#the ones who bear the name and potentially the power

[another-corpo-rat]

im replaying play it safe and i love that lil moment when Johnny realises Smasher is still alive and kicking - and you can almost hear the click in his brain when he redirects his frustration, then he straight-up says:

"Seein' as I woke up in a world without any Saburo, I'll have to be satisfied with Smasher."

and tbh i dont know where im going with this other than i think its about Johnny being selfish and angry, disguising his personal grudges under a veneer of generic anti-corp rhetoric and dragging V into a fight they shouldn't have to face just cos he's looking for someone to blame without looking in a mirror for too long and the guy who handed his ass to him in '23 is as good a candidate as any,

[imaginesbymonika]

Not a violent dog | Part 1

Pairing: Logan x fem!Reader

Plot: Back in Wade‘s world Logan meets someone he thought he would never ever see again.

Warnings: slight spoilers for Deadpool 3!!!! mentions of death, angst, cursing, and fluff at the end if you squeeze your eyes at the screen, I haven’t written in A WHILE so bear with me

Masterlist

Wade met you in 2016, while he was staying at the X-Men mansion. You didn’t look up from your spot behind the counter when he came into the kitchen, your eyes were observing how the colorful cereal chunks were floating in the brownish milk. It didn’t take long for him to ultimately recognize you. “You’re Y/N!”, he exclaimed loudly, as if he made the discovery of a lifetime:” Cat Claw, was it, right?” You didn’t respond, instead, your y/e/colored eyes solely looked up. At the sight of his face, you slightly tilted your head. He immediately began ranting about how he truly believed that you could have had your own franchise if Sony cared enough about women before he made a shiver run down your spine.

“You’re Logan’s girl, right?”, he asked innocently, however, the next thing Wade knew, was how the bowl of cereal slammed against the wall right next to his face. He didn’t flinch, instead, he merely ran his finger down the milk stains before putting them into his mouth:” Oat milk, how responsible of you. We should all take better care of Mother-Earth, con-.” But before he had the chance to end his sentence, you made a few long steps toward him until your faces were only a couple of centimeters apart from one another. “That is so hot.”, Wade whispered while you studied his burned features.

“Don’t you ever take his name into your mouth again, or I’ll cut your tongue out!”

“That’s even hotter!”

Wade very quickly learned that despite your powers, your inability to die, and your unbelievably harsh persona you carried a lot of heartbreak inside. Things between you and Logan didn’t end well. You heard about his death through Charles Xavier, a couple of months after he mysteriously disappeared. And never getting any actual explanation or closure had turned you into a person no one could recognize anymore. You were always angry, short-tempered, and mean like a nervous dog. Because let’s call it by its name: you were beyond hurt. There was no term in the dictionary that could fully define how you felt about the whole situation.

So when Wade came across the other Logan, he eventually brought you up. “You’re a hero in my world, you know. Everyone idolizes you.”, Wade explained, looking down at the canned food and taking it into his hands:” No wait, scratch that- almost everyone loves you.”

Logan, who was sitting with his back turned to Wade only scoffed:” Whoever that person is, they’re probably smarter than the rest.” “Yeah, maybe.”, he simply replied, looking out of the window:” I mean, she doesn’t talk about it. Except for this one time where she was really, really drunk and we sang karaoke together…it was terrific.”

“She?”

Wade turned his head:” Yeah, Y/N.” He observed how Logan abruptly tensed up, almost as if the name alone switched on something inside of him:” Say it again.” And for one short second one could've argued that Logan was begging. The sound of his voice was almost vulnerable.

The man in the red outfit blinked a couple of times before he gazed into the open air:” We are about to find out something significant for the plot, guys!”, he whispered excitedly before clearing his throat and turning back to Logan: “Y/N, you know- the X-Man. Wasted potential if you ask me, Sony could’ve made so much money off of her. She’s really popular with women and girls above the age of 14, I-.”

“Cut the bullshit!”, he turned in his chair, eyebrows furrowed:” You are telling me that in your world, she is still alive?”

“What a plot twist!”

Turns out, Logan lost his version of you years ago on a mission. “It was supposed to be an easy one.”, Logan explained, while the two men wandered through the desert-looking realm:” Get into the lab, eliminate the mutant killing weapons, and then leave again-.” He took a deep breath, while his eyes roamed over the uninhabited land. His angry eyes suddenly much softer and sadder:” We thought we killed every guard. The bullet came out of nowhere, and hit her right in the chest.”

Only the sound of the wind cut through the stillness. „ We were supposed to get married. Charles had already promised that we would be able to build a home in the woods next to the School. So she could become a teacher… she always adored the mutant children that lived there. Said she wanted some of her own one day, with me…”

Wade stared at the ground:” I am sorry.” But Logan shook his head in comeback:” It’s all good. That’s how life is.“

“That’s what she always says as well.”, Wade muttered under his breath, as the two continued walking:” But I know she's always lying to me.”

[nyrasvoid]

A Knight’s Prize pt.2

Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

Summary: you overhear a scheming conversation between Otto and Alicent Hightower, leading you to doubt Ser Gwayne’s true intentions.

Warnings: none i think?? if you find any let me know

A/N: this second part was written based on one of the comments of part one

- Word count: ≈3.5k

Part 1

The day after your encounter with Ser Gwayne, you find yourself wandering the corridors of the Red Keep. You wore a teal dress, a perfect blend of Velaryon blue and Hightower green, with gold embroidery down the fabric. A simple gold tiara adorned with tiny pearls rests on your head, while a silver pendant shaped like a dragon, its eyes gleaming with emeralds, hangs around your neck. Your heart flutters with a mix of hope and anxiety as you walk, your thoughts consumed by the image of Ser Gwayne. You can’t help but wonder if your paths will cross today, if perhaps he might seek you out again, this time not as a competitor but as a suitor.

As you turn a corner, the sound of voices pulls you out of your imagination. You recognize them instantly, calculating tone of Lord Otto Hightower and the softer voice of Queen Alicent. You pause, turning around and hiding behind the column where they could not see you.

From your position, you peeked around the corner and saw them standing near the entrance to the library. You feel your pulse quicken as you lean closer, trying your best to hear their conversation.

"Father," Alicent begins, her voice filled with worry. "This match between Gwayne and the Princess... it troubles me."

Otto watches her calmly, his expression unreadable. "And why should it trouble you, my daughter? The girl is a Princess of the realm, of Velaryon and Targaryen blood, and a potential queen one day. A union between our houses would solidify our influence over the Iron Throne."

"But she is a bastard," Alicent argues quietly. "The rumors about her parentage... they are known throughout the court. If Gwayne marries her, it could stain our house, taint the Hightower name with whispers and scandal."

You feel a chill run down your spine, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your dress. The word 'bastard' feels to you like a knife, a painful reminder of the whispers and glances that have haunted you all your life.

Otto remains calm, his tone firm and decisive. "Alicent, you must understand the greater game we are playing. Whether she is a trueborn daughter of Ser Laenor Velaryon or not, she is still the granddaughter of King Viserys and the heir to the throne after Rhaenyra. To have her as a daughter-in-law would elevate our house beyond any stain that her lineage might bear."

Alicent hesitates, her gaze fixated towards the ground. "But what of Gwayne? Does he know of these ambitions? Has he agreed to be a pawn in your game?” she paused and took a deep breath. “If he is to marry a bastard and stain our name, he must at least have a say in this.”

Otto smiles, a cold, calculating smile that sends a shiver down your spine. "Gwayne knows his duty, as we all do. His personal feelings are of little to no matter, compared to the power our house could gain. He will do as he is told."

You feel as though you have been betrayed. Could it be true? Is Ser Gwayne merely a pawn in his father’s game? Have his charming words and tender touches been nothing more than a farce, a way to secure your hand and, with it, the power that comes with your name?

You take a step back, tip-toeing slow and carefully to avoid being discovered. Your thoughts becoming a storm of confusion and hurt. Is this the true nature of the man who seeks your favor? Does he see you as nothing more than a prize to be won?

Just as you’re about to leave, you hear Alicent speak once more, her voice filled with doubt. "But what if she learns of this? What if she refuses him? The Princess has her mother’s spirit and the blood of the dragon. She will not be easily controlled if she feels betrayed."

Otto simply responds - "Then we must ensure she does not learn of it. The Princess is young, and like any young woman, she is vulnerable to the charms of a skilled and handsome knight. Gwayne will win her over with affection."

You finally decide to retreat, wanting to hear no more words of their scheming. As you walk through the halls of the Red Keep, you can’t stop thinking about Gwayne. How could you have been so blind? Could Ser Gwayne be part of this plan, or is he a victim of his father’s ambition too?

The sounds of the tournament grow louder as you approach the field, but you no longer feel the same excitement. You watch as Ser Gwayne enters the field, facing the famous Ser Loras Tyrell. Ser Gwayne’s armor gleams in the sunlight, a shining steel plate adorned with the green fabrics of House Hightower. His cloak, bearing the Hightower sigil. A plume of green feathers decorates his helmet, making him stand out against the other knights. He carries his lance with confidence.

Ser Loras, wearing an armour decorated with the golden roses of House Tyrell, sits on his horse, his gaze fixed on Gwayne with a look of superiority. The two knights lower their lances, and at the signal from the herald, they charge.

The first clash is brutal, their lances meeting with a deafening impact, both knights remain mounted. The crowd roars in excitement, eager for more. Again, they charge, and again their lances crash together, breaking into pieces. But neither man yields.

On the third pass, Ser Loras leans slightly into Gwayne’s track, his lance striking against Gwayne’s shield. With the force of the blow, Ser Gwayne is knocked from his horse. He hits the ground hard, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

You rise from your seat, your heart pounding in your chest as you lean on the gallery’s fence to see what is happening on the field. Rhaenyra and Daemon exchange looks, as they notice your concern. They have not forgotten the disrespects and insults of the Hightowers towards your family, and your growing interest in Ser Gwayne is not something they view favorably.

From behind your seat, Otto Hightower watches with a smirk, his eyes catching the worry on your face. He seems almost pleased by your reaction, his mind already thinking about your betrothal to his son.

As you slowly sit back down, your brother Jacaerys, seated beside you, leans in and whispers, “Do you have any interest in that Hightower cunt?”

You glare at him, your voice low as you reply, “It is of no interest to you, Jace.”

He frowns but says nothing more, his gaze returning to the field as the match continues.

Ser Gwayne, rises from the ground and calls out to Ser Loras, his voice carrying across the field, “Dismount, Ser Loras, and face me with steel if you dare!”

The crowd murmurs in excitement as Ser Loras hesitates for only a moment before dismounting. The two knights draw their swords, the clash of steel ringing across the field.

Ser Loras is fast and agile, but Ser Gwayne fights with a relentless ferocity that soon begins to wear his opponent down. You watch in distress, worrying for Gwayne, your earlier doubts momentarily forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Finally, with a powerful strike, Ser Gwayne forces Ser Loras’s sword from his hand, sending it to the ground. Loras stumbles back and Gwayne presses the tip of his blade against the Tyrell knight’s throat.

“Yield,” Ser Gwayne commands, his voice firm.

Ser Loras meets his gaze for a long moment before finally lowering his head in surrender. “I yield,” he says.

As the day’s events draw to a close, you retreat to the gardens of the Red Keep, seeking solace in the cool evening air.

You reach a secluded corner of the garden, where the scent of blooming roses fills the air, and there, waiting for you, stands Ser Gwayne. His armor has been removed, he smiles as you approach, but the warmth you once felt in his presence is now overshadowed by the coldness in your heart.

"Princess," he says gently, "I've been looking for you. Is something the matter?"

You hesitate, your mind racing with the memory of what you overheard in the library. The scheming of his father and sister, the way they spoke of you as if you were nothing more than a pawn in their game. You swallow hard, unable to meet his gaze fully.

"Nothing is the matter, Ser Gwayne," you reply, your voice cold and distant.

His brow furrows, sensing the change in your behaviour. "We are betrothed now," he says, "Should we not start spending more time together? I want us to know each other, to trust each other."

"Trust?" you echo, your tone filled with sarcasm. "Trust is a rare luxury in a place like this, wouldn’t you agree?"

He looks taken aback by your sharpness but remains calm. "Princess, I understand your apprehension. But we are to be married. We must find common ground, if not for our sake, then for the sake of our houses."

The mention of your marriage—the idea of leaving your family, your mother, your brothers—. You glance away, "It’s not so simple, Ser Gwayne.”

He steps closer, his voice softer. "Should I come to your chambers before the dinner to accompany you? We could speak more... openly."

You nod, though your enthusiasm is lacking. "Very well, Ser Gwayne. If it pleases you."

You return to your chambers, there, you prepare for the dinner. The thought of marriage, the thought of leaving behind everything you’ve ever known to go to Oldtown, fills you with sadness. And then, of course, there’s the matter of children—something that makes you sick to your stomach just thinking about it.

As you finish dressing, you hear a light knock on your door. You take a deep breath and open it to find Ser Gwayne waiting for you, dressed in elegant dark green attire.

"You look beautiful, Princess," he says with a small smile, his eyes tracing the lines of your gown as he extends his arm offering you to hold onto it.

"Thank you, Ser Gwayne," you reply, your voice polite but distant as you accept his arm.

As you walk together through the corridors of the Red Keep, he tries to make conversation. "I’ve been thinking about Oldtown," he begins, his voice calm. "It’s a beautiful city, with a rich history. I think you will grow to love it there, as its Lady."

You nod, but your thoughts are elsewhere. "Perhaps," you say, not wanting to engage in the conversation.

He senses your hesitance and changes the subject. "And what of children?" he asks gently, "I imagine we will have many, strong and healthy. You will be a wonderful mother, I am sure."

The thought of children—of bearing his children—unnerves you. "We shall see, Ser Gwayne" you reply coolly.

As you enter the grand dining hall, you take your seats beside each other. The hall is filled with the noble houses of the realm, and King Viserys announces your betrothal with a smile. There are cheers and applause.

Ser Gwayne turns to you, "Would you honor me with a dance, Princess?" he asks, his voice soft.

But the last thing you want is to dance with him, not after everything. "I’m afraid I do not wish to dance," you reply, turning away from him.

Moments later, Ser Loras approaches and asks for the honor of a dance. Despite your earlier refusal, you accept his offer, rising from your seat and allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. You can feel Ser Gwayne’s eyes on you, a mixture of hurt and confusion in his gaze, but you ignore it.

When the dinner finally ends, Ser Gwayne is there to escort you back to your chambers. The walk is silent, tension in the air. As you reach the door, he stops, his hand gently grabbing yours.

"Princess," he begins, his voice low and strained, "why have you been so distant with me? And why did you dance with another when I asked you first?"

You pull your hand away, feeling the anger within you begin to boil. "I am not distant," you say, though the lie is evident in your voice.

He steps closer, his eyes searching yours. "We should not start our marriage based on lies, Princess. If something is troubling you, tell me. We are to be husband and wife. We must trust each other."

The pressure of his words, finally breaks you. "You want to know what’s wrong, Ser Gwayne?" you snap. "I overheard your father and sister speaking in the library. They spoke of using me, of marrying me off to you to gain power, to strengthen their hold on the realm. How can I trust anything you say?"

Ser Gwayne’s eyes widen in shock. "I had no idea," he says, "I swear to you, Princess, I was not aware of any of this. My feelings for you—my desire to marry you—are my own, not theirs. You must believe me."

You turn away, tears threatening to spill over. "How can I? How can I believe anything when everyone around me is filled with ambition?"

He reaches out, gently turning you back to face him. "Because I will prove it to you," he vows. "I will confront my father and sister. I will not allow them to manipulate us, to use you as a tool for their own gain. I promise you that, Princess."

You stare at him, a storm of emotions going through your mind. Without thinking, you reach up, grabbing his face in your hands. The softness of his skin under your fingers sends a shiver down your spine, leaning in to press your lips against his.

The kiss is desperate, filled with all the confusion you’ve been holding back. His lips are warm and firm against yours, and for a moment, you lose yourself in the sensation. His hands come up to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss.

When you finally pull away, your breathing is uneven, your heart pounding in your chest. He looks at you, his hands still resting on your waist.

"We must wait," he says gently, his voice tinged with both desire and restraint. "I do not wish to dishonor you, Princess. We should save this for our wedding night, as it should be." He takes your hand, lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss on your knuckles.

You nod, unable to say anything, but before you can even try to speak, Ser Gwayne steps back, “Goodnight, my lady," he murmurs, "I will see you tomorrow."

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing at the doors of your chambers, your heart pounding in your chest.

Slowly, you retreat into your chambers, closing the door behind you. You move toward the vanity, removing the silver pendant from your neck and placing it carefully on the table. Your hands are trembling. You slip out of your dress, replacing it with a simple nightgown. As you slide into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, your thoughts race.

You try to push the events of the evening from your mind, but it’s impossible. Ser Gwayne’s words echo through your mind, his touch still lingering on your skin. He seemed sincere.

Your thoughts go to the future, to what it means to be Lady of Oldtown, to be married to a man whose family you cannot fully trust. The idea of leaving your mother and brothers fills you with a deep sadness. Perhaps, despite everything, Ser Gwayne might be different. He could be a good husband, a good father. He could make this marriage something more than just a political arrangement.

Pt 3???

[messiahzzz]

it is a conscious choice of mystra to initially present herself as this benevolent, courteous, and merciful being. a practiced and perfected approach she knows will compel gale to follow her demands with the least amount of resistance on his part. he already refused to follow her instructions when she sent elminster to request his death — his effective father figure, gale’s self-proclaimed hero, mentor, and the one who plucked him from obscurity in the first place — so another appeal is in order.

narrator: "elminster's visit weighs heavy on your mind. his face you did not expect to see again." narrator: "when you last saw him, you were in your prime. no orb, no tadpole. a mage of growing renown, all power, pride, and potential - beloved by the goddess of magic herself. narrator: "it's one thing to have fallen from such heights, but to have elminster himself now witness your humiliation is almost unbearable." gale: [his disappointment cuts deeper even than mystra's. he was your hero.] narrator: "while most know of elminster the legend, few know him as you have. he plucked you from obscurity. offered you his guidance. his faith. and most recently, his pity."

yet it is curious how quickly she changes her tune once gale doesn’t readily agree to her demand to return the crown of karsus to her, no questions asked. or even dares to impugn, or criticize her reasoning for leaving him to die.

gale: "a great ask indeed. you've given me much to think on - as you always did." mystra: "so be it. follow the needles of your own wisdom. we shall see how truly it leads you."

gale: "because i disobeyed you. you punished me for it." mystra: "how so? you think i should have cured you? erased the consequences of your actions?"

gale: "you break up with me, cut me off from the weave, leave me to die, and that's all you have to say? 'you look well'?" mystra: "i did not come here to suffer a mortal's admonitions. certainly not yours."

gale: "you were threatened. you realised you couldn't control me." mystra: "you were many things to me, but never a threat. and never a saviour." nodecontext: sharper, almost a warning - don't entertain such thoughts, gale. you won't like where they lead.

gale: "i don't know. i need time to think." mystra: "so be it. follow the needle of your own wisdom. we shall see how truly it leads you."

particularly interesting to note is how she uses his surname as a tool to chastise and taunt him. only referring to him as "gale dekarios" in the context of him displeasing her, when he doesn't readily obey, whether he simply wavers (needing time to think) or outright declines her instructions. she uses the very name he had actively discarded and refuses to be referred to at this point in time. a deliberate reminder of his fallible humanity, of the flaws he tried to distance himself from. she knows this.

gale: "i won't let you down again. when the absolute is vanquished, i will surrender karsus' powers to you. you have my word." mystra: "thank you. may the weave's light guide your purpose, and it's wisdom guide your hand." mystra: "the future of magic rests on your shoulders, gale of waterdeep". mystra: "i promise you - it is a burden you are strong enough to bear."

gale: "i don't need your forgiveness. the crown of karsus will be mine, and the karsite weave will obey me." mystra: "crown yourself, gale dekarios, and you will learn what it is to carry such weight upon your shoulders." mystra: "if it does not crush you, i will." nodecontext: an icy edge entering her voice - a hint of a challenge gale will face if he pursues this course. nodecontext: here we glimpse the true, unimaginable power of mystra. she's still in control of herself, but her anger should be palpable.

i have already addressed the overall topic of mystra & gale's relationship in several posts i wrote some time ago [x] [x] [x]. however, since then we have received new snippets of information with patch 5 that shed more light on the progression of their relationship as a whole. this post is intended to be an update of sorts, containing a more comprehensive list, as well as lore excerpts for added context and proof. i will split this essay into several sections for coherency — buckle in, cause this is going to be a long one!

✧ mystra's history of manipulation ✧

one of the epilogue letters revealed that elminster first sought gale out when he was about 8 years old. which according to gale's canon age being 35 (as listed on his idle champions character sheet) means that their first meeting occurred around 1465 DR. although elminster's wording suggests that this may merely be an estimate on his side.

furthermore - in the ending where gale dies in the attempt at ascension, raphael has the following to say:

raphael: "you were the spark of ambition that rekindled gale's ambitions, after mystra had so cleverly put them to rest."

insinuating that mystra did make an active effort to keep gale in line, to temper his ambition, lest his thirst for more knowledge would eventually prove bothersome for her. keeping an eye on him at all times, keeping him close, placating him, and urging him to be patient.

what distinctly stood out to me is how this also aligns with some of azuth's quotes in the temptation of elminster, while he gives advice to a then-young sage of shadowdale.

we are her treasures, lad—we are what she holds most dear, the rocks she can cling to in the storms of wild art. she needs us to be strong, far stronger than most mortals ... tempered tools for her use. being bound to us by love and linked to us to preserve her very humanity, she finds it hard to be harsh to us—to do the tempering that must be done. she began the tempering of you long ago; you are her 'pet project', if you will. [...]

"you serve mystra differently. she watches you and learns the human side of magic in all it's hues from your experiences and the doings of those you meet—foes and friends alike. yet the time has come for you to change, and grow, to serve as she'll need you to, in the centuries ahead."

and yet again, there is a reoccurring pattern in her relationship with sammaster, another of her chosen, as well:

sammaster fell to his knees and wept upon mystra's feet. they ended up spending ten days together. this made him the first chosen of mystra since the seven sisters. when he asked for the reason that mystra had chosen him, she replied that she had foreseen that one of her chosen would be killed in battle, and he would be the replacement. he left this encounter feeling as though he and mystra were in love.

mystra is no stranger to fostering feelings of boundless devotion that weren't present before. observing her potential chosen, appearing before them, promising them power. luring them into service without the knowledge of what this may entail. where other gods may instill fear, mystra instills the notion of love. practicing seduction while mirroring her chosen's humanity. intentionally portraying herself as someone sympathetic and approachable. syncing their language, highlighting mutuality, making them feel favored and seen. mystra sees no need in the act of divine separation, a display of godlike grandeur — inimitable, menacing, larger than life, towering above her chosen. instead, her manifestation is purposefully unassuming. she meets them in the form of a woman in her early 30s, conventionally attractive, palpable, and appealing to the masses — a human figure. the very embodiment, the very ideal of traditional beauty an impressionable, young wizard may have.

gale: "i can't quite describe it, the need i sometimes feel to see her - to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence." gale: "no sculpture or painting could ever do her justice, only the fabric that she herself is and embodies."

gale: "in her likeness, i used to read a thousand stories. she was beauty, wisdom, elegance, power... she contained universes."

player: “what did mystra’s attention feel like?” gale: “love. [...] perhaps it was not quite love, but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. it was most certainly love to him. [...]"

how we see her in the game is very likely the same form she chose to present to a young gale. beauty, wisdom, elegance. perceived perfection, yet humble in her divinity.

the mystra of now (1490s DR) retains some of the memories of all of her earlier selves, and the relatively young and inexperienced midnight is “in there,” but wholly subsumed. mystra could generate an avatar or seeming that might fool some mortals into thinking they were meeting midnight, but it would be an act. [x]

generating an avatar in the form of a mortal she subsumed. purporting mutuality. midnight was just another mortal added to mystra's long list of "human stock" — vessels intended to preserve her power. favored, chosen, and ultimately suppressed by the very essence of mystra herself. midnight is no equal piece of mystra, the deity, there is no conscious part of the mortal that remains. [x] the mystra that currently exists is a union of the original mystryl, as well as all the other reincarnations of her that melded into her being. fragments of their minds that linger in the weave, scraps of humanity that could perhaps aid in her knowledge and understanding to prevent further betrayals in the future.

mystra's approach has always been indirect, instead of being outright menacing and portentous. the fact that mystra isn't written like the other gods in the game doesn't mean she's more sympathetic to gale's struggles or more inclined to understand human nature. her concern will always be the preservation of her domain and her hold over the weave — to do as the gods do.

gale: "you're one to talk. how many innocents were you prepared to sacrifice if i detonated the orb?" mystra: "such eddies are unexceptional. souls arrive and depart your plane with every tide, in circumstances just and unjust." nodecontext: matter of fact, not interested in these kinds of specifics

ketheric thorm: "who decides what is right? the gods did not care for right and wrong when they dismantled my life piece by piece." ketheric thorm: "and when i tried to buy it back, it cost me everything - everything." ketheric thorm: "we are copper pieces in their belts. tokens to be traded for scraps."

it is often mentioned that mystra makes her attention known by brushing against her potential chosen. whispering to them, touching their skin, eliciting a tingling sensation. which is also how mystra chose to reveal herself to ariel manx (midnight) in 1353 DR, while she was 21 years of age.

gale mentions feeling a similar sensation if he chooses to destroy the summoning circle in balthazar's office at moonrise and thereby receives her blessing.

gale: "did you feel that?" gale: "if i wasn't surrounded on all sides by the darkness of the shadow-cursed lands, i'd think it was mystra herself brushing against my skin."

mystra isn't above using manipulations to get her way. once again evident in her instigating dornal and elué silverhand's union in the first place, as well as intentionally withholding information from dornal that she actively took possession of his wife, elué. to ensure that they would indeed produce her offspring — the seven sisters — her chosen and the vessels to house her power.

where elué had previously been reluctant to acknowledge dornal's advances, he found them suddenly returned with great fervor once mystra took possession of her body. [x]

"by the time elué was carrying her final child, she was in effect a lich - a crumbling shell kept alive only through mystra's power. dornal was shocked at her deterioration. he sought magical aid to cure his wife, and when he learned from the most powerful priest he could find that his wife was possessed by an intelligent force of great power, a sickened dornal tried to slay her. he struck off her head one moonlight night as they walked together in a wooded glade. mystra was forced to reveal herself. dornal was shattered by what he had done, and aghast at how he - and especially elué - had been used." [x]

dornal, who had been kept in the dark throughout, abandoned his lands and children after slaying his wife, traveling to the north, with the plan to seek his own death. he repeatedly tried to poison himself, yet mystra wouldn't allow him suicide and magically neutralized the lethal doses to keep him alive against his will. after his death in 797 DR, mystra turned him into another servant of hers: the watcher — one who wanders the realms, seeking out new potential chosen to this day.

which brings us to...

✧ mystra's foresight and her "death" ✧

mystra possesses a degree of foresight - she foresaw the time of troubles and her own passing at the hands of helm in 1358 DR for defying him and her attempt to converse with the overgod ao without the tablets of fate. the very reason why she sought out mortal vessels to house her power (the seven sisters) — to avoid disaster should another entity win control over her in the chaotic period of wildly fluctuating power struggles that was the time of troubles. this divine power slumbers within these individuals, which she can call upon.

in 1385 DR mystra (midnight) was struck down by cyric and shar, which brought upon the spellplague.

in 1479 DR mystra was located by elminster inside a cave in cormyr, guarding her mortal body. she survived cyric's assassination by inhabiting the body of a bear, while still able to contact her chosen. she returned to her full power in 1487 DR.

the important part, that i've often seen outright ignored or misinterpreted by fandom altogether, is that mystra wasn’t actually “dead” for over a hundred years. at least not in the way we perceive it. we can’t equate her death with our mortal understanding of it. her powers were diminished to an extreme and she was weakened, yet she was still able to communicate. it was in her power to contact her chosen and to guide them. evident by her calling for elminster through her telepathic link and directing him to recruit other chosen for her to restore her power.

the plot of baldur’s gate 3 takes place in 1492 DR. meaning gale's actual year of birth would be 1457 DR. while elminster likely sought him out around 1465 DR, when he was only 8 years old. however, i once again want to emphasize that “couldn’t have been more than 8 summers old” indicates that this may merely be an estimate on elminster's side. he could’ve possibly reached out to him even earlier than that, or perhaps later. gale was 22 year old at the time when mystra was found in her diminished state by elminster in 1479 DR.

✧ mystra's awareness✧

gale: “so, all it took to get mystra’s attention was to learn how to reforge an artifact that once destroyed her." gale: "it's obvious, when you stop to think about it."

even if you may personally be skeptical of elminster’s insertion into gale’s life at age 8 (as well as mystra's ability to contact her chosen during her death) to be enough evidence of mystra’s attention — she had to be aware of him for his talents alone since he was a mere child. there is no way around this.

player: "how could she possibly know we read a book? hasn't she got more important things to worry about?" gale: "the weave is a highly sensitive magical network threaded through all life on this plane. any shift in magical energy, no matter how small, is akin to a beacon, alerting mystra to its cause." gale: "opening a book like the annals of karsus was akin to us shooting a firework spelling 'look at us, mystra!' directly into the skies of elysium. she knows."

mystra IS the weave, as gale himself has stated several times. it is an extension of her being, threaded through all life. by touching the weave one is directly touching the goddess of magic herself. mystra is aware of any magic user, able to deepen this contact at her choosing.

shadowheart: "isn't it so, that every time you speak as you cast a spell, you're endeavouring to call upon mystra?" shadowheart: "i'm surprised she still listens to you." gale: "she has no choice - she's sworn to hear all magic users. even me." gale: "i'm sure she at least stuffs her fingers in her ears to muffle my invocations."

gale described himself as a child prodigy. a virtuoso that was able to manipulate and compose the weave at will from an early age.

gale: "magic is... my life. i've been in touch with the weave for as long as i can remember. there's nothing like it."

gale: "i'm what one might call a wizard prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the weave, but compose it, much like a musician or a poet."

gale: "such was my skill that it earned me the attention of the mother of magic herself. the lady of mysteries. the goddess mystra." gale: "she revealed herself to me and she became my teacher. in time, she became my muse, and later, even my lover."

someone who was able to perform feats way beyond the skillset of his peers. he managed to wield the blackstaff itself, accidentally facing an irritated death slaad, and lived to tell the tale. he summoned and befriended tara, as well as the magma mephit, k'ha'ssji'trach'ash. we also know from elminster that he was able to cast fireball — a 3rd level spell — at age 8.

it is indisputable that mystra must’ve taken notice of the precocious young wizard during this time, even in her diminished state. much like she had once observed midnight. she began to whisper to him, drawing back the veils, revealing herself bit by bit, urging him that he was special — chosen.

gale: "he fancied himself much more than that. he fancied himself favoured above all others. [...] mystra showed him the secrets behind the veils. the gossamer veils first, draped across the weave. the delicate veils next, draped across her body. ‘chosen one’ she whispered, as she slipped them off completely."

✧ final part: power imbalance & exerting control ✧

gale: "the weave is still here, all around us - inside of us too. as long as the goddess lives, magic is a tangible thing for those who know how to touch." gale: "i've studied magic for many years, and in as many ways i am still a more than capable wizard." gale: "it's just that i'm no longer able to perform those feats even arch wizards would marvel at." gale: " to have one hand on the pulse of divinity." gale: "you have to remember that the weave is a living thing, both the embodiment and the extension of mystra herself." gale: "she can give and she can take away. i'm afraid i'm still very much on her naughty list."

gale: "mystra commands all magic. salvation, if such a thing exists, is hers to bestow or withhold." gale: "and yet, even now, more than i fear losing my own self and soul, i fear losing my command of her art."

player: "he sounds like a very talented individual." gale: "he was. even though it was in mystra’s affections that his true power lay."

even apart from their innate different forms of existence as a mere mortal and the literal goddess of magic, mystra is in full control of gale's power at all times, able to grant and withdraw her favors at will. claiming that such a power imbalance doesn’t exist, that it doesn’t apply to their respective relationship, that it might’ve been “healthy” at one point if gale was indeed of age at the time their relationship transitioned into a sexual nature is —pardon my french— fucking insane.

this stance disregards everything we know about the gods, about mystra’s involvement with other mortals and her chosen. it disregards the level of authority she wields over any magic user. it carelessly and naively disregards the implicit difference in power. mystra is the goddess of magic, his goddess. the very object of his worship and adoration since childhood. the goddess he devoted his life, his work, and his unyielding loyalty to. it is ultimately irrelevant at what exact point their relationship underwent its final transition from muse to lover. this discussion is redundant. mystra has been a constant presence since his early childhood. his worship of her began with the practice of his first spells, even if it wasn't conscious at the time. every practitioner of magic inevitably honors mystra, regardless of their faith in her. magic is his life, in the same way that mystra is pure magic. she is in total control of the tools he wields.

✧ summary ✧

mystra possesses a degree of foresight, already knowing about the time of troubles & her subsequent passing. this being her reason to seek out mortal vessels to secure her power.

mystra feels any shift in magical energy no matter how small, immediately alerting her. gale was able to cast a third-level spell at age 8.

mystra has a history of instilling feelings of love that weren't present before and using her chosen/other mortals for her own means. (elminster, khelben, sammaster, the seven daughters, ariel manx etc.)

mystra's manifestation is a conscious choice. midnight has been wholly subsumed by her.

mystra wasn’t actually “dead” in 1479 DR, but merely diminished. she was inhabiting the body of a bear and was still able to communicate with her chosen. she directed elminster to recruit other chosen to restore her power.

elminster sought gale out around 1465 DR when he was about 8 years old, as stated in the epilogue letter.

mystra first functioned as gale’s mentor, then his muse, and later his lover.

gale’s relationship with her was indeed of a sexual nature, he has explicitly stated so several times. their intimacy wasn't restricted to incorporeal interactions either, even though they were preferred.

during the ending where gale fails to ascend raphael states during the credits that tav has “rekindled gale’s ambitions after mystra had so cleverly put them to rest”.

azuth describes mystra's chosen as "tempered tools for her use". being bound to them by love and linked to them to preserve her very humanity.

mystra's intention to shape gale into yet another loyal, devoted asset to her portfolio has been there from the very moment she chose to reveal herself, to instruct elminster to seek him out. it was a conscious decision to directly insert herself into gale’s life, sowing his conviction that he was favored above all others. singling him out among his peers, isolating him with subtle promises of his greatness, his uniqueness, and all he could yet accomplish to be under her guidance. offering him her teachings, her inspiration, and eventually her love. yet all the while tempering his perceived greed and thirst to reach for even greater heights, unless it acted in her favor. keeping him close — lest his growing ambitions should ever prove to be an outright challenge to her rule.

the groundwork has been carefully laid from the very beginning.

gale: “goodnight. and thank you for your patient understanding. [...] try not to think too poorly of me. a cat can look at a king. a wizard can look at a goddess.”

[kawareo]

Thank you lovely people for giving me a chance to ramble more about something (this is genuine, i mean no shade)

I find it really cool how every character has a parallel with Durge! In general every single romance pairing has reasons for why i think "yeah i could see them being good together", but I love those for Durge especially since I think about Durges way too much

Gale. Prodigy, Chosen of a God(ess) with a relationship that went far past god/Chosen, with him and Mystra being 'lovers' and Durge and Bhaal being 'family'. They were also both groomed to a degree to fulfill a role and have since fallen from grace of their gods.

Lae'zel. Raised in what is essentially a cult, having her entire world fall apart when she learns the truth about Vlaakith and Orpheus (while Durge's world falls apart when they learn about who they are in act 3). Cult has harsh and merciless punishments for those that disappoint, with death and beatings for githyanki and... Well. You know what, for Durge (looking at you, deleted bad ending).

Shadowheart. Having an equivalent of an electric collar on you that her God(ess) can punish her with (for Durge, that punishment isnt so immediate but Bhaal can literally stop their heart if he wants to). Amnesia. Having to choose between leading your cult or leaving everything you thought you knew and being an outcast. Depending on what you do with Shart, they also both kill their parents.

Karlach. Having your body changed without your consent, in drastic ways that you have no control over; the engine for Karlach, lobotomy + Slayer form for Durge (slayer in a more minor way but i will say that even in evil route you dont get a say whether or not you transform the first time). They both hurt people that get close to then without meaning to. They both have someone more powerful who sees them as property. Also, ties to Gortash.

Wyll. Daddy issues! And being rejected and outcast by your Father, wanting to prove yourself that you're still worthy. They were also both given shitty fucking names by their dads. They both at some point chose between power at the cost of freedom and freedom at the cost of literally everything; Wyll when he made a deal with Mizora, Durge at multiple points through the game when it comes to Bhaal. They both struggle with being tied to an evil, manipulative being that wants them isolated and weak and alone. Similar with Karlach, unwilling body modification, but specifically one that turns you into a 'monster'.

Astarion. 'Father'. 'Siblings' that you are in constant and brutal competition with, for momentary approval of your Creator who will never have enough of anything short but the world. Creator who's end goal very much includes you dying for him. Having no bodily autonomy as your Creator can literally violate your mind whenever. Sexual abuse. Struggling with bloodthirst! Your existence itself is violent, you can't live without hurting someone! (Bloodthirst for Ass, Urges for Durge)

Halsin. (Potential) guilt for something you have done, being pushed in a leadership position (Halsin at the grove, Durge with companions) that you may or may not be unsuited for. Being so, so alone, without anyone to care for your feelings. They both also have sides of them that they sometimes can't control, with the Bear and Urges, or more literally, the Slayer.

Minthara. A proud and efficent warrior that got one upped by a person they underestimated. Ties to Orin. Living as someone with the highest social status in a brutal, cruel society. Fanatic worship of an objectively evil god(ess) and then the betrayal that follows, waking up from quite literal brainwashing, seeing how your God(ess) turns against you.

And I could go on! Theyre all so good and interesting and depending on what path you decide to take, there is always something that Durge can relate to on with any companion! I tried to avoid repeating points or talking about my Durge specifically by just talking about what is set in canon for them, and there is still! So! Much!

[wafflesex]

Because I'm a massive nerd: have some character analysis involving gem language and the gems the Leech twins are named after.

Fluorite is a precious stone named after the Latin word “flux” which means “continuous change.” It is associated with growth: removing negative energy, promoting positivity, and increasing self-confidence.

When cleansing the body from stress, fluorite primarily protects the intellect. It promotes concentration, memory retention, and can be used as a learning aid or for making big decisions. Green fluorite is especially good for this.

While fluorite’s namesake refers to spontaneity, geologists consider it a stable, predictable gem used to measure the hardness of other gems and minerals on the Mohs scale. Its strength is a reliable factor in determining how resistant other minerals are. In other words: fluorite helps you discover your true limits and potentials.

Besides aiding the mind, fluorite energizes as well as grounds the heart in "the now," especially during moments of high anxiety. Not to say it disregards the past and the future; it just prefers to work on who you are at present, recognizing you as an ever-changing, inevitable, unstoppable force in the universe. It promotes compassion towards oneself and encourages one to be the best they can be by opening their heart to fun and love instead of embracing past trauma.

In this sense, fluorite is wonderful for conducting work on your inner child, and is especially responsive to younger people (or those young-at-heart).

A softer mineral, true fluorite tends to bear many natural imperfections on its surface. Some may attribute this to recklessness, hyperactivity, or immaturity. But beneath its scuffs and rough edges, fluorite is a colorful, hearty stone overflowing with positivity… that even glows under ultraviolet light! What a funky little guy.

Jadeite is a highly prized gem that promises safety and balance in one’s life. Like fluorite, it is also a cleansing stone which relies on a more mature approach to turning negative energy into self-sufficient thoughts and behaviors. However, though beautiful and reliable, jade is cold-to-the-touch, and when stowed away or left unused, can grow incredibly brittle. Therefore, it insists upon being used frequently, if not all the time.

Many believe jade jewelry should be worn for one's entire lifetime, as removing it may invite eternal bad luck.

Only diamond can be used to carve jadeite, the strongest natural stone in the world. Measuring in at around 7 on the Mohs scale, it doesn’t blemish, bend, or break easily. With such reliable strength, it can be carved and manipulated into intricate shapes without fear of shattering.

As jade naturally resists breakage, it is a protective gem that forms a special bond with its owner and is commonly used as a tool for breaking other gems. On the rare occasion it does break, however, jade produces glass-like, razor-sharp edges.

In other words: once broken, handle with caution.

Still, there is a nurturing facet to jade: it promotes vitality, youthfulness, and longevity in people while also extending that power to the earth itself. It was often used in old Chinese rituals to manifest strong crop growth. Today, having a sculpture of a jade bok choy in one’s home is considered a symbol of long life and good health.

Make no mistake: jade would rather be out and about having fun with you and others. Doing so means it can make the most out of the life you have together. Utilizing its gorgeous exterior, it invites long lasting friendships and even romance to those who wear it. People may naturally trust and be drawn to jade wearers as the gem helps create a charmingly positive and tranquil personality.

If you're included, it feels included in turn.

A Chinese saying states “you can put a price on gold, but jade is priceless.” Tied to handling matters of the heart, it is a highly perceptive gem and an invaluable treasure meant to be cherished. Generous, elegant, and fierce, it will serve you well��� but only if you do the same for it.

Ok I'm done thank you for coming to my rock talk

[dduane]

Is there an alphabet or lexicon of the human version of The Speech? And if so, where can I find it?

No, there's not.

(And as I've been asked about this before, I'm just going to paste the answer in here—since though the original post is buried in the depths of Tumblr somewhere, I do have my saved draft.)

Per these, which came in very close to each other:

@melbetweenstars

This is something I’ve always wondered but never realized I could actually ask about until I read through that long meta response. (go me.) How much of the Speech do you have fleshed out? Do you create it as you go on more of a need-to-know basis, or do you have vocabulary and grammar structures ready to go? Basically I’d be really interested to hear any Speech-related meta if you have the chance because fictional languages are hella cool!

and:

@sansa–clegane

I just read your post on dark wizards and field terminologies, and am totally loving the Speech translations you provided! Now I’m wondering, though, how much of the language you actually have mapped out or established? I’m very curious as to what, for example, the standard “I - you - he/she/it/etc. - we - you plural - they” conjugation endings would be– or if there even are any in a language as complex as the Speech. I’M JUST REALLY INTERESTED IN FANTASY LINGUISTICS AAAHH

Linguistics is a big deal for me too, as people who read my stuff will have guessed. And needless to say, the Speech is on my mind a lot (along with other “magical languages” and their history/histories).

So let’s take a moment to first to make it clear what the Speech is not. It’s not what’s sometimes referred to as an Adamic language  (whether you take the meaning that God used it to talk to Adam, or that Adam invented it to name things.) It’s also nothing whatsoever to do with Enochian. It’s not an occultic language, or anything invented by human beings.

The basic concept is that the Speech is the language, or the very large body of descriptors, used to create the universe (and very likely others, but let’s leave that to one side for the moment). Such words are also assumed, having been used in the building of the universe, to be able to control the bits they’ve built. Every word, therefore, when used ought ideally to sound as if it contains some tremendous power. 

Writing something like that every time the Speech is used, even for a much better writer than I am, would be very, very hard.

(We need a cut here. Under the cut: Ursula Le Guin, C. S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, J. K. Rowling, and others. ...Also a fair number of beetles. And a bear.)

It’s worth mentioning as a matter of information that I met the concept of secret / divine magical languages in Le Guin’s Earthsea long before I ran into it in C. S. Lewis. (I came pretty late to Lewis’s non-Narnian work.) Yet here Lewis, as more than occasionally before, is my master, having been over this ground right back in the mid-1940s.

There’s a point in the final novel of the so-called “Planetary Trilogy”, that big fat (now endlessly problematic but still fun-in-the-right-moods) book That Hideous Strength, where Elwin Ransom—philologist, unwilling visitor to Mars and Venus, unnerved conscript into the wars in Heaven, and Lewis’s take on both the Pendragon and the wounded Fisher King—is instructing his friend and co-linguistics scholar Dimble on how to behave in a meeting with the newly awakened, and potentially quite dangerous, Merlin Ambrosius. (The POV in this passage is that of a lady named Jane who's just recently fallen into company with the group supporting Ransom.)

“You understand, Dimble? Your revolver in your hand, a prayer on your lips, your mind fixed on Maleldil [just think “Christ” for the moment: surprise surprise, that’s the parellel Lewis is using here]. Then, if he stands, conjure him.” “What shall I say in the Great Tongue?” “Say that you come in the name of God and all angels and in the power of the planets from one who sits today in the seat of the Pendragon, and command him to come with you. Say it now.” And Dimble, who had been sitting with his face drawn, and rather white, between the white faces of the two women, and his eyes on the table, raised his head, and great syllables of words that sounded like castles came out of his mouth. Jane felt her heart leap and quiver at them. Everything else in the room, seemed to have become intensely quiet: even the bird, and the bear***, and the cat, were still, staring at the speaker. The voice did not sound like Dimble’s own: it was as if the words spoke themselves through him from some strong place at a distance—or as if they were not words at all but present operations of God, the planets, and the Pendragon. For this was the language spoken before the Fall and beyond the Moon, and the meanings were not given to the syllables by chance, or skill, or long tradition, but truly inherent in them as the shape of the great Sun is inherent in the little waterdrop. This was Language herself, as she first sprang at Maleldil’s bidding out of the molten quicksilver of the star called Mercury on Earth, but Viritrilbia in Deep Heaven.

Now if that’s not like being hit over the head with a hammer, I don’t know what is.* That moment has been before the eyes-of-my-mind for a long time as I’ve worked with the Speech.

Note, however, that Lewis does a very wise thing here. He doesn’t actually spell out any of the words out for you. Because in the reader’s mind, there’s always the six-year-old saying, “Go on, say the word: see how it sounds, see what happens…!” And when you recite the magic spell, it doesn’t work. The words come out sounding, well, like any others. And maybe not your interior six-year-old, but your interior twelve- or fifteen-year-old—the ego-state that’s about keeping you from getting hurt or looking stupid in front of other people who aren’t privy to or supportive of your dreams—says, “See, it was just another word, just a bunch of nonsense. You got fooled. Dummy!” No wise writer, I think, willingly sets their readership up for such easy and constant disappointment. It's tough enough to weave, and hold in place, the spell that is prose. Handing the audience a potential spellbreaker, over and over again, is folly. 

And by rights the Speech ought to be like Lewis’s example above. If in reality you were to hear the words used to restructure matter or undo gravity, they ought to shake the air in your chest like a Saturn V launch, they should raise the hair on the back of your neck to hear them used; they should freak you out. But a long string of invented syllables isn’t going to do that. I’m stuck with using English to produce even the echo of such a result.

Which means I have to go Lewis’s route… mostly. Here and there I’ll add in a Speech-sourced word or phrase when it supports the narrative or makes it easier for characters to talk about what’s going on—as, when working with wizardry, you do sometimes have to call in precisionist-level language for words that have no casual English cognates: just as you would if you were working in particle physics or organic chemistry at the molecular level. But that’s all I’m going to do… because if you do too much linguistic work in this regard, you constantly run the risk of your readers being distracted from the real business at hand, which is the interactions between/among the characters.

The tech inherent to a work of fantastic fiction is always an issue in this regard. Ideally L. Sprague de Camp’s very useful definition of science fiction, tweaked here for fantasy, ought to be a guideline: “A fantasy story is a human story with a human problem and a human solution that could never have happened without its fantastic content.” Yet inside the definition, there’s still a lot of ways to go wrong. Too much merely human stuff, and a work of fantasy turns into a soap with some casual magical gimmickry—all too often these days labeled as “magic realism”, when it’s not publisher code for “We’d call this fantasy if we had the nerve and we didn’t think it was going to tag us as ‘genre’ and keep us off the best-seller lists”. Too little human-problem-and-human-solution, and it turns into a modern version of what James Blish (God rest him), when writing as the gently merciless science fiction critic William Atheling Jr., used to call “The 'Greater New York and New Jersey Municipal Zeppelin Gas Works’ school of speculative fiction”, where you tour your readership through the Wonderfulness Of Your Tech (magical or otherwise) until they expire of boredom while waiting for someone to fucking do something.

You have to find a centerline between the extremes—indeed pretty much a tightrope—and walk it with some care. I’d guess that J. K. Rowling ran into the need for this balancing act; while never having read the Potter books, I nonetheless get a sense that you get the occasional Wingardium leviosa without also being burdened with long strings of magical Latin. (Though I confess that the answer to the question “Where does the magic come from? And what’s it for?” as it applies to her universe could be of some interest. I have no idea whether this ever gets explicitly handled.**) 

Anyway, it’d be way too easy for the YW books to become long discourses on the Speech and its use. This aspect of the “tech”, I think, gets more than enough time onstage. Having once established that words are a tool, indeed the tool for a wizard, the ur-Tool, making every spell they build a resonance between what they do and the initial/ongoing work of Creation—my business is to stay focused on the challenge of driving plot forward by interactions between human beings (and all kinds of others) who have conflicting agendas.

…So much for the tl;dr. I do have some very basic grammatical structures tucked away, but they’re not in any fit state for other people to look at. The Speech, I think, is really best treated as an ongoing mystery that unfolds a little at a time, as required, and leaves everybody wanting more.

HTH!

*It also leads into one of numerous affectionate nods in this book toward Tolkien, as philologist, fellow novelist, and Lewis’s good friend. It's no accident that when Ransom meets up with Merlin himself, a little later in the narrative, the question of this language—the proper name of the Great Tongue is “Old Solar"—comes up again. When discussing what language they’ll speak with each other during their upcoming negotiations [they apparently start out in a rather beat-up and denatured medieval Latin], Ransom says to Merlin about the language he’d prefer to be working in, "It has been long since it was heard. Not even in Numinor was it heard in the streets.”

The Stranger gave no start … but he spoke with a new interest. “Your masters let you play with dangerous toys,” he said. “Tell me, slave, what is Numinor?” “The true West,” said Ransom. “Well,” said the other.

Yeah, “well.” Better scholars than I have dealt with the relationship between these two, as scholars and writers and friends, so enough of that for the moment. But it’s very sweet to see Lewis do something in his books that I’ve done with mine.

**It’s always possible, of course, that in the HP universe this issue is a surd: like asking “where physics comes from”. (Well, not a surd precisely, if your spiritual life tends a certain way. Mine tends toward “Whoever or whatever made the universe, that’s who made physics. And they must really like it, because they made a metric shit ton of it!” (This answer also works for beetles, though that's a slightly different issue.) :)

But if there’s a most-fundamental difference between my wizardly universe and Rowling’s, it might be best revealed in the third question that came up for me directly after “What if there was a user’s manual for human beings/the world/the universe?” and “If there was, where would it have come from?”: specifically, “And why?”

***There's a bear in the Pendragon's kitchen. Thoth only knows what initially brought that on for Lewis, but it's a character insertion that pays off later, so (shrug) wtf.

[neerons]

Some of Chevalier Michel’s best quotes

“You have plenty of time. Therefore, it’s not necessary to overload yourself to the point of harming your health just for the sake of learning. I’m not in a hurry. I’ll wait patiently for you to reach your full potential.”

“I don’t mind making you my woman.”

“If you value your life, trust no one.”

“Allowing their deaths to be in vain would be an affront to those who utterly devoted themselves to the kingdom.” (—Chevalier talking about the dead soldiers to Emma)

“That’s how values work. Just because two ways of thinking are incompatible doesn’t mean one is right and the other is wrong.”

“If you ever feel like crying, tell me. I’ll torment you so thoroughly that you’ll forget how to cry.”

“Until I’d met her, I’d never have considered letting another person touch me.” (—Chevalier’s thoughts about Emma)

“Can a man read in peace without you staring at his face?”

“Don't... say another man's name... so much. It grates on my ears.”

“You're quite graceless, you know? Your legs seem to be shaking.”

“You are my queen. It does not matter how many years go by, I have no intention of loving any other woman.”

“If the rabbit has time to spend with you, she'll spend it with me instead.” (—Chevalier talking about Emma to Clavis)

“I had no intention of letting anyone complain about a commoner being in a relationship with royalty, and it didn't bother me, either.” (—Chevalier's thoughts)

“What might your hand be doing in your pocket? I dare you to throw one of those concoctions of yours at me. Just know I will kick you into the next century.” (—Chevalier to Clavis)

“Maids are servants. They follow their master or mistress' orders, thus creating a clear discrepancy in power. But I do not wish you to be below me. What I desire is for us to be equals, serving each other in a cooperative and mutual manner.”

"...Now that I think about it, I was rather fond of you from the very beginning. (...) To begin with... is there any man who would barge into the room of a woman he doesn't like? The palace is huge. There are many places... where I could go to spend leisure time, instead of expressly going to your room."

"You look terrible. (...) There's no need to feel ashamed. Not everything that has value is beautiful."

"You're the one at fault for leaving the covenant YOU created so open to interpretation. A shame." (—Chevalier to Sariel)

"Currently, a servant manages the palace library, but he's no expert, so his work is sloppy. I've been dissatisfied with it for a while now, but... you're proficient at handling books, yes?"

"It's not that you 'can' stay by my side, it's that you 'will' stay by my side."

"(...) Do you think I would allow you to die so easily after you laid a hand on my lover? (...) I've said as much before, but dying is not what you should be doing. What you should be doing is returning home to your loved ones, no matter how shameful you look." (—Chevalier to Flandre)

"Ever since I was a child, love had been the one thing I was most indifferent to. (...) My one and only reason is that I wanted to know what love was. Ridiculous, I know."

"I'm not so famished that I'd eat something I don't need. ...I want you so much that I could just eat you all up right now."

"(...) Any guest of Emma's is a guest of mine as well." (—Chevalier talking about an enemy to Clavis)

"...If you stay with me, many things will be taken away from you, and you'll be limited in what you can do. Sometimes, you'll have to bear the heavy responsibility of royalty, and occasionally your life may be threatened. You'll be the target of scheming. Other people will look upon you either favorably or unfavorably—nothing in between. No picturesque world like those found in your romance books exists in a real palace. You'll see it for yourself. Despite all that, do you still stand by the nonsense you spoke of earlier?"

"When every man in the kingdom knows you're mine—they'll stay away from you, lest they incur the wrath of the Bloody Tiger."

"It wasn't in an official capacity. It was personal time. I simply wanted to have you with me as always. You should be grateful. You don't have much time left at the palace, and I'm going out of my way to spend time with you."

"Hurry up and prove the value of love, simpleton. While we're still able to be together like this."

"It doesn't matter to me what happens to them... But it matters to someone else." (—Chevalier talking about Luke, Rio and Emma to Clavis)

"On the battlefield, you belong to the second prince. Remember, dying would be foolish, and even getting hurt would be a transgression."

"I came to save you. ...Did you think that's what I would say, simpleton?"

"I'm not so idiotic that I'd let low-lives like those do me in. I'll cut down every last person who rises up against me."

"I never had any intention of letting an enemy nation have you."

"You faced the Brutal Beast... so that you could fulfill your duty as Belle. We couldn't understand each other because our values were polar opposites... yet you tried to meet halfway. You believed that the beast was a person and tried to discern his true nature. It was the first time I'd ever met... a woman with such strange tastes. Actually... even if I searched the entire kingdom, I wouldn't find anyone as eccentric as you. 'I want the person I love to live, no matter the cost to me. I want to be by his side... I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen. (...) I feel the same way. You call this emotion... 'love', correct?"

"The king's lover will most likely face many difficulties, but unfortunately, I have no desire to bestow my favor on anyone but you."

"Emma, look at me. (...) You're no longer Belle, right? (...) Is that the first time I used it? It's not that big of a deal, is it?" (—Chevalier saying Emma's name for the first time)

"I don't want to be disturbed during mealtimes. I've decided to lock the door whenever you're here."

"Currently, only one woman is close to the king. There seem to be many fools who believe they can crush the leading candidate for queen and have their own daughter marry me instead." (—Chevalier talking about Emma to Clavis)

"Do I look like I care? And do you really think I'm going to do something as stupid as losing such a valuable pawn?" (—Chevalier talking about Emma, in Gilbert's route)

"Until now, the Obsidian royal family have had nothing but war on their minds, but through this we can rebuild our friendship. This is a sizable accomplishment. This accomplishment was achieved by just one woman... and we most certainly cannot disrespect what it means." (—Chevalier to Emma, in Gilbert's route)

"The only occasion I have spent time with another person and found worth in it... was with you." (—Chevalier's thoughts about Emma)

"She's eager to hear whether I like the fragrance or not. But it is her own scent. There is no way I could dislike it." (—Chevalier's thoughts about Emma)

"I don't need you to tell me my fool brother's worth. I knew it from the start." (—Chevalier talking about Clavis to Emma)

"As long as you were convinced you couldn't win, there was no way for you to unlock your full potential. That's why you never stopped failing. You were never going to win unless you believed in yourself." (—Chevalier to Clavis)

"People are fools. Everyone is contradictory in some way, because they're not perfect, and they can't be. But you and my fool brother are both fine that way. (...) Someone who is free of contradictions, who always chooses the right path... cannot really be called human. They're nothing more than a beast." (—Chevalier talking about Emma, Clavis and himself, to Emma)

"I learned how from watching you do it countless times." (—Chevalier talking about doing Emma's hair)

"They have the kind of decoration my fool of a brother would like." (—Chevalier talking about cookies with colorful and festive icing that Clavis would enjoy)

"...You're the only one. The only woman who would take pleasure in being at my side."

"Sometimes, you have quite violent coughing fits. I have a fool brother who gets ill a lot. The physician gives him this tea regularly, so I swiped some." (—Young Chevalier giving rose tea to his 'childhood friend')

"(...) keep cajoling him. You can shape the menace that he is." (—Chevalier talking about Gilbert to Emma)

"...I knew I made the right choice when I chose you as my pawn." (—Smiling Chevalier praising Emma, in Gilbert's route)

"An auction master working in collaboration with the Obsidianites had an official document from the king of Benitoite. That's quite a big catch, simpleton." (—Chevalier praising Emma's discovery, in Silvio's route)

"...I want you so much that I could just eat you all up right now."

"My clothes will be gone soon enough. After all, I have only one reason for locking a woman in a room like this. (...) Love me, Emma. This is an order from the king, and it's absolute."

"I recall you writing that you love hearing my voice. If that is what you want, you may hear it as much as you like."

"Hundreds of medical books, both domestic and foreign, are stored in my head."

"To have nerve enough to approach me... She's quite the woman." (—Chevalier's thoughts about Emma)

"That gaze of hers struck me as straight as an arrow, and unneeded emotions began to well up within me." (—Chevalier's thoughts about Emma)

"Don't be ridiculous. She would never be interested in the likes of you fools." (—Angry Chevalier talking about Emma and his brothers to Leon)

"I would far prefer to have you to myself than let that man have you." (—Chevalier talking about Gilbert)

"Indeed. I'm so vexed, I could throttle someone to death." (—Chevalier teasing Emma)

"You are our Belle. You spend your time determining our worth. Use some of those skills for yourself too." (—Chevalier telling Emma to care about herself more)

"I am not asking for a 'good' drawing. I am asking for your drawing."

"This is a Rhodolitian handshake. The more it hurts, the stronger your display of friendship." (—Chevalier to Gilbert)

"I don't believe I have ever seen Emma read it before. Perhaps I will recommend it to her. She cannot stay in the dark about it forever." (—Chevalier's thoughts while he's picking a romance book for Emma to read)

"If 'lovable' could be defined by any person, it would be her." (—Chevalier's thoughts about Emma)

"I had often read about this urge to dote, but I had not understood it until meeting her." (—Chevalier's thoughts about Emma)

"Theoretically, I have no use for romance novels now that I have Emma. However, thanks to her, I have learned how to enjoy them with no other motive." (—Chevalier's thoughts)

"I've become fond of seeing the variety of emotions on your face as you go through a book."

"Hm? Ah. Don't worry about the blood. I was just 'playing' with my brother who's made it his hobby to tease you." (—Chevalier's lobby dialogue)

"This absurdly lovely woman has my dearest affections." (—Chevalier translating his words of love from another language to Emma)

"The reason I still function so well despite having discarded my humanity is because I have my fool brother. And conversely, the reason my fool brother can do as he pleases is because he knows I'll always be there at the final moment." (—Chevalier talking about Clavis to Emma)

"Severing your Achilles tendon shall do the trick." (—Chevalier threatening Licht)

"I never had much chemistry with the twins. (...) They were just noisy children who cried if I so much as looked at them. However, one day, they stopped crying. No... If I think about it, there was a clear turning point." (—Chevalier's thoughts)

"It is true that you are useless right now, Licht, but you do not have to be that way forever. (—Chevalier's thoughts)

"Even with the first aid I have given you, it would be in your best interest to put on a convincing act for your twin if you do not wish to shock him." (—Chevalier to Licht)

"Oh? That was a much more thorough analysis than I would have expected from someone so heavily wounded. With some training, he could become an excellent commander." (—Chevalier's thoughts about Licht)

"Textbooks can be helpful, but not in the way that it obscures her lovely face." (—Chevalier's thoughts about Emma)

"I was never much one for drawing, but once during our childhood, Clavis pestered me to sketch something. Back then, I knew he suspected me to be a terrible artist, and asked me to do so in order to expose me. The resulting tantrum when his expectations were reversed was certainly memorable." (—Chevalier's thoughts)

"I would value this far beyond what any professional artist could draw. There is, however, something missing. (...) I must prepare a frame for this at once." (—Chevalier adding a little bunny on Emma's drawing of him as a tiger)

"I have never, ever laughed as much as I have with her. No wonder she is the one making my facial muscles exercise so much." (—Chevalier's thoughts)

"I want to do whatever it takes to see her entire spectrum of emotions." (—Chevalier's thoughts)

"Every second that ticked by was becoming another moment for me to cherish. I suddenly became overwhelmed by gratitude for being born the person I was. It won't be long before the entire collection of my memories is overtaken by you. And it will be just the way I like it." (—Chevalier's thoughts about Emma)

[moonlit-imagines]

Broken Curse

Peter Parker x reader

warnings:

a/n: idk this was supposed to be an entirely different fic when i started but now its very different

prompt:

Peter always held himself back. Everyone could see it. Everyone except him.

All those wasted opportunities because of those powers, but that’s all he thought he was good for now. He could have been so much more if he didn’t dedicate himself to Spider-Man. Right now he could be in college or working a job ehere he could make a real difference. But instead, he was living all on his lonesome in some run-down apartment, a ghost of his former self.

So now no one saw him. No one saw how much he held himself back because no one ever noticed him. In his new life, he kept to himself. No people to disappoint with his lost potential, no one noticed him anymore and maybe that was for the best.

You were in his thoughts, though. Mourned daily and nightly in regret of his mistakes. He sat there connecting all those things that went wrong. From becoming Spider-Man to an Avenger, trusting people he shouldn’t have, taking shortcuts and wasting precious time. He lost you and everyone he ever loved.

What hurt him most was seeing you from time to time, but as luck would have it, you’d managed to move into his building. A fate worse than death for Peter.

“Y/N?” He asked in the hallway without realizing. A stranger had just called to you.

“I…I’m sorry, do I know you?” You chuckled, which Peter knew was a nervous habit and you were a bit uncomfortable.

“N-No. Sorry.” He paused. “I was guessing. Not guessing your name, that’d be weird. The landlord told me about a new neighbor, I haven’t seen you yet so I was assuming that was you. Y/N, right?” Peter rambled out a reasonable lie to convince you he wasn’t a stalker. Maybe he was, he didn’t know if it counted when magic spells were involved.

“Oh. I guess that makes more sense.” You shrugged. “Yes, I’m y/n…and you are..?”

“Peter. Peter Parker.” He gave an awkward introduction. “Apartment 20.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Peter.” You told him. “I hate to cut this short, but I have to do some unpacking.” You began to walk away, but Peter was desperate to keep this going. He hadn’t spoken to you in months, and although you may not know who he is in this moment, he was the boy you fell in love with and he still loved you with all his heart.

“If, uh, you need some help moving anything, I’ll be here.” He timidly offered. You stopped in your tracks and took a moment to think.

“Actually, I could use some help with some furniture. The movers just left everything in my living room.” You explained and he smiled. “What?”

“You have a living room?” He laughed and you joined in, catching that his apartment was probably a bit smaller than your own. “I can definitely help you with all that, lead the way.” He was a bit disappointed you’d accept help from a stranger so easily, but he didn’t know that something felt familiar about him. You just felt he was trustworthy and genuine. That was it.

You’d initiated some small talk while moving the couch to the correct wall, the bed frame and mattress to the bedroom, and some shelves and tables wherever they might go, maneuvering around heaps of boxes labeled with all sorts of goofy writing. He liked the “BEDROOM BULLSHIT” box the most. But as he moved around your relatively nicer apartment, he noticed a stuffed animal that had fallen on the floor. A stuffed animal he had actually gotten for you several years ago. “Hey,” he picked the little bear up, “this was just laying on the floor. Cute.” Peter commented in some unsuspecting way.

“Oh, yeah, I can’t even remember where I got that thing. I’ve had it forever, can’t bring myself to get rid of it. It’s too cute to get rid of anyways, look at him.” You reached for the bear in his hand and when your hand connected with its soft fur, you felt an overwhelming sensation, this sickness inside as your head began spinning.

“Are you okay? Y/N?” Peter urgently asked, hesitant to make any startling movements. Your gaze jolted back to him and there was a much different look in your eyes than in the moments before. Softer.

“This can’t be real.” You mumbled. “It was you all along.”

“What?” He had no idea how to respond.

“Peter Benjamin Parker.” You spoke his full name. “I love you.”

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 // @deanzboyfriend //

[batneko]

last night as I was trying to fall asleep my brain gave me a story about Bowser as an imprisoned dragongod who is worshiped but enslaved, kept in a cave where he can't do anything but watch the outside world. He can tell the worshipers what to do (within reason) because his powers are so useful to them that they know if he ever gets angry or miserable enough to off himself they'll all be screwed. They have a LOT of enemies, who all assume that the god is their willing ally, and would be more than happy to crush them the moment they have the chance.

the closest thing to affection Bowser ever had was the woman who decided to bear his child. He genuinely believed she wanted to be the bride of a god, but the moment she was sure she was pregnant she left without even looking back.

years later, when he's told himself he doesn't care anymore (he obviously very much still cares), he sees a beautiful sweet princess and decides he wants her. He orders his "minions" to capture her and present her to him as a... permanent guest. He doesn't think she'll like being a prisoner, of course. HE sure doesn't. But he's stuck down here with no hope of escape, ever, and he can at least make her stay very comfortable. She's a princess, she must be used to being in a gilded cage.

though he knows that the princess has protectors, and they've made things difficult for his followers over the last couple years, he never gives them much thought. Bowser never imagines that they'd be so determined to protect the princess from him that one of them would disguise himself as the princess and willingly get "sacrificed" to the inescapable dragon cave.

(this was briefly brought up as a potential plan by the brothers, but discarded immediately because they don't want anybody to have to be stuck with a dragon forever, especially not each other. But then they got separated and Luigi was the only one left to protect Peach and they were captured and there was no time to spare and... it was the only thing he could think of.)

Bowser is furious, of course, but what he really wanted was companionship. If this random guy is who he's got, it's who he's got. And the random guy is weirdly optimistic about this whole thing, although he's scared of Bowser he never once stops believing that his brother will be coming to save him. No matter how much Bowser explains that not even a god can get out of this hole, Luigi insists that it's only a matter of time. His brother will come for him.

(he does, of course, freeing both of them.)

And that was as far as I got! I probably won't ever write it because it's too dramatic and also absolves Bowser of most responsibility for the evil done in his name. I like Bowser as a villain who really isn't justified in what he does. That's where the spice is! 🌶

But it's fun to think about Luigi being his usual nice guy self around someone who isn't used to being treated like a person, on multiple levels.

[catscraftsandcommentary]

Okay, continuing the idea from this post... (Basically, that the witchers from each school can shift into the animal that their school is named after, but also get some comical/cute traits of that animal.)

The mages didn't intend to create shapeshifters originally, they were mostly just fooling around and seeing what would happen. (With real children, yes they are horrible people.) But then someone found a combination of chaos and genetics that allowed a subject to shapeshift into an animal under certain circumstances. So they went "hey, what else can we do with this?" and on the testing went.

Eventually they thought to send their new experiments up against actual monsters and realized that they had the potential for a magnificent warrior...or minion. Same thing.

Over time, they realized some drawbacks:

The new creatures - dubbed "witchers" and further divided by which creature they could shift into - would first shift into a baby of their species. Not terribly useful.

As the witcher grew in age and chaos ability, so did their animal form...and never seemed to STOP growing. (There was a long argument over whether this was beneficial or not.)

When terribly wounded, the witcher would often change into their animal form, seeming unable to control the change until they healed most of their wounds.

Shifted witchers required both food and magical energy to sustain themselves and their abilities. This made them ferocious against chaos-fueled monsters, as they could absorb the chaos from those they killed, but proved a weakness if they absorbed less chaos than they needed to heal the wounds they had taken.

The full moon, which raised the ambient level of chaos in the world, would force a shift unless the witcher had impeccable control. Even then, it was so-so.

Once shifted, the animal instincts easily overpowered the witcher's conscious mind - at least until they had long practice in controlling themselves. Young cats got the zoomies and old ones took long naps. Wolves played. Vipers sunned themselves. Bears foraged for food or - if it was cold - hibernated.

The mages attempted creating a female bear ONCE. It proved to be their downfall - mama bears do not suffer threats to their cubs.

Now please imagine:

Teeny tiny wolf cubs chasing each other around the training grounds, biting each other's tails and tripping over their new paws.

Master trainers scruffing them and carrying them in an elbow or over a shoulder, while the tiny puppy tail wagged uncontrollably. Teaching them what their new bodies could do, with the teacher the size of a wagon and the students not yet knee high.

Puppies trying to scratch an itch and slowly tipping over.

Adult witchers shifting and cuddling with the students, carrying several on their back.

Ivar, oldest and most powerful of the vipers, is as large as a barn and can hold his entire school in his coiled form - and can swallow most monsters whole.

Vesemir is the size of a shed, and Geralt (twice grassed) and Eskel (incredible chaos) are not much smaller. Lambert is a perfectly normal size, thank you very much...he just looks tiny next to them.

Clothing, armor, and weapons which are crafted from the remains of chaos-fueled monsters (ie, they are inherently magical) CAN shapeshift with the witcher. Mundane items (cotton or wool, iron and plain steel) cannot. They lose more knives that way...

Young witchers learning how to harvest, process, and use various monster bits so they don't shift, shift back, and end up naked or in ruined clothing. (Yes, even the THREAD used to sew the clothing together must come from monsters. It's a pain.)

An old witcher taking the time to relax in their shifted form in the woods and being mistaken for a monster, so a nearby town hires a SECOND witcher to hunt them...bonus points if the second witcher is a friend or lover of the first, who came looking for them. Just walking into a clearing going "really? You know that town is going crazy over a huge monster that's moved in, and here I find you lying around."

(It's Ivar and Keldar. Ivar just laughs. "I ate the only monster last week, while I waited for you." And then he snatches Keldar up and wraps him in his coils.)

@everything-but-the-not-natural I know you were excited about this AU!

[umbracirrus]

Okay, so, I have recently been thinking about axes and their importance in Nord culture in Skyrim, in part because I have something planned in a fanfiction that involves giving an axe and have been doing a little bit of research into it, and I have gone down a bit of a rabbit hole so please bear with me on this mini essay in which I have pulled together my thoughts/observations about axes in Skyrim and my two favourite Jarls, Balgruuf and Ulfric.

So, as anyone who has done the Civil War quests in Skyrim would know, there is a pivotal point in which the balance of power in Skyrim shifts either towards the Empire or the Stormcloaks based purely upon the player's alignment - when Whiterun either aligns with the Imperials or is taken by force by the Stormcloaks. Of course, there is one particular event which happens immediately before the battle begins, and that is the delivery of an axe.

However, at this point I would just like to bring up something which will become relevant later no matter what your alignment - at the point of the axe being sent, you have been named a Thane of Whiterun. Balgruuf won't hear anything to do with the Civil War when a dragon is attacking the Western Watchtower, so becoming both Dragonborn and a Thane is a prerequisite to the Civil War.

If you align with the Empire, it is Balgruuf who decides to send an axe. If you ask why, he gives the explanation that "if he returns it to you it means we have business to settle. If he keeps it, then we are at peace.", and if you ask whether you should say anything, he says that Ulfric knows what it means (also important for later!). The other dialogue option which isn't just 'sure, okay, I'll do that' also says that it is tradition, and that Ulfric honours traditions.

Obviously, Ulfric doesn't accept it and you return to Balgruuf with the news that he will be attacking Whiterun and suddenly, the city is under siege. When you win, Balgruuf personally thanks you for what you have done after his victory speech.

Now, on the other side of things, if you side with the Stormcloaks, it is Ulfric who gives you the axe to take to Balgruuf, but his explanation is much more... succinct. "If he keeps it, I will bide my time. If he returns it to you, it means war."

And as with the other side, because the game would be pretty boring is Balgruuf was to go "sure, I accept Ulfric's axe", he rejects the axe and that in turn means that you return to Ulfric with his axe, and he expresses his disappointment that Balgruuf had done so.

The two Jarls wanted the other on their side, but their views were fundamentally different they couldn't accept. 😭Sending their axes was just a formality, a way of saying 'this is it, we have to fight now'.

So what I am basically getting at, the civil war quest establishes that giving an axe is a way of determining allies and enemies, depending on whether it is accepted or rejected.

Coming back to what I mentioned earlier, in order to do the civil war quest and to talk to Balgruuf in order to either give him Ulfric's axe or to give his axe to Ulfric, you have to have become the Dragonborn and are a Thane of Whiterun. When you become a Thane in Skyrim, you end up receiving a weapon as a reward, typically named 'Blade of *insert hold name here*'. Except in two places.

Whiterun, and Eastmarch. In those places, you get either the Axe of Whiterun or the Axe of Eastmarch.

If I remember correctly, the blade weapons are randomly generated so have the potential to be axes, but these two are specifically named to be and are axes.

What else is in common with Whiterun and Eastmarch?

Their Jarls (Balgruuf and Ulfric) are the only two people in Skyrim who actively partake in and have knowledge of the tradition of the sending of axes.

When you become a Thane of these two holds, you are not just becoming a Thane, you are becoming a trusted ally of the Jarl, somebody who they can rely upon. Even more so with Ulfric, because you can only become a Thane of Eastmarch with Ulfric as Jarl if you are Stormcloak aligned.

Speaking of being Stormcloak aligned, how about a diversion back to the Civil War, specifically when the battle for Whiterun has reached its penultimate stages, Balgruuf has been defeated and has surrendered control of Whiterun. After an argument with Vignar (and I'll get into him later because he makes my blood boil), Balgruuf turns to you and says a line which absolutely breaks my heart - "And you. A Stormcloak? I'd thought better of you." 😭

Balgruuf thought you his ally, he had given you his axe, and you have just gone and stabbed him in the back (figuratively, and quite possibly literally depending on character build). As I said, it breaks my heart when he says that line.

Basically, what I am getting at, is that the depth of such a simple tradition in Skyrim is immense and I wish that there were more things like it (beyond the duel to the death for the throne thing, looking at you Ulfric) or saw it used more in the game. And that Balgruuf and Ulfric are by far the best Jarls in terms of character development and just how much their homeland and traditions mean to them. And I wish that there was a way to keep Balgruuf as Jarl even if you are Stormcloak aligned because fuck Vignar, and you know what? Fuck Maven Black-Briar too, she sucks. Laila is pretty incompetent as Jarl but at least she isn't Maven and that's a rant for another time. But not having Maven as Jarl is main reason I join the Stormcloaks more often than not. Balgruuf is usually the main reason that I join the Imperials on playthroughs.

Now... Vignar Gray-Mane. When you make him Jarl of Whiterun and he names you Thane, he gives you the Blade of Whiterun, not the Axe of Whiterun (yeah, I know I said that I think the blade weapons can be randomly generated as axes, and no doubt it was given to stop you from having multiple axes of Whiterun, but I just don't like Vignar soooo....). That's mean. Especially after we protected the city and helped him become Jarl too. There's another layer of insult there if you've rescued Thorald, his nephew, from the Thalmor. At least Brunwulf Free-Winter gives you the Axe of Eastmarch when he is Jarl if you defeat Ulfric for the Imperials and complete that shitshow of a quest 'Blood on the Ice'. Brunwulf is a bro, not Vignar. Hmph.

[callsigns-haze]

Lock it in

Eris x Rhysand's Sister!Reader Summary: Y/N and Eris solidify their bond through an intimate meal, leading to a passionate night that deepens their love and connection. In the quiet of their cabin, they find solace and joy in each other's embrace. Chapter Warnings: Sexual content, Mild language, Brief mention of light spanking

*Serves as a one-shot but can be read as memories fade or the sequel loves haze series

Four months later after they rose, Eris sat in his office, the weight of his responsibilities as one of the Phoenii leaders bearing down on him. The stacks of papers before him seemed endless, each document a reminder of the vast duties that had fallen upon him and Y/N since their miraculous resurrection. His ginger-red hair was slightly dishevelled, and faint lines of exhaustion marred his otherwise handsome features.

Eris sighed, rubbing his temples, his mind drifting momentarily to the life they had been building together. The lands beyond the forest were thriving under their care, but it was a monumental task, one that required constant attention and effort.

Just as he began to immerse himself back into his work, the door to his office swung open with a sudden force. Y/N stormed in, her expression a mix of frustration and determination. She carried a stack of thick, ancient-looking books, which she promptly slammed down on his desk, causing papers to scatter and leaving Eris in a state of shock.

"Y/N, what in the name of the Cauldron…?" Eris began, his eyes wide with surprise.

Y/N, her hair slightly tousled from her evident irritation, placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. "We need to talk, Eris. Now."

Eris blinked, quickly recovering from his initial shock. He leaned back in his chair, giving her his full attention. "Alright," he said, his voice calm despite the abrupt interruption. "What's going on?"

She took a deep breath, her eyes locking onto his. "These books," she began, pointing to the stack on the desk, "contain records about Wyrdmarks. I’ve discovered that they originate from the old kingdom known as Erilea, the very kingdom that brought back magic."

Eris frowned, his curiosity piqued. "Wyrdmarks? And Erilea? Go on."

Y/N opened the top book, flipping through its yellowed pages with a practiced hand. She stopped at a section filled with intricate illustrations and dense text. "Erilea was a kingdom containing courts steeped in ancient magic. These Wyrdmarks are powerful symbols, capable of extraordinary feats. They’re scattered throughout the kingdom, and I believe they’re connected to our revival and the magic we now possess."

Eris leaned forward, his interest growing. "What does this mean for us?"

Y/N's expression was serious, her determination unwavering. "It means that our power, our very existence as Phoenii, is linked to these marks and the magic of Erilea. We need to understand them, Eris. There could be untapped potential or unforeseen dangers we haven’t even considered."

Eris reached out, taking her hand in his, his expression thoughtful. "And you think these Wyrdmarks could help us harness our abilities more effectively? Or protect us from threats?"

Y/N nodded. "Yes. But more than that, we need to understand the history and the magic of Erilea. It’s a part of who we are now. Ignoring it would be foolish."

Eris squeezed her hand gently. "Then we’ll study these books together. We’ll learn everything we can about Erilea and the Wyrdmarks. Whatever you wish."

Eris tapped his lap, inviting Y/N to sit down. She hesitated for a moment, then moved to settle herself comfortably against him. He brushed her hair aside gently, exposing the curve of her neck, and leaned in to place soft kisses along her skin. The warmth of his lips sent a shiver down her spine, and she relaxed into his embrace, feeling the familiar comfort and love that had blossomed between them.

"Y/N," Eris murmured against her neck, "you've been working so hard on this. I’m amazed at your dedication."

She turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze. "It's important, Eris. For us, for our family, for our people."

He nodded, his expression serious. "I know. And I’m proud of you."

A soft smile touched her lips, but it was tinged with a hint of melancholy. "Eris, we never properly mated. With everything that happened… we never had the chance to complete the bond."

Eris's eyes softened, and he tightened his arms around her. "I know. There’s been so much going on, and I regret not giving us that moment."

Y/N reached up, cupping his cheek. "I want to make you the mating meal. I want us to have that bond, to be truly connected in every way."

Eris's heart swelled with emotion. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender, lingering kiss. When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers. "Then let's do it. Tonight. I’ll take care of everything else; you focus on preparing the meal."

Y/N's eyes sparkled with determination. "Tonight," she agreed, her voice filled with a mix of anticipation and love.

Eris helped her off his lap, watching as she moved to gather her thoughts and plan the evening ahead. He felt a renewed sense of purpose, knowing that their bond would soon be complete. As Y/N disappeared into the kitchen, he couldn’t help but smile, the weight of their responsibilities momentarily lifted by the promise of their deepening connection.

Y/N stood in the cozy kitchen of their cabin, the soft glow of the evening sun filtering through the windows. She took a deep breath, steadying herself for the task ahead. Tonight, she would make the mating meal for Eris, a tradition that would cement their bond and bring them even closer together.

She gathered the ingredients she had carefully selected, each one chosen for its significance in the ritual. Fresh fruits, vegetables, herbs, and spices, all imbued with the magic of the land they now protected. The scent of wild strawberries filled the air as she chopped them, their sweetness a reminder of the simple joys they shared with their children.

Next, she prepared a tender piece of venison, marinating it with a blend of herbs that Eris loved. As she worked, she couldn’t help but think of their journey together, from the pain and loss they had endured to the love and hope they now embraced. Each slice of her knife, each sprinkle of seasoning, was infused with her love for him.

She moved on to bake a loaf of bread, kneading the dough with care. The rhythmic motion was soothing, and she found herself humming a soft tune as she worked. The kitchen was filled with the comforting aromas of home, a testament to the life they had built together.

While the bread rose and the venison cooked, Y/N prepared a salad with fresh greens, edible flowers, and a light vinaigrette. She arranged everything meticulously, her heart swelling with the significance of the meal. This was more than just food; it was a promise, a vow of eternal love and partnership.

As the final touches were added, she set the table with their best dishes and lit a few candles, creating a warm and intimate atmosphere. The meal was ready, and she took a moment to appreciate her work. Everything looked perfect, a reflection of the love she held for Eris.

Eris entered the kitchen, his eyes widening as he took in the sight. The table was beautifully set, the aroma of the meal making his stomach rumble in anticipation. Y/N stood by the stove, a soft smile on her lips as she met his gaze.

"Y/N," he breathed, walking over to her. "This is incredible."

She blushed slightly, her heart fluttering at his praise. "I wanted it to be special," she said softly. "For us."

Eris wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "It’s perfect. You’re perfect."

They stood there for a moment, holding each other, before moving to the table. Y/N served the meal, each dish a labour of love. As they ate, they talked and laughed, the bond between them growing stronger with each passing moment.

When the meal was finished, Y/N took Eris’s hand and led him outside to the deck by the lake. The stars were beginning to twinkle in the sky, and the water shimmered in the moonlight. They sat together, wrapped in blankets, the warmth of their connection keeping them close.

As Y/N and Eris sat at the beautifully set table, the warm glow of candlelight illuminating their faces, she smiled softly and picked up a forkful of the tender venison. She leaned in closer, bringing the bite to Eris’s lips. His eyes sparkled with affection as he accepted the offering, savouring the rich flavours.

"Delicious," he murmured, his voice husky.

She blushed, her heart swelling with pride and love. "I’m glad you like it," she replied, feeding him another bite of the perfectly seasoned meat.

With each bite, their connection deepened, the simple act of sharing food becoming a ritual of their bond. Y/N picked up a piece of the fresh-baked bread, slathered with honey butter, and brought it to Eris’s mouth. He took a bite, his lips brushing against her fingers, sending a shiver down her spine.

"This is amazing, Y/N," he said between bites, his gaze never leaving hers.

As the meal came to an end, the table now filled with empty plates and satisfied sighs, Eris leaned back, his eyes darkening with a mischievous glint. "You know," he said, his voice low and teasing, "I think I might still be a little hungry."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Oh? And what do you have in mind for dessert?"

Eris grinned, his eyes roaming over her with a hunger that had nothing to do with food. "How about you?" he suggested, his tone laced with desire.

Before Y/N could respond, Eris stood up and, in one swift motion, tossed her over his shoulder. She let out a surprised laugh, her hands coming to rest on his back. "Eris!" she exclaimed, half-laughing, half-protesting.

He slapped her behind lightly, making her squeal. "You asked," he said, his voice filled with laughter as he carried her towards their bedroom. "Now, I’m going to enjoy every bite."

Y/N couldn’t stop giggling, her heart racing with excitement and love. "Put me down, you brute!" she said, though her words held no real anger.

Eris kicked the bedroom door open, stepping inside and gently lowering her onto the bed. "Not a chance," he replied, his eyes dark with passion. "I’ve waited too long for this."

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, their bodies melting together as the night wrapped them in its embrace. As they made love, the bond between them solidified even further, a testament to the strength of their love and the magic that had brought them back together.

In the quiet of their cabin, surrounded by the whispers of the forest and the soft glow of the moon, Y/N and Eris found solace and joy in each other, their hearts beating as one.

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@kmc1989

@hardballoonlove

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@marvel-molly

@lucky7rosie

@daughterofthemoons-stuff

@lilah-asteria

@crossfandomslut

@pit-and-the-pen

@inky-sun

@the-sweet-psycho

@why4anne

@bunnyredgirl

@rcarbo1

@pandabiiissh

@adalia-jaycee

@swiftie-4-lifes-stuff

@minaethrym

[tossawary]

Thinking about how hard the "Star Wars" prequel films dropped the ball in terms of female representation. Like, looking back on the original trilogy, it kind of sucks that the only main female character is Leia, and while Leia does kick ass and I love her, it also sucks that the last film 1) put her in that bikini and 2) abruptly made her Luke's twin but didn't let her have a lightsaber or use a lot of the cool space magic powers.

When you only have one female character, she often ends up bearing the unintended burden of a lot of hopes and expectations of fans. She's just one person. She's never going to be compelling to everyone.

And then you have the prequels and you'd hope that they'd do a little better with male-female ratios this time? With experience? But the only main female character is Padmé, who's pretty fun, but also ends up 1) desperately in love with a murderer, 2) spending most of the last movie barefoot and pregnant, staring out a window, because they cut the "founding of the Rebellion" plotline, and 3) dying not because she was Force-choked but because she has "lost the will to live" because "fuck them kids", I guess.

(I know there's theories about Sidious siphoning her life force or what the fuck ever, but I don't caaaaare, because I hate the idea that Sidious has that kind of reach for no fucking reason and also it's not actually IN the movies! It doesn't count!)

The Nubian handmaidens are a cool concept, but they're all background characters, who barely get named. We don't get to actually see them and Padmé do a lot of on-screen work together. She doesn't get to confide in them regarding her love or her fears. She speaks to her guard captain more onscreen than her handmaidens.

And while we do see female members of the Jedi Order in the films, they're ALSO all background characters, like Jocasta Nu and Aayla Secura and Yaddle. As opposed to more active Jedi characters like Qui-Gon Jinn or Mace Windu. Like, damn, the prequels are the perfect opportunity to introduce and show off even a female Jedi supporting character, and they just did not do that. That sucks. The careless absence of women in this universe sucks. The careless absence of women as significant characters in these films sucks.

Every other piece of additional material for "Star Wars" has to move to patch this. The "Jedi Apprentice" and "Jedi Quest" novels strive to add and name female agemates and mentors. "The Clone Wars" television shows add Ahsoka as a protagonist and Ventress as a villain and a whole bunch of new female characters.

Yes, given that these are prequels, there are some characters who are not really realistically changeable. (Yes, trans people exist, obviously, that would be very cool; not sure that "Star Wars" was going to go for that back in 1999.) Obi-Wan. Anakin. Yoda. The Emperor. Unnamed Sad Mother of Luke and Leia. You need those ones. EVERYTHING ELSE was up for whatever they wanted to do.

So, anyway, I'm currently thinking about characters you could potentially genderbend without affecting the story pretty much at all. Qui-Gon, obviously. Mace Windu, as well. I think fandom would then hate both of these characters even more then, unfortunately, because fandom is what it is. Whatever legitimate criticisms levied at both of these imperfect characters would have increased tenfold, I am certain of it. But we're talking about the prequels's badly executed stories, not fandom's misogyny. (And misogynoir. A black woman as the leader of the Jedi Order when it was destroyed by the Sith? Fandom would have been even more of a fucking nightmare.) It would suck that they both die, but the prequels are a tragedy anyway, so, eh.

Bail's role in the prequels could have potentially been played by Breha Organa instead. Although, I don't know how well the Extended Universe novels had extended Leia's backstory by that point in time, maybe Bail had already been established as the Senator and Breha as Queen, so maybe not. At the very least, you could have had Mon Mothma in there doing his superspy stuff with him or something. Padmé's guard captain could have been a woman.

Both Darth Maul and Count Dooku could have been women. Yes, they're both evil, and yes, they both die, so it's not perfect on the representation front. But it's something, especially if you balance that out with some good characters, and look, I can't coherently complete this thought, I keep getting distracted by the mental image of hot evil Sith ladies. I think a female Count Dooku would have kicked ass, honestly, as much as I enjoy Christopher Lee in the role.

My main goal with this thought exercise is purely upping the number of plot-relevant female characters, pointing out that it wouldn't have been hard to add more women without changing all that much if anyone involved had actually bothered to think about that.

The original trilogy only mentioned "The Clone Wars", so the clone army didn't all need to be copies of Jango Fett. There could have potentially been a half-dozen genetic donors, with the Kaminoans creating different clone soldiers for different purposes. Some of them could have been clones of women. (I hold the unpleasant headcanon that the clone soldiers are all sterile (or functionally sterile, incompatible with unmodified humans) anyway, because the Kaminoans don't want clients to be able to "steal" their work.) And the clones are actually a fairly minor role in the films themselves, admittedly, not given any more development than any of the droids (it's the show that does the work), but again, it's still something more.

[iznsfw]

Can we get more Hyewon fics?? 🥺🥺

Negotiation

IZ*ONE's Kang Hyewon x Male Reader Smut

4,491 words

Categories | daddy kink, power dynamics, titjob

It's your usual route, to be completely clear: circling up all the newbies, clearing out the incompetents and training those who had more than a pocketful of potential. It's your job, it's what you're paid to do. So if anyone dared question your bond with any of the trainees, they can complain about it to your face, and not in the form of scattered whisperings throughout office cubicles.

Your intentions are wholly pure. You swear on your mother's life. You'd pull the typical blame-it-on-the-femme-fatale thing with this girl, but you know it's somehow your fault, too: whatever might happen. She can't bear all the weight of the sin. 

You don't think sin is supposed to look this good, though.

"Sir," she says, perfect curled lashes fluttering with no ill intent at all. She's innocence, pureness, angelicness—all compiled and composed into one beautiful young girl. "Good afternoon. My name is Kang Hyewon; I'm more than eager to do my best for you."

In what way? you're tempted to ask. But then those exact words tumble from your mouth, and you're pretty sure you've fucked it all up. You, in your holier-than-thou suit and tie, asking something so suggestive to an innocent girl like her? Outrageous, that's what it is; scandalous, too. You could get fired for it.

However, it's as if she expected it—she leans forward, offering you a show of plentiful cleavage that breaks several dress code regulations and ethical rules, with a soft, rare smile. 

"However you want me, sir," she says sweetly. Resting her chin on her hand, the smile on her full lips grows wider. "I'll do anything."

"I've heard something like that before, Miss Kang," you say. "Strangely, I've heard it from the same person, too."

"Oh?" Hyewon assumes an innocent naïvety, wide doe eyes almost convincing you of a clean record. "How so?"

See, she's kind of used to that subtly flirty banter. Somewhere in the city of Seoul, in a humble little apartment, she's learning to make money in other ways. By doing it, she needs not travel lengths of distance to a corporate building or spend day after day spell-checking papers. You, having checked backgrounds of probably a billion people and verifying their digital footprint as decent or in-, know all about it. Might have watched a few of it online. Might have done some stuff too.

"You might've fooled Nana and the others, kiddo, but you haven't fooled me," you inform her, offended that you actually have to tell her. You're lowering yourself down to keep up with her one-step-ahead talk. She may be playing dumb, but she knows what she's doing. "I know all about your secret streaming account. Thing is, it probably isn't a secret. You've got thousands of followers on it."

"Can't a girl have a little fun, sir?" asks Hyewon with a giggle. "I was just playing games to pass time."

"'HyemsterKang' ring a bell?"

Hyewon looks up at the ceiling, as if she could find an appropriate answer for your inquiry embedded there. There's none: only a switched-on lamp and a vent. 

"Hmm," she hums, curled hands supporting her pretty face, "probably. What kind of account is it?"

"There's Twitch, YouTube, you name it. Twitch has the most followers, with over two hundred thousand. It's a surprise no one recognized you when you walked through the front door."

"Why would anyone recognize me? I'm just looking to enhance my skills here."

You're tired already. "Cut the bullshit, Hyewon," you say. Drop all the formalities and workplace language just like that. "You know what kind of videos you make. And, look, you've got to understand that I've got nothing against them, but anoth—"

Hyewon pouts. "Why are you so hot and bothered then, sir?" 

"Because you can't pretend to be some pure, holy girl here. I would've gotten you on the training course if you didn't lie through your teeth. What we need is honesty, transparency. You can't lie on the job here."

Hyewon seems to consider this. Her eyes lose their glimmer as they look down to your desk. And she looks so… sad: her eyes are, as mentioned, downcast, and there's so much more to them than sadness because they hold so many raw emotions of disappointment that make even your heart hurt. Her saddened shoulders lose their sturdy posture. 

For the first time since she's entered your office, Kang Hyewon looks… defeated.

"Does that mean you're not taking me in, sir?" she says after looking up at you again.

"No, and please," stress this with gritted teeth, "don't call me sir."

You've no idea why you feel that way. Many other girls have called you sir, both in a formal and informal setting. There was Kim Minju, whose experience gathered little to no potential, and Yabuki Nako, whose aspiring dream to become your corporate's airline stewardess was a pipe dream due to her petite height. 

But it feels strange with Hyewon. It's like there's some hidden motive behind it. Whatever it may be, it's surely working.

Hyewon juts out one, plump lip as she rises from her seat. Instantly, your boundary alarms go off. They're blaring like ambulances now, running in purposeless trips around your mind. Interviewees are not supposed to do that. She's crossing the line, so many lines.

What sets more alarms off is her taking a seat in your lap, as if she's always done that before. As if she belongs there. 

Her slim, tiny body presses up snugly against your frozen one. "What would you rather be called, hm?" she asks. Like a good girl, her hands are folded neatly on her lap, (un)fortunately covered by a gray skirt. "Please, do tell."

"Hyewon…"

You try to give her a steady look, try to tell her that it's wrong. But your hands are on her waist, and they subconsciously pull her closer. Damn her and that sexy skirt and blazer. 

"Mm, your hands feel so good on me," she sighs happily. "It turns me on so much. It makes me feel warm here," she pats the space between her thighs, "and it's all your fault, sir. All your fault."

"You need to be taught a lesson, Kang Hyewon."

"Go on then, daddy." Hyewon's voice drops to a haunting whisper. "I deserve it."

There, you let go of all your morals. The fact that Hyewon's supposed to be your interviewee and you're supposed to play professional with her becomes nonexistent. You've seen what she does on those videos, and now you're eager to see the body she hides so chastely under those uniform clothes. 

"Bend over."

The obedient Hyewon gets off your lap and lowers herself on the table. Her skirt rises and shows you a lack of even undershorts to save the exposed thong. Her ass cheeks sandwich the thin little thong perfectly.

"Ooh, what's daddy going to do?" she asks eagerly. She wiggles her round butt into your sprawled hand. "Is he going to spank me and make his babygirl count it all?"

"That would be too easy, don't you think?" Groping her, you look hard into her sparkling eyes full of excitement. "Daddy's going to spank you, but you can't make a single sound."

Hyewon whines. "But that's so hard, daddy. Can't you make it easier for Hyem?" 

"So am I, and no. If I hear you moan, you're not allowed to cum." 

Merciless is the perfect word to describe you right now. But your mind just rambles with lustful things to do to this sexy little vixen—(a hamster, if you will, as an ode to her username HyemsterKang, but that sounds less sexy; it doesn't give justice to the seductress that is Kang Hyewon)—and you're eager to perform them ruthlessly. 

Trail your fingers on her wet pussy lips. You find her clit, and from there, you give it tiny, teasing brushes. Hyewon bites her lip hard, and clings to the table for support. And for a moment that's all there is to it: you rubbing her clit and her grinding her round ass to your fingers. Until:

"Ahh, daddy!" 

That's one orgasm subtracted from the list. After you slap Hyewon's cheeks with all the might you have, she instantly cries out. You feel her juices dripping on your hand. 

Hyewon looks back at you. And you realize why her streaming career has done so well—that face is made to be ruined. Her scared eyes portray an opposing desire for more, and you can't help but give and give exactly that.

"I'm sorry, daddy!" she whimpers. "I'm sorry!"

Nevertheless, you continue to spank her. Reddened skin blares almost as bright as the office lamp. Her thighs drip with her nectar. 

You're harsh; your hand's starting to hurt from yout endless slaps on Hyewon's butt. But the pain seems like a small, sideway thought when you're witness to her cheeks bouncing with each blow. When she's holding onto the table like she wants you to go on. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," sobs Hyewon. "Please just spank me like that, treat me like a whore, use me—"

Your spanks become less and less measured—one follows the other a little too briskly. If the door weren't locked and the glass made it so any outsider couldn't hear, people would assume you're already fucking her with your brains out. But no, that's just you spanking Hyewon to teach her a lesson, to teach her to be a good girl.

"Fuck, slap my pussy like that!" she yells. Her pants sound hot and eager. "I'm going to cum, oh yes, oh fuck!"

That's your cue to stop. Hyewon doesn't deserve to orgasm yet, not until she's learned her lesson.

"This is so unfair, no," whispers Hyewon disappointedly, turning around with a pout. 

"Newsflash, Hyewon: the world isn't fair. Nothing is." 

Slip a finger inside her and her knee-high-clad legs curl around your hand protectively. She's riding on any good thing; she wants nothing more than your cock, and besides that, probably a job, but anything works for now.

Hyewon works herself down on your fingers. "When will I get to cum, daddy?" she asks. "Daddy? Say 'now,' please."

Execute blunt thrusts into her slick pussy, which is an impossibly tight cavern not even the bravest can make it out alive without exploding. Her back curves and she twists at the pleasure. Her delectable little cunt is sweet and closed around you, a newfound temptation to latch on for life, a vice to remember.

But there's also her fantastic chest to look at, doing what you're doing: peeking through the neckline of her blouse, which you just so happen to do as well. 

"If you give me a feel of those tits," you propose, the way negotiations should go, "maybe I'll let you."

"Of– of course, daddy." 

Hyewon undoes the buttons of her blouse. Like curtains, they part to a wonderful show. This show, though, would have been banned for nudity and corruption (and not in the usual way.) 

Hyewon's tits are glorious—they size up to more than a handful, and have these tiny pink nipples that you'd love to squeeze any time of the day. You're hypnotized by them, in every way possible. You glance at how they rise and fall in coordination with Hyewon's breaths, and the way her nipples perk into the air hard and aroused once the black lacy bra is off. The air-conditioner wind might have had something to do with their state, but you're thankful for both, either-which-way.

"C-careful," begs the young girl, wincing. "They're sensitive…"

"Is that so? Would it feel good then if I did this?"

"Oh, ohhhh!" Hyewon gasps with a hand over her mouth. Her skin feels boiling hot, but in a strangely good way, when you begin to suck directly on her nipples. "Yes, just like that!"

Her breasts are softer and better than the stress balls your office gave away during mental health seminars. The balls are only good for squeezing and throwing. In Hyewon's case, you can completely release all your stress just by fingerfucking her tiny pussy, and sucking her tits all at the same time. With her, you forget more than your morals—you forget about work, your deadlines, your responsibilities. And, needless to say, it's all her fault.

Hyewon can't keep up with the doubled pleasure. She's constantly squirming to have your fingers deeper in her cunt, and she keeps pushing her breasts into your face. Your rhythm of thrusts in her hole doesn't wither, and neither does your sucking on her right nipple. She doesn't know what to do except squeal out replayed pleads.

"Daddy," she says. "Please keep doing that, it feels so good. I'll be a good girl, I promise I won't lie anymore."

You ride your teeth around Hyewon's areola, sucking the area around it also. If you could, you'd never let go of her breasts. You would keep sucking on them, alternating between one and the other, for days on end. You bet you'd survive even without food or water. Hyewon's tits are enough for you to live eternally. Hell is nonexistent when you're with her.

"Do you think you deserve to cum, Hyewon?" you ask. You play with her clit, making it harder for her to get her words out.

"I think so, d-daddy. Yes."

"I don't," you laugh. "I told you not to make a sound, and you disobeyed. How would you become a competent worker if you're like that?"

Hyewon's near tears. "I'll do whatever you want," she says. Breaths get lost here and there due to your fingers still swiftly exiting and entering her. "Please. I need you. I'll, I'll be your good little fuckdoll, I promise, I swear."

"Will you let me fuck your tits, then, Hyem? If you're that good and eager?"

"Yes, daddy!" 

Hyewon nods over and over. A bit too excited, she pushes you down to the office chair rather roughly. But you pay no mind; in fact, your erection grows harder and lengthier at her enthusiasm. It throbs violently with how Hyewon slips off her blazer and pulls down your pants.

Her eyes brighten at the sight of your member, as if it's something that can actually make her day better. 

"You're very hard, daddy." She bites her lip, looking up at you with incredulous adoration. "Let me do something about it."

Hyewon's huge tits hug your hard-on, sandwiching it between them. You groan as she holds her chest so that your cock slips in and out seamlessly, lubed up only by her spit and your precum. Her soft flesh brushes your sensitive, pink penis perfectly, giving it a feel of what heaven might actually be. 

"Holy shit, Hyewon," you sigh. 

It's like she's entertained by what she's doing, too. She's looking down at your cock entering her flesh as if it were an exciting movie. But she takes extra care to seal longer glances with you, knowing that her face alone can make you cum.

"Oh, daddy likes my tits, huh?" Hyewon says coyly. Playing with her nipples while titfucking you, her gaze grows more and more sultry. "Daddy's gonna let me cum after this, right? Make me learn my lesson?"

"Just… just keep moving your tits like that. And we'll see what happens."

Not a solid promise, but Hyewon is satisfied with that. She knows her power and how to use it well enough. She's practiced in the strokes and squeezes she does on your cock, the temptation calling for you  in her brown eyes, everything. She has it all measured and listed down somewhere, probably, just waiting for the right time to use it.

Hyewon lifts her breasts, then slams them down on your lap again. The cycle repeats, and her boobs become like that of a real fleshlight. But hers is better—a toy pales in comparison when paired up with Hyewon's tight, hot body. And all it took to have her was a spanking session. There was no need to shed thousands of won.

"Like this?" she asks. Hyewon's letting you use her for your own pleasure, caring for your bliss rather than hers. The grip of her bosom around you tightens, and you find it difficult to catch your breath. "Do you want me to keep doing this?"

"Fuck yes. You're such a good girl for me right now, Hyewon."

Her cheeks are rosy. "Thank you. I'll make you cum, I promise."

She's made probably a hundred of oaths from the moment she walked into this building, but this one seems to be the one she's most determined to carry out. Hyewon's fiery rhythm risks you of exploding all over her pretty chest. Her smooth, pillow-soft skin knots your stomach and sets everything ablaze. Her facial expressions, which are a far cry from the saintliness she pretended to possess earlier, drive you off the edge.

"Shit… shit, I'm going to cum," you announce in a broken voice.

You can't stave your orgasm off anymore. Your dick expels liquid white strings everywhere. Hyewon's collarbone and big breasts bear most of the desirable damage, but she's sure to open her mouth, too. And she looks every bit the part of a cock-hungry slut, with her eyes rolled back and tongue lewdly hanging from her thick pink lips. White semen becomes her new lip gloss, and she'd put it on any time of the day.

"You still have more in you, daddy," says Hyewon. She strokes herself around your cock without pause. Curses leave your mouth as her evil gaze challenges you to say the opposite. "I can feel it. I want you to explode all over me."

"Fuck, yes, Hyem. I fucking will."

There isn't a single bad movie out there that matches the rapid pacing of Hyewon's titjob, and it's probably for the better. You just keep on cumming, and Hyewon keeps on titfucking you. It's a win-win situation because she enjoys being sprayed with your cum. It makes her feel like the used little doll she is.

She forces you to spurt more up until you can't anymore. All there's left are little droplets of pure white, and ragged moans from both ends. 

Hyewon's blouse and chest are stained all over. But when she gazes at the mess you made on them, she doesn't look upset. She looks rather… turned on. Her squirming thighs and bitten lower lip indicate that. She may look like a porcelain doll with her angelic face and pale skin, but she's been used just like a ragdoll would.

"Did you enjoy that?" she asks. "You liked it, didn't you?"

"I did," you confess. "How wet are you after all that, Hyewon?"

Hyewon reaches under her skirt and brushes her fingers over her pussy. She gasps. "Oh, v-very wet, daddy. Won't you do something about it?"

"Yes, I will. Get ready."

Both you and Hyewon rise to your feet. You step out of the rest of your pants while she shrugs off her blouse. Now, she's only wearing her black schoolgirl skirt and her long socks with shoes. 

Hyewon hops on the edge of your desk. "Will you really fuck me this time?" she asks hopefully.

"A deal's a deal, Kang Hyewon. Now spread your legs."

She opens them. You lift the skirt up to get a view of her pretty hole. Her pussy lips are plump, just like the painted lips on her face. 

(You want to fuck both.)

So, you thrust. 

All at once Hyewon is filled up to the brim, your balls pressing against her ass. 

"Oh, oh, so deep!" gasps Hyewon. "You're so big inside me!"

Your cock throbs. The clench of her walls is amazing, but they're also tempting you to cum again, and you can't have that. So, you set slow but forceful strokes, driving yourself inside Hyewon and feeling her walls part. Her surprised moans guide blood to your erection. The expression she wears never goes far from orgasmic, and she might as well be already cumming with how tight her hole's clamping on you. 

Wrap your hands around her tiny waist. You're ready now. You start to drill her tiny body down your desk. She cries out and leans her head backwards, allowing you to see how much of her neck you've covered in cum. Her glazed breasts bounce before you, getting your cock in an increased solid state to pulse and thrust in her hard and good.

"Yes, daddy, fuck me!" she prods you on, just like how your cock is prodding at her insides. "It's so good, daddy, it's so good, it's so good—"

She's promised to make you cum and delivered it out. Now, she wants you to make one, too, and return the favor. And, even if the only thing you're offered in exchange are Hyewon's loud screams that sound in your ears and her half-naked figure that's straight out of a porn video, you're glad to do so.

"Guess you aren't so innocent after all," you laugh. You're trying to keep custody of the upper hand here, but, god, does Hyewon's cunt choking your cock make it nearly impossible. "All that pretense, Hyewon, don't you get tired?"

"Oh, daddy," Hyewon sobs softly, arms hung around your neck and shoulders. Her eyelids are heavy, too wrung by pleasure. "If it gets you to fuck me, I don't mind at all."

You find her erogenous zone and rub it in the same, fire-quick way you thrust. "A little too fast there, don't you think?" you chuckle, but you're flattered.

"All I want is you going fast inside me." Hyewon's legs tense up after you grab them for easier leverage. Her moans are cut short with stutters. "I want it now."

"And what exactly do you want, Hyewon?"

"I—" She blushes furiously. Her words rarely come out in any form other than squeals. "I want to be your little office cockwarmer. I want to do nothing but be the toy who sucks daddy's dick and keeps his cock hard. I don't want to be anything else, daddy, and you know it—you know I want it—"

"Oh, you will." Pumping into her harder, you set the stone there and then of your ownership of her. "You're mine now. Everyone's gonna know about how you get on your knees for me so easily, Kang Hyewon. You'll be known as my little office slut, the one who keeps my stress relieved."

"Yes, yes, you can fill me up all the time, you can make me wear the slutty secretary outfits from my streams, daddy! Use me, oh god, I'm yours!"

It's a tempting offer. You've seen her streams while looking through her background, and you saw that one of her in the tight little secretary uniform. You think of how pretty she'd look in it, and how heads would turn at her entering your office everytime in it. You picture the outrage that does nothing since you're at such a high position in the office hierarchy, such an important person. They can't do anything if you decide at once that Hyewon's going to be your cumslut. They can only create rumors painting you out to be the exploitative bad guy, and Hyewon starring in the role of the poor head-over-heels newbie desperate for a good life.

You can live with that. 

The inches of your length never get to breathe as you're constantly shoving them inside her, knocking against her cervix and making her sob for more. There's no limit to the pumps you can give to Hyewon, but you still test it out. Hyewon remains at your mercy.

"Are you going to be my slut now? Do you really want that?" you ask her. "Or are you going to back out because you're too much of a pussy to dive in?c

Grab her chin and force her gaze at you. That's how you see that Hyewon's completely serious. That's exactly what she wants. She didn't come here for a job, she came here for you, and she's not leaving without being yours.

Hyewon nods. She presses her forehead against yours. "I want you," she whispers. "So make me yours. You know you want to teach your whore of a babygirl a lesson. You know you want to fill her cunt everyday."

That's right, you do. You knew, since the minute she spent teasing and toying with you, that you want to fuck her brains out. And here you are, doing exactly that. 

This could be forever if you wanted. 

"Gonna cum now, Hyewon. Gonna fill your cunt up with daddy's semen. Gonna fucking breed you."

"I'm close, too, daddy. Give me your cum."

You make sure to press completely against her cervix when you cum inside her. Hyewon's girl cum and your white fluids mix together, a blend of sex and sin, and drip down your table. You can't really think of anything else except for Hyewon's screams climbing up in volume and her squirt spurting all over your best uniform. No, you're brain-dead with lust, and there's no turning back.

You make her your cum deposit. You make her your babygirl, and as corny as it sounds, straight out of a bad teen romance where everything goes too quickly for any talent to be actually seen, you're okay with that.

-

"And that's how I think that we should promote the book earlier this year. Thank you for listening."

The clan of higher-ups sitting at the oval-shaped table clap politely. You try to keep your clapping at the appropriate level of enthusiasm, but your heart bursts with pride for Hyewon. She's come so far without your help. She's learning to stand on her own.

"I think that's a great idea, miss Kang," says Miyawaki Sakura, your director. She's a petite woman with a soft voice, but everyone knows that she's the boss of any room she stands in. "I'll jumpstart the idea tomorrow with the board of directors."

Hyewon flushes with happiness. "Thank you, miss Miyawaki."

"I do have one concern with miss Kang about the presentation, though," you pipe up. "Miss Miyawaki, do I have your permission to speak about with Hyewon in private?"

Now everybody's looking at each other. They try to keep themselves decent, but they all know what you mean. By now, your sexual relationship with Hyewon is an open secret. It might not be eligible for the title of secrecy anymore since all of the office knows it. 

But what can they do? You're the best in your team. You run too many things that keep the company going and they can't risk your loss. 

Hyewon waits for the director's response with bated breath. Her hands fiddle with each other as she waits for a response.

"Of course, sir," replies Sakura finally. "You may go."

You and Hyewon exchange glances. The two of you know exactly what your "talk" would be about.

[blossom-hwa]

memory lane | j.yh

I'm nearly two years late but in my defense I had this written for months already, I was just too lazy to create a graphic for it until now. anyway, this was sparked by the memory lane trip that dr. strange took in multiverse of madness - there are definitely spoilers (check the warnings below) and this story might be confusing if you haven't seen the dr. strange and spiderman movies so keep that in mind!

I made some changes to the plots of both movies, so bear this in mind - y/n instead of mingi (ned's counterpart) is the one with sorcery potential and later joins dr. strange at the sanctum, so y/n is the one who goes universe hopping with america chavez and ends up replaying memories they'd forgotten from when dr. strange erased all memories of spiderman (yunho). this story takes place after they've defeated wanda and returned to the sanctum. this should sum up the biggest changes, hope it helps :)

Pairing: Yunho x gender neutral!reader

Genre: angst (happy ending), Spiderman!au

Warnings: spoilers for the last Dr. Strange and Spiderman movies

Word Count: 5.3k

When you return to the Sanctum, armed with a name and the knowledge of a love you don't remember, you go searching for answers. 

Ateez Masterlist

When the dust has cleared at Mount Wungadore and they’ve all made it back to the Sanctum, it takes Strange a few hours to realize that there’s something wrong with his apprentice. Not just the exhaustion, not just the trauma of universe hopping and fighting the most powerful witch in all of the infinite number of universes in existence—that would be normal. This is something different. Something darker.

Something more broken.

“Dr. Strange,” you say later that night when it’s just the two of you, everyone else gone to bed. Flames crackle in the fireplace, glowing weirdly on your face. “Do you remember what happened with Spiderman?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Spiderman?” He knows you were there, remembers that’s how he became aware of your potential for sorcery, but you’ve never really talked about it.

“Yeah.”

He tells you what he remembers. A spell, rips in the universe, a vigilante who wouldn’t let the aberrations die. The mirror dimension, hanging over the Grand Canyon for way too fucking long, and a second spell to right the wrongs of the first.

You take it all in silence, not a single question asked until the end. “Do you remember what the second spell was?”

He looks at you. You don’t look back.

“No.”

“…Okay.”

He ends up leaving first, exhaustion pulling his eyelids down to the point he can barely keep them open as he climbs up the Sanctum’s stairs. He tells you to rest, and you nod, but he’s still not quite certain you heard.

You probably didn’t. Because in the morning when he wakes, you’re gone, only a text left on his phone to give any clue as to where you went.

Gone to visit a friend. I’ll be back. I’m fine.

Please don’t follow me.

. . . . .

Standing in front of the apartment door, an arm raised to knock, you feel like time has been frozen still.

“Memory Lane. Replay your significant memories, now at a discounted price! We remember, so you don’t forget.”

A boy in the spider-suit, face bloodied, eyes broken. A wavering smile on his lips that couldn’t disguise the tears rolling down his face. Hugging you and Mingi with arms so strong but trembling so much you could—you could almost feel them shaking around your shoulders. Eyes zeroing in on the wound on your head, a short gash that left the scar you could never for your life remember where it came from—

He saw it. And asked about it. And heard your babbled reassurances, instinctively steadying you on your bad leg (how did he know? How did he know if you never knew him?) as you and Mingi tried to speak, before saying the words you don’t remember.

“You’re going to forget who I am.”

You swallow hard, trying to reconcile the smiling boy you’d met during your third fight ever with the broken, bloodied man standing before you in that moment. They had the same suit—nearly. Not quite. But they had the same face. The same eyes.

And though you didn’t have a name then, now you do.

“I love you.”

“I love you, Yunho Jeong.”

You loved a boy whose name you don’t know. And he—

He loved you too.

Nausea rolls in your stomach. Your arm has begun to ache from holding it up for so long, but you can’t bring yourself to knock. What if he refuses to hear you? What if he doesn’t want you to remember, doesn’t want you to ask? What if he just isn’t home? You don’t know if you could find the courage to come back again. You can already feel the adrenaline high of the past few days beginning to fade, that initial burst of anger and courage (or was it foolishness? Right now you can’t quite tell) falling away to reveal your confused and broken core.

Your sight blurs, the four numbers marking Spiderman’s door (Yunho’s door, your brain corrects you, and it’s unsettling how easily the name seems to roll off the tongue of your mind though you know you never knew it until the trip down Memory Lane) swimming in your vision. One zero two four. You remember it from the day you walked him back, one of his arms slung around your shoulders, one leg broken and propped up by a cast of your own magic.

The moment had felt—familiar, you remember. Vaguely. At least in the way his tired laughs left his lips, in the way he joked about the villain who had left him in this state, in the way he thanked you as he lay on his bed, the magic cast fizzling out of sight, his reassurance that he’d be healed by morning. It had felt easy, somehow. Like you’d done this before, or something similar.

At the time, you’d brushed it off as Spiderman’s charisma with everybody. The times you interacted with him, watched him fend off villains and help the elderly cross the sidewalk in just two breaths showed you enough. That infectious laugh, the witty barbs, his charming easiness with every person he encountered, villain or no, weren’t special somethings reserved for you, which you reminded yourself in the moments you thought that might be true.

But maybe it was true. That trip down memory lane told you that you knew him even before you did. Knew Spiderman, knew him deeply, knew him well enough to know his name, Yunho Jeong—

Knew him enough that you could kiss him and tell him you loved him, twice, even without the promise of a response.

“Wait. Wait and tell me when you see me again.”

He’d promised. With a nod, and a smile, and words said before that you know from the memory but still don’t remember. He’d said it, sworn it—

“It’s okay. I’m gonna come and find you and—and I’ll explain everything. I’ll make you remember me.” A deep, rattling breath. “And it’ll be like none of this ever happened.”

Yet he never came to find you. For what reason, you don’t know. But you found him. Over and over, you found him—during fights, on trips to the bodega, several times in the Sanctum. And he never said anything.

The ache of a memory that is yours but isn’t thuds dully in your chest. You need to know if it was real. And it if was…

You need to know why he never returned.

Your knuckles rap the door sharply—once, twice, three times. Something clangs and there’s a loud curse in a voice you properly remember, not just know from your trip down memory lane.

Footsteps sound. Something clicks in the door. You have just one moment to prepare yourself before it swings open—

Yunho Jeong’s face stares at you, confused, kind, smiling. If you hadn’t been watching so carefully, you would’ve missed the millisecond of hope and panic that flashed across his eyes that confirms everything you’ve conjectured so far.

You’re not sure how to feel about it.

“Good morning?” He laughs a little, and he’s so good at acting—so damn good, did he take acting classes before? Not that you would’ve known since you only got that one significant memory before you shoved America Chavez on, but you want to grab his shoulders and shake him hard enough to tug those memories loose and plant them back in your own damn head—

“Yunho Jeong.” You take a step forward. “We have a lot to talk about.”

. . . . .

His eyes are guarded when he lets you in the door, but he lets you sit on the couch before he lets loose with a question, more of a statement, of his own. “You know my name.”

You probe his gaze carefully. For once, it flickers as you stare at him, a shard of that steady, easy confidence he’s always had (was there a time he didn’t have it? Were you there when that was the case?) chipped and dropped into somewhere unknown. He doesn’t flinch away, though, not like you originally expected him to.

Maybe it isn’t just paranoia and caution behind those guarded walls, your mind whispers. Maybe there’s a bit of hope, too.

The thought is too much for you to handle, so for all your original bravado you’re the one who looks away first. “I do.”

Spiderman’s—Yunho’s—voice nearly trembles with how carefully he measures his next word. “How?”

You take a deep breath. How do you even start?

“I recently took a…trip, of sorts, with Dr. Strange.” Not really—it was more so just with America, but Spiderman doesn’t know America and you probably shouldn’t be telling anyone about her until Dr. Strange gives the okay. “Went universe hopping. Mostly unintentionally.” Ignoring Spiderman’s—Yunho, Jesus fucking Christ—sharp intake of breath, you continue. “One of them had a curious feature called Memory Lane. For a price, it would replay your most significant memories.” You swallow. “I got a…free trial, of sorts.”

The silence that follows your statement hangs heavily in the air. Never, not once in the time you’ve known him (at least not the second time you knew him, if the first time even existed) did you think Yunho (it’s still strange how not strangely the name flows through your mind) could have let such a tension weigh the conversation—he’s always been so charismatic, so ready to smile and laugh and joke away any heaviness that came. Hell, even when he had a leg snapped into so many pieces only a cast of glowing golden threads was holding it together, he wore a smile on the way back. But in the face of your words, Yunho’s head has fallen, the strong shoulders tensed to snap, his clasped hands trembling underneath his chin…

He looks up, straight at you. His eyes have fragmented and the shards you see in them frightens you—that’s just not a look that belongs on Yunho’s face. He looks ten, twenty, thirty years older than he is (your age, he’d told you with the perfect amount of surprise and warmth on his face the day you’d told him, the first time you’d had more than a few minutes to get to know each other more), with the tortured memories of someone who’s lived through millennia. And, you realize with a pang, there’s a reason for that. Because if you forgot him, if Mingi forgot him, how many others did?

And if you meant so much to him in that life you don’t remember, how much has he had to keep to himself in order to keep you from knowing?

“What did you see?” he asks quietly, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles have turned white. “If it’s okay to tell me, of course.”

Tears bubble in the corners of your eyes. That gentleness, that consideration, feels so warm. So very warm and familiar.

“I was with you. And Mingi. We were hugging.” You swallow. “You looked…beat up, but you still asked about a wound on my head.”

Yunho’s gaze flutters in the direction you knew it’d go, just to the side of your right eyebrow. Your fingers itch to rise, to touch the scarred flesh that’s still there, but you hold your twitching hands still.

“And then you said we were going to forget who you were.”

He goes still at that, still as a statue. It’s funny—there have been a few times where you mused, internally of course, that Yunho’s face—just Spiderman at the time—could have been sculpted by one of the gods, should they exist. A beaming statue of a hero, waiting for thousands to thank and worship him. But now, as he stares at you with no expression on his face, stone still and truly a human statue if there ever was one…

You promise yourself never to make the statue comparison again, because the warm Yunho, the alive Yunho, is the only one you’d ever want to know.

Swallowing hard, you open your mouth. And close it. Not because you don’t know what to say, because you do—it’s just recounting a memory that isn’t yours, basically a scene from a movie, how hard could it be—but because when you try to speak, you can’t. Your voice is gone.

Yunho’s eyes are shiny. A little too shiny. And there’s a little too much hope in them, now, a hope that makes you want to dig yourself into a hole and have someone cover up the dirt behind you. Because—it’s not right, that hope, it’s not right because you know what Yunho wants isn’t what happened.

He speaks first. “You…remember?”

“I—” You dig your fingernails into your palms so hard it hurts. “I don’t.”

His face falls. Crumbles. And this time, unlike all the other times you didn’t understand before when he’d see you and you’d do something—anything—and his face would do something strange for a second before his easy smile came back up—

He doesn’t try to pull it back together.

“I—saw it.” Your mouth moves on autopilot, trying to patch up a situation you’re not sure you can but anything, anything to bring something back to Yunho’s face. Even the terrible hope was better than this. “I saw it—and—I can’t say I remember it, exactly, because I don’t, but it—it felt like it explained things.”

Yunho looks up. Just barely. But he does.

“You—I’m comfortable with you.” Once it’s out in the open, you realize how stupid it sounds, but you barge forward because who the fuck cares anymore. “And I know—I know a lot of people probably say that, but—even at that first fight, it was like…it was like I knew you a little. Somehow. Even though to my knowledge I had never seen you before.” You wince at how that must sound but Yunho doesn’t, his eyes now fixated more firmly on yours. “A lot of things felt…familiar. Just stuff like your laugh. Smile. The way we could banter and talk and I—just—fuck!” Your own vehemence startles you and you slap your palms to your eyes and to your surprise, you find tears meeting your skin.

Damn it, you really hadn’t intended to cry when you came here.

“Y/N?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, scrub at your eyes with the heels of your palms. “I’m sorry,” you say, and wow your voice sounds so much more ragged than you thought it was. “I’m sorry. I—it all sounds stupid. I don’t know how to explain it. I just know that…sometimes, being around you felt like déjà vu. In some weird way.” The lump in your throat seems bent on returning so you swallow hard again. “The memory that I saw. It made some things, like that, make sense. But other things didn’t.”

“…What didn’t?”

It takes everything left in you to meet Yunho’s gaze. The adrenaline rush of yesterday’s fight has finally faded away fully and you think you might collapse soon, but you force your voice to remain steady even as a stray tear makes it cold way down your cheek.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

. . . . .

For a long moment, Yunho doesn’t speak.

“I…was going to tell you,” he finally says. “I was. When you still had your job at the diner, I was going to go in and…tell you everything. Like I’d promised to. I was—” He laughs a little, broken and fragmented. “I was right outside. I could see you. Mingi was at the counter, too.”

There were many days like those. You’re not sure which one this was. “I didn’t see you.”

“No, you didn’t,” Yunho agrees. “But I saw you. And I saw your scar.”

This time, you can’t stop your hand from touching the warped skin on your forehead.

Yunho’s eyes track the movement. “I had a whole speech written out, you know.” That same broken, fragmented laugh from before. “It was on a piece of paper. I was going to read it to you two. But I saw your scar and…you were laughing. You looked so happy. I couldn’t ruin that.” He smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes at all. “When you knew I was Spiderman, all it did was cause you pain. And harm.”

You open your mouth to refute, but you can’t. Because you don’t remember anything. Not at all.

“Something happened to just about everyone I cared about who knew my secret.” Yunho’s voice drops. “So I thought it would be better if you didn’t know. It would be better if no one knew. Just the way it was after that day.”

“But—Yunho, I—” Words trip over your tongue and for a moment you still can’t speak, not for lack of thought but for too much. “We—you didn’t give us a choice. How did you know we wouldn’t—”

“You were at the battle.” Yunho’s words cut through your own like a knife and you almost flinch. “A battle I caused because I was an idiot. You don’t remember what happened, do you?”

Slowly, you shake your head.

“I went to Dr. Strange with a request. To wipe everyone’s memory of the fact that Yunho Jeong and Spiderman were one and the same. So many shit things had happened to me—and us—because of Mysterio’s stupid fucking video. College admissions, people taking potshots at us across the street…” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “He almost did. But I kept interrupting with exceptions. People I still wanted to remember me. You. Mingi. Aunt Mei. Happy. And that…that messed the spell up.”

You sit silent, quiet as Yunho tells you about the multiverse, about the other villains who knew him but whom he’d never faced—at least not in this world. He tells you about Aunt Mei, how Osborn had found her, how she’d pressed it into him that all of them needed help, not just to be sent back to their respective universes to die, and how he’d decided she was right.

She had been right, Yunho stresses. But she’d paid for it. With her life.

There, Yunho stops talking for a moment. Puts his hands over his face and breathes deeply once, twice. When he finally looks up, his eyes look redder.

“I’m sorry.” You wince as soon as you say the words, how flat they fall in the silence. But the thing is—you knew Mei. Somewhat. You remember her face, her smile, her burned cookies—you remember her, if not necessarily her nephew. She was a good woman, one of the kindest people you’d ever had the luck to meet. “I…remembered her. Somewhat. Probably not as much as I would have…before, but…”

“Yeah,” is all Yunho says. “Yeah.”

He continues. Two Spidermen, two Yunho Jeongs from separate universes. They looked nothing like him and apparently you summoned them with rings stolen from Dr. Strange himself (so maybe some things are best left not remembered, because if Dr. Strange doesn’t remember this you’re not sure you want him to). Back in their own worlds, they’d faced the villains he’d failed to corral here. They worked together and there was a fight at the Statue of Liberty and you and Mingi were tasked with keeping the unbroken spell safe from Norman Osborn and later, Dr. Strange, too.

You failed.

“Osborn freed the spell,” Yunho says, grief and fury etched in every line of his face. “Broke the casing with one of his stupid little toys. And so all these people—villains, friends, I don’t know—from other universes started coming into ours. Dr. Strange couldn’t contain them.”

You’re starting to feel a little faint. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah,” Yunho breathes. “There was only one way to fix it. Everyone had to forget Yunho Jeong.” His eyes bore into yours.

Forget feeling faint. You think you’re about to be sick. “Everyone.”

“Everyone,” he repeats. A little dark laugh falls from his lips. “No exceptions this time.”

For a long moment, you sit in silence. All of this information—your brain was already exhausted from universe hopping and dealing with a crazy, grief-driven witch, and you got maybe three hours of sleep last night before you found your way here—it’s so much. Almost too much. Maybe you should’ve waited to confront Yunho, should’ve given it a couple of days of thinking before coming here all tongue-tied and stupid—

“But—Yunho. You promised to tell us. You promised to tell me and Mingi.” You can feel your face scrunching up like you’re about to cry again and you don’t need that, don’t need that right now at fucking all. “You could’ve told us—you didn’t have to go through this alone—”

“Yes, I did,” Yunho snaps. “It was my fault. All of this was my fault—”

“No, it fucking wasn’t!” you retort. “It was Mysterio’s fault—hell, it was mine and Mingi’s for not protecting the stupid spell enough—”

“No, it was mine, for trying to change something that couldn’t have been changed!” he yells. “I got the villains into our universe because I couldn’t think of anything beyond our fucking college admissions! I did a fuck up job of keeping the villains in line! I got Mei killed, I got you and Mingi injured, I caused so much trouble for Dr. Strange because I wasn’t thinking—”

“You were a kid!” you yell back. “We all were! Barely fucking eighteen! Not even college students, not even legal adults! And—Yunho! I may not remember anything, but I do fucking know that we never would’ve been coerced or something into helping you. You wouldn’t have done that! If we were helping you in that fight, it was because we agreed to, because we wanted to!”

“It doesn’t matter!” Yunho snaps. “It doesn’t matter that you wanted to! Because in the end, this was a fight that I started and that I should have ended myself! Instead, I got a whole bunch of other people involved and people were injured for it, people—people died for it, Y/N.” His face crumples, and he turns away.

All the fight leaves your body. You reach towards him, slowly take his hands in yours. To your surprise, he doesn’t tug them away.

“I wasn’t going to get you and Mingi killed off because I wanted you back,” Yunho whispers. “My fights were going to be on my terms and only mine. I know you fight now, as Dr. Strange’s apprentice—don’t bring that up with me. Those fights are your choices and on your terms.” Teary eyes look into yours and you can barely fight the urge to brush the wetness away. “It kills me to watch it happen, but that’s your choice. And I can’t interfere with that.” He takes a deep breath. “But I can interfere with the stuff that shouldn’t happen because it’s my fault.”

The anger starts to rise up in you once more. “You didn’t give either of us a choice in deciding that—”

“Right before Aunt Mei died, she told me something.” Yunho’s hands tremble in yours. “She said, ‘With great power, there must also come great responsibility.’”

You swallow hard.

“I don’t think I ever understood until then,” he says quietly. “Sure, I’d always known I had power, and I tried to use it well by being the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, you know. Protecting the little guy while others fight the big battles. But the responsibility…my lack of that is what started this whole thing in the first place.” Yunho swallows. “When I saw you and Mingi in the diner, and I made that choice. That was my responsibility. I wasn’t going to purposefully involve anyone else in my fights, my issues. Not now. Not anymore.”

One of his hands releases itself from yours. It rises toward the puckered scar, brushes it with a gentle touch. His fingertips tremble against your skin. “Do you know how you got this?” he asks, whisper soft.

Slowly, you shake your head.

“One of Osborn’s…gadgets, sliced you.” Yunho takes a deep, shaky breath, and you grip his hand harder. “And because of that, you—you fell. Right off the statue.”

You couldn’t speak right now, not even if you tried.

“You fell.” The words seem to rip themselves from Yunho’s throat and he looks away, his free hand covering his face for one, two awful moments before he turns back to you. “You fell, and I tried to catch you but Osborn knocked me out of the way midair, and it—it was only a miracle that one of the other Spidermen caught you. A miracle,” he repeats, almost as though he still doesn’t believe it.

This time you do reach up to brush the tears from his eyes. The movement feels so remarkably natural that you have to wonder how many times you made the same motion in a time before.

“I saw you with the scar. And suddenly I was there, watching you fall with no way to stop it.” Yunho squeezes his eyes shut. “I couldn’t have that happen again. Not to you. Not to anyone.”

His eyes open, and between the tears, all you can see is the certainty of his choice weighing dark in his pupils.

“Not because of me.”

. . . . .

Silence falls in Yunho’s studio apartment. The sun has risen, slats of pale light filtering through his windows, illuminating his face. In the glow of morning, Yunho’s young face only looks older.

And suddenly you feel guilty. So very guilty. You came to his apartment unannounced with a name in one hand, news you were certain he wouldn’t like in the other, and caused him pain. That was it. You forced him to relive all these memories, made him explain things he perhaps wasn’t ready to speak of, and yelled at him for a choice you’re not sure you would’ve made differently had you been in the same situation.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, throat suddenly choked. You drop his hands and step back, desperately trying to swallow your tears. “I—I shouldn’t have come.” Yunho’s eyebrows furrow, but you refuse to look at him. “It wasn’t my place to demand answers of you and I shouldn’t have yelled—”

“Y/N.”

This time it’s his hands that take yours, large and warm and gentle. You look down at your joined fingers, then up at his face. If you had loved each other as much as your memory would have you believe, this must have been a common occurrence.

No wonder it feels so safe.

“I don’t blame you,” he says, and it’s the steadiness of his gaze that convinces you he speaks true. “You had questions, and no one else you knew had answers.”

“Even so.” You blink a tear away. “Even so, Yunho.”

“No.” He grips your hands more tightly. “Do you know how I felt after I saw you the first time after? When you showed up with Dr. Strange in the middle of fighting the drakon?” You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off. “I was terrified, obviously, but watching you…” Yunho looks down at your joined hands and you think he’s going to start crying again, but when he looks back up, there’s a smile on his face despite the faint tears in his eyes. “It was good to see you, Y/N. Just so…good.”

You look down at your hands. Back up at Yunho’s face. 

Eyes so soft with tears, so warm they could melt.

“I was happy to see you,” he says quietly, and for all his words are unbelievable you have to believe them because of the way he says them. “So happy. I mean—I’d made the decision. And I’d come to terms with that I probably would never see you again, or at least never be close with you again. But seeing you then, healthy and happy and just—you—”

A choked noise escapes your throat. Something like a laugh. Something like a sob.

“I thought I’d gotten over it, you know.” Yunho smiles and it’s beautiful and broken and brittle, echoes of joy bittersweet on his lips. “Thought that I’d be able to move on. And I did, in a way, but before I thought that I would forget it all. I thought that I could. But that moment just showed me that I’d really never be able to, and that I would be okay with it. Because seeing you like that—it was good, Y/N.” The smile grows. “Even now, seeing you in front of me like this…”

Oh. Oh, damn.

You’d thought that you were all cried out, but your eyes betray you once more. A headache is starting to build up in the back of your head but you force yourself to focus, to decipher Yunho’s words for what they are. “So—” You swallow. Try to speak. “Do—do you—”

“I still love you,” he says quietly. “Every time I see you, it feels like I’m a little more whole.”

Your face burns. “I—”

“You don’t have to say anything right now.” Yunho smiles, and even on his teary face he looks so handsome, so steady, and if it’s true that you were in love with him before it’s not difficult to understand why. “I know it’s a lot, and that you’ve only just begun to figure some things out. I’m not looking for an answer when I tell you this.” He takes a deep breath. “I just wanted you to know.”

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence. You look at your interlaced fingers, think about how natural it feels to have his hands in yours, to have come to him in this hour of answers and need. Briefly you think of Mingi, and it doesn’t surprise you to think that they could’ve been good friends too.

“I’m not…closed off. To anything.” You swallow hard, looking back up at Yunho. “Yet, at least. I can’t say I—that I love you, not now, but I do believe I loved you once, and I could be there again. Someday.”

Yunho’s eyes fill with tears again, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I just.” Tears of your own start to squeeze down your cheeks, past your lips and chin. “I don’t know if I will ever remember everything,” you finally warn, voice wobbly. “I think it’s more likely that I won’t. But if you’re willing, even then…”

“It’s okay.” Yunho’s smile is warm, and it’s what finally sends the rest of the tears spilling out of your eyes. “This is more than I ever could have hoped for in my life.”

“I want to remember,” you choke. “I want to remember, I want to so badly—”

“I do too,” he says, pulling you into his chest. His warm heartbeat thumps quietly against yours and you take comfort in its steady pace, one, two, one, two. “But even if you don’t, I want you to know that’s okay. And it always will be.”

“…How do you know?”

Yunho’s arms, warm around your body. His hold so gentle yet so firm, so safe and steady as he murmurs reassurances in your ear.

“Because,” he says, pulling away. You look up at him with your sticky, aching eyes, feel all of your trust in him only grow as he smiles.

“Because we can always make more memories of our own.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3