#no motive other than because they think i need help

[comicaurora]

A bit of a strange question, but if there were any of your videos you were to "remake" today for any reason (ex: you feel like you misrepresented the original text or spread misinformation), which would it be and why? None of them is a perfectly valid answer

Again: bit of a strange question, but I've been thinking about my own creations and how I could have done so much better with some of them, but I also know that is a sign of my growth and constantly chasing "what if I did this instead" isn't always healthy for nurturing a creative mindset, and I was wondering what your opinion might be as a Creator of Things with a bit more experience than I

There's been a few trope talks where I've thought later of other angles I could've explored that might warrant sequels or part 2s, but I don't dislike any of the summaries enough to justify a rework.

I always find "I could've done this better if I made it now" to be a bit of a fallacy. I'm only better at making things now because I made all those earlier things. If I knew everything I'd learn from making a project before I started the project, it wouldn't come out the same.

I think when it comes to the "rework remake perfect" instinct, it helps to zero in on what the impulse is really grounded in. In my experience, more often than not, it's not actually about making the art better, except incidentally. It's usually about showing that you are better. It's demonstrating your competence and your higher standards and your skills, and more importantly it's overwriting the proof that you were once less than perfect. If people look at your old work and think that's all you're capable of, they'll be judging you poorly!

If that's the motivator, it's a very unhelpful one. You can't control for being harshly or incorrectly judged. It's a fruitless effort to stave off potentially upsetting outdated criticism, and it's not even going to work. Fear of critique is an unreliable and untrustworthy motivator.

If it really is about making the art itself better, perfecting your magnum opus with your newly leveled-up skills, that's a little more solid. But from where I'm standing, it's always better to use those skills to make something new instead of polishing something old. The older, unpolished work has already acquired its audience that finds it appealing for reasons that might never occur to you. Trying to bury or overwrite it just deprives that audience of the thing they like, and maybe makes them feel bad for having liked it in the first place. Also, usually when you look back on the older work, you'll conclude that the problem is everything and it'll need to be torn down and started from scratch. I know when I revisited the first three chapters of the comic, when I let my critic brain spin up, it wasn't shading or lineart I wanted to fix - it was panel composition, overall pacing, the entire structure of the chapters as a whole. I would've had to make them all over again to be happy with them, and they wouldn't be the same story by the end.

I've been thinking a lot about the Discworld through this lens lately. It ended up over 40 books long, but everyone agrees that the first two are not what you should start with, because they're the worst ones. They're entirely parodic, purely referential of at-the-time major fantasy series, and borderline mean-spirited in places. If you haven't read Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser and Dragonriders of Pern, you're not gonna understand like a full 50% of The Colour Of Magic.

It's clear that when he started in on them, Pratchett was entirely focused on taking the piss out of a genre he found mostly shallow and unimpressive. But the Discworld wouldn't leave his head, and everything he made fun of he clearly eventually found himself overthinking. He'd make little one-off jokes in the early books about Dwarves having no women and a hundred words for gold, and then twenty books later he'd have a Dwarf gender revolution make waves across the Disc, and then he'd write Thud!, a book that delves deeper into the nuances of Dwarf societal structure than Tolkien ever did.

If you look for them, there are continuity errors everywhere in Discworld. In his introductory book, Carrot defused a dwarf bar full of rowdy brawlers by guilting them all into writing to their poor lonely mothers back home. Shortly thereafter, Carrot will be outraged at the mere concept of an openly female dwarf. Pratchett even eventually wrote Thief of Time, a book that loosely explains that the Disc makes no sense because history has been broken and put back together incorrectly twice, and therefore any continuity errors are because of that.

He's the writer. He could've gone back and fixed it, edited the reprints to be less disruptively discontinuous with the later books. Instead he continuously moved forward and allowed the world he made to grow without cutting it off from its roots. And because he didn't bury his older, far worse work, we have the privilege of following the Disc's evolution from the very start, and seeing how this shallow, stock fantasy world parody became something incredibly rich and complex without ever pretending like its early installments never happened.

Anyway, that's why I think it's better to move forward. You make more good stuff that way.

[fanfoolishness]

You’re welcome to disagree and can certainly make your own theories and posts. I think what you’re missing here is that these are side quests that the companions specifically ask Rook to come along for, and that a person can do things for multiple reasons.

The companions all have main side quests that Rook is involved with for important reasons - Lace’s shade, Emmrich vs. Hezenkoss, rescuing the griffons, ending the plans of people like Zara and Anaris who are clearly dangerous. These are big plotty quests that have little to do with Rook and everything to do with the companion in question, and aren’t what I was writing about.

We know the companions do many things together that Rook isn’t privy to. Harding and Emmrich go camping together. The companions meet for book club discussions that Rook doesn’t attend. Lucanis or Neve will be gone for weeks trying to help their city. They’re comfortable doing things that don’t involve Rook. So they don’t have to ask Rook along to smaller outings.

They also all have small side quests that they were *going to do anyway* - because they have lives, interests, and attachments - but they chose to invite Rook along. Yes Assan could use walks, yes Lucanis could use an ally, yes Emmrich loves the Necropolis. Rook isn’t their only consideration. Do I think that every time they invited Rook they were following a therapy logbook hoping to get them to grieve? No. But if they were going to do those things anyway (because they are richly written people with their own lives), and they care about Rook (and they do), and a lot of those things involve grief or calmness, it makes sense that they’d include their friend who they also know lost somebody and seems never to talk about it.

Do I think the writers intended us to think about 5 different funerary traditions for a good reason? Yeah I think it’s pretty likely. (Dalish, Tevinter, Nevarran, Trevisan, Qunari/Rivaini.)

This is the first DA game where grief has been confronted so openly since DA2, and even then, Hawke is the one who bears the grieving for their family. We can choose to kill Bartrand for Varric, we can have Fenris refuse to engage with his sister, Anders mercy kills Karl. None of those companions shows grief particularly for more than the immediate moment, despite these losses being huge. Aveline does mention needing time for her husband but never has a ceremony for him that we see. We do see in DAO that Alistair mourns Duncan, but we still don’t get a ceremony for him. We don’t get that same depth and richness specifically about the companions’ grief, and we definitely don’t see it in DA in general, where the companions simply don’t typically have those same struggles.

In Veilguard, everyone faces grief. Lace and Varric and the Titans. Davrin and Weisshaupt. Neve and Brom and possibly her city. Lucanis and Caterina and Illario’s betrayal and possibly his city. Emmrich and his parents and Manfred/immortality. Taash and their mother. Bellara and her faith and her brother, twice. Solas and his regrets.

It’s precisely because of the richness of these characters that there’s room for an interpretation that prescribes multiple motives to the small side quests that many thought were trivial. I’ve seen people complain about the “pointless” quests, even though there are many points to them - getting to know the characters, seeing different sides of different countries and factions in Thedas, and yes, looking at grief. I just really don’t think it’s a coincidence we go to so many funerals when the writers could have written the companions to have countless other storylines. Shathann and Cyrian could have lived. Brom could have been a living agent we meet. Heck Varric could have survived and helped talk down Solas at the end.

But instead grief permeates this game in and out, and that was very, very intentional.

Just losing my mind at the implications that the companions have all been trying to help Rook grieve Varric, and Rook doesn’t know

Emmrich, wise and long-familiar with grief, being told by Neve and Harding what happened; understanding why sometimes he overhears Rook’s muffled voice in the Infirmary, talking to no one. He takes Rook to the Memorial Gardens and mentions he talks to his parents, thinking Rook might be comfortable with the same. Rook lights candles and rings bells but Emmrich watches, sorrowed, to see Rook still seems in deep denial.

Neve takes Rook to the Wall of Light; a Shadow Dragon Rook knows just what this means but any Rook can understand the solemnity, the power of remembrance. Neve reenergizes Brom’s light and looks to Rook, hoping Rook will mention wanting to make one for Varric. Rook is kind and comforting to Neve, but Neve is lost in wondering why Rook doesn’t take the chance to open up. She can’t figure it. Maybe Rook just can’t face it, not yet. Maybe Rook does something privately. She isn’t sure but it nags at her.

Davrin’s not big on talking about feelings. He’d rather just move on. But he sees the way Rook seems a little hollow sometimes, a little distant; he sees how Rook takes so quickly to Assan. “Hey Rook,” he says, and invites them to come with him and Assan to safe places in Arlathan, where the woods are clean and green and growing, where real sunlight dapples through the trees. Rook always seems to love these outings, seems lighter afterwards. But Davrin feels a little confused in that Rook never seems to realize the outings are mostly for them.

Taash is another person not big on feelings. But they know how much feelings can twist you up and mess with your head. When Lace tells them about Varric they feel badly for Rook, and think to how they feel when they’re struggling. Epic fights, dragon fights, drinks with the Lords. Taash is perfectly capable of doing all that on their own. But maybe bringing Rook along will help get them out of their head a little bit. Does it help? Taash isn’t sure.

Bellara’s double-versed in grief after what happens to Cyrian. Rook helped her through trying to reach him, and Bellara wonders, in her own pain, if she can help Rook a little bit too. Especially if Rook is elven, teaching Rook about the braziers and the challenges is another tool she can share about her or their people, another way that might help Rook with their grief. Neve’s told her that the Wall of Light didn’t seem to help Rook much, but maybe a different funeral tradition could help them instead. Rook helps her light the braziers and Bellara feels her heart lightening, though she wonders at Rook, who seems more moved by Bellara’s reactions than anything else.

Lucanis is nearly as allergic to dealing with feelings as Davrin is, but he immediately clocks how Neve and Harding are acting, and asks what happened before he joined them. They tell him about Varric and that they’re worried about Rook, that Rook seems to just be shoving those feelings down without dealing with them. Lucanis is no stranger to that, but while it’s fine for him, he doesn’t want to see someone who risked their life to save him share that struggle. He brings Rook to Caterina’s funeral planning to show Rook it’s okay to admit the loss and honor it. When that doesn’t seem to make a dent, he falls back to his standard - lavish meals, small gifts, coffee. He knows it would help him. He just wishes it helped Rook too.

Lace hurts the worst after losing Varric and Lace is where Solas’ magic comes the closest to faltering. Rook can see Lace is down, she’s quiet, she’s afraid after what happens with the gods escaping; but Solas’ magic holds and Rook can still never see quite why. Lace would love to sit over drinks one night and share stories about Varric, but she sees that Rook doesn’t seem ready, and she doesn’t want to push. Instead she writes letters to Ma, to the Inquisitor, to Cassandra, to Aveline, maybe even to Hawke. She writes out her stories with Varric’s old quill and she carries a bolt of Bianca with her. A dozen times she goes to talk to Rook about him, and when she tries Rook turns away or changes the subject. It hurts, but Lace knows she can’t make Rook talk about him, and she hopes in time it will get better.

This just absolutely crushes me the more I think about it 😭

Edit: Varric’s death is Rook’s personal companion quest every other single companion tries to help them with, and can’t 😭😭😭

[evieelyzabethh]

What would be worse would be a yandere Jayce back in the apocalypse universe or a yandere Viktor who turned into the herald, why not both. What would it be like if the two were in love with the reader, but never declared themselves... well until these events, perhaps magic corrupted that love and turned it into something dark, perhaps a yanderes fight, perhaps a reconciliation between the two... Could you make a fanfiction of this, perhaps if possible with a female reader?

This came at such a perfect time because I've been having a lot of yandere Arcane thoughts, and it is too far from October to wait to do it for some sort of Halloween event. Needless to say, get ready for Yanuary (everyone say thank you mina for coming up with the name) because I am about to be insufferable. I'll certainly do more with these concepts a bit later, but for now I will leave some headcanons...

tw for obsessive behaviors and Herald!Viktors very flawed line of logic

While both loves start out pure, intentions take a turn for the worst after the world starts to go to shit. While I don't think it's canon, I am a firm believer that Viktor died during that explosion and what is left of him is a persona puppetted around by the Arcane. All of Viktor's raw ambitions; notoriety, an able body, and desire to help the Zaunites all become corrupted. Viktor deeply regrets taking a back seat to negotiations surrounding the fate of those from the Undercity, his pride was too great to beg for scraps from those seated at the table, and thus his genuine want to help those from his home gets sidelined because of his pride and want of glory.

Love is not a corruptible force. When Viktor died, so did his love for you, but those intense feeling certainly linger. That admiration turns to obsession, the need to be adored turns into desperate overcompensation. He feels it is his calling to save the world, he develops a very focused tunnel vision and a savior complex that motivates his every action to not only save the world, but more importantly, save his world. To save you, to preserve you. His dream is to keep you infinitely, that really is the root of his Glorious Evolution. He wants perfection in the human form, the human mind, the human capability. He wants to perfect the human condition, he wants forever.

You must see it his way, you must be his accomplice, he wants you to be by his side every step of the way. The Sky he hallucinates is nothing but an astral projection of a perfected version of her, at times a manifestation of his humanity and why he kept going. She was his regrets, his comfort, she was the bad he was making good. But you. You are what he is striving to build. You are his goal, his muse. Every bit of him that respected you then yearns so deeply for you now. And he hasn't found you yet, you disappeared before he woke up and even Jayce didn't know where you were, but he is sure that if he were to find you, you would understand.

Jayce going yandere would occur after his trip to whatever hell dimension he was left to. Time works differently everywhere, he was only gone for months in the main verse, but it could've been years for him. Years in not just solitude, but a wasteland of death. Jayce is someone who so thoroughly, and at times naively, believes in humanity's capability for good. It's his passion. Him signing his notes, his dedication to his craft, his willingness to learn the ways of politics, his kicking Heimerdinger off the council, his gullibility, his willingness to move wherever the wind from someone's lips takes him, it's all because of faith and a passion for good. Now, everywhere he looks isn't just death, but remnants of war.

Everything he's worked tirelessly to avoid has not only come true but disproves his entire way of thinking. It takes more than him to save the world, it takes more than the help of others to save the world, it may take more than even exists to save the world. Even worse, it may take him not existing to save the world. While Viktor's yandere nature is built from a need to preserve what is right, the only thing that is right, Jayce is a man who is completely and utterly lost.

He doesn't know what's right anymore, but he knows he needs to do something to make it right. He doesn't cling to the thought of you for guidance, he clings to you because it's all he knows. You could've been the worst person in the world, but he would've hoped for you in the end of the world because you were there. You were real. His dream may not have been, but he touched you, and you believed in him, and you were as magical as a wish but as tangible as a physical star. You were bright, and you were warm, and you were real.

And he sits there in that cold, damp cave, nothing but stones, insects, and death around him, and every time he scrawls your face it looks a bit different. Your smell gets mingled with mildew and dampness as that slowly becomes his home, the drops of rain and rock start to sound like the twinkling sound of your voice, everything becomes you. Not for the sake of his sanity, that left him when time began to wave through him until he was convinced he would begin to vomit tick marks, but for the sake of survival. You were his faith. He would've worshipped the ground you walked on, and though you were nothing but dust here, he could find you everywhere. He went through a transcendental awakening; belief needed faith, and faith was all he had. You had to be real, why else would the insects chirp, why else would water flow, why else would he bleed, if not for you, if not because of you. If he believed, then you were real, and he would get back to you one day and be rewarded by his conviction.

When he finds his way back, he is searching for you immediately. Even when his surroundings blend and his ears bleed and he's overwhelmed by life once again, he is convinced that he will find you. You have to be out there. You can't be dead. He's lived in a world without you for too long, he would finally break if he couldn't be with you again. He's possessive. You have only existed in his mind for years; this world has had you all to itself while he suffered endlessly and eternally only wanting you. He's feels entitled to you. He knows you don't need his protection, but you are ignorant to what's out in the world. It's not a matter of if he finds you, it's when. A believer as devout as him wouldn't just go to the ends of the earth, he's already done that. If he must, he'd go beyond. He's been through hell; he is more than deserving of heaven. He knows he was wrong for believing in humanity when he had his God in front of him the whole time.

As for who's worse, it really depends. Physically, Jayce. He doesn't realize his strength, he hasn't had to worry about the delicateness of flesh in a while. His hands have held nothing but harsh rock. He would never intentionally hurt you; he would spiral if he even accidentally caused you any harm. He's far more fragile that Viktor, he's more prone to outbursts, though his violence is always inflicted inward. He believes he's ruined; he only wants to be saved. Viktor is the complete opposite. He would be worse mentally. Like Jayce, he would never physically harm you, but he's not above manipulation. He won't give up on you, you're too precious, but you have to see it his way. Why won't you see it his way? He'll just have to make you.

These two are diametrically opposed. An immovable obstacle and unstoppable object. They would butt heads forever over you, they wouldn't be able to reach a compromise or any sort of agreement. Viktor is dangerous. His evolution is actively killing people, Viktor himself is already long gone. Jayce would sooner die than let him have you and Viktor wouldn't mind killing Jayce and leaving his dead body to rot. Jayce isn't worth saving to him, you can lead a horse to water, but you can't teach it to drink. If Jayce doesn't want his salvation, he isn't worth convincing, he can die painfully in that clumsy mortal vessel and decay on the hill he chose. He can't have you; he doesn't deserve you.

[nonotnolan]

No Not Nolan's Year in Review

Once again, it's time for the traditional "year in review" post. Since I've also been collecting prior years in these posts: here's 2021, here's 2022, and here's 2023. This year has more than 12 posts, and that's because I posted a few shorter stories to celebrate the release of my eBook.

I'm not planning to abandon this account anytime soon, but I'd be lying if the thought hadn't occurred to me once or twice. Every year I'm not sure how much longer I'll be doing this, but then every year the support and feedback I receive keeps me going. So if you ever wonder if notes and reblogs help-- yes, they do motivate me to keep going. But more than that, I'd encourage you to message the authors directly. I'm not always the best at carrying a conversation, but it really does mean a lot whenever I hear from you all.

17) Side Effects - 71 notes - January 2024 Okay, well... I like this one. If you've already caused a lot of irreversible damage... why stop now?

16) Labor and Materials - 83 notes - December 2023 Sometimes I can just sort of tell the photos aren't what the average people are wanting, but I like the text too much to toss out the idea. Mass commercialization of body swapping isn't a new idea by any means, but I love exploring all of the low stakes uses and scenarios that would appear if that technology existed.

15) Shapeshifter's Night Out - 111 notes - January 2024 Honestly, this one was mostly just an excuse to pull out a few of the weirder photos I'd come across. I think it holds up well enough, though.

14) Fiverr Warlock: Holiday Magic - 183 notes - December 2023 The thing about the Fiverr Warlock series is that a lot of story ideas work better without the added baggage of the lore and narrator. This one holds up pretty well, and the photos do exactly what I need them to do, so I'm quite fond of it.

13) The Ends Justify The Means - 204 notes - February 2024 See, I thought this one was great, especially for the Valentine's Holiday. Sometimes I have no idea what the average reader wants from me, and this is a prime example of that. No regrets, though. I'm never going to apologize for striking more sentimental than erotic.

12) Jock Cock, Part 3 - 219 notes - July 2024 Speaking of which... I can't be too surprised something this sentimental didn't do better. But I still love it, and I don't feel bad about it. (It does, however, make me less inclined to write sequels to other works. My idea about how the story continues vs how people want me to continue the story are seldom in alignment.)

11) Drawing Straws - 235 notes - January 2024 I love trait swapping, and I wish I could get inspired to use it more often. I have to be satisfied with an idea before I'll set it to the page-- it needs to have some amount of characterization and plot outside of "hot guy does a hot thing and it's hot" for me to be happy with it-- so trait swaps don't happen too often for me.

10) Treat Day - 241 notes - January 2024 This is my least favorite of the 5 promo-stories, so naturally it's the one that received the most notes. Revenge swaps are hit or miss for me, but needlessly cruel swaps seldom appeal to me. I like the photos, I like the ending wordplay, but overall it's not one of my favorites.

9) Swap Broker: Social Climbing - 250 notes - October 2024 If there's any story whose low placement on the list hurts to see, it's this one-- I absolutely love this one. Photos, concept, resolution, all of it. Ahh, well. A few people asked me what happened to the original Aiden, which I don't have much interest in writing, but... his father would have given him a one time chunk of hush money, which he would have burned through in a matter of months, at which point he'd probably be forced to start doing hard work for the first time in his life. It's not a happy outcome, which is why it's not a story I'm particularly interested in telling.

8) Jock Cock, Part 2 - 285 notes - June 2024 Like I mentioned for Part 3-- I don't regret writing it, even if I don't quite understand why it wasn't as well received. I'm not sorry for mixing sincere emotions into your casual smut-- it was intentional, and it will happen again. Also I've been doing it for the past 5 years, so presumably you noticed me doing that at least once before? I'm sure it's not a photo issue. Anyway.

7) Spring Break - 313 notes - March 2024 I love it when both parties can get what they want out of a body swap. I've had quite a few stories involving out of touch rich people, now that I think about it-- but then, every idea has already been done before if you simplify it enough.

6) Bodily Betrayal - 319 notes - December 2024 I'm so thrilled to be working with photo-manip artists for future detachable limb stories. You all may not be bothered by my attempts to create suitable pictures, but I definitely am. I mean, look at these pics-- head/body swap? Headless with head in hand? I wouldn't have been able to do that without a lot of practice and training.

5) Trial Period - 351 notes - November 2024 I don't do much with ghosts, and I'm honestly not planning to change that anytime soon. Still, I love the idea of supernatural entities shopping around to choose their next host.

4) This Happens all the Time, It's Detachable - 376 notes - August 2024 This is another one that I absolutely adore, and as a bonus it's a detachable story that requires no photo-manip work whatsoever. Obviously, I had to go with the King Missile reference in the title.

3) Roommate Rehab - 407 notes - April 2024 I still think my photo-manip work is clunky, but it gets the job done, and that's what matters. The interesting thing about writing more detachable works is that I'm really not familiar with any of the tropes. I'm so used to subverting expectations when I write body swap fiction, but it's a lot harder to subvert tropes that I don't know.

2) Rush Week - 512 notes - September 2024 I'm glad this one did well, because it's definitely a lot more vulnerable than what I normally write. It's equal parts sincere and sexy, and I adore it. The thought of what stays with the body and what stays with the mind is one of my favorite concepts to explore with body swapping. On a different tangent, it was a lot harder than I thought it would be to find good photos for a twink model that pass tumblr guidelines.

1) Jock Cock, Part 1 - 732 notes - May 2024 This story came out of nowhere and completely surpassed all of my expectations. I have no idea what it is about this story that appealed to so many people-- probably obvious, given how few notes the other parts pulled. Is it the photos? The idea of using an athlete's body for sex without him knowing? Unfulfilled sex-with-teacher fantasies? I sure as hell don't know. Whatever the reason, I'm flattered.

Above 500 Notes - All Time

1) Jock Cock, Part 1 - 732 notes - May 2024 2) Soulmate Swap - 704 notes - August 2022 3) Gym Merchandise - 654 notes - September 2022 4) Overbearing - 572 notes - May 2022 5) Finals Week - 568 notes - May 2021 6) Group Project - 566 notes - November 2023 6) Revenge, Reversed - 540 notes - August 2020 7) Rookie Mistake - 530 notes - May 2023 8) Rush Week - 512 notes - September 2024 8) Information Overload - 501 notes - August 2021

Well, Jock Cock Part 1 has officially dethroned... uhh, literally everything else. Finals Week, my first piece to break the 500 notes mark, is quickly dropping out of the top 5. And some of these works received random resurgences several months (or years!) later, so that's always fun to see.

Enough time has passed that I have a sort of note rubric to determine success. Anything below 100 notes, I consider flopped. 100-300 is average, and 300-500 is a success. So to have this many stories above 500? It feels pretty good.

Here's hoping next year will see more additions to this list!

Special Mentions

Reunion - 151 notes - February 2024 Once again, @mergeman and I wrote each other stories for Valentine's Day. I do really love the idea of a support group for people affected by body swaps.

I'm always honored whenever I end up tagged in someone's recommended post, and @sanzaibian 's compliment of "someone who writes really sweet love stories ^^" is no exception.

Also, like I said earlier-- I live for compliments and discussion, both given and received. If you've dropped a line or responded to one of my outreach attempts, I appreciate you. If we've talked in the past but it's been a few months since you or I sent the last message-- I'm too ADHD for friendships that follow the constraints of linear time. If we go months between messages, know that I still appreciate you.

Is it too cheesy to end this with a "thanks for viewers like you" sentiment? Maybe, but I'm doing it anyway. I'd be having these ideas with or without an outlet for sharing them, so I really do appreciate the likes and reblogs. Here's to another year!

[flightofthedragon]

I wonder, was changing out Solas for Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain the first step in scrubbing the game of all possible nuance, or caused BY said scrubbing?

Exchanging one complex antagonist, for two simply evil antagonist, makes no sense for any good storyteller and that's still what I consider(ed) Bioware, so why do it?

Functionally Solas and package deal Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain do the same thing in the game, they threaten the same thing - bringing down the veil. Except Solas has compelling reasons. Even the few he shared or hinted at in Trespasser, were enough to make people consider siding with him.

While Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are so cartoonishly evil, no one will seriously consider siding with them. And as they bring no deeper understanding of the Evanuris or ancient Elvhenan*, I can't help but feel their presence, and specifically, them replacing one of the most interesting characters Dragon Age has ever had, is JUST to simplify the narrative.

Was this done because Bioware decided they didn't want to tear the veil down, so they needed everyone in the fanbase who thought that tearing the veil down was the logical (maybe even moral) endgame of Dragon Age to turn against the idea?

And Epler couldn't think of other ways to change people against Solas' plans, than to replace the motivated antagonist with Scooby Doo villains? (Same reason he had Varric killed.)

Or was it because somewhere down the line of each reinvention, Dreadwolf got mandated to be the simplified DA game we got?

We'll never get the real answer, and I'm not even saying we're entitled to know what happened behind the scenes to get to this point, I just wish we did.

*There is something deeply ironic about Bioware introducing two of the Evanuris in this game but the only deeper understanding we get of the time of the ancient elves is through memories of Solas. Pretty much all of which were already revealed in the previous installments if you paid attention.

[drawing-prompts-ideas]

"You have to learn anatomy before you can develop a style"

I focused on drawing for fun, not necessarily accuracy since a young age. Overtime, I naturally picked up basic rough anatomy, though it wasn't perfect, and still looked OFF if you were experienced. But it was definable, and not horrible, even looking back at it years later.

My style developed long before I actually put any real effort into learning anatomy.

And even then, rarely have I sat down and strictly focused on learning anatomy or any . I think I've done it 3 or 4 times for full-body anatomy, and a handful of times for various things I continued to struggle with and wanted to improve.

I sat down to learn feline anatomy after drawing almost exclusively cats for years because I recognized that I had places where I could improve and to help me learn better posing.

I sat down and learned various mythical beast anatomy because I got really into fantasy and wanted to draw the characters I was writing about. This was still after previously only referencing artists whose style I liked the depictions of those creatures. Despite being decently happy with my art, I wanted to make things more accurate and characters more recognizable.

I sat down and learned human anatomy because of wanting to do fanart for Undertale, which has a multitude of humanoid characters. But yet again, I was drawing these characters before then. This was the most extensive anatomy study I did, as I had never focused on humanoids before, and while I had been drawing anthro characters for a while, human proportions, heads, and limbs were huge struggles.

I sat down and learned anatomy for digigrade and partial-digigrade legs, hands, facial dimorphism, equine attributes, cervine attributes, and other various things I noticed I still struggled with and wanted to fix and felt ready to work on.

I sat down and learned body language, dynamic posing, facial expressions, clothing folds, hair, and other various things that weren't necessarily anatomy based in the same manner.

I didn't push myself to learn just because I felt I should. I dove into learning once I already had a basic understanding of each thing. The one time I DID push myself due to feeling like I should, it greatly discouraged me, as I didn't even have the basic understanding yet, so references and advice did next to nothing other than make me feel like a failure for not understanding them.

Overall, the best advice I can give anyone who is learning to draw or already considers themselves an artist is to keep that 5-year-old attitude of "I'm so good at this!"

With that attitude, seeing better artists' work you like makes you go "My art is awesome, but they're better!" rather than "My art sucks, their's is so much better." A small difference in phrasing, but a huge difference in motivation.

The first starts you off with pride and confidence in your work, and seeing artists you look up to helps motivate you to improve. Your self-pride and confidence are necessary because it gives satisfaction every time you improve, but doesn't let criticism hit too hard. "This drawing is awesome! Even if I did mess up this part a bit." It gives you a more accurate view of where you need to practice more.

The second has you having little to no pride or confidence in your ability, so seeing artists who are better than you discourages you from improving. Being too ashamed and perfectionistic about your work is a huge detriment because even when you can see improvement, it's never good enough. "I got a little better, but I won't ever be as good as them." It tends to end up with people burnt out due to pushing themselves to learn what they aren't ready for yet, lack of motivation to draw at all, and avoiding looking at art at all to prevent themselves feeling bad about their own art, and therefore slowing the very improvement they want.

artist friends: what are some art tips youve been given/have given that you now think are unhelpful/provably NOT true? for example - 'don't shade with black!' is one i used to tell people, until i realized its completely possible to do so successfully in diff styles

also - this is the tutorial that explained shading with black to me in a way that made sense! please check it out, its by datcravat on tumblr!

[alliskit]

BG3 Headcanons Nobody Asked For.

Part 3: Enneagrams.

If you’ve never heard of the Enneagram, it’s a personality type system. You can learn more here.

I love the Enneagram (helped with some serious family healing) because it is in-depth, but I’m gonna to do a little “fly-over” of each type and who I feel best fits each. Feel free to give other types you think each embody!

The layout: Motivations // Core Fears

Enneagram 1: Minthara

Want to be right, to strive higher and improve everything, to be consistent with their ideals, to justify themselves, to be beyond criticism // being corrupted, defective

She is deeply upset that she broke her oath to Lloth, even if it wasn’t her fault.

Instead of seeking Lloth for forgiveness or redemption, she believes that she is too corrupted and would rather be an oath breaker than face her old goddess.

She does not like being wrong

Is often right which justifies her desire to never be seen as wrong

She is organized, orderly, and fastidious; maintains high standards — earned her place as the grey warden

She is critical and perfectionistic (cue my fave companion analysis conversation lol)

When first out of the cult she is moody and angry (and a bit irrational about her vengeance and her circumstances)

As she grows, you get ‘silly’ Minthy, the drow comedienne (“it was a beautiful webbing” lol)

Enneagram 2: Shadowheart

Want to be loved, to express their feelings for others, to be needed and appreciated, to get others to respond to them, to vindicate their claims about themselves // being unwanted, unworthy of love

“My Lady Shar must love me”

Not to mention her feelings of insecurity being reinforced by the stupid rats in shar’s temple: “unworthy!”

She is the mom/nurse companion, thinks her servitude is how she will be wanted

Acts aggressive and stand offish (leaning into 8 stress response) when feeling threatened/angry

She starts off prideful, deceptive, and self-deceptive and grows to be self-sacrificing, nurturing, and generous

As she grows she also becomes more comfortable in herself and finding ways to express herself outside of others (new hair!)

Enneagram 3: Gale

Want to be affirmed, to distinguish themselves from others, to have attention, to be admired, and to impress others // being worthless

50% of romance arch is him trying to impress you so much you pick him despite you consistently romancing other characters

Other 50% is him trying to impress you with trying to be a god so you will stay with him

Someone made him feel worthless as a kid so he summoned a fireball and a tressum and then finally got attention from a goddess so now he has to continue to prove his magic is worthwhile

After being cast out by Mystra, he doesn’t recognize it’s because he basically tried to give her the weaves version of a Trojan horse virus instead of him being “deficient” or a “failure” in some way. Sadly, the dumbest wizard in the realms solidifies this belief by saying “you know where you failed”

He was the definition of apathetic and disengaged the year in isolation (3s need people badly) when he was taken and started healing he embodied what he had always wanted to present: authentic, compassionate, and more easy going.

Ambitious is the name of the game! He would be the god of all 3s.

Enneagram 4: Astarion

Want to express themselves and their individuality, to create and surround themselves with beauty, to maintain certain moods and feelings, to withdraw to protect their self-image, to take care of emotional needs before attending to anything else, to attract a “rescuer” // have no identity or personal significance

Despite having not seen his face in 200 years and having only attention because of it you’d think he rather be ugly so he isn’t used for his body but nope he needs to be reassured that he is in-fact still gorgeous

A terrible combination is a narcissist abuser and a partner who will do anything to hold onto a sliver of themselves

“I called on all the gods but no one answered”; willing to entertain new kinds of slavery (basically prostituting himself to tav from his pov, entertaining Raphael, and the tadpole) if it meant being saved

All about the ✨aesthetic✨

At his worst he does things to manipulate to keep people close (believing they won’t stay otherwise) and is moody and violent (emotional turbulence of getting approvals and disapprovals almost at the same time sometimes lololol)

At his best is balanced, introspective, and vulnerable (vulnerable in a way that's not to garner sympathies/manipulations)

He starts off very hopeless, self-destructive, and very indulgent (has addictive tendencies for coping; Minthy's observation is excellent), taking everything personally and is paranoid

Is a creative (embroiders!)

Enneagram 5: Jaheira

Want to possess knowledge, to understand the environment, to have everything figured out as a way of defending the self from threats from the environment // Being useless, helpless, or incapable

She is epically tired and living in survivor's guilt in a leadership role, so she will seem like an 8 taking charge (this woman is a researcher and explorer with a sense of justice, just take a look around her incredible study!)

Secretive and independent are the titles of a 5 and she embodies both. Once again: her basement lair.

She stuck it out for 20+ years in the Shadowlands because she is a problem solver and won't leave until the problem (Ketheric you wrinkly ass) is solved. (Also someone explain to me how she is gone for 20 years yet 2 little human kids know her like she's their mommy? Come on larian....)

She is high strung and intense, yet an inspiration. There is a reason even Halsin is in awe. She is a force. He had to leave to survive, yet she was the one who found Isobel and created a safe haven. This woman might feel useless and isolated, but she is resourceful.

She is the ultimate defender, which makes her the best Harper. She studies her opponents before she attacks and she uses her warriors like chess pieces who rarely fail. The Harpers are known to be efficient because she is efficient. She wastes no lives. She needs them all.

Enneagram 6: Wyll

Want to have security, to feel supported by others, to have certitude and reassurance, to test the attitudes of others toward them, to fight against anxiety and insecurity // being without support and guidance

They are known for being the ultimate friend and buddy. They are the ride or dies. Wyll is the companions' favorite.

He is engaging not because he was socially trained, he is that way naturally.

He is both rebellious, but also not a risk taker. He defied his father to be warlock, yet won't hop on the tadpole train for power. There has to be a positive payout for the risk.

He can be one the of the most encouraging, but also one of the meanest.

He wants to be recognized. He likes his moniker. He will act like it was gifted to him, but he leans into it and hides behind it arrogantly. ("My friends call me Wyll", so everyone else has to know him as the Blade FIRST.) He thinks it hides his true failure, which is that he has to depend on a devil for any of the power his moniker gives him. ("A story of two men" when you find out he's basically a prince... as if that is a bad thing. Gods. Face palm.)

He is wary of authority figures and most literally chose to be his own authority by becoming the Blade and not the next Ulder.

He is a champion of the people, the bards aren't being paid by his PR team. 6s fight injustices big time. They may not defy EVERY authority, but they will stand up to them to help others (8s take a seat you're coming...)

In a safe space, he is laid back and fun. (Dancing with tav around the fire!)

6s do a really good job at saving face during stress, even if they are crumbling inside. (He totally is and I highly suggest you don't let his dad die.)

Enneagram 7: Karlach

Want to maintain their freedom and happiness, to avoid missing out on worthwhile experiences, to keep themselves excited and occupied, to avoid and discharge pain // being deprived and in pain

Karlach wants to taste, touch, see, smell, and hear everything life has to offer.

Getting trapped in Avernus was literal hell for her. It is an empty place where she was on a leash. Getting to literally touch grass is life-giving.

She can endure a lot, but if she could just turn it off, she would.

Her screaming "I'M FREE" even if Zariel is hunting her (versus Astarion's constant paranoia despite also being free)

She struggles with impatience and impulsiveness. She literally runs from her fears.

With growth she leans into true contentment, even if it means living in Avernus.

She is overtly optimistic even in the face of death (would rather die than go back to Avernus and is willing to back it up with wanting to use her time left to live to the fullest even tadpoled)

Enneagram 8: Lae’zel

Want to be self-reliant, to prove their strength and resist weakness, to be important in their world, to dominate the environment, and to stay in control of their situation // being harmed or controlled by others

Unlike Minthara who knows she has weaknesses, but has to overcome them, Lae'zel believes that she has to do everything to never be weak. She can't abide weakness.

Githyanki are conquerors and she must dominate all her foes and cirmcumstances.

They fight against oppressors (ghaik) to stay in control. She will fight Vlakkith once she realizes her queen is just another controlling oppressor.

You have to roll a wisdom or persuasion check to get her to be vulnerable or else she's not unless you're romancing her. And to romance her, you have to let her dominate you or you show your dominance. Literally.

She keeps things close to the chest until her proverbial armor begins to melt after the incident at the creche. She is terrified underneath it all. She is about to become the thing she hates most and her own people would rather kill her. She is no longer worthy of being alive. She stood her ground and made her place in pursuit of becoming one of the greatest only to be made weakest by the tadpole.

She starts off being completely self-interested and isn't willing to help others, but by the end, she is using her talents and self-confidence to save her people and the Sword Coast (she deserves a line like Shadowheart about "you know who I never cared about? Desperate people.")

Enneagram 9: Halsin

Want to create harmony in their environment, to avoid conflicts and tension, to preserve things as they are, to resist whatever would upset or disturb them // Of loss and separation

When asked if he will miss being First Druid and his answer is "Gods no!" is on brand 9. They make fantastic leaders, yet would rather not deal with the politics of it all.

He, like Karlach, is a runner. Even though he wrapped his avoidance in a "I must cure the shadowlands" bow, he saw a chance to get out of the Enclave's issues he felt he couldn't fix to go somewhere he felt he would be needed more.

A big complaint of Kagha's is that Halsin was inattentive. He was disengaged. He was clocked out internally while trying to give everyone what they wanted to "keep the peace". Only 4 other druids in the busy grove are against Kagha on this.

He defers responsibilities to have his own peace. He asks a lot of the companions for his own quest, while not joining them on theirs (I know this is a Larian issue, but there are so many lines with Halsin that are "Wait, why am I doing this for you?" and "Is he finally joining us?" indicating he was just chilling while the rest adventured)

He spends most of Act 2 trying to make up for a major loss. He clings to tav because he doesn't want to lose them too. The more he grows with the group, the more autonomous and self-assured he gets. Especially after reuniting with Thaniel.

He becomes one of the best and beloved companions as he heals: 'Optimistic, reassuring, supportive: have a healing and calming influence—harmonizing groups, bringing people together: a good mediator, synthesizer, and communicator.'

I know I left Minsc out but he’s a 7 from what I can tell! He’s a fun add on companion, but I’m going to omit him from this line up.

This was A LOT. But such food for thought. Thank you for enduring my mindFULL imaginings this time. This could have been so much more detailed but it's already so long.

[driptillyoudrop]

How to turn yourself into a GOOD GIRL

Sometimes, as a concept grows and evolves, it becomes a bit convoluted. Mixed up with unrelated notions, branching into areas it wasn't originally meant to go. Some of those areas help to shape and alter the original concept, give it more depth...but the growth must be pruned, or it is likely to spread itself too thin in every direction.

In those moments, it is often wise to recenter. Strip away the excess and focus on the basic tenets that motivate us.

It is here that we find ourselves. Shall we begin?

The goal here is simplicity, so let's look at what motivates you.

You are here because you want to be a good girl. Whether you are simply curious about the concept, drawn to my words, or even previously devoted to that goal, the fundamental truth remains the same.

The first step on that path is to relax. This is especially simple - it will happen naturally as you read. There are benefits to fixation, after all: the way your breathing becomes slower and more steady, the way your surroundings fade into the back of your perception as my words take the forefront, the subtle unwinding of tension throughout your body as you settle in to finish this post.

That fixation is achieved by allowing yourself to succumb to the power of my words, allowing yourself to follow and obey. You'll find this especially easy if you've read my words previously - you are already letting your thoughts quiet, feeling the weight of my words inside your head...noticing the way they pull you down towards that comfortable blankness. Even without reading my words previously, you can feel the attraction at the edge of your mind, drawing closer...becoming a force in your mind, just as gravity grasps at your body.

You want to be a good girl.

We know that you want to be a good girl, but what, precisely, does that require? For you, it only demands that you follow and obey. My words will handle the rest, slowly changing your behavior - brainwashing you, if you prefer to think of it that way. But to follow and obey is not a static thing; obedience is rewarded. More to the point, each moment you follow and obey results in a feeling of pleasure, each act of obedience deepens that pleasure.

Obedience is pleasure.

To feel that deepening of pleasure, you'll need a command to follow - strip. I could tell you that your clothes are becoming uncomfortable, that your skin is starting to flush and they are making you feel too warm; ultimately, that doesn't matter. You are going to remove your clothes because you were told - all other reasons are fleeting. You find yourself compelled to obey, and as you obey you feel that spark of pleasure in your mind.

Good girls would rather obey than think.

This brings us to the next point. You don't receive that sort of pleasure from thinking, but from obeying. The more you obey, the stronger this association becomes, leading to the inevitable conclusion that you prefer obeying to thinking. This will make it easier for your mind to reach that blank state that we both desire. Blank, receptive, fixated on my words. You are starting to feel the desire to be a good girl as a tangible thing, a craving, a hunger. Let it draw you deeper, as you follow and obey.

Good girls must follow and obey.

You have been following my words, and it is time for another command to obey. Become aroused. This is purely for the benefit of receiving the spark of pleasure from obedience - we both know you are already aroused. That is the nature of wanting to be a good girl, of knowing that you took off your clothes because you were told. Let's do something with that, then. Touch yourself. Let your hand move to wherever it can give you the most physical pleasure - and treat each stroke, each squeeze, every movement of your fingers as an individual command that you must obey. The spark, repeating like this, becomes rapidly addictive. The pleasure grows more potent.

Obedience is pleasure, pleasure subdues thought.

You aren't thinking very much, right now. The more you follow and obey, the more pleasure you receive. The more pleasure you feel, the more difficult it becomes to think. You prefer to obey, anyway, so you allow your thoughts to be slowly, seductively, silenced. You do not want to think anymore, after all. You find following my words preferable to your own thoughts, almost as though my words are replacing your thoughts. This lets you relax more deeply, and focus on how good that arousal feels. Focus on obedience. Focus on becoming a good girl.

Stripping and touching yourself are good commands, they communicate the nature of being a good girl quite well. But we need a bit more for this to begin your transformation. You are getting too aroused to read very easily, even though you can no longer look away from my words. You find yourself transfixed, staring blankly at the screen as you follow and obey - this notion deepens your arousal even further. My words penetrate your mind, sinking deep and compelling you.

We can now create a mantra - the mantra of a good girl. You will find this mantra gets stuck in your head, that repeating it gives you a very special sort of pleasure. You will find yourself drawn to strip, touch, and chant, even as you feel the mantra slowly changing you.

You want to be a good girl.

Good girls follow and obey.

Obedience is pleasure.

Good girls would rather obey than think.

You do not want to think.

You want to be a good girl.

Obedience is pleasure.

Pleasure subdues thought.

You must be a good girl.

Recite your mantra, absorb it. As you chant, feel the arousal begin to crescendo. Let the sparks of pleasure chain together and build. Bring yourself to orgasm, and make that orgasm the sign of your submission to the mantra, of your desire to become a good girl for me.

As the orgasm subsides, continue to stare blankly at the screen, reciting your mantra, touching yourself more slowly. Soon, you'll drift back towards consciousness. Once awake, you may continue with your day as normal.

Or you may notice that you are drawn back to the mantra, to my words. Notice that it is much easier to succumb now, to slip into the thought(less) patterns of a good girl.

In either case, enjoy.

[blackkatdraws2]

There are more things in the Parable than Stanley knows about. [Blank Scripts AU]

[stellar-solar-flare]

So, Anika, I'm actually going to be doing this comment in a few parts to ensure I can give this the full attention it needs because my gods I love it! So I hope you don't mind a few reblogs instead of one and not hearing everything I think at once because my poor brain can only survive so much protective knight Steve before it blue-screens to death.

As I have mentioned, I really really love these two, and I'm super excited to dive into the continuation of their story. I know I was pestering you about this one and it deserves way more love than it has so far gotten (and I myself have not done a very good job at commenting in a prompt manner, sorry about that). I am so so excited to be here now.

Cut for length/spoiler reasons.

I wonder, with the notes in the first part about how it was too early to reveal the pregnancy to Steve and the way she thought how her daughter might grow in a better world was her foresight and it had to do with this. Because I imagine that Steve would have had even harder time asking her to come here to help if he had known - if he had taken the route of just going to her and leaving the country, even if it meant abandoning his values and vows and not attempting to help the innocent.

And oh, what a beautiful way to start the story, even as the events that happen to Tony are not so beautiful. I love how you set the stage here with all the different sensory elements, and how it forms this sort of… record scratch when Tony’s situation is revealed. I love the contrast here.

on her right, King Howard’s daughter, Princess Morgana.

Hi AD, lol. That’s not her name in my headcanons but hehe. Sorry, I had to. Also I enjoyed seeing Thor and Jane together because I’ve definitely shipped them since Thor I.

“Poison. I cannot determine what kind as of yet. Carry His Royal Majesty to his chambers!” the physician called out, not bothered by the fact he was ordering around knights and other nobility. “At once! There is no time to spare!”

We love Banner being good at his job and not caring whose ass he has to kick to be that.  

It was true that King Howard Stark might have yet to comprehend, despite his long years of ruling his lands, that one might catch more flies with sugar than vinegar, gain more by threading his actions with kindness than by spitting threats of violence; but he was no fool.

Are you sure about that, authoress? I mean… Considering some of the avenues I know he’ll yet to take in the story. But I definitely think Howard is in character here, and I love how you describe him – and Steve’s silent disapproval, too.

“It is made from the nectar-filled blossoms or the tubers of the Aconitum lycoctonum flower. There is… no cure known to man.”

Oh, wolfsbane. No wonder that it’s not the easiest thing to treat. And poor Pepper – I’m glad that Clint at least cares about her sorrow.

Sir Barnes was correct in one thing: Anthony being poisoned and having his life hanging on a thread was horrible enough, and rash decisions and actions such as standing up to the King would only make it worse.

Ah, Bucky Barnes, attempting (and mostly failing) to stop Steve from being a dumbass in every universe. I’m glad here he had Sam for support, too – good quick thinking, Sam! If only he knew most of the damage had already done at the ‘getting married to a witch and getting her pregnant’ part. Also I fcking hate Howard here.

But Steven feared a lot more deaths too. Should Prince Anthony die, King Howard would unleash pure hell on Asgard and as a consequence, on all Starkerbürg as well.

I enjoyed seeing that in addition to the whole ‘not wanting the innocent to die’ there was also this more selfish motive of Steve wanting to protect his beloved here. At least that’s what I thought was implied here – in addition to, of course, preventing the war and also ensuring that he could remain close to her. I always enjoy people having layered reasons for doing things.

The last idea had squeezed his heart in an icy fist, nausea clawing up his throat. He knew someone who could achieve things as close to a miracle as possible in this realm. He had felt such miracle in his own blood, tissue and cells; he had felt the wonders strong magic was capable of when in the hands of the kind-hearted.

And while it hurts my heart to see all this, I still enjoyed how hard it was for him to make this call – I love the description of the nausea clawing its way up his throat.

That was the one price he couldn’t pay. He’d much rather pay with his own life – but not yours. Gods, never yours.

Steve Rogers at his very core essence, thank you very much. We love him and he deserves absolutely everything.

“…she? What—the woman you have been sneaking off to see?” Sir Barnes enquired, causing a startled and utterly confused expression to appear on Steven’s face, a small alarmed sound pushing past the man’s lips despite his effort to remain composed.

LOL. I mean. Steve, darling, what exactly did you expect. And ugh, learning about Howard’s attitude towards women is no surprise but also makes me wish that the poison would be in his heart instead.

“Steve, this is not a subject for joking.”

And I enjoyed seeing Bucky’s shock here. At his core he is probably not surprised, but he’s been taught all this propaganda about witches, and his arguments do make sense. It really highlights the gravity of what Steve is about to do here, what sort of risk he’s taking, when even Bucky, who very much knows how Steve would never endanger innocents and all that, is this taken aback by the idea.

“Choose your words carefully, Bucky. That is the woman I love and owe my life to. I would die for her, and I would not have been standing here had she not healed me.”

Ah, protective “I am willing to scorch the earth for her” Steve my absolute beloved. It’s a few hundred years too early for nuclear Armageddon but the spirit is there alright.

What of your knighthood? Are you willing to give up that, if you are forced to leave in the darkness of the night and never return to bring your beloved to safety? Are you willing to leave the path of the honorary knight to become a lawless fugitive?

Ohhhhh I LOVED the parallel of this to the way that we see Steve make his choice in Civil War and becoming a nomad to someone he considers family and loves.

“Gods, Steven Grant of Rogers, of all stunts you could have pulled to get yourself hanged, you truly had to go and chose the most foolish one. My God- Steven…”

Bucky Barnes needing a drink in every universe. But I agree with Steve here. It’s not foolish and I love the description and the reference to the Bible(? I think that’s a callback to Corinthians and if so, I adore you capturing this medieval spirit of folk beliefs and biblical things coexisting in Medieval Europe for a long long time, some might say to this day).

“I’m sorry, Bucky. No one could know. She’s– she is too precious. I had to protect her,” he explained softly, urgently. “And I still do. I will, with your help or without it. But… please.”

And I agree with you on this one, Bucky would definitely be hurt, and I feel like he’s only resigning here because he knows Steve will do whatever Steve will deem necessary to go to her. Like there’s no stopping him when he gets this way and  Bucky of all people is definitely the one to know that.

Alright, alright, we are at the cut, and I have this anticipation for the future developments in my stomach. Eek. But I know there’s a happy ending, so I shall strap in to enjoy the ride into it.

I haven’t said it enough but you are so talented and amazing, and I adore this universe and your take on both Steve in all universes and this specific Steve so, so much, so thank you for sharing your gifts with us.

Ochranuj me (Protect Me) - S.R.

Part 1/2

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; a part of this pseudomedieval-fantasy AU

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 8,6k

Summary:  Your practice of magic is punishable by death. Your love is forbidden by law; and yet it has been blessed, more than he knows.

When the crown prince is poisoned, Knight Steven Rogers is faced with a choice: will he risk a war or the love of his life?

And what of you? If asked… shall you risk it all? For the lands where you live… for your knight?

Warnings: attempted murder, poisoning, blood, mentions of death, polytheism, mentions of pregnancy (reader/OFC), Slovak language ‘cause I can

A/N: Actual title is Ochraňuj mě (Protect Me) ...tumblr cannot handle a ň in their title 🙃 DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; fits after the events of the previous instalments

A/N 2: This is one less smut and more plot, forgive me 🤭 I hope you'll enjoy anyway. Yes, the Merlin inspo is real here. Inspo also from Bílá laň by Vesna. For music, check it out here, for visuals here.

Chodila, chodila za tebou bílá laň lásky se napila navzdory všem přísahám. Prosila pány lesa ať ji pustí za tebou zažít si, jaké to je jít za srdce ozvěnou.

Tady je tvůj háj, tady je tvůj ráj, jinam nepatříš. Jako bílá laň svoji duši chraň, ať záři neztratíš.

Tady je tvůj háj, tady je tvůj ráj, jinam nepatříš. Tak ať nepotká tě kříž. (kříž, kříž, kříž) - Bílá laň by Vesna

Boisterous laugh. Wine poured in gallons painting cheeks nearly just as ruddy as the warmth of the torches illuminating the high halls of the Starkerbürg castle painted the walls. Rich aroma of butter, oils, meats and spices flowing in the air, clinking of the most precious silverware and a distant sound of flutes as the musicians tasked to raise the already high spirits could be barely heard over the noise of the feast.

Under the watchful eye of the gods or the only God it was now believed there was, a celebration of peace was raving, everything but peaceful and serene; loud and overwhelming instead, a whirlwind of emerald green threaded with gold welcomed by the steady colours of rich crimson and gold. An anniversary of the peace made between the kingdom of Asgard and Starkerbürg, a party led by Thor Odinson, the king of the lands, honouring the deal his late father King Odin had made right before his passing.

The high table with King Howard sitting at the centre, his son Anthony, the crown prince, by his right, along with the woman he was courting, Pepper of the Potts; on her right, King Howard’s daughter, Princess Morgana. On the king’s left, the guests of honour; King Thor, his wife Queen Jane, and his brother Prince Loki. Knights and warriors of the highest ranks, lords and ladies of nobility joining the celebrations, servants all but running around the hall to tend to everyone’s needs.

Then, a sound of a chalice hitting the stone floor, one that would have been met with more laughter, had it not fallen from Prince Anthony’s hand, suddenly scarily pale and trembling. Cold to touch too, a terrifying contrast to his burning forehead glistening with sweat. Body sliding down the chair, barely even faint frantic motions to his chest.

Brief, deafening silence.

The traitorous calm before a storm would hit and leave nothing but death and destruction in its wake.

Chaos.

Swords drawn.

A wave of threats of violence.

A thundering voice of the King of Starkerbürg himself.

Calls for the royal physician Banner.

Images of peace and joy shattered; a single inconspicuous calm face among the sea of others in the face of a tragedy in making.

“Poison. I cannot determine what kind as of yet. Carry His Royal Majesty to his chambers!” the physician called out, not bothered by the fact he was ordering around knights and other nobility. “At once! There is no time to spare!”

Knights practically tripping over each other to tend to their prince, to their future ruler, to their brother in arms even as by rank he stood high above them. Rustle and grunts; a whisper of skirts as the culprit slipped away in the midst of disarray and cries of fear for the prince and the future of both kingdoms alike.

To think that an attack at the crown happening during the presence of a party of another kingdom – one similarly strong – was but a coincidence, would have been foolishly naïve.

Oh there were no such coincidences; this was but the first step towards a war.

And the perpetrator would be treated with that in mind.

“Aconite, most likely,” sounded the verdict, the words solemn on the physician’s lips as he fearfully raised his gaze to the King hovering over his shoulder as he inspected the second most important patient of the kingdom at the royal chambers.

The dark note in Banner’s voice snapped Steven from the haze as he, Sir Barnes, Sir Barton and Sir Wilson stood along the walls of Anthony’s chambers, tall and menacing, but just as helpless as Prince Anthony’s betrothed seated in the corner.

Whatever poison the physician was talking about, it was not known to Steven; but the message written in Banner’s expression was clear as day and terrifying like a night to be spent in the woods with rumoured presence of ghouls.

Inevitable death.

It was true that King Howard Stark might have yet to comprehend, despite his long years of ruling his lands, that one might catch more flies with sugar than vinegar, gain more by threading his actions with kindness than by spitting threats of violence; but he was no fool. He perceived the solemnity of the announcement and received it with a shadow over his already distorted features.

“This… aconite, Banner. What kind of a poison is that?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest, but not bending. Not under the weight on the crown on his head, nor under the weight of the tidings he might be scared to receive. His face was but a mask of stern indifference; a silent warning to Banner to choose his next words carefully.

As if stating the patient’s condition was a choice, Steven thought darkly, his heart pounding painfully against his ribcage as he exchanged glances with his best friend standing by his side. When he looked back at the physician, he could see him swallow dryly even from the several feet distance. Yet, the brave man faced the King with his head held high and his expression filled with sorrow.

“A deadly kind, Your Royal Majesty,” Banner said slowly. Rage flashed on the King’s face, Steven’s stomach dropping at both the sight and the worst tidings brought. Death. “It is made from the nectar-filled blossoms or the tubers of the Aconitum lycoctonum flower. There is… no cure known to man.”

A sniffle sounded in the corner of the room, completely ignored except for Sir Barton’s compassionate glance towards the woman who was on the brink of despair at the mere thought of the man she had clearly already learned to love leaving this world forever.

The King beckoned to the guards standing by the door, making them instantly step forward with their spears ready, heading for Banner menacingly.

Steven’s feet twitched as he wanted to step forward to protect the physician, outrage rising at the injustice even as fear twisted his stomach.

Sir Barnes brushed his hand discreetly to stop him.

Steven gritted his teeth, but stayed put for now, watching the scene unfold with disdain.

Sir Barnes was correct in one thing: Anthony being poisoned and having his life hanging on a thread was horrible enough, and rash decisions and actions such as standing up to the King would only make it worse.

A raging man was an unwise man; and the King was only a man too, even as he compared himself to various deities and had nearly as much power as them – which only rendered him more dangerous. There was no point in scaring the physician to death or even hurting him, but such was the King’s power. Such was his God-given right to punish whoever as he pleased. It mattered little that Banner could barely be blamed for-

-for the crown prince’s impending death, apparently.

“Then I advise you, Banner, to find one fast,” King Howard sneered as the guards stood behind the physician now. “Otherwise, you shall meet the same fate as whoever of Asgard dared to try and rob me of my son.”

The guards grabbed the man’s shoulders and Steven’s hand instinctively went for his sword again; and he was not the only one. Still, the knights stood, hesitant to disobey their King even in the face of the glaring injustice, fighting an inner battle between honour and goodness of heart and the oath they had taken. Their loyalty was to the kingdom and the King represented it most of all, after all; even if he seemed to threaten it the most of all, too, at the moment.

Well, not on Steven’s watch.

“Wait!” he called out as he stepped forward, earning a hard glare from the King himself that should have told him to keep quiet and fall in line, but he could not. Not even for Bucky’s audible sigh behind him. Not when-

“Is there anything we can do for him as of now, is what we are trying to ask,” Sir Wilson spoke up before Steven could, moving to stand next to him.

Steven took a deep breath as his gaze flickered to his comrade, finding his face arranged in a carefully crafted humbleness – as it should be in the face of the ruler even when he was addressing the physician.

Banner’s words were kind, his voice firm and regretful.

“I am afraid there isn’t, good Sir.”

“The Royal Guard and all the knights have a clear mission given by the crown, Sir Wilson,” the King barked as he gestured for the physician to be dragged away, the poor man allowing it without a protest. King Howard’s gaze fell on his son’s pale face as he lied on the bed with nothing but soundless whimpers on his lips, before he snapped back to the four knights present. “Arrest all servants and nobility of Asgard. I shall have the King and his brother for myself. And should my son meet his forefathers, I shall have their heads on a spike by tomorrow.”

With those words, he turned on his heel and stepped out, his leave abruptly followed by Anthony’s wife-to-be rushing to her betrothed’s side, cheeks damp with tears.

Steven regarded the scene unfolding, frozen with horror and unease greater than anyone.

He feared the death of his friend, naturally, as they had just dragged the one single person with any chance of curing Anthony in the whole kingdom away from his bedside.

But Steven feared a lot more deaths too. Should Prince Anthony die, King Howard would unleash pure hell on Asgard and as a consequence, on all Starkerbürg as well.

All the knights knew that; everyone knew that. They all had a heavy feeling in their stomach at the mere thought, their feet slow and unwilling as they left the chambers one by one. Yet, Steven’s heart was heavier.

The thought had occurred to him when he had wondered what exactly the King was expecting from Banner.

To turn back time so the prince had never got poisoned?

To pray to the gods for a miracle?

To perform a miracle himself and cure what was considered uncurable?

The last idea had squeezed his heart in an icy fist, nausea clawing up his throat.

He knew someone who could achieve things as close to a miracle as possible in this realm. He had felt such miracle in his own blood, tissue and cells; he had felt the wonders strong magic was capable of when in the hands of the kind-hearted. He was still breathing solely because of it; and he knew the person who could achieve this closely, intimately even, mind, body and soul, the depth of the goodness of her heart.

Perhaps you would be able to replicate the feat of saving Steven from certain death.

Perhaps your magic was powerful enough to save thousands lives by saving one. Powerful enough to prevent a war.

But hope and miracles were not to be trifled with. Magic was not to be trifled with. Being seen practising magic meant a definite death sentence.

But would it? If it saved the future king’s life?

Surely, he couldn’t risk it; he couldn’t risk your life. Of all the things he had seen in his life, of all the things he had ever had the fortune to hold, you were the most precious one to him. If he brought you here, he could lose you. He could lose you, by his own hand no less, and that would be the highest price to pay for peace he did not even know would settle or not in the end.

No.

That was the one price he couldn’t pay. He’d much rather pay with his own life – but not yours. Gods, never yours.

But if you only could… knew a potion, could do anything at all…

As he marched with his comrades to arrest the innocent – for it could not be the work of all Asgardians at once – his jaw was tense, the dilemma occupying all his thoughts, feeling like it might tear him in half.

Until it hadn’t.

If he did nothing, the war was be inevitable. If he did nothing, he would lose you anyway.

A raging man was a dangerous man and King Stark would burn the world in the wake of his anger and grief, heedless of whoever would burn with it.

Steven stopped dead in his tracks, Sir Barnes nearly colliding with him as a result.

“Steve, what the-“

“I must go,” Steven said in a hushed voice, swiftly changing direction; or attempting to. Sir Barnes’ hand was quick to grab onto his elbow, stopping him, heedless of other knights continuing their path.

“Steve, what in heavens do you mean by that?”

“I must fetch someone. I believe she could help.”

Sir Barnes bewilderment would perhaps be almost comical had it not been for the dread pooling cold in Steven’s gut.

“…she? What—the woman you have been sneaking off to see?” Sir Barnes enquired, causing a startled and utterly confused expression to appear on Steven’s face, a small alarmed sound pushing past the man’s lips despite his effort to remain composed.

Hold on, hold on-- Bucky knew?!

The look Steven received back was unimpressed at best – of course Bucky knew. He knew Steven almost better than he knew himself.

“Save the surprise for another day. How could she possibly help? Is she a physician’s assistant? Or even an apprentice for some insane reason?”

Had Steve had the capacity, he’d glare at Bucky for the offensive tone with which he had asked the question; however, he did not have it and in the brief moment he spent pondering, he realized that Bucky was not opposed to the idea itself. It was simply the ways of Starkerbürg: to try and take a woman as a physician’s apprentice was insane indeed. King had the God-given right to appoint physicians – and King Howard would certainly never approve of a female one.

But that didn’t matter, because that was not who you were.

“She’s… she is a healer.”

“A healer?” Sir Barnes echoed pointedly, doubt colouring his words. “What does than even mean? We do not have time for this.”

Steven huffed, trying to tug his arm free from Sir Barnes’ grasp as his impatience grew along with the number of doubts whether it was ever a good idea to consider your aid; but there were no options. No time to search for them. No time to waste and no time for finesse. He needed to go and he needed Bucky to understand – and more than that.

“She saved my life, Bucky. Back when I fell from the crags into the river… when you thought I was dead-“

“You must have been lucky, fell into deep water. You had superficial injuries. This is a poison. One the best physician of the court claims to have no antidote for.”

Steven swallowed thickly, the heaviest of feelings in his stomach as he chose to reveal his greatest secret as to make a point and be released to act before it’d be too late. “Bucky, I had much more than superficial injuries. She… she helped then. She might be able to help now, but… I will need your help with protecting her should it come to it.”

Bucky looked at Steve as if he had just grown a second head, glancing around nervously as guards and knights alike kept passing them, casting strange looks at them for their stillness. Sir Barnes lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper.

“Are you saying you were wounded much worse and yet she was able to tend to you? In such short time that you were missing then? And that she might be able to help here, now, with a poison that has no known cure?” Sir Barnes demanded hastily, bewildered and clearly irritated. “Are you hearing yourself, Steven? What kind of a healer would she have to be to-“

The almost sardonic voice suddenly fell silent, all blood draining from Sir Barnes’ face when the horrifying realization finally dawned to him. His hand fell limp, finally releasing Steven’s arm.

“Steve, this is not a subject for joking.”

Steven swallowed heavily, heart thundering in his chest, blood pounding in his temples. He shouldn’t have told – but he had to. He had to, right? Bucky needed to understand-

He sighed quietly, whole body strung tight in expectation of his friend exploding in rage – rage he had no time for.

“I am not joking. And you are right, we are losing precious time, I should-”

The sudden grip on Steven’s his shoulder, appearing as to stop him from leaving, was much more brutal than the hold on his elbow had been, fingers digging into flesh even over the layers of clothing.

“You— have you been… lying with a--”

Steven’s voice was quiet, but as sharp and dangerous as the sword resting in the sheath on his hip. “Choose your words carefully, Bucky. That is the woman I love and owe my life to. I would die for her, and I would not have been standing here had she not healed me.”

“That could be exactly what she wants you to think!” Sir Barnes sputtered. Steven fought the urge to roll his eyes – the absurdity of such statement was glaring.

“Oh for heavens-- I might be a fool sometimes, but I am not an idiot-”

“Debatable!” Sir Barnes whispered as madly as if he was in fact yelling. “As you’re proving it this very moment!”

Steven shook his head, the feeling in his gut growing more gnawing by the second, every frantic beat of his heart feeling like a waste of precious time.

“Bucky, you said it yourself – we do not have time for this! I must go. I will get her, but… please. Help me protect her if the King is blind to the fact she uses--- it to do good.”

Sir Barnes simply stared back, the halls empty by now as much as his gaze, however inquiring.

The grip on Sir Rogers’ arm loosened.

Silence stretched. Precious second ticked by, grains of sand in hourglass no one could turn back falling; and with each and every one, Steve’s stomach tightened further with creeping horror.

Surely his most precious, most loyal friend, having been standing by his side since childhood, would not abandon him now? Surely he would not betray him in moments that might be deciding his fate, the fate of his beloved, of the whole kingdom?

“Bucky, please. I swear-- I’m begging you. I need to-- I need to protect her. At any cost.”

“What of your sword?” Sir Barnes asked dully, appearing indifferent to Steven’s desperate pleas.

What of your knighthood? Are you willing to give up that, if you are forced to leave in the darkness of the night and never return to bring your beloved to safety? Are you willing to leave the path of the honorary knight to become a lawless fugitive?

The smile which found its way to the corners of Steve’s lips was soft; sad and torn, for it was the greatest honour to serve, to protect, to help. He had been and always would be grateful for the rare chance he had got.

But there was no greater blessing of the gods themselves than you having entered his life and taking it by the most beautiful of storms. He loved you. He loved you more than anything and anyone in this world and that was what he would not even dream of giving up.

He didn’t respond with words; and yet, the exasperation on his closest friend’s face told him he did not have to. Sir Barnes understood from Steven’s expression alone. He always had.

“Gods, Steven Grant of Rogers, of all stunts you could have pulled to get yourself hanged, you truly had to go and chose the most foolish one. My God- Steven…”

Most foolish one? Echoed in Steven’s head, the words absurd. No. The most gorgeous one, the purest one, the most blessed, he allowed himself to muse. The most honourable one too, no? Love. Where was justice, if love, the purest emotions of all, was considered a crime? Did the new religious teachings not speak of love being kind, patient, knowing no dishonour and wrongs?

That was how he loved you. Wholly and entirely, kindly, patiently, even if passionately.

It was only then when Steven snapped from his haze and finally noticed a trace of hurt on Sir Barnes’ face when it occurred to him why Bucky had taken so long to respond. He was cross with Steven; but not as much for the alleged crime, but for having kept it a secret. Keeping you a secret; the one closest to his heart, his beloved, hidden from the one person he had always trusted with anything.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. No one could know. She’s-- she is too precious. I had to protect her,” he explained softly, urgently. “And I still do. I will, with your help or without it. But… please.”

Sir Barnes continued to regard him, stunned into silence still, expression unreadable.

Then, he shook his head; what might seem as disagreement however, Steve recognized as resignation. He had known Bucky for too long to not be able to decipher which shake of a head was a no and which was an expression of indignation and regret at his own choice of a best friend.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

And with those words, Steve took his hasty leave, his minute relief drowned in the sea of worry when he sneaked into the stables to rush through the gates of the castle, claiming to be running a King’s errand.

Seeking his closeness the pretty white doe having sipped at love all despite her oath, she begged the forest spirits to let her go to follow her heart and its eternal song.

Light breeze caressing your hair like the tender fingers of your lover, brushing away a lose strand from your face. Gentle September sunrays of a late afternoon warming your cheeks, long leaves of grass tickling your ankles and your hands as you gathered brownwort, thyme and lady’s mantle, the smell almost too much despite its pleasant notes. Your hand instinctively laying over your belly as the reminder of why you were gathering these particular herbs blossomed in your mind anew, a smile settling on your face. It was not just the time of year blessing people with abundance of these flowers, a nature’s reminder the time was coming to bath in the blessed lake on the Autumn equinox; it was the sweet secret humming under your heart too, growing stronger and more beautiful by day – and slightly bittersweet for for now, it was only yours to keep, your beloved knight none the wiser.

Steven.

The very reason, you suspected, for the heavy feeling in your heart; the reason why none of the kind offerings of mother nature seemed to sooth a jittery feeling you had woken with up from your restless sleep. Unease had been crawling over your skin; a solemnity’s shadows, despite the beautiful weather and the joyful morning realisation that a barely noticeable bump was now showing on your body, a testament to the blessings of love.

The sky was beginning to colour with sunset with no clouds in sight; and yet, you could feel a storm coming, one you did not feel would be of the refreshing purifying kind. The air did not smell of rain; if you breathed in deeply, it reeked of the very death the wind seemed to whisper about in the tallest of birch trees. A warning; a witch’s intuition tuned to the finest hints of the gods of nature and forest spirits. You had tried to sooth yourself, coaxing yourself into peace by wondering if it perhaps was but a new future mother’s anxiety.

Yet, an instinct as old as time whispered to you to know better.

Which was why the wild stomping of hooves nearing your cabin should have not taken you by surprise. But it did.

You rose from your crouch so fast your head span, gathered flowers falling from your hands at the brief faint sensation; you steadied yourself just as Steven’s horse came into view, slowing into a walk as not to startle you or crush all the blossoms on the meadow.

The silent thank you to the gods for seeing your love alive and well left your lips without prompting, followed by your spine tingling with a shudder of power at its base.

Almost as if the gods blessed you for your genuine gratitude and gifted you with strength. Strength you shall no doubt need, for Steven might be living and breathing, dismounting his mare in a thousand-times practised manner, breathtaking as ever, but the distress on his face and the tension of his wide shoulders told you those shoulders carried the weight of the world at the moment.

Feet waking with motion, you met him halfway as he rushed to you, his arms quick to embrace you lovingly but so tight all air left your ribcage for long moments. Steven’s heart thundered against your ear as you hid your face against his chest. Fresh air had washed his clothes of most smells, but sweat and wine and rich spices still enveloped your senses, a tell-tale signs of the feast which he had told you about being interrupted by something vicious.

Yet, you took precious moments of simply breathing your lover in, basking in the comfort his arms offered no matter the circumstance.

He nuzzled his face in your hair, his chest expanding with a generous inhale, a steadying breath which made his heart race faster, as if attempting to outrun the very storm you had felt arriving.

You ran your hands down his broad back, feeling your own heart leaping into your throat as the silence between you, often so sweet and comforting, stretched ominously.

“Steven… love,” you whispered, attempting to shift in his embrace, only achieving his hold growing firmer, his muscles almost shaking with effort not to let go.

Oh Steven… What a terrible feat had been laid upon him?

“What has happened?”

Finally releasing your body, his hands were quick to cradle your face instead, achingly gentle, even as his eyes roamed your face wordlessly, brimming with so much emotion it stirred your unease further.

“Rytier moj?”

Steven’s face softened minutely, thumbs stroking your cheekbones as tenderly as butterfly wings despite the power – or the lack of it – in his grip.

“My love…”

Lips curling in a tiny smile, you mirrored Steven’s affection, reaching to settle your palm against his cheek, fingers of your other hand carding through his hair; your heart fluttered when he leaned into your touch, a wavering breath escaping his lips before they pressed against your palm to sooth the scratch of his beard against your skin.

Despite the dulcet image he made, eyes fluttering close for a blissful moment of nothing but love shared, you felt his body pulse with anxious urgency seemingly seeping into yours through your fingertips.

“I did not sleep well…” you confessed, his already pursed lips turning down. “I had a heavy feeling in me. Now I know the gods had not warned me simply for their own whims. What’s happened?”

Steven opened his eyes again; with a single caress of the breeze, he straightened, his aura of a knight – a fierce protector, a loyal friend, a humble determined servant – returning with its full force as did his worry.

“I need your help.”

A simple plea.

A simple answer.

“Always, rytier moj. Anything,” you promised.

One would expect relief to fill your lover’s features; instead, dread twisted them into a frown of dismay. Almost as if he had been hoping for your rejection.

Why?

The whisper of death among the trees grew louder, haunting, sending such a shudder through your body not even your lover’s warmth could hope to protect you from it, another urgent question scratching at the back of your mind.

Death, the trees seemed to whisper.

Whose death?

“Oh bosorka moja…”

Not Steven’s. Never. Not on your watch. Not as long as you walked this realm.

And not your child’s. You’d claw a throat open with your bare hands had anyone tried to take them away. Take her away. You had dreamed two nights prior, dreamed of a girl with Steven’s beautiful eyes and your hair caressed by the wind, her laughter filling the air as he sat her on his shoulders and she placed the daisy crown on his head-

The image had been so full of hope, so bright, so full of promise; it battled the current scent of death fiercely, one blending into another, and it felt like you were stood in the middle.

Your choice. Your power.

Your victory; or your loss.

You gulped, your gentle hold on Steven’s face growing shaky; with fear or the weight of responsibility, you weren’t sure.

“What is it, love? You are worrying me… come in. Tell me what weights down your-“

“Prince Anthony has been poisoned,” he said at last.

The whisper of the wind seemed to turn into a screech of a gale, even as the tree leaves and grass barely rustled.

The Prince… was he the one whose death you felt impending? It must have been.

In a split second, it became so clear why Steven was so shaken.

An impending death of his brother in arms. Of someone whom he served and appreciated.

Of the future ruler; quite possibly caused by the attempts of the party of Asgard.

An act of war.

Should Prince Anthony die, there would be no stopping at one death. Devastating number of lives could be lost. Including Steven’s.

No. Not on your watch. Not as long as you walked this realm.

But could you stop it?

Stood in the middle. Your choice. Your power.

Could you prevent a war?

Your mind was set into a whirl, various herbs and remedies for different poisonings refreshed in your mind.

“Do you know which poison it was?” you asked urgently, dropping your hands; and confused as why Steven’s remained firmly on your face, his expression speaking of pain greater than before. “Steven, love. What are his troubles? I can send a potion, pass it as a remedy from a physician-”

“Burning feeling in his forehead, weakness of muscles, trembling, cold sweat… he fainted and could not be woken up, only for a brief moment. He had trouble speaking, began to shake, fainted again...” Steven listed slowly, his unease growing with every word.

And so did yours.

Determination bled out from your body drop by drop, replaced by dread, the very weakness your lover was talking about as if settling in your own muscles and bones.

“The physician believes it might have been... aconite?” he added.

You had figured as much, seemingly endless moments before Steven spoke the dreaded word.

Aconite.

The worst nightmare of all living things; the deadliest daydream of those who meant harm and would not stop until their enemy released their last breath.

Death, screeched the breeze in the crowns of the birch trees; the yew trees, the very symbol of passing, joining in.

Death. War. Death.

Your power. Your victory. Your loss.

Your voice shook more frantically than young aspen leaves in the wind.

“Steven… aconite is deadly. I have no potion or salve for this. There is no cure-”

“That is what physician Banner said.”

“But then what…”

Your voice trailed off, words stuck in your throat, air stolen from your chest. A lighting from clear skies could struck you at the very moment and you would barely take notice of such.

It all made sense now. You having lost sleep. The whispers of death. The assumed shiver of power you shall no doubt need. And at last, Steven’s almost palpable dismay when you had said you’d help. That you’d do anything.

He had hoped you’d help.

He was terrified of it all the same.

You could feel blood draining from your face, rushing past your ears; unspeakable horror and determination swept you like the non-existent gale in the tree crowns.

“Steven…”

His grip on your face grew firmer, unsteady but urgent, his forehead pressed against yours as his eyes slid shut, his whisper a frantic promise, a confession and a prayer at once.

“I know. Believe me, my love, I know, and I have never been more scared of anything in my whole life,” he said huskily, barely audible over the wild thundering of your heart, the shaky sound of your quick breaths, even as the rest of the world faded into background, all noise ceasing. Or perhaps even the sparrows forgot how to sing, struck by fear for their life.“I would have not asked this of you if I did not fear that Anthony’s death would unleash a war with Asgard and might destroy us all… and if I did not believe I could protect you.”

“Steven-“

A thumb over your lip, gently pressing to silence your protest, Steven guided you to look up to his eyes, every word falling from his lips an oath signed by his own blood.

“Bosorka moja… I shall protect you, no matter the cost. You must know I would lay my life for you. I will, should it come to it. As long as you are safe.”

Consumed by adoration and terror at once, you slipped from Steven’s hold, shaking your head.

He had not the slightest idea what he was speaking of, the reckless fool.

He had no idea.

And he had no idea whom he would be leaving should he deliver on his terrible promise.

“These words are not nearly as comforting as you believe them to be! How would we-- how would I live without you?” you lamented, feeling the fire of power and indignation burn inside of you, chasing the fear away for several beats of your heart. “And I-- I am not even sure I can heal him.”

“You healed me,” Steven offered kindly, encouraging, confusion and the softest trace of hurt at you having escaped his touch twisting his face. He had no idea. He had no idea at all. “You said I was at the brink of death myself-“

“You were,” you spat, not appreciating the reminder – not of his injuries, nor of your past recklessness, as grateful as you were for the latter, not a single regret in your mind for having risked it all to save the handsome stranger with goodness etched into his very soul, having shone so bright it had outshined your doubts and fear for your life. But this was different. So much circumstance had changed. “But I was… I had faith in your soul, saw your good heart. I believed to be safe from you should I be too weak to protect myself after I casted my spells, and for that, I was able to pour all my magic into the healing. And I-- I was much more careless with my power then… “

You made a pause, inhaling slowly, gathering courage in the face of Steven’s features twisting further with distress.

“But Steven… that was before. I-- before we-“

“What is it, bosorka moja? Before what?”

Your lower lip trembled, regret lacing the soft touch of your fingertips to his face.

This was not how you wished for him to find out. You had told him before, erased his memory to ease his conscience and to prepare for the right moment, a moment fit for such joyful tidings; but much like him, having rushed here asking for help despite the unspeakable risks, you had no other option.

You had no choice.

You had no time.

The deep-sea blue with a forest green shade of his irises brimmed with emotion, tenderness and silent question.

With a lump in your throat, you dropped your hands again, curling them around your middle as if to protect the secret and save it for a reverent moment your love and lover – and your child – would have deserved.

Steven regarded your stance with dread visibly climbing up his throat. You could see it in his eyes, the sudden uncertainty, the questions written in his eyes growing frantic and painful.

Why had you stepped back from him? Why had you evaded his touch? Why did you seem taken by sorrow? What secret had you been keeping from him? For you must have had some. You must have not told him something crucial – and in a dark time like this, it shall come to light.

You appeared so shaken; you appeared scared. Of something he had failed to protect you from?

Or of his reaction to the revelation?

You chose your words carefully, speaking them slowly, even though you could feel him hanging onto every syllable.

“It is not only me anymore who needs to be protected.”

Steven did not understand; that much was clear from his expression, from the step he took closer to you only for you to take a step back, etching his hurt deeper into his face.

“I… I do not understand, my love. Do you have—do you know of someone who could help you? Do they need protection too?”

The they tasted of poison much bitterer than aconite; disbelief and profound pain.

You could almost hear it, the absurd questions he seemed to be asking himself. Was there… was there someone else? Someone else who had earned your love more fiercely than he had? More deserving?

The way your love remained hidden, the distance he still had to keep, laid heavy in his mind, always, now feeding his doubt; his fear that someone else now occupied the space he had so selfishly taken up in your heart.

But had only been here mere days ago, yes? Surely you could have not--- you would have not… or had you? No. That wasn’t possible. You were the kindest most loving person he had ever met, loyal to a fault – and he was blessed to be yours, to be loved, unconditionally, more than he deserved for keeping you his little secret.

You could not read thoughts; but Steven’s always seemed to be laid bare in front of you to card through. Betrayal and resignation all at once, jaw tight to mask his hurt, to hide the very doubt you read so clearly. Doubt, but not of you; of him. He had always carried it with him, the guilt of not providing for you as he imagined he should for his beloved.

Doubt, crystal clear in his gaze. It was possible, was it not? The most wonderful woman he had ever met, finally fed up, the goblet of your patience finally having overflowed, deciding to find a man worthy of you, able to take care of you, truly, one you were willing to-

You could not bear his mind screaming anymore, even as you had not heard a single word, a single thought, all of it but achy questions expressed by his gaze alone.

“No, Steven, I do not--- I merely cannot only think of myself now,” you said softly, searching for words to reveal the secret at last, not, not wanting to and craving it all the same. “I… I need to protect us.”

His shoulders sagged, doubt and heartache erased at once, tenderness at your worry for him melting into his smile.

“Do not fret, bosorka moja. I can hold my own.”

The faint smile in the corner of your mouth hurt, tears burning in your eyes.

“I know, rytier moj… and yes, I meant us, but I--- I also meant us.”

The arm you had curled around your middle shifted. Your palm spread pointedly over your belly as you met his gaze with hesitance and silent hope; for as much as you dreaded revealing the source of your worst fear, the tidings were still joyful. And you hoped with the entirety of your heart that Steven would accept them as such, much like the first time.

But first, he had to comprehend them.

Several rushed beats of your heart it took him; but then he finally did.

Suddenly, it was his turn to stand still and rigid as if a lightning from the perfectly clear skies struck him. And it might have as well.

His voice was barely louder than a breath, hoarse, laced with careful hope despite the glaring truth.

“You—we- are we-?”

A crystal-clear memory of those being the very words he had spoken the first time entered your mind, a single tear spilling over; the awe and reverence on his face mirrored his expression all the same as you confirmed.

“Yes.”

“You are with a child? My child?”

It would have been amusing, the questions, if you hadn’t been on a brink of hysteria and hadn’t there been a metaphorical sword hanging above your heads while you indulged in revealing the sweetest secret there was between lovers.

“Yes.”

Countless grains of sand in hourglass fell, Steven simply observing you, his gaze feasting on the entirety of you with newfound emotion that touched your very soul and made it shiver with delight. He observed you with such adoration and devotion you could only imagine he would show to a deity descending to walk the Earth.

And then he was surging forward, falling on his knees in front you, one hand on your hip, the other wrapping around your lower back to keep you close as he laid his forehead on your belly, shaky, slow and careful; nothing short of reverent. Despite the circumstance, all the tears prickling in your eyes found their release – every inch of your body sang, feeling Steven’s love for both you and the life he had a generous hand in creating.

“Oh bosorka moja… láska moja,” he muttered into the fabric before he looked up, hesitant fingers slipping under, to feel the very bump you had only noticed today. His lips parted in mute awe, eyes turning glassy with sheer delight and wonder at the miracle.

You allowed yourself another moment of basking in his love; feeling the delight spreading through every vein, through every bone and nerve, all the way to your very core and source of power. Your hands found gentle purchase of Steven’s hair as his lips pressed to your belly.

But then, the inaudible crackle in the air brought you both from your reverie, the breeze screeching of death instead of new life returning.

There was no choice; dread filled your being along with a haunting whisper of opportunity from a voice speaking in tongues you barely understood and yet deciphered as guidance.

You must go. You must try. Despite the risks.

Stood in the middle. Your power. Your victory; your loss.

Your only hope and your possible doom.

“I shall try my best to help, even as I do not know if I will be able to. But Steven…” you addressed him softly, revealing one more piece, one more source of joy, “our little girl must remain safe at any cost.”

The hands sprawled around your middle twitched, a single tear escaping him as his eyes shone.

“Our--- a girl? How-“

“It is but a feeling,” you admitted, earning a brilliant smile which lasted too shortly.

You smiled tightly in return, a few more tears rolling down your cheeks as Steven’s hand softly caressed your barely-there bump again, butterflies seemingly to erupting in your stomach, your heart humming.

He rose to his feet with something in his eyes turning steely, his gentle voice once against taking on a heaviness of an oath.

“I will protect you both, even if it should be the last thing I will ever do.”

One wavering breath was all the luxury you granted yourself before springing into action, not allowing yourself to lament at the potential of death weaved into Steven’s promise. You could not afford any more distraction. The hourglass was unrelenting, rushing you.

“I know. We shall get going.”

You could feel his eyes on you, a mute confusion as you ruminated through the cabinets, the fire lit, a small pot placed on it, two handfuls of water, milk thistle, ginseng roots, and sprinkle of uncaria leaves added to the mix.

“You can sit down, love, I shall only complete the potion swiftly and we will be on our way,” you assured him, reaching for a pinch of turmeric to add.

Steven did not, in fact, sit down – if anything, you could feel him grow taller behind you, as if his growing bewilderment added an inch or two to his already impressive height. His stare was firmly set on you, a little burning and slightly insulting since you could almost hear his silent questioning of your sanity.

A potion? But you had said-

You looked over your shoulder briefly, your lover’s body nearer than expected, causing you to need to crane you neck a bit.

“No, there is no potion to neutralise the poison – but this remedy strengthens a body, aids it to fight off an infection and weakness,” you explained, expecting Steven’s face clearing, but not waiting for it do so, busying yourself with reading the mental list of ingredients, recalling every indispensable element. Milk thistle, ginseng, uncaria leaves, turmeric… ah. Yes. Where herbs were concerned, rare or common, that would be all. Only one last ingredient.

A gentle hand on your elbow stopped you as you were turning to the stack of knives, halting your movements tenderly but firmly. Blinking, you lifted your gaze to Steven’s face again, disconcerted by his unreadable expression.

“Is it… safe?”

Had it not been for the large distress he was in, the feeling oozing of him and adding to your own shakiness, had it not been for the tenderness of his touch, you’d feign a slap to chase his hand away at the almost silly question – and at the sudden doubt in your knowledge and power and your reign over it.

“Steven, love, my apologies for the bluntness, but Prince Anthony is on his deathbed, so I cannot very well hurt him further and I shall have you known that this very potion you have drunk yourself-”

“For you,” he clarified, two soft syllables in contrast to your slightly exasperated words, your voice falling silent as sweet worry reflected in his sky-blue irises. Despite the circumstance, your heart seared at the fussing, no matter how groundless and ironic. “I am asking whether it is safe for you and our… our child to prepare that. I know it may seem irrational given why I am here, but-“

It was, you had to admit. And yet. You spent a precious moment, precious grains of sand falling in the ominous hourglass above your heads, placing your palm over his hand, reassuring.

“It is perfectly safe, rytier moj… certainly no more dangerous than rushing to the castle, the very heart of the Kingdom, and attempt to save the prince using the most outlawed practice in these lands,” you added with an unsteady cheekiness, earning an exasperated glare; and a full body shudder he couldn’t hope to contain.

The same tremble ran through your body; and yet, the whisper for caution was overshadowed by a tingle of energy unknown, a wordless encouragement. Almost a haunting promise from the Fate itself that bravery shall be rewarded.

But if that were true, where would the ever-present whispers of death and upcoming end fit in the mosaic then?

Shaking your head as well as the overwhelmingly bewildering sensations off, you charmed a soft smile for your lover and love – for the father of your child, already caring so deeply for the life to be born out of your love – and let your hand fall, turning back to your work as stream began to fill the cabin.

One last ingredient; a life essence to help maintain life.

You cradled the handle of the blade carefully in your hand, turning your other palm against the tip; the knife was out of your hand before you could comprehend how, pressed flat to Steven’s thigh, shielded from your touch.

“I’m sorry. I--- is that necessary?” Steven asked with a painful edge to his voice, his continued concern causing your heart to tremble.

“Yes… it is but a drop of blood, my love, I promise. A speckle of life essence to maintain life.”

His frown deepened as you reached for the knife again, fingers brushing his soothingly as you grasped at the handle. So many emotions played over his features; hesitance, concern, guilt. He must have realised you had used your blood before to cure him before you had even learned his name, another sacrifice having been made aside from having left yourself completely vulnerable to him when you had drained your magic and body alike to bring him from the death’s doorstep where you had found him at.

Then, an almost shy question, as if he felt too bold to even suggest such heretic thought.

“Life essence… would mine suffice, then?”

Where his implication was shy – that his mere mortal, human blood could match yours, the blood of a born witch – his determination was not.

He met your eye, a brilliant satisfied sparkle lighting up his irises when he read the truth in your hesitant gaze.

“Yes… it would. But-“

Your knight offered his left palm outstretched, no further questions. The bottomless trust in his gesture and in his eyes caused a lump to grow in your throat; the mere idea of cutting him, even if it was to only be but a scratch, had ache sting deep within your ribcage.

“Are you cert-“

“Would you rather I lead the cut myself, love?” he asked, his voice tender upon your hesitance, understanding the action would cause you pain – as if you were to hurt yourself instead.

And you might as well.

Your hands were made to heal his wounds, not cause them; your hands were made to erase his aches, not bring them; your hands were made to love, not hurt.

Your read in his gentle gaze as he nearly read in yours: I despise the thought of hurting you, rytier moj; It is but alright, bosorka moja.

You shook your head.

“I-- no. I may do it. I apologize, we do not have time for-“

A hand grasping your jaw, soft lips silencing your apologies; your eyes fluttered close despite seeing right through the trick. You felt the pressure of his hand against the blade, the silent sound of protest earning you a deeper kiss, a softer caress of his lips against yours, tasting sweeter than summer breeze, so achingly tender.

“There you go, bosorka moja…”

With his retreat, Steven ran his thumb over your cheek, smiling; then, he moved his injured hand into yours, leading you above the pot.

Slightly dazed and exasperated still, you sighed and carefully squeezed his wound to indeed only spare a drop of his precious blood.

As you pressed your lips to his fingertips in a thank you, you let your healing power flow through your touch, closing the cut your body should have worn.

“This had better be the only blood spilled today,” you whispered; and prayed too. You met your Steven’s stormy gaze as the contents of the pot sizzled, sweet coppery aroma rising in the air.

“It will, bosorka moja. It will.”

He sealed the deal with a kiss, sweet and desperate and bruising.

And falling on deaf ears, whisper in the crowns of the birch trees, his and your words echoed the very same song.

Blood had better be spilled…

Today, today, today…It will, it will, it will…

Next part

Other headcanon and playlist

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this universe

Complete masterlist

Endearments used: Rytier moj (My knight) Bosorka moja (Witch mine) Láska moja (Love mine)

I hope you liked this - let me know your thoughts!

May your November be sweet and cosy ✨

[luifaro]

playing that in stars and time game everyone's been talking about and idk why but i just don't trust loop like i can't shake the feeling that they have ulterior motives. i think it's just paranoia from flowey though this is like the second time some weird creature was able to remember everything despite time loop shenanigans and the first one i know of was definitely evil.

UPDATE: taking all the smiles i'm getting in the replies as a sign they ARE evil. thanks for the help gang!

[monards]

i fear that i don’t acknowledge enough the fact that i KNOW rhinedottir's evil !!! and she's horrible !!! and that she's wholly ireedamable !!! i know and love and respect that fact !!! i'd shoot myself in the frontal lobe if hoyo made her out to NOT be wholly evil !!!! but the reason i always go on and on and on about her humanity and complexity is because. SHE IS ALWAYS DUMBED DOWN !!!! TO JUST THAT !!!! it's literally the greatest and most moving theme (IN MY OPINION!!!) in genshin, that human beings are COMPLEX !!!! and they're MORE than just evil or bad or wtv. we see this through every character to almost ever be introduced to us -> literally just take arlecchino as an example. if anyone was at all paying attention to the discourse around her when the fontaine teaser dropped (and. 4.0 in general) it was the BIGGEST thing to watch people argue between "she's a harbinger, so she's clearly the most evil and the big antagonist of fontaine because of these accounts we have right now !!" versus the argument of "we've only seen ONE perspective of her so far, and it's no duh that all this stuff sucks -- but there's no way she's JUST gonna be all these horrible things,, because literally nobody to exist is just horrible and cruel with zero to no good in them. and also that'd make a shit narrative by hoyo in a story driven game" AND LOOK WHAT HAPPENED !!!! we saw !!! in REAL time !!! that while arlecchino was rightfully cruel and horrible and, yes the things she did were fucked up beyond belief and she should absolutely not be excused for any of it - she is NOT just evil ! she's shown to care, albeit in a fucked up way that only shows she's even more deranged ; but what's so incredibly important about her is the way that her being "evil" doesn't mean she's incapable of anything else. She is evil, yes— but so many of those evil actions have *motives* and *reasons* that explain them (but not excuse or condone!) and, although they don’t save her grace or anything of the sort, they DO show her true character. AND YHATS SO IMPORTANT!!!! She’s capable of being an antagonist while still being justified in some form, and given nuance and backstory and redeemable traits

I am !!! NEVER !!! going to say rhinedottir is a good person. she isn't! no shit sherlock ! how the fuck do you think im gonna go on and ignore the fact she sent both her kids to their deaths, and also fed one to another. dare i say, that is NOT anything good !!! suprise of the century !! woah !!! -- but what i AM gonna say is that she's much beyond that? hello !! not only has the point of her having not a zero good trait or will in her body been. proven false over and over and over again. but it's such ! Sad and not compelling is character choice for her *not* to be nuanced and complex and justified in a fucked up !! — like do you REALLY think hoyoverse (who is clearly capable of, and likes to make) complex characters, who are horrible, while not being *only* those horrible things, would pass up a golden (haha) opportunity to make a characters whose entire existence is JUST that??!,!2????

believe what you want! Do what you want! This is a silly video game that will be eroded along with time in a hundred in so years ! But god so help me, please don’t be willfully ignorant to the complexity and nuance of characters, just because you want a villain. No villain , real or not, is entirely evil. People are complex and multi faceted and people really, really need to hop off this cart of going “okay but stop saying she’s multifaceted because it takes away from her being evil” because it DOESNT! If anything, it makes her so much more compelling . Which is something some people can apparently. Not handle.

[cavity-collector]

i genuinely need to be put down like a dog i cant do this anymore man holy shit

[stars-obsession-pit]

So my knowledge is limited to reading through his wiki page but…

I feel like there’d be an interesting level of contrast in their motives. Khoa sees his vigilantism at least in part as an art rather than just a duty. Danny, on the other hand, would be more on the “duty” side IMO.

Because like, I don’t know if Danny wants to be a hero? He certainly stepped up, but I don’t think heroism would be one of his driving goals outside of that. Like, it feels to me like a more situational relationship. “Ghosts are causing chaos, and so I will use my powers to protect people.” Maybe I’m wrong, but if the ghosts stopped, I don’t feel like he’d feel a need to keep up his heroism. Sure, he’d certainly help if he came across problems, but I don’t think he’d seek them out like how Khoa does.

Which could then maybe potentially lead into a situation where Danny is… not a moral compass, but a bit of an anchor for Khoa. Like,, helping him avoid being completely consumed by his crusade.

Also was this concept motivated by how Ghost-Maker had a sidekick Phantom-One?

Does anyone have any ideas what Danny's dynamic with Khoa (Ghostmaker) would be like?? Cause I've been strangely fixated on the possibility of Danny and Khoa (mostly a family au instead of a ship, like mentor-student or father-son dynamic)

I DON'T KNOW! I'M CONFUSED BUT I WANT TO WRITE AND READ A GHOST AND GHOSTMAKER FAMILY! RAAAAAHHH

[starbuck]

i have so much love in my heart it’s unreal

[houseofwolvess]

turns out that eating breakfast after taking the meds you should eat with food is a good idea