#they’re both so clever and commanding

[mightnotfeelrealbutitsok]

My favourite women but they’re totally unrelated and it’s totally not pathological of me

[occamstfs]

Conjuration: The Call

Ozzie begrudgingly plays a thinly disguised trading card game and finds some fun teaching his meathead friend a lesson.

Something between a role reversal and devolution! Jock -> Twink and Nerd -> Brute! Hope you enjoy this tale of a wishful role-player growing to dominate a try hard, Best! -Occam

Ozzie absolutely hated trading card games, he missed the boat and loathed being made to feel stupid like they always end up doing. Perhaps some self-reflection could see him giving Conjuration: the Call a fair shake, when a game of CTC was thrust on him instead of the DND session he was coming to play, the man was in not so charitable a mood.

Prepped to play his Druid all night, Ozzie is sulking in the kitchen when his friend Lily, patient zero of getting their group playing CTC again, brings over a proxy deck she made for him. “Heyyy babe~ Sorry about the bait and switch, I thought we were going to play DND too but apparently Mark’s sick and Alex thought this would be a great chance for you to learn how to play!”

His scowl quickly shifts between Lily, her half-hearted olive branch, and their friend group’s surly Adonis, Alex, who winks before returning to set up the table for their game. Ozzie sighs, not wanting to make a scene, he reaches out to inspect the printed deck in her hands. She perks up, “perfect! You’re gonna love it I swear!

The hitherto hater sighs, “ughh. You guys are just going to steamroll me like always! Is the deck too complicated to learn on the fly?” Her eyes glimmer as she slyly makes sure Alex can’t hear, “Not at all! I’ll be right there if you need any help and-“ 

Before she can explain, the man at the table interrupts, “you ladies done yet?” In their running campaign the impatient Alex plays a barbarian which mimics both his stature and nature out of game quite well, in Conjuration however he’s emerged as quite the rival to Lucy. Which Ozzie knows as she begins to explain, now at a whisper, “okay so it’s actually a deck to counter Alex’s.”

She immediately goes to defend her ulterior motives as Ozzie’s scowl returns with a vengeance, “oh c’mooon Ozz, I made this whole deck for you! I found the commander in the bulk bin and thought it sounded like your thing!” Shuffling through the box he checks it out, Loggan the Brain, nice and holographic. He pauses to appreciate how it feels in his hands, heavier than expected and almost warm to the touch. After a moment he looks up to find Lily has already gone to join the rest of the party at the table.

Finishing up his huffing, Ozzie sits opposite Alex who performatively flexes as he shuffles his deck, “Ready to get schooled by the man?” They’re friends at the end of the day so Ozzie doesn’t try to hide his irritation as he responds, “oh I’m sure there’s nothing you love more than beating newbies huh”

Alex takes a few seconds trying to think of some clever reply but after a few playful jibes from Lily and Tim, their fourth player, he decides to save any further taunts for the game. It’s not Ozzie’s first time playing Conjuration, how else would he hold it in such blatant disregard. Resolutely he refuses a tutorial from Alex and Lily. The pair make eye contact as they try to push down the urge to take candy from the new player and instead scheme how they can both use his inexperience to their advantage.

The first couple rounds go by in a flash, the other three begin setting up decks they are clearly incredibly familiar with while Ozzie races to read the little cheat sheet Lily made for the deck before performing a decent opening few rounds himself. Ozzie figures Alex must be running some kind of counterspell deck as Lily’s notes make it very clear that this proxy is a counter-counterspell deck, as it were. 

Lily would never be able to play this deck as it relies on someone counterspelling the Loggan the Brain without checking the specifics, and Alex would never do so to someone with as firm a grasp as her. When Ozzie goes to summon his commander though there's a glimmer in the jock’s eyes as his fingers go to counter the summon before Ozzie even announces, and in doing so he falls into the trap of the deck. 

Alex reaches over to push Loggan back off the board only to be stopped by Lily, almost shaking from excitement as she bursts out into laughter and explains the situation. She points to the ability text Drain: Start of the round gains one “Devolution” spell card. When “Devolution” is used to counter an offensive spell on yourself, put a token on Loggan the Brain. After ten tokens are placed on Loggan the Brain, replace him with Ogg the Brawn.

Hearing his opponent groan from an easily averted own goal he finishes his turn to see Alex scratching his chest and complaining, “I’ve never seen these stupid cards before, are you sure these are legal?” His eyes narrow at Lily who shrugs and tries to taunt him into casting a spell at Ozzie, “Who knows man, maybe it’s not even that good? You should cast a spell at him to see what it does!” With a wry grin she meets Alex’s scowl. For now he stills his hand as they prepare to deal with the quiet Tim as he quickly becomes the biggest threat on the board.

When it comes back to Ozzie’s turn the fun begins at last, launching a spell at Alex who has no choice but to counter, which is of course met with the new player’s own “Devolution” counter. Ozzie and Alex both open their mouths to complain, about the game being convoluted and unfair respectively. Before they can lash out however both men see a token appear on Loggan the Brain without anyone reaching to put it there. 

Only Alex and Ozzie seem to notice the board changing without any human aid, before they can react however they are both filled with an alien warmth. Alex’s hands shoot to his crotch and his face flares with embarrassment. All eyes fall to him as he almost squeaks as his meaty hands struggle to hide the fact that he’s getting obscenely hard at the CTC table, “GrheEEK! AH- hEM” the macho man tries to hide the voice crack from the table, failing to do so they all incredulously stare.

“Psh jeez- can’t a dude sneeze? Fuck!” Knowing they have most of a game still ahead of them no one goes in too hard on Alex, even as his complaints sound decidedly whinier to their ears. Were they to look even a smidge closer at the sscowling man’s face they’d surely see its hard edges begin to soften as his scratchy perma-stubble starts thinning. Alex flips through his bulky hand wondering how he’s going to overcome the pair of opponents, ignorant as his arms are slowly drained of the strength he has honed for over a decade at the gym.

oes Ozzie fail to see how he too begins to shift over the next round. When all hands go to counter a spell cast once more the situation ends once more with Alex being rebuffed by a Devolution card Ozzie drew. Thin fingers go to cover his mouth as he tries to quiet his laughter at Alex’s lips pulling into a pout, looking plumper than usual. Ozzie ignores the flitter at finding that exciting to instead taunt the man looking mousier but is distracted as he scratches his cheek, “Ah c’mon there Aluh- hm.” 

Ozzie pauses as he hears his fingers scratching at, well it sounds like stubble? After a few more strokes he speaks up again, “Uhh guys did I need to shave when I came in?” The party is focussed on his question so they take no heed of his voice sagging deeper with every word. Instead they narrow their eyes at his jawline. It takes him quite a while to grow any kind of facial hair so it’s not like it just sprouted up all of a sudden? Right? Alex laughs and rubs his own face, “Ah Hah! Followin’ the lead of your favorite role model huh! Heehee! Er-”

All laugh as Alex giggles uncharacteristically, cuing him up to go all out and defend his fragile masculinity. Ozzie sits back and watches as him and Lily tag team their fourth player into an early knock-out. All the while though he begins to feel odd? His palms are sweaty, upon closer inspection he realizes his whole form is sweaty. 

Eyes off him he airs out his chest and yelps as he accidentally grabs a tuft of chest hair. He looks down his shirt, slightly obscured by a stubbly little mustache poking out of his upper lip and barely quiets a gasp from shock as he sees a few curls sticking out the center of his bony chest. His inspection then falls onto the hand still grasping at his tee, almost imperceptible blond hairs that have humbly decorated his wrist have lengthened, darkened, and spread into a truly thick jungle on his forearms.

Needing to draw a few more cards to get his target out, Alex can’t help but shoot a couple more spells out at Lily who then redirects them to Ozz. Returning his focus to the board he grunts and prepares to take the hit before checking his hand to find two more copies of Devolution in his hand. He tosses them clumsily on the table and guffaws and shouts in his gruffer voice, “Hah! When’re you gonna learn to not target the man, fucker!” Ozzie reclines once more as Alex ignores his taunts and continues to take his turn.

Half-way to switching out his commander for a card he hasn’t read yet he tugs down his shirt as he feels a breeze on his exposed midriff. There seems to be a volley of new curls stretching above his waistline, briefly making sure no one’s watching he scratches at the pubes slowly inching into a dense treasure trail and almost moans at the distracting pleasure. With each quivering new sensation the blonde curls he has long been proud of darken and recede to something choppy and brown, shrinking back as from every inch of his form curls of the same pervasive brown race to assert his primal masculinity.

With each drag into the growing garden of hair on his waist the urge to vocalize his pleasure grows more difficult to ignore. The stubble on his face continues to thicken, growing into something more than five o’clock shadow that would put Alex’s to shame at its best. Speaking of, as his usual ungroomed stubble continues to fade and shrink into a face shifting as smooth as porcelain he can’t help but stare at Ozzie’s face with jealousy, his cock pulsing once more in his gym shorts and he grits his teeth, forcing himself to focus on the game and not on how Ozzie’s sleeves almost seem to be hugging his arms.

Ozzie similarly doesn’t see as his eyes are closed to be almost obscenely lost in the fulfillment of scratching his itch. Though he feels it. His arms slowly edging larger, straining his sleeves almost to tearing with each meagre movement. He feels stubble slowly growing up past his neckline, giving him a few stray curls that would need a turtleneck to hide as his chest begins to amass new weight and muscle itself.

In his death throes Tim follows Lily’s lead and forces Alex to toss a few more spells that will hopefully be blocked at Ozzie. Still lost in the reverie of his changing form, Ozzie doesn’t even check his cards as his hand quickly shoots up from his crotch and tosses two cards onto the table. Without looking two more tokens appear on Loggan the Brain and both Alex and Ozz clench the table as they are struck with another wave of changes. 

The other two players at the table are suddenly engrossed in checking their hands, as if compelled to not notice as Alex is suddenly swimming in clothes that he chose explicitly to highlight how built he was looking today, his neckline droops low enough that it should expose his burly-hair covered chest. The only thing it shows now however are two spray-tanned pecs that seem to be shrinking.

Alex doesn’t notice as his shoes almost fall off of his feet as they drop a few sizes, no instead he bites his lip and stares hungrily at the man who was supposed to be his quarry. His cock feels wanting his balls blue, more than that though for the first time in his life his ass almost feels empty, in need of something- or someone. He doesn’t put two and two together as he continues to stare at Ozzie growing hairier. 

The once mousy man finally fills his nerdy tee enough that it begins to fray and tear. Similarly do the slacks he threw on for game day find themselves more than filled with meaty thighs and a package that has blossomed into an absolute veiny beast. His eyes widen in wonder as he takes it in for the first time. His thicker, rougher hands reach downward and with the slightest touch his hips buck and his zipper blows out as his cock strains it to the breaking point. Barely contained in his briefs Ozzie has to ignore the wet patch of pre staining through them and put all his energy towards not cumming then and there in front of his friends as the game remains ongoing.

While the two were distracted by their changing tastes and bodies, Tim was officially knocked out of the game leaving everyone worse for wear. Though after another couple rounds it becomes clear that Alex is very much off his game. His white teeth continue to chew at his plumper lips as he’s lost in thought. 

Ozzie similarly chews his lip, champing at the bit as he stares at the shrinking man. Fuuuck, he’s real cute when he works himself up. His inner monologue sinks deeper in tone to match his new voice as his thoughts grow rougher, simpler. Under the table his hand can’t help but go to his crotch as images of some massive beast of a man dominating the twink push to the front of his mind. Drool dripping from teeth bared onto Alex’s back as he arches up into heavy pecs, as if he were made to be under the man, if he were made to be under Ozz- Fuck.

Alex shivers as the table shakes from Ozzie rutting into it, gasping as his own ass fills out. He’d never really spent dedicated time crafting the perfect butt, or no- is that true? His phone suddenly fills with nudes taken of his sculpted, smooth butt and sent to- Ozzie’s bearded face forces itself to the front of his mind. Alex can almost feel his sweaty muscular chest against his own, his fingers curling around hair that inches up from his ass and down from his shoulders. He can almost feel the phantom cock he’s bouncing on before across the table the only player not lost to their lusts clears her throat.

“What is up with you guys?” There’s forced confidence but something is clearly throwing her off her game. Something’s not right. Is it? Oggie- Er, Ozzie? He’s always been a tank, it’s why he’s been so against playing right? And Alex, well shoot that twink is obsessed with Conjuration since it’s the only game or sport that he can beat his- She clenches at her head as she’s seized by a migraine. Perhaps that’s how she falls into the trap that Alex has been setting since turn one.

“Ah HA! Finally biitch! You played right into my hands!” His voice cracks higher, something in the back of her mind swears she’d never let Alex call her a bitch but as she looks at the twink she can’t imagine why. The cocky sneer remains on Alex's face as his hair lengthens into a floppy garden of dirty blonde curls, after looking at the board it fades a little as he struggles to recall how exactly he’s supposed to finish her, “Uhm?”

He scratches at his head and the sleeve hanging on his thin bicep slides back, revealing his pit as the last few hairs remaining of his once proud tuft fall away, leaving behind a fruity scent that will never quite fade instead of the heady musk that could never be quenched. Ozzie didn’t realize he was staring at the twinks pits as they finished smoothing. Looking to his own pit stains on a shirt that seems moments from bursting off his form, he grins toothily and figures he produces well enough stink for the both of them. His canines almost feel larger in his mouth.

 After the song and dance of Lily walking Alex through her own defeat, accompanied by a fair share of giggles from a man who wouldn’t be caught dead speaking even vaguely ‘like a chick’ before the game, Lily heads off with Tim to go grab pizza before the next game. Leaving behind Alex and Ozzie as the game nears its close. Both men struggle to decide on their next moves, or rather if they care enough to even make them, as the other players depart. Ozzie scratches the back of his head like an ape, apathetic to his arm finally bursting free from its sleeve and exposing a hairy pit that Alex eyes hungrily. 

Drooling and wanting to be done with the game as soon as possible the once jock eyes his hand filled with spells and wonders why he has so many? Was there a reason he wasn’t using them? He hesitantly throws one down and is immediately met by a counter. Ozzie grunts as his form bulges larger, brow jutting slightly over blue eyes that don’t quite look so bright any more. He tears off his shirt with one meaty fist before moving to scratch at the carpet of hair covering his torso as if it were a shirt itself.

Ozzie’s own eyes glaze over as he drops his cards on the table, he want game over. His underwear is filled to breaking and he grimaces before going to tear them off just like his shirt. Grunting he punches the table in shock as the elastic band snaps back against him. Veins bulge everywhere across his form as rage fills him enough to rival his hunger for the twink sitting across from him. Struggling to control his breathing as he sits stewing in lust and anger he speaks in a gravely town as his stomach begins to bloat, “Your turn,”

Alex similarly is lacking the focus to continue the game, tossing his hand down his eyes flash as the remaining tokens stack onto Ozzie’s card. Neither man notices as a final line of text appears at the end of the dense paragraph, “If you lack a copy of Ogg the Brawn in your deck, become one.” He doesn’t read the card of course, nor will he chase the urge to read much of anything anymore, but as the ability is activated OzzOgg obeys the instructions to a tee.

Spit drips between gnashing teeth as Ogg stands to his new height. Waist filling out as he pounds onto the table and he grows into a true brute. The elastic band digging into his waist acts like a flank belt as he glowers at Alex and bucks into the table, making a mess of the organized decks as he feels his mind unable to focus on any pursuit other than chasing his hunger.

Alex stands and his pants fall to the floor, unable to remain on his thinned waist, “O-Ogg?” he squeaks out, what was was a tight muscle tee now hangs off a shoulder, perfectly framing a hard nipple and hiding the noticeably smaller bulge where his dick must be. Ogg knocks the table over and tackles the twink with power he never imagined or desired to have. 

Grunting, Ogg can’t control his hips as they continue to rock and thrust as he struggles to position his twitching cock over Alex who endeavors to roll over and present his perky ass. Ogg forces his face down into the nape of Alex’s neck, breathing in his scent, magically alluring and the diametric opposed to the bestial musk that steams off the man whose eyes dull to a dark brown as his stomach bulges into a massive muscle gut.

Underneath, the twink’s mental faculties grow similarly vacant as he feels the hairy stomach scratching against his back, as Ogg’s massive cock finds purchase and fills him with far more powerful pleasure than what Alex has inflicted on many a partner throughout the years. His moans fill the air, rivalling Ogg’s grunts as the pair leave sweat and cum stains on the cold tile. 

The air of the apartment is filled with Ogg’s primal, almost proto-human musk which only makes Alex hungrier for the man he is evermore to be obsessed with. When his face is shoved into Ogg’s jungle of pit hair he wonders how he lived before now as his cock is pressed up against Ogg’s bulky, curl-covered torso.

Eventually their preternatural lusts absolve themselves and in a brief refractory period Alex rushes to clean up the worst of their mess before the other two return with pizza. Ogg of course is no help as he throws on a pair of boxers Alex would’ve sworn were his own and goes to sit on the couch, arm behind his head to air out his steaming pit and continue to rile Alex up. After righting the table and wiping away all the stains he could see the twink indeed goes to nestle up alongside the man on the couch as he throws on some nature documentary.

Alex doesn’t notice as his head finds itself almost immediately in the man’s crotch as his cock starts to poke out the leg of his boxers. Well, when in Rome- Before they can get up to too much fun, they hear the door being jostled. Alex jolts up and swallows the pool of pre-cum filling his mouth before doing a poor job of hiding the rock hard rod in Ogg’s boxers. The brute grunts in irritation and grasps at his needy balls, apathetic to the return of the other platers.

Setting down the pizzas Tim looks over at the clearly worked up pair and rolls his eyes as if this is normal, “Well are you two horndogs up for another game?” Eying both Alex and Tim something besides the Id in Ogg rears up, still seems like there’s a lot left he can drain from the two men. Bulge already inching larger, he stands and goes to pick up Loggan from the floor. Time for round two-

[0hcicero]

To be clear up top, I really love Worlds Beyond Number, and I love the stories and the authenticity and groundedness of it. But listening to this last episode and then the fireside was doubly difficult because:

- I come from a military family that is not officer class (aka my fam would have been imperial infantry and not wizards)

- I grew up rural around lots of farmers and hunters

And some of the statements around both rural people and rank and file military (while likely very true in the story and in this world) in the fireside rubbed me the wrong way. I love Brennan and his mind and worldbuilding, and I understand the purpose of this episode was to lean into the tensions in Ame’s worldview and the truth of Eursolon’s backstory, but damn. The whole ‘these people are stupid and ignorant’ thing sucks, because yeah, there are stupid and ignorant people for sure that are rank and file and rural, but also the perspective feels quite privileged. We got to see good wizards AND bad wizards, but we only get to see shitty and dumb lower ranks. And that’s not the truth I knew growing up military, at all. We got to see very kind but stupid farmers, and while the kindness was a bonus the stupidity across the bar sucked, because some of the smartest people I ever met didn’t make it through grade school.

There was talk in the fireside about xenophobia, and it just felt kinda bad that this person I see as a very clever smart and educated person couldn’t see some of the hypocrisy in that.

So to counter some of what I heard, I want to put out some of my experiences.

Military

- there are xenophobic idiots in the lower ranks, that’s for sure, but there are also a lot of people who are much more involved in the ‘boots on the ground’ field work, especially in peace-keeping, in the lower ranks. This includes cultural exchange and engaging and helping the populace. They often see more and know more, speak the language, and learn proper customs.

- Promotion is supposed to be a meritocracy, but often it is not. If you buck against the system and call out its errors, you won’t be promoted, much like my mother, who was a woman, a corporal, and got the wing commander’s commendation more times than most officers in her squadron, started a mediation program, and was an outspoken feminist who was constantly pushing for justice and fairness.

- typical, lower ranks consider anyone above a seargent fairly ‘out of touch’ with reality, and may have to do their best to work around bad orders, because often, officers are seen as ‘not getting their hands dirty/knowing the truth of a situation’.

- typically higher ranking officers are arrogant and rude and have an elitist mentality, thinking they are better than the lower ranks. In my experience, this is often not the case, as higher-ranking officers typically pay their way for their rank (can afford officer training) which is typically not something available to they generally poor and lower class rank and file.

- sometimes people in lower ranks think very simplistically, and are not good people, but that’s a general outlier in the same way that it is for other groups of people. The bell curve applies to pretty much everything.

- many people in lower ranks join up because they are poor and need money, and the military pays for schooling and is an opportunity to travel. They typically don’t join up because they’re stupid, crude, crass fuckos who like to hurt people. The military is predatory and it feeds on the poor and lower-class citizens who don’t have much social mobility. They’re often not stupid, but they are typically pragmatic, and yeah, the language can be crass, but speaking crassly speaks to culture not goodness.

Rural

- intelligence is, in my opinion, situational. I might be able to quote Shakespeare and get into a deep philosophical debate but that’s not doing me any good when I need to help a cow that’s scared and in pain give birth to a breeched calf. But this very cool farmer I knew could talk down this cow and know just where to position his hands to turn a calf inside the womb. Show me a typical master’s student who can do that.

- I knew people who could read weather sign, bird sign, tree sign, and bear sign, who could read the woods and the trails like a picture book. They might not be able to speak much about the science of climate change, but they damn sure know it from a micro level by being able to spot the size of tree buds in the winter to know spring’s coming earlier, and that’s bad for a lot of plants and animals and the ecosystem that sustains itself, which they are intimately aware of.

- I also knew farmers and rural folks who were highly educated and moved out to the country to enjoy the wide open spaces and privacy, who had big libraries and talked about history with me, who fed my curiosity and helped me stay humble and ask questions.

- I knew rural folks so poor they lived in a shack and ate squirrel, and I also knew how everyone in the community took care to give their kids’ piano lessons because it was the only money coming into that household, and took care to just have accidentally bought a little more than what they needed of this or that and ran it down to that family.

- I also know we were so poor sometimes that I went without a winter coat in northern Alberta for 3 years, but that I was always given lots of hats and scarves and mittens and sweaters by the neighbours.

- I also knew lots of shitty, stupid, sexist and racist people who were essentially brainwashed by a cult and who were never taught to think critically or encouraged to do so. I know that they are afraid of the world because that’s what they’ve been taught. And yes, it’s on them for never getting out and being way more comfy in their bubble than outside of it, but that’s what being in a cult does, it stacks the deck against your own intelligence and curiosity.

- I knew too, many of rural folks who would have been extraordinarily embarrassed to be impolite and refer to a trans woman as a man, or vice-versa, because manners and politeness matter a whole lot in a small community. At the same time, there was definitely the opposite as well, and I knew kids who gotten beaten up regularly for being 2SLGBTQIA+.

It’s complicated, complex, and nuanced everywhere. No group is a monolith, even if it feels justified and easy in the world we live in to lump all ‘like’ people together. I just really hope in the next few episodes we see some nuance in the infantry and the officers, as well as with any rural folk they engage with too. They’re all usually so good with a nuanced take, and I really really hope this was just one episode and an off-the-cuff, didn’t-really-think-about-what-he-was-saying discussion.

And I get it. To my knowledge, Brennan grew up in New York (or at least a city?) and may have not had a ton of experiences living rural outside of the summer camp he was a counsellor at, so he may not have had a lot of time or opportunity to engage with rural people at a true community level. I don’t know his engagement with the military community either, and my experience is with Canadian and not American military, so there’s likely some difference and nuance too.

I dunno. I have a lot of hope and faith in this very cool group of storytellers, and they have not disappointed me in the story thus far, so I believe we’ll see some great nuance to come. Just had to put it out there.

[aventurineswife]

HII

Could you do aventurine x wife where she likes CEO if a huge beauty chain and she very polite, reserved, and kind of dens sometimes? She not experienced in like love an affection n stuff and they're newlyweds

ALSO

Could you do a scene where she invites aventurine to. Business meeting for whatever reason and aventurine like suggests some like super clever idea that impresses everyone but some of the guys ge jealous?? Thank you!! Stay hydrated <3 also good luck with exams! I wish you the best and take your time : )

Winning Hearts, Taking Risks

Summary: Aventurine and you, his polite yet reserved wife, navigate the early days of your arranged marriage. As the CEO of a renowned beauty chain, you are unaccustomed to affection and unaware of the subtle rivalries brewing around you. At a business meeting, Aventurine impresses everyone with a brilliant suggestion, drawing both admiration and jealousy from your male colleagues.

Tags: Aventurine x Female!Reader, Fluff, Arranged Marriage, Subtle Jealousy, Oblivious Reader, Emotional Growth.

Warnings: Minor conflict involving professional jealousy, Some implications of Aventurine’s manipulative tendencies, Light tension, but no significant angst.

The room was bathed in warm light, a sophisticated meeting space designed with tasteful minimalism: sleek glass tables, ergonomic chairs, and soft gold accents that hinted at the prestige of the beauty empire helmed by you. As the CEO of a renowned international beauty chain, you were no stranger to gatherings like this, but today’s meeting carried an unusual air of tension—because your husband, Aventurine, had insisted on attending.

Despite your polite protests, he had flashed his characteristic grin, brushing his hair back with a casual flick of his wrist.

"My darling wife," he had said, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous edge, "why wouldn’t I join? It’ll be fun. Besides, I’m curious to see the beauty world up close—and perhaps offer my humble insights."

That was how you found yourself seated beside him, your reserved demeanor starkly contrasting his flamboyant charm. While you were quietly taking notes, Aventurine lounged in his chair like he owned the place, his earring catching the light with every small movement.

The meeting progressed with the usual formalities, updates on product launches, and discussions on marketing strategies. The executives around the table were polite but clearly skeptical of Aventurine’s presence.

“Now, as we move to the next quarter,” began one of your department heads, his tone clipped and professional, “we need to focus on market saturation in emerging regions. The data shows potential, but our campaigns in South Asia have been underwhelming so far.”

You nodded thoughtfully, glancing at the figures on the presentation. While you understood the numbers, creative strategizing wasn’t your strong suit. You opened your mouth to respond but hesitated. That’s when Aventurine leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table with a sly smile.

“May I?” he asked, his voice smooth, immediately commanding the room’s attention.

The department head paused, clearly annoyed but unable to refuse. “Go ahead.”

Aventurine gestured lazily at the slide on the screen. “You’re looking at this the wrong way. Saturation campaigns won’t work here—they’re too passive. You need engagement. Create scarcity, make your brand exclusive in these regions first, and let demand build itself.”

There was a murmur of interest, but he wasn’t done. “For example, partner with high-profile local influencers. Host limited-access beauty workshops. Launch pop-up stores with exclusive products tailored to regional preferences—scarcity drives desire, and desire drives loyalty.”

The room fell silent. A few of the younger executives looked genuinely impressed, their pens flying across their notebooks. Your department head, however, looked less pleased, his lips thinning into a hard line.

“That’s... a bold suggestion,” he said, his tone edging on condescending. “But these markets are price-sensitive—exclusivity might alienate them.”

Aventurine’s grin widened, his gaze sharper now. “Price sensitivity is exactly why it works. People value what’s rare, even if it’s expensive. And when you make them feel special? They’ll pay anything.”

His confidence was magnetic, his words cutting through the skepticism in the room like a blade. You couldn’t help but glance at him, a small flicker of admiration stirring in your chest. You weren’t particularly experienced with affection or romantic gestures, but in that moment, seeing him in his element, you felt something... warm.

“Your husband is quite the strategist, isn’t he?” one of the female executives whispered to you with a playful smile. Flustered, you focused on your notes, your ears burning.

“Mr. Aventurine does raise an interesting point,” another executive finally said, breaking the silence. “We should explore it further.”

The department head looked like he wanted to argue but wisely held his tongue. Aventurine leaned back, clearly enjoying his little victory. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed one of the younger male executives glaring daggers at your husband. His envy was almost palpable, his jaw clenched as he watched Aventurine effortlessly command the room’s attention.

As the meeting wrapped up, Aventurine stood, adjusting his fur-lined coat with theatrical flair. “Well, that was invigorating. I must say, my darling wife keeps excellent company.”

You rolled your eyes subtly, but your lips quirked upward. “Thank you for your... contribution.”

He bent closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper only you could hear. “You’re welcome. But I think the green-eyed monster sitting two seats down is going to combust soon.”

Your eyes darted to the jealous executive, and a soft laugh escaped before you could stop it. Aventurine straightened, his earring swaying as he looked down at you with a rare softness in his expression.

“You’re incredible, you know,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual teasing tone. “Reserved, polite, but you hold this empire together. I’m just glad I get to be a part of your world now.”

Your heart stumbled over itself at the sincerity in his words. Flustered, you turned away, pretending to organize your notes. “I... appreciate that.”

Aventurine’s laughter followed you as he escorted you out of the room, his presence larger than life, yet somehow grounding you in ways you hadn’t expected. For all his theatrics and charm, there was something steady about him—a gambler who, despite the odds, always seemed to know exactly when to hold on.

[monstersdownthepath]

Herald of Asmodeus: Basileus

CR 15

Lawful Evil Medium Outsider

Inner Sea Gods, pg. 278 (though the picture is from Council of Thieves: Mother of Flies, pg. 79

Yes, Medium sized. You see, Basileus is NOT the terrifying, diabolic apparition with multiple snakes emerging from it, but the tiny figure settled in its ribcage. Crafted from the very essence of Hell itself to fill Asmodeus’ lofty expectations--expectations which spelled death for at least six other Heralds before--Basileus represents the power of Hell incarnate, which includes the ability to cow any lesser being nearby into submission with nothing but a look. While his Veil of Forms normally keeps his true nature hidden from onlookers and makes him look attractive to anyone who can see him, he can raise or drop this comforting veil as a free action to wreak unholy terror on everyone that draws too close... but we’ll get to that later. First, a bit of background!

Basileus (or “Basil,” as I’ll be calling him from here on out) is Asmodeus’ perfect doll, crafted from Hell’s essence and, some say, the best parts of his past Heralds, all of whom disappointed him in some fashion. For a tyrant who desires absolute control, the only solution he would accept is the creation of a being who would follow his orders without question, hesitation, or creative interpretation. Basil does exactly as Asmodeus commands, following orders in accordance with both their spirit and letter with an efficiency that rivals machines, and thankfully for the mortal plane, these orders usually have him serving as an envoy and diplomat between Asmodeus and other powers across the Great Beyond. He is explicitly stated to rarely ever step onto the Material Plane, and even then only long enough to complete a task which directly benefits Hell and its infernal master. He tolerates mortals in the same way a sculptor tolerates dust and stone shards all over the floor, in that dealing with them is a side-effect in the process of creating something worthwhile, but they’re ultimately waste to be brushed aside and disposed of the instant the main project is finished, and certainly nothing to cozy up to and talk with. Basil’s contempt for mortals is one of his most famous aspects, to the point that even Asmodeus’ own followers hesitate to beseech their god for his Herald’s assistance, seeing the diabolic abomination as a last resort despite the power he offers his summoners, which includes the ability to grant a Wish once a day... but only for a mortal.

There is some delicious irony in Basileus having the most powerful spell available to him 1/day, a power no other Herald approaches, but he can only use it on the very mortals he despises. No matter how pitiful their lack of imagination or careless their wording, this power belongs to them. Unfortunately, he’s quite clever in manipulating people into getting what he wants out of their wishes, and only grants them in accordance with Asmodeus’ desires anyway, so the irony isn’t AS delicious as it could be.

Despite being a glorified mailman in terms of purpose, Basil nonetheless embodies perfection in every respect, both physical and mental: He possesses the strength to bend iron with his bare hands (26), arrow-dodging levels of dexterity (22), an indestructible constitution (25), staggering intellect (26), and enough charisma to clash with the most boisterous personalities and lay them low at his feet (25). The only stat of his that’s lower than 20 is his Wisdom, sitting at a 19. While many Heralds have one or two of his stats beaten out, no other Herald has such towering ability scores across the board, truly showing off Asmodeus’ craftsmanship... pity that he falls short in many other areas including, ironically, his hit dice. Though he has a nearly-unequaled stat distribution, he actually has less HD than the average Herald at 16, whereas most have 17 or 18 (though Sunlord Thalachos and the Menotherian both have 15 for whatever reason).

Of course, such flaws in his form aren’t evident to anyone not looking directly at his statblock. To everyone in-universe, Basileus is something like an advancing wall of death, something to be desperately avoided at all costs, because coming too close to the Herald of Hell may see one slain before they can even draw their weapon.

As previously mentioned, Basil normally hides behind a Veil of Forms, a specialized illusion which makes him look attractive to whomever is looking at him, regardless of their individual tastes and preferences. If he cannot be attractive then he will appear powerful instead, and oftentimes he combines the two... just not intentionally. Basil has no control over what onlookers see, nor does he gain any supernatural insight into whatever they’re seeing, and truth be told he doesn’t really care (if he did, he has a +23 Sense Motive to try and hash it out). The more important part is what happens when he drops his veil.

Basil can raise or lower his veil as a free action on his turn with no limit, allowing him to lower it and expose his true, diabolic form just enough to focus his crushing Gaze onto a creature within 30ft before raising it when that poor victim drops to the floor, dead as a doornail. You see, any being subjected to his Gaze must succeed a DC 25 Will save or be subjected to the illusory sight of the most terrifying thing they can possibly imagine, a sight so overwhelmingly horrifying that any creature with 6 HD or fewer is slain instantly if they fail the save, while everything above the threshold becomes irrationally panicked for 2d4 rounds if they fail, and REGARDLESS if they pass or fail, victims take 6d6 points of damage from the strain of seeing their worst fears brought to life before them. While he normally uses this power to snuff out a select creature like a candle, in pitched combat he can simply leave the veil down, blasting everyone around him constantly as long as they keep looking at him; the damage and panic recur every round a creature remains within 30ft of the Herald of Hell while also looking at him, as there is no 24 hour immunity clause.

You may notice a couple harsh limits to this otherwise overwhelming power: A strict 30ft limit, and victims must be able to see him. So long as you’re either keeping your distance or keeping your eyes closed, his terrifying gaze can’t affect you, and he lacks any ability which explicitly punishes a creature trying to blind-fight him like Sneak Attack... though this isn’t to say that the embodiment of Asmodeus’ will can be beaten by simply closing one’s eyes, no. He has plenty of other tricks up his horrible, horrible sleeves.

First and foremost is his least impressive aspect, his melee: Basil can cause horrible wounds to open up on any creature he touches, inflicting 1d8+8 damage. This is less than impressive, especially when stapled to his Medium-sized frame, but he has other options. Five of them, in fact! When his veil is down and his true diabolic body is exposed, he produces five additional, monstrous limbs which can slam anything within 15ft of him for 1d8+8 damage each, making his melee offense much scarier. However, this isn’t where he truly shines. No, his magic is the scariest thing about him.

As a being of illusions, Basil has quite the menagerie of illusion spells. At-will, he can use False Vision to prevent people from scrying on him or anyone he’s talking to, Mirage Arcana to shape the terrain to his liking, and Persistent Image for basically whatever distraction he needs. At 3/day, he can use Phantasmal Killer to terrify someone outside his 30ft aura of terror to death, but more dangerously he can use Greater Invisibility 3/day, which prevents him from using his lethal gaze but combines in a bad way (for everyone else) with his supernatural 60ft flight speed, his natural +25 to Stealth, and the rest of his offensive prowess, mainly consisting of his melee slams and his at-will Scorching Ray for any distant foes.

Cheating is only fun when the devil does it, so of course Basil can both Greater Teleport at-will and use Ethereal Jaunt 3/day BUT he has Dimensional Anchor to prevent anyone else from doing it. Likewise, all of his illusory power can be defeated with True Seeing, so he has THAT available at 3/day, and Greater Dispel Magic besides to destroy whatever spells or effects he cannot maneuver around. It’s especially fun to shuck buffs off anyone trying to fly up and harm him or use spells to make themselves immune to fear (his Gaze is a mind-affecting fear effect, so immunity to fear prevents the entire thing!), fire, or poison.

Poison? Oh yes. I forgot to mention the poison, didn’t I? It’s the very first spell you’d see in his statblock, as well! Cloudkill. At-will. The mist covering alone would be valuable enough, but the poisonous cloud slaughters anything too low-HD for him to care about in a single breath while sapping 1d4 Constitution slowly but surely out of everything else. Immune to poison himself (and Fire, but that’s besides the point), Basil can spray Cloudkill in every direction and even in his own space without fear every single round, and it makes trying to fight him through his Greater Invisibility all the more dangerous, as the twisting mists further hide his movements. And as mentioned, he enjoys cheating, which is why he has Blind-Fight for himself when he battles in his own poisonous clouds, giving him a much higher chance to actually connect with his melee or Scorching Rays than he’d otherwise have.

Basileus is a terrifying and potentially frustrating foe, often able to spell the end of a battle as a free action just by lowering his veil and blasting the entire party with 2d4 rounds of panic and 6d6 irresistible, typeless damage which will continue to grind down anyone not completely immune to fear. Then, when everyone is fleeing screaming from the awful thing, he fills their spaces with Cloudkill, blasts them with Phantasmal Killer or Scorching Ray, or simply LEAVES with his teleport or jaunt. The guy is a jerk, but you have to admire his efficiency; every other Herald needs at least one standard action on their turn to send the whole party packing!

You can read more about him here.

[vodika-vibes]

Heyyyy!!!!

Can I have a Cody finds out/being told that f!reader is pregnant? To make things more complicated lol f!reader is a jedi

Idk where this came from tho… if you don’t have the time or inspiration it’s fine, I love u 🤍

And A Baby Makes Three...

Summary: You find out you're pregnant, and now you have to tell Cody.

Pairing: Commander Cody x F!Reader

Word Count: 996

Warnings: Talk of pregnancy

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: hihi! Thanks for the request! I hope you like it!

You frown at yourself in the mirror and pull your robe tight across your stomach. It’s not obvious yet, at least, and you suppose, with a little clever misdirection with the force, people might not notice the baby bump at all.

At least, you hope so.

You’ve been the Jedi General of the 212 for over a year and a half now. And while no one had been happy when the order was given, in hindsight you have to admit that it made sense.

After all, Obi-Wan was a negotiator. He was at his most effective using his words to convince both parties to come to an agreement. You, however, had spent the majority of your jedi career careening from one civil war to the next.

You know military strategy like you know the back of your hand.

And, with the sudden death of Palpatine, and the startling knowledge that he had been pulling the strings on both sides of the war…well, having the skilled Negotiator sitting in meetings day in and day out was far more important than having him on a warship.

Of course, he doesn’t seem to be doing the greatest job at bringing about an end to the war, since it’s still going on.

You release the front of your robes with a sigh.

Honestly, what is the point of even having that implant if it’s not going to work like it’s supposed to. You fold your arms over your chest, and tilt your head back as you try to gather your thoughts.

You need to tell Cody, obviously. Mostly because the baby is his, and partly because the fact that you’re going to be pregnant is going to have to change the way the battalion approaches any upcoming battles.

You release a sigh and rub the back of your neck, trying to ease the tension before it turns into a headache. It’s not going to work, the only person who seems to have the ability to massage away your tension headaches is Cody, and he’s busy.

You hear the familiar sound of your door code being keyed in, and you turn towards the door, or maybe not. The door slides open, silently, and Cody steps into the room, and allows the door to slide shut behind him.

Everyone on the ship knows about your relationship with him, but it’s better to not show it off.

Tension drains out of his body as he sets his helmet on the table next to the door, and you smile sympathetically, “Rough day?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” He glances at you, and then takes a moment to remove the top part of his armor, before he crosses the room to slide his arms around you and bury his face in your neck, “We got word from Fox, there’s been no truce agreement yet.” He mumbles.

“So another month of war,” You say with a sigh.

“So another month of war.” Cody agrees, pulling back to press his forehead against yours, “They’re thinking of sending us back to Umbara.”

“Until we get actual orders, let’s just hope that that’s a rumor,” You reply softly as you reach up to soothingly card your fingers through his hair.

“Yeah,” His eyes close as he relaxes into your touch, “How are you feeling? You woke up pretty sick this morning.”

You smile wryly, though it goes unnoticed for the moment.

“Told you that you shouldn’t have eaten Boil’s experiment. You’re lucky a small bout of nausea is all you got,” Cody continues.

“It wasn’t that bad.” You defend.

“Cyare, it was moving.”

“That…is true.” You admit, grimacing as you remember Boil’s meal, “But he was so excited to cook-”

“You don’t have to keep humoring my brothers, cyare. We already like you.” Cody mumbles.

“I genuinely like your brothers, Cody. I like seeing them happy.” You say lightly, “But, as it happens, I wasn’t sick because of last night's dinner.”

His eyes snap open and he scans your face, “You weren’t?”

“No. I wasn’t.” You trail your hand across his cheek, “And I’m afraid I’m going to be sick for a bit.”

His brow furrows, “Do we need to go to the Medbay?”

You huff out a breath, “That probably won’t hurt, but I need to talk to you first.”

“Okay?”

There are a million different ways you can say this, but you think that, in this situation, the hard facts are the easiest, “My implant failed. I’m pregnant.”

Cody blinks at you, his jaw slightly slack.

“You-...really?”

“Really.” You confirm, “The force doesn’t lie.”

He blinks at you again, and his gaze drifts to your stomach, “A baby,” Cody sounds stunned and a bright grin crosses his face, “That’s…that’s wonderful! I’m going to be a dad!” And then the smile fades, “Oh…shit. This is going to change how we handle missions, isn’t it?”

“Oh, undoubtedly. I’m going to get fat. Which means no more vents.”

“It means you’ll have to start staying back at the command tent.”

You purse your lips, “I do not like that.”

“You don’t have to like it. But you do have to accept it.” Cody replies, and then he kisses you, a series of quick, loving kisses, and when he pulls away he sets his hands on your shoulders, “Okay! We’re going to Helix.”

“Can’t we go later?” You whine, even as you allow him to direct you towards the door.

“Nope.” Cody keys open the door and propels you into the hall, “Because, cyare, Helix is going to have to learn a whole new branch of medicine to help keep you healthy. Two, even, because he’s not a pediatrician either.”

“...now I feel kind of guilty.”

“He’ll get over it. Maybe.” Cody says easily, “Or, if he’s angry, it’ll be at me and not you.”

You eye him suspiciously, and Cody’s smile is a bit too innocent for you to believe it, “You’re fragile, cyare.”

Your jaw drops, “I am not!”

[mother-above]

The Golden Warrior | Chapter 7

Azriel x Reader

Summary: To you, love was a poison that slowly killed. It was something that could make the strongest of warriors and leaders weak and vulnerable. You had successfully evaded romance and relationships for a century until the day you realized it had been plaguing you from within.

Chapters: 7/?

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: suggestive, violence, and swearing

*masterlist*

A/N: please bare with Azriel and the reader. They’re both stupid and have deep-rooted problems.

Azriel burst through his shadows and startled his family who were sitting by the campfire. They stopped their tasks to watch Azriel swiftly walk by them with clenched fists. He acknowledged no one as he entered his tent. Feyre and Mor looked at Rhysand and Cassian to see if they knew anything, but they shrugged. Giving him a few minutes to simmer down, Rhysand and Cassian make their way to Azriel’s tent to find him lying on his cot staring at the ceiling. After a few minutes of pestering, Cassian finally got Azriel to tell them about his frustrations toward your obliviousness to the bond.

Rhysand puts a comforting hand on Azriel's shoulder. “I know how you feel Az, I truly do. All you can do is be patient. She didn’t reject the bond, she doesn’t even know it exists,” said Rhysand. “Think about it, she just started getting to know you. It’s normal for her to assume you are inviting her as a friend.”

“I’m worried that the bond hasn’t snapped because she doesn’t like me,” admitted Azriel.

“That’s ridiculous,” exclaimed Rhysand. “Just give it time and everything will fall into place.”

Azriel shook his head. “We don’t have time,” he snapped. “I don’t know if we’ll survive this, and I can’t die knowing I never told my mate. I’m beginning to think keeping this from her isn’t a clever idea,” said Azriel as he pressed his palms over his eyes.

Cassian had avoided thinking about the possibility that his friends wouldn’t make it alive, their stories ceasing to exist beyond this war. It’s a miracle they’ve lived this long, and he was beginning to think that this was it. He couldn’t blame his brother for feeling desperate, Azriel found his mate and had no idea if they had any time together.

Cassian chewed the inside of his lips as he weighed Azriel’s options. “You told us she has some issues with relationships, right? I’m not going to tell you what to do but do you think it’ll do more good than bad? She might freak out and we need her full concentration, Az.”

Azriel sighed deeply and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his whole body slumped forward. “You’re right.” The conversation in the Palace’s courtyard was still fresh in his head. He’d never met anyone so passionate and anti-relationship in his life.

He said nothing more as his shadows swarmed him. Rhysand and Cassian patiently waited for him to elaborate but they knew better, Azriel wasn’t going to say a word and would just sit there and ruminate in his thoughts. Once left alone, Azriel laid back down and stared at the ceiling. He could feel his chest tightening, the golden cord desperately reaching for its nonexistent other half.

Of course, my mate doesn’t want me. How foolish of me to think that the second-in-command of Dawn Court would give me, an Illyrian bastard, a chance, thought Azriel.

***

Hybern was moving fast, they had reached the border of the Winter Court and those who could winnow were scrambling to transfer the troops to the correct location. While the camps were being set up, the High Lords sent you on a reconnaissance mission. You were the fastest of the Peregryns and could glamour yourself to avoid detection. When you were airborne, you took notice of a shadow that was struggling to keep up with you. Rolling your eyes, you hold your hand out allowing the wisp to latch on and wrap around your fingers.

“Tell the shadowsinger that he needs to start trusting me to report accurate information,” you whispered to the shadow.

It chittered back but of course; you couldn’t understand it. Little did you know Azriel sent his shadows to alert him of any sign of trouble. With one whisper of danger from his shadows, Azriel would drop everything to find you.

After a couple of hours of scouting and traveling as fast as you could, you arrived at the main war tent to report to the High Lords and their military commanders. Sweating profusely, you dumped your helmet on the floor as Callon handed you a cold drink of water. The shadow that was curled around your hand skittered back to Azriel who stood in the corner of the room. Thesan, Rhysand, Tarquin, Helion, and Kalias patiently waited for you to catch your breath as you plopped onto a chair.

“I’m not going to lie, boys,” you said solemnly. Azriel held back a chuckle, only you would get away with calling the High Lords ‘boys.’ Except for Thesan, the other High Lords were secretly afraid of you. “What I saw was disheartening, the army was twice the size of the first battle. I tried looking to see if more ships were arriving by sea, but I saw no movement as far as I could see. It’s a possibility they glamoured their ships so I don’t know for sure.”

There were so many things to prepare for and you were constantly moving around the tent strategizing over the war table’s scale map of the battlefield. Despite being busy all day, so much of your attention was spent keeping track of Azriel’s whereabouts. You always wanted him in your line of sight, it was easy to evade him that way. Despite your diligence, it was hard to truly avoid him, especially after you realized that whenever his gaze landed on you, it felt like a cool breeze caressed your skin.

The last interaction you had with Azriel at the healer's tent was so intimate that it terrified you. You remember reveling in his presence and you hated that you were still thinking about it. Then there was the possibility of Azriel asking you out on a date. You were curious to know if that was what he meant or if your paranoia of someone getting close to you was affecting how you viewed his intentions.

Once battle strategizing was done, you allowed yourself to look over at Azriel who was talking to Cassian. You had to admit he looked incredibly handsome in his Illyrian leathers that it was tempting enough to go and talk to him. Before the Shadowsinger had the chance to make eye contact and weaken your resolve, you grabbed Thesan and Callon and winnowed them to the Dawn Court camp. The two males looked at your retreating form in shock, the force of your power making you winnow so fast, it gave them whiplash. They watched you enter your private tent and gave each other concerned looks.

Lounging in bed, you rubbed your chest hoping to get rid of this tight feeling, but it never prevailed. It was one of the reasons why you were so tired after your mission, the whole time you felt constricted even though there was nothing physically wrong with you. It was anxiety but you couldn’t pinpoint what was causing it. Was it about the upcoming battle? Your family's safety? The court's safety? Whatever it was, you hoped it would go away soon.

***

The cool crisp air drifting from the Winter Court felt like a blessing as it dried your warm and clammy skin. From the sky, the battlefield looked even more chaotic in comparison to what you saw on the ground. The Prythian troops were getting slightly overwhelmed, which prompted Thesan to signal that now was a suitable time to use your ‘venom’. Breathing hard and rubbing your chest, you force yourself to concentrate and harness your power. With enough of your golden energy gathered at the palm of your hands, you send a burst of magic to the Hybern soldiers.

Moments later, about two hundred soldiers dropped to their knees as they coughed up blood and keeled over. Some were screaming in pain and others just dropped dead. You tried to muster more magic, but it sputtered and only reached a couple dozen Hybern soldiers before noticing your magic reserves had run dry. The soldiers you killed allowed a few moments rest for Prythian, but it wasn’t enough, everyone was back to fighting. Joining the soldiers on the ground, you felt your cheeks redden knowing you barely made a dent against the enemy. The Courts desperately needed the upper hand, and you couldn’t give it to them.

Using your embarrassment as fuel, you moved swiftly and cut through the Hybern soldiers. Caked in dirt, blood, and sweat, the Prythians slowly moved forward as the scale tipped in your nation’s favor. At one point, you, Wyla, and Azriel formed a trio that worked well together quickly taking down the enemy. A day ago, you were avoiding the male, but you couldn’t afford to think like that. In battle, all of that was irrelevant, it was either kill or be killed.

It was mesmerizing watching Azriel fight, he was like an impenetrable wall with his sword and dagger. Even his shadows worked in tandem with him, they watched his back and were weapons themselves. You had forgotten his shadows were weapons too, those same wisps that once gently wrapped around your hands were now striking for the kill.

All was going well until you watched a Hybern commander cut Cassian from his navel to sternum. With your eyes wide open, a scream escaped your lips as your death and poison rolled off your fingers. With precision, you directed your magic to every single Hybern soldier within ten feet of Cassian. They dropped dead within seconds. With a beat of your wings, you were the first person to reach the General, your glowing hands the only thing keeping his organs inside.

“Shit!” you roared, laying Cassian on the ground. “Stay with me Cassian!” He was screaming in pain and there wasn’t much you could do but keep your glowing hands on him. If you let go, he was going to die.

His skin was stitching too slowly, and he was losing too much blood, you willed more healing magic toward his abdomen, but you were too tired. He was going to need a well-rested healer or Thesan, but he was still fighting. In seconds, you decided that you had to save your new friend. You winnowed the both of you to the joint Dawn and Night Court's healing tent, your abrupt arrival made them jump in surprise. They helped you place a too-pale Cassian on a cot and immediately began to help you heal.

Quickly wiping your bloody hands with a cloth, you efficiently ordered the team of Night and Dawn healers. “I want one of you to focus your magic on stopping his bleeding, someone to clean the impurities that got into his body, and I want another healer to start stitching the skin on the sternum. I will focus on the arrangement of the organs and begin reconnecting the abdominal muscles. Please and thank you.”

The Night Court healers knew who you were, word had spread that the Dawn healer they learned from decades ago was the 2nd in command and Golden Warrior. Most healers in Prythian learned what they knew from the schools in Dawn Court, and under the guise of a normal Dawn Court citizen, you were able to work and teach healers from all over Prythian. After careful and fast work, you were able to reconnect the abdominal muscles which meant the worst part had finally passed. His body would have to finish the rest of the healing but with the work you did, he was going to survive.

Cassian was only asleep due to a strong painkilling potion, but you could tell the pain was still there because his brows were furrowed. You and a healer named Madja were stitching his skin together when Azriel and Rhysand winnowed into the tent. You lifted a quizzical brow at Rhysand, and he verbally confirmed that the battle was over, and Thesan was safe. Rhysand stood over Cassian, his features a combination of concern and fury. From what you could gather from his and Azriel’s conversation, Cassian had disobeyed a direct order from his High Lord, and it resulted in today’s injury.

After you and a healer named Madja finished stitching to the best of your abilities, you sagged against the wall in complete exhaustion. Healing Cassian took all your remaining energy. Azriel rushed to your side and helped you sit on a cot. He felt how drained you were and drew you close to lean your body against his. You were so tired it didn’t even cross your mind how intimate this gesture was.

Rhysand and Azriel profusely thanked you for all you’ve done for their brother. Feyre and Mor rushed into the tent and the blonde made a beeline toward you. She wrapped you in a big hug and blubbered her ‘thank yous’ before making her way to Cassian.

Azriel was looking at you with his eyes wide open and his pupils blown out. He was so impressed he couldn’t believe you were his mate. Without you, he would have lost his brother and that alone made him forever indebted to you. He felt good now that you were safely by his side, the feeling of your weight against him made his heart flutter.

You cast your magic over Cassian one last time and nodded in approval. “He’s going to be fine, a few days rest and he’ll be back to normal. Make sure he takes it easy.”

Realizing how close you were to Azriel, you sat up and leaned away from his warm body. You stomped down the feeling of comfort you were getting from him. He opened his mouth to say something, but you didn’t give him a chance.

Azriel’s cheeks burned as he watched your mud-stained wings grow smaller as you briskly walked away. He was glad that his family was occupied with Cassian to take notice of him. He could tell you were avoiding him, and that very idea made him feel like shit. He knew he pushed too far by inviting you to Velaris, he should’ve listened to that little voice inside his head that told him he wasn’t worthy of love.

Turning his attention back to Cassian, he inspected the work you’ve done. He listened to Madja as she spoke to Feyre and Rhys. Madja was Rhysand’s most trusted healer and to hear her speak about you in such high regard made his chest swell. His shadows whispered their approval as they danced around him. He just wished he knew what you were thinking.

***

With your skin scrubbed clean and a fresh set of clothes, you walked into the main war tent with confidence. The icy blonde heads of the Winter Court swiveled in your direction, Kallias gave a nod to Thesan as Viviane waved you over to the chair next to her. The two of you were chatting about what type of potions you use for clear skin when you found out that Kallias had banned his wife from fighting.

Leaning forward dramatically, you glared at the High Lord of Winter. After semi-hostile banter and input from the other courts arriving, you helped convince Kallias to let Viviane fight in the next battle. You and Viviane were giggling about Kallias’s pout when you felt a cool caress on the scarred side of your face. You turned to see Azriel’s earnest eyes on you as Night Court filed into the tent.

Captivated, you keep eye contact before you see Viviane bristle in the corner of your eye. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and fascination, following her gaze you saw someone you’ve only heard about.

Amren. Rhysand’s 2nd in command.

You could feel her power now that you noticed her presence. Her sharp eyes fleet across the room as she nods to everyone in her presence. The only thing you know about her is that she was thousands of years old and extremely powerful. Thesan and Rhysand waved you over to officially meet her and you could understand why everyone in the room stiffened when she came in, Amren was terrifying. Her stature was one of the shortest in the room and yet, she had this menacing aura around her.

Her silver eyes scanned you from head to toe and then looked curiously over to your wings. Everyone held their breath as they watched two powerful beings size each other up. Amren flashed her perfect teeth and grinned at you wickedly. She grasped your hand in a hold that you assumed was a custom way of greeting in whatever world she came from. She told you she was excited to work with you in the future.

The meeting finally started, and the High Lords and Generals discussed any advantages we could have. The court’s scouts were reporting that the next fight was most likely the last battle. Hybern’s forces increasingly grew as more ships transported them from their island. They were also moving into human territories, which posed another problem. The odds against Prythian’s armies and Hybern’s forces were looking grim.

While discussing Spring and Autumn Court’s participation, High Lord Helion pointed out that he could tell you were not reaching your full potential. He criticized Thesan for keeping you hidden away for all these years when you could have been trained to do bigger things. This pissed Thesan off, his teeth gritted as he tells Helion he had his reasons, but Helion was having none of it.

“Maybe that’s the extent of her power,” interjected Kallias. “She may be a great warrior but there could be a chance she’s not as powerful as we think. I think we’re putting too much pressure on someone who just can’t perform.”

Viviane grimaced as she looked at you for a reaction. Sometimes she couldn’t believe her husband didn’t get in any more fights with the way he talked and presented himself.

“There's no way in Hel her little display in yesterday’s battle is all she could do,” pressed Helion. “Do you not feel her power? I choke on it every time she walks into the room. She’s just untrained, that’s all.”

You cringed as the other High Lords and their entourage agreed. Feeling embarrassed, you reigned in your power and stored it in the sapphire necklace that appears on your neck. It was humiliating to hear them agree that you could do much more… save more Prythian lives if you were strong enough. Your heart started to pound, you wanted to defend yourself, but they were right.

Azriel could feel the anguish under your calm demeanor, he wished he could bash the heads of everyone who was speaking ill of you. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort you, but he couldn’t. Instead, he let a shadow discreetly curl around your ankle. Even if it was a small gesture, he had to do something to show his support.

The moment you felt the cool wisp touch your skin, you knew who and what it was. The burning anger in your chest slowed as you held the gaze of the Shadowsinger. You give him a discreet nod and he responds with the smallest quirk of his lips. To your surprise, another gesture of comfort came from Tarquin who sat on your other side. He placed a large reassuring hand on your thigh and kept it there, it was affectionate, and bewilderingly, you didn’t swat him away.

Tired of all the bullshit the males were spewing, Amren piped in as she picked on her red nails. “You choke on it because you’re all too weak to handle it,” she said coolly. “Don’t worry about our angel of death, she will be powerful enough when the time comes.”

You're not sure whether it was because everyone was afraid of Amren or because of the finality in her tone, but the topic thankfully changed. Her support was appreciated but you have no idea why she was confident in you. With a shadow still wrapped around your ankle, you sat and contemplated how you could reach your full potential.

***

The next few days were spent doing everything you and Thesan could think would help you harness control of your power. The problem wasn’t the stamina of your magic, for 12 hours straight you were doing extensive protective magic around the camps and your magic never faltered. After many theories were evaluated, it all boiled down to either a mental block or something the Mother or Cauldron intended. Thesan had ordered you to relax as much as you could but that was a ridiculous request. An attack on the camps could happen at any moment and it was impossible to relax when that was a possibility.

You had just spent the last 8 hours back in Dawn Court checking the magical shields in the borders and doing research with the priestesses. You invited them to your private library, and you all scoured the books for any information on how to develop your magic. No one found any new information on how to boost your powers, but the priestesses did stumble on something that could be useful. There was a death god named Achlys from thousands of years ago who could poison people like you. The ancient tome didn’t have much information, but Achlys was noted to have developed their magic and had become incredibly powerful. The priestess made a point that in theory, you should be able to cultivate your powers to grow stronger and do things you never imagined.

The head priestess, Irabel, revisited one of Thesan’s theories about your problem being connected to the Cauldron or the Mother. After some prayer, meditation, and focusing on your aura, she believed you were having problems because you were not “whole”. She said she sensed that there was a missing piece in your soul. You blinked at her as if she had two heads. You were more than a hundred years old; you would have noticed if a piece of your soul was missing.

She shook her head, “You may feel perfectly fine because you’ve never felt your soul completely intact.”

“Prythian is at war, and we desperately need every advantage. How do I find the missing piece?” you asked urgently. “I need to find the other piece.”

Irabel looks at you with a fond smile. “My lady, I think the Mother may be implying that you are blessed with a mate. I suspect that you won’t have full capacity of your powers until you are mated.”

Your ears started to ring. No fucking way. This was the last thing you wanted.

“W-what?” you stammered. This may be one of the worst news you’ve ever received. “High Priestess… a mate… the bond… that’s not an option for me.”

“This is all theory, but you do seem to be glowing brighter since the last time I saw you which was before Thesan came back from Under the Mountain. Maybe you’ve met your mate since then. Has there been someone you’ve met and had a connection with?”

Your mind drew a blank until a certain male with rich brown skin and turquoise eyes popped up. Tarquin. It had to be the High Lord of Summer; you should have suspected since you two became easy friends. Until Tarquin, you’ve never slept with the same male twice. Hot panic flooded your bloodstream, you couldn’t believe your worst fears were coming true.

“There’s not enough time for a mating bond,” you diverted. You were going to spare the High Priestess from your slander against something as sacred as a mate bond. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you looked at Irabel fiercely. “Please, there must be a way to be stronger by the time the battle arrives.”

She rested her chin on her steepled fingers. “We mustn't forget the power of sheer will. This may not be the answer you were looking for, but it may be your best chance.”

Once you said goodbye to the priestesses and received word they were safely back in their temple, you winnowed to the war camps. You trudged to Thesan’s tent where you ranted about the discoveries to your cousin and Callon. Thesan kept note to do further research on the god named Achlys, but Callon was far more concerned about finding out who your mate was. At first, you weren’t going to tell them who you thought it was but Thesan and Callon were persuasive. Thesan promised you an exceedingly long vacation if you told them, so you did.

The shock on both their faces was almost worth the agony of knowing you might have a mate and it was probably Tarquin. Thesan didn’t say a word as he looked at you quizzically. Callon on the other hand could barely contain his excitement. He knew you never wanted to be in a relationship, but he couldn’t help but feel joyous for you.

You weren’t on a battlefield today but the level of exhaustion you were feeling felt like you’d participated in one. The weight to perform in the final battle sat heavily on your shoulders and all this nonsense about a mate made things worse.

Saying goodnight, you walked to your tent warily looking around hoping a certain High Lord wasn’t popping by for a visit. You had no idea if you could even look at Tarquin now that you knew what you knew. You scrutinized every interaction you had with him and the more you did that, the more you were convinced he might be your mate. Despite everything, the mating bond must not have snapped because you felt nothing, and you were grateful for that. It would be difficult to avoid Tarquin forever, so you vowed to never touch him again to avoid the snap.

Irritation crawled up your neck at the thought of the High Lord of Summer. In an attempt to forget about him, you submerged yourself in the hot bath water. After washing up and getting dressed, you were so tired that you only bothered to wear underwear and a long tunic that stopped mid-thigh.

Flopping into bed, sleep quickly took over as vivid dreams enveloped your mind. It was a strange dream, nothing was making sense, but you felt like you were being chased, the sounds of howling behind you. The rest of the dream was muddled, the only thing you could clearly see was a scene of Azriel only wearing his Illyrian leather pants. He was leaning forward like he was in pain; blood was dripping from his torso and wings. The rest of the dream was bland, you were just about to peacefully doze in dark bliss when a heavy hand shook your shoulder.

“Quick! Get up, it’s the Shadowsinger!” said Callon urgently. “He needs a healer.”

You rolled out of bed and sprung onto your feet at the mention of Azriel. “What’s happening? Did Hybern attack the camps?” you asked, frantically looking around the tent.

Callon shook his head. “Something happened with the Night Court. Rhysand winnowed in Azriel and requested you since you know more about wings. It’s bad.”

The graveness of Callon’s voice made you make a beeline toward the exit only stopping to tug boots onto your feet. It was past midnight, and the only bright light was coming from the healer's tent. You strode in and the first thing you saw was Azriel who was bickering with Rhysand who was trying to get his brother to sit down and relax.

A gasp escaped your lips as you saw the injuries inflicted on Azriel’s body. There he was- shirtless and roughed up just like the scene from your dream. There were slow healing cuts everywhere and parts of his wings were ripped to shreds. Your eyes roamed over the expanse of his tattooed chest, he was still glistening in sweat, and it made the black swirls that decorated his skin pop out.

Their eyes snapped at you, Azriel’s eyes widened and then his body went slack as he sunk onto a cot. The sudden movement made the claw marks bleed more. Thesan who was assessing the damage looked up and sighed in relief.

“Thank goodness you’re here! He was shot by a faebane arrow and Nuan’s anti-faebane compound can only do so much. It’s affecting both of our healing abilities, and his wings aren’t looking too good,” said Thesan. “Do you think you can extract the poison?”

You stepped closer and peered at his lacerations. You could smell the sharp scent of faebane from the arrow wound on his shoulder. This was something you’d never done before but you could try.

Sitting next to Azriel, you hovered a glowing hand over a wound and you felt the strange resistance of faebane. You grasped his shoulder and Azriel winced at your touch.

“How bad does it hurt?” you asked.

Azriel rolled his neck trying to ignore the burning pain. “The arrow puncture doesn’t hurt much, it’s my wings I’m worried about,” said Azriel.

You sucked in a breath as you glanced at his wings. They were going to need extensive work and it was going to be extremely painful for him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you said as you started the process of concentrating energy onto your fingers. “How are you feeling right now?”

“I feel better now that you’re here,” said Azriel honestly.

Rhysand’s eyes widened as Thesan and Callon shot each other looks. Your mouth curved into a smile as Azriel sputtered.

“You know- I feel better because you’re a master healer with wings,” said Azriel. “I’m in good hands.”

“Of course,” you said taking hold of his shoulder once more.

Azriel wanted to disappear into his shadows. He couldn’t believe he said that in front of everyone.

Closing your eyes, you breathed deeply as the magic concentrated in your hand. Instead of willing the poison to be released from you, you pressed your fingertips onto his skin as you tried to will the faebane out of the wound.

“I am death and poison,” you whispered, barely audible. Golden tendrils from your hand are absorbed into his skin. “Like calls to like. Come to me.”

Azriel’s eyes widened as he felt the strange sensation of your magic, it stung but your proximity was enough distraction. He let your presence calm his mind as he watched your magic in awe. Azriel moved his gaze to see your face slightly scrunched in concentration, the scar on the side contorting as your eyes crinkled. From the beginning, he was always attracted to you but the more time he spent with you, he found your beauty to be always flourishing.

Ever so slowly, you retract your fingers, and the tendrils had latched onto blood that was poisoned by faebane. Carefully, you pulled out all the faebane you could detect in Azriel’s system. Rhysand, Thesan, and Callon watched in wonder as they had never seen anything like this. Once you were finished and had a mass of Azriel’s poisoned blood properly disposed of in some pocket realm, they exploded into excited chatter.

While you appreciated their appreciation, there was still much to be done and they were far too distracting.

“Boys!” you snapped. “I may have gotten the poison out, but we are not out of the woods yet. Either shut up and let me work in silence or get out of the tent!”

Azriel chuckled as he watched his brother, Dawn’s High Lord, and a strong warrior shuffle out of the tent. He loved the idea that his mate had the power to make the High Lords do what you wanted. Granted it was your cousin and Rhysand, but it still meant that his mate was powerful, and he was beginning to adore that about you.

With no distractions, you were able to carefully work on Azriel’s wounds. To distract him from the pain, you asked him what happened. He explained that Hybern had taken Feyre’s sister Elain and that he and the High Lady went on a mission to retrieve her. He ended up having to carry Elain and a human girl while under attack. You gaped at him as you thought of the sheer strength it must have taken to do that. It explained the feminine scents that lingered on his skin you noticed earlier.

The scents weren’t the only thing you noticed. The black swirled tattoos that covered his chest and arms were so beautiful, you had to keep refocusing your attention. The swirls were mesmerizing, they reminded you of his shadows and you couldn’t stop looking. The black ink curved against the muscles under his skin, you had never gotten over how muscular this male was.

Once the wounds on his torso were taken care of, you moved to sit behind him so you could start mending his severely injured wings. Well aware Illyrian wings were sensitive, you wanted to survey what you had to work with before you touched him. Callon wasn’t lying when he said the wings were bad, they were wrecked, and you had no idea if they would heal in time for the big battle. With how tense Azriel was, you were sure the male was putting on a strong façade because if your wings looked like this, you’d be in agony.

“Azriel, I'm going to need to touch your wings to heal you,” you said. “Do I have permission?”

Azriel suddenly felt a little light-headed, he wasn’t sure if was from blood loss or the anticipation of you near his wings again. He nodded and sucked in a breath when he felt your warm hands poke and prod his wings as you examined him. He was glad he was in pain, otherwise, he didn’t think he’d be able to resist you.

“How do they look? Will I fly again?” said Azriel. He was so caught up in your presence that he had almost forgotten why he was in a healer's tent.

“I’m not going to lie,” you said softly “It doesn’t look good, but I haven’t started yet, my answer could change when we’re done.”

He turned to look at you and your heart plunged a little. He looked scared and vulnerable, the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen a warrior be. You don’t blame him, the idea of losing the freedom to fly was something you could understand.

“You should know it’s going to be painful, pain like you’ve never felt before,” you warned. “I’m going to do my best, but you’ll have to bear with me.”

“I trust you,” said Azriel.

It was strange to hear that coming from his own tongue. He had never trusted anyone this quickly, but he knew who you were to him. Despite the knowledge that you were his mate, his gut could tell that he could trust you with his life.

He said it with such conviction, that a gentle smile graced your lips.

“Thank you, Azriel. Good to know I have it,” you said. Clearing your throat, you place your hands on his shoulders and make him turn around again. “I want you to talk to me, tell me anything that’ll get your mind off the pain.”

He nodded and then the slow and excruciating process began. He felt every tug and magical stitch and it sent him rambling more about the mission and how he had to escape Hybern while carrying an Archeron sister and a human girl. You carefully worked and listened intently, his deep voice letting you slip into an ultra-concentrated trance. It was broken when you hit a nerve which sent Azriel gripping the cot and letting out a strained yelp. You apologized and let him gather himself before leaning down to continue healing.

“What was your childhood like?” you asked, trying to distract him.

Azriel’s shadows began to swarm around him, protective of their master. He wordlessly told them that it was alright, so they calmed.

“My childhood was… difficult,” replied Azriel. “You know, I’m no stranger to pain. It’s all I’ve felt my entire life.”

Your fingers froze over his wings, was he going to talk about the scars on his hands?

Letting out a shaky breath, you replied. “Oh?”

Blinking, you continued to heal while doing your best to calm your heartbeat. A part of you was eager to find out if you did have dreams about Azriel being locked in a cellar. A larger part of your subconscious was scared to find out because it would mean there was a deeper connection between the two of you. Even when you weren’t thinking about it, your heart was always protecting you.

Azriel glanced down at his clenched fists. Those scarred hands that he hated so much. He decided not to tell you what really happened to him, he didn’t want to scare you away with his childhood trauma. So instead, he resorted to deflecting which he was an expert at.

“Enough about me, I want to know what’s troubling you,” said Azriel as he smirked and looked back at you.

You raised a brow. “What makes you think something is troubling me?

“First of all, your energy is practically suffocating me at this moment and the second reason is you’re not wearing any pants. You’re Thesan’s 2nd, you would never step out in public looking informal.”

Jerking back in surprise, you looked down to see that he was right. You were only wearing a tunic and boots, your bare skin brushing against his waistband and back. Hyper-aware of how close you were to Azriel, you moved backward as heat rushed to your cheeks.

“I apologize for my appearance; I was in such a rush I didn’t realize I only had my tunic on!”

Azriel shrugged nonchalantly, the movement making him grimace in pain.

“It’s alright. I appreciate the urgency,” said Azriel.

You continued your delicate work on his wings while making sure there was enough distance between the two of you.

“You didn’t answer my first question. What’s gotten you so distracted you forgot to put pants on?” asked Azriel. “Is it the upcoming battle?”

Chewing the inside of your lip, you contemplated whether you should say anything. This was an incredibly personal topic but the weight it had on your shoulders was intense, you needed to talk about it. Choosing your words carefully, you make sure you don’t reveal too much.

“I was recently told that to be more powerful, I would have to find the other half of my soul…” you said quietly. “When I was searching for answers, that was the last thing I wanted to hear.”

Is she talking about the mate bond? Does she know about our bond? thought Azriel.

His heart started to pound as he tried to form the proper words in his head. Azriel stammered, “Uh- when you say your other half, do you mean—"

“The oh-so-sacred mate bond?” you interrupted; your voice laced with dismay.

Azriel felt the blood drain from his face, you sounded scared. “You told me you didn’t like relationships, but I didn’t think it extended to the mating bond.”

You sighed as you focused on healing a tendon in his wing. “I told you I have complicated feelings about love. What’s troubling me is I think I may have met my mate and I know who it is.”

“Oh?” said Azriel shakily. “Who do you think it is?”

“Before I say anything, you need to promise you won’t speak a word about this to anyone else. If you break my trust, I swear I’ll make sure you shit and vomit for an entire day. It’ll be the worst day of your life.”

Azriel hastily agreed. He wanted to laugh but the suspense was overpowering everything.

“Well, I don’t know for sure, but the High Priestess suspects I have a mate, and if her theory is right…. I think it’s someone I've recently slept with,” you admitted.

Jealousy ignited within the shadowsinger as he turned to look at you. You protested his sudden movement and his wings and muscles screamed at him, but Azriel couldn’t care less. He felt his blood boil as he thought of another male touching you. It took everything in him not to demand who your lover was, you had every right to sleep with anyone you wanted and Azriel had to live with that.

“What are you going to do about it?” asked Azriel lowly. His head was spinning, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear your answer.

You looked down in shame, were you going to tell Azriel how you planned to never talk to Tarquin again? The entire idea was ridiculous, but you were going to do anything to make sure that bond would never snap between the both of you. Slowly, you looked up to see Azriel’s exhausted features but despite everything he’d been through today, his gaze was sharp and calculating. There was a tinge of vulnerability in his hazel eyes, you weren’t sure why but that was enough to convince you to be honest.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you looked down at your still-glowing hands. “I don’t know… ignore him forever? All I know is I’m terrified.”

“I don’t understand, what’s so scary about it?”

“Something as strong as the mate bond makes you so vulnerable and weak. I’ve seen what it’s done to my parents and other couples, the bond is a weakness and I refuse to let it distract me,” you admitted. “It doesn’t even have to be a mate bond, love itself is a corruption.”

Azriel was speechless as he tried to come up with something to say. He had never met anyone like you, and it made his heart twist knowing that his mate thought like this. In his silence, you gently urged him to turn around so you could continue to heal him. You were almost done stitching his wings when he finally spoke.

“What happened to you?” he asked, he didn’t bother hiding the sadness and confusion in his voice. “What happened to make you think like this?”

You thought about telling him about your parents, but you stopped yourself, it was too difficult and too personal to talk about. Instead, you let your hand's repetitive movements lull you into a memory.

“25 years ago, I was out on patrol with two Peregryns who were spouses. A creature was wreaking havoc on a town and at the time, we didn’t know it was a Puca.”

Azriel breathed sharply, he already knew it was going to be a horrible end.

“At one point, we were all separated and the Puca lured the wife pretending to be her injured husband. It was too late when we noticed, I didn’t even hear her yell…it was her blood that I smelt first. Her husband and I killed the Puca but the scream he let out when he saw her body—I can still hear it sometimes,” you said thickly. “We would check on him occasionally, but he was never the same. He was a shell of a male; it was only when the curse broke that I saw him walking around the city and even then, he looked ghastly and bleak.”

No one spoke after that, just the quiet shuffling of your hands moving and you and Azriel’s heartbeats. You wondered what Azriel was thinking, he probably lost all respect for you once he heard your opinions on something so sacred. Casting your magic over his wings and other injuries, you concluded that you did everything possible and that only time would heal the rest of his wounds.

Mindful you were going to face him after your haphazard explanation of why you don’t want a mate, you gathered your courage to reveal the bad news. Moving to sit on the cot across from Azriel, you explained to him that he was going to need at least 2 weeks of complete rest. It took him a second but when it dawned on him that he wouldn’t be able to participate in the big battle, he slumped forward and covered his face with his hands.

You looked at him in shock, you expected him to argue and fight against your orders, but he just sat there and breathed heavily. While you were concerned for the shadowsinger, Azriel was holding back hysterical laughter and roars of frustration. He wasn’t angry at you; he was furious at the world for all the hardships they’d thrown at him.

His own mate was so frightened and resistant of the mate bond, that you had deluded yourself into thinking another male was your mate. If only you knew who you were talking to, thought Azriel, you’d have a heart attack. He also cursed the universe for his injuries. How could he keep still while you and his family were fighting for their country? Azriel thought he was going to snap until he felt you place a hand on his knee.

“Azriel? I’m so sorry, I know how much you want to fight but your wings won’t last,” you said gently. “If you try to fly too soon, you’ll have irreparable damage on your wings.”

Collecting his thoughts, it took him a while to respond. “What if I don’t fly? Can’t I stay on the ground and fight there?” asked Azriel.

You looked at the beautiful, battered male in front of you. The healing you and Thesan could only do so much once faebane had affected it. You were able to remove the poison from his blood, but the damage was already done.

Shaking your head, you squeezed his knee in an attempt to comfort him. “I’m sorry, baby bat. I wouldn’t risk it if you want to fly again, I’ll make sure Rhysand gets briefed, so you don’t try to undermine my orders.”

He chuckled and a smile made its way to your lips at the rich sound. The both of you sat in silence once more, listening to the nocturnal animals make their faint sounds around the war camp.

“I think I understand you better now,” said Azriel, his voice slicing through the air. “You’re not scared of love or relationships. You shut yourself out because you’re scared of losing people. You’re scared of how much it’ll hurt once someone you genuinely love disappears from your life.”  

Your jaw dropped as you blinked at him. No one had ever spoken to you that bluntly, let alone try to analyze your character like that and you did not like it. He was wrong but something about his words rang true. It almost seemed like Azriel was trying to make you feel bad for feeling like that, but it only did the opposite.

Memories of your parent's abandonment flooded your mind, and you blinked back tears. You were going to make sure that bond would never snap between you and Tarquin.

You would do anything.

“I don’t think you understood my story,” you chided, leaning closer to Azriel. “I don’t want a mate or a lover because I don’t want to be weak.”

Azriel raised a brow, he didn’t think you’d be this hard-headed. “Love doesn’t make you weak, little dove. Ignorance does.”

“It’s not ignorance, it’s awareness,” you quipped back. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you haven’t been worried sick about Morrigan in the last two battles. You took your eye off the enemy, Azriel, that sounds like vulnerability to me.”

Azriel couldn’t believe you mentioned Morrigan. He wished he could tell that it was you who he was always checking on, but he couldn’t do that. He wished he could tell you that a mate is what he’s been waiting for all his life.

The world felt eerily still as you and Azriel gravitated closer to each other, both of you desperate for the other individual to see their point. Azriel’s burning gaze took in the beauty of his irrational mate. If only you knew the whole truth, you’d be swallowing your words. With your faces inches apart, your eyes hovered over his lips and something within wanted to press your lips against his… to do anything to forget the High Lord of Summer.

Slowly, the scent of the disinfectants and potions in the tent dispersed into the nether. The only thing you could smell was the pleasant waft of cedarwood and the chilled mist of night. Your gaze flickered to his hazel eyes and suddenly, all thoughts of formality, consequence, and reason flew out the window.

“Can I kiss you?”

Azriel sharply inhaled. Did he just hear you correctly? He thought his mind was playing tricks with him until he saw the intensity in your eyes. “Why?” he asked shakily.

“Help me forget him,” you whispered. “I don’t want to be weak.”

Azriel should’ve said no for both his and your sake. He could only imagine how furious you would be once you found out he was your actual mate, but he couldn’t resist this request. He was desperate for you, and he would take scraps if that was all you would give him. For you, he was learning he would do anything.

He never thought he could feel heartbroken and elated at the same time. Azriel took his hand and placed it tenderly on the scarred side of your face. Your eyes go wide as he gently strokes your cheek with his thumb. Wholly taking advantage of the opportunity you gave him, he memorized every single detail, down to every hair, fine line, freckle, and beauty mark on your face. Gathering his courage, he pulled you towards him and you met him halfway.

The moment your lips met; everything went blank. All was forgotten but Azriel. His presence was the only thing you could sense. Everything felt magnified. His lips were soft as they slowly moved against yours. The scrape of your tunic sleeve as it brushed against his chest sounded like thunder. The smooth glide of your hands felt like silk as you gently pulled him closer where his neck met his shoulder.

Being this close and kissing Azriel felt exhilarating, so much so that your golden glow was detected with closed eyes. You don’t know if it was 30 seconds or 30 minutes but time felt different. Slightly out of breath, the both of you leaned your foreheads against each other in disbelief. Suddenly, the loud chatter of Rhysand and Thesan by the tent opening makes you and Azriel spring apart.

You were just able to stand up and straighten yourself out when Rhysand and your cousin casually strode in, their faces smooth and unreadable. Moments later Calon and Cassian walked in, and they met your eye with smirks on their lips. You cringed at the thought of the four fae hearing what went down between you and Azriel. You gave the warriors a warning glare that would ensure their silence for the time being.

Still slightly dazed from your kiss with Azriel, you gestured to Rhysand to walk with you to the corner of the tent in a desperate attempt to clear your mind before speaking to the High Lord. Clearing your throat, you explained to Rhysand what you were able to mend and how much damage the faebane had done to his body. You tell him that you highly recommend Azriel to be banned from fighting in the next battle. Rhysand asked questions and you prayed to the Mother he wouldn’t mention anything about the shadowsinger’s scent that wafted from you.

As the shadowsinger watched his mate talk to his brother, Azriel tugged hard against the golden thread in his chest but to his dismay, the other side was still vast and empty. He still couldn’t believe he’d kissed you, with the way things were going, he never thought he’d get the chance. Despite the bond not snapping for you, Azriel could tell with the way you were breathless and glowing; that at this moment, whoever your lover was, was long forgotten.

For now, this was enough for Azriel.

[physalian]

Character Types: Schemers

Saltburn was one of those pure shock value movies, putting spectacle above rewatchability, imo, but that moth monologue was great, and it’s all about how the protagonist is a schemer. Reminds me of Squidward’s accusations to Plankton in The Spongebob Movie and I mean that with 100% sincerity.

Schemers probably need no explanation, but these are characters that sacrifice a couple battles to win the war, these are the quiet ones who come out of nowhere in the last lap. If they’re villains, they’ll probably botch it, if they’re anti-heroes, they’ll probably eek out a victory, but these types usually aren’t full-blown heroes as “scheming” is seen as unheroic, but more on that at the end.

So! I’ve collected a couple of my favorites, because this time I haven’t written one to gush about worth spoiling to hell and back (but I do have one, and he’s campy as hell).

The Villain Schemer

Starscream

Top of the list is, to no one’s surprise if you follow me, Starscream. Specifically the iteration in Transformers Prime as I know that one the best and that show has some of the best character work in the franchise.

Starscream is forever second-best to his Lord and Master, Megatron. He’s second-in-command to the entire Decepticon contingent, a former Energon Seeker (a title which only he cares about and thinks it’s cool as the group went defunct before Cybertron went dark), and is quite like a cockroach. Somehow, he just keeps narrowly escaping death.

Despite everything against him at one point, low on fuel, no friends, no allies, barely a shot in the giant fetch quest to the finish line, he catches a lucky break and manages to fool the Autobots, sneak right past their defenses to steal all the MacGuffins, and then leverages and silver-tongues his way back into the good graces of the Decepticons.

Schemers are usually not physically strong, as to have both a skilled fighter and tactician in one character is OP (and leaves the argument open of why you’d be a schemer by choice if you can Punch Things to solve your problems). He only uses his guns maybe five or six times in the whole show. This version of his design is very sleek and slender. He prefers to use his claws or his wrist-rockets (he transforms into a fighter jet). Back him into a corner and he’ll probably try to either fly away, grovel for mercy, play himself up as weak and defenseless and thus a pathetic and unjust kill, or be completely unaware of how screwed he is and get his ass beat.

He’s got variety.

Starscream’s big thing though is his ego, the fatal flaw of most schemers. He thinks he’s better than everyone else, even when he’s t-cog-less and unable to transform, crawling around in the dirt scrounging for energon once he’s gone rogue. Every chance he gets, he’s either fluffing up his scant accomplishments, trying to undermine Megatron, or trying to prove how loyal he is to Megatron, and the Big M allows this because… it’s entertaining, I think.

Yet, miraculously, this mech always survives. He outlives Megatron at least thrice in this show alone. He always either has a backup plan, has a secret weapon, or is able to just weasel out of capture or execution. He’s an idiot, but he can also be incredibly clever, using Autobot mercy against them a la “you wouldn’t shoot a defenseless prisoner” or “you wouldn’t leave a bot to die even though we all know I deserve it”.

And on top of all that, he’s just really funny. Whether it’s his exaggerated movements, like how his wings will flap when he’s excited, or the one time he dances pretty provocatively in front of his whole crew chanting “All Hail Starscream” after one of Megatron’s deaths. Or when he’s his own worst enemy, getting himself into sticky situations because he just can’t let anyone else have the last word.

Plankton

Another funny schemer is the aforementioned Plankton, in a show that’s a whole lot less dramatic. Whenever he’s in an episode he’s whipping up yet another convoluted plan to steal the Krabby Patty formula, but while he can be mean and a little cruel with his insults, nobody hates Plankton. He never wins, his failures are funny, and Krabs is kind of a dick. Sometimes, you’re even rooting for him.

Maven Calore

On the complete opposite end of the humor scale, there’s Maven, from the Red Queen series. Yet another wimp both physically and magically, Maven is the second-born to the throne, who, at first, actually seems like he’s not out to steal it from his older brother like Claudius in Hamlet.

But of course….

Maven, like another character on this list, is a master of social engineering. His most famous line in the series is, “The truth is what I make it. I could set this world on fire and call it rain.”

He fools everyone, even the heroine and his brother, more than once into thinking he’s redeemable and in the third book, he and the heroine spend quite some time together where she’s trying desperately to find any shred of a decent man inside him, while he proves again and again that that man died when he was a kid, abused out of him by the queen, and that he’s not even mad about it, it’s just who he is, and she should really stop trying so hard to fix something that can’t be glued back together.

Maven is one cruel fucker, too, either orchestrating or permitting the deaths of quite a few major characters along with everything he does to the protagonist. He’s a fascinating look into the “I can fix him” trope and what it does to the people who have been convinced that it’s their duty to continue suffering abuse for the sake of family or kinship.

I wish this series was more popular, I only know one other person who read it, and they recommended it to me.

Loki

Gonna stick him here because there's just so many versions of this mythological figure, dating back literal centuries. Marvel's Loki is... a hot mess of inconsistencies. So, in general, Loki is at best, occasionally helpful if it also serves his own interests, but he's usually depicted as an obstacle. Honorary mention because everybody knows who he is.

The Anti-Hero Schemer

Lelouch vi Britannia

I get to gush about Code Geass finally, yay. But first, an honorable mention to Light Yagami (a full villain schemer). Didn’t like Death Note and don’t remember it well enough to properly comment on all of Light’s schemes but he’s not even an anti-hero, he’s a straight-up villain protagonist. People just mistakenly thought that Light and Lelouch were in any way comparable… and they’re not.

Apologies, Death Note fans. I don’t like your man.

Lelouch vi Britannia is the protagonist of Code Geass, a mecha anime probably most famous to anyone who doesn’t know it for the Pizza Hut ad campaign and “why are you buying clothes in the soup store?!”

His whole story is revenge on and the toppling of the Britannian empire and its emperor, his supremely assholeish father, who got his mom (the queen-consort) killed and shipped him and his only full-blooded sister off as political prisoners to Japan.

Lelouch is… a beautiful, smart, dumbass. He’s hyperbolically unfit, winded even by climbing a short staircase (like I said, schemers are usually wimps), but a brilliant military strategist and tactician. But above all else, he’s a master at social engineering.

On top of Code Geass being a mecha anime, it’s also got a whole supernatural lore about “geass” an ‘absolute’ superpower held by a couple different characters of the show, and Lelouch’s is absolute obedience. Whenever he geasses somebody, if it is within their power or knowledge to accomplish or provide, they are compelled absolutely to follow his command. With the massive caveat being that he can only use it on a person once in their lifetime (until shenanigans ensue).

Lelouch’s whole story is about gaining social power over his opponent, starting from basically nothing as he’s moonlighting as a high school student of vaguely noble standing. If anyone figures out that he’s actually a prince, his whole plan goes belly up. Why? His plan is to ignite a rebellion in Japan against Britannia, by creating a masked vigilante, Zero, the Man of Miracles, a man of the people, definitely not a blue-blood prince of the enemy. So ensues two seasons of absolute insanity as Lelouch’s rebellion unfolds and collateral damage collapses around him.

Lelouch is his own worst enemy. His ego and arrogance constantly bite him in the ass and he loses constantly, which, to me, is what made him far more likable than somebody like Light, who always won. He’s not above sacrificing a few for the needs of the many, even when those few are people or relatives of people he cares deeply about. He’s not above using his power of non-consent to get what he needs on anyone, no matter how much he knows they’d hate him if they knew he used it on them. He’s not above lying, manipulating, or tossing people under the bus if it furthers his goals.

But he’s not a villain. While it can be argued, even by Lelouch himself, that Japan and all the members of the rebellion that he helped raise from nothing, were just pieces on his chessboard and meaningless to him, that all he cares about is revenge and not an actual free Japan… he’s lying. Otherwise the show would not have ended the way it did, and it remains recognized as one of the best endings to any anime ever.

Schemer Heroes?

Schemers usually aren’t heroes for one big reason: They’re selfish, and selfishness is unheroic. Even with the best of intentions, like the anti-hero or morally-grey hero, the schemer’s personal goals are always, first and foremost, top priority, and if the group benefits, it’s a happy coincidence.

I’m wracking my brain trying to think of one who would qualify and while there are plenty of schemer protagonists, they’re the antithesis of the hero we’re supposed to root for, and I think it says something about us as a society.

Tyrion Lannister

If he counts, the best one I can think of is Tyrion Lannister (did not read the books, only saw most of the show). He’s yet another wimp** who has to rely on his wits and his smarts to compete and stay ahead in the world once he figures out that his money and his name won’t save him forever. And in the Game of Thrones, you either win or you die.

He does do some shady things here or there, but aside from maybe Samwell, every character in that show has done some morally dubious things.

Honorable mention to Varys, who is absolutely a schemer, but I couldn’t figure out where to put him on this list. And Littlefinger, who’s a schemer villain, but he didn’t stick the landing (thanks D&D). GOT is made up of schemers, really. I just… don’t want to keep giving GRRM free advertising.

**wimp only in that he's not physically abled like the other characters and cannot rely on his skill with a sword, only his words.

—

All in all, schemers take a ton of planning to be written believably, because their wits are their strongest trait. To write a super intelligent character, you really have to have all your ducks in a row so you can show their thought processes and how their plans unfold, instead of only saying “they’re super smart, trust me”.

Even when schemers are cruel, what makes them distinct from annoying assholes is that there’s some part of their character that’s impossible to argue with. They’re right, even if you hate to admit it, about even one tiny thing in the world.

Why? Because they spit in the face of lawful good and evil. They know the good guys have lines they won’t cross, and it will get people killed. They know the bad guys (usually society at large) needs to be stopped, and they might be bad, but either society forced their hand, or they’re not as bad as the alternative.

My schemer in ENNS is just a straight-up asshole, but he knows how to manipulate the heroes to get what he wants and his plan works.

They do have to succeed, otherwise they’re just idiots. They need a few wins under their belts to prove their competence as a proper schemer and not just a guy blowing smoke. Wondering if this will be the time they flop on their face, or wondering what line they’ll cross to escape this time, is what makes them so entertaining.

[lace-coffin]

I have a request. Could you pretty please do some spicy headcanons of Asa with a bratty S/O 🙏. He probably has no tolerance for disobedience so having a bratty pet would result in punishment. Apologies I'm a horny bastard lmao 😂

How would Asa Emory cope with a bratty s/o? (Nsfw)

Asa Emory x gn!bratty!reader

Trigger warning for sexual content- bdsm- power exchange/ power dynamic- spanking

If you asked Asa if he likes brats a few months ago he would frown and say no. Not enjoying the constant battle and frustration of trying to subdue them, Asa wants complete submission and expects nothing less.

If you asked Asa if he likes brats in the present day he would smirk and tell you “they’re not as clever as they think they are” thinking fondly of you, at home, still chained to the wall where he left you, hopefully that is, you’re a slippery one to hold down.

Had Asa known you’d been a brat when scouting you for the collection he wouldn’t have bothered, would’ve found someone more easy to command. God is he thankful he didn’t.

He expected to hate training you, but he couldn’t love it any less. You were harder to break down than previous pets, kicking, swearing,spitting, straight up ignoring him sometimes. The punishments that followed were indulgent for him, marvelling at the way you fought hard at first, all gnashing teeth and scratches.

This was no longer the case once Asa had wrestled you to floor, both panting and glaring eachother down. Pinning your arms above your head and sliding his leather belt out of the loops. Shit. You knew where this was going. This only makes you thrash harder, legs jutting into his stomach, winding him momentarily.

Regaining his position over you he snatches your legs, fastening the belt around your claves and securing them. Before you can even think to fight back your hauled over to the sofa and slung over Asa’s knees, bottoms and underwear ripped down unceremoniously.

“Now, pet, you can either choose to apologise and the punishment will be lighter or you can continue being the dumb little mutt we both know you are and receive the full extent of it.” A moment passes in silence….”get fucked” you spit back. “You never learn, there really isn’t anything going on up there is there? You need daddy to tell you how and when to think, it’s pathetic.”

They way you break down into a dumb sobbing mess is beautiful in Asa’s eyes, all big talk and flailing until his black gloved hand comes down onto your exposed ass, again and again,leaving you begging and sobbing out apologies.

Asa looks at you pitifully, taking in the tears clinging your lashes and the rosey hue of your beaten ass, he knows you’ll be feeling it for the next day or two. His gaze softens as he rubs some ointment on your red behind and pulls your underwear back up, manoeuvring you to lay on the sofa on your side, careful not to put pressure on your butt.

He hushes your whines of complaint as he leaves briefly to get you a snack and a juice box, he may be a sadistic dom/lover but he’s not an improper one, aftercare is non negotiable and is always first priority after a scene.

He returns and settles into the sofa next to you, prompting you to sit upright so he can feed you, your brain still fuzzy and airy in Subspace.

Your master runs a hand over your cheek, wiping away a stray tear and looking at you smittenly. “See how easy it is when you’re good for me? You can just be a little pet and let master do the thinking ok? No need to be bratty. Just let daddy handle all the difficult things and it’ll be ok.” he practically coo’s at you, fondly committing your far away subby look to memory. “I have you, my silly cricket”

[shadowqueenjude]

Elorcan

“You swear it? That you will protect me?” “I didn’t leave you to the ilken today, did I?” “Swear it.” “I promise. I will not abandon you.” “Then I will tell you what I know.” “Bigger tits won’t prove or hide anything.” “Perhaps they’ll keep men distracted just enough that they won’t ask questions.” “Husband." "Brother. I am your brother." “You are my husband. We have been married three months. Follow my lead. Men will not fear the threat of a brother. I would still be unclaimed—still be open for … invitations. I have seen how little respect men have for anything they think they are entitled to. So you are my husband until I say otherwise.” "You have no money, do you?" "Looks like I was mistaken." “Come, wife.” "Figure it out yourself." "We have a bargain, girl." “You did not specify when I had to tell you. So I may take as much time as I wish to recall details, if you desire to wring every last one of them from me.” “Do not toy with me.” “Or what? Kill me, hurt me, and you’ll still be out of answers.” “I could find some buckets, heat water, and you could bathe in here, if you want. I’ll stand watch outside.”

“I’ll offer Ombriel a coin to wash it all for you tonight.” “I have no other clothes to wear.” “You can sleep without them.” “With you in here?” “What about your own clothes?” “What of them?” “You … they’re filthy, too.” “I can wait another night.” “Why should I be the only one naked? Wouldn’t the ruse work better if you and I both took the opportunity at once?” “You are very young. And I am very old.” “How old?” “Old.” “A body is a body. You reek as badly as I do. Go sleep outside if you won’t wash.” “Fine." “How badly does it hurt every day?” “I’ve had it since I was a child. I learned to live with it.” “That’s not an answer.” “Why do you even care? You said you’d stand watch. I thought you meant outside.” “Enjoy yourself.” “My uncle … He is a commander at Morath. He … locked me in the dungeon once. His name is Vernon, and he is clever and cruel, and he will likely try to keep you alive if you are caught. He wields people to gain power for himself. He has no mercy, no soul. There is no moral code that guides him." “Would you like me to kill him for you?” "Would there be a cost?" "No." “Your foot has been ruined for years, though. He locked you in the dungeon that long?” “No. I was only in the dungeon for a week. The ankle, the chain … He did that to me long before.” "What chain." “When you kill my uncle, ask him yourself.” “Molly will be begging you to stay, you realize.” “Is that your professional prediction?” “Did you sell your shirt, too?” “Got ten coppers from a farmer’s wife for it.” “That’s disgusting.” “Money is money. I suppose you don’t need to worry about it, with all the gold you’ve got stashed.”

“Marion was my mother’s name. She died defending Aelin Galathynius from her assassin. My mother bought Aelin time to run—to get away so she could one day return to save us all. My uncle, Vernon, watched and smiled as my father, the Lord of Perranth, was executed outside our castle. Then he took my father’s title and lands and home. And for the next ten years, my uncle locked me in the highest tower of Perranth Castle, with only my nursemaid for company. When I broke my foot and ankle, he did not trust healers enough to let them treat it. He kept bars on the tower windows to keep me from killing myself, and shackled my ankles to keep me from running. I left for the first time in a decade when he shoved me into a prison wagon and dragged me down to Morath. There, he made me work as a servant—for the humiliation and terror he delights in. I planned and dreamed of escaping every day. And when the time came … I took my chance. I did not know about the ilken, had only heard rumors of fell things being bred in the mountains beyond the Keep. I have no lands, no money, no army to offer Aelin Galathynius. But I will find her—and help her in whatever way I can. If only to keep just one girl, just one, from ever enduring what I did.” “I am over five hundred years old. I am blood-sworn to Queen Maeve of the Fae, and I am her second-in-command. I have done great and terrible things in her name, and I will do more before death comes to claim me. I was born a bastard on the streets of Doranelle, ran wild with the other discarded children until I realized my talents were different. Maeve noticed, too. I can kill faster—I can sense when death is near. I think my magic is death, given to me by Hellas himself. I am in these lands on behalf of my queen—though I came without her permission. She might very well hunt me down and kill me for it. If her sentinels arrive looking for me, it is in your best interest to pretend not to know who and what I am.” “Do you have a family?” “No.” “Do you have friends?” “No.” “Then you and I are the same in that regard, at least.” “I’m going to Eyllwe. Take me ashore and I’ll wash my hands of you as easily as you washed the blood of that man off yours.” "Did you not hear what I said? Take me to shore.” “No.” “No?” “The river veered southward two miles ago. From the map in the cabin, we can take it straight south, then find the fastest route to Banjali. Turns out, I now have business with Aelin Galathynius, too. Congratulations, Lady. You just got yourself a guide to Eyllwe.” “As far as anyone’s concerned, you’re still my wife.” "I will always find you. I promise." "I will always find you too, Lorcan." “I wanted to go to Perranth with you.”

“I love you. I have loved you from the moment you picked up that axe to slay the ilken. And I will be with you …I will be with you always.” "No." "I love you. I have loved you, from the moment you came to fight for me against Vernon and the ilken. And when I heard you were somewhere on that battlefield, the only thing I wanted was to be able to tell you that. It was the only thing that mattered.” "Ask me to stay." "Stay." "Ask me to come to Perranth with you." "Ask me to marry you." "Will you marry me, Lorcan Salvaterre?" "I'll think about it." “It’s just … I’m Lady of Perranth. If you marry me, you will take my family name. Lord Lorcan Lochan?" “I’ll use it with pride every damned day for the rest of my life. I will marry you, Elide Lochan. And proudly call myself Lord Lorcan Lochan, even when the whole kingdom laughs to hear it. And when we are wed, I will bind my life to yours. So we will never know a day apart. Never be alone, ever again.”

[the-starry-seas]

what's one of your fics i could binge tonight?

hmmm, what are you in the mood for?

running with the wolves to get to you, 10k, rated G

Jango and Obi-Wan have been keeping an important secret as their relationship develops, which is that they’re both werewolves. Besides that minor detail, things are going great – at least until their car breaks down on a road trip and the only place they have to stay is an abandoned hotel. The day before Halloween. Which is on a full moon. No way this could go wrong, right?

who you are makes me who i am, 10k, rated G

Boba isn’t the kind of person who forms connections with people. ‘Friends’ are a foreign concept, and the idea of love is even more confusing. Then he saves a woman’s life, and she saves his, and he starts to wonder if it’s all as strange to him as he thinks.

the arms of the ocean delivered me, 11k, rated G

Two years ago, Echo was badly injured by humans, and taken to the Skako Minor aquarium. It's only after he's lost all hope that he finally has a chance to get home, thanks to meeting the Batch - the only other merpeople he's seen since losing his family. When the Batch drops everything to protect him and get him home, is it really any surprise that he wants them to stay?

ghosts have voices, 16k, rated T

Still reeling from Order 66, Obi-Wan finds an even bigger problem on Mustafar: a powerful Dark Side entity that feeds on the life force of Jedi. He’s lucky to escape with baby Luke and Leia, but his regret at their parents’ deaths isn’t the only thing that follows him from the lava moon. The entity is on the hunt. Stranded on a poisonous planet, the odds of surviving aren’t in Obi-Wan’s favour. At least he has an ally in Cody – but even if they manage to escape, Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to ask the man he secretly loves to stay.

if i don't make it back from where i've gone, just know i loved you all along, 23k, rated T

A movie AU where Leonardo travels back in time with Casey. Because even though Leonardo doesn’t want to live any more, Casey doesn’t want to give up on him, and maybe, just maybe, Casey has enough hope for both of them. Or, from my rambling while planning this fic: “future Leo is just so much fun because he's spent the past 22 years demonising his past self for starting the apocalypse but then when he travels back in time to the day it happened so he can stop it, he realises his past self was just a dumb naive kid who had no idea of the potential consequences, so future Leo decides to be gentle with him and it's the only self-love he's ever had because he's always hated himself a little”. As well as “Leonardo trying to break the cycle by being kind to his past self (while still hating his current self) makes me want to put him in therapy and I think makes Dr Delicate Touch want to use him as a piñata”.

this family can bear any weather, 30k, rated G

When Donnie gets his hands on the Arc Capacitor after the events of Out of the Shadows, he decides to repurpose the tech for his own use. Unfortunately the first test run doesn't go well, and he's accidentally transported to a different dimension. His first thought is to find the new reality's version of Donnie, so they can work together to find him a way back home, but while trying to find their lair, he finds a much different version of his brothers instead. At eight, nine, and ten years old, the young turtles are hopelessly lost in the sewers beneath the city, and their only chance at getting home is Donnie. Between finding a way to get four lost turtle kids back to their dad, and finding a way to get himself back to his own reality, he's got a lot to do. AKA the Rise/Bayverse crossover that exactly nobody asked for but I'm writing all the same. Updating Fridays.

Clever Girl, 50k, rated T

A year after defeating Commander Krang, the turtles discover that the Foot Clan intends to bring Shredder back to life. Hoping to stop this plan before it begins, they travel to a secret base, looking for the intended project head, Baxter Stockman. They find the base, they don't find Stockman, and more important than either of those things, they find dinosaurs. Four turtles, four Utahraptors - what could go wrong?

or if you really want a long read, one of my favourites:

two's company, three's a crowd, four's a love story, 91k, rated T

post-BOBF canon Din Djarin/Omera/Cobb Vanth/Paz Vizsla

There’s some BOBF spoilers/references in here, and it's set post-show, but tbh you probably won’t be able to tell canon from headcanon unless you’ve seen the show and know the difference already. Boba, Fennec, the Armorer, and Luke Skywalker make brief appearances in a few scenes. Anyway this is just me in denial of Paz’s BOBF characterization and the fact that Cobb and Omera have only existed for like 15 minutes total in live action. Welcome to my immense amount of headcanons! The majority of this fic is from Din's POV, but there's also a few chapters each from Paz's, Omera's, and Cobb's POV.

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

I have no idea why my brain came up with this but seeing your newest art made me just think of rdr1 John having to the fight the evil Micah+Bill+Javier polycule as a boss instead of just Bill or Javier ☠☠☠

I love that idea and I also thought about it while making F of a Feather art.

To amuse the idea, I imagine bill and Javier split off on their own when they usually would at the end of Chapter 6. They don’t want to stick around because neither really has it out for Arthur, not even Bill (who at this point is with Javier on “holy shit? Dutch is actually a bad person?? This can’t be?”).

Micah tho wants to get his last laugh at Arthur regardless of what ending it is.

Once Micah is done with his Arthur murder (with both eyes or one less eye), he ends up finding Javier and Bill who coincidentally had set up a small camp with the few things they had from the abandoned camp. Knowing sticking together is their best bet, they stay as a triad (that comes with all the good and bad dynamics amongst them).

Javier keeps up moral in the few ways he can. He would play guitar but that’s gone. He also is the main provider when it comes to food. Micah can have his preferences, but when it’s fish or starvation, Micah begrudgingly finds a silver lining to eating fish. Bill too can hunt, he isn’t as effective at it.

Javier is also a tad shell shocked after Dutch revealed his true nature… they all are a little stunned. They need a moment to think about this and stare at the horizon in silence.

Bill is the muscle of the group and doesn’t need to be very clever when he has Javier and Micah putting their brains together. Not that Bill is an idiot but he is good at following commands.

He is also the space heater for cold nights. Like previous mentioned, he can hunt. He goes for deer and just explodes them meaning pelts is a no go to make money. Bill can at least intimidate. He also makes for a good guard since he is pretty alert and doesn’t mind standing or sitting and minding his own business as long as he gets to be involved in other missions.

Micah is the pseudo leader (the others like to think they’re equally as much leaders as Micah). He has the cunning to be considered the diplomat of the three (tho that is a stretch), he’s the one who gets them the most money with stagecoach robberies and the sort.

His willingness to kill was discouraged at first, especially by Javier, who had a period of black and white judgement after the Dutch Situation where he was convinced them murdering anymore people made them just as two faced as Dutch. That statement crumbled little by little as the three of them became more willing to kill if it kept them alive.

I do think Micah is unable to go without expanding their group and forming his little gang as seen in the epilogue. I’m sure the structure is akin to canon, what with there being a higher rank of people close to Micah and then the goons who are just disposable man power.

Dutch isn’t there so… I suppose Micah wouldn’t be shot and killed. Javier and Bill certainly aren’t going to kill him. That would make for an unsatisfactory end to the in game epilogue but eh. Basically Micah and John have their gun fight because they must settle the score.

I feel like both reach a stalemate; Sadie has Micah at gunpoint, Bill had Sadie at gunpoint, and Javier had John at gunpoint. No one wants the other dead, really. Javier especially tells John how he would have sided with him if things were different.

They come to an agreement that results in John and Sadie being escorted off the mountain to Charles who is fairly confused why John and Sadie are being kindly helped off the mountain by the gang leaders they swore to kill.

It’s not a happy ending, or even a great ending, but it’s something. The triad’s gang is killed until it’s just the three of them and based off of Micah’s age, it’s evident he likely won’t be rebuilding a whole new gang any time soon.

For RDR1 I can’t decide if it would be much the same (the triad broke up and are individually plucked off by John) or if it would be like what you said of John being up against three antagonists in one group. Either way it would be pretty neat in my opinion.

Sigh, I love toxic old men Yaoi.

[grailfinders]

Grailfinders #348: Zhang Jue

today on Grailfinders we are actually done with Traum for real this time, I promise. I mean we aren’t, we’re nowhere near finished, but the builds are- at least once we’re finished with Zhang Jue. he’s a Conjuration Wizard to summon puppets, puppets, and more puppets- and I know we’ve been playing fast and loose with summons lately, so we’ll try to keep this one constructs-only. he’s also a Battle Master Fighter for more focus to lead those puppets to victory with good old-fashioned tactical knowhow.

check out his build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

next up: eight-part ouppy bap attack

Ancestry & Background

Zhang Jue is, unsurprisingly, a Human, so he gets +1 Dexterity and Intelligence; as well as the Observant feat for +1 Wisdom, the ability to read lips, and a bonus to passive perception. speaking of, you’re proficient in Perception to boot. you can’t tactic if you can’t see the other guy’s tactics- I think Sun Tzu said that, right?

according to Zhang Jue’s backstory, he wandered off into the wilderness and returned with a big book full of holy strategy stuff, so that’s a classic Hermit background, even if they’re usually getting more “nature of the multiverse” knowledge. that gives him proficiency in Medicine and Religion, so now you have two ways to manipulate- I mean, help- your followers.

Ability Scores

your highest score is Intelligence- you use that to scheme and to blast magic all over the place. after that is your Charisma to keep your human soldiers in line. Dexterity is next, mostly because you don’t wear armor and I’m not that cruel. third is Wisdom, which helps out a bit both with schemes and manipulating your followers. this means your Constitution and Strength are both pretty low- you are an old man, after all.

Class Levels

1. Fighter 1: starting off as a fighter nets you proficiency in Strength and Constitution saves, as well as History and Insight to be a giant nerd. if you’re starting off at level one in your home game I’d recommend starting as a wizard so you don’t crumple into a paper ball before reaching level 2, but most games don’t start there, constitution proficiency is super useful, and tactical prowess is a much easier goal to reach than puppets and immortality.

speaking of, first level fighters get a Fighting Style. if your DM allows it I highly recommend the old old UA style Mariner for the extra AC and movement since we’re not going monk at all this build, but otherwise pick up Superior Technique and a battle master maneuver of your choice. as a fighter you also get a Second Wind once per short rest, giving you a little HP back as a bonus action. wizards usually don’t get any healing, so appreciate what you can get.

2. Fighter 2: second level fighters get Action Surge, and unlike sorcerer’s quickened spell this doesn’t come with any caveats- you can cast two full-action spells in a single turn, no sweat. I mean not now, now you can just hit things twice. something to look forward to.

3. Fighter 3: third level fighters can become a Battle Master, making them a Student of War. that’s just proficiency in one artisan’s tool, but you also learn how to leverage your Combat Superiority up to four times a short rest, which can be used in three methods of your choosing. a Commanding Presence lets you add your superiority die (a d8) to an Intimidation, Performance, or Persuasion check, while your Tactical Assessment adds it to an Investigation, History, or Insight check. finally, you can lay an Ambush to add the die to a Stealth check or your initiative roll. the clever guy’s good at skills, who’d’ve thunk it?

4. Wizard 1: now that we have some basics to keep you occupied, we can move on to our long-term goals! going over to wizard gets you an Arcane Recover once per long rest, recovering a couple spell slots as part of your short rest! speaking of, you can cast and prepare Spells using your Intelligence and your spellbook, which lets you copy spells you find written down out in the world.

Zhang Jue’s abilities are pretty open ended, and you get a lot of spells this way- 6 spells this level and two more every other wizard level you take- so you’ll have to forgive me for giving you a few empty slots here and there to fill as you see fit.

that being said, we’ll start off the build with some elemental effects- Create Bonfire, Gust, and Mold Earth for your cantrips. we also get some classics like Alarm and Detect Magic for counter-wizard ops, as well as Mage Armor and Magic Missile for direct combat. and while Find Familiar and Unseen Servant aren’t combat-ready, every puppeteer has to start somewhere.

5. Wizard 2: at second level you learn to specialize in Conjuration, making you a Savant. when you copy conjuration spells into your spellbook, they take less time and money to do so. why they decided every wizard subclass should have a feature that actively disincentivizes learning the spells you supposedly specialize in I don’t know, but you can get Silvery Barbs this level anyway. it vaguely makes your allies better and your enemies worse, which is what all magic in Fate does if you think about it.

also, you can use Minor Conjuration as an action now, creating any nonmagical object you choose smaller than 3’ in any dimension. the object is obviously fake, so you can’t really use it to make fake money, but as long as you’re creative you should be fine. if you can’t actually have foresight, store-conjured is fine.

6. Wizard 3: third level wizards get second level spells like Arcane Lock- it’s a lock, but arcane! if that sounds a little boring you can also tell the future with Augury. strategy is easy when you can just ask the DM to help you.

7. Wizard 4: fourth level wizards get their first Ability Score Improvement to improve one stat of their choice, like your Intelligence. that’s all your spells, so it’s important to keep intelligence on the up and up.

8. Wizard 5: fifth level wizards get third level spells, and now you can Bestow Curse! BC is pretty open-ended, so now I don’t need to keep track of every random thing tao arts can do, hooray!

9. Wizard 6: sixth level conjurers have Benign Transportation, so once a day (or after casting a conjuration spell) you can use your action to teleport up to 30’ away, possibly swapping places with another creature. pro tip: keep enemies pointed at the puppets.

10. Wizard 7: speaking of, with fourth level spells you can now Summon Constructs! only one at a time right now, but a puppet’s a puppet, and this one can be built out of different materials! clay and metal puppets have counterattacks, and stone puppets can slow down enemies.

11. Wizard 8: use this ASI to become Resilient, rounding up your Wisdom score and giving you proficiency with Wisdom saves! it’s not complicated, but it is effective.

12. Wizard 9: ninth level wizards get fifth level spells, and now you can finally summon more than one puppet at a time… so long as you carry them around with you. Animate Objects lasts a minute, turning up to ten small objects (each size up doubles how many objects said object counts as) into up to ten creatures, absolutely destroying the action economy in your favor! with five puppets and one PC, you can fill a whole party with just Zhang Jue and his backup dancers.

13. Wizard 10: tenth level conjurers have Focused Conjuration, preventing you from losing concentration on any conjuration spells. sadly this doesn’t work on Animate Objects, but your bigger puppets will stay safe!

14. Wizard 11: eleventh level wizards get sixth level spells like Guards and Wards, letting you make any house you stay in as convoluted to enter as the Xanten Tower! I’m sure your party will be thrilled.

15. Wizard 12: another ASI, bump up your Intelligence to be the smartest you can be, and your spells as deadly as possible. speaking of deadly spells…

16. Wizard 13: thirteenth level wizard, seventh level spells. Simulacrum lets you make a puppet copy of any person, with the caveat that they only have half the real deal’s HP and can’t heal or regain spell slots. still, they’re a perfect copy, so if you’d say… die, or something silly like that, it can just be a copy all along.

also, you finally get your third skill! at least, part of it. Mirage Arcane lets you warp your environment to benefit you, so while we don’t have the whole gamut yet, you can at least turn the battlefield into forest or near water stages. don’t worry, we’ll be getting upgrades for both of these spells in two levels.

17. Wizard 14: with Durable Summons, every creature you summon with conjuration spells get an extra 30 HP. annoyingly, this doesn’t help your simulacra or animated objects, but at least your puppets are tougher. maybe ask your DM for an extension.

18. Wizard 15: with our last level in wizard, you get eighth level spells! to upgrade your emergency puppet stash, grab Clone to make spare bodies you can sneak into after your regular one dies. sure they take an hour to make, and aren’t available after that for a good three months, but death is a lot longer than that normally so a plan b is never a bad idea.

as for your third skill, you can now use Control Weather to heat up a five mile radius around you, letting you make the whole battlefield super sunny and on fire. or cold, rainy, windy, etc. you can meddle with the meteorological minutiae for up to eight hours, so don’t feel like you have to decide right away.

19. Fighter 4: going back to fighter is a bit of a downgrade after learning to control the weather, but I’m sure you won’t complain too much about getting more Dexterity with this ASI. not dying is important!

20. Fighter 5: fifth level fighters get an Extra Attack each action. you probably shouldn’t be attacking at all with this build, but it’s an option if you find yourself in trouble.

Pros & Cons:

Pros:

we’ve touched on how powerful spells like clone and simulacrum can be before with Morgan, and that’s all still true here. it literally doesn’t matter how strong you are when you can roll up to a fight with 20 copies of yourself.

that being said, those 20 copies take time to make, so at least you can use your Tactical Mind in the meantime to be useful to the party even when you’re out of spell slots early on. usually wizards just kind of. stop working. when their spells are done, but you can still help out without being completely reliant on a limited resource.

like with Zhuge Liang, you’re able to heavily alter any area you’re in to your party’s advantage. if you can choose where a fight takes place, you can make every possible thing in that place work in your favor and against your enemies. why fight at all when you can mirage arcane an avalanche into their way?

Cons:

if you do get into a fight you’re just an old man. you’re really banking on those puppets and other party members keeping you from being kebabed. also your HP is below Power Word Kill range, so maybe don’t skip too many fights or your DM might notice that.

conjuration is way too fickle for this build to be all that great. there’s a ton of pseudo-summoning spells that are powerful, but none of them are conjuration- all of those are super under-powered bc WotC became cowards ever since they realized conjure animals might be halfway useful in a fight.

Zhang Jue is all about tactics, and while wargaming in D&D is not only valid but also arguably the intended way to play, some people want a chance to turn their brain off when it’s D&D time. having to think and be clever to get the most out of a build certainly isn’t a negative, but it is something to keep in mind when you’re picking a character to play as.

[eksvaized]

Part Twenty Four

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The atmosphere in the living room is oppressively thick—charged with a stifling combination of fear, suspense, and uncertainty. It’s a tension so tangible, so palpable, that it feels almost suffocating, like a physical entity pressing down on your chest, making every breath a conscious effort.

The gun in your grip feels like an anchor, far heavier than you remember it being when you first stumbled upon it. Your palms are slick and clammy with a cold, nervous sweat that betrays your underlying anxiety. You struggle to maintain a firm grip on the pistol; your fingers tremble slightly, forcing you to use both hands to steady it - an awkward, unfamiliar position that exposes your inexperience.

Despite the pressure that feels like a thousand pounds pressing down on your eyelids, begging them to close, you keep your gaze steady. Your eyes dart back and forth, bouncing like a tennis ball, between Johnny and Simon, who stands a step behind him. Simon’s shoulders are tense, strung tight like a bowstring, and his hands are curled into tight fists, knuckles white with the strain. You’ve made your intentions crystal clear, your was voice sharp and biting as you demanded everyone to get out, to leave this house—to leave you alone with Simon. Yet, despite your command, no one moves. All the four men stand as still as statues, the soles of their boots glued to the ground.

A part of you wonders if it’s fear that is keeping them from moving. But then, another part of you, a more clever and observant one, realises that their stillness is not born out of fear. They’re not afraid of the gun or of you. Their defiance is deliberate.

“Are all of you deaf?” you snap, the words spilling out of your mouth like marbles rolling down a hill, too fast to catch. Your voice is now notably higher—an unmistakable sign of your escalating frustration and rapidly dissipating patience. You don’t know how much longer you can bear being the focal point of their scrutinizing stares; each gaze feels like a physical weight, pressing down on your shoulders and chest, making it harder for you to breathe.

“Y/N—” Johnny begins, his voice steady and calm. He extends his outstretched palm towards you once again. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he wants to disarm you. But you have no intention of handing the pistol over to him. The feeling of control that the firearm provides is overwhelming. It’s a power you don’t want to relinquish yet.

As Johnny dares to inch closer, your heart pounds in your chest. You can almost feel the heat radiating off his body; Johnny’s so close yet so far. Without giving it a second thought, without bothering to consider the vast array of possible consequences that could come tumbling down from your actions, you decide to do something. It’s a choice born of impulse, of desperation, of a wild, reckless courage that surprises even you.

You don’t want to shoot Johnny—mainly because you don’t know if the gun is loaded or not, and if it’s how many bullets there are in the chamber. So instead, you lower your arms and point the pistol towards the ground, aiming it somewhere near Johnny’s feet. Your index finger, trembling slightly, curls around the trigger. The metallic chill seeping into your skin does nothing to alleviate your mounting nervousness. Yet, you refuse to let your terror control you. Without allowing yourself any further hesitation or second thoughts, you press down, deciding that you can afford to waste one bullet—if there are any at all—because maybe then everyone will finally take your threats seriously.

The instant the trigger is pulled, you suck in a shallow, razor-sharp breath, as if you’ve just plunged into icy water. Your body reverberates with the sheer force of the action, shaking you to your very core, as a violent tremor ripples through your veins and sends a shiver down your spine. The sudden jolt throws you off balance. Your foot stumbles back in a hasty, almost frantic step as you scramble to regain your footing.

Then comes the sound, a monstrous roar that swallows all other sounds whole. It’s not just loud, it’s an oppressive, bone-rattling thunderclap that shakes the ground. The gunshot’s sharp crack reverberates through the room, a sonic boom that ricochets off walls, bouncing back like a rubber ball in a concrete box. It echoes in your eardrums, like a high-pitched siren that wails incessantly, a relentless alarm that drowns your thoughts. A throbbing pain begins to build in your temples, starting as a mild discomfort before slowly intensifying. Your wide eyes rivet to the floor, where the bullet has forcefully lodged itself into the hard wooden surface.

As you tentatively lift your eyes, allowing your gaze to traverse the space between you and the towering figures in front of you, you realize that Johnny is no longer standing in front of you. Simon has pushed him out of the way and thrust his chest against the cold barrel of the gun that you’re holding. Your hands wobble. A subtle shudder, almost imperceptible, ripples through your fingers, akin to a pebble disturbing a serene pond, resulting in an involuntary, subconscious lowering of your arms.

Despite the burning rage coursing through you, a rage so intense and fiery that it threatens to consume your entire being and leave nothing but ashes in its wake, you can’t bring yourself to harm Simon. He isn’t the one you’re angry at; he isn’t the one who made you feel helpless. He isn’t the one who pushed you to the very edge of your sanity, who rammed you into a corner so tight that you could barely breathe, causing you to believe that your only option was to come out swinging, to defend not only yourself but Simon as well.

“Give me—” Simon begins, his voice trailing off into a hush. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his fingers curl around the handle of the pistol that you’re still holding.

You refuse to comply with his request. Defiantly, you shake your head, your hand clenching around the gun like a lifeline. Your knuckles turn as white as bleached bone, stark against the dark metal weapon, the only source of protection you have. “I can’t,” you murmur, so only Simon could hear what you are saying. “I want them gone.”

Simon nods. He takes a step closer to you. The gap between you two shrinks, and so does the space between the tip of the pistol and his chest. “Y/N,” he says, his eyes never leaving yours, “give it to me.”

You want to comply, you really do. You wish you could hand over the pistol and let Simon take control of the situation. But as much as you want to trust him, uncertainty creeps in, its frosty fingers coiling around your heart, holding you back. You can’t let go, not yet, not until you see the men who have ruined your morning march out of the front door.

But standing your ground is taking its toll. The fear of accidentally squeezing the trigger nags at the back of your mind. It’s surprisingly easy to pull it, and the thought of Simon getting hurt because of your carelessness terrifies you. You can’t bear the thought of that happening. You can’t and won’t allow yourself to hurt him. So, after what feels like a lifetime, after another five seconds that may as well have been five gruelling minutes, you loosen your grasp.

Simon tucks the black, gleaming pistol under his leather belt. His dark eyes never leave your figure. They watch you with an unwavering gaze that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You suddenly feel like a misbehaved child caught red-handed, your guilt exposed for everyone to see. This feeling only intensifies when you notice the subtle yet unmistakable signs of Simon’s growing irritation. His jaw tightens, the prominent muscles of his face twitching slightly as he grinds his teeth together. You can almost hear the gritting sounds, like stones grating against each other.

“She’s crazy,” Gaz, if you recall correctly, says and, for a moment, everyone glances at him while he stands in the corner of the room, looking at you. “She needs help.”

You are aware that by ‘help’, Gaz isn’t implying Simon’s assistance. This realization causes your heart to plummet. An icy fear snakes its way through your veins. The question that arises in your mind is terrifying - What if these men, these strangers, decide that you’re to be taken away? They probably see you as a deranged woman, a mentally unstable creature in dire need of constant supervision and control. The idea of being whisked away to some far-off place, to a room with cushioned walls designed to muffle the cries of the ones inside, is a fate you certainly do not desire.

So, hesitantly, you gravitate towards Simon. Your stiff hands wrap around his arm. As he turns to look at you, you meet his gaze with a pleading look in your eyes. No words are exchanged, but your eyes are silently imploring him to intervene, to step in and prevent these men from taking you away.

“Can we talk? Alone?” Simon asks, focusing his attention on the Captain. Upon receiving a curt nod of approval, they exit the room. Once they’re gone, you’re left with Johnny and Gaz, who seem to have made it their mission to watch your every move. They keep their attention on you, their eyes refusing to venture elsewhere, even for a second. It makes you feel as though you’re under a microscope, every action, every expression being picked apart, analyzed and judged.

You don’t know Gaz, but you do know Johnny. Desperate, and on the verge of bursting into tears, you look at Johnny and with a shaky voice say. “I don’t know what you think you know—I don’t care that you believe Simon is holding me here against my will—he’s not, but… I—”

You start to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. Suddenly, a wave of vertigo sweeps over you, turning the solid ground beneath you into a tumultuous sea that swings back and forth. The room around you starts to spin in a dizzying whirl of dull colors. But even amidst this disorientation, you press on, resolute and determined to get every word off your chest.

“We are in love,” you continue, your voice quivering, thick with emotions you can barely keep in check, “and… and I know I’m sick, I know that sometimes my perception distorts, and I imagine things, things that I fully believe to be true. But the reality is that, in those moments of delusion, I just don’t know better. Don’t know what’s real and what’s not.”

Drawing a shuddering breath, you feel the strength in your knees ebb away, as if each breath you take is sapping the energy right out of you. A cold sensation rushes up to meet you as you give in to the weakness, surrendering to gravity and collapsing onto the floor; your knees landing near the lodged bullet. Hot, stinging tears start to prick at the corner of your eyes. A painful lump forms in the back of your throat, making it hard to swallow. It’s as if your body is rebelling against the tears, refusing to let them out.

“But the one thing I know for sure, the one thing that is real and not is my imagination, is the fact that Simon loves me…” you confess, your voice imbued with a raw sincerity. “…so, so much that despite all my flaws, despite all the pain and trouble that I put him through, he refuses to let me go.”

Tears, salty and hot, begin to race down the contours of your cheeks—you aren’t able to hold them back anymore—your body trembles and convulses with each heart-wrenching sob that breaks forth from your parted lips. You plead, your voice choked, “Please, Johnny, I beg you. If you truly are Simon’s friend—if you are my friend—don’t let anyone take me away from him. Please—don’t…”

A/N: btw, this story is nearing it's end. :(

however, if you have any ideas of what else would you like to see included in this fic, please let me know! because (I'm a bit selfish and) I'd love to keep writing this story, but I'm afraid that currently I'm clueless on how to continue & if I don't come up with anything else there's one more chapter left, two at most

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

Would A Houndour Be A Good Pet?

Surprisingly (to me, at least), a houndour would make good pet for a lot of pet owners!

In a lot of ways, a houndour is pretty much just like a real-world dog. They’re the size of a small or medium sized dog, depending on how you define it. Their behavior, as laid out in the pokédex, is just normal dog stuff. In the wild, they live in social, co-operative packs, co-ordinating the cornering of prey with communicative cries (Gold, Ruby/Sapphire). They’re clever and emotive (Diamond/Pearl). It’s even confirmed that, when living with a human, they are exceptionally loyal and responsive to commands (Ultra Sun). So far, it seems like caring for a houndour is gonna be just like caring for a dog. A noisy dog, mind you: their aforementioned crying and howling would likely be reminiscent of a particularly vocal dog.

Things get a little more complicated when we look at their moves. When you read just the Pokédex, it’s easy to forget that houndours are fire-type pokémon! Their move set is full of both physical moves that make use of their powerful canine jaws and fiery blasts that could threaten to cause a fire hazard. Moves like Incinerate and Flamethrower bring down houndour’s score, like a lot of fire-type pokémon, as the risk of a fire in your home is certainly worth considering. Even with the best trained pet, accidents can still happen. An Ember in the wrong place at the wrong time can be a big issue.

In summary: for the most part, houndours would be model pets just like real-world dogs. Their ability to generate powerful blasts of fire, however, has dragged them down a rank (but just one rank!) from A. Due to their receptivity to training and their loyalty, these risks could probably be minimized by most pet-owners, as long as they make sure they are aware of what they could be in for.

[tanoraqui]

Incomplete list of name origins/motivations of the House of Finwë, according to me (and sometimes canon). Any names not listed were given for normal “parent liked it and it fit the baby (fathername)/young child (mothername) well enough.”

Original Brady Bunch:

Finwë (epessë, "hair/crowned guy") - as discussed here

Miriel - [normal name origins]

Indis (mothername, "bride") - true maternal prophecy. “She’s going to fuck her way into trouble and, if we’re lucky, fuck her way out of it”

Fëanáro (m, "spirit of fire") - not prophecy so much as really really obvious right away Curufinwë [I] (fathername, "clever finwë") - Finwë, proudly watching his son build cities out of blocks: “He’s like me but even more clever!”

Findis (f, [finwë+indis]) - Finwë has the naming instincts of Bella Swan and we should mock him so much more for this

Arakáno [I] (m, "high chieftain") - warning label Fingolfin was a very bossy toddler; Indis thought it was adorable and was sure he’d grow into it (he did)

Lalwen/Irimë - [both normal name origins]

Ingoldo [I] (m, "the noldo") - spite. born 2 months after Nelyafinwë due to total lack of parental coordination. Indis looked Fëanor straight in the eyes while introducing his new, distinctly blond and Vanya-looking baby brother to him. Effectiveness as a warning label is entirely accidental.

Fëanorians:

Nelyafinwë (f, "third finwë") - spite Maitimo (m, "well-shaped") - Nerdanel: Attention, everyone! I have made the PRETTIEST BABY EVER!!;

Makalaurë (m, "golden voice") - Nerdanel, proudly: Yes, his beautiful voice is very loud [functional warning label]

Tyelkormo (m, "hasty riser") - warning label Nerdanel, loving but strained smile: My newest beloved son. Will not. Stay. Asleep. :)

Carnistir (m, "red-faced") - Nerdanel: Lookit how red his little face gets when he cries! Don’t you just want to squish it even more?!

Atarinkë (m, "little father") - Nerdanel, delighted: FËANÀRO, IT’S A BABY YOU!; Curufinwë [II] (f, "clever finwë") - Fëanor, awed whisper: holy shit you’re right, it’s a baby me

Ambarussa & Umbarto Ambarto (m, "red-topped" & "doomed" "up-exalted") - as told in The Shibboleth of Fëanor: Nerdanel, desperately ignoring the growing sense of true maternal prophecy: They’re both redheads! Fëanor: Beloved, you can’t give them both the same name. Nerdanel: Yes I can. Fëanor: No you can’t. Nerdanel: Yes I can. Fëanor: No you can’t. Nerdanel: Fine, his name is Doomed, are you happy! He’s doomed to a terrible fate! He’s going to suffer and die alone! Fëanor: Haha you mean fated to great things, upwardly mobile, right?! Nothing has ever gone wrong when I ignore you, and probably nothing ever never will! Ambarussa, jointly, as soon as they're old enough to speak: We like having the same name actually also, Telúfinwë (f, "last finwë") - Fëanor: "Okay, even I think we should probably stop at 7"

Fingolfinians:

Findekáno (f, "hair[crowned] commander") - a little bit of spite ("Finwë" + "Arakáno"), but mostly Fingolfin liked how it sounded and didn't realize until it was too late that he'd just swapped the syllables in Kanafinwë, and had to pretend real fast that he didn't care

Turukáno (f, "strong chieftain") - Fingolfin decided to lean into the káno root for his kids, and he likes how this name sounds and he doesn't care that it's the same root at Turkafinwë! Not everything is about Fëanor!

Írissë (f, "[something] femine") - Fingolfin, standing on top of a roof, holding baby Aredhel up like Simba: "WE HAD A GIRL!!!" ("Ir" from Anairë)

Arakáno (m, "high chieftain") - Anairë: haha holy shit, Nolo, he's a baby you

Finarfinians:

Findaráto (f, "high/noble finwë") - Finarfin shortly before his first son is born, moving around scraps on paper on which are written root words: "Okay so it has to include 'fin' and a part of one of my names which is not 'fin' (how stupid would two 'finwë's sound in one name!), but it for the sake of individualism it shouldn't be literally my name nor, preferably, Nolofinwë's... Ingoldo (m, "the noldo") - warning label: Eärwen, preventing her son from trying to eat his fourth very child-chokable random gem from the ground today: "Ara, he gets this from your side." (Effectiveness as a warning label for nude werewolf combat is entirely accidental.)

Angrod - [normal name origins]

Aegnor - [normal name origins]

Artanis (f, "noble lady") - Finarfin standing on the opposite roof, holding baby Galadriel up like Simba: "GIRL! GIRL! GIRL!" Nerwen (m, "man maiden") - Men already barely understand Elvish gender, especially as filtered through the Professor. We cannot begin to conceive of what Galadriel was doing with it, nor should be be so hubristic as to try

Grandchildren, birth order according to me:

Orodreth (m, "mountain climber") - warning label: if this child is not given something to climb, he will Find Something to Climb

Celebrimbor (f, "silver-holding/handed") - named after his mother, Maltrinbor ("gold-holding/handed") Curufinwë [III] (m, "clever finwë") - Maltrinbor, proudly watching her son gnaw on jewelry: He's going to be just as crafty as his father and grandfather!

Celebrindal (e, "silverfoot") - I don't care that canonically it's because she went barefoot; it's because she lost both feet to frostbite on the Helcaraxë (when the ice cracked and she fell in frozen water and Elenwë dove in to save her, a task at which Elenwë did succeed at cost of her own life), and shortly after reaching Middle Earth she got silver prosthetics (Curufin made the first model after Maedhros glared at him really hard)

Maeglin/Lómion - [both normal name origins]

Etc:

Finduilas (f, "hair + ?? + leaf"?) - [normal name origins]

Ardamirë (m, "jewel of the world") - true maternal prophecy (more vibes than literal vision, but she knew he'd hold a Silmaril) Eärendil (f, "friend of the sea") - Tuor: [loves Gondolin but wants to show his son the sea so bad]

Elros & Elrond ("star foam" & "star dome") - to both the Noldor and Sindar, a mothername is more intimate and meaningful than a fathername. But for the Noldor, the fathername comes just after birth and the mothername comes later, when the child's personality is more evident. In Sindarin custom, the mothername comes at birth because who knows the child better than the mother who has just been holding its fëa as close as possible for 9 months? and the fathername comes later. Elwing and Eärendil named their children together: Elwing chose to name them both "El-" for her family; and Eärendil named one "-ros", which like "-wing" means "foam/spray"; and the other "-rond", "star-dome" for the sky that is most beloved to admiring Elves and sea-navigators alike.

Celebrian (m, "silver queen") - Galadriel named her first, Sindar fashion, and named her partly after Celeborn because she is in fact a romantic sap. She suspected early that Celebrian would never be a queen in title, but she never wanted to shut down the option

Elladan & Elrohir ("elf man" & "elf rider[mannish root[" - half-blooded children both, Elrond and Celebrian also named their firstborn sons cooperatively - "El-" less for Elrond's family directly than because Celeborn would be so disappointed if they discontinued this tradition which dated back to his king, Elu Thingol; and "-adan" and "-rohir" for the Men of Númenor, lost and saved alike, whom they had both loved

Arwen (m, "noble maiden") - "Ar-" for Artanis and Arafinwë. Celebrian: "I have the weirdest instinct to go stand on the roof and shout about how she's a girl?" Elrond: "So do I! That'd be so weird, though. Anyway, you choose a name entire, for I must have my own for this one..." Undómiel (e f, "evening star") - mirror to Elros's daughter "Tindómiel", "dawn star" - both, of course, being the same star: Gil-Estel