chest; something that is not his heart, because he has none. He claims he is sorry, but you both know he will do this again. He always does. You know he will hurt you over and over, even if you don’t know the extent. You know he will test you, that he will ignore you, that he will cling to you and that he will taunt you. You don’t know he will drag his claws through you and tear you to ribbons; you don’t know he will sink his teeth into your neck and drink all your blood; you don’t know he will lure you to sea and drown you. You are never aware of the true danger you are in. 

Maybe that’s why you one day feel comfortable enough to corner the creature that has taken on the appearance of a lover. You sit down next to him in bed one evening after one of his many attempts to push you away, your expression grim. You look straight ahead, right into his dead eyes, unaware that a monster is towering over you. 

“We can’t go on like this,” you say. For one moment, the crushing relief and devastation threatens to consume him, and he’s not sure which of the feelings is stronger. For one moment he can’t breathe. 

He hacks our a laugh, his skin straining. Something is shifting beneath his flesh, something ugly and dangerous. He needs to leave and he needs to do it quickly. 

“You’re right, we can’t,” he agrees, his voice a lot more steady than he feels. He feels the urge to grab you and shake you until you pass out. He feels the urge to suck out your life force until your body is an empty husk. He feels the urge to slam your head into the bathroom sink in the next room over. He feels the urge to shoot himself in the head, because he does not want to do any of that. 

“I love you,” you say, unexpectedly. Or maybe it’s not unexpected. You always say such stupid, brainless things. (You say it with sweetness. The only sweetness he can offer in return is the sweetness of bacteria digesting rotting meat. Is the flesh his, or will it be yours?) He laughs again. 

“I thought we were breaking up,” he says. Smirking, as if it’s funny. (It isn’t.)

“No, we’re really not,” you say firmly. He snorts. 

“Maybe we should.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you come closer. 

Get away, he thinks. Run, you fucking idiot. 

You don’t have many flaws, but the ones you do have are insurmountably big. You are too forgiving, you are too kind, you are too selfless, you are too naive. You will kill yourself doing this one day. You will let him kill you.

Your arms wrap around him. He can’t help but relax. The thing lurking under his human disguise grows more restless. 

“I don’t hate you,” you say, unexpectedly. And this one really is unexpected, because what made you say that? Your arms squeeze around him tighter. “I thought I was being obvious enough about that, but you’re so bad at understanding it.”

The feeling he has is the same as the feeling he gets when he realises a deal is going awry. You are the highest risk stakes he has ever made a bet on: will he ruin you, or will you ruin him? What you could do to him is so much more serious than death. He knows that he is holding a losing hand. He doesn’t even know what he stands to win.

You kiss his neck. He shudders. 

“Why are you so scared of me?” you ask. 

Scared? He is not scared. What an outright laughable concept. Neither of you are scared, but if one of you was, it should be you, but you aren’t, for some reason.

“What gives you that idea?” he chuckles, but his voice is not as steady this time, and he can feel his smile slipping. (What is wrong with him? He doesn’t want to think about it. The answer is always ‘everything’.)

“Your hand is shaking.”

It is, but that is not because he is afraid. Fear is a human response, borne from the desire to live. It is instinctual. It means kicking and screaming, it means clawing your way out of hell for the chance to see another day, it means fighting for the life you don’t want to end. He cannot die, you see. Death cannot occur twice. Just because his body reacts, that does not necessarily mean he can truly fear any longer.

(Then again, maybe his reaction does not come from the thought of his death.)

“I’m not scared,” he says, and his voice sounds a lot weaker than he had expected. You pull him closer, cradling his head against the crook of your neck. His blood is pulsing too quickly.

“It would be okay if you were,” you murmur. “I know you don’t know how to be loved. That’s okay. I’ll teach you. You just have to let me.”

Squash. Slice. Tear.

Maybe you are the monster. He can feel your claws prying his chest open; he can feel your teeth dig into his flesh; he can feel something that is not air fill his lungs. The biggest difference between you and him is that he devours, while you give. You painfully shove something back into the cavity meant to contain his soul, you pump blood back into his system, and you fill whatever gaps are left in him with something that is first cold but quickly warms. 

(He realises, belatedly, that something is pumping inside his chest again. But it can’t be a heart, can it? He lost that so long ago.)

“I’ll kill you,” he manages through gritted teeth, claws digging into your shirt. It is not a threat. It is not a warning. It is just the truth.

“You think too much,” you admonish him. Your tone is as gentle as your words are cutting. “I wish you would trust me more. You’re so determined to ruin your own life, and I don’t like it.”

“That’s just how I am. Deal with it or leave.”

“I’ll deal with it, then.”

Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. He will destroy you. But you accept it. 

He has tried time and time again to push you away, but he is weak. So incorrigibly weak, and though your flaws are insurmountable, his are all-consuming. He is a monster in all the ways that matter. But you stubbornly will not leave despite that. 

(Maybe that makes him a little more willing to try to change his nature. Just a little. Just for you. If you will not leave anyways, maybe he could try to make his presence a little less torturous.)

“Just… please stop ignoring me,” you sigh, nuzzling into his hair. Tenderly, tenderly, tenderly, so tenderly it makes his skin crawl. Your claws are softly piercing into him and he is helpless, unable (unwilling) to fight back. “I can deal with everything else. I just hate it when you do that. I can’t keep going weeks without speaking to you. I know you have some kind of… weird ideas that I’d be better off without you, but that’s not true. I love you, and I love being around you. I can’t help you when you cut me off at every corner.”

Cut, slice, slash.

Something in him breaks. Something he knows cannot be salvaged. Something he knows you would not want to salvage. Something he is not sure if he wants to salvage either, now that it is broken anyways.

He breathes a shaky breath, his fingers — his fingers, not claws, not this time — digging into your back. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and he does not feel the urge to bite down. Though his eyes feel wet, it would not be enough water to drown you. 

He knows your line of logic is wrong. He knows the fact remains unchanged: he is a monster of a man. He will ruin you. But maybe your presence sparks enough electricity to keep his heart pumping, just for a little while, and maybe he can wait until things actually start going downhill before he lets you go. Maybe he can remember how to be a human for a bit, maybe he can pretend he is. 

“I just… don’t want to do something I can’t take back,” he whispers. “Not with you. You’re the… the only good thing I have left. I don’t know what I’d do if I…”

“That’s sweet, but I’m not as weak as you think I am,” you reply. “I’ve held out this long, haven’t I? Put more faith in me.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

---------------------------------------------------------

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3 Also reblogs are EXTREMELY appreciated the final push I needed to finish this was from a very kind individual who reposted and analysed my writing I've been riding that high ever since they did that ily bro

[fisheito]

moms at the sports game.....

[thelovers-thedreamers-and-me]

the downside to being a sitcom neighbour sort of person is that when rough things happen and emotionally fuck u up a lil bit, it also sounds completely made up

[hello-there]

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[bldrdsh]

HE WATCHES QUIETLY, stalwart guardian of the Moon Isles, and as it would seem, GOD OF THE HAVEN in which many of Erlik's children might find peace. He has a sinking suspicion that THIS is going to become a recurring thing for him. The admission from Temir has him WONDERING just how many of Erlik's children felt the same way? MATYR was obvious, and Shyngay was FAR EASIER to get to open up than Temir, but the very IDEA that many of them feel the same way has him WONDERING if perhaps there was HOPE for them yet. He couldn't tell, and while perhaps it wasn't his DUTY, he'd likely do it anyway.

"I didn't say it was simple–I said it was possible. Make no mistake it is LIKELY to be a terrifying experience. Removing yourself FROM BENEATH the IRON FIST of a tyrant..."

HE LEANS back finally standing upright once more from his otherwise relaxed position on the railing of his cabin. HE CAN'T sit idly by and let this continue. DESPITE notions of frustration it's AGONIZING to watch deities cower from the prospect of a HATEFUL parent. It makes him ANGRY. It reminds him of memories of a parent who FAILED him as Erlik has failed his own children.

"When I was a mortal I studied history & mythology. It consumed much of my life–if there's one thing that BOTH of those subjects taught it's that TYRANTS only maintain their power when their subjects are split apart. When they DO NOT realize the power they possess. I've seen MANY of you & your siblings show up in my domain, yet your father himself IS just a shadow hiding in the dark. His influence is strong on all of you–but not indefinite."

The more Temir speaks, the more inclined he is to TRY HARDER. A fervid drive igniting within him as he draws in a QUIET breath, hands resting in his pockets once more as he watches the other god. THERE'S A SORT OF BREAK–like the facade can no longer be held up. His admission of FEAR followed by the CACKLE that comes at the idea that his SIBLING who should by all accounts be able to know ALL has been DECEIVED leads Karthisius to believe there's MUCH more to this than he is being led to believe.

"I told your brother as much and I am a MAN of my word above all else. While you tread on these lands, YOU ARE UNDER MY PROTECTION. No god from any other pantheon can step foot in this place without me knowing and ONLY if I allow it. At any point I can easily remove UNWANTED guests."

DID. Past tense, yet still somehow Karthisius isn't entirely sure he BUYS into that. Seeds of doubt remain, otherwise this conversation wouldn't have even been happening, but he ELECTS not to share that thought.

"Your father is a BULLY. Exactly. Bullies get power over the masses with fear–have you not wondered why he is SO intent on dragging your brother back into the fold? Why he insists that you & your siblings continue to chase and torment him?"

HE WAITS A MOMENT before finally closing a bit of space between them, stepping off the porch and approaching with a QUIET hum.

"He's afraid–just like you are–I would wager that the more you & your siblings allow yourselves to think about taking charge of your own existence, the more afraid he'll get––and like your brother I will extend the same off to you. This place is SAFE from prying eyes. Should you need a PLACE to...THINK and process those...DOUBTS you had, this place can be a sanctuary for you."

Now, Temir had a feeling how the interaction between this younger god and his brother had gone. Was it the same for him? Had this one plucked at his heartstrings? Stared at him as though piercing right through his soul? It was both invigorating and terrifying to think about, to finally be seen, to be known for what he truly was, but to a point where he was genuinely becoming uncomfortable. Maybe a little too seen -- - for the first time in his entire existence.

"You think you have it all figured out, don't you? You've got a good eye for the little details, I'll give you that." The Turkic deity mused with the lift of his chin. "But it's not that simple. Yes, one of my brothers walked away from his family a long time ago, yet that wasn't the end. He's still pursued by the rest of my siblings, a factor that I, personally, have never taken part in. I don't see the point and genuinely believe he should be left to his own devices. If he wants nothing to do with his family, then so be it, it's none of my concern." It was strange to think about, the two of them on Earth for hundreds of thousands of years, yet the younger of the two had always kept his distance from Matyr. Was it out of respect? Hatred? Was he simply disinterested? Or was it just painful to see him, to know he'd built his life there from the ground up as well, yet their paths had gone in entirely different directions?

One helped people, punished those deserving of it, while the other sought to punish everyone.

Yet as Karthisius continued, poking holes in the siblings' logic, shining a light on their fathers' lies, Temir fell silent. The latter was nothing new to him. He knew he was little more than a pawn in his father's grand scheme to screw over his siblings above, but to accept that humanity wasn't just black and white, that there were shades of grey in between? It just made things complicated. It was easier to think that they were all bad, that all of them were Giselle's in the making, ready to stab him in the back if he should dare lower his guard for a single second. Were they all like that? He'd never given anyone else a real chance to prove him and his father wrong.

"Yes..." The answer to the Greek god's question cut through that bravado like a knife through butter, almost surprising Temir himself as he physically stepped back, his shoulders sinking, not out of relaxation, but a moment of defeat. "Of course, we're all afraid. Isn't that the hallmark of a bully? We're scared?" It was a crushing admission, one that he'd known for a long time now, but never allowed himself to utter or ponder for too long. But it was the truth, wasn't it? He was scared, scared of defying his father, of letting someone in, letting them get close and being rejected all over again. "Stop..." His voice quietened, his breathing quickening. "Stop! This isn't fun anymore." He wasn't in control of the situation, emotions were running freely and he was more open and seen than he'd ever been. Again, he was afraid.

"I came here to find out what happened when Shyngay visited. It seems I have my answer... it doesn't take a genius to know that he likely went down this same path. I've shared his doubts in the past, I wager he doesn't even know I've ever had them, or that I took any notice of him. It's easier that way... but I do. I did." He was quick to correct himself, lifting his hands to adjust his lapel again, though this time as a mere distraction. "Above all... I knew this place had to be secure. Nothing had reached my father, or Uchar, which is quite the feat given that he's the god of informants. If someone knows, he'll find them. Yet... nothing. Silence." Dark eyes studied the other god for a moment when suddenly he began to laugh. "The sheer delicious irony that only the god of bravery has had the courage to leave while the rest of us stay in our place. Perhaps poetic in a morbid sense."

[teddybeartoji]

i think i mentioned that my dad let some guys put film on our windows so they'd reflect the sun a bit more or whatever right....... well they did that yesterday and everything was fine they washed my window and everything but now . i look out and there's a fucking CRACK IN THE GLASS????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

[deoidesign]

I have a question, but it may be already have been answered in the story (my brain is just not the best with memory).

Since vampirism symbolises for you chronical illness (which, omg, that is a hot take I've never thought off before and love from now on), does Steve count as chronical ill, too, with the whole halfvampire thing going on? So, would his uncontrollable time jumping each month be a symptom of that chronical illness?

not in the story, no worries! Just a possible interpretation and my personal intent when writing.

As a small aside I personally don't like to think of chronic illness as something that people "count" as, so to speak, it's an extremely personal label and incredibly varied between individuals and as with all disability there is never such thing as hard lines or black and white... but I understand why you worded it that way and I understand what you're asking.

So, yes, Steve is also chronically ill within this framework. The entire comic is sort of shaped around this, to be honest! I mean he canonically has some pretty extreme memory issues... He's also canonically homeless (not that this is an illness but I just mean it's something I think most people forget about him when discussing him). And, yes, his condition is uncontrollable and is severely impacting his ability to live the life he wants to live.

He has just been barely coping up to the point we meet him, and has been very desperate which is what led him to creating that list of deviations. He has periods where his body is out of his control, he is unable to form relationships, he hurts others without meaning or wanting to... Yeah. He's metaphorically relating to a lot of things, really.

So, yknow, you're welcome to interpret him as you'd like! for me I relate a lot with my various issues and conditions and thus that's why I've projected on him the way I have, but of course I would understand entirely different interpretations of what is inherently metaphorical.

[mxchineherald]

 When presented with the stool, Viktor let his eyes look it over in assessment before stepping around and sitting down on it with a measured movement. It looked careful, as if to preserve joints and muscles even though they no longer needed such caution. Life long habits of movement had never left him, even in his augmented form. He kept hold of Luon’s hand with one of his own the entire time, while the other hand moved to rest in his lap idly. His eyes glanced at the jar of candies, distantly wondering what flavor they held.

 The elaboration was a welcome one, opening his mind to the possibility that there was magic outside of the Arcane. How present it was in Runeterra was difficult to ascertain without extensive study and travel, both things he didn’t have time for. The colors in his eyes swirled as he kept his eyes on her, though they would occasionally shift to look away from her gaze and to other parts of her face. Eye contact was not his strong suit when thinking so deeply. “You would be correct. I have spent the majority of my career studying the theory. It was only a two and a half years ago that I gained the ability for this ‘practical application’.” He looked down to his free hand, turning it over to observe the glowing slivers of cool lavender in his palm.

 Then, she offered him a glimpse into herself, and he lifted his head with a somewhat surprised expression settling on his features. “I will see more than magic, Elise. I will see you, too.” He looked to her outstretched hand, then back to her face. “But perhaps…if you are willing, I would not turn it away.” He reached with his fingers, their tips making gentle, smooth touches into the bend of her palm before sliding to make full contact, digits tenderly coiling around her wrist.

 He closed his eyes, and in an instant, he was within her mindscape, or the space between their thoughts, at least. He wasn’t sure. It was all open space and fog – vacancy and ash. Utter stillness, with only silence to accompany it. He looked to her mental form, draped in shades of pearl and silver, but dotted with streaks of deep, vibrant crimson and luscious, verdant clover. An open door led both ways. Should she have focused on the presence now in her mind, she might have been able to visualize his own Arcane form in her thoughts. He was more human in appearance, with shorter, more fluffy white hair, golden eyes, and unaugmented skin. His body was draped in tones of purple, pink, blue, and green all intermingling in curling swirls. It almost looked as if he was wearing a form-fitting, tailed coat.

 He delved a bit deeper, trying to seek out her magic in particular amongst the wash of memories and emotions. It began to seep through the fog, tendrils of muscle fiber and arteries weaving into a human-like figure. What once was withered and frail now thrummed with vitality, given by her hand. Her magic was that of corporeal manipulation, tied to the cellular structure of organic, living beings. While parts of it reminded him of his own abilities, none were quite the same. She didn’t augment what was there, she instead guided it to recovery through its own means, aided by her magic. Healing, without the encroaching price of the Arcane’s influence. His influence.

 But there was something distracting. The fog rolled back in, swallowing the form. In the corporeal, his brow furrowed just slightly. Something was…crawling along his ‘skin’. Pale tendrils, creeping up from the ground and nestling into his form. Discomfort at the sensation and growing anxiety at its symbolism both pulled him back to himself with a small gasp. His eyes opened, and he looked at her with stunned sympathy. “You…have been touched by an unknowable power, too, haven’t you…? Changed by it.” There was relation in his tone, rather than any sort of fear. He felt as though, for the first time, he was looking at someone who could have possibly understood how that felt.

Instinctively, Elise brushed a few hairs from the young boy's face. As Viktor had wanted, he would have no issue walking out of here on his own two feet, though she should check in with him in a couple of days to ensure the rapid healing had settled properly.

"Gift?" As she eased into their interaction, something playful settled over the mage's kind demeanour. Keen silver eyes locked with his as a smirk slid onto her face. "While I appreciate the flattery, Viktor, spellwork is not a gift, simply a trained skill. I will not lie and say anyone could have done what I just did, but even a mediocre blood healer can deal with broken bones. Physical injuries are the bread and butter of our trade." Were she to brag, the pale healer would go so far as to say she had developed a knack for diseases, too, but the major and minor physical injuries would always be the easiest to deal with.

"We will let him rest then." Withdrawing, she returned with two stools and a jar of what looked to be hard candies. The jar went to the table as if ready for when Luon would wake, while the second stool was put on the floor and pushed towards Viktor so he could sit without letting go of the younger's hand. It was a good excuse to draw out time, for she was unsure how to explain her magic. And sitting down usually made people stay longer.

"I do not." Confirmation of his theories felt like the proper place to start. "The arcane is different from what I would call magic. Gravity twisted, if that makes sense." In the few instances she had spotted in his village and through Luon, it was still recognizable as magic, very recognizable even, but simultaneously alien.

"Or rather, I must seem like gravity twisted to you." There was no self-debasement in the phrase as she used a hand to gesture from herself to Viktor. "However, where the differences lie, I could not tell you. I suspect you are better at such theory than I. My preferences were always for practical application." Magic was a science, but after long enough, the science became a habit, and one forgot its basic rules. And the advanced stuff was usually too complicated to explain without the solid basics. So, all that remained were approximations through unfitting words and metaphors. Both of which felt inadequate for answering the questions she could see teeming out of the other's eyes.

"I-Hm…" Gazing at the boy on the table, there was a quick mental calculation before her eyes met Viktor's again. "Your touch allows you to connect to others?" The question was rhetorical, a loud pondering as an experiment, a demonstration, formed in her mind. "Perhaps I can show you my magic rather than explain it?" Head tilting, her suggestion was given freely, and the unspoken acceptance of a refusal was hanging in the air even as she held an open palm out for him.