#my beloved evil angsty mutual

[the-blossica-fan]

Greetings!

Crazy idea- bodyswap + Undooming Arcana AU

With whom you ask?

Vertin and Arcana.

Have fun!

:)

Hello evil angsty lover mutual! You are dooming Vertin and making Arcana evil-er than before (It doesn't work for her though)

Imagine waking up one day and the moment you look into the mirror, you're the person you hate the most. Your body is the same as that person, your face, your voice, your body. The same person who took everything you loved and you're them.

Vertin is having a mental breakdown.

Meanwhile, Arcana tries to do the most using Vertin's body but there's one small problem. Her lingo.

Vertin: Thou wouldn't doubt of thy friend, the Timekeeper, right?

Sonetto: ... Oh no it happened again. Arcana, never talk again.

Imagine seeing the suitcase's most controversial member running around warning others of a body swap and isolating the "timekeeper" from the rest like they would to Arcana. Yeah it's a bit confusing but once you hear the British accent, you're sold.

This opens a new comical and angsty part for this. Comical because Arcana keeps trying to "fit in with the youth" despite her words being obviously so ancient. Angsty because it's Vertin dealing with her biggest problem, her most hated person and the one who destroyed many things she adored, from their own body.

Sonetto wouldn't be able to stand around Vertin due to Arcana's body, the others who knew Arcana from before might be uncomfortable and 37 would have to hold back shivers from anger everytime Vertin as Arcana approaches.

The same might go for Arcana in Vertin's body, but it's way different, Arcana doesn't care about that. She's having fun in the body of Vertin at the expense of other's happiness and comfort.

Your friend is inside the body of the person that made you go through so much, and despite knowing it's not them, you still find yourself uncomfortable upon seeing their face. On the other hand, the body of your friend is inhabited by the soul of this person you hate, seeing the familiar face might bring comfort, but knowing who's controlling the body makes you feel disgust.

That's essential this situation

[bayofwolves]

Heyyyy Bay! Sending you some asks.

What are Takoda and Kovu up to in arhoe? I love those guys.

Also (if you want to!) infodump about something that’s making you go nuts right now.

Hope you’re doing well!

Thank you for the very good question to ponder, beloved mutual!

I'm only on the first book of Fall of the Beasts, but man, Takoda and Kovo are such an interesting pair. I've never had strong feelings about Takoda, but maybe that will change this time around, because his chapters so far have been very enjoyable. And Kovo is just hilarious. I'm excited to see their bond develop further.

As far as their involvement in the entire universe of A Revised History of Erdas: I'm not seeing or remembering anything major that I would change about their arc. One thing that's different in my AU is that all spirit animals arrive as adolescents, at a similar stage of development as their human partners (who would be at least thirteen at the point of summoning). So, instead of being a massive adult silverback, Kovo first appears as a juvenile. Baby Kovo! Angsty teen Kovo! It's great. The evil* mastermind who started two world wars is back... in the form of a moody teenager.

As far as their involvement in Path of the Heroes: They (and Xanthe!) will appear in some capacity, but as of yet, I'm largely unsure of the specifics. Planning a whole new arc is a lot of work! Some general statements:

I don't think Takoda will ever become a Greencloak, which I respect. He's pretty settled as a monk of Maktaba; an ally of the Four, but not a member of their order. I like the idea of him discovering through his journey with them that his true calling is the life he left behind. I think he and Xanthe also have criticisms of the order and wouldn't feel entirely comfortable joining them, at least not until seeing significant change come to pass. This will be important in Path of the Heroes, when the need for Greencloak reform becomes ever clearer.

Xanthe lives! It's insane how we never found out what happened to her after she got stabbed in Stormspeaker, but she's okay! My current concepts for her appearance have her looking very different from how she is described -- more of a creature than a pale human -- but we'll see where I end up after reading more about the Sadreans. I want to say she and Takoda are officially together, but Takoda is a monk. (Oversight on the authors' parts, or opportunity for crazy internal conflict?) That'll be something to explore in the future.

As for the other part of your ask! Lately I've been rewatching Cartoon Saloon's Irish folklore trilogy (The Secret of Kells, Song of the Sea and Wolfwalkers). Those movies are so dear to me and I have to revisit them once in a while. They're so magical. The animation! The colours! The stories they tell! They also make me think about Conor, my favourite Irish character of anything ever. I've unfortunately been too busy irl to get really invested into anything, but I have been enjoying those movies. The Secret of Kells has always been my favourite!

[theseptemberist]

because we're probably never going to see it tell us about "Obi-Wan's Sith House" because lol that title 😂

send me a WIP title from this list!

Ahhh ha ha ha ha ha. You’ve managed to identify perhaps my favorite concept from the “might never post” list. I took an initial stab at it a while back and I don’t love what I came up with (that’s what I get for starting with 0 plan), but I would be very very happy to scrap what I have and give it another try. 

The planned story is about a very war-weary General Skywalker getting pulled into the orbit of Sith Separatist Obi-Wan, who is doing his best to play both sides of the war and who is curious about this Chosen One who Sidious is so obsessed with. One thing leads to another, and the two wind up coming to an... agreement, of sorts. Basically, Obi-Wan passes Anakin critical classified information (to serve his own ends. obviously), in exchange for Anakin *cough* spending time with him. At, y’know, his Sith House. 

What was maybe intended as a one time thing ends up becoming a mutually beneficial but rather angsty ongoing arrangement. (I will say that while Anakin is using the double agent thing as an excuse for something he wants to do anyway and Obi-Wan would never actually coerce him, this obviously gets a big ol warning for dubcon and under-negotiated kink). Obi-Wan is not always particularly nice, but Anakin is into it and becomes way too attached. Meanwhile, Anakin’s role in Obi-Wan’s plans quietly moves from convenient tool to beloved treasured indispensable asset. 

In short, it’s an excuse to write all the Sith Obi-Wan/Jedi Anakin filth my evil little heart desires without the annoyance of what some like to call a “coherent plot.” The format I see for it is a nice little series or maybe one work of semi-connected chapters rather than a true multichap. But either way... could be fun if I ever get around to it >:)c

[shadow-djinni]

sendaxus obviously and just to go off script a lil gimme aragorn/boromir👀

alright, in order:

Sendaxus

what made you ship it? — I was writing fanfic in '17 and I said "oh you know what would be even more angsty? if they were dating" and dealt myself irreparable psychic damage and brainrot

what are your favorite things about the ship? — the angst reformed(?) villainous power couple my beloved, also the deeply held and sincere mutual trust and respect

is there an unpopular opinion you have on the ship? — Sendak is not a top, full offense

Aragorn/Boromir

you're really encouraging the brainrot huh

what made you ship it? — homoerotic subtext, also we rewatched Fellowship and I tricked myself into it. oops!

what are your favorite things about the ship? — this ship has everything: rivals to lovers, lord/vassal dynamic, aborted corruption arcs, one of them crying over the other's corpse, the potential for really long and convoluted fix-it fic....

is there an unpopular opinion you have on the ship? — can we....please stop with all the porn for five minutes. I just want plotty longfic

also, from @ro-blaze:

Shendak, Senllura, Shenllura, Zarkon/Haggar, Lotor/Sendak?

okay. I'm gonna take this by questions, bc I ship all of them

1. what made you ship it?

Shendak: conned myself into it by writing fic. I seem to do that a lot

Senllura: @bi-colored-corn gave me brainrot

Shenllura: .....and as a side effect of the last one, you encouraged me! I am being encouraged to write more polyships!

Zarkon/Haggar: I actually shipped this from S1, bc like.....I mean obvious villain power couple?? they're so married. I love them

Lotor/Sendak: S5 definitely contributed, but the way I ship it is very much spite driven. they're divorced

2. what are your favorite things about the ship?

Shendak, Senllura, and Shenllura all have the same answer: I love narrative foils, I love when narrative foils kiss, also terrifying political power triad (who are actually sweet dorks behind the scene whose brain cells go out the window)

Zarkon/Haggar: evil power couple!!! love makes you evil!!! the sheer tragedy of the relationship, like...they loved each other, they loved each other so much, and it wasn't enough!!! it did not save either of them!!! they were never reunited as themselves either, because when Haggar finally remembered herself as Honerva Zarkon was gone.

Lotor/Sendak: salty resentful divorced couple, also Lotor's Daddy Issues exacerbating the tension bc Sendak is Daddy's Favorite Son

3. is there an unpopular opinion you have on the ship?

Shendak: enough of the noncon, also Sendak is a bottom. perish

Senllura and Shenllura are too small for me to have unpopular opinions on...as in, I'm paddling this pool noodle mostly solo lmao

Zarkon/Haggar: ....I actually ship this in pretty much the way the fandom at large does. there's one, canonical brand of Zaggar, and it's "he's insanely devoted to her and she pegs him thoroughly"

Lotor/Sendak: they're divorced. it's literally more fun if they're divorced rivals and also low-key adoptive incest. also, Lotor is 100% the bastard and the aggressor in this relationship, bc Sendak has never done anything wrong ever in his life

[flowercrownsandherondales]

OMG! Can you do a CordeliaxJames fanfic where James is in love with Cordelia but Cordelia still thinks he’s in love with Grace--and everything is super angsty. And if you’re okay with it, could you add smut? Like angsty sexual tension and then it culminates into *wags eyebrows* you know what? But if you are not comfortable with smut no need to add at all

Sorry about the wait! I didn’t write full-on smut, but I hinted! I hope you enjoy!

Cordelia Carstairs had never been a particularly sad girl.

Not when her mother had told her that she was a disgrace, a disappointment to both the Carstairs and Turan name. Not when Alastair had expressed his embarrassment that she was his sister. Not when he criticized her for her crush on James Herondale. Certainly not when her father, the closest family member she had, just stopped showing interest in his younger daughter. She held her head up, unwavering, as those around her threw stones at the girl. She prided herself on allowing them to not just bounce off of her, but carve her into a more refined woman.

Yet with all this being said, she still couldn’t help but feel her heart shatter as James leaned into Grace, kissing her delicate porcelain lips with ease.

Cordelia had allowed herself one moment,… just one moment to allow sadness and pain to slip into her soul. She allowed it to consume her for just a second, before gathering her golden skirts and trudging back into the reception.

She slumped herself into the bride and groom seating, watching as people danced around her in glee. The redhead fought the urge to tear off her dress, to pluck the ring from her finger and toss it into the river. She fought the urge to scream for her beloved, to take the bottle of rose and toss it at his head. She refused to let any of these feelings consume her for any longer. She was stronger than they all thought.

Alastair had caught his sister’s eyes for just a split second. He caught her blank stare. the way her head tossed back the rose colored alcohol without a care for the delicate curls. Her composure was slipping. He couldn’t let it slip any more.

“Cordelia,” he whispered, coming to sit where her husband should have. “Cordelia pull yourself out.” Alastair encouraged. He knew it was James’s doing, though what had set her off was not something he knew.

“Leave me alone Ala. Since when have you cared?” She said, her voice starting to slur with wine. She continued, “I’m just a foolish girl, right? I’m a disgraceful shadowhunter, a disgraceful Carstairs. I should just have my runes stripped, right? Right Ala?”

Alastair didn’t know what to say. He had seen just a crack of the pain she held tightly in her chest. Just a crack of the evil words she pretended had shaped her. But they had shaped her, shaped her into a fractured statue, one with pieces missing and caverns of holes. And in the middle of each of them was James Herondale, telling her her would love Grace every day of their marriage. Telling her he couldn’t promise he wouldn’t try to see ivory in her flaming hair. That he wouldn’t yearn to feel Grace’s ice instead of Cordelia’s fire.

The conversation stopped with the presence of James Herondale standing behind Alastair.

“I believe that is the groom’s chair.” he said, smiling at his brother in law. Alastair wanted to punch him, wanted to call down the strength of Raziel to blast him into oblivion. But he didn’t. He didn’t have enough bravery in him to right this wrong. Instead he silently stood, kissing his sister’s cool cheek before forcing himself to leave the table.

It was silent between both newly weds. James tried hard not to look at his new wife. He had tried hard not to allow himself to feel anything for her, as if it was an insult to Grace Cartwright, a woman who only loved him when it was convenient for her. He watched the white haired girl dance around with his cousin, real love shown in her eyes when looking at him. How the stars had aligned the two of them, he wasn’t sure. But only moments ago he had told her he was letting her go.

They had made it a mutual agreement. She had released him with a kiss, as Jesus had released Judas. She had found love, real, true love with Christopher. And he, he had found real, true, love with Cordelia.

So James watched as the fiery girl downed another glass, pretending she wasn’t trying to drown out her wedding.

“So how was she?” Cordelia asked, her tongue sobering up with anger. He was taken aback by it, until it all came flooding in.

pain. suffering. despair. anger.

All four emotions came rushing down their marriage rune like a tidal wave. Immediately James knew that the footsteps he thought he had heard while he kissed Grace had been hers. But the pain went farther than just a few moments ago. No, this was from weeks, months, years ago. This was suffering that had been placed on a back burner for years.

He knew what he had done. Usually he would have waited for the redhead to come to him, for someone to save him. But she was passed that point. She was heading on a one way chariot to hopelessness, to recklessness and drowning. It would start with alcohol, but it wouldn’t end until she was face down in the Thames, just as he had been. He tried to stop the panic that went through his chest as she shakily stood up, going towards the drink table.

“We need to go, Daisy.” He muttered, searching for a familiar face in the crowd. Thankfully, the first one he found was his father’s, who had twirled his mother around before catching his son’s glance.

William rushed to his son, pushing passed drunken souls and laughing faces to get to the groom. Tessa held tight on his trail, rushing to her golden eyed son.

“What is it?” Will asked, trying to seem like he was there to congratulate the happy couple, instead of trying to sneak them out of their own wedding. James wearily glanced at Cordelia, who just shot back another drink as she filled up her glass.

“We need to leave. But I don’t want a congregation to be there.” James explained. Will smirked for a moment, his mind wandering to why his son would be eager to get home with his new wife. Tessa caught it, hitting his chest and glaring.

“She isn’t alright, that much is obvious. I don’t claim to read people’s emotions well, but this one, this one needs someone to hold her together.” Tessa said, taking in the sight of the new bride.

Will sobered up at the thought, nodding to his son.

“I’ll distract the Carstairs, Tessa, you grab the carriage and horses.” Will ordered, grabbing the bottle of rose from the table and striding off towards Sona, Elias and Alastair. Tessa ran off to the stables to grab the horses.

James grabbed Cordelia, who didn’t struggle against him or try to hit him, but instead just slumped against his chest.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered, repeating it into her ear multiple times. She relaxed even more, letting him carry her to the carriage.

Tessa softly ran a hand through Cordelia’s hair, mothering the girl who seemed to accept her love. After slowly lulling the girl to sleep in the carriage, she grabbed her son.

“You better take care of her. You know what it’s like to be there. You better pull her out like we pulled you out.” Tessa said sternly, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug.

“I love you, mom.” James said, holding his mother tightly. She kissed him on the cheek before ushering him into the carriage, shutting the door and urging the driver to take off.

James held Cordelia in his arms, rocking her gently as they went off.

The next few days in the Herondale manor was spent nursing her to health, holding her hair back as she vomited the alcohol and pushing the bottles away from her. He whispered words of love and encouragement to her gently, telling her why she had seen him with Grace, and when he had decided that she was the one for him. He had asked her if she had wanted him still, despite everything she had told him. She had cried, grabbing him into a tight hug and whispering her own words of love.

It took them almost six months to lay in the bed together, allowing each other to explore not only the mental aspects of themselves but physical. It was beautiful, and at that moment he knew, he knew that the stars had aligned them together.

[silverineontherun]

Fic: May the cycle never break

Klance fic. Altean!Lance, Galra!Keith (Past lives), G rated, 1440 words. ANGST / MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

Hello! I’m in kind of a slump with my new post s6 fic I’ve been working on, and also in a very angsty mood, so I decided to write this idea I’ve had since I published my fic fake, not fate. It’s a “prequel/sequel” if that makes any sense. Enjoy! (Sorry if it looks shitty on mobile).

                                                           ***

The bashed Galra fighter is auto-flying towards its final destination, and the pilot struggles to keep his eyes open. Lorim’s shaky hands rest on his temples, passing his vital energy in a slow, uninterrupted chain.

“Don’t you dare to fall asleep on me, Yorak,” warns the Altean.

Yorak faintly smiles, showing his fangs in the playful way that conquered Lorim’s heart, deca-phoebs ago.

“I am not going anywhere yet,” answers the Galran in his low, reassuring tone.

Yet. Because they are both dying, though he doesn’t know it. Lorim swallows the knot in his throat, ignores the piercing pain on his bleeding side and the heavy heave of his lungs, and just puts his forehead on Yorak’s, feeling his own vitality draining through their connection.

He is lucky. Lucky to be one of the royal alchemists in the Court of King Alfor, and to have enough knowledge to keep his fatally wounded beloved alive, at least long enough to buy them some time. Lucky to be one, if not the only survivor after Zarkon’s attack. Lucky to be so loved by one of King Zarkon’s guards, that he would betray his own people and come to his rescue, being brutally shot on the way, but still managing to sneak them away.

Lucky to have lived enough to enjoy his smiles and caresses, when peace reigned, and no evil had tarnished the souls of those powerful enough to break their lives.

The escape was too rough for both, and they know they can’t go that far away without assistance. They also know no one will assist them, not when fleets under the crazy Galra King’s command are overflowing every civilized system.

And they both know Yorak is not going to recover, clinging to life only thanks to Lorim’s energy, who stubbornly insists on sharing it, knowing fully well how that will end up for him. Yorak doesn’t suspect it. Otherwise, he would never allow it.

Ignoring the real extent of the damage, the Galran had one last request. He had always loved the tales that Lorim shared with him in the comfort of their bed, bathed by the golden sun of Altea that entered through Lorim’s tall window. His favorite was the legend of the eternal bond of Sakh’ir, the moon that could bond people through time and space. Yorak looked tough, but he was weak to such romantic tales.

“Someday, I’m going to take you there,” he declared once. Lorim smiled. His childish enthusiasm was always so endearing.

“Oh, really? But what if we are not aure?”

Yorak pulled his partner’s hair very softly to make him look right into his purple eyes.

“Hah. We are, Lorim. And I’m taking you there someday to prove it,” he stated, planting a kiss on Lorim’s forehead and then on his lips, melting him like only he knew. Because the softness of his raw power and the purity of that heart was impossible to find anywhere else, it was very easy to believe his words.

And so, Yorak’s last request was just that.

“Please, let me fulfill my promise. I can’t die without proving it to you… let's go to Sakh’iru.”

—

When they arrive, Lorim can barely lift his tall, heavy lover. He never stops transferring his energy to him, not even when they leave the ship and are immediately surrounded by masked priests. Lorim tries to keep his eyes down, as the archives recommended, but has no time for formalities.

“Priests, I am Lorim and this is Yorak. We need to perform the rite,” he announces. Looking down, he notices the purple aura that surrounds both his feet and Yorak’s. His heart hurts. Could this mean…?

“You are dying,” says one of the priests, in a gurgling voice. Yorak raises his head slowly. His eyes look fazed, clinging to consciousness.

“I am,” he mutters.

Lorim dares to look at the priests and almost imperceptibly shakes his head in a silent plea. The priests remain quiet, and then they nod. The one that spoke first points to their feet and makes gestures to the other priests, who scatter. Two of them help both lovers walk ahead, and Lorim’s heart finds peace. They made it on time.

—

The spring shines in the middle of a forest clearing, surrounded by tall vines and colorful crystal trees, and Lorim can’t help thinking that it is a wonderful last place to be. Wearing the ceremonial masks, with Yorak’s head resting on his thighs and their joined right hands sank in the cold water, they follow the priest’s instructions.

“Now you must wet your faces and drink.”

Lorim guides Yorak’s hand to his face and then takes some water to his lips. Then he does the same. The spring shines and the air around them feels suddenly dense, as if someone turned off the lights. Now the vines on the floor among the crystal herbs are shining in golden light.

“May the cycle never break,” murmurs the priest. Then they add, in a soft tone, “as soon as you share your minds and find the thread, join your faces and consummate the ritual. Then… it will be done.”

“Thank you very much,” says Lorim, watching how the priest leaves them alone.

Yorak’s breathing is uneven, and Lorim feels his eyes sting. With effort, the Galran raises a hand that softly caresses his partner's jaw.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs. Lorim can tell he is smiling under the mask. It makes it even harder to answer.

“I am not,” he lies, trying to keep his voice firm.

“You are. But I am happy,” admits Yorak.

“A dream come true,” whispers his voice inside Lorim’s mind. They are connected. Lorim closes his eyes, but he can feel how Yorak snaps his open, startled.

“No… no, Lorim, you are dying too! It’s my fault!”

“No, Yorak. I was going to die anyway. You lent me this time, and there is no other place where I’d rather be.”

“But, Lorim…” tries to protest Yorak, and his lover puts his hands on his face again, still giving him his energy.

“You were right. We always were aure.” Lorim can feel their hearts beating at the same time. His lips crook in a teasing smile under the mask. “Who would have thought.”

Yorak scoffs. His dry lips part to let out a resigned sigh.

“I told you so. I’m always right,” he mumbles, his voice ragged and weak, but that spark in it that ignites a flame in Lorim’s heart without fail is still there.

Will always be.

“I hate to admit it, but it is true,” answers the Altean.

He feels how life is slowly leaving Yorak’s body. The desperate impulse to contain it, to fall into anguish at the inevitability of the twilight overcoming them is controlled by a sudden, absurd, and absolute certainty that they are exactly where they were always meant to be.

So, instead of fighting against their bittersweet fate, now he only wishes to see his lover’s face at least one last time. Putting their foreheads together, he strongly makes a wish in his mind.

“If we are to meet again, I wish we could be born at the same place. I wish we could meet sooner, to enjoy our entire lives together.”

Yorak’s chest raises in a pleased, weak hum. He is hearing. He is feeling him. They vibrate with the same deep intensity. They hear each other, and at the same time, they are the same being, for a magical and fleeting moment.

“That would be nice. Then… I wish no war ever separates us again.”

“Yes,” agrees Lorim, the pain in his chest swelling and blossoming with images of better, blinding outcomes threaded in their mutual dreams. A plea for the universe, a wish for another chance to meet, in the chaos of the cosmos. The Altean closes his eyes.

“It… it would be nice if I could give you offspring. That way, at least our children could remember how much we loved each other, even after we are gone.”

“No, not that.”

Yorak’s thoughts are getting misty, fading away in a weak echo, but he manages to mutter:

“I wish for you to be just like you are now."

His voice is but a murmur, but his words are clear, and they envelop him like a warm wave against the cold of their unfair end.

"I love you, Lorim.”

The vines are shining in golden tones and then, as their masks slide down from their faces, they suddenly darken. Lorim’s tears are now falling over his lover’s closed eyes.

“I love you too…”

A priest approaches them in the mist. Lorim’s sight is blurry. Yorak’s body is no longer receiving his energy, but he can feel himself being drained by the mysterious crystalized ground of this sacred place.

And his heart is empty, but his mind feels somehow satisfied. Strong. Filled with a conviction that invites him into a new chapter, an unknown one.

“We can try to detach you from the ma’kiya before it is too late. Maybe there is still time for you,” offers the priest, kneeling by his side.

“It is already too late. But thank you, priest,” says Lorim, white fog clouding his vision. He sighs, content.

“I’m making one last great offering. Maybe that will please Sakh’ir, and they will make it easier for us next time.”

“Sakh’ir always finds the way,” reassures him the priest. Lorim closes his eyes, smiling. He forces his last remnants of energy to flow outside his body directly to the ma’kiya, while resting his head on Yorak's quiet chest.

“May the cycle never break, then. See you next time, my love.”

—

Lance wakes up in his bed at the Castle, startled. He was dreaming about something, and that something was really sad, because his pillow is wet and his eyes hurt. Not like anyone will ever know, though.

Anyone, except for his new husband, maybe. He really wants to see him, even more so than usual. Looking at the comm on his nightstand, he feels his heart heavy. No calls yet. Without much hope, he puts it to his ear and tries to call Keith anyway.

Again, no answer. Where could he be?

Bummed, he takes it off again and watches the ceiling, uneasy. It’s been weeks and no one seems to be able to reach Keith.

Lance lifts his arm to admire his thin golden bracelet, and then smiles. Deep down, he knows Keith is fine. He may be far away, but he will find a way to come back, like he always does. He doesn’t know why he is so sure, but somehow…

Somehow, it feels like the price has been paid already for their happy ending. Closing his eyes, he remembers their ceremony, like every day.

“Rest assured in Sakh’ir promise,” had said the priest. And so, resting assured is what he’s going to do, Lance decides, closing his eyes again, with his heart full of hope.

                                                          ***

HAHAHAhahah... 😭. I don’t think I’ll upload this one to AO3, it’s too short. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed? And apologies to my followers. My queue is finally over after this week of constant s6 posting, rest assured in Silverine’s promise (to not shitpost so much). Check fake, not fate to feel better!