#rather than bring it up in a conversation

[worfsbarmitzvah]

what i meant by this post:

this rant i typed out isn’t actually relevant to whatever i responded to except by the convoluted chain of tangential associations constructed by my brain, so posting it would not be productive or add anything useful to the conversation

i am not able to word my point well enough to make a coherent argument and i’d rather step away from the conversation than continue to waste both my and my interlocutor’s time when i know i can’t engage with the topic on the level it deserves

this is not actually a person or a topic i want to engage with or that i can engage with while protecting my own sanity, so i will not give in to the terrible rage demon in my brain that wants me to pick Every Single Battle

i am not the correct person to be making this argument and/or i am not knowledgeable enough on this topic to delve into it like this

any number of other situations in which whatever i’m typing is not actually an appropriate or productive thing to add to the conversation

what i did not mean by this post:

i am so annoying and nobody wants to hear what i have to say and it’s always better for me to shut up

no internet argument or conversation is ever worth engaging in

i promise you have thoughts that are worth putting into the world and experience and knowledge that can add to a conversation where it’s relevant. this post is about discerning what you do and don’t have to bring to any given discussion and knowing when it’s best to walk away. learning that skill also means learning when you should engage.

do you ever start writing a comment on the internet and then think “oh what the fuck am i going on about” and delete it

[muniimyg]

⋆꙳•❅ myg: true love ❆•꙳

in which you bring your boyfriend home to meet the entire family for the first time; aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews—everyone. only for them to fall in love with him almost as much as you have. in their excitement, they take all of yoonig's attention—leaving you all sulky and annoyed like the grinch

series m.list // taglist

note: lol ... idk (again)

warning: exhibition kink (they get caught... kinda)/corruption kink, kitchen sex, food play (yoongi licks/sucks cookie dough off her titties), standing/carrying position, doggy, dirty talk, ass slapping, yoongi cums on her face

//

you didn’t see this coming. 

yet, it’s not like you expected this to be a disaster.

the laughter in the living room feels like a distant hum, the chatter of your family’s voices weaving together like a fanbase at their favourite artist's concert. yoongi is at the center of it all, effortlessly charming your relatives, cracking jokes, and sharing stories. his confidence has your aunties cackling, and even your dad—who rarely laughs at anyone’s jokes—has a grin tugging at his lips.

it’s like they’ve known him for years, and you watch, your heart swelling with pride but tightening all at once.

as the day drifts on, yoongi’s laughter fills the house, a constant undercurrent to the flow of conversation. but with every minute that passes, you feel further and further away from him.

he’s a crowd pleaser—so naturally, everyone’s drawn to him. 

your mom asks him about his music, your cousin insists on showing him her latest dance moves, your brother talks to him about his gaming setup, and your nieces and nephews hang off his every word like he’s the coolest person in the world.

it should feel good, watching him shine. 

but it doesn’t.

it feels awful. it feels dark and annoying. it feels… not very merry.

not when he’s not looking your way.

not when he hasn’t even noticed how your heart sinks a little more whenever someone else steals his attention.

it should be yours.

by the time the house quiets, everyone finally settling into their rooms to sleep, you find yourself alone in the kitchen, the soft glow of the overhead lights casting long shadows on the countertops.

you should feel relieved. 

you should be happy he’s fitting in so well with your family. but instead, you’re pulling flour and sugar from the pantry, your fingers moving mechanically as you mix the ingredients for cookies.

it’s a way to pass the time, a way to keep your hands busy so they don’t shake from all the fucking jealousy. 

you sigh, glancing at the clock. 

it’s late, and he’s still not back.

the truth is, he’s probably helping your brother with the kids. but why can’t you stop yourself from thinking about it so bitterly? he rather help your brother put his kids down than to be  scraping dough into perfect little balls and placing them on the tray with you? you try to push the feeling of abandonment away, but it keeps pressing in, an ache in your chest that only grows with each passing second.

“i’m gonna break up with him,” you murmur under your breath, your heart tightening when you realize how badly you want him beside you. “next christmas.”

you hear the soft thud of footsteps behind you, and for a second, you think it’s just your tired mind playing tricks. but then you feel it—his presence.

he leans against the doorframe, his eyes dark in the low light, a frown pulling at his lips when he notices you.

“you’re still up?” he asks, his voice rough like he’s just woken up from a deep sleep.

“yeah,” you reply, your voice a little too sharp. “baking.”

he steps into the kitchen, his gaze never leaving you. his movements are slow, deliberate, and when he finally reaches you, he doesn’t say anything else. he just wraps his arms around your waist from behind, his chin settling gently on your shoulder.

his breath is warm against your neck, and you almost want to pull away, the tension in the air thickening the closer he gets.

“what are you making?” he asks, his voice quiet now, almost teasing.

“cookies,” you mutter, trying to focus on the tray in front of you. you move the cookies to the cooling rack, but you’re aware of his every move behind you. “for santa.”

“not for me?”

“ask literally anyone else in my family to make you cookies. i’m sure they’d love to feed one to you too.”

his fingers brush lightly against your arms, just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“hey,” he says, his voice softer now, like he’s sensing something isn’t right. his lips press gently to your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “what’s wrong?”

you swallow, your throat tight as you try to keep your voice steady. 

“nothing.”

he pulls back slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of your face, his expression concerned but unreadable. 

“did i do something?”

your chest tightens. 

the tears sting the back of your eyes, and you feel that lump form in your throat again. you try to force the words out, but they catch in your chest.

“it’s nothing. sorry, i know i have an attitude right now. go to bed. i’m gonna finish up here—”

“no,” he states. “tell me what’s going on, baby.”

you hesitate. 

then, you give in.

why should you hide it anyway? you know him. he won’t let you go until he knows what’s going on in your head and until it’s resolved enough for him to feel some sense of peace. yoongi can’t go to bed if you’re upset. 

“it’s just… everyone was… you were with them all day, and i just—” you break off, feeling the words slipping from you now. “i just felt like you forgot about me. like you were… everywhere but here. and i don’t know why it feels like this, yoongi. i don’t know why it annoys me so much. i’m so glad everyone loves you—but hello? i love you too. why’d you have to ditch me all day? it’s christmas in 20 minutes and this is the longest we’ve talked all day.”

you’re near tears, your voice cracking with the weight of it.

his arms tighten around you, pulling you back against him, his chest warm against your back. you close your eyes, leaning into the comfort of his touch, but the ache in your chest doesn’t fade.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to your neck. “i didn’t mean to make you feel that way. i got caught up. i didn’t realize i was leaving you out.”

his voice is low and thick with something you can’t place, and when he tilts your head to face him, the look in his eyes makes your breath hitch.

“you’re all i want, okay?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek, wiping away the first tear that escapes. “just you. i was getting along and getting to know them for you. you know that, right?”

“i do,” you sigh. “i’m mad at myself too. i don’t know why i’m so greedy when it comes to you… but i can’t help it.”

he leans in slowly, his lips brushing against yours, gentle at first, before deepening the kiss, pulling you closer, if that was even possible.

the world outside the kitchen melts away, leaving only the sound of your heartbeat, his breath, and the weight of the moment.

“that’s okay,” yoongi comforts you. “i’d feel the same if our positions were switched.”

“really?”

“absolutely,” he chuckles. “i don’t think i ever told you this… but that day you met all my friends and kept laughing at jin’s jokes? i went boxing with jungkook the next day to get all the anger out of my system.”

your eyes widen. 

“you went boxing?” 

“yeah.”

“that’s really hot,” you deadpan. “show me proof.”

he smirks. “why? does it turn you on?”

you scoff at him. 

“duh.”

yoongi’s smirk lingers, like he knows exactly what’s happening to your heart rate right now, but he doesn’t give you a chance to protest. 

in one smooth motion, he pulls you into him, lifting you effortlessly and placing you onto the kitchen counter. the cold surface of the counter sends a shiver through your body, but the heat radiating from him—his hands on your waist, his body pressed against yours—quickly warms you.

he leans in, his lips brushing over your ear as he teases, “you’re like the grinch when you're jealous, you know.”

you pull back slightly, glaring at him. “the grinch?”

“yeah,” he chuckles softly, his hand slipping to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a slow, teasing kiss that leaves your lips tingling. then, he places his hand on top of your left breast. he squeezes it and chuckles; “hey… your heart’s about to grow three sizes... i can feel it.”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. 

“you’re unbelievable.”

“oh, i know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your jawline before dipping down to place soft, lingering kisses along your neck. “but don’t worry. i think i like my grinchy little girlfriend.”

his breath is warm on your skin, his hands sliding under your shirt to feel the smoothness of your skin. you shiver again, not from the cold this time.

“you’re annoying,” you mutter, but it’s hard to keep the edge in your voice when his touch has your mind scrambled. “and i’m still irritated.”

“i know,” he says, a low chuckle vibrating against your skin. “but if it’s any consolation, i think you’re pretty damn cute when you’re all possessive.”

“i’m not possessive,” you argue, even as your heart beats faster, as you shift a little on the counter.

“uh-huh,” he smirks, his lips brushing over yours in a quick kiss. “that’s not what it looks like.”

you glare at him, half annoyed, half amused. 

“you’re the one teasing me about it.”

“true,” he says, his gaze turning playful, his thumb running over the curve of your waist. “but i think i’d let you get away with anything, even if you did steal my presents or throw snowballs at my friends.”

“you’re pushing it,” you warn, but there’s no real heat in your words, not when he’s looking at you like that—like he knows exactly how to push your buttons and make you melt all at once.

he leans in, his lips brushing yours again, this time slower, the kiss deepening in a way that makes everything else in the world seem irrelevant. you press into him, hands sliding up to his neck, your fingers threading into his hair.

“maybe i should keep pushing,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and husky. “i’ll make it worth your while.”

you pull back, breathless, meeting his eyes with a mix of amusement and desire. 

“you’re insufferable.”

“and completely yours.”

you huff at him. “shut up.”

he just grins, his hands resting on your thighs, pulling you closer until your lips are just an inch away. “you know you love it,” he teases, kissing you again, slow and teasing.

“i might,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper against his lips, “but i’m still the grinch.”

“yeah, you are,” he agrees with a smile, his lips brushing your cheek. “but you’re my grinch.”

you sigh, shaking your head. 

“you’re lucky i love you.”

“i know,” he says, his tone smug, his hands sliding down to your hips as he pulls you even closer. “i’m very lucky.”

yoongi knows how to handle you. 

you and your attitude. 

he knows just how to kiss you and how to fuck the grinch in you away. 

but, like he said; he doesn’t mind it. he loves it when you get possessive. he loves it when you sulk. he loves it when you react the way you do because it reminds him that you have real and big feelings for him. 

“miss my cock, huh?” he hums in your ear, as he spreads your legs. 

you’re still sitting on the kitchen countertop. yoongi stands in between your legs and he’s pushing your panties to the side. before you can answer, he spits on his cock and shoves it inside your tight pussy. 

“m-mhmm,” you moan, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

he moves closer to you, biting your shoulder. 

yoongi begins to thrust in and out of you. he fucks you, panting in your ear as he goes. 

“f-fuck,” he grunts. “so tight. is that why you’re being such a bitch, baby? needed to cum all day? should’ve just pulled me aside.”

you moan. 

“f-fuck me where? in my childhood bedroom? you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” you mutter. “you and your corruption kink. w-what now? you’re fucking me in my family kitchen… what if they come downstairs? all your hard work of trying to impress them will go to waste when they see you fucking me like this.”

he hisses. “like what? like you’re a dirty slut? aren’t you, though? took you like 5 seconds to get wet the minute i fingered you.” 

you huff at him. 

“so w-what? nnghh, you’re fucking me and acting l-like—oh my g-god—like you don’t love this.” 

he bites your shoulder. 

“i do love this,” he admits. “i love you.”

"love you too."

as yoongi fucks you, you begin to moan a little too loud. before you know it, he covers your mouth with his hand and scolds you to shut the fuck up. 

then, when you quiet, he turns to the side and eyes your cookie dough. he scoops a bit with his fingers before spreading it over your tits. he leaves a plop of it on your nipple. you giggle from the texture and because you know what’s to come. 

yoongi dips his head low and begins to lick the cookie dough off. 

he sucks your nipple, taking his time. as he swallows, he moans from the sweetness. your fingers get lost in his hair. you throw your head back from the sensation—the warmth of his tongue against your nipples, the way he tightens his lips and tugs at them… everything. he’s so good at this.

he’s so good with your body. 

“delicious, baby…”

“yeah?”

he kisses you. 

as he kisses you, he lifts you up. keeping his cock inside you, you wrap your legs and arms around him, helping him carry your weight. yoongi is strong, has always been… he loves this shit. 

yoongi thrusts and you help by meeting him halfway. you pull yourself up and down. you bounce and he grunts from how hard your bodies slam into each other. as he rides the high, he places you back on the countertop. he lifts your leg and puts one over his shoulder. 

with a clear view of your pussy, he uses his other hand to play with your clit. 

“ohh..” you whimper. “y-yoongi…”

you feel every curve of his cock inside you. as it throbs, your walls tighten and he feels it. it excites him. 

“you like doing this to me?” you moan. “you like fucking me like this, baby? you like fucking me while my entire family is asleep upstairs? are you sick in the fucking head? you want them to find us like this, don’t you?”

“shut up,” yoongi grunts. “fucking naughty girl… you deserve this.”

“yeah?” you ask sweetly. “i guess that’s true… but you’ve been mean to me all day. i think i deserve you like this. deep and on the verge of being caught. maybe they should find us. that way they can hate you a little. maybe they’ll think you’re disgusting for fucking their precious ___ in the kitchen—”

“shut. up.”

yoongi then pulls himself out and grabs you by the waist. he puts you down, roughly turning you over. he then shoves his dick back inside you, hitting you from behind. 

he slaps your ass and you let out a whimper. 

“they’re gonna wake up,” you tease him. “slap my ass again, baby. i’ll scream and they’ll come running down—”

“___, i swear to god—”

“fuck me harder, daddy.”

yoongi loses his mind. 

he slaps your add and grabs your neck. he tightens his grip around it as he fucks you. he fucks you sloppy and fast. he’s lost in his own world of pleasure, not giving a fuck if it’s too much for you. 

it’s not. 

you love it.

he fucks you hard, rough, and fast. 

as he reaches his climax, he pulls out and pushes you down. you follow and get on your knees. 

yoongi cums on your face. 

he lets out a shaky moan as he pumps himself. you stick your tongue out, waiting for the very last drop. just as you’re about to swallow—

“yoongi?”

yoongi’s head snaps towards the bottom of the staircase. his eyes widen at the sight of your brother. he’s rubbing his eyes.

“s-shit… hey. what are you doing up?” yoongi clears his voice, trying to play it cool. he shifts his body, hiding you. it’s a good thing the kitchen lighting is dim enough to help hide you and that he has a robe on.

“just came downstairs to turn up the heat,” then, he peers over. “are you baking?”

yoongi chuckles. 

“___ is… she went to the washroom.”

your brother laughs. “did you guys get into a fight? she only bakes at this hour if she’s upset.”

yoongi laughs awkwardly. 

“think we’re all made up now.”

finally, after what feels like an eternity, your brother laughs one final time before bidding yoongi goodnight and merry christmas. still, yoongi holds his breath for a second, waiting for the sound of footsteps retreating. then, when he’s sure he’s alone, he lets out a quiet sigh of relief.

“holy fuck. that was too close,” he mutters under his breath, turning just enough to give you a look. his eyes meet yours and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something—maybe a little amusement, maybe a little guilt. 

yoongi’s hands hover for a moment before he helps you up, his fingers brushing over yours with a tenderness that surprises even him.

you stare at him, your eyes wide with amusement, and for a split second, it almost feels like time slows down.

he feels his chest tighten, his breath catching in his throat. his throat feels dry, like he’s trying to swallow down the guilt that’s suddenly creeping in.

then, out of nowhere, you burst into laughter. 

the sound is bright, full of life, and it hits him harder than he expected. his stomach twists, and for a moment, it’s like his heart stops. his face stiffens, eyes narrowing slightly, the feeling of almost being caught hanging heavy between you.

arms crossing over his chest in a defensive motion, but there’s a subtle shift in his posture too—a little hunched, shoulders tight, like he’s trying to hide the nerves still buzzing under his skin. he presses his lips together. 

“it’s not funny,” he says quietly. “i could've been kicked out. your family would have had very valid reasons to hate me.”

“relax,” you say, your voice soft, teasing, and then your lips are on his. "my brother is blind without his glasses."

the kiss is light, a quick peck that softens him, like a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. he freezes for just a second, feeling the warmth of your lips, the way you fit against him. you pull back, your eyes meeting his, and there’s a softness there that he wasn’t expecting—something that makes him feel like maybe he doesn’t have to carry the weight of this on his own.

"still..." yoongi murmurs.

“they love you… and i’m grown.”

but still, he’s not entirely convinced. 

yoongi looks at you again, his expression softening, just the slightest hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes.

“never letting you convince me to fuck you in a shared space ever again,” he mutters, voice still rough but softer, the playful tone slipping back into place. 

he doesn’t want to dwell on the mess.

he never does.

instead, he takes a step closer, letting his hand rest on the small of your back, pulling you closer as if to remind himself that no matter how much chaos there is, this—you—are his calm.

you're his one true love.

“it was easy, though,” you tease him. “you and your exhibition kink.”

he sighs. “i know, but—”

“they love you. i love you.”

yoongi’s gaze softens. 

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you say, as he kisses the top of your head. you look up at him and smile. “merry christmas, baby. let’s get to bed. i brought a santa hat for you to wear cos i want you to cum in my chimney.”

[leoivys]

𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑻 𝑺𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑨 — 𝑱𝑨𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑻𝑶𝑫𝑫

– contents; fluff and mostly batfam stuff instead of just romance

– summary; a casually chaotic Secret Santa with the bat family as Jason's partner.

– word count; 1.5k

The roofs of the houses were beginning to gain a white hue as more snowflakes fell gracefully – the children in the city found joy in it, their laughter echoed in the streets while they initiated snowball fights with their friends and neighbors. Adults were busy shopping or grabbing a coffee to catch up in the presence of their loved ones, and the holiday music played in every street. Christmas was known for bringing even the most distant people back together.

A part of you hated how cold it was, but it was your idea to take a walk around the city with your partner before you drove over to the manor for Christmas day like you usually do. However, how can one ignore such events on these joyous days just for their own comfort?

The fuzzy feeling of the gloves around your hands and your coat enveloping you in its warmth was rather enjoyable even if the world outside was freezing while you walked with Jason. A soft sigh escaped you as you finally entered Wayne Manor, welcomed by Alfred opening the door for you and the heat that escaped the inside of the building.

Greetings, hugs, and smiles were exchanged with more excitement than usual while you took your seat on the couch in the main living room amongst the rest of the family – everything was decorated; the tree that you all helped set up, stockings on the fireplace with everyone's names engraved on the soft red fabric and no one can skip Alfred's baked goods resting on the coffee table.

It's odd thinking that a few years back, most of the family members were off doing their own thing instead of being here and spending time with everyone else like Jason avoided them for a good few years before he finally gave in. Now, everyone was present and agreed to have a Secret Santa along with the rest of the activities scheduled for that day.

Tim and Damian were surprisingly getting along, wearing matching Christmas sweaters as well, and then you noticed Dick supervising the two with a proud smile drawn on his face as he kept a conversation with Jason and Steph. Duke was helping Alfred bring in more sweets on the table. Cass and Barbara were calmly chatting with you about various topics and the one at hand; who was Secret Santa for who?

Meanwhile, Bruce observed everyone with a hint of a smile and a sigh as the place filled with chatter and the life it lacked most of the year due to responsibilities, his shoulders relaxed as he was more than happy to host this event annually and welcome his family –and those who he considered family– home.

“Alright everyone, enough of your chit chats. Let's start.” Dick stated, too excited to wait even further as he quickly moved to grab a present from under the tree and took a moment to read the name on it and handed it to Cass, and then kept handing out presents to everyone.

Each family member got something based on their personality, training, or hobby, and some presents were filled with meme cards describing them. Eager chuckles echoed in the room before Bruce interrupted.

“Who got that for Damian?” He asked in a mockingly firm tone as he pointed at the young boy swaying a katana similar to the one he had when he got trained by his grandfather in his hands. Just before anyone could answer, Barbara did everyone a favor and started playing Christmas music through the speakers set by the tree.

Jason scoffed at the sight of Bruce's dynamic with Damian – it had been a while since a youngling had given him a heart attack, enjoying the show and unwrapping his present. His hands traced the hardcover of the book as he lifted it up and read the title; ‘All the light we cannot see’ which had him confused for a moment. He had that book in his library already, didn't he? So he studied it further, flipping through the first few pages only to find that not only was it a first edition copy, but it was signed too.

His eyes flicked to you as his hands traced the sign on the delicate page of the book before he snapped the book closed with a smile brighter than the star atop the tree. Jason immediately knew that his gift was from you since he had been ranting about how much he wanted this for the past month or so. His suspicions were confirmed by the smile on your face.

It was really hard to find it online and get it signed just for him, but you knew it would be worth it.

“You didn't.” Jason mumbled, finding the fact that he had this book in his hands as he clutched onto it like it might disappear into thin air.

The known-for-his-violent-ways Red Hood was now acting like a literal child on Christmas, completely awestruck and bringing you in a tight hug as he muttered his thank you's. His attitude earned a chuckle from you, his embrace giving you even more warmth while his heart was beating out of his chest.

Duke blinked a few times. The newest addition to the family was having a hard time trying to process the sight before him. “Is Jason okay, or is he having some sort of cardiac arrest?” he managed to mutter, his gaze shifting to everyone else laughing at his question.

Your gift consisted of newly made gadgets, upgraded equipment, and a personal touch with a vintage Polaroid to top it off – definitely Tim's job.

Yet you couldn't help but be thankful for those, given Dick's situation; shirts that were literally merchandise about his butt, an eye mask for power naps, and a ‘big brother manual’ book. “Whose idea was this?” His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose in mock annoyance, a small smile brightening his fine features.

“That's a brilliant idea, Dick.” Jason chimed in, not bothering to hide his usual smug smirk. It was definitely him who thought of that combination as a good Christmas gift for his older brother.

Meanwhile, Barbara wasn't having it easy either, with the present in her hands containing a vintage phone and a custom Lego set of Oracle. “A Nokia? Really?” She asked, a low chuckle escaping her lips as she turned to face Steph. “You're lucky I like Lego sets, but you're stuck in this with me.” Barb threatened playfully as she set the box by her side.

Stephanie raised her hands in the air in mock surrender, she didn't seem to mind the idea of building a custom Lego set in the company of Barbara; in fact, it was a good opportunity to spend a girl's night along with you and Cass while having a chit chat – or gossiping. “It's for emergencies. And the Lego set was cute.” She explained with a shrug.

“Fine. You'll see how cute it is when you have to build this many pieces.” Barb protested, her tone lacking real bite as she pointed back at the amount of pieces written on the box. “You're all invited to our suffering.” She commented jokingly, glancing at you and Cass.

Cass perked up at the idea, “I'll bring the snacks.” She said simply, her voice soothing as ever even as it held a bit of enthusiasm as she gave Barbara a thumbs-up.

Meanwhile, Dick was flipping through the pages of the manual and hastily reading the contents before he could comment on them. “Who wrote this?” He scoffed, shaking his head disapprovingly, and continued reading. “...’Always take responsibility for your siblings' mess-ups.’ Really, Jason?”

Jason leaned back in his seat and shrugged, his arms crossed over his chest as an amused huff escaped him. “Merry Christmas, Dick.”

Tim studied the merch, trying his best to bite back his laughter at what his eyes met while Duke observed alongside Damian, who decided to address the situation accordingly. “That was uncalled for, even by your appallingly low standards, Todd.”

Dick sighed and shook his head once more, yet he couldn't help the grin spreading across his face as he couldn't help but find the situation entertaining. “You're so getting payback next year. And I'm rigging the draw.” He stated as he tried on his nap mask with a proud smirk.

Bruce, sitting quietly by the fireplace with Alfred whom he had exchanged gifts with, took another sip of his coffee and sighed, allowing himself a small chuckle as he watched the banter unfold. He was prouder than he'd care to admit, of everyone in the room.

“Everyone, pause.” You interrupted every party in the room as you took hold of your brand-new Polaroid and held it out for a selfie, trying to make sure everyone was in the frame. “Say ‘Merry Christmas!’.” You exclaimed with pure excitement and messily snapped a picture, holding the moment forever captive.

– a/n; Merry Christmas and happy holidays in general ♡

[joeburrowshaircurl]

Low Battery

Paring: Joe Burrow x reader

warnings: depressing thoughts, angst, family dynamics. fluff

words: 1,116

a/n: I typed this out in one straight shot with no previous details figured out so I hope its okay. This is the complete opposite of all of the great and cute Christmas Joe fics everyone has been writing. Hope you all had a great Christmas if you celebrate! But without further ado! Its Christmas Eve, and Joe sees your social battery has worn out for the day.

Your family was mingling with each other, laughing and talking around the kitchen table and in the living room. Your little cousins and niece and nephew were in the playroom, keeping each other entertained with toys. You were sitting alone at the kitchen island, slowly eating the food on your plate. There wasn't any other room for you to sit but you didn't mind. Your posture was slumped slightly, your thoughts turned inward rather than focusing on the party going on around you. Joe, moving away from talking with your dad, turned the corner to see you and he immediately knew what was wrong. Your social battery had run out, and he knew you were struggling with spending time with your family.

You felt a hand land on the small of your back gently rubbing a spot on your sweater. The touch made you smile softly, grounding you and bringing you back to reality. You knew it was Joe without having to look. "Hey." He said softly, glancing at your half eaten plate. The amount of food that had been made from scratch over the past few days in preparation for the party, could have fed an army. Christmas Eve had always been a big deal in your family. But you hadn't eaten a lot. "I'm ready if you are." He hadn't asked how you were because you knew you'd put on a brave face and say you were fine when you weren't. At least while there were others around.

You nodded and picked up your plate to scrap off the food into the trash while Joe went to grab your coats and hats. "Time for us to head home, I've got to start prepping for Broncos game on Saturday." Joe announced towards your family as he held your coat so it was easier for you to put on, and you smiled at him once it was on.

"Thank you for coming early to help with the set up." Your mom chimed in from her spot at the table. There would be no hugs, your family didn't hug or say "love you" unless you were flying and there was a possibly of you crashing and dying.

"No problem at all." Joe smiled and went around to say good bye to everyone while you followed, putting on smiles and hugging your niece and nephew tightly before you made your way through the door and to the car, Joe holding the passenger side door open for you. "Thank you." You grabbed his arm gently and got onto your tip toes to kiss him on the cheek before getting into the car and putting your seatbelt on. You felt like the complete opposite of the confident women you had grown into since being away from home. Christmas hadn't always felt like this, it had been magical when you had been a child.

The car ride home was quiet, Joe didn't force conversation. He did take your hand in his, entwining his fingers with yours as he drove with one hand. Glances he stole in your direction once in a while to see how you were doing. The further away you got from the house, the better you felt.

Being shy, quiet and being a girl in an old school traditional family where boys were valued more, you had always felt somewhat out of place. Like whatever you did, wasn't enough. Your family had never done anything to hurt you, but words were said on occasion that cut you. And any time you tried to do something by yourself without Joe around, they were overbearing. Years of it had taken its toll mentally, even if they meant well. Being the girlfriend of an NFL quarterback, had caused you to adapt to being alone a lot but that hadn't been hard for you since you had lived life on your own most of your life.

But there was guilt that you didn't actually have it that bad compared to some families. You loved your parents and family still, you had good moments with them, but it was draining to be around them. Joe had helped you grow as a person in more ways than one, and during the season you were his rock as much as he was yours on the off season.

Once Joe parked in his garage, you unlocked the front door and took off your shoes, immediately wanting to change out of your clothes and slip into something more comfortable. Joe's excuse to prep for the Broncos wasn't a complete lie, he had had started to as soon as the Browns game had finished. But there were more things he wanted to look at and you didn't mind, it was part of his job and you would support him.

Once you were changed, you went to find Joe who you figured would be in his office. But you almost walked right into each other in the doorway of the bedroom. "What are you doing?" You asked as you noticed he had his Ipad in his hands with a notebook and pencil. "I'm going to study some film while you lie down." You knew by his tone, he wasn't taking no for an answer.

Joe couldn't read your mind all of the time, which is where communication came in. But he was pretty good at noticing what you needed during certain times, and this was one of those moments. It made your heart melt.

"Alright." You moved away from the door to climb into your side of the bed and get comfortable. Joe turned the TV on so he could cast from his Ipad to the tv so it was easier to look at. You loved when he let you look at plays from the other team, his fingers dancing on the screen to manipulate it to freeze and go backwards and forwards as he studied.

Joe noticed you watching and he smiled, knowing you felt better. "You're okay. You're doing good, I'm proud of you always." He reassured you as his fingers ran into your hair for a moment as he leaned down and kissed your forehead. You shifted to snuggle close to him as much as you could without getting in the way of his things on the bed. His words made you tear up for a few moments but no tears actually fell. You put your arm across his lap and smiled up at him. "I love you." Your voice was soft and full of love. "I love you too." He smiled before he focused on his Ipad once more. It wasn't long before you fell asleep, content with the life you had built for yourself.

[cheerysmores]

Unfinished business

Pairing: Lucanis X Shadow Dragon Rook (named: Phyrra Mercar).

Word count: 3K

Summary: Post game. Some thoughts on what would happen if someone took a Crow contract out on Rook. Will most likely be added to a longer fic later.

***

If there was any amount of gold Lucanis could pay to not speak to his cousin tonight, he’d gladly part with it. He’d found a perfumed note slipped between a dozen missives from the other Talons. The five words were enough to make his stomach turn. 

Urgent business. Usual place. - Illario 

He crumples it again, fixing his stare to Treviso’s darkening horizon from his perch on the Villa’s roof. It was his favourite spot as a boy, one hidden by an ivy-strewn chimney where he could rub the bruises from his Grandmother’s cane or his own clumsiness. They both could

It’s been months since they’ve talked. He wishes it were longer, but there are only so many contracts he can throw at Illario to get him out of the city. There are longer, more incomprehensible jobs that would probably have him away permanently, but he can’t quite bring himself to waste Caterina’s training on those. His cousin is still a good assassin. It doesn’t change the fact that Lucanis would rather eat his own knife collection than have another conversation with him.

Spite flickers from tile to tile out of the corner of his eye, grumbling and restless. The demon had become insufferably impatient when Phyrra’s scent finally left his bedsheets. He’d chastise him more if he hadn’t been the same the second she’d left the city again. 

He rolls the parchments between his fingers. He wants her here, needs to talk to her. He’d kill any number of people for a working Eluvian so he could pull her back and spill his spiralling thoughts into the curve of her neck… then pointedly ask if the other Shadow Dragons had guilted her into rebuilding Minrathos brick by brick. 

He pictures her next to him, eyes bright, hair ignited with colour from the last stripes of sunlight painting the roof. She’d put her head on his shoulder, gently jab him in the side and say something along the lines of ‘If he tries anything, I’ll politely remind him that all the grease in his hair makes it especially flammable.’ 

He almost smiles. If anything the next conversation should at least liven up the next letter he pens.

***

The scent of cinnamon and old coffee greets him as he enters the kitchen. Before, it had always been their place to decompress, mainly because of the easy access to pastries and alcohol. Illario sits at the small table next to an open bottle. He’s as primped as ever, coat pressed, hair styled, lips dark from the wine. Only his slightly crooked nose ruins his carefully sculpted image–  a reminder of when they finally had it out at Caterina’s birthday party. It started as needle sharp words over dinner, ended with the least graceful brawl two Crows had ever been a part of. He’s not sure what stung more, his Grandmother’s icy stare as Viago pulled them apart or her short remarks on his sloppy form.

Spite lurches from the darkness. His anger is a bitter taste in the air as he glares at his cousin. “Finally. Let me finish this.”

Illario refills his glass. “Lucanis, I wasn’t sure you’d actually come.”

The way he stretches out his name makes his skin crawl. “I half expected to find your body down here with a thank you note stabbed through it,” he answers, firmly shutting the door behind him.

Illario’s smile doesn’t falter. “Disappointed?”

“Do you really want the answer to that question?”

A low muffled groan suddenly bleeds through the cellar door behind Illario. He leans back and kicks it until whoever is in there stops.

Lucanis runs a hand down his face. “Don’t bring work back here if you’re not prepared to clean the floor yourself.”

“It’s just some unfinished business. Don’t worry about that for now.” Illario pushes the second chair out from under the table. He sighs when Lucanis remains standing. “You’re always so humourless when you have to sleep alone. Convince Rook to leave Minrathos already and save the rest of the Talons a headache.”

Spite slinks forward, lips pulled back into a snarl. "You got to punch him. It’s my turn. Mine."

Lucanis shoots the demon a harder stare. “Not yet.”

“You never let me.” 

“I said no.”

Illario raises a thick eyebrow. “Oh sorry, I should have asked. Am I talking to you or him right now?”

“When he’s talking, you’ll know.” He’s fairly sure he’s the only man on Thedas that can confirm exactly how vivid a demon’s imagination can get. Spite had spent more than one evening painting an extremely colourful picture of all the ways he could tear out his cousin’s heart instead of letting Lucanis sleep.

“Well I’m fairly certain it was the demon who tried to stab me,” Illario says.

“The first time.”

“Yes. The dozen or so times at the Opera were very necessary after I was already on my knees. You could have–”

“Illario.” Lucanis interrupts sharply. “If there’s a point to this meeting, get to it faster.”

“Fine.” He produces a small package from his coat and pushes it  across the table. “I have a gift for you.” He takes a longer drink of wine as Lucanis takes it. It’s some deep Orlesian red by the smell. Far too expensive for everyday business.

He gestures to the bottle. “I’m assuming there’s an occasion.”

“Of course.” Illario raises his cup in a crude toast. “Celebrating your loss of virginity before ascending to First Talon. I’d say tell me everything but I’m assuming it’s a fairly brief account.”

Lucanis lets the sound of tearing paper fill the heavy silence. Two years ago he might have laughed at that, maybe even stolen his own bottle from Caterina’s finer collection. Back when it would have truly just been the two of them.

Spite eyes the package, nose wrinkling.

He finds a dagger nestled inside. It’s well-made but unassuming, one a thousand hidden up the sleeves of Crows across the continent. He can tell it was cleaned in a hurry, the surface smeared with a thin sheen of crimson and something darker–  a cheap poison he surmises. The good ones don’t leave a stain. His fingers stop as he touches the serrated edge. He knows the pattern. He’d traced the exact scar over Phyrra’s shoulder the last time she’d come to his bed. She hadn’t seen who it was, just heard their screams as she shoved them from the city walls. 

Spite inhales. “Smells like. Deathroot. Iron.” His sharp eyes narrow, snapping to Illario again. “Rook.”

Lucanis’ fist tightens over the handle. “Who was it?”

“One of the lower houses. None of the Talons would ever accept that contract– at least for now.” Another whimper comes through the cellar door. Illario kicks it harder. “I’m holding onto the name until I know you’re not going to do something stupid.”

The bite of Spite’s rage prickles under his skin. He can feel the demon’s words digging into his own tongue, desperate to be spat. 

‘Burn them. Burn them all to the ground.’

Illario puts down his glass and crosses the room. “You must know this won’t be the last time.”

“She made a lot of enemies. We both did. And the Houses can give up as many Crows as they can afford to lose.”

“Those contracts are not going to come from anywhere but Antiva.”

Lucanis doesn’t look up from the knife. “You cannot be sure of that.”

The words hang in the air, bitter as they are foolish. Illario leans back on the table, exhaling loudly when he doesn’t continue. “Fine, if you need an evil face to say the words, I’ll oblige you. What exactly do you think will happen when Caterina dies?”

“I’d want to see her body before I’d believe it.”

Illario huffs out a small laugh. There’s no warmth to it. “You have the title but she still holds the power with an incredibly tight leash. When she finally lets go, do you truly believe that the Houses’ hatred of me is enough to accept an abomination as First Talon? I might be banished to the shadows but it’s all the better for hearing things people are only brave enough to whisper in such dark corners.”

Lucanis closes his eyes. It’s not a conversation he needs now, never one he needs to have with Illario. He knows the knife’s edge he walks, a thousand Crows pecking at every step. They’ll kiss the ring in front of the Talons but he’s seen the way their eyes search for breaks in his expression for the demon to push through. He’s just one rung above the traitor in front of him. Neither would be standing here without the bloody weight of their surname to throw around.

“They can come after me themselves then,” Lucanis retorts.

“Oh come on. You know that isn’t the logical move. The Eight Houses still support you so any civil war would be over before it began. Even before Caterina named you, everyone knew you would be chosen, so plans were already being formed about ways to usurp. Except then, you didn’t have such a glaring weakness to aim for.”

The moaning behind the door pitches to a discordant wail. Spite continues to stare at the side of Illario’s face, shaking with hate.

"He hurt us. He hurt Rook. Let me finish it. LET ME."

Lucanis pushes down harder as the demon gnashes against his restraint. It’s relentless now, a hurricane clawing at a door that he’s holding closed with his bare hands. 

“Call her weak when she’s in the room and see how long you last,” he says. He can still see the burn scars from her staff stretching like rough plaster above Illario’s collar. Leaving his face unharmed was her own kindness.

Illario rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say weak. I said weakness. I’m certain Rook could fight off a small army of Crows if she needed to. It doesn’t mean they won’t stop or that she won’t slip up. I’m not the only one that knows she can’t swim.” The noise behind the door grows louder, mixing with Spite’s growling until Illario’s words are barely audible. “And what happens after that, cousin? We saw what happened when I killed Zara instead of you. How much worse is it going to be when something happens to her? See how long all those alliances last when you finally lose control and one of the other houses has the chance to take everything.”

Spite hisses next to him. ‘LET ME. FINISH THIS.’

Lucanis’ chest burns as Spite pulls harder. “I'm not going to let that happen.”

“Not even when they send you her body so neatly wrapped in the cape you gifted her?” Illario folds his arms, words softly measured. “Or maybe they’d stretch it out and you’d get her back piece by piece–”

The knife leaves Lucanis’ hand before he can finish. It sails past his face and slams into the cellar door with a thunderous crack. Everything falls silent. Spite stays still, watching with wide eyes as Lucanis forces his breathing back into a regular rhythm. It takes all his remaining strength not to punch Illario again when he smirks, the words point proven painted there like rouge. 

Lucanis looks away. He’s better than this. He should be better than this. Illario had been a pickaxe to the cracks of his patience for decades now and he can count on one hand the number of times it had actually snapped. The times his cousin was right.

He can still feel the wounds in his mind from Spite tearing through and lunging at Illario– his first taste of becoming a true abomination. It had taken every fiber of his control and the sting of blood magic to halt the knife. Even after he’d left Treviso he could still feel Spite’s teeth digging in, desperate for the revenge they were both owed. 

After beating him to a bruised mess, Illario was a matter he could mostly hold Spite’s back on. But if something happened to Phyrra…

Something colder curls around his heart. He’d already lost her once. It was a miracle that the kitchen in the Lighthouse was still standing after he’d finally let the cocktail of anger and guilt pull him under. He’d woken to bloody fingers, a mosaic of broken glass and the terrified stares of his remaining companions. It was a lie to blame Spite, another to ignore the fact that the demon is as much a part of him as each breath now. Lucanis can see the scars reflected on his face, his own anger bleeding into those sharp glowing eyes. They were forced together like oil and water, constantly fighting to see who would end up on top. It’s different now. Their alliance opened something between them, Spite twisting into every muscle until the lines where Lucanis ended and he began blurred into nothing. 

They’d both kill for her. Maker forbid the next person who tempted them.

Illario tugs the dagger out of the door. “What was it Caterina always said? ‘Feelings make you weak. Make you sloppy.’ She beat that into both of us and yet still favoured you for that heart of yours.” He flips the blade in the air and catches it in his other hand. “Forever doing Caterina’s bidding, even when you hated it. You never even wanted the title, always said that death was your only calling.”

Lucanis eyes the blade in Illario’s hand. “Plans change. People change.”

“I didn’t change and you're a fool if you think I did.” Illario takes a step forward, regarding himself in the knife’s reflection. “That’s why I made my plan. Antiva would be safe, I’d have what I wanted, you’d have gotten the end you thought you deserved.” He closes his eyes, frowning. “Fucking Zara.” 

Lucanis stays quiet, his gaze not leaving the weapon as Illario tilts it forward. 

“I’m not sorry for what I did. If you’re waiting for an apology then you might as well kill me now. This is how Crow business is done.” He runs his thumb along the metal, dark eyes boring into Lucanis’. “You’ll always be a better assassin than me. But I’d be the better Talon.”

Lucanis walks forward until the tip of the blade is pressed against his chest. “Then you should have used your own knife.” 

One thrust is all it would take to put him down. Whether or not Illario could push hard enough before Lucanis smashes his face into a wall is another matter entirely— one he isn’t sure his cousin is willing to bet his currently unbroken teeth on.

A long cold moment passes before Illario sighs and tosses the blade onto the table. “It would be easier to count the Crows who don’t want me dead so I’d like to avoid infighting as much as you. Either get Rook here or end it, right now we’re both just waiting for this fragile peace to shatter.”

Spite circles him again.  “Why not now? His back is turned.” He turns to Lucanis when he doesn’t answer, his form shaking with impatience. “We hate him. He made us like this.”

Lucanis ignores him. Maker knows it would be so much easier to hate his cousin, to ship him off on a glorified suicide mission like everyone, even Phyrra, expects him to. He just… can’t. Every time he considers it, the memory of them walking in tandem behind their parents’ urns swims to the surface. From then on, it was them against the world, two little boys facing the iron of their Grandmother’s stare and shouldering the endless weight of her expectations.

That little boy became the man that wanted Lucanis dead. Exactly as he was trained to. He’d heard whispers long before he was dragged to the Ossuary: House Dellamorte, a family tree with so many withered branches it’s amazing it hasn’t snapped under the weight of the rot inside. He’ll be damned before he uproots it entirely.

“If you hear anything else, I want to know,” Lucanis finally murmurs. He jerks his head towards the cellar when the muffled whining starts again. “And deal with whatever that is already.”

Illario strides to the door, fingers poised on the handle. “It’s another gift actually. As it turns out, Rook didn’t quite finish the job and I happened to find said Crow crawling back to Antiva.” His smile sharpens a little. “I may have told that particular House that you’d be more forgiving if they let you clean up.”

Spite is off Illario in an instant, staring through the door like a bloodhound zoned in on wounded prey.

Lucanis calmly takes off his jacket and plucks the knife from the table. He remembers the size of the scar ruining her back, the surrounding bouquet of broken veins where the poison had burned through. A target placed there because she chose to love him.

Illario watches him pull open the door, chin resting in his upturned palm. “It’s almost a mercy I suppose. You’re usually so efficient.”

“Yes, I am,” Lucanis quietly affirms. Spectral wings burst from his back, feathers curling forward like scythe-blades. The whimpering ceases entirely as he steps into the darkness, eyes flashing a brilliant violet. “He isn’t.”

***

Bonus Phyrra

[contentloadingandstuff]

Relationship Headcanons - Ganyu x Male!Reader

A/N1: This is a new format, and as such, it includes just one character. Do you think it's comprehensive enough, or is there something I missed? A/N2: When I looked for a gif for this one, I found that the gif I used in the "at the dead of night" Ganyu fic is one of the first results when you search up her name. Nice to know I have somewhat of an impact, small as it may be. A/N3: While I was thinking of making a Christmas special, I decided that the best gift for you guys would just be getting posts out more regularly - so I will post them at least twice a week for the next three weeks at the very least. Anyway, happy Christmas, and enjoy!

Loving Ganyu requires patience and the gentlest approach, but her affection eventually blossoms on its own. She just needs a bit of time and guidance - it's her first time, after all. 

Being a notoriously hardcore worker, at first she'll be absent from home for most of the day. Her work-life balance is completely off the rails, and Ganyu will need all the help she can get in overcoming her centuries old habits. Now she has someone, remind her. Tell her that this special someone cares for her very much and would rather not see her worn out like an old pair of boots each night. 

An important skill you have to teach her is saying the word “no”. “No, I won't accept overtime”. “No, I have plans this evening”. “No, putting the entirety of Qixin paperwork on my shoulders is not ethical or healthy - Ningguang needs more than three secretaries”. In time, Ganyu will find it in herself to set healthy boundaries on how much she works. True, helping Liyue grow and prosper is her passion, but enough is as good as a feast. 

Walk alongside her on this road. Visit her at work, if only to give her a simple kiss on the forehead. Make sure she comes up from the underworld of bureaucracy to the real world. Bring her light snacks. Ask her about her day. Remind her that there is someone waiting for her back home - she will appreciate that beyond words. 

Working for the Liyue Qixing means basically swimming in Mora - especially that Ganyu leads a rather humble lifestyle. She does, however, live in a very nice multi-story house with a large garden in the most scenic part of Liyue Harbor, with a skeleton crew of staff to maintain in her absence (that being most of the time). But besides that, her expenditures are very small and everything she doesn't need or put aside, she donates to charity. 

While having a boyfriend is nice, she would feel much better if she’d be able to refer to you as her husband instead. Especially that she would prefer to save herself for the wedding night, and make your first “proper” time really beautiful and special. Ganyu is also a bit subservient to you, used to the idea that the husband is the head of the house - no matter if she has more money. At the same time, she is happy to be taken care of and protected, so as long as you treat her right, she’ll be comfy. 

While Ganyu isn't one to insist on much in a relationship, she will encourage you to live with her. Her house is big and quite empty… Having you there would liven it up and surely make it much cozier. Coming home to a warm hug and a kiss from her lover is a dream come true…

In terms of past times, well… Ganyu doesn't have much. Her work is her main pastime, or was anyway, and she didn't really see a reason to look for other things to do in her spare time. Just a few conversations with you made her realise that, while you have a broad range of things to talk about, she doesn't quite compete in that regard. Hundreds of years of paperwork made poor Ganyu quite a one-note person, but she will work on that, don't worry. 

And so she will frequently come up with things to do, together. Would you like to go to a museum? Or see a movie from Fontaine? You don't have to go with her, but… It would be really nice if you did!

Have any problems at school or at work? Personal Secretary Ganyu is on the case! She's had lots of experience in all sorts of matters and will gladly put it to use in helping out her favourite person succeed. She's a patient teacher and never raises her voice, no matter how hard it is for you to learn or do something. With her backing you up, nothing is impossible. 

Ganyu, by her own admission, gains weight easily, so while the urge to fatten her up with love and Qixins is huge, she'll be grateful if you hold your horses. Her thoughts always spiral into self consciousness about weight, so it might be a good idea not to include chocolate. However, a more tender approach to her and her beautiful body - with countless kisses and words of affirmation - may change her outlook on herself. If you do get her something to eat, make sure to feed her - she couldn't say no to you. 

Arguments with Ganyu are white crows in your day-to-day life. Being a timid and easy going person, it takes an impossible amount of pressure to make Ganyu lose her composure. If that somehow happens, she will be so upset that her anger will almost instantly fade into tears. She just cannot fight with you. You mean far, far too much for her to be angry. No matter if it's her fault or yours, she will end up apologising for it profusely, hoping to get past this dreadful road bump. Ganyu knows that she is prone to doing this, and will try to be a bit more decisive, only to fail spectacularly. No matter - she trusts you to never abuse that part of her character. 

And don't you dare, Ganyu has to be protected at all costs. 

At home, she’s a quiet and busy presence - even if it happens to be that time of the month. Ganyu doesn’t really struggle with illnesses or bodily discomfort that much, for which she is really thankful to the fates. At most, when afflicted by either, she’ll get extra sleepy and will love some extra cuddles to make the pains go away. 

You are probably the only person in Teyvat that has the right to touch her horns. They are indeed sensitive, but with the right guidance, the feelings of having these caressed are simply divine. Having their horns touched is a very intimate experience for Qilin, and Ganyu is no different. It will always be in bed, cuddled into each other and falling asleep, or while engaging in more lively bedroom activities. 

Ganyu has some friends and family, and they are quite happy to keep an eye on her. Xianyun will make sure that you are a proper man worthy of her disciple’s hand, and when she does confirm that fact, expect to hear all about Ganyu’s early life, as well as past hobbies and habits; knowing them might prove useful even in the present day. She will also make frequent visits, if that’s something you are okay with. Shenhe, on the other hand, will not follow you around per se - not you as a couple, that is. Because she will keep an eye on you. If you ever raise your hand at Ganyu, expect to be skewered and served at the next Lantern Rite’s banquet. But as with Cloud Retainer, if you prove yourself to be a good man, expect the same level of protection for yourself - Shenhe knows that your safety is Ganyu’s happiness, and if anything were to happen to you, her adoptive sister would cry her soul out. 

Zhongli, being Zhongli, will gladly officiate the wedding. 

The secretary is a girl that goes to sleep and wakes up early. She eats healthy and exercises just enough to keep herself from rusting over. Her house is perfectly clean, both thanks to her own efforts and those of her staff, and full of well-tended plants. She's a neat, well-organized and healthy little goat. If it makes you feel bad for your own lifestyle (and it should), Ganyu will be happy to help you care for yourself by cooking healthy meals for you, reminding you of your goals and helping you be consistent. For what? Why, for the delightful moment when you look at yourself in the mirror and finally smile at all the work you have done. Your happiness is her happiness. 

Acts of service are her form of love. If you happen to come home later than her, you'll arrive to a nice bowl of warm soup, held by your dear wife. You casually mentioned that you need to, say, iron your shirt tomorrow? Ganyu's got you - even if she had to wake up that little bit earlier to do it. Maybe you're talking about a difficult achievement in one of your video games? If you teach her how to help, she'll be glad to tune in and grind with you. Whenever you act surprised at her actions, or say that she ‘didn’t have to’, Ganyu will always replay with a kind smile and reassurance - she does it because she loves you. 

She's the most receptive to physical touch. Sometimes things are going badly and the reasons for it are exhausting to put into words. Those days Ganyu would like nothing more than a simple embrace, your hand in hers, a gentle kiss on the forehead. Your touch reminds her that everything will be alright, and that she does not have to brave the world alone anymore. 

Thanks for reading!

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: Astarion stumbles upon a new skill and the legend of Two Hand 'Starion is born!

Tags: Humour, fluff, crack, violence, dirty jokes, slight Astarion x Reader.

This fic has been inspired by the amazing @radish-breath , whose late night BG3 conversations with me (on how re-spec of characters changes the whole party dynamic) have fuelled this madness. Merry Christmas, Radish! 🎄🎊

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Faerun was a land of contrasts, if your adventures were anything to go by. On the one hand, new and varied wonders unfolded before your eyes each day, while on the other, those same wonders sometimes sprouted a few too many teeth, claws (and in some cases, tentacles) for anyone's liking. 

Today was that kind of day; today the dice rolled against luck, and you and Astarion were its unfortunate victims.

Ogres, of all things.

After that rather daunting meeting with three of the aesthetically-impaired species in the Blighted Village, you'd fancied yourself a bit more careful going forward. One would think that after such a mistake, you might have recognised the signs.

And Gods, were the signs noticeable. Maybe if Astarion hadn't started an argument about Scratch slobbering all over his tunic while he slept, you wouldn't have been quite so distracted and may have picked up on the smell (like a latrine frequented by fifty oxen with the flux) or maybe the bones (femurs the size of your torso scored by the marks of large teeth) or perhaps the smell of roasted dwarf on a spit over a campfire (with its remarkably unique bouquet).

The hunter's stash that you'd found the co-ordinates for, and marked on your map, had yielded disappointing results. Someone had got to it first, evidently, only leaving behind some weaponry and a few alchemical ingredients.

Among them were two finely crafted hand crossbows which Astarion had regarded with barely concealed disdain. He'd been on the lookout for something that dealt more damage. Temperament soured, he'd started bemoaning the state of the camp with that 'flea-ridden bag of blood' prancing around.

And so it was that you'd strolled, rather nonchalantly, right into the middle of an ogre dinner. You'd stopped dead, all arguments for the healing powers of Scratch's saliva promptly forgotten. Beside you, Astarion opened his mouth to counter you, spotted the ogres and slowly cranked his jaw shut again.

Silence reigned in the clearing. One of the ogres wiped sheep fat off his lips politely, presumably waiting for you to introduce yourself. Collecting your wits, you stepped forward, far more boldly than you felt.

"Well met. We're just passing through."

The ogre grunted, amusement clear in his eyes.

"Nah."

"You see, I - "

"You lookin' tasty, little piggy."

Another ogre, with an alarming growth of fungus along the side of its face turned his full attention to you, picking gristle from between his teeth with a pike.

"I mean, that one looks tasty. The other un' be lookin' runty. No flavourin'".

Astarion raised an eyebrow.

"I assure you, good sirs, my flavour is just sublime."

"Oo you lyin' to, wormy?"

You cut in before any further damage could be done. It was time to bring out the charisma. And a flash of inspiration had struck you, that daredevil little spark that seemed to emerge whenever the odds were stacked against you.

"Oh, his flavour is nothing to be laughed at. Don't you know who he is?"

Beside you, Astarion tensed. His voice was a hiss, audible only to you.

"What do you think you're - "

But now you have the ogres' full attention, and you're not about to waste this window of opportunity. Stepping forward, you pulled off your hood, gesturing to Astarion with a flourish.

"Have you never heard of 'Two Hand 'Starion'?"

Fungus Face belched loudly, eyes sliding inwards to the bridge of his squashed-pudding nose as he gave this question the consideration it deserved.

"Nah?"

"Oo in the seven 'ells izzat?"

Your hands spread wide, inviting them into the weave of your tale.

"Oh, he's known by many different names across the realms. I've only been his travel companion for a fraction of his long journey. He also goes by Starblazer, or Boltazar, the fastest draw in Avernus."

Astarion's glare was now eating into the back of your head like an acid-spill, but you were in too deep to retreat. Skipping lightly forward, you mimed the action of drawing and firing two crossbows.

"He's unmatched in speed, graceful as a panther, his hands nothing more than a blur as he rains bolts of flame and ice down upon his foes."

You spun on your heel and the third ogre, who had been quietly occupied with stuffing his face, hoping that nobody else would notice the food disappearing down his gullet, dropped a dwarf leg in surprise.

"He stalks the astral realm, beyond where even a seasoned traveler like myself dares to roam, and braves the wrath of the fiercest githyanki warriors. Even they cannot pin him down, because his draw is faster still."

Fungus Face scowled.

"What if I eat one o' them arms? Then he'll just be One Hand 'Starion."

Sheep Fat seemed to be the smarter one among them, because he was beginning to look a trifle nervous. He made a shushing gesture at Fungus Face.

"This sounds awful f'miliar. What if she's telling the truth? About this Starblazer? Swear I 'eard the name before."

You're not sure which of the many embellished tales this ogre has heard and confused with your own hastily-spun fantasy, but that's hardly your concern. Clearing your throat, you take a few more steps towards safety, gesturing expansively at Astarion. He looks singularly unimpressed.

"But you must have heard the tales, or at least some form of them!"

You raise a hand, expression turning suddenly sombre.

"Please, in your best interests, friends. Don't impede our journey. I see you're all enjoying a good meal, around a roaring campfire. Don't let our intrusion cause an unnecessary skirmish. I only say this with your lives and safety in mind."

You jerked your head subtly at your companion. If this ruse was to work, it needed one final demonstration from him. Granted, you weren't expecting a lot, just enough to sell the story to a bunch of gormless (if rather terrifying) ogres who the two of you would definitely struggle to take in open combat.

What you weren't anticipating was the entirely separate persona that seemed to inhabit Astarion's body the moment your signal was given. As disgruntled as he'd seemed at your initial ploy, he was certainly playing along beautifully now.

Kicking lazily off the tree he'd been leaning against, he sauntered into the firelight, bringing with him the sure-footed elegance of a seasoned bounty hunter. The two crossbows you'd discovered in the stash earlier appeared in his hands as if by magic, a deft twirl of the wrist settling them in firing position. His eyes gleamed scarlet in the gloom, dangerous and calculating.

"Now, I don't see the point of revealing my identity unless truly necessary."

Even something about his accent had changed, the timbre of his voice lower, deeper, edged with malice.

"I do recognise, however, that you three are worthy of being called strong. I'd hate for your lives to end here. After all, when you've wandered as long as I have, strong opponents are hard to come by."

The ogres were now silent,  uncertain. Or at least, two of them were. Fungus Face was slowly reaching for his club. Before you had a chance to shout a warning, Astarion's hand came up, a soft 'zing' sounding through the clearing before the club spun from the ogre's grasp, flying a few feet away. Another bolt had been loaded and strung before anyone could react, the vampire's jaunty posture a direct challenge.

What in the - Had Astarion always been that good of a marksman?

You hastily adjust your expression. Whatever the outcome, you couldn't be goggling at him in the same manner as the ogres. You had a performance to complete. Astarion's drawl cut through the tension pervading the camp.

"Dont make me riddle you with holes, there's a dear."

Fungus Face, finally convinced, sat down heavily. You nodded, cautious.

"Let's ... be on our way then. No use in troubling these fine ogres any longer."

As soon as you were out of the ogres' perception, you broke into a sprint. Only when the clearing had been well and truly left in the dust, did you slow down, panting heavily, hands resting on your knees. You turned, one finger stabbing at the pale elf who jogged up beside you.

"What in the hell was that?"

He sneered.

"I should be asking you the same question. 'Two Hand 'Starion'? Was that the best you could do?"

You waved aside his naming concerns, struggling to catch your breath.

"No, not that. I mean ... when did you get so skilled with a crossbow?"

As much as you'd only been traveling together for a month, you knew enough about Astarion to pick up on his little tells. While he seemed to be trying to hide the fact, he was also somewhat confused by the convincing nature of his own charade.

Glancing down at the crossbows, he gave a graceful shrug. 

"Well, I've had many years to practice with missiles of all kinds. I suppose my skill with other bows must have carried over."

"So what you're saying is ... that you're actually a natural? And this is really your first time dabbling in this particular skill?"

He cleared his throat and your eyes narrowed. Were the tips of his ears turning ... pink? Since when had praise of any kind unsettled him? Astarion was quick to change the subject.

"Can we please get back to camp now? You've had me traipsing through this damn forest for hours and my fingernails are in an absolute state."

On the way back to your base, you eyed him surreptitiously. He seemed deep in thought, fingers occasionally drifting down to trace over the crossbows which now had place of honour on his belt.

"All right. Out with it. What's going on with him?"

It was Gale who posed the question while preparing dinner a few weeks later. You were helping him slice vegetables into the large cast-iron cook pot. On your left, Karlach, who'd been peeling potatoes, leaned in conspiratorially.

"Yeah, it's not like him at all. What happened, that day in the forest?"

Sighing, you vented your frustrations on a hapless carrot.

"Look, it's exactly what I told you. We ran into those ogres, he improvised with the crossbows and now he bloody well won't let them out of his sight."

Gale's brow was knitted in thought.

"He does favour them, yes. And then he keeps disappearing into the forest - "

Karlach gasped.

"Wait, you don't think he - "

You shook your head vehemently.

"He wouldn't. And besides, if he really was wandering into the forest to kill creatures left and right, we'd be seeing the bodies, yes?"

Karlach gave you both a blank stare.

"Oh. No, I was imagining more along the lines of him wanking off to them."

Gale choked on air and you almost sliced off a finger.

"Karlach - "

"Elaborate?"

She waved a hand, the potato within it dwarfed by the size of her palm.

"Dont ask me about the logistics, mate. Astarion is creative when it comes to those things, right?"

Gale massaged at the growing furrow between his brows.

"As skilled as I have no doubt he is, I think even Astarion would find it difficult to - "

"To what, my darlings?"

All three of you froze in position.

When had he arrived? Astarion had always been stealthy, but not like this.

Gale glanced up at him, eyeing the crossbows that had now been holstered in a special harness across the shoulders that Astarion had fashioned for himself.

"Ah. Astarion. We were just - "

"Talking - "

"About stuff and ... you ... and - "

"About ... you know... your crossbows and - "

"Wanking," concluded Karlach, solemnly.

Astarion raised an eyebrow before sashaying over to the campfire and draping himself over a nearby tree trunk.

"As much as I love the idea of all three of you tickling your little pearls in longing for me - "

Gale grimaced.

"Never happened, I assure you."

" - I've got a more ... immediate issue."

"Oh?"

You stare at him curiously. Since the ogre incident, Astarion has been particularly reticent, and him seeking out your help was an unusual, if welcome change.

Karlach, ever eager to assist, perks up immediately.

"Well, out with it then."

Astarion's eyes dropped to the ground and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he looked slightly bashful. He unsheathed his crossbows and placed them carefully within the circle of firelight, where you can all see them clearly.

"I - I need ... "

His words come out in a rush.

"I need some help naming them."

Gale promptly dropped the ladle he was holding.

"Naming?"

Astarion rose, looking slightly agitated, and began to pace before you.

"Look, I know how it sounds. I know how unlike me it is to become attached to something, even if an inanimate object. I know, all too well, the impermanence of the material, but ..."

He turned to you, and the earnest appeal in his eyes surprised you to no end.

"I like how the crossbows make me feel. It's the first time something has come this ... naturally to me. It's effortless. Not something I have to elaborately craft. Just - Just help me with this. Please."

Karlach made her way over and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"You can rely on us, Astarion. We'll help with anything you request."

You felt a little misty-eyed yourself and even Gale cleared his throat and dabbed at his eye suspiciously. Karlach clapped her hands, taking charge of the situation.

"Right. So, good people, Astarion needs help finding names for his trusty weapons. I'm partial to a little naming myself. I had a Blood Drinker and a Kidney Shredder, once upon a time."

Gale waved his hands hurriedly, as Astarion's nose abruptly wrinkled.

"Lovely names, to be sure, but maybe Astarion is looking for something a tad less on the nose."

You hummed thoughtfully, taking in the strong, delicate lines of the crossbows.

"Hmm. How about, Sting and Strike?"

Your vampire companion moved closer into the firelight, eyes gleaming, stroking his chin.

"Direct, yes, but ... too pedestrian."

Gale stood, the cook pot forgotten.

"Warp and Weft."

"More suitable for a wizard, I think."

Karlach slammed a fist into her palm.

"Growl and Thunder."

"My crossbows are not of the canine persuasion."

Slowly, the whole camp gets drawn into the naming exercise, their enthusiasm growing. Wyll, Shadowheart and Halsin were next in line to provide their suggestions.

"Valour and Honour."

"Wax and Wane."

"Briar and Nettle."

To his credit, Astarion gave each of their ideas due consideration before rejecting them. Nice of him, considering how outlandish some of the names brought forward were.

"Bulette and Shroom!"

"I'd rather not have memories of that place."

"Rough and Tumble."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Frank and Furter!"

"... what?"

You shrug.

"Sounded appropriate."

It is, surprisingly, Withers who steps in to save the day. Quite suddenly, he is among you, pale eyes calmly taking in the crossbows while the fire flickers along the gold tracery adorning his face. His voice, soft as it is, immediately silences the good-natured bickering around you.

"There are many instruments of death, some reliable, primitive. Others speak of ingenuity, the kind directed at dealing pain. Strange they are, the subjects that stimulate human creativity."

He turns to Astarion, expression distant, as always.

"For one whose name has already been recorded, pain must be your constant companion. You must be a disciple of chaos and mayhem. If these weapons must be yours, let them have fitting names. Be the death that comes swiftly, and leave sorrow in your wake."

So saying, Withers made his calm exit. Astarion was nodding to himself, eyes kindling with ... something you couldn't quite be certain of.

"Swift and Sorrow. Hmm. Yes. I think that'll do nicely."

Soon enough, you realise what Astarions's lengthy disappearances into the forest had been in aid of. He had been ... practicing.

You're not quite sure what kind of regimen he had put himself through, but the results were quite astounding.

The first time you saw it in action was during a raid on a bandit camp that your party has been planning for a while. You'd received intelligence of an medical text in a vault, stored deep within the mountain, that might give some insight into how your parasite might be removed.

The trouble began with the discovery that a group of bandits had settled right outside the entrance, completely unaware of the significance of the chambers beneath them. Their camp was well-fortified and guarded, almost impregnable by anyone's standards. The sheer cliffs surrounding it saw to that.

You had no choice but to approach from the lower ground, which gave you a distinct disadvantage, in both numbers and position. Nonetheless, the text within the vault was important. You had to get hold of it to give yourself every opportunity available.

On the morning of the raid, Astarion caused a bit of a stir when he emerged from his tent.

Gone was the light leather armour he favoured, the lace-edged collars and sleeves jutting rakishly out at neck and wrist. He was now dressed in Drow armour, lithe form encased fully in the dark leather. Some enchantment had been placed upon the ensemble, shadows gathering about him like a shroud.

By the time you'd reached the enemy encampment, it was late evening. The crudely drawn symbols on ragged red pennants flapped vigorously in the wind, a warning of what was to come should you venture further up the winding mountain pass.

Just as you were all moving into your respective positions, Astarion's hand came down lightly on your shoulder.

"Would you be so kind, my pretty dove, as to allow me to go in first this time?"

In the growing gloom, his form was even less distinct. The hood that came with the new armour had been pulled up, his glossy, pale curls completely concealed. You'd never noticed before quite how predatory his eyes seemed in the darkess, polished garnets lit from within with unholy fire.

Nodding slowly, you agreed.

"All right. We'll be right behind you. Be careful."

Slowly, cautiously, you ascended the rocky path, Shadowheart and Lae'zel in tow. The githyanki warrior was unusually quiet. Under regular circumstances, she'd have passed some biting quip on others' lack of strength or fighting ability, but tonight she looked ... almost anticipatory. Excited.

Soon, you're in a fairly favourable position, crouched in some bushes on the outskirts of the camp. You have a clear view of the sentries and the bandits milling about at the centre. However you looked at it, it would be a difficult battle, what with that palisade barrier and those -

"Oi. Where's Marcus got to?"

"Said he was brushing down the horses. Why?"

The blonde bandit who had asked the question shrugged, looking slightly puzzled.

"Well, that's where I saw him last. Can't find him now. Oh well."

You exchanged glances with Shadowheart, but held your position. Shortly afterward, another bandit, a halfling with a long dagger strapped to his back, wandered past, looking confused.

"Hey, did anyone see those powder satchels I left on the casket?"

"Be more careful, idiot! Look around. It'll turn up."

An aggravated shout came from across the camp.

"Marcus, you lout! I've been looking for you high and low, where have you - Wait. Wait. Marcus? What in the hells are you - "

"That's - that's not Marcus!"

"Run!"

Narrowing your eyes, you made out the figure of a man, presumably Marcus, shambling into the firelight. It was obvious that he was no longer among the living, but his limbs carried him with jerky, spasmodic movements towards the blaze. Strapped around his form were the missing powder satchels.

From beside you, Shadowheart gave an approving hum as the bandits swarmed in panic, diving out of the way as 'Marcus' made a beeline for the fire, leaping right into the midst of it. An explosion rent the air, a cloud of acrid smoke pouring from the centre of the camp, accompanied by a rain of what appeared to be the remnants of Marcus.

Floundering within the cloud of smoke, the bandits soon realised that their number was being cut even further. First one, then two, then four, each brought down with a gurgling yell, dark tendrils lacing their skin where the fine bolts pierced their flesh.

"Who is it? Where is it coming from?"

The leader of the bandits, a hefty man in plate armour, wielding an enormous axe, brandished his weapon, eyes streaming from the smoke.

"To me! To me!"

His rallying cry brought a stumbling group to his side, their weapons held at the ready.

"Show yourself, you stinking coward!"

A voice came coiling through the night, mocking, sultry, full of dark delight.

"My, my. We are fierce aren't we? Pity your ... large, stiff swords won't be of much use here."

Another bolt, shot with unerring precision, through the smoke, straight through the heart of one of the bandits.

"Behind the wagons! Now! Take cover!"

Lae'zel grunted, her nostrils flaring. The scent of blood was making her itch for battle, but you still didn't give the signal to break cover.

"There's the bastard!"

From behind the fire, a sleek shape stepped into visibility. One of the men crouching behind the wagon slung a smoking vial of acid his way. He sidestepped neatly, tutting like a school marm at a rowdy bunch of youngsters.

"Where are your manners? You haven't even allowed me to introduce myself."

"Who the fuck cares! Fire his way! Don't stop!"

Astarion dodged another arrow, then danced around a volley of bolts laden with an ice enchantment.

Was he -

Yes. Yes, he was giggling.

"Gentlemen, not all at once! Please. My sore little body can't take any more."

In spite of herself, Shadowheart's mouth was twitching. You groaned internally. If you used a spell to speak to the dead that littered the camp, you swore that they'd all sit upright screaming about sexual harassment.

The leader of the bandits seemed to be growing more and more enraged with every one of the insouciant vampire's taunts.

"Who in the fucking blazes are you?"

Astarion came to a dramatic halt, arms spread wide, eyes positively shining.

"Oh darling, I'm so glad you asked. They call me Two Hand 'Starion, and these lovely ladies are Swift and Sorrow."

The crossbows appeared like lightning in his hands, twirling, dropping, leveling. His voice lowered an octave, suddenly lethal.

"Now watch closely, or you'll miss the show entirely."

So saying, he vanished once again. And that was your cue.

"Now!"

Lae'zel leapt from the bushes with a roar that startled the bandits so badly that one of them promptly wet himself. Her sword carved a swathe through your hapless opponents, brushing off cuts and blows as if they were mere insect bites.

From the shadows, Astarion's gleeful shriek of laughter sounded.

"Mother, scold her! She isn't leaving any for me!"

Bolts carrying necrotic blasts and purple flame speared from every angle, miraculously bypassing your party to pierce the flesh of the bandits. One of them made a run for it, towards the entrance of the vault, only to have two explosive bolts fired directly into his buttocks.

"Naughty! No dine and dash allowed!"

Clutching at his backside, the unfortunate man screamed in agony as - well, imagination can fill in a fair few blanks.

The leader chose this moment to launch himself at Astarion, where he was now visible on a small incline above the camp.

"I'll fucking kill you!"

The greataxe came down on a shimmering illusion and Shadowheart smirked, waving away the remnants with a flat motion of her palm. The brawny man spun on his heel, eyes bulging, spittle flying from his mouth.

"Where are you?"

"Right here, sweetcheeks."

The words were a venomous hiss, the blades punching upwards, through the leader's ribcage with the speed of a striking cobra. Astarion slid away across the scorched earth, and came to a halt at Lae'zel's side, watching with dark satisfaction as the drow poison with which he'd coated his swords went to work.

Axe clattering to the ground, the captain of the bandits fell. 

The stragglers who'd managed to survive this far either made a break for it, or surrendered in abject terror. You sheathed your blade. Honestly speaking, you'd barely had cause to use it.

Beside the fire, Lae'zel turned to Astarion with a sharp smile and slapped him rather hard across the shoulders.

"Didn't know you had it in you, Elf. I may just allow you to lick the sweat of battle from my skin after all."

"Oh, how delightful. I can hardly wait."

In spite of his grimace, you could see that Astarion was secretly pleased. He preened as Shadowheart complimented him on his crossbow skills and then his eyes turned hesitantly in your direction.

You cleared your throat.

"Well. Looks like Starblazer's made a name for himself."

"Oh Gods, you know I never agreed to be called that."

A smile curves your cheek, warm and genuine. Well, as much as it could be surrounded by present carnage.

"I think that we should leave the monikers up to the bards. After all, they'll be singing your story far and wide for years to come."

Astarion looked flustered, patting at his hair. The action seemed a little incongruous, considering that he'd almost single-handedly leveled an entire bandit base.

"You think so?"

"Yes. Now let's get back to camp. The vault can wait. We need to celebrate your ... considerable skills."

And thus the dark legend of Two Hand 'Starion, Master of Swift Death and Silent Sorrow, The Poison Tempest, Harbinger of the Sore Bottom, (and in some circles, Nasty Asty) was born.

Your own role in his much needed healing and self-discovery was not often spoken of, but that was something you didn't mind in the slightest. He remained at your side by his own choice, and that was all you really wanted.

The evolution of his skill was something you embraced fully. After all, change often comes like a bolt from the blue, or, in this case, with the roll of the dice in the hand of an unknown God.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Jules and Vern

"The worst thing about time travel is that it's so dreadfully dull." Juliette leaned back against the railing and fanned herself beneath her enormous broad-brimmed hat.

Vernon felt even shabbier and out-of-place standing here by the most expensively-dressed woman amid the expensively-dressed crowd on the deck of the time cruiser, but a statement like that made him forget his self-consciousness. "How can you say that? All of history within your reach!"

This cruise was the trip of a lifetime for him, the result of years of penny-pinching; now that he'd been among this crowd--to whom a time-travel fare was pocket change--he could see how they'd view it as commonplace, but never boring.

Juliette gestured expansively toward the fogs of history that surrounded the ship. "You meet no one but other time travelers, who talk about nothing except the time they glimpsed Alexander the Great from across a battlefield, or passed beneath Beethoven's window while he was banging on a piano, or the time they swear that they actually held a conversation with a medieval peasant, the physical limitations of time travel be hanged."

Vernon leaned forward eagerly, wishing he'd thought to bring a notebook. "Has that actually happened? Speaking to natives? The implications to our understanding of time travel--"

"Of course it hasn't happened, you darling little fool. You're going to be an easy mark if you know so little about time travel."

Vernon reddened. He knew quite a lot about time travel, actually, but this wasn't the time to start listing his papers and awards. Every child knew the first rule of time travel--the streams may run parallel but never cross--but every scientist knew the key to discovery was an open mind. "You can't discount stories just because they go against current scientific understanding. You never know when one could be true."

"None of it's true--that's the entire point. We spend ghastly amounts of money to get on these ships, and then spend the entire time making up lies to prove it was worth it. We wander about historical scenes without having the slightest impact on them. Walk through crowds of people who can't perceive us. We are well-dressed ghosts walking among ruins, never truly living."

It was rather sad when she put it that way, and Vernon felt the strangest urge to comfort a woman who probably spent more in a day than he could earn in the average year.

"I plan to live," Vernon said, even though it sounded horribly too-earnest. "I've got one trip and I plan to make the most of it."

Juliette peered at him above her oversized sunglasses. "You know, I believe you," she said. "And I think that's an excellent reason to make sure I keep you nearby."

[novlr]

I’ve heard the term ‘catharsis’ before. But what does it mean? And how can it be used in a story?

The word “catharsis” comes from the ancient Greek katharsis, meaning “purification” or “cleansing.” Think of it as a purging of emotions, primarily through art or experience. Merriam-Webster offers a few definitions, including the purification of emotions like pity or fear, a release that brings spiritual renewal, and even the bringing of a complex issue to consciousness for expression. Sounds like a lot! While these definitions seem complex, we can keep them simple. 

Catharsis is essentially the release of pent-up emotions, like anger, fear, sadness, or grief, that are causing inner turmoil or issues. It’s about finding a way to express or process these feelings, leading to a sense of relief and release. Think of it like this: someone overwhelmed with anger might find catharsis by screaming into a pillow, hitting a punching bag, or even just having a conversation about what’s bothering them. The key is that the emotion is acknowledged and released.

You know those moments in a good movie or a good book where you’re crying, or laughing, or angry? The scene is just taking you away. It’s when the moment passes and the emotions drain away – that’s catharsis.

Not all releases are positive, however. People can lash out or say and do things that, while it lets the emotions go, aren’t constructive. Screaming at someone or punching them in the face can act as a cathartic moment but with very different consequences!

This release, this purging, is what allows for healing and growth. Catharsis often deals with significant emotions tied to impactful events—the kind that leaves a mark or a wound. Think of the anger and sadness following a betrayal, the grief after a loss, or the fear after a traumatic experience. When these emotions are finally purged, there can be a sense of vulnerability, yes, but it’s a vulnerability that paves the way for healing from the events that led to them.

Think of it like getting food poisoning. You’re nauseous, sick to your stomach, miserable. Then it all comes out. You feel weak, but hey, you finally feel better. Catharsis is like that, but emotional rather than physical. The emotions roil and churn, they’re making things uncomfortable or difficult. And then they finally come out. You’re better, but you’re also a bit weak and vulnerable after.

Writing to achieve catharsis

Sometimes, expressing emotions directly to others can be difficult. That’s where writing comes in. It can offer a similar cathartic release to physical expression. Many people find solace in journaling or diary writing, using the page to explore their experiences and emotions. By giving these feelings a voice on paper or screen, writers can find their own release — a way to finally let go.

Catharsis for our characters

As writers, we can offer our readers catharsis through our characters. We often put our characters through the wringer—challenging situations, tragic backstories, internal and external conflicts. But this is where the magic happens. By allowing our characters to experience and process their emotions, we create opportunities for readers to connect with them on a deeper level and experience catharsis vicariously.

Conflict is the driver of storytelling. It’s not just about physical fights, though. Conflict can be any kind of struggle. A conflict can be a disagreement between two people, a character’s internal struggle with fear, a battle against injustice, or even a confrontation with grief. The goal is for the reader to empathize with the character’s journey. When the character finally confronts their conflict and releases those pent-up emotions, the reader can experience a similar sense of release.

Catharsis isn’t limited by genre. It can be found in any story where characters experience genuine emotions. If your characters can feel, they can experience conflict and a slow but steady emotional buildup. This buildup will eventually lead to a breaking point, a moment of release—either positive or negative. They might confront the source of their pain head-on, or they might lash out in harmful ways. Regardless of the outcome, that moment of release is the catharsis. And from that point, healing (or further conflict) can begin.

Writing catharsis: some practical tips

Writing effective catharsis can be tricky, but a good starting point is your own experience. Think about times in your life when you’ve felt strong emotions and how you expressed them. How did it feel before, during, and after the release? Did you yell? Cry? Exercise? Talk to a friend? These personal experiences can inform how you portray your characters’ emotional journeys.

When developing your characters’ conflicts, consider how they’ll react and express their emotions. What are their “purification rituals”? Do they internalize their feelings? Do they seek solace in nature? Do they confront others directly? Do they engage in self-destructive behaviors? Just as importantly, consider what happens after the release. Do they find peace? Do they seek reconciliation? Do they spiral further? The bigger the event that brought things about, the greater the release.

Moments of catharsis can be pivotal in a character’s development. They can mark a turning point, a moment of transformation. By letting go of past traumas or negative patterns, your characters can finally heal from events and find a new path forward.

The power of catharsis

Writing catharsis isn’t just about creating emotional scenes. It’s about developing complex, relatable characters. By showing how characters process and release strong emotions, you reveal their inner world, their motivations, and their coping mechanisms. This depth can make them more believable and engaging.

Catharsis can be a catalyst for change. It can prompt characters to make important decisions, change their behavior, and embark on new paths. It can be a very transformative experience, leading to personal growth and healing.

And remember, the story doesn’t end with the cathartic moment. The aftermath can open up new possibilities, creating new conflicts or resolutions. There’s a new clarity that often follows a release bringing a chance for characters to see things from a new perspective. They might find new strength, new direction, or a new understanding of themselves.

Ultimately, writing catharsis allows you to explore the full spectrum of human emotion. It’s a powerful tool for character development, plot progression, and creating a truly resonant reading experience.

[mischiefmaker615]

Hiii! You popped up on my home page again and I was once again choking on your wonderful writing. I have a thing for your Musical Mischief series!

I Caught Myself -Paramore.

I totally get it if this doesn't bring any inspiration, but if it does, I'd love to read it! Much love.<3

I Caught Myself

Summary: When Loki finds his "babysitter" asleep, does he dare take that risk of freedom?

Rating: PG14

Requester: @nervouseden

Inspiration Request: "I Caught Myself" by Paramore

Note: NGL this one was a bit tricky to think of a plot *sweats* hope it will do..

Loki's POV

The only sound that could be heard was from the soft steps I made down yet another hall in search of Y/N. Those heroes have departed for the day and yet the tower has been left unnaturally quiet. I wouldn’t so much as trouble myself if danger was to happen in their absence but the very creature I do so happen to favor- and quite frankly wouldn’t want to see harmed- is nowhere to be found.

Calling her name would show me as desperate, weak, wanting in the fact that I seek out a mortal’s presence. Ohh but she is no mere mortal..

I often think about how different she is when time grants itself to my mind. Her fragrance lingers in the senses where It almost caresses and beckons. Her hair sways practically in time with her hips while she walks. Her dainty hands fidgets with things when she is deep thinking or trying to distract herself. She does that a lot when she finds me watching her..

Her uncomfortableness often amuses me; it’s hardly disgust, her cheeks redden to much for it to be anything negative to my stares. From her body language, she’s often shown me how much affect I have on her and all I merely do is just watch her. I don’t often catch myself doing it, she almost seems to have this way of grabbing my attention without myself even realizing it first.

She’s the only one I give a word to, actually hold my tongue and offer a series of replies whenever she finds herself wishing to speak with me. Why? Unlike the others, I have found no sign of her holding any fear or anger towards me. I’ve had to question myself if my abilities to read others have diminished but with her conversations and approaches seeming.. heartfelt, my body normally relaxes when she’s brought herself to my presence.

I gave no argument when the Iron Idiot had presented the idea of her being the one to keep an eye on me. Even now with that thought, I couldn’t help but smirk with the idea that they think I need a babysitter. I’ve been here to many months to count and they still can’t find themselves to let go with the idea that as soon as I step foot outside, the world would burn once again.

The thought has crossed my mind often but somehow it often drifts back to Y/N.. the mere thought of her injured causes a tight pain within my chest. I wouldn’t even be willing to take the risk of world domination again with the fact that collateral must always be taken in account.

She would be a risk.

Leaving rather than ruling would be more like it.

I have entered the main room to which one would see first if they came to this domain and I almost gave up finding her if it hadn’t been for the soft sound of breathing and that glorious scent catching my attention. Slowing my steps even more, I approach the back of the couch where a book lays open upon the table and the sleeping form of Y/N is spread out amongst me.

My eyes didn’t hesitate to drop at her form; an arm is raised above her head while the other is draped over her waist. She is laying on her side, still in her day clothes which immediately told me she must have fallen asleep. The sight was quite.. alluring, if I am to be honest with myself. If we were in a perfect world, I would have probably gathered her in my arms and finally got a taste of those lushes lips my eyes so often drift too.

But I couldn’t risk not having her feelings reciprocated.. although humans are incredibly easy to read, she was very much a difficult one to figure out. it’s probably why I favor her presence so much. She is not bland, nor boring. It’s quite the thrill when I am presenting with a fact about her I hadn’t quite beat her to figuring out. even now my eyes move forward to find the book on the table and I smile to myself.

She is almost half way through and was one I’ve let her borrow back in a previous conversation I quite enjoyed. I don’t often find others enjoying books as much as I do, let alone a human- with its technology replacing paper every day.

She’s different.. she has full control of my body without my mind being able to convince it otherwise.

My hands have been gripping the back of the couch for awhile now, blood rushing back to my fingers when I remove one to slowly drift down to her sleeping form. It shouldn’t have lingered as long as it did, but I relished in the feeling of her beautiful hair brushing against my skin while I return a lock back behind her ear. Her skin looks so soft and smooth and my finger tips tingle with the growing urge and idea of feeling her more.

Turning my back to her helped my growing evidence of what she truly does to me, my eyes eventually resting upon to elevator that was merely just a few feet away.

How easy it could be..

How easy it could be to just take advantage with the heroes gone, my dear babysitter asleep and I merely free to walk out those doors without so much of a sound or a hint. I could perhaps start a life somewhere.. under an identity though a simple spell I’d apply daily. No one would no, no one would find me, perhaps no one would eventually remember me once the hunt was given up.

My eyes slowly move over my shoulder, taking in the sight once more of her glorious form and with thoughts if she’d even miss me, or so much as think of me. Her eyes were always full of kindness, not once have I been able to detect a lie or trick. She was genuine.. how did she find herself to be amongst these mortal savages..

On Asgard, she would have been for certain courted, second glanced and snatched up within a second upon joining a festival. Id worry every waking second if she wasn’t at my side that I may be bested, stolen from, or perhaps she’d find someone better.. yet she’s never truly had me think of myself that way..

Around her, I feel more heard than I had in my entire childhood. Seen, more than I had when I had attended the court.. loved.. perhaps even if it were to be within a friendship..

If that is all she has to offer, than I am to accept it in abundance..

My eyes drifted back to the elevator. Freedom within just a few steps..

“I don’t know what I want..’’ my voice but whispered yet deep down in denial, I did know.

Which is why I found myself slowly walking around the couch, sitting myself in the spot she offered while her legs stayed bent yet comfortable. She rather seemed to enjoy curling herself when she was asleep, and I couldn’t help but smile before I was reminded perhaps she was cold and wasn’t prepared for the unexpected wave of exhaustion. Instinctually I conjured a blanket to wrap around her, the familiar green color having to be explained if she were to wake up and find it.

What would I tell her?

‘I found you asleep and thought you might be in need of a blanket?’ of course not.. I wish not for the image of going soft.. I then thought I may perhaps place her in her proper bed, but that would come with trouble in its own. ‘you entered my bedroom without permission’ she may say.. no.. Y/N has always been one to think positive..

“it’s the thought that counts at least’’ she often quoted and I couldn’t help but feel the smile tug at my lips again, my hand having been resting on her hip the entire time since I’ve sat down.

What was she doing to me.. her mere presence has me under some sort of spell of some sorts.. a few months ago I may have had this woman on her knees, now all she has me wanting is to be sinking onto my own..

I took the risk.

I felt myself leaning over her, my hand moving to curl at her hip and the other by her shoulder before my actions froze, watching how she slowly stirred and hummed in her sleep. Sweet thing.. what do you dream about.. with my body frozen as to not wake her, she then turned a little, the hand having been above her head coming now and merely rest upon mine beside her hip.

My breath hitched, her hands being as soft and gentle as I’ve imagined they would and my eyes closed to relish in the feeling alone. I could feel her fingers slightly gripped my wrist, almost as if her body was aware of the touch it was giving and my mind imagined her grip somewhere else.

I was not in a position to easily hide my physical reaction towards her without waking her up. I only prayed to the gods her light prodding that now ghosted her beautiful ass wouldn’t be enough to wake her up or stir anymore- before gods knew my control could be worn thin in mere seconds if I let it slip.

‘’gods Y/N.. what are you doing to me..’’ I breathed, trying to ignore my erection while I slowly leaned myself down, hovering over her so I could inhale slowly that scent I loved so much. ‘’I thought I didn’t know what I wanted... You're pushing and pulling me down to you.. making me think things I never should have thought.. what do you want?” I whisper, almost convincing myself I’d get an answer while her eyes remained shut and her lips parted ever so slightly.

‘’I want you Y/N..’’ I whisper, my eyes not even straining while they remained on her face. I knew the door to freedom was right there, but everything within myself told me this is where freedom was.. with her..

‘’whenever you may realize it, I’ll be here..’’ I promised, allowing myself to lean more, my body barely brushing against hers before I lightly brushed my lips against her soft cheek, everything in my power held me back from adding more pressure or moving them down to her awaiting lips before I allowed myself to sit back up.

Looking down at her hand that gripped mine, I slowly turned it enough so I could also place a kiss upon her knuckles, finding everything about her soft and sweet before I carefully placed her hand down and freed my own.

She is perfect.. and will be fine someday.. if I am to wait longer than I am to wait to gain freedom, so be it. I’d rather live a life of imprisonment if it meant she was to be promised to me than to walk out and find her gone too. Perhaps I am not so trapped here, one may think she was trapped here with me.

And by the gods all hell will break lose if someone dare take her away.

DM a song for your own Loki Musical Mischief one shot :D 

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing

[wren-kitchens]

paint me in trust

2193 words

there are endless problems that etho could have foreseen if he had been told that the new game would be to link two people's souls with each other. just the premise of that sounds terrifying—what if something broke, and suddenly your souls are just- untethered from your bodies. etho doesn't know a whole lot about how souls work, but that does not sound very enjoyable. he’s still not sure how they’re meant to unlink after this whole song and dance is over, and for his own sanity, he’s decided to assume that grian has it all handled. although- etho doesn’t actually know if grian's own soul has been mixed with mumbo's this whole time. maybe he shouldn't think too hard about that.

and it only took me 5 months to write a part 2! here's part 1 :]

it's not necessarily chapters that follow immediately after one another, but these are all in the same universe, in order. I liked the idea of a slow burn esque kind of friendship between them and chapters felt like the easiest way to do it!

the sillies ever

there are endless problems that etho could have foreseen if he had been told that the new game would be to link two people's souls with each other. just the premise of that sounds terrifying—what if something broke, and suddenly your souls are just- untethered from your bodies. etho doesn't know a whole lot about how souls work, but that does not sound very enjoyable. he’s still not sure how they’re meant to unlink after this whole song and dance is over, and for his own sanity, he’s decided to assume that grian has it all handled. although- etho doesn’t actually know if grian's own soul has been mixed with mumbo's this whole time. maybe he shouldn't think too hard about that.

on top all of this existential threat, etho is quickly learning that, when you hang out with someone who you don’t really know all too well for a little while, you run out of things to say alarmingly soon. there are only so many small talk social scripts that don't sound rude when repeated more than once. after all, if you asked someone where they were from three times, you’d either look like you weren't paying attention, or very desperate. etho thinks he’s probably reached the very desperate stage. 

it's not like he doesn’t want to talk to joel, it's just- how do you keep up conversations when neither of you have anything much to say? there's so much left unsaid in the awkward remarks about the weather and laughter at jokes that finishes too soon, but there's nothing else either of them have to contribute. which is- an enormously dull problem to have in the face of soulmates and unbreakable bonds: they've run out of things to say. etho thinks he'd rather have to worry about his soul exploding, or something.

joel, it seems, has also noticed the predicament they’re both in, because his contributions to their failing conversations are a lot more out of pocket than etho ever expects. which, to be entirely honest, ends up creating far more entertaining conversations than etho's failed attempts at civility ever have. 

"okay- well, I have to ask," 

etho looks down at joel, where he's sat against the bed, on the floor. for the past half hour, he’s been idly carving what might be a wolf into the floorboards of the ship with what might be a completely different chisel than the last four etho has seen him using since joel made the ship last week. 

"go on." etho says, a little amused.

something shifts in joel's expression, and etho wonders if he was nervous to bring this up. "where'd you get the scar?"

etho hesitates, and joel visibly considers whether he should have said it or not. "it's not- I kinda-" he tilts his head to the side, as if that could kick his brain into gear and come up with a better lie than his last one. quite frankly, he has no idea why he thought scott would believe that he fought technoblade. "it's a long story." he settles on. 

joel nods. "well, I just- I was thinking we could swap stories." he shrugs, and etho gets the impression that he’s trying to disguise how much he liked the idea. "I- y’know, I have a few scars of my own. but- I don’t wanna, like- encroach." 

"it's not- you’re not encroaching." etho can’t help but smile, against his own fruition. stupid joel. "what stories do you have?"

something lights up in joel's face, and etho feels a kind of softness in his chest. not that- it's unrelated. it's probably joel's actually- which might not be much better. whatever. it's not important. "you- I mean, they're not all that interesting, but-" he pulls up his sleeve to display what looks like a wolf bite. "that's from geraldine- y’know, my dog in 3rd life. I think she got confused, right at the end. it was just before I died."

etho leans forward to have a better look, and joel moves to sit next to etho on the bed, crossing his legs. the impulse to rest his head on joel's shoulder sticks itself in the back of etho's mind, and he very purposefully looks closer at the bite.

"it's nice." joel is saying, entirely unaware. "'s like I have a part of her with me still, y’know?"

"yeah." etho nods. "I never really thought about that- you’d lose your dogs each season."

still looking at the bite, joel hums. "I try not to think about it too hard." he grins up at etho with a lot more nonchalance than etho would expect after a sentence like that. "might go insane again." he snorts a laugh, and etho is suddenly reminded of his final moments in last life. "anyway, it's your turn."

"oh- right." etho pauses, trying to recall a scar he has that isn't followed by a very dull story. "I- well, I guess I have the one you gave me." he says, and joel cackles. 

"i’d forgotten about that." he says, watching with interest as etho pulls his clothes up enough to display the scar. "oh- wow, I did a number on you, huh? sorry about that." he adds, a little sheepish.

etho grins. "there's no hard feelings. honestly- i’m still pretty impressed." he says, dropping his clothes again. "you got cleo and me in- what, maybe thirty seconds?"

joel gives a huff of laughter, glancing at his lap, and it occurs to etho that he’s embarrassed. wow, he didn’t even know that was a thing joel could be. "yeah- well, I didn’t really- yeah." he clears his throat, and there's something familiar about it that etho can't quite place. "i didn’t expect to- to win that." he grins awkwardly.

and- alright, maybe it's a little mean, but- etho doesn’t really know joel all too well. he’s just getting to know how he works! .. by intentionally trying to embarrass him. okay- in his defence, etho was fairly certain joel was impossible to embarrass, so- he’s doing science. yeah- sure, that's what he’s gonna go with. science. 

"it was very cool." etho says, as nonchalant as he can. helpfully, he does actually mean what he's saying—even if it did end up with him dead, it was pretty impressive (if terrifying) to watch. "honestly, with you as my soulmate, we're absolutely gonna win."

much to etho's delight, joel is blushing, which- he's happy because is funny. it's funny and not- there's no other reason, okay. it's just funny. "I- you- thank you. I wouldn’t-" he meets etho's eyes, and immediately frowns. "you’re doing this on purpose, aren't you?" 

"I- no, I-" even before he’s started a full sentence, etho knows he’s not gonna convince anyone. joel raises an eyebrow at him, and he immediately caves. "it- okay, I- maybe a little, but-"

joel gives an exaggerated scoff, and etho almost laughs. "I can't believe you would do such a thing, etho." he says, far more dramatically than the situation would require, but he seems to be enjoying the drama. "actually though- why?"

it's etho's turn to blush now, and joel's eyes light up with mischievous laughter the second he sees it. "it- there's not- it's unimportant. very unimportant, actually- it's just boring."

"go on." joel grins, teeth sharp. it suits him. 

etho shoots joel a glare, but he can’t pretend to be upset in the face of joel's laughter for long. "okay, I just- you’ve never been embarrassed. that- that I could see, so I kinda- I was curious. about- y’know. how far I could push it."

there's a muted kind of warmth in the centre of etho's chest, which has to be coming from joel. the man in question just smirks. "okay, well- now you have to tell me about your eye. since you were so horrible to me."

etho hesitates. "I- okay, it's not-"

"i'll tell you about this." joel says suddenly. etho looks up, and joel pulls his shirt to the side, revealing burn scarring across all the visible skin on his shoulder. "y’know- it's a trade."

"okay- for that, you get the truth." etho pulls his mask down, not really thinking about it. joel looks a little taken aback, and it occurs to etho that joel has never seen his face before. maybe it should feel more uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. "so- I never tell anyone how I actually got it, except like- cleo and bdubs."

joel blinks, and the warm thing in etho's chest grows a little. "I- wow, i’m up there with cleo?" 

"you- well, you’re my soulmate, right?" etho says without thinking. before he or joel has time to dwell on whatever that means, he says hurriedly, "it- everyone always assumes it's some huge traumatic thing, or like- a cool fight, or whatever, but. I- yeah, I literally just tripped. I was- I managed to land directly on the corner of my furnace." he gives a huff of a laugh. 

"that- you're such a nerd, etho." joel smirks, still looking somewhat stunned. he looks pleased too though, so maybe it's a good thing. "you- and no one else knows?" 

"well," etho pulls his mask back up. "now one more person knows." he finds himself smiling at the thought.

"okay, well- hang on." joel pulls his shirt over his head, revealing far more scarring than etho expected to see. the long sleeves of joel's shirt were the only things hiding it. "i’ve got them on my legs too, but i’m not taking my trousers off." he grins. 

"I- how did you get all that?" etho leans closer, pushing his hair out of his eyes to see better. 

"you remember when cleo set my house on fire in 3rd life?" joel says, looking far happier about this story than etho thinks he ought to be. or- maybe he’s just happy to tell the story to someone. etho decides not to think too hard about it. "well, I also set on fire." he grins. "they're also from that game tango made for those diamond boots."

etho winces sympathetically. "does- does it still hurt?" he asks, surprising himself with how nervous he is. 

joel hums, running a hand over the puckered skin absentmindedly. "not really. I mean, you should know." he looks up, grinning. "soulmate and everything. it's just- it aches a little when I respawn, but.. not much." 

before etho has time to think about what he’s asking, he reaches out a hand on instinct and glances at joel. "I- can I?"

"oh- yeah. yeah, I don't- I don’t mind." joel blinks, apparently surprised. etho is hit with a wave of embarrassment, but- well, it'd be a bit awkward to back out now, wouldn’t it?

the skin is surprisingly soft underneath etho's fingers, despite how textured it is from the scarring. it's interesting- etho has accumulated several scars over the years, but he’s never seen something so large as joel's. it's kind of cool. 

joel gives a huff of a laugh, and etho looks up to see him grinning. "didn’t think it'd be that interesting." 

etho shrugs, suddenly embarrassed but not wanting to back down. "it's pretty interesting." he says, and he can’t help smiling a little as he sits back again. "like- battle scars, or something. it's a cooler story than mine." he gestures at his eye and joel cackles. 

"you said I got the 'truth'," joel says, pulling his shirt back on. "does that mean you’ve been lying to people about what happened?" 

"I- well. a little?" etho says, awkward all of a sudden, and joel grins at it. "it- I just- it's not a good story, and I kinda- it adds to the mystery if no one knows."

joel nudges him, apparently entertained—or something similar, at least. "what have you told people?"

etho glances at the wall. "I- well, I told scar I fought herobrine-" he’s very rudely interrupted by joel's laughter, apparently overjoyed to learn this about his soulmate. "it- he believed it! that's not- I can’t be blamed if he believed that."

"I did think you were mysterious at one point." joel grins, and there's a kind of comfortable amusement in his expression. it's nice. 

"what- you don’t anymore?" etho pouts, and joel cackles at it. he can’t help feeling proud of how good he is at making joel laugh. 

"not now- you told scar you fought herobrine." joel says, and etho huffs a laugh. "you’re just- you’re a dork, etho."

etho pretends to be offended, and joel cackles at all the right moments, and frankly, etho's mask is the only thing preventing him from looking even more like a dork (in joel's words- he’s not a dork, for the record) as he can’t stop himself grinning along. it's weird, but etho keeps ending up being thankful for joel's bluntness or his loudness or his ability to take up so much space in conversation when it comes to these sorts of moments- all of which he used to find annoying last season. maybe it's the soulbound being weird. 

maybe he just likes the way the ship fills with laughter whenever they talk. 

[lexicorp]

Transformers Earthspark: Another Place, Another Prison

Got a weird little chapter where the perspective shifts from Megs to right back to Star. I swear dude, when i write these peeps I can't help but slip a bit of TFP into them. It was my first fave after all, and it often fills in some of the cracks for me. Oh and also a bit of Armada energy or a bit of other stuff from things i've heard/seen from comics and shit. Totally mish mash inspo admittedly.

[also side note: I don't necessarily ship op and meg, I mainly used the partner title as platonic and referencing that Megs doesn't rlly see him as his leader per say. I kinda like to keep the ship ambiguity much like the shows do tbh]

But yeh, first a short bit of Op and Megs talkin about our seeker creature. Then we see said creature fucking around with the chaos powers and getting into a bit of trouble. It ended up a lot more brutal than I initially outlined it i must admit-- but don't worry! After this insanity, the bots actually might realize how much of a non sustainable solution it is to keep Star in there.

Previous Chapter: An Unwanted Sequel

First Chapter: The Need For Read

Next Chapter: The Illusion of Freedom

Chapter 7: A Broken Boogeyman

“I just don’t know, Optimus.” 

Megatron leaned against the steel bars overseeing the cameras with crossed arms. He’d been loitering in silence for quite some time as he observed Ori–Optimus, type away at the databanks. Prowl and him had been working rather constantly in the effort to locate the ship the Decepticons had stolen. But Megatron had asked him to relocate his efforts to this access point to their system, so that they could keep an eye on Starscream.

“About what?” His old friend finally inquired. The mech surely knew of what he spoke, yet was merely prodding him to further explain his thoughts.

“Starscream.” Megatron gestured towards the caged seeker on the screen, even if Optimus wasn’t looking at him. His former second was just pacing as he so often did, but he also seemed to be intentionally calling upon that unstable power Megatron had seen him carry. “His recent behavior bothers me.”

“That so?” Optimus removed his servos from the keys and turned to face him as a show of his attention. “What about it concerns you?”

Megatron stared at the monitor a moment before sighing and refocusing his gaze upon Optimus. “The aggression. It is less like him to lash out in the way I’ve witnessed as of late. When it comes to his anger, I've known him to often be more… snide, than explosive. Do you suppose it has to do with the corrupted Emberstone incident?” A rather vague question, yet he knew his partner would understand the full scope of its implications. 

“I suppose,” Optimus followed Megatron’s previous gaze to the smaller corner of the large board of screens displaying the seeker for a moment. Of whom looked to be rambling about something, and punching the wall in a little tantrum. “It is rather odd. Even so, should it not bring you comfort that he is within our custody? He poses no threat from here. Or is it perhaps a more personal matter to you, Megatron? Did the conversation you two shared not go well?”

“It went as well as it could. We have…never been quite good at…talking.” Megatron tapped a finger against his plating in thought. Starscream had always held a particular seat in his mind through the years. He kept him on his toes, even when Megatron hadn’t wanted him to. “I know it seems like he is secure at the moment,” He continued, “yet I cannot help but question how long it will be until he manages to escape and continue on with his questionable goals. I had tried to determine what his next move could be, but he still eludes me with his backwards talk.”

Optimus hummed and slowly began to resume his typing, now only half focusing on his work. “Would perhaps, upping security ease your mind old friend?” 

“Perhaps…” Megatron contemplates this offer. What more security could be implemented? It seemed useless to station someone outside Starscream’s cell to just sit there when they could be useful elsewhere, especially when they already have eyes on him from here. Plus, he could just use someone’s presence as an opportunity to trick them somehow. Obviously then, Megatron would be the best suited for such a station, but that was not going to happen. Prowl would likely not trust him for the task. They may have gotten on slightly friendlier terms, but one act in battle could not wash away centuries. Well…that statement could be debated on circumstance, he supposed. But that was a worn out topic in his processor.

“Regardless, I can assure you, that even if he does somehow escape as he did before; we will be notified immediately.” Optimus’ antennae tipped back only slightly, in a way that informed of the ridiculous smirk the mech no doubt brought to his faceplate. “You should not worry so much! Maybe all you need is a walk in the sun. That is what the humans say is a cure-all for a dower mood! We have been stuck in this stuffy rock for quite some time, after all.”

Megatron chuckled, “If you are going to try and send me off on some frivolous nature stroll, then I will be forced to drag your workaholic aft out there with me!” He removed himself from the steel ledge guards and made his way by Optimus’ side to punch his shoulder. “You need it just as much as I.”

Optimus rolled his eyes and glared with a fond grin at the playful threat. “That may be so, but my responsibilities as leader would not allow me such things at this time.”

“Preposterous! Shoulder the load to someone else. You cannot rust in here while insisting I take leave.” Megatron put his hands on his hips like he was talking to a sparkling. Which his old friend very well could be sometimes.

“I will not simply pass my burdens upon my comrades for my own pleasure, thank you.”

Megatron groaned, “Oh don’t phrase it like that.” 

Optimus sighed and brushed Megatron out of the way to reach a different conduit. “It is accurate. Now unless you intend on assisting me with my work, you should decompress elsewhere for the time being.”

Megatron’s posture drooped slightly as he watched his partner continue on in his mission. The fool was always so focused on others. Putting so much pressure on his plate alone like he was the soul force that kept the planets aligned. Sure, he occasionally relied on others quite well. But in these past years of working alongside his partner, Megatron had seen just how absurdly stubborn the mech could be.

He knew the Prime would want him to simply heed his word and not pry further, as per their conversation about Megatron’s tendency to question him perhaps a bit too often. Even so, this was different. A matter of a concerned compatriot enforcing a bit of necessary self-care. Whether the mech would be mad at him or not was an irrelevant notion, and could even be quite amusing.

So Megatron began to extend a hand to take the Matrix driven mech’s arm, “Come now Optimus–”

When suddenly, the alarm blared obnoxiously through the base. Megatron’s helm immediately shot to the monitor to see a cell filled with nothing but a bit of ash and a barrier littered with chaotic sparks.

Starscream was gone.

***

Starscream paced back and forth across his prison in a rather short path. An intentional stride, as he found that the less distance he allowed himself to travel, the more it lent to instead increasing the tension within him. That was what he needed. Calm wasn’t going to get him out of here. 

Frag having a cool head. Any rational plan would just come back to blow up in his face. No, they’d expect that classic, clever, scheming Starscream. They’d surely predict any little uselessly intricate plan he could concoct, and crush it, if his own Primus damned processor didn’t accomplish that first. 

Red lightning was steadily increasing in intensity across his frame. Good.

No one had visited him after his horribly done exchange with Hashtag, and that had left him with plenty of time to focus on finally getting a better handle on Quitus’ curse. It thrived off of anger, spite, and destructive thoughts. Starscream had that in spades! If it wanted him to disintegrate the structure housing them, or crush the mechs caging him into sniveling lumps of slag, it was about time it helped him do it. 

“You will do as I command or so help me Quintus–” Starscream hissed at the crimson air as he flexed his shaking servos.

“Planning on showing the world just how dangerous you truly are, Transformer?” Mandroid was right by his peds with his absolutely revolting amalgamation of parts and flesh before him. “Prove me right.” The wretched pest had such a mad grin on its squishy faceplate and a taunting tone that made him sick. Making the power surge in his spark. 

Starscream yelled in a rather embarrassingly feral manner as he launched a fist down upon its helm–head–whatever the damn human had! Even with his new found speed and electrified assault power under his control, the illusion managed to escape into whatever Pit it had spawned from. All with an infuriating laugh. He thrusted a fist into the wall to test his strength against it, before turning to survey the little space he aimed to destroy.

“I will never take orders from a human.” Starscream growled at the phantom. “I will use this power because I need to. What I will prove, is just how capable I am no matter what these fragging fools throw at me!” He began to laugh. “They think… They think they can cage me like an animal. That they can just mock me, and leave me to rust away out of sight from whatever pathetic fantasy they think they’ve created for themselves out there?! They think they can leave me behind as they praise the oh so beloved LORD Megatron– DO THEY? She thinks I am WORSE than HIM, does she? Oh… but I can be so much better…”

The power shot through his frame and out from his peds, causing him to yell in surprise from the sudden shock. He panted unevenly on his knees as his wings shook painfully, pulling a servo to his helm to grip the edge of his optic. No… he couldn’t focus on revenge right now. He just needed to get out. 

“Mm… Regardless…” He dragged his impaired frame from the floor with an addled voice box, slouching far much more than he would like. He felt heavy. He hated it. But it was a necessary evil to lean into this curse’s power. 

Starscream made his way over to the barrier that led into the corridor, and directed the lightning to collect at his servos and shoot into its target. It rapidly spread across the surface which rippled and strained to keep its shape. His spark ached as he forced it out, and finally, the barrier sputtered and shrunk away into pathetic wisps. The controls were sparking wildly and exploded into a stream of smoke. 

He hesitated in the doorway for a nano klick before a siren shrieked through his audials, causing him to yelp and spring into action. His peds automatically tracked the same path they had taken the last time he’d broken out. He wasn’t thinking about whether it’d be predictable. Whether they’d be waiting for him. Or if the exit he had closed off would actually be open again. He was just running. 

And this time, as soon as the force fields began closing behind him, he immediately transformed and blasted through the tunnel. Starscream’s engines shot red as the lightning flickered off his frame. He was going so fast that if he weren’t the exceedingly skilled flier he was, he’d have eaten metal by now. But of course he naturally dodged around every corner and eventually–

No. He needed a missile to destroy the door. But he hadn’t had the time to locate his confiscated weaponry. 

Starscream transformed mid-air to launch himself into the door in a super powered kick. Only a sizable, useless dent resulted. He looked at it in disbelief then turned to survey his surroundings wildly. There had to be another way. He dashed around the closed off room at a blinding speed. There was no other exit that wasn’t already blocked.

“SCRAP! NO NO NO ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” Starscream desperately shot streams of lightning at the door. Punched and kicked as hard as he could–and it was starting to work! He just needed to focus on the bent seam… But he heard a crowd of noisy pedsteps rapidly approaching his position. They were barking some strings of orders to each other or perhaps at him, but he didn’t care to make out what any of it was. He just needed to–

Suddenly, the space between his wings was burning in an all too familiar way, and his front was thrusted into the uneven wall. Time was up. It couldn’t end this way so easily. There was no way he wouldn’t go down without a fight now. Starscream quickly stumbled to his peds and turned to immediately blast a stream of crimson lightning from his servo. 

The group of bots scattered in surprise, with one blasted mech attempting ridiculously to call out his designation.

“Stop this now, Starscream! You know you are outnumbered!” Megatron was once again so desperately trying to control him. Acting like he knew his limits of what he could and couldn’t do. 

“SHUT UP!” He screamed as he threw continuous follies of the curse’s power at his assailants. “I will not allow you to have the pleasure of taking me alive today to be smelted under your petty gaze! Either I am getting out of here, OR NOBODY IS!” Maybe Starscream could draw their fire at the door behind him, or maybe he could simply disintegrate them all here and now and seize the base for himself. Both flickering visions in his processor paired with all the ways he could leave them as smoldering piles of ash. The siren still wouldn’t cease its incessant whining. 

The surrounding mechs became scattered, and he rapidly made certain to dodge every shot sent his way paired with an equal retaliation. He’d get some shots off, but they were still closing in. He finally managed to get the pink one to stay down, leaving the red femme to see to her companion like a weak fool. Starscream attempted to shoot the pair to finish them off, but was blocked by that slagger Prime with his stupid axe. 

There was still Megatron lurking in his hazed vision, and he redirected his fire toward the bucket head. Yet something bothered him about the roster he saw around him. Where was that blasted bot Prowler? Why wasn’t he here with them? Bumblebee’s absence could be excused, but that tactician’s was far too precarious. Were they planning something?

Suddenly, Megatron and the others slinked a peculiar amount of steps from his position. Something was happening. 

Blasters retracted from the ceilings and began raining relentless fire upon him. He frantically dodged what he could, but was surprised by the unexpected direction, resulting in a hole to be scorched through his wing before he could decommission the blasters. While he was distracted, the Prime attempted to rush him, but he was all too obvious and Starscream dived out of the way with the intent of a counter attack. Apparently, that was what they wanted, because then he found Megatron’s monstrous chassis slamming into him. 

“GET OFF OF ME!” Starscream demanded as he struggled for control. 

“Not until you surrender!” Megatron was insane! The longer he remained in contact with Starscream’s corrupted frame, he was easily in the line of fire to become overcome from helm to ped with the electricity. But he wouldn’t let go. Starscream could hardly move.

“Never.” Starscream growled lowly through his absurdly rapid vents, of which were absolutely useless in cooling the heat burning his spark and processor. He kicked and pulled in practically any effort he could to gain some leverage. Yet right when he had finally freed a servo to try and deck Megatron in the faceplate, of course the Prime had to step in and force Starscream’s servo back to the ground with his axe. A flash of amusement flitted through him at how the reckless leader of the Autobots was less willing to touch him than the ever self-perseverating former warlord.

“It’s over, Starscream. Stand down.” Megatron growled through gritted dentas, and crushed Starscream’s ped as a nice little punctuation to his order. 

Starscream refused to give the silver brute the scream or pleas of mercy he no doubt sought from the action. All the same, he felt like he was about to explode. The power wracking his frame was starting to take its toll. The world was spinning, and the more he continued to struggle, the more desperately he felt the need to be anywhere but in this moment. Well, perhaps not anywhere. Surely he could think of many worse things–scrap that was a bad direction to take that thought. 

The siren warped into a wretched ringing that swirled in his helm. His optics were glitching so harshly that he could barely make out pixels beyond mere silhouettes, and the lights glared painfully. He could feel his vocalizer saying something to his captors, and he could faintly recognize that they were responding. But what were they saying? He didn’t want this power anymore. It hadn’t helped him. It never did. 

“W– tranq–quickly!”

What?

Starscream tried to look at what they were doing as he pushed against Megatron’s servo. It was a needle. They were getting closer. 

He panicked and flailed to the point that he twisted his stabilizing servo out of its socket to allow his upper half the opportunity to slip out from under the mech for even just a moment. But it didn’t matter. He was pinned again and they stuck him with whatever it was.

Of which, rapidly started making every circuit in his frame feel disgustingly limp.

He desperately fought to stay conscious. But just like everything in his life. It was useless.

[vir-tanadahl]

Rating: (E) Pairing: Solas / Lavellan / Felassan Summary: Under moonlight and magic, Felassan shares enchanted drinks with Solas and Lavellan—potions meant to relax and open the heart. Playful teasing and warm laughter give way to lingering glances and an undeniable connection. As boundaries blur and affection deepens, the trio’s night unfolds into something tender, intimate, and passionately shared.

In the heart of the wilderness, a secluded glade shimmered with ethereal light, its magic humming faintly through the trees. The air was crisp and filled with the earthy scents of the forest, mingling with the faint, tantalizing aroma of something sweeter—Felassan’s handiwork. The ancient elf, ever the playful enigma, lounged beside a small table adorned with a selection of drinks that shimmered like liquid starlight, their colors shifting with an almost hypnotic allure.

“Well,” Felassan began, his grin as sharp as ever, “since we’re all here and the night is young, I thought it only fitting to share something... special.” He gestured grandly to the drinks before them, each glowing faintly with its own magical essence. “A bit of alchemy and artistry, if I do say so myself. They’re harmless, I assure you—just a little magic to loosen the tongue and lighten the spirit. Nothing too scandalous. Unless you want it to be.” His gaze flicked to Solas, the smirk deepening. “You could use some loosening up, oh mighty Dread Wolf. Drink up.”

Solas arched an eyebrow but didn’t immediately rise to the bait. Instead, he studied the shimmering drinks with a skeptical tilt of his head. “And what, precisely, do these concoctions do?” he asked, his tone even, though the faintest hint of curiosity edged his words.

“Ah, excellent question!” Felassan clapped his hands together as if delighted to explain. “Each has a unique effect, tailored to your tastes, of course. The golden one eases tension—like sunshine in a bottle. The silver sharpens perception, perfect for those who enjoy seeing through all the little lies. Ruby sparks boldness, encouraging the kind of honest conversation we all secretly crave. And the amethyst? A gentle, comforting embrace in drink form. You’re welcome.”

Lavellan sat between the two elves, her curiosity warring with a flicker of wariness. She leaned forward slightly, the shimmering hues reflecting in her wide eyes. “And you’re sure it’s safe? Not that I doubt your skills, Felassan, but—”

“Completely safe, my dear Herald,” he interrupted smoothly. “I’d never dream of causing you harm. Just think of it as... a nudge toward fun.” He selected a ruby-hued drink and handed it to her with a flourish. “For you, something to bring out that playful spark I know is hiding in there somewhere. And for you, Solas—” He picked up a golden glass, its contents glowing softly, and thrust it toward the other elf. “Something to make you slightly less insufferable. Drink. Please.”

Solas’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “You are insistent.”

“And you are overdue for a good time,” Felassan countered. “Now, humor me.”

With a rare chuckle, Solas took the glass, its warmth seeping into his hand. Lavellan, emboldened by their exchange, lifted her own drink. “To loosening up?” she suggested, her tone light but teasing.

“To lightening the spirit,” Felassan amended, raising his glass in a mock toast. Solas rolled his eyes but clinked his glass against theirs, the glow of the drinks illuminating their faces as the first sip brought with it a rush of magic—subtle but undeniably enchanting. The night unfolded with laughter, teasing, and the kind of openness that only the strange and wonderful could inspire.

The first sip was a gentle nudge rather than a push, a whisper of warmth unfurling in their chests. The tension in Solas’s shoulders eased almost imperceptibly, his ever-watchful gaze softening around the edges. Lavellan, tucked between the two elves, let out a laugh—light and unguarded—as Felassan recounted some exaggerated tale about his supposed misadventures. It was a sound that carried through the glade, like a bell chime breaking through lingering dusk. Felassan’s grin only widened at the effect, his sharp violet eyes flicking between them with obvious satisfaction.

“You’re smiling, Solas,” Lavellan noted, her tone teasing but softer than usual, emboldened by the ruby-hued drink in her hand. “I was starting to think your face might crack if you tried.”

Solas arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching upward in response. “Contrary to your assumption, my face is perfectly capable of enduring the strain of joy.”

“Creator’s breath, you’re both intolerable,” Felassan drawled, lounging back on one elbow as if he were reclining on a throne. He raised his glass in mock salute. “But I must admit, this is already my finest work. My artistry unmatched. You’re welcome.”

The banter flowed as easily as the enchanted drinks, and with every sip, the trio leaned further into the comfort of the moment. Felassan, predictably, was the first to let loose a scandalous tale—something about mistaken identity, a noblewoman, and a very inopportune use of illusion magic. Lavellan nearly choked on her drink from laughing, while Solas, against all odds, let out a low chuckle that reverberated through the glade like a rare and precious sound.

When Lavellan spoke next, her voice carried the weight of something more sincere. “You know, Felassan,” she began, swirling the remnants of ruby light in her glass, “you make it look so easy—this... lightness you bring to every moment. I envy it sometimes.” She paused before glancing at Solas, her gaze steady and unflinching. “And you... you have this way of seeing everything, of making even the most fleeting thought feel like it matters. It’s... it’s rare.”

Solas blinked, caught off guard by the sudden vulnerability in her voice. The golden glow of his drink reflected in his pale eyes as he considered his response. “You are stronger than most would believe, Lavellan,” he said finally, his words quiet but clear. “Steady, even when the world seeks to shake you apart.”

The weight of the moment lingered between them, charged with something neither fleeting nor insubstantial. Felassan, perceptive as always, chose not to shatter it immediately. Instead, he took a long sip from his silver-hued drink, his gaze thoughtful beneath his ever-present smirk.

Magic buzzed faintly in their veins, sharpening every sensation. When Lavellan’s hand brushed against Solas’s as she reached for the bottle, the touch lingered a moment longer than necessary, and the warmth of it seemed to sink deep beneath her skin. Solas’s eyes caught hers then, lingering—not in analysis, not in the quiet distance he usually maintained, but with something raw and unguarded. Felassan noticed, of course, but rather than interrupt, he conjured a soft hum in the air—a resonance that seemed to vibrate in their very bones, warm and inviting. The firelight flared gently, casting long shadows and painting their faces in amber and gold.

But Felassan was not one to let such tension hang forever. “Careful, you two,” he said, voice low but teasing. “You might start thinking this moment actually means something.”

The spell broke with a startled laugh from Lavellan, and Solas’s lips curved in something close to fond exasperation. The tension shifted—not gone, but softened, threaded now with a playful warmth that felt safer, easier to hold.

The air in the glade had grown heavier, thick with the glow of enchanted drinks and the lingering hum of Felassan's quiet magic. The golden light of the fire painted their faces in soft amber hues, shadows dancing along the curves of their expressions. Lavellan reached out without thinking, her fingers brushing lightly against the sleeve of Solas’s tunic as if to dust away something invisible. Her hand hesitated there, fingertips grazing the edge of his wrist, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to that single point of contact. Solas didn’t pull away. His sharp eyes met hers, steady and questioning, but not unkind.

Felassan leaned forward with a grin that was both amused and entirely too knowing. “If you’re going to touch him like that, da’len, at least make it interesting. You’re killing me with the suspense.”

Lavellan pulled her hand back with a laugh, her cheeks warming despite herself. Solas’s mouth twitched upward at the corner, a flicker of a smile there and gone, but the moment lingered, suspended between them like starlight caught in glass.

“Truly,” Felassan continued, his voice softer now as he shifted closer. One hand came to rest lightly over Lavellan’s, the other brushing Solas’s shoulder in a casual but deliberate gesture. “You two are so serious. So... careful. Perhaps I should show you how to really enjoy yourselves.”

There was no denying the thread of sincerity beneath the teasing lilt of his voice. The connection between them was tangible now—a thread pulled taut, vibrating with unspoken words and fragile possibilities. Felassan’s violet eyes flickered with mischief as he leaned back just enough to let the weight of the moment settle.

“Fine,” he said after a beat, fingers tapping against his glass. “Let’s make this more... interesting. A question for each of you. Answer honestly, or I’ll be forced to tell you another one of my stories, and believe me, I have some particularly embarrassing ones lined up.”

Lavellan arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a wry smile. “You already sound insufferable.”

“Thank you, my dear. Now, Solas.” Felassan turned his gaze on him with predatory delight. “If you could paint the perfect scene right now, what would it look like? And don’t be boring. No dusty ruins or melancholy sunsets.”

Solas blinked, the question disarming in its intimacy. He hesitated for a breath before speaking, his voice low but clear. “It would look... something like this. But perhaps the fire would burn a little brighter, the stars a little clearer, and the company would remain... unchanged.”

For once, Felassan didn’t offer a retort. Instead, he let the weight of Solas’s words settle like dew on morning leaves.

“Excellent answer,” Felassan said softly before pushing to his feet with the grace of a predator. “Now, how about something a little more... kinetic? There’s a spell—a harmless one, I assure you—that I’ve been meaning to try. Think of it as a dance. Or, if you prefer, an exercise in trust.”

With a flourish, Felassan conjured faint threads of light from his fingertips—wisps of golden and silver energy that curled and danced in the air like smoke caught in a breeze. He offered one glowing thread to Lavellan and another to Solas. “Take them. And trust me.”

They exchanged wary glances but obeyed. The threads pulsed faintly in their hands, and as Felassan began to move—his steps fluid and deliberate—the threads guided them in turn. Solas and Lavellan found themselves drawn closer, their movements synchronized by the faint hum of magic and Felassan’s careful choreography.

At first, it was awkward—hesitant glances, stifled laughter, and clumsy steps. But soon, the rhythm smoothed out, their bodies finding a natural harmony. Lavellan’s hand brushed Solas’s again, and this time neither of them pulled away. Their fingers laced together briefly before parting as the threads of light pulled them into another spin. Felassan watched them with quiet satisfaction, his grin softer now, his eyes sharp and knowing.

But then, the thread of magic stilled. Lavellan hesitated mid-step, her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at Solas. His gaze was fixed on her, steady and unguarded, his expression stripped of its usual layers of distance and restraint. The moment trembled between them, delicate as glass.

“I—” Lavellan began, her voice faltering.

Felassan stepped closer then, his presence grounding them both as he placed a gentle hand on each of their shoulders. “It’s all right,” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that was almost protective. “You don’t have to be afraid of this. Not here. Not tonight.”

The fragile tension cracked, but not in a way that shattered. Instead, it unraveled slowly, gently, until Lavellan leaned forward, her forehead coming to rest against Solas’s chest. Solas’s hand came up hesitantly, fingers brushing against her hair before resting there, light as falling leaves.

The magic in the glade had changed—subtle yet undeniable, like the air just before a summer storm. The drinks in their hands shimmered faintly, their light reflecting in Lavellan's eyes as if starlight itself had pooled there. The sensation of the ruby wine lingered on her lips, a faint sweetness paired with something more ephemeral—like the distant echo of a kiss. Each sip deepened the enchantment, the magic winding through their veins, quiet and insistent, attuned to their unspoken thoughts.

Solas, seated beside her, seemed acutely aware of every shift of Lavellan’s posture, every soft breath she took. His gaze lingered, tracing the way the light caught in the strands of her hair, how her shoulders relaxed, how her fingers curled gently around her glass. He noticed everything, and for once, he made no effort to mask it. Across from them, Felassan’s sharp violet eyes were alight with mischief, but there was something else there too—something deeper, more perceptive. He saw them both, not just as they presented themselves but as they were—unguarded, unmasked, fragile and raw.

With a casual flick of his wrist, Felassan summoned faint tendrils of light from the surface of their drinks. They floated lazily upward, shimmering like fireflies. One curled around Lavellan’s fingers, tickling her skin with a soft, electric hum before drifting away to graze against Solas’s wrist. Lavellan’s breath hitched as the light scattered with her movement, leaving behind faint traces—tiny stars in her wake.

“Magic is just energy, you know,” Felassan said lightly, his voice carrying a lazy warmth. “It reacts to intention. Want to see?”

Before either of them could answer, Felassan gestured again, and light gathered around Lavellan’s shoulders, soft and golden. It coalesced into ephemeral petals—delicate, glowing flowers that tumbled gently to the ground before vanishing in faint puffs of stardust. Lavellan let out a quiet laugh, her voice edged with wonder as her fingers brushed against the fading glow.

Solas tilted his head, watching Felassan’s display. After a moment, he raised his hand, his fingers moving with deliberate care as a faint ripple of Fade energy flowed outward. It was subtler than Felassan’s magic, deeper, warmer—it wrapped around Lavellan like an invisible embrace, sinking into her skin, into her bones.

“The Fade responds to emotion,” Solas said softly, his voice low, reverent. “It mirrors what we feel but cannot say aloud.”

Around them, faint shadows rippled in hues of soft blue and silver, dancing like silk caught in a breeze. The air felt heavier, charged with something indescribable—something shared. Lavellan’s breath caught as her eyes met Solas’s, and for a moment, the world narrowed down to the space between them.

Emboldened by the drink and the magic humming in her veins, Lavellan raised her own hand. Green light sparked at her fingertips, bright and alive, crackling softly as it leaped outward. It reached toward Solas’s and Felassan’s magic, interweaving with gold and blue until it became something else entirely—something uniquely their own. The lights cocooned around them, soft and protective, shimmering with threads of shared energy that pulsed faintly in time with their heartbeats.

In the intimate glow of their combined magic, the trio had drawn closer without realizing it. Lavellan’s knee brushed against Solas’s thigh, and neither of them moved away. Felassan, ever watchful, rested his arm along the back of Lavellan’s seat, his fingertips tracing idle patterns along her shoulder. The touch was casual—effortless—but it carried weight, intention, the faint crackle of magic beneath his skin.

Felassan tilted his head, his grin sharp but softened by something else—something gentler. “Look at you two,” he said softly, his voice a murmur in the quiet. “Like moths circling a flame. What are you so afraid of?”

The words hung suspended in the air as Felassan shifted closer, his face only inches from Lavellan’s. For a fleeting moment, time seemed to stop—her breath caught, her heart stumbled—but then Felassan pulled back with a teasing grin, leaving the tension in his wake to crackle like distant lightning.

Solas’s hand brushed against Lavellan’s wrist then, his fingers lingering longer than they needed to. A faint ripple of magic passed between them, feather-light but undeniable. When she turned to meet his gaze, his eyes were steady, open in a way they rarely were.

The space between them felt fragile, shimmering with unspoken words and the weight of what could be. Lavellan’s breath trembled in her chest, her lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came.

Felassan leaned back, his watchful gaze softer now, as though he were content to simply bear witness to whatever came next. The magic still shimmered faintly in the air, the drinks forgotten beside them as the quiet hum of shared connection held them suspended in time.

The magic lingered in the glade, alive and breathing, as though the very air had become a living thing attuned to their emotions. The drinks, long forgotten, sat half-empty at their sides, their glow fading into the richer, more vibrant light that now pulsed softly between them. Felassan moved first, his violet eyes glinting like sunlight through honey as he lifted his hand and conjured something delicate—a breeze, warm and scented faintly of summer rain. It drifted over Lavellan’s skin, soft as silk, sending a shiver down her spine. Her breath caught, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as the sensation washed over her.

Solas stirred beside her, his own magic rising in response—a soft hum, a pulse that resonated from somewhere deep within him. He extended his hand toward Lavellan’s palm, his magic brushing lightly against hers, tentative and seeking, asking for permission rather than taking. His gaze met hers then, pale and luminous, reflecting the soft glow of their combined enchantments. Lavellan tilted her head, her lips parting slightly, and she turned her hand upward to meet his.

The connection sparked—subtle but undeniable—as Solas’s magic intertwined with Felassan’s, forming tendrils of shimmering light that curled around their wrists and twined up their arms like ivy. Lavellan could feel it in her chest, a quiet thrumming that echoed in her ribcage, as though her heartbeat had fallen into step with theirs. Their breaths aligned, rising and falling in perfect unison, and for one suspended moment, it felt as if time itself had stilled.

Felassan’s usual smirk had softened into something more thoughtful, his hand still lifted, his magic pulsing faintly in the air. Slowly, the light around them dimmed—not fading entirely, but settling, as though it, too, was waiting. His voice, when it came, was steady and clear, carrying the weight of both wisdom and vulnerability.

“We can stop here,” he said softly, the teasing edge gone from his tone. “No magic, no illusions—just honesty. But if we go forward…” His words trailed off, leaving space for the choice to linger in the quiet between them.

Solas’s voice joined his, low and reverent, carrying an earnestness that seemed to cut through the very air. “Only if you’re certain, vhenan.”

Lavellan’s breath trembled as she exhaled, her gaze flitting between the two elves before settling on Solas. There was no hesitation in her eyes, only clarity and warmth. She nodded, her voice steady as she spoke.

“I am.”

The word settled over them like a key turning in a lock, like the final piece of a puzzle sliding into place. The magic flared again—not wild, not overwhelming, but steady and warm, like an embrace. It wove between them in silken threads of gold, blue, and green, binding them together not through force but through intention.

The glade fell into silence once more, but it was not empty. It was filled with breath, with shared energy, with a fragile, intimate understanding that shimmered in the space between their entwined hands and softly glowing eyes. For now, in this fleeting moment, they existed together—unmasked, unguarded, and held in the quiet sanctuary of each other’s presence.

The magic pulsed between them, a living thing that seemed to breathe with their own quickening breaths. Lavellan felt it like a caress against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. She leaned into the sensation, her body swaying slightly as if moved by an unseen current.

Felassan was the first to close the distance, his movements fluid and deliberate. He cupped Lavellan's face in his hands, his violet eyes searching hers for a moment before he leaned in. The kiss was soft at first, exploratory, but it quickly deepened as Lavellan responded with a quiet gasp. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as his tongue traced the seam of her lips.

Solas watched, his pale eyes darkening with a mix of desire and something deeper, more complex. His hand found the small of Lavellan's back, steadying her as Felassan's kiss left her breathless. When they parted, Lavellan turned to Solas, her lips parted and flushed.

Without a word, Solas drew her to him, one hand cradling the nape of her neck as he claimed her mouth with his own. Where Felassan had been playful, Solas was intense, pouring years of longing and regret into the kiss. Lavellan moaned softly, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic.

From behind, Felassan slowly began pulling up the skirt of her robe. His nimble fingers traced delicate patterns along Lavellan's thighs as he slowly gathered the fabric of her robe. The magic hummed through his touch, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever his skin met hers. Lavellan shivered, pressing closer to Solas as the sensations washed over her.

Solas deepened the kiss, one hand tangling in Lavellan's hair while the other roamed her body. He swallowed her quiet gasps and whimpers as Felassan's hands inched higher, caressing newly exposed skin. The air grew thick with desire, magic crackling between them like electricity before a storm.

Felassan leaned in, his breath hot against Lavellan's ear as he whispered words of encouragement. His lips brushed her neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder as he eased the robe down her arms. Lavellan arched into the touch, breaking her kiss with Solas to let out a breathy moan.

Solas's eyes were dark with want as he took in the sight before him. His hands found the clasps of Lavellan's bodice, deftly unfastening them. Together, they slowly unveiled her body, their touches reverent and filled with barely restrained passion.

Solas and Felassan's eyes met over Lavellan's shoulder, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. The air crackled with shared desire and unspoken understanding. Solas's fingers traced along Lavellan's collarbone, his touch feather-light yet electrifying.

"How adventurous are you feeling, vhenan?" Solas asked, his voice low and husky.

Lavellan's breath caught in her throat. "Very adventurous," she replied, her words barely more than a whisper.

At her words, Felassan's lips curved into a knowing smile. With a graceful gesture, he conjured a shimmering veil of magic that as it settled over her eyes, the world around her dimmed and blurred.

Colors melted into hazy shapes, but every sensation seemed magnified tenfold. The whisper of breath against her skin sent shivers down her spine. The brush of fingers along her arms left trails of tingling warmth. Even the subtle shifts in the air currents became noticeable, caressing her naked flesh.

Lavellan gasped as hands - she couldn't tell whose - began exploring her body with slowness. Lips pressed against her neck, teeth grazing her collarbone.

Lavellan's senses heightened as the magical veil obscured her vision. Every touch, every whisper of breath against her skin sent waves of sensation coursing through her body. She shivered as unseen hands caressed her, teasing and exploring.

Solas's voice came low and husky in her ear. "Trust us, vhenan. Let yourself feel." His lips brushed her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

From behind, Felassan's clever fingers traced patterns along her spine, each touch leaving trails of tingling magic in their wake. "So beautiful," he murmured. "So responsive."

They guided her gently to her knees, their bodies pressed close on either side. Lavellan's breath quickened as hands roamed her flesh - one set rough and calloused, the other smooth and nimble. She couldn't tell which belonged to whom, heightening her arousal.

A warm palm cupped her breast, thumb circling her nipple as lips found the other. Lavellan arched into the touch with a soft moan. Fingers tangled in her hair, tugging gently to expose her throat. She felt the scrape of teeth, the soothing swipe of a tongue.

"Tell us what you want," Solas commanded softly.

Before she could answer, Felassan's hand slipped between her thighs. "Or perhaps we should simply take what we desire," he purred.

Lavellan gasped as Felassan's fingers found her most sensitive spots, teasing and stroking with expert precision. Solas captured her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her moans as pleasure built within her. The two elves worked in tandem, their touches alternating between gentle caresses and firm grasps that left her trembling.

"So wet for us already," Felassan murmured approvingly, his clever fingers circling her entrance. "Shall we see how much more you can take?"

Solas broke the kiss, his breath hot against her ear. "Remember, vhenan - you need only say the word if it becomes too much."

Lavellan nodded wordlessly, beyond speech as sensations overwhelmed her. She felt herself being lowered onto something soft - a bed of moss, perhaps, conjured by magic. Hands grasped her thighs, spreading her wide. She whimpered at the feeling of exposure, heightened by her magical blindness.

A warm mouth descended on her breast as fingers teased her folds. Lavellan arched into the touch with a cry of pleasure. She felt the brush of Fade magic against her skin, heightening every sensation tenfold.

"Please," she gasped. "I need..."

"Patience, da'len," Felassan chided playfully. His tongue traced a path along her inner thigh. "We have all night to explore."

Felassan's lips curved into a mischievous smile as he traced intricate patterns along Lavellan's skin. His fingertips glowed with a soft violet light as he whispered an incantation. "May I cast a spell to enhance our connection?" he asked softly. "It won't compel you, only amplify what you already desire."

Lavellan nodded, her breath catching as she felt the magic settle over her like a warm blanket. A subtle hum resonated in her mind, barely perceptible but unmistakably there.

"Good," Solas murmured, his voice low and rich. As he spoke, Lavellan felt a gentle tug in her mind, urging her to listen. "Now relax and let go."

The suggestion washed over her, and Lavellan found herself sinking deeper into the moss beneath her. Her muscles loosened, tension melting away as she surrendered to their touch.

Felassan's fingers danced along her inner thighs, inching higher with teasing slowness. "Spread your legs wider for us," he coaxed. The words were accompanied by that same soft pull in her mind, and Lavellan found herself eagerly complying.

A pleased hum rumbled in Solas's chest as he cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples. "So responsive," he praised. "Let us hear your pleasure, vhenan."

Solas's voice came low and hypnotic, each word seeming to resonate through Lavellan's entire being. "Let yourself sink deeper into bliss," he murmured. "Feel every touch magnified, every sensation heightened."

As he spoke, Lavellan felt a gentle tug in her mind, as if his words were silk threads drawing her consciousness along. She found herself eagerly following that pull, her body growing more sensitive with each passing moment. Every brush of skin against skin sent sparks of pleasure coursing through her.

"That's it," Solas praised softly. "Let go of all thought, all worry. There is only sensation now."

His hands skimmed along her sides, leaving trails of tingling warmth in their wake. Lavellan arched into the touch with a breathy moan, her inhibitions melting away. She felt herself becoming more pliant, more eager to please.

"You want to obey," Solas continued, his voice a velvety caress. "To surrender completely to our desires. It would feel so good to let go, wouldn't it?"

Lavellan nodded eagerly, beyond speech as waves of arousal washed over her. That subtle pull in her mind grew stronger, wrapping around her thoughts like a comforting embrace. She wanted nothing more than to follow where it led.

"Tell us what you want," Solas commanded gently. "Speak your deepest desires aloud."

Felassan's lips curved into a wicked grin as he lifted his hands, violet light dancing between his fingers. With a graceful gesture, shimmering tendrils of magic materialized in the air, glowing with an otherworldly radiance. They moved with fluid, serpentine grace, coiling gently around Lavellan's wrists and ankles.

The magical bonds were impossibly soft, like silk against her skin, yet unyielding. They hummed with energy, a gentle vibration that sent pleasurable tingles through her limbs. As Lavellan tested their strength, she found she could move slightly - enough to arch her back or shift her hips - but not enough to break free.

"Perfect," Felassan purred, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Now you're at our mercy, da'len."

The tendrils seemed to have a mind of their own, tightening and loosening in response to Lavellan's movements. When she strained against them, they held firm. But when she relaxed, they gentled their grip, caressing her skin with feather-light touches.

Solas ran his hand along one of the glowing bonds, causing it to flare brighter. Lavellan gasped as a wave of sensation washed over her, the magic resonating through her entire body.

Solas's eyes darkened as he gazed down at Lavellan, her body arched and trembling beneath their touch. His voice was low and commanding as he spoke. "Open your mouth for me, vhenan."

The words seemed to resonate through Lavellan's entire being. That subtle tug in her mind became more insistent, urging her to obey. Without hesitation, her lips parted, her jaw going slack as she eagerly complied with his request.

"Good girl," Solas praised softly, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. "So obedient, so eager to please."

Lavellan felt a rush of warmth at his words, a deep sense of satisfaction at having pleased him. The magical bonds hummed against her skin, sending pulses of pleasure through her body with each subtle movement.

Solas leaned down, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, "Keep your mouth open, just like that. Don't close it until I give you permission."

Lavellan whimpered softly but didn't move, her lips remaining parted as commanded. She felt utterly exposed, vulnerable in the most exquisite way. The cool night air caressed her tongue, heightening her awareness of every sensation.

Felassan chuckled softly, his fingers dancing along her inner thigh. "Look at her, trembling with need. Shall we see how long she can maintain that pretty pose.”

Felassan's fingers traced teasing patterns along Lavellan's inner thighs as she trembled with need, her mouth still obediently open at Solas's command. The magical bonds hummed against her skin, sending waves of pleasure through her with each subtle movement.

"Such restraint," Felassan murmured approvingly. "Let's see how long you can maintain it."

His clever fingers finally found her center, stroking her slick folds with feather-light touches. Lavellan's hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more pressure, but the bonds held her in place. She whimpered softly, her breath coming in quick pants.

Solas watched intently, his eyes dark with desire. "Remember, vhenan," he said softly. "Keep your mouth open. Don't close it until I give permission."

Lavellan nodded minutely, struggling to obey as Felassan's ministrations intensified. He slipped two fingers inside her, curling them expertly to stroke her most sensitive spots. His thumb circled her clit in maddeningly slow circles.

Solas gazed down at Lavellan, her lips still parted obediently. His eyes burned with barely restrained passion as he slowly unlaced his breeches. "You've been so good," he murmured. "I think you deserve a reward."

He positioned himself before her, the tip of his arousal barely brushing her lips. Lavellan's breath quickened, her tongue darting out to wet her lips in anticipation. Solas groaned softly at the brief contact.

"Take me in your mouth," he commanded gently. "Slowly now."

Lavellan eagerly complied, parting her lips wider to accept him. She slid her mouth over his length inch by inch, savoring his taste and the weight of him on her tongue. Solas's fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her movements.

"That's it," he praised. "Just like that. Now close your lips around me and suck."

Lavellan hummed in pleasure as she followed his instructions, hollowing her cheeks as she began to work her mouth along his shaft. Solas's breath hitched, his grip on her hair tightening.

Meanwhile, Felassan continued his exquisite torture between her thighs. His clever fingers stroked and teased, building her arousal to a fever pitch. He traced lazy circles around her clit, occasionally dipping lower to tease her entrance.

"So wet," Felassan purred.

Lavellan whimpered around Solas's length, torn between the dual sensations of fullness in her mouth and the growing ache between her legs.

Solas's eyes flashed with intensity as he gazed down at Lavellan, her lips wrapped around his length. He could feel the subtle vibrations of her whimpers, could see the way her body trembled with need. His voice was low and commanding as he spoke.

"Listen closely, vhenan," he murmured, the words seeming to resonate through Lavellan's entire being. "You will not find release until I give you permission. No matter how desperately you crave it, you will hold back your pleasure until I allow it."

As he spoke, Lavellan felt that familiar tug in her mind, stronger now than ever before. The compulsion settled over her like a warm blanket, seeping into her very core. She nodded minutely, her eyes wide with a mixture of arousal and anticipation.

Solas's fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her movements as she continued to pleasure him with her mouth. "Good girl," he praised softly. "Now, I want you to show us just how much you want this. Move your hips for Felassan. Let him see how desperately you need his touch."

Without conscious thought, Lavellan found herself obeying. Her hips began to roll and undulate, seeking more contact with Felassan's teasing fingers. The magical bonds shifted with her movements, sending pulses of pleasure through her limbs.

Felassan chuckled appreciatively, his fingers danced along Lavellan's slick folds as she writhed beneath his touch, her hips moving in desperate undulations. The magical bonds shimmered and pulsed, sending waves of tingling sensation through her limbs with each movement. Though her eyes remained covered by the illusory blindfold, her other senses were heightened to an almost unbearable degree.

"Such eagerness," Felassan purred, his breath hot against her inner thigh. "I can feel how badly you want this."

His clever tongue replaced his fingers, tracing intricate patterns along her sensitive flesh. Lavellan cried out around Solas's length, her back arching as far as the bonds would allow. The dual sensations of Solas filling her mouth and Felassan's exquisite torture between her legs threatened to overwhelm her completely.

Solas's grip on her hair tightened, his hips rocking in a steady rhythm as he slid deeper into the wet heat of her mouth. "Focus, vhenan," he commanded softly. "Remember my instructions. You are not to come until I allow it."

Lavellan whimpered, torn between the desperate need for release and her desire to obey. She redoubled her efforts, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked Solas with renewed vigor. Her tongue swirled around his shaft, tracing the thick vein on the underside before flicking over the sensitive head.

Felassan pulled his mouth away, his thumb circled her clit in maddeningly slow circles. "I can feel you clenching around my fingers," he murmured. "So close already. But you can't come yet, can you? Not until our Wolf gives you permission.”

Solas's eyes darkened as he gazed down at Lavellan, her lips still wrapped around him. His voice was low and hypnotic as he spoke. "You're doing so well, vhenan. But I want more from you. I want you to show us just how desperate you are."

The compulsion in his words seemed to sink into Lavellan's very bones. Though her eyes remained covered by the shimmering blindfold, she could feel the weight of their gazes on her exposed flesh. Her body trembled with need, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

"Arch your back," Solas commanded softly. "Present yourself to us."

Without hesitation, Lavellan obeyed. Her spine curved, pushing her breasts forward and tilting her hips. The magical bonds shifted with her movement, sending tingles of pleasure along her limbs.

Felassan hummed appreciatively, his fingers never ceasing their torturous exploration. "Such a lovely sight," he purred. "So eager, so willing."

Solas's grip on her hair tightened as he began to move more forcefully, sliding deeper into the wet heat of her mouth. "Take me deeper," he growled. "Show me how much you want to please me."

Lavellan whimpered around his length, struggling to relax her throat as she took him in. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but the pain only heightened her arousal.

Solas's eyes blazed with intensity as he gazed down at Lavellan. His voice was low and hypnotic as he issued his next command: "I want to hear you beg, vhenan. Tell us how desperately you need release. How you ache to be filled, to be claimed. Let us hear the depth of your desire."

The compulsion washed over Lavellan like a crashing wave. As soon as Solas withdrew from her mouth, words began spilling from her lips in a breathless torrent.

"Please," she gasped. "I need you so badly. I'm burning up, I can't take it anymore. Please touch me, fill me, anything. I'll do anything you want, just please let me come."

Her hips rolled helplessly, seeking friction against Felassan's teasing fingers. The magical bonds hummed against her skin, heightening every sensation. Tears of frustrated arousal leaked from beneath the shimmering blindfold.

"More," Solas demanded. "Tell us exactly what you want us to do to you."

Lavellan's cheeks flushed with heat, but she found herself unable to resist the compulsion in his words. "I want...I want to feel you both inside me," she whimpered. "I want Felassan's cock in my mouth while you take me from behind. I want to be stretched and filled until I can't think, can't breathe."

"I want...I want to feel you both inside me," Lavellan whimpered. "I want Felassan's cock in my mouth while you take me from behind."

Solas and Felassan exchanged a heated glance, a silent understanding passing between them. In a fluid motion, they shifted positions. Felassan moved to kneel before Lavellan's face, while Solas positioned himself behind her trembling form.

"Such filthy desires," Felassan purred, his violet eyes gleaming with arousal. "Let's see how well you can use that pretty mouth of yours." He traced the tip of his length along Lavellan's parted lips, smearing precum across them. She whimpered, her tongue darting out to taste him. The magical bonds hummed against her skin as she strained forward, eager to take him in.

Meanwhile, Solas ran his hands reverently along the curve of Lavellan's spine. His touch left trails of tingling magic in its wake, heightening every sensation. He positioned himself at her entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing insistently against her slick folds.

"Remember," Solas murmured, his voice low and commanding. "You are not to come until I give you permission. No matter how desperately you crave it, you will hold back your pleasure."

Lavellan nodded minutely, trembling with need and the effort of restraint. She felt utterly exposed, caught between their bodies and unable to hide her desperate arousal.

Solas pushed into Lavellan with agonizing slowness, savoring the exquisite feeling of her tight heat enveloping him inch by inch. As he hilted himself fully inside her, he called upon his magic, weaving intricate threads of power around her suspended form.

Lavellan gasped as she felt herself becoming weightless, her body lifting gently into the air. The magical bonds shimmered and pulsed, holding her securely in place even as she floated. The sensation was disorienting yet thrilling - she felt utterly exposed and vulnerable, displayed for their pleasure.

"Look at you," Felassan purred, his violet eyes gleaming with desire as he took in the sight of her suspended form. "So beautiful, so helpless." His clever fingers danced along her skin, tracing patterns of tingling magic across her breasts and down her trembling thighs.

Lavellan whimpered around his length, her tongue swirling desperately as she sucked him deeper. The position allowed Felassan to slide even further into her throat, and she struggled to relax, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

Behind her, Solas began to move in long, measured strokes. The angle of penetration was deeper than ever before, hitting spots inside her that made her see stars. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he thrust into her floating form.

"So eager," Felassan commented, his cock slid deeper into her throat with each thrust, stretching her limits. His fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her movements as she sucked him eagerly. Drool trickled from the corners of her mouth, running down her chin in glistening rivulets. The sight only seemed to inflame Felassan's passion further.

Solas's thrusts grew more intense, his grip on Lavellan's hips tightening as he drove into her suspended form. The magical bonds pulsed in time with their movements, sending waves of tingling pleasure through her limbs. Lavellan moaned around Felassan's length, the vibrations causing him to groan in response.

"Such a good girl," Felassan purred, his fingers tangling in her hair. "Taking us both so well."

Lavellan's entire world had narrowed to the exquisite sensations coursing through her body. Solas's thick length stretching her, hitting spots deep inside that made her see stars. Felassan's cock sliding deeper into her throat with each thrust. The cool night air caressing her flushed skin. She felt utterly overwhelmed, caught between pleasure and the desperate need for release.

Solas leaned forward, his chest pressing against her back as he whispered in her ear. "I can feel how close you are, vhenan. Your body is trembling, clenching around me so tightly."

His words sent a shiver down her spine. Lavellan whimpered, her hips rolling desperately as she sought more friction. The magical bonds tightened in response, holding her firmly in place.

"Not yet," Solas commanded softly. "Show us how much you want it. Let us see your desperation."

Lavellan redoubled her efforts, desperate to please and earn her release. She hollowed her cheeks, sucking Felassan with renewed vigor as her tongue swirled around his length. Her hips rolled in tight circles, clenching rhythmically around Solas as he thrust into her suspended form.

Sweat glistened on her skin, her body trembling with the effort of restraint. Every nerve ending felt alight, sparks of pleasure racing along her spine with each perfect thrust. The magical bonds pulsed in time with her racing heart, sending waves of tingling sensation through her limbs.

Felassan groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair as he neared his peak. "So eager," he panted. 

Behind her, Solas's movements grew more intense. His grip on her hips tightened as he drove into her with punishing force. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her, building and building until she felt she might shatter from the intensity.

"Please," Lavellan whimpered around Felassan's cock, tears of frustrated arousal leaking from beneath the shimmering blindfold. "Please, I can't... I need..."

Solas leaned forward, his chest pressed against her back as he whispered in her ear. His voice was low and hypnotic, resonating through her very being. "Let go, vhenan.”

At Solas's command, Lavellan felt the last of her restraint crumble away. Pleasure crashed over her in overwhelming waves as her body convulsed with release. She cried out around Felassan's length, her back arching as far as the magical bonds would allow.

Every nerve ending seemed to ignite at once, sending sparks of ecstasy racing along her spine. Her inner walls clenched rhythmically around Solas, drawing him even deeper as her hips bucked uncontrollably. The magical bonds pulsed in time with her racing heart, intensifying each wave of sensation.

Tears of relief and overwhelming pleasure streamed from beneath the shimmering blindfold. Lavellan's muffled cries of ecstasy filled the glade as her orgasm seemed to go on and on, each thrust of Solas's hips prolonging the exquisite torment.

Her body trembled violently, suspended in midair and caught between their powerful forms. She felt utterly exposed, utterly claimed, as they continued to take their pleasure from her shaking form. The cool night air caressed her flushed skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from within.

As the initial wave began to subside, Solas's fingers found her sensitive bud, circling it with maddening pressure. The touch sent aftershocks of pleasure coursing through her, causing her to cry out once more. Her voice was hoarse, her throat raw.

Felassan gazed down at Lavellan's trembling form, his violet eyes gleaming with barely restrained hunger. "Such a good girl," he purred, running a hand along her flushed cheek. "But I wonder... do you want more?"

Lavellan's breath caught in her throat. Every nerve ending still sparked with the aftershocks of her intense climax, her body hypersensitive to even the lightest touch. Yet beneath the lingering waves of pleasure, a deeper ache was already beginning to build. She nodded eagerly, beyond words.

With a pleased hum, Felassan moved around her suspended form. Solas's magic pulsed, adjusting her position in midair until she was perfectly displayed between them. The shimmering bonds shifted, spreading her legs wider and tilting her hips. Cool night air caressed her most intimate places, making her shiver.

"Are you certain?" Felassan asked, his tone serious despite the hunger in his eyes. His fingers traced feather-light patterns along the curve of her ass. "I want to take you here. To feel you stretch around me as Solas fills you from the front. But only if you're sure."

Lavellan's breath hitched at his words, arousal flooding through her anew. "Yes," she gasped. "Please, I want to feel you both."

Felassan's answering grin was wicked as he conjured a vial of shimmering oil. He poured some over his fingers, the liquid glowing faintly with magical energy. "Relax for me, da'len," he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

His slick fingers circled Lavellan's puckered entrance, massaging gently to help her relax. The oil tingled pleasantly against her sensitive skin, warming as it made contact. Lavellan let out a soft gasp as Felassan slowly pressed one finger inside, the intrusion both foreign and thrilling.

"That's it," Felassan praised, working his finger deeper with careful patience. "You're doing so well."

Solas's hands roamed Lavellan's body as Felassan prepared her, his touch soothing and grounding. His lips found her neck, placing gentle kisses along the curve of her throat. "Breathe, vhenan," he murmured against her skin. "Let yourself feel everything."

Lavellan whimpered as Felassan added a second finger, stretching her carefully. The magical oil eased the way, its warmth spreading through her core. Felassan's clever fingers curled and scissored, sending sparks of unexpected pleasure racing along her spine.

"So responsive," Felassan purred appreciatively. "I think you're nearly ready for me."

Solas and Felassan positioned themselves carefully on either side of Lavellan's suspended form. The magical bonds shifted, adjusting her body to the perfect angle. Lavellan's breath came in quick, shallow pants, anticipation and arousal coiling tightly in her core.

With exquisite care, Solas began to enter her, the thick head of his cock stretching her slick folds. He moved with agonizing slowness, allowing her body time to adjust to his girth. Lavellan gasped at the delicious fullness, her inner walls fluttering around him.

"Breathe, vhenan," Solas murmured, his voice low and soothing. His hands caressed her sides, leaving trails of tingling magic in their wake.

Behind her, Felassan pressed the head of his oil-slicked length against her other entrance. He was incredibly gentle, easing forward by fractions of an inch. The magical oil eased the way, its warmth spreading through her core.

"Tell me if it's too much," Felassan said softly, his usual playfulness replaced by genuine concern.

Lavellan nodded, beyond words as sensation overwhelmed her. The initial stretch burned slightly, but the discomfort quickly gave way to a deep, unfamiliar pleasure. She felt utterly filled, claimed in the most intimate way possible.

Solas and Felassan moved together in perfect synchronization, their thrusts slow and measured as they allowed Lavellan's body to adjust to the intense fullness. The magical bonds pulsed gently, supporting her weight and holding her suspended between them.

Lavellan's head fell back, overwhelmed by the dual sensations of being so thoroughly claimed. Every nerve ending sparked with pleasure as they began to move more purposefully, finding a rhythm that had her gasping and trembling.

Solas's hands roamed her body, leaving trails of tingling magic in their wake. His fingers found her sensitive breasts, teasing and pinching her nipples as he drove into her with increasing intensity. His lips found the curve of her neck, teeth grazing the delicate skin before soothing the sting with his tongue.

Behind her, Felassan's clever fingers danced along her spine, tracing intricate patterns that sent shivers racing through her. His other hand gripped her hip, guiding her movements as he thrust deeper. The magical oil eased the way, its warmth spreading through her core and intensifying every sensation.

"So perfect," Felassan murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Taking us both so beautifully."

Lavellan could only whimper in response, caught in a haze of pleasure so intense it bordered on overwhelming. She felt utterly exposed, utterly claimed, as they continued to take their pleasure from her trembling form.

The cool night air caressed Lavellan's flushed skin as Solas and Felassan continued their exquisite torment. Every nerve ending sang with pleasure as they moved within her, their bodies finding a perfect rhythm that had her gasping and trembling. The magical bonds pulsed in time with their thrusts, sending waves of tingling sensation through her suspended form.

Felassan's clever fingers traced patterns of crackling energy along her spine, each touch igniting sparks of pleasure that raced along her nerves. His other hand gripped her hip firmly, guiding her movements as he drove deeper. The enchanted oil eased his passage, its warmth spreading through her core and intensifying every sensation.

Solas's hands roamed her body reverently, leaving trails of tingling magic in their wake. His fingers found her sensitive breasts, teasing and rolling her nipples as he thrust into her with increasing intensity. His lips found the curve of her neck, teeth grazing the delicate skin before soothing the sting with his tongue.

"You're close again, aren't you vhenan?" Solas murmured against her skin, his voice low and hypnotic. "I can feel you trembling, clenching around us so tightly."

Lavellan could only whimper in response, beyond words as pleasure built within her. She felt utterly filled, claimed in the most intimate way possible. Every thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through her body.

Lavellan's body trembled on the precipice of release, every nerve ending alight with exquisite sensation. Solas and Felassan moved within her in perfect harmony, their thrusts deep and purposeful as they drove her higher. The magical bonds pulsed in time with her racing heart, sending waves of tingling pleasure through her suspended form.

"Let go for us," Solas commanded softly, his voice resonating through her very being. "Show us your pleasure, vhenan."

At his words, the last threads of Lavellan's control snapped. Pleasure crashed over her in overwhelming waves, her back arching as far as the bonds would allow. She cried out, her voice raw and desperate as ecstasy consumed her. Her inner walls clenched rhythmically around both of them, drawing them even deeper as her hips bucked uncontrollably.

Sparks of magic danced across her skin, intensifying each pulse of her climax. The world seemed to fracture around her, reality blurring at the edges as she lost herself to sensation. Tears of overwhelmed bliss leaked from beneath the shimmering blindfold, tracing glistening paths down her flushed cheeks.

Solas and Felassan continued to move within her, prolonging her pleasure with each perfect thrust. Their hands roamed her trembling form, leaving trails of tingling magic in their wake. Lavellan felt utterly claimed, utterly cherished, as they continued to take their pleasure from.

Lavellan's cries of ecstasy filled the glade as her orgasm seemed to go on and on, each thrust prolonging the exquisite torment. Her body convulsed between Solas and Felassan, suspended in midair by shimmering bonds of magic. Sparks of pleasure raced along her nerves, building and cresting in waves that left her gasping and trembling.

As Lavellan's climax began to ebb, Solas and Felassan picked up their pace. Their movements grew more urgent, more primal, as they chased their own release. Solas's fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as he drove into her with punishing force. Each thrust sent aftershocks of pleasure coursing through her oversensitive body.

Behind her, Felassan's clever hands traced intricate patterns of magic along her spine. The ethereal touch ignited new sparks of sensation, coaxing her towards impossible heights once more. His other hand gripped her hip bruisingly tight as he pounded into her, the enchanted oil easing his passage.

Solas and Felassan's movements became more urgent, their thrusts deeper and more forceful as they neared their peak. The air crackled with magic, shimmering wisps of energy dancing across their skin.

Solas's grip on Lavellan's hips tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh as he drove into her with relentless intensity. His usual composure had shattered, replaced by raw, primal need. Each powerful thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through Lavellan's oversensitive body.

Behind her, Felassan's clever hands traced intricate patterns of magic along her spine, igniting new sparks of sensation. His other hand gripped her hip bruisingly tight as he pounded into her, the enchanted oil easing his passage. His violet eyes blazed with hunger as he watched her writhe between them.

"Let go for us one more time, vhenan," Solas commanded, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "Come undone."

At his words, Lavellan felt herself hurtling towards another impossible peak. Her body trembled violently, suspended between them as pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity. She cried out, beyond words as ecstasy consumed her once more.

Solas and Felassan's movements became frenzied as Lavellan's climax pushed them over the edge. They drove into her with abandon, chasing their own release. The air crackled with magic, shimmering wisps of energy dancing across their skin.

Solas was the first to succumb. With a guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt inside Lavellan's quivering heat. His seed spilled into her in hot pulses as his hips jerked erratically. Waves of magic rolled off him, washing over Lavellan's oversensitive form and prolonging her own pleasure.

Moments later, Felassan followed. He gripped Lavellan's hips bruisingly tight as he pounded into her a final time. His release flooded her, the enchanted oil amplifying every sensation. Sparks of violet energy crackled along his skin, leaping to Lavellan and igniting new sparks of ecstasy.

Caught between them, Lavellan's body convulsed with the force of yet another climax. She cried out hoarsely, beyond words as pleasure consumed her. The magical bonds pulsed rapidly, sending waves of tingling sensation through her suspended form.

For several long moments, the trio remained locked together, trembling in the aftermath of shared ecstasy. The glade was filled with the sound of ragged breathing and the fading crackle of spent magic.

As the waves of pleasure gradually subsided, Solas and Felassan began to lower Lavellan's trembling form. With exquisite care, they guided her onto the soft bed of moss that Felassan had conjured earlier. The magical tendrils that had held her aloft slowly dissolved, fading away in shimmering motes of light that danced through the air like fireflies.

Solas's fingers traced along Lavellan's temples, dispelling the magical blindfold with a whispered word. As the shimmering veil faded, Lavellan blinked slowly, her eyes adjusting to the soft glow of the glade. The compulsion that had woven through Solas's commands gently unraveled, leaving her mind clear but pleasantly hazy in the aftermath of their shared passion.

With reverent touches, Solas and Felassan began to clean Lavellan's flushed skin. Felassan conjured a bowl of warm, scented water and soft cloths. They worked in tandem, their movements gentle and soothing as they wiped away the mingled evidence of their lovemaking. The warm, damp cloths felt heavenly against Lavellan's oversensitive skin, drawing soft sighs of contentment from her lips.

Solas and Felassan tended to Lavellan with infinite care, their touches reverent as they cleaned her flushed skin. Felassan conjured more warm, scented water and soft cloths. They worked in tandem, movements gentle as they wiped away the mingled evidence of their lovemaking. The damp cloths felt heavenly against Lavellan's oversensitive flesh.

Solas cradled her head in his lap, fingers combing through tangled strands with patient devotion. His touch was grounding, anchoring her as the last waves of pleasure ebbed. Felassan's clever hands traced soothing patterns along her limbs, easing away any lingering tension or soreness.

"How do you feel, vhenan?" Solas murmured, voice soft with concern.

Lavellan managed a contented hum, beyond words. A lazy smile curved her lips as she leaned into their ministrations.

Felassan chuckled warmly. "I think we've rendered our lovely Herald speechless." His tone was teasing, but his violet eyes shone with genuine affection.

Once they'd cleaned her thoroughly, Solas carefully lifted Lavellan into his arms. She nestled against his chest with a quiet sigh as he carried her to a nearby grassy area. Felassan darted ahead, as he carried blankets and pillows to create a cozy nest.

They settled her gently onto the soft blankets Felassan had arranged. The grass beneath was cool and fragrant, cushioning their bodies as they reclined. Solas cradled Lavellan against his chest, his arms encircling her protectively. Felassan stretched out on her other side, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

Above them, the night sky stretched out in a glittering tapestry of stars. The glade was far from any settlements, allowing the full glory of the heavens to shine unobstructed. Countless pinpricks of light twinkled against the inky blackness, some steady and bright while others flickered like distant candle flames.

Felassan conjured softly glowing wisps that floated lazily around them, casting a warm, ethereal light. The magical orbs pulsed gently, their soft radiance complementing rather than overwhelming the starlight. They cast shifting shadows across the lovers' intertwined forms, painting their skin in ever-changing patterns of light and dark.

A cool breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the mingled scents of night-blooming flowers and rich earth. It caressed their flushed skin, soothing away the last lingering traces of heat from their passionate encounter. Lavellan shivered slightly, and Solas pulled her closer, his body heat enveloping her like a cocoon.

Felassan reached out, his fingers tracing delicate patterns along Lavellan's arm before coming to rest on her hip. He shifted closer, his body molding against her side as he draped one leg over hers. The warmth of his skin seeped into her, chasing away the last whispers of chill from the night air.

His touch was different now - no longer inflamed with passion, but tender and almost reverent. His palm curved around the gentle slope of her hip, thumb brushing idle circles against her skin. The simple contact grounded her, a reminder of their shared intimacy and the bond that now existed between them.

Lavellan let out a contented sigh, nestling deeper into the cocoon of warmth created by their bodies. Solas's chest rose and fell steadily beneath her cheek, his heartbeat a soothing rhythm in her ear. Felassan's breath tickled the nape of her neck, soft and even.

Above them, the night sky continued its slow dance. Stars wheeled overhead in their ancient patterns, constellations shifting as the hours passed. Occasionally, a streak of light would arc across the heavens - a falling star, its brief life ending in a blaze of glory.

The glade around them seemed to pulse with quiet magic. Fireflies danced between the trees, their bioluminescent glow mingling with Felassan's conjured wisps.

Lavellan drifted in and out of a peaceful doze, cradled between Solas and Felassan. Their gentle touches and whispered words of affection wove through her dreams, creating a tapestry of warmth and belonging. She felt utterly safe, utterly cherished, in a way she had never experienced before.

[stayevildarling]

Wilhemina Venable x Reader- All I want for Christmas is you

A/N: dedicated to @stepintomyworld and all the credit to you for this incredible idea💜

tw/tags: soft mina, mentions of minas past

word count: 2.7k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker , @billiebeanhoward , @lanawinters-ily , @kenzbro , @minaslittleone , @httpfiftyshadesofgay @whitelotus00 , @ninaahelvar , @paulsonsratched , @vintagepaulson , @isle-of-earle , @grilledcheeseandguavajelly , @lucyintheskywithxanax , @fanfics4world , @mymiraclewitch , @hazard-to-myself , @awritersometimes , @wastdstime , @p1pecleanerwitheyes , @queen2234 , @ihartnat , @lifebyinez , @ahsatanizgay , @blu3dimples , @stepintomyworld

The idea had came to you a few weeks ago, Wilhemina and you in each other‘s arms as you had one of your usual deep midnight conversations. She had said it so casually, almost as if it didnt matter. The woman had never had an advent calendar before and despite her making it seem like it wasn‘t a big deal, you could see something behind her brown eyes. You knew about Wilhemina‘s past by now, how she was never taken seriously for her pains and even when she finally got the diagnosis, she was treated like nothing other than a burden.

The redhead had always been careful about her past, not necessarily liking to bring it up, rather keeping it hidden. But after months of your relationship, the woman noticed how you never pushed, never got annoyed when she did share, you made her feel safe and seen, never like a burden and so she began trusting you, opening up and letting her guard down in a way she never had before. And with the season coming up, you decided to change just that. But it wasn‘t going to be any advent calender, her experience had to perfect, not the usual chocolates in a cardboard box.

If Mina was going to experience this for the first time, it had to be perfect. And so by the time december rolled around, you crafted your own version of an advent calendar, each day filled with something for the woman who captured your heart, little gestures to make her smile but also reminders for how much you loved her and how strong she truly was. Some were small, a book you knew she would love, a scented candle, her favorite teas, some handmade things like your own attempt at lavender soap. Some more expensive or taking longer to get your hands on like a beautiful designer scarf in her favorite shade of lilac, a new handle for her cane as hers had become a bit bruised and broken over the years.

You made sure that each day included a handwritten note, reminding her what you loved about her, her sharp wit, the way she mumbled to herself when reading a book or the way her soft hands would brush yours when she reached for her morning coffee. The night before december first, you carefully placed the wrapped boxes and envelopes on the shelf by the fireplace in the livingroom, each one labeled with the dates. When the two of you walk to sit in the livingroom with your coffees the next morning, her reaction was worth every bit of planning and effort you had gone through for the love of your life.

Her fingers delicately brushed over the first gift, her expression a mix of surprise and confusion. „What is this?“ she asked, her voice softer than usual when she saw all the shades of her favorite colour. You smile from the doorway, leaning against the frame. „An advent calendar, you said you never had one, so I thought I would make you one“ you explain, feeling a little shy, hoping it was going to bring her as much joy as you had hoped.

Mina turned towards you, her dark eyes shining „This.. is for me?“ she asks with furrowed eyebrows, almost in disbelief you would have went through that kind of trouble for her. „All for you“ you smile, stepping closer. „Go on, open today‘s“ you encourage with a warm smile. Her eyes dart between you and the box, hesitating for a moment before carefully unwrapping the small package, revealing a hardcover copy of the new book she mentioned months ago but never managed to get one. She gasps a little before finding a little note „You have a way of making this world feel brighter by just being in it. I hope this makes your day a little brighter too“.

Your girlfriends lips part, her eyes focused on the note and book before she looks at you, her usual composure softer than usual, more vulnerable. „This is.. little one.. I don‘t know what to say“ she mumbles before you step a little closer „You don‘t have to say anything“ you encourage, wrapping your arms around her. „Just enjoy it and know that every gift and every note is true, I love you“ you whisper. Your words cause you to hold on tightly and for a moment it was if though the world outside or her past didn‘t exist, just the two of you and the quiet love you shared, now carefully spelled out by daily gifts for your girlfriend.

The days passed with Wilhemina eagerly unwrapping each present, finding little gestures and notes that caused her heart to melt at your thoughtfulness. She tried to hide how giddy it made her but you would see the way her fingers lingered over the wrapping paper, a smile tugged on her lips whenever she read your notes, almost as if she was more excited about those than the actual gifts. One morning, you find her sitting at the table, the december 8th package in front of her. It wasn‘t opened yet, though she was staring at it, fingers lightly tracing the ribbon.

„Waiting for me?“ you tease, setting down two mugs of coffee before sitting across from her. She glances up, her expression softer than you had seen it before „Maybe.. I like opening them with you“ she whispers, barely audible. Her confession warmed your heart „Well don‘t let me keep you waiting, show me what you got today“ you encourage excitedly. The redhead unties the ribbon carefully, her movements unhurried, as if savouring the moment. Inside she finds a beautiful scarf, her favorite shades of lilac. You had found it weeks ago at a designer store, this not exactly within your budget but wanting to spoil the woman who had captured your heart.

She holds it up, admiring the piece of clothing before she murmurs „This is stunning“ but when she notices the small Prada tag, her eyes widen as she looks at you. „This is too much little one“ she argues but you shake your head, encouraging her to read the note. „It reminded me of you“ you whisper, watching her reaction closely. She sets the scarf down before reading the note „You are the most captivating person I have ever known, everytime I see you, I fall in love all over again“. Mina‘s breath hitches as she presses her lips together, eyes glistening with tears as she rereads the note. „You‘re going to ruin me with these“ she says, voice trembling slightly.

„Good“ you reply with a wink, reaching out to take her hand. „You deserve to be ruined in the best way possible, for love, for joy, for feeling safe and for all the things you misses out on growing up“. Her eyes find yours and for once she doesn‘t have a clever or sarcastic response. Instead she stands, leaning in as she kisses your lips, lingering on yours as if to pour all the unspoken words and gratitude into the moment. When she pulled back, she is smiling, a rare unguarded smile that causes your heart to ache. „Thank you“ she whispers „For this.. for everything“.

She doesn‘t say anything else, simply pulling you into another kiss, the scarf forgotten on the table for now. But you knew your Mina wasn‘t the type to say how much something meant to her, but in the way she held you after, the way she lingered close, you knew she didn‘t need to, her actions louder than any words. As the days passed you noticed her coming home after work, proudly wearing the scarf and using the other things you had gotten her, finding her drinking the tea you had gotten for her, reading the book and finding the room smelling like the lavender scented candle you bought, finding a soft smile on her features each time.

In the following weeks, you noticed how much more relaxed Mina seemed around you. She was anyway but there was something softer and subtler about the way she would talk to you, almost as if she wasn‘t thinking about what she is saying or holding back the slightest details which she usually would. Her arms would find yours more often, hands holding your own and her lips finding yours more softer than before, always as to make up for the fact she wasn‘t good with words and expressed her gratitude through those things.

Two nights before christmas, the two of you sit by the fireplace, the sound of the fire crackling echoing through the quiet room. There is a lilac knitted blanket draped over both of your legs as you watch the fire, the presence of each other enough as well as the vinyl you had gotten her playing softly in the background. Out of the corner of your eyes you could see how she keeps looking at you, her lips parting before she stops herself and you can‘t help but find her hand under the blanket, squeezing it a little reassuringly before locking eyes with the woman that you love. „Something on your mind Mina?“ you ask gently before her brown eyes find yours. She halts for a moment before her lips finally part, her walls knocking down gently with your grounding eyes.

„Thank you“ she whispers, her hand squeezing yours a little tighter instinctively as her eyes stay on your own. „Thank you for making this christmas so special“ she whispers, causing you to frown when you see the honesty in her eyes, the pain from her past replaced by something else. It was you that replaced those things, the notes, the carefully chosen gifts and the way you had made her feel seen ever since capturing her heart. „Thank you for making me feel seen and not like a burden“ she admits, some tears welling in her eyes as your own sparkle in your eyes. You pull her closer, holding her in your arms before pulling away with a smirk. „Wait til you open tomorrow‘s“ you tease with a wink which causes her to chuckle lowly at your antics. She leans her head on your shoulder, never once letting go off your hand.

The day christmas rolls around, the two of you begin with some breakfast, opting to spend it in the comfort of each other, Mina having made a dinner reservation for you two at a fancy but quiet restaurant she chose for the night. She had been excited to open your last box, a much smaller one this morning but you had told her she needed to wait til after breakfast, causing her to fake pout. The two of you enjoyed breakfast, happy that Wilhemina was finally getting a break from work for a little while, excited to spend it with her fully. While Wilhemina got in the bath and ready, having gifted her some lavendar bath salts for the occasion yesterday, you made sure to perfect the surprise that you had kept for the very end of this advent calendar.

By the time the woman steps out of the bedroom, dressed in a lilac uniform for tonight, her hair styled perfectly the way it usually was. But there was something different about the way she looked today, happier and almost a little less tense than usually. You watch from behind the sofa as you hide there, seeing her walk inside with a confused expression when she finds her favorite lilac flowers on the table with the last box for today. The note next to it reads „Open now“ and she glances around confused for a moment, not having seen you yet before she opens it, finding nothing other than another note in it. As her eyes glance over it her eyebrows furrow yet again as she reads „Turn around“ and as she does, her breath hitches when she sees you, on one knee and a tiny box with a purple ribbon in your hands.

„Y/N, what are you doing?“ she asks, confusion and fear in her features for a moment before your eyes locking with her own ground her. „Mina“‘you begin, trying to hide your trembling hands and trying to calm your nerves. „I know you aren‘t one for these big gestures and so that‘s why I‘m keeping this small“ you begin with a smile, trying to hold back your own tears. „I have loved you since first laying eyes on you and I couldn‘t be more grateful that you opened your heart to me. I love you with all my being, you are beautiful beyond words. And I promise you that I will spend every single one of my days reminding you how special you are“. She watches you in shock, her eyes never leaving yours as she listens to your words carefully. „I promise that I will spend my days making sure you slowly forget the memories you grew up with and replace them with happy and safe ones just like you deserve“.

Your breath trembles as you open the small box, exposing a subtle ring with a lilac diamond, not too big, not too small or grand, perfect for your girlfriend. „Will you do me the greatest honour of becoming my wife?“ you ask, a part of you worried this was too much for her, the two of you having talked about marriage before but unsure whether she was truly ready. „I promise we can take it as slow as you need and if this is too much, this is something you aren‘t ready for or not want, I will understand and I won‘t..“ you begin rambling but before your nerves can get the better of you further, she pulls you up, your faces inches apart. „Can you stop talking and kiss me?“ she whispers, tears in her eyes as you nod a bit dumfounded, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that feels so much more meaningful than all the others you had shared.

„So is that a yes?“ you ask with a sly smile as you both pull away which causes her to roll her eyes and smirk „Yes idiot, it means yes“ she whispers, tears still swelling in her eyes as you carefully place the ring on her finger, seeing how her eyes sparkle as she secretly admires it. There is silence between you as the vinyl player carries on playing softly in the background, your anxiety having drawn out the fact you turned it on before she stepped into the room while fixing all the details for her surprise. You glance at her cane, slowly reaching and putting it aside as you hold her up instead, causing her to meet your eyes, scared at first before it is instantly replaced by trust and safety. „I have got you“ you whisper as she leans her head on your shoulder and the two of you begin swaying softly to the sound of her favorite song.

„This month has been so special, thank you“ she whispers as you smile before you feel her smirking against you „How are you gonna beat that next year?“ she teases which causes you to chuckle before shrugging. „I have got something for you to open now too“ she remarks, reaching for her cane before disappearing for a moment. „I was going to give it to you tonight but I guess you beat me to it“ she whispers before you carefully unwrap the present, exposing a small box. Your heart hammers against your chest as you have a feeling what it might be by her words and smile. Tears well in your eyes as you see the beauiful ring she had chosen for you. „You know I can‘t get on one knee but will you do me the honour too?“ she teases, both utterly serious but something soft in her tone.

„I suppose so“ you shrug, tears streaming down your cheeks, causing the woman‘s elbow to softly land on your side before you both begin chuckling, laughter errupting in the quiet room as Wilhemina had learnt you truly cared for her. How you truly felt for her and she couldn‘t deny this any longer, especially after this month, that you are the one, that she trusted you fully and was never going to let you go. Her arms wrap around you again before her hand takes yours to admire the ring „Y/N Venable has a nice ring to it“ she smirks which causes you to smile before pulling her in for a kiss. And it was true, all you both wanted for christmas was each other, today and for all the christmases to come.

[ellenchain]

It's definitely a sign that IOI is always leaving themselves a loophole, and that logic - let's be honest - has had little impact on the storytelling in the games so far lmao

BUT: We know from conversations with Providence people from the Isle of Sgail mission that they were about to clone humans. One of the twins raised the budget for it.

Dr Hei was probably already active at the time. I assume that The Splitter takes place before Isle of Sgail, because after that the events are so closely timed that I don't think Diana and 47 are still accepting contracts. This is contradicted by the fact that Angus Pritchard is given a tout of the ICA facility in Hitman 3, even though he's actually been there before. Perhaps they wanted to show him the reconstruction (here we are with the logic mentioned).

Dr Hei is not working directly with the ICA at that time, but with Hush. Perhaps the cloning programme was moved elsewhere during the events of Hitman 3. This would mean that Dr Hei is no longer working on the cloning programme (at least at the time of the events in Hitman 3).

However, this would all mean that the cloning programme took place before Grey's death and would actually make more sense of his suicide. The ICA was already infiltrated at that point, Grey probably knew that (or suspected it). Knowing that Dr Hei existed and that the ICA could clone him to abuse him, he chose to die rather than become a weapon for Providence.

What we don't know, however: How ‘alive’ does the DNA have to be to use it for a cloning programme?

We've seen Grey's body and that 47 basically left him there.

So it could well be that Grey's body was taken by CICADA mercenaries. I don't think 47 made a U-turn in the middle of the forest to give Grey a proper burial (which imo is bullshit from IOI's side but whatever)

Long story short: If the body doesn't have to be alive for cloning, I can well imagine that Dr Hei and ICA can bring Lucas Grey back. It would have to be in a different location though, since 47 burned the location in China. Unless they rebuilt it, which could also be the case. However, as with everything, this raises ethical concerns because I don't know whether I'd sleep better with 2 or 3 Lucas Greys. Since it's not going to be a gangbang, but a fight, that would be more Lucas Greys dead than I could accept...

If the body has to be alive for that to happen, it becomes more difficult because Lucas Grey, as much as it hurts, probably didn't receive first aid right away and only with a lot of goodwill and belief in the supernatural, could have still had brain function when he was picked up by CICADA and brought to a facility.

BUT, this is Hitman and if the second option came to pass, it would still provide a good opportunity to bring Grey back. Cloning programmes can be used to restore entire bodies. If Grey can't be completely cloned, but at least restored so that his body functions again, a shot in the head would be a welcome problem for ICA/Providence: someone can't remember who he is and what happened. But the body is fully functional.

Lots of opportunities to work with and we all know IOI won't even think about it 🎉

Soooo, I played The Splitter and… and maybe this is just far fetched… but since Dr. Hei survived and she is the researcher for the whole clone program, knowing everything about it and everything about the romanian clone program… and like I said… she is still alive!!

Could this be a future where they could bring Grey back? 👀

Yeah I know, I am delulu. But what if Grey is still alive? We had the pamphlet of that Ether DNA HQ on Ambrose Island. And The Splitter is set before the end of Hitman 3, since the ICA is still a thing. So what if Dr. Hei is now working there and they bought Grey there after he shot himself and now Dr. Hei keeps him alive, to make experiments with his precious DNA?

This could make 1. Dr. Hei the next elusive target and 2. it could be a rescue mission to bring back Grey 🥹 is that really too far fetched?! Is it though?!

[bigskydreaming]

Imagine if you were a gay or bi man who tried a certain firefighter show because of all the attention it was getting for one of its mains having a later in life bi awakening.....and between seasons you ventured into its fandom in search of material to tide you over til the next one. And you're greeted by a deluge of posts and fics that are just cheerfully homophobic towards one half of the newly out bi character's canon relationship on the basis of 'well he's not the RIGHT gay guy' and pushing the idea that actually its fine to cheat on him because Reasons and he's sexually predacious based on......behind the scenes implications people have divined like they're reading fucking tea leaves.

But don't get it twisted....this fandom, like all fandoms, really cares about representation!

Sorry not sorry, but we really need to kill this idea that fandoms are welcoming and inviting and inherently progressive when they're frequently insular and reductive as fuck. Every single fandom I've been in has had major trends of people doubling down on their own headcanons and fanon interpretations of the characters and willfully enacting trends aimed at running off people who like the 'wrong' characters (usually characters marginalized along one or multiple axes), like the characters in the 'wrong ways' or other bullshit.

Scott is a Bad Friend fics overtaking Teen Wolf fandom was not incidental, it was a FEATURE of the fandom, because the vast majority of that fandom did not want to share its space with anyone who had the nerve to like its main character. Survivors complaining about or criticizing the prevalance of rape fics in a certain fandom has in my experience always led to a reactionary UPTICK in those fics, with gems like 'this character can, will, must be raped' in the tags making it crystal clear that some of these fics exist because how fucking DARE anyone try and push forth a narrative not agreed upon by Fandom Main.

I could cite examples for so many other fandoms, with the commonalities always being that vast majorities in these fandoms are explicitly reacting defensively to being asked to be more mindful of fandom trends revolving around or exacerbating racism, homophobia, transphobia, rape or abuse apologia, ableism, etc....

With the most prolific fucking rallying cry across countless fandoms being "No the fuck we will NOT be doing that," because lolololol.....

Fandom is an inherently progressive space, didn't you hear?