#to get sentimental for a moment though portal was one of (if not the) most formative pieces of media i've ever fixated on

[floating-goblin-art]

happy birthday to the cake game

[darlingdekarios]

until the stars leave.

RATING: m for canon themes — LENGTH: 4,782 — Rolan x Tav [reader]

CONTENT: hurt/comfort, set shortly after the final fight, fluff, somewhat unspoken admission of feelings, first kiss, cuddles because they both earned them, brief indecent thoughts

when the celebrations are through a harsh realization sets in - with your companions returning home or answering to their new purpose and the city in ruin, you are alone with no where to go. as you wander in the night, your mind recalls a certain sentiment that was extended.

Your heart had decided what it wanted before your mind had the chance to catch up, and your feet had carried you to the location you were drawn to - really, to the one place you felt was an option for you at the moment. At least, it was the safest and most comfortable option for you at a time like this, and the one you felt confident wouldn't turn you away.

Entering the main doors was hardly difficult - you'd picked up enough lock picking skills along the way to make quick work of the lock, slipping inside into the darkness around what walls and books remained and releasing a sigh of relief. The stairs you had to climb were familiar - a comfort in some way, at least.

What would happen when you stumbled through the portal? In all likelihood at this hour you'd enter the Tower to remain alone for several hours yet, until its new inhabitants woke for the new day. It didn't matter - you'd happily sleep amongst the books propped against the wall knowing you'd get through the night without any surprises.

But that wasn't quite fate's plan.

"Tav?"

Could his voice be considered a surprise when he was the Master of the Tower you'd snuck into? Could it be considering sneaking when you technically had an invitation - albeit not one specifically for tonight?

"Oh, hells," fell from your lips in surprise nonetheless, scrambling backward and into a stack of books until you fell flat on your ass. Your face burned as your mind wrapped itself around the situation, huffing out a deep breath as you fought your way on pained bones and muscles to your feet again.

"What are you doing here?" he questioned, rising from where he sat atop a throne made of books to walk closer to you, meeting you where the ceiling allowed the moon to illuminate the two of you. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's…fine," you breathed out again, reaching upward to remove your headwear and view him completely unobstructed. Your stomach fluttered at the sight of him - the bruises from Lorroakan had faded more since you'd seen him in-person last, something that brought a light smile to your face. It was easier to focus on the freckles that decorated his skin when you weren't distracted by hatred for his former "teacher." “Cal said I had a room here…anytime. And well, I don't quite think he meant at this hour but…”

“Of course you do, there's no question about that in the slightest," his expression was still perplexed, eyebrows furrowed together with one slightly raised as he continued to await any answer you were willing to provide.

Not that you'd intended it, but his careful - and clearly caring - scrutiny made your eyes start to water, one of your shaking hands quickly lifting to wipe away a tear just as it fell. Your voice was meek but you tried to maintain the level of sass and confidence he was used to hearing from you - as you spoke, you were certain it was hardly a convincing performance.

"Only if you don't mind, Master of Ramazith Tower."

He tried to smile his signature grin but his mind focused too hard on you using such a title for him, his cheeks burning several shades of red darker. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze quickly to re-center himself, though it was probably a laughable effort.

"Are you alright?" his voice was just as gentle as you'd needed it to be, your appreciation growing with each word. "You don't even look like you've been healed an-"

“I am…alone. My family is scattered to return to their lives and I'm…"

The words had slipped out before you could stop them, this level of vulnerability and amount of sharing with the Wizard Tiefling entirely new - territory much better explored with a clearer mind and healthier body. Inwardly you worried even that was too much emotion between the two of you for the type of relationship - if you could even call it that - the two of you had maintained up to now.

Another surprise for the night - his eyes were only incredibly understanding as he shakes his head in your direction, dispelling your feelings in the politest way possible.

“You're not alone. Obviously."

There was that agitation in his voice you knew had nothing to do with you. Rolan, complicated man as he was and growing more so by the day it seemed, was not one to share his feelings, few exceptions being made throughout his hardened life. But the truth was undeniable in that single word - four syllables that told you everything you needed to feel more at peace tonight in knowing you were wrong.

You have me.

It was silent - it was all you needed.

Your lip began to quiver again as another tear fell, but this time it was his hand raising to catch it on your cheek, his hands soft and warm and delicate in all the ways you'd dreamed they would be…far more times you were willing to admit. He hadn't thought about the movement before it was carried out, yet he couldn't bring himself to regret it, savoring the way your head seemed to lean toward his touch more.

When was the last time you'd been touched in comfort…in need? Had it been just as long as it had for him? He found it was hard to pull his hand away from the softness your cheek presented beneath his thumb.

“You’ve been through quite a lot recently,” he removed his hand as he spoke again and you immediately wished he'd return it, that you could continue to memorize the feeling. You focused your attention instead on his eyes, falling even harder as you gazed into his eyes. You found only honesty met you in those yellow flames. “You’ve always been here for us…for me. My home - and everything in it - is yours. For as long as you need it."

"I didn't help you to be owed a favor," you reminded, always the one to ensure everyone around you knew they owed you nothing. "Thank you."

"Only you could just save the world and feel you're not owed anything," there was a subtle laugh to his voice that you were happy to hear - that you were certain you'd never been gifted with before and eager to hear much more in the future. "When's the last time you ate?"

Just the word made your stomach growl - it'd been a while, that much was clear.

"We donated our leftover supplies," your answer was hardly a real answer and yet that told him exactly what he needed to know - whatever the truth was it was completely unsatisfactory. He sighed in response, shaking his head slightly as he reached upward to pinch the bridge of his nose briefly in frustration - it only meant he cared.

"Unsurprising," he breathed out, returning his gaze to yours again when he removed his hand from his face. His tone offered no chance of argument. "I'll show you to a bath, and I'll find something for you to eat and wear while you're in-"

His tone offered no chance of argument, yes - but that still wouldn't stop you from trying.

"I'd be okay not eating. You don't need to go out of your way."

His eyes narrowed and he shook his head again, though you could see the hints of amusement at your usual heroic antics flickering in his eyes. You'd starve if it meant you didn't inconvenience someone else. He was hardly going to let that happen, and he was more than willing to repeat himself to you after the interruption - but likely only just the once.

"I'll show you to a bath, and then I'll find something for you to wear and something for you to eat," his tone was more assertive now, dominant - you couldn't deny the way it made your mouth go slightly dry and your palms sweat. "Take your boots off at least, I can't have you tracking…whatever it is on them all over the Tower."

You nodded in agreement knowing he wouldn't agree to anything else now that his mind was made up, beginning to lower yourself down to the ground. Your weary bones were struggling from fatigue and you ended up falling into a heap on the floor instead. He was quick to follow you, dropping to his knees at a speed you knew would result in a bruise, one of his arms coming out to support you.

You thanked him by looking at him like he'd answered a prayer, an expression he'd refer back to frequently. For now, however, he was too focused on your condition to fully appreciate the sweet moment for as long as it deserved.

"Gods," he spat, clearly not in your direction whatsoever - as if he could ever truly feel that anger at you. "I suppose none of your friends could perform healing."

"It seemed selfish to ask at a time like-"

"Just…stop," he sighed out again, waving his free hand in the air to dismiss your piss poor explanation - unwilling to hear the excuse he knew was reasonable and yet didn't bring him comfort. "There is such a thing as being too heroic. I hope the next time you're faced with saving the world you remember that."

"I hope there isn't a next time."

The confession came fast and took him by surprise - he offered an understanding nod and the briefest rub to your lower back where he still held you. He began to remove your armor, gently pushing your hands away when you tried to help. Any amount of relaxation he could offer you now he would without being asked, if he knew it was acceptable.

"Why are you awake at this hour, anyway?"

Your voice was soft and much less upset as you just watched him care for you, trying to navigate the conversation away from yourself. His eyes flickered up into yours again as he worked the laces on your sides free, fingers brushing over the thin fabric covering your sides gently.

You were touch starved and it was hard to ignore - in the way that every cell in your brain was screaming with the desire to hold his hand. You were hopeful the conversation could distract you before you made your desires known.

"I have a lot on my mind," he confessed, placing what had covered your torso to the side. You could see the conflict in his eyes returning and growing, whatever his mind had trailed to as he came up with an answer disturbing the peace that had fallen over the two of you. "I'd like things to be normal for a long time, whatever normal looks like now, but…"

It was your turn to nod in understanding as he removed your gauntlets, fingers lightly brushing against your arm as the skin was exposed. Goosebumps raised where his fingers touched, a fact that he didn't miss. He wondered briefly if it was the reaction he'd get from any part of your body he touched.

"But? Something else worth sharing?"

He had to lie…

"I'm afraid not."

But unfortunately he wasn't very good at it.

"If it's from your mind, it's worth sharing."

Such a compliment took him off guard momentarily, his eyes widening with genuine surprise as he allowed them to soak in, hoping he'd remember how that sentence sounded from your lips forever. It was impossible to lie when faced with the weakness of his intellect being appreciated, especially when it was by you.

"I worried it would be a long time before I got to see you again."

With his confession of the truth both of your faces heated up - his face turning shades of red that only seemed to make him glow. It made both of you feel silly, this giddiness which neither of you were particularly good at hiding at the moment. He helped you to your feet again as you made a mental note of the subtle flick to the tip of his tail.

Being a little bashful wouldn't stop you from flirting with him altogether. It was far too tempting to tease him just a little more.

"So that's what keeps the Wizard of Ramazith's Tower awake at night," your tone was light and playful and he was thankful you were able to diffuse the tension with your personality. He wasn't certain if his efforts to flirt had ever been even remotely successful in the past with others, but he was becoming increasingly hopeful they might work with you.

"It's what was keeping me awake tonight. Who's to say what tomorrow will bring?"

Your eyes flashed with surprise that Rolan was capable of flirting in such a way and found you could only smile, his heart fluttering at the sight. Behind him his tail twitched again, and he quickly moved to ensure you weren't catching onto the quirk. An arm gently slipped around your waist as he began to lead you to the bathroom where the promise of a relaxing bath waited for you. On the way, you still wanted to fill the silence.

"Are you going to tell Cal and Lia?" you questioned, realizing quickly you needed to clarify. Forming a concise question proved to be difficult when you were becoming intoxicated by the smell of him that was flooding your senses at this proximity. "That I'm here."

"Of course I am, but in the morning. Tonight you need to rest."

You nodded in agreement and remained at his mercy as you made your way to the destination he'd chosen for you. The bathtub filled before your eyes with a simple wave of his hand, a smug expression forming on his face as you looked on in wonder despite all you had seen in the recent weeks. Reaching for a shelf he walked beside the tub to empty several vials of herbs, once again waving his hand so some of the candles decorating the room flickered to life.

When he turned to face you he realized all that was left was for you to remove the rest of your clothes…the thought alone returned the blush to his face. This time, however, it was joined by several beads of sweat breaking out across his brow, his hand raising to rub the back of his neck as he nervously cleared his throat.

"I'll find you some clothes," he announced, trying to maintain the composure in his voice. "And food."

And like that he was gone, disappearing in a flash to remove himself from any further opportunity of indecent thought.

The bath alone did you wonders in returning your body to a somewhat lucid state, though you still stumbled when you raised yourself from the relaxing waters. A simple robe in a shade of blue he so regularly wore awaited you on the vanity, which you dressed into slowly to ensure you didn't have any accidents.

It felt odd to dress for the day and not cover yourself in as much powerful armor as possible - even odder not to grab a weapon. You were thankful for the oddity.

An illusionary duplicate of himself waited outside the bathroom door to direct you to your next location - you weren't surprised at all to find Rolan hadn't bothered with giving it much of a script beyond what was necessary. Still, you found your mind focused on all the power he was displaying - Rolan became more impressive by the day, more powerful and capable of caring for himself and his family.

How very lucky Cal and Lia were to have someone in their lives like him.

You found him in the kitchen, amused at the flustered expression on his face as he plated whatever he'd whipped together - for the two of you it seemed, judging by the matching plates in front of him. With a pop his mirror image disappeared and Rolan's head lifted to meet your gaze, both of you smiling just at being reunited again, though it'd hardly been long since you separated.

(In fact, this would become a trend for the two of you very soon - minutes would feel like hours, hours like days, days like eternity until soon you'd find being apart at all was unbearable. When that day came for the both of you, you would hardly be far from his side again.)

He'd made a simple meal for you - something he somewhat bashfully admitted he used to make for Cal and Lia when the three of them were growing up. As you ate together in comfortable silence you decided it was the best meal you'd ever been made, and one you would ask for again whenever you needed an excuse to see Rolan.

Not that you truly needed an excuse.

Thankfully, it was still dark when it was time to retire to bed for the night, something you were already hoping you could manage despite everything that was still on your mind. As he escorted you to the room you'd sleep in he offered a quick explanation knowing there was an argument to be had when he'd finished.

"You'll sleep in my room tonight, and I'll take the spare bed in Cal's room," his words were coming quick in the hopes that your exhausted mind would have trouble keeping up with them, intentions pure as he hoped you would just allow him to extend this kindness. "Tomorrow we'll be sure one of the other rooms is furnished to your liking."

"You don't need to go to all of this trouble for me."

The genuine offense that passed his features at your phrase was chased quickly by annoyance, his eyes narrowing again as he imparted his next words onto you.

"You've gone through far more for me. Please."

He opened the door and motioned you inside fluidly, following after you to light the fireplace with the wave of his hand, providing more light to the dark room. Even in the dim environment you could see his bed looked oh-so-inviting…despite the books that littered the top of it. Realizing the mess he rushed forward to begin moving them, shooting you a grateful look when you joined. A gentle brush of your hands together as you both reached for the last book caught both of you off-guard, his movements entirely freezing at the feeling of your skin against his again.

In the privacy of his bedroom, there was something about the touch that just felt more meaningful than anything that had come before it.

"Sorry about the mess," he quickly filled the silence with an apology before he got too lost in your hopeful eyes, before he thought too long on how exhausted you must be after everything. "You should be plenty comfortable here for the night."

You nodded in agreement and climbed into the bed, quietly moving to the opposite side and finding comfort in the first position you found yourself in. Taking in a deep breath you continued to gaze up at him, mind running through a million options as to what to do now and hoping he could see your desire written in your eyes.

Instead, he took a step back as if to leave.

"I'll see you later this afternoon, I hope, after you've gotten plenty of rest," his voice was quieter as he was conscious of you entering a relaxed state, truly hopeful it wouldn't be long before you were asleep. "Goodnight."

But as sweet as it was, it wasn't what you wanted.

"Wait," you called, reaching out to grab at his arm before he was too far away. He turned to look over his shoulder, a puzzled look on his features bringing a small smile to your own. A smile - a genuine smile. How very good it felt to do so without guilt again. "Stay…please? It's just…quiet. So quiet in my mind since the parasite is gone. I don't like feeling so…alone."

Thankfully, he'd never make you beg. He simply nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, breathing out deeply as he mentally talked himself into remaining calm - sleeping in a bed together was hardly something to get all worked up over.

"I suppose I will sleep much better knowing you are."

For as nervous as he now felt, he was thankful he was still managing to form coherent and articulate sentences. He was still living through the embarrassment of tripping over his words in front of you the first time you'd met.

"Then please.""

Eager to ensure you didn't have to repeat the plea again he only gave in to your desire, climbing into the bed next to you and trying not to feel overwhelmed by your scent flooding his senses. He stayed on his back for a moment deciding it was for the best as he decided exactly what he wanted to do - what the best way to continue the night was.

What didn't take much thought was the feeling that crackled in the air around the two of you, an undeniable mutual want drawing the two of you nearer. And yet, neither of you knew how to seize the moment that was presented to you, new worries taking root in your minds.

He was so thankful when you were the one to break the eilsnce.

"You said you worried it would be a long time since you saw me again."

"Yes, I did."

"Why did that worry you?"

"I suppose…"

His response trailed off as he elected to consider his words carefully, taking a moment to form them in his brain to ensure they were exactly what he wanted. No words - even magical ones - would ever be enough, and even if they were he was hardly the type of man willing to express them.

But for you? He'd do whatever h could manage.

"I suppose I am quite fond of you," he breathed out, admitting to himself inwardly that it did feel good to finally admit it aloud. "Though I find your heroics insufferable and wish desperately that you could practice a little more selfishnesses quite a bit more often, I…enjoy your company. I did not want to go long without it."

He was certain he'd chosen the right words when his eyes found your face again, greeted with the sight of complete and utter adoration. It had been a long time since someone had looked at him this way - it was instantly a sight he wanted to see forever.

"I was selfish…after the battle," you explained, biting at your lip nervously - a habit he found quite cute, no matter how many times he'd reprimand you in the future for it. "Everyone offered me a place beside them. I could be helping in so many places - I had so many choices."

He waited for you to continue your story, understanding that something like this may take extra time. If there was anyone that deserves it, it was you.

"I chose to stay in Baldur's Gate."

He could feel that you were burning beside him - your temperature had easily spiked. Were you embarrassed at such a confession? He hardly thought admitting to stay in the city warranted such a fuss, though he also wasn't going to be one to shut you down.

"No doubt you'll be detrimental to the city's rebuilding efforts."

"I intend to be, but that's not why I chose to stay," you offered a light smile and released a shaky breath before you continued with your confession to him, glad you could get it out now and that the suit hadn't died alongside you. "I chose to stay…for you, Rolan. To be near you. I wasn't ready to…to move on."

The realization washed over his face like a wave and he was very aware that he was burning now, unable to stop the smile that spread across his features - or the fact that he'd been moving closer throughout the lunch.

"It seems my worries were matched by your own."

He was mocking you playfully, in a way that only he was truly capable of. You adored when he was in a mood like this. If he was in the mood to flirt, you were more than happy to oblige.

"I'd love to not worry myself over you someday, Rolan."

"And I you," he agreed with a nod, his handsome smile still covering his features. It was lighthearted and peaceful yet serious and intense - you'd happily go mad trying to understand all the different sides to him. "Do you think that day will come?"

"Perhaps if we watch one another," you offered, knowing you had no intent of removing yourself from his side anytime soon if no one forced it. "Every day, to be safe."

Slow movement caught your vision from the corner of your eye as one of his hands reached up to cup your face in one hand, cutting what the conversation could've blossomed into short. Your joking expression melted away into serenity once again masked with bashfulness. You were nervous at what his next move was - you bit at your bottom lip to prove it. He adored seeing you behave so…smitten?…for him and couldn't resist the opportunity for more.

"I am so glad you are here," he breathed out deeply, unwilling to mask his thoughts from you anymore, feeling already that he'd wasted enough time. "That you chose this. That your decisions lead you here, to me. I wouldn't trade this moment for anything."

Your own hand joined his, laying atop his as your eyes fluttered shut. You held his hand against your face as you moved closer, propping yourself up on one elbow. When you were certain you'd be greeted with the exact sight you wanted you opened your eyes, taking in the sight of him gazing up at you patiently, waiting for whatever word you'd offer him next.

"You're quite a prize for saving the world.""

"And I haven't even thanked you properly," his thumb brushed across your bottom lip slowly, his hand then slipping to the back of your head to pull you downward, closer to him. Your faces were mere inches apart, the anticipation of a kiss waiting to be claimed growing by the second. "May I?"

It was a quick nod you offered that was barely finished before he was claiming your lips in his own. It was the sweetest, most delicate and heartfelt kiss you'd been given in your life thus far, all-consuming and addicting immediately. You pressed closer to him as you lost yourself in the kiss, singularly focused on how perfectly his lips moved with yours to the point his tail winding around one of your legs went fairly unnoticed.

The two of you only pulled away from air, both of you immediately breaking into a small fit of giggles, nuzzling your noses together in pure joy. As you laid your heads back down on the edges of your pillows so you could remain close you gazed upon one another with an adoration that could go unspoken for now - your shared devotion was perfectly clear. Your hands found each other between your bodies and he placed his atop yours in silence, enjoying the first true peaceful moment in so long for a moment, reminding himself it wasn't selfish to stop and appreciate you - particularly at this hour.

His tail released your leg to drape over your waist instead, pushing you closer to his form until you were burying your face in his neck. The warmth and his scent combined with how one of his arms also wrapped around you gently was lulling you to sleep before you'd even found the perfect position. Though really, any position with Rolan would be perfect in your mind.

"Goodnight, sweet hero."

You were already asleep, his hopeful sentence gone unheard by yours ears as the exhaustion finally overtook you and you succumbed to the comfort of resting beside him. Waving an arcane lock toward the door to ensure the two of you would go uninterrupted for as long as he could keep you in the bed.

The world and all its troubles could be forgotten awhile while the two of you found tranquility in your shared solitude - and neither of you would have it any other way.

masterlist. baldur's gate III masterlist.

[the-darkestminds]

Autumn's Shadow: Chapter 10

Azriel x Eris (Azriel POV)

Summary: A covert meeting between Azriel and Eris to exchange valuable intel leaves Azriel reeling—and questioning everything he has ever felt for the Heir of Autumn. Azriel finds himself inexorably drawn to Eris, unable to resist his captivating allure. With the threat of Koschei and Beron looming ever closer, can their forbidden love endure in the face of such danger?

a/n: I am sticking with the acowar version of events where Lucien did NOT accompany Mr. Archeron to the lake. (nsfw, 18+)

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Read on AO3!

Full Chapter List

Chapter 10:

Azriel jerked awake at the sound of Rhysand’s voice in his head.

My office. Five minutes.

Azriel groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The room was dark, dawn still an hour or so off. He rolled over and perched on the edge of his bed, cracking his neck and stretching the stiffness from his wings. Lately it felt like he couldn’t get a moment’s peace, always rushing from one disaster to the next, never stopping to catch his breath. Rhys had probably assumed he’d already been awake, but Azriel couldn’t help the flicker of annoyance at being summoned like a dog at all hours of the day. He felt guilty the second the thought crossed his mind. Azriel stood and dragged himself to the bathing room. 

Exhaustion had been riding him heavily this past week. Every time he closed his eyes he was hit with images of Koschei, or Beron, or Eris in mortal danger. He’d barely slept at all, until last night, when he’d been so delirious that he’d winnowed directly into his bedroom and had barely removed his boots before collapsing in a heap on his bed. He was asleep in seconds. It was only a matter of time before exhaustion won out, he supposed. His thoughts swirled sluggishly in his head as he stepped under the stream and let the hot water slide soothingly over his skin.

Azriel found that he couldn’t sleep soundly unless Eris was safe beside him. It was becoming a problem, considering how restricted their time was together. With tensions rising in Autumn, Eris was forced to remain on high alert, and could only slip away a couple times per week. Meanwhile, Azriel was preoccupied with monitoring the intel he received from his spies and shadows, as well as assisting Rhys in whatever he deemed most pressing. Two days ago, it had been research, much to Azriel’s dismay. He was fairly confident that none of the answers they sought lay in books, but he kept the sentiment to himself. 

Rhysand seemed to be holding on by a thread. He was undoubtedly thinking of Nyx, of what it would mean for his son if Koschei’s vision came to fruition. He’d caught his brother pouring over texts on the natural laws of magical bargains—searching for a way out of his own death bargain with Feyre. Azriel had noted the dark circles under his brother’s eyes, the tense set of his shoulders, his pale face. Azriel knew the panicked feeling all too well, so he did what he could to help, though he knew of no loophole in regard to bargains. The magic would demand a price, and he didn’t think Rhys was willing to risk paying it just yet. 

Azriel had joined Rhys and Gwyn as they scoured the priestess's notes on portals and other worlds for any useful scraps of information. As Azriel had shuffled through the papers scattered around them, he’d been reminded of the priestess he’d come across amongst the shelves the last time he’d been there. When he’d asked Rhys, his brother had distractedly insisted he had no idea who Azriel was referring to. Yet just as he’d broached the subject, his shadows had buzzed loudly around his head. See…see…remember, they seemed to say. But Azriel didn’t know what he was supposed to be seeing, or what there was to remember. So he’d brushed them aside in annoyance. It was yet another thing to worry about on top of everything else.

As Azriel washed and dressed for the undoubtedly long day ahead of him, he dispatched a shadow to the manor so he’d know what to expect upon arriving.

Lucien was there. 

What now? Azriel sighed and the shadows swept him across Velaris. 

***

“No warning, no note. All that was left was her singed sheets and a single feather,” Lucien said tightly from where he sat in the armchair across from Rhys. 

Azriel forced himself not to sag in relief. When he’d stepped into the office and beheld the grim expressions on Lucien’s and his brothers’ faces, his mind had instantly conjured up horrific images of Eris lying dead at Beron’s feet, their secret revealed by Koschei at last. He’d nearly been sick on the carpet before anyone had gotten the chance to speak.  

Now, Azriel glanced at Lucien, took in the slight slump of his shoulders and the anxious look on his face. He hadn’t realized the male had become such close friends with the human queen. 

Had Lucien been informed of what they’d seen at the lake? Azriel had done his best to block out the horrible memories, but he couldn’t help but shiver at the thought of what it might be like to be tied to the death-lord, forever cursed to that dark stretch of water. 

“Did you ever learn the cost of Vassa’s temporary freedom?” Rhys asked. Azriel frowned. He’d foolishly never thought to wonder about the details of the bargain Henry Archeron had struck with Koschei.

Lucien sighed and raked a hand through his long hair. “Vassa didn’t talk about it much. I think she was afraid that doing so might draw Koschei’s attention,” Lucien said, voice low. “But she said the price was heavy. ‘A soul for a soul’, I believe were her words.” Rhys’s brows furrowed in thought and Azriel stifled a sigh. Another riddle, another mystery. 

Azriel felt as if they were hurtling towards the brink of a precipitous cliff, yet none of them had the slightest idea how to avoid plummeting over the edge. Koschei’s plans were clearly in motion, and yet they remained clueless in how to thwart him. All the while, Eris’s life hung in the balance. Azriel wanted to hit something. 

“Where’s Jurian?” Cassian asked.

“At the manor. He’s not taking it well,” Lucien admitted with a wince. “He loves her.” They were all silent at that. What could be done? Azriel didn’t have any more room in his heart to worry about anyone besides Eris, though he did feel sympathy for Lucien. He knew the male’s life had not been an easy one. To lose yet another friend…Azriel’s stomach twisted. He hoped the Mother was merciful and would spare Vassa from the destruction Koschei sought to unleash.

“Unfortunately, I have more bad news,” Rhys said. 

He relayed everything Cassian and Azriel had told him of their visit to the lake and of Koschei, and as Lucien listened, his expression darkened, his eyes darting to where Azriel stood by the windows. When Rhys placed the vision in his mind, the color had slowly leached out of his face until his normally golden brown skin was pale and wan. In the silence that followed, all that could be heard was the clicking and whirring of Lucien’s mechanical eye.

Finally, he mastered himself enough to speak. “A vision?” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Vassa never spoke of such power.”

“Perhaps she never knew,” Rhys responded, not ungently. He glanced at Azriel and Cassian. “Did you see any trace of the girls Vassa mentioned? Where they might’ve been kept?” Azriel looked at Cassian and they both shook their heads.

“What does Elain make of it? Does it resemble any of the visions she’s seen?” Lucien asked. Azriel frowned at the question. A quick look at Rhys and Cassian revealed they were likely realizing the same thing—that no one had bothered to mention it to Elain. Yes, she’d been told of their visit and the threat issued by Koschei, but Feyre hadn’t wanted her to worry, so she’d kept the details to a minimum. Lucien scowled as he took in their blank faces. “Elain is a seer,” he said sharply. “An unseasoned one, yes. But you’d be foolish not to get her insight on this.”

“You’re right,” Rhys sighed, sounding somewhat guilty. “Elain so rarely speaks of her powers that at times it’s easy to forget she has them,” he admitted. “I’ll talk to her today. Would you like to join me?” Lucien shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 

“She might prefer that I not.” 

Azriel noted the slight flush of Lucien’s cheeks and the defeated edge to his voice. What would it be like, Azriel wondered, to find your mate, only for them to want nothing to do with you? His thoughts strayed to Eris. Mates were said to be equals—the other half of one’s soul. Was it laughable to think he might be equally matched with someone like Eris? He was blessed that Eris even wanted him at all. But he couldn’t help the tiny bubble of warmth that formed in his chest at the thought of sharing a piece of Eris’s soul. He realized the pathetic turn his thoughts had taken and admonished himself silently. Azriel forced his attention back to the conversation just as Cassian and Lucien stood. 

“I’ll see if Elain is available later today. You are welcome to wait here until then,” Rhys said. Lucien only nodded and made his way to the door. Azriel followed him out. He heard Rhys add, “Cass, a minute?” but he didn’t wait around to hear what their conversation was about.

He found himself alone in the hall with Lucien. They remained quiet as they walked toward the main entryway of the manor, both lost in thought. Instead of veering right towards the foyer, Azriel wandered out onto the large terrace that overlooked the sparkling sea, serene in the early morning light. He leaned his elbows against the stone wall and Lucien joined him a few feet away.

The breeze off the ocean was cool and it swept comfortingly along Azriel’s skin, ruffling his hair. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. It was moments like this, where he could almost imagine his life was peaceful—that there was no danger, and that Eris might come walking through the terrace doors and wrap his arms around Azriel’s waist. The image dissolved when Lucien broke the silence.

“I take it Eris is aware of all of this.” Azriel opened his eyes and met Lucien’s gaze, his metal eye clicking faintly. Az looked back out over the water.

“He knows.” 

“Don’t underestimate Beron. Any weakness he senses in Eris will be used as a weapon against him,” Lucien warned. “Don’t let it be you.” Azriel turned to face him fully.

“What makes you think I mean anything to Eris?” 

Lucien gave him a pointed look, and then sighed when Azriel said nothing.

“Be careful,” Lucien said warily. “Eris has suffered far too much.” The words gave Azriel pause. Eris had lamented the state of his relationship with his youngest brother. Though he didn’t speak of Lucien often, Azriel knew the rift between them was a constant source of pain for Eris. Maybe Lucien wasn’t as oblivious to Eris’s true nature as he thought.

“I’m sorry about Vassa,” Azriel offered. He’d only spoken to her a handful of times, and never about anything personal, but he respected the role she played in the war against Hybern. And she'd tried her best to help them with Koschei. Lucien frowned, but nodded his head once in acknowledgment. 

They both looked back out over the shimmering water, falling silent again. Azriel let his thoughts wander back to Eris, as they liked to do. He missed him desperately, despite having seen him mere days ago. In truth, he missed him every second they were apart. He wondered what Eris was doing at that moment—if he was missing Azriel just as fiercely. 

The waves crashed rhythmically against the shore and the distant cries of seagulls drifted over them on the salty ocean breeze. As Azriel watched the city awaken with the rising sun, he wondered if they’d be able to save it—if Velaris might be spared from Koschei’s wrath. Though Azriel often felt adrift, like he might never find where he truly belonged, he loved this place and the people in it.

The sound of Rhys’s and Cassian’s quiet conversation stirred him from his swirling thoughts. He tucked his wings in tight and glanced over his shoulder as they approached. Cassian sprawled out on a chaise with a yawn, while Rhys took up a spot against the wall beside Azriel. He looked utterly drained. Rhys opened his mouth to speak—

A soft gasp from behind had them all turning around to the terrace doors, now thrown open, where Elain stepped into the light with wide, frightened eyes.

“Elain—?” Rhys started, but Lucien held out a hand to silence him as he studied his mate, his metal eye whirring so fast it was a golden blur.

Elain's brown eyes glazed over as she stared into the distance, her voice taking on an eerie, otherworldly tone. “A warning for the son,” she murmured. “Beware a chain soaked in blood. Shadows flee when leaves fall.” Her gaze shifted upwards, swirling like mist. “Heed the past or his song shall cease.” Her voice softened, almost inaudible, as she continued. “Cast the vessel adrift and darkness will disperse.”

Elain swayed as she finished speaking and then Lucien was there, a steadying hand on her lower back as his eyes trailed worriedly over her pale face. “Elain?” 

Azriel remained rooted to the spot, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. His shadows buzzed around him, urging him to listen, to understand. He tried to make sense of the words, but he could hardly think over the roaring in his head. A warning for the son. Whatever their meaning, the words were meant for Eris. Of that much Azriel was sure. 

He turned his panicked eyes to Rhys, desperate for some sort of explanation, but his brother looked just as shaken Azriel he felt. Gods, would it never end? He was so sick of the vision-speak. Elain’s eyelids fluttered and she gripped Lucien’s arm with white knuckles. 

“What can I get you, Elain?” Lucien’s voice was soft as he supported her weight. She looked at him intently, and then her eyes strayed to Azriel. She tilted her head and blinked at him, the motion birdlike. 

“Be careful,” she said ominously, repeating Lucien’s words from several minutes ago.

Elain shook her head, as if to brush off the lingering effects of her power. Finally free from whatever murky realm she’d been trapped in, she allowed Lucien to guide her back inside for a glass of water. Azriel watched her go, unease settling over him so oppressively he found it difficult to breathe.

“What the hell does that mean?” Cassian asked, bemused. Azriel just shook his head, at a loss for words. Rhysand dragged a hand through his hair distractedly, eyes narrowed as he pondered the cryptic message. 

“Okay.” Rhys blew out a breath. “We all need to sit down and figure this out. Elain has these visions for a reason, as Mor likes to remind me. Don’t go anywhere,” he ordered them, and followed Elain and Lucien into the manor. 

Cassian stood next to him, gave him a comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

“You alright?” he asked.

Azriel was so tired of being afraid—of feeling like he was a breath away from making a fatal mistake that would destroy everything he held dear.

Azriel rubbed his hands over his face, dragged them through his hair, all while his shadows whispered around him, pestering him to open his eyes, to see. They’d been particularly unhelpful as of late, crowding his already loud head with nonsensical mutterings. 

See…look…be careful…

The whispering increased and Azriel growled in frustration. See what? he asked them. What does it mean? But the shadows didn’t respond. 

“Az?” Cassian asked him with raised brows. 

Azriel thought of Eris, of Elain’s warning that promised blood. He was terrified.

“I’m fine.”

***

It was dusk the following day by the time Rhys managed to wrangle everybody for an impromptu meeting in the councilroom of the Moonstone Palace. He’d impressed upon each of them how urgent the matter was, that it would soon impact all of them, as well as the very fate of their world. That had certainly gotten their attention quickly.

Azriel sent word to Eris with one of his shadows—a whispered account of what had transpired with Lucien, and then Elain. Azriel had kept it brief, but made sure to stress that Eris not take any risks to attend the meeting. Eris had accepted the invitation minutes later.

Azriel was the first to arrive, claiming a chair in the center of the long table, large enough to seat more than 20 guests. He studied the intricate designs carved into the smooth marble—constellations and planets, all swirled together in a large map of a solar system. 

The scuff of a shoe drew his attention and his breath caught in his chest as Eris strolled in through the large entryway. The sleek lines of his muscular, yet lean, frame were accentuated by the well-tailored jacket he wore, the fabric a glistening black interspersed with swirling gold embroidery. His red hair was perfectly styled, half of it pulled back to show off the sharp angles of his face. His pale skin was near glowing against the dark material, and his amber eyes were bright as they met Azriel’s hazel ones. Azriel stared at Eris in awe, utterly transfixed by the sheer beauty of him. 

Azriel stood and moved to approach him, but just as he took a step, Elain, Rhys and Feyre trailed in behind him. Eris took the seat across from Azriel and clasped his hands on the table in front of him. He reminded himself it would not be appropriate to lean across the table and kiss him on the mouth.

Azriel raised his brows at Rhys when he noticed a smiling Nyx in Feyre’s arms. It was a significant show of trust to bring him here before Eris, who had up until recently been considered an enemy. 

The look Rhys gave Eris was one of pure threat, a warning that one wrong word against Nyx would be met with a swift death. Eris bowed his head in submission, which seemed to satisfy his High Lord.

Azriel smiled widely as Feyre rounded the table, Nyx’s tiny arms stretched out towards his uncle. “Sometimes I think he likes you more than he does me,” Feyre said with a laugh, and placed the squirming baby in Azriel’s arms. 

Azriel reclaimed his seat, propping the boy up in his lap. Nyx was a blend of his parents, his eyes a lovely blue-gray, his hair the same inky black as his father’s. He was the most beautiful baby Azriel had ever seen, and his heart swelled with love as he held him against his chest. 

He looked up to find Eris staring at him wide-eyed, somewhat dazed, his lips parted slightly. Azriel tilted his head in question, but Eris only snapped his mouth shut and swallowed roughly. Azriel desperately wished, not for the first time, that he had daemati abilities so he might learn what Eris was thinking.

Lucien entered next and tentatively took the seat beside Elain, who gave him a small smile. Lucien’s entire body seemed to brighten at that smile, as if that small bit of encouragement had something inside him glowing faintly. Azriel wondered if anyone else noticed it—the faint glow to his golden brown skin. Or perhaps he was imagining it. The Vanserra brothers did seem to have a natural light about them. He was distracted from his thoughts as Nesta, Cassian and Mor sauntered in after Lucien, bickering amongst themselves.

Mor’s rich brown eyes found Azriel and she smiled brightly at him, but then her gaze slid to Eris seated at the table and the warm expression on her face was replaced with icy disdain. Before she could claim the seat beside Azriel, Nesta slid into it instead, giving Mor a cool smile. Cassian rolled his eyes as he sat next to Nesta, and Rhys arched a brow at the silent power struggle that seemed to unfold.

Where's Amren? Azriel cast the thought out to Rhys.

Indisposed. He didn't elaborate further.

When they were all seated, Rhys finally spoke.

“You’re all aware of what happened when Cass and Az went to the continent. Yesterday, Vassa disappeared, presumably summoned back to the lake by Koschei,” Rhys sighed heavily. “And on top of all of that, Elain had a vision. Any ideas you might have about what it means are welcome.” He placed a sheet of paper in front of him and peered down at it.

Elain shifted in her seat as Rhys recited the words she had spoken aloud. When he was finished, no one spoke. Azriel looked at Eris and their eyes met. He knew he wore the same fearful expression on his own face. Azriel gently passed Nyx back to Feyre, too anxious to hold him.

“‘A warning for the son.’ Meaning Eris, I presume?” Nesta asked.

“Presumably, yes,” said Rhys. He turned to Eris with an arched brow. “Any ideas?”

Eris rubbed a hand over his jaw absently, brows furrowed in concentration. “Not off the top of my head. Though I am quite confident nothing good can be drawn from mention of a blood soaked chain,” he said dryly. Did anyone else notice the edge of fear in his voice?

“‘Shadows flee when leaves fall’.” Feyre turned to Azriel. “It could be a warning about your powers. You mentioned they fled the first time you went to the lake.”

“Only that first time. When we went back they behaved normally,” Azriel replied. And what did that have to do with leaves? It was already well into winter. Azriel ground his teeth in frustration. As spymaster and a shadowsinger, he should be able to figure this out.

“What about the past are we supposed to heed?” Cassian asked the room.

“You thought his curse was somehow tied to Autumn,” Azriel said to Eris, who nodded.

“I do, but I’m still not sure how. Koschei has been trapped at that lake presumably for over 15,000 years. Not much has changed in Autumn in that time, if you can believe it. The Autumn scholars, nor I, turned up anything on the history of his curse. If it’s in a book somewhere, we haven’t found it yet.” It didn’t surprise Azriel. Gwyn and Rhys hadn’t found any clear answers either, though they hadn’t given up yet.

“And what about ‘his song shall cease’?” Feyre wondered. “Whose song? Could it be referring to Azriel being a shadowsinger?” No one had an answer for her. Azriel irritably wondered at the usefulness of such a power if no one was able to make any sense of it.

“Well, the last part is surely about Koschei, no? Cast some vessel adrift and darkness will disperse? Koschei being the darkness,” Mor offered. That much made sense to Azriel, but they didn’t know enough about Koschei to determine what was meant by it the ‘vessel’.

They went in circles for two hours, analyzing each word and Elain’s mannerisms as she delivered them. And yet all they could determine was that Koschei would somehow set himself free, but not the actual means of how he would do it.

“Did you see the same destruction that Koschei showed Azriel?” Eris addressed Elain directly. Her cheeks reddened slightly as everyone focused their attention on her and she nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind her pointed ear. 

  “I admit I have some difficulty recalling the images after I’ve spoken them. Perhaps with more practice…” she trailed off, looking guilty. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be of more help. It is a similar experience to recalling a dream upon waking. The images slip away so quickly, and soon I wonder if I ever really saw them at all...” Azriel pondered this. It was the first time he’d heard her speak of her seer powers. He supposed it was a form of balance—that one gifted with the power of sight might be incapable of remembering the visions they beheld. Had she not found them on the terrace, would the vision have been spoken into the air, doomed to be forgotten? “I’m sorry,” she said again, wringing her hands. “The visions I have are more fragmented, I think, than what Azriel was shown by Koschei. Less cohesive.”  

“Don’t apologize. You’ve given us more insight than we could’ve hoped to have otherwise,” Lucien said firmly. Elain flushed a deeper shade of red and looked down at her hands.

“Do you remember anything else? Any faces? Specific people?” Eris pressed, sounding frustrated. Azriel noted the hint of desperation in his voice and his stomach twisted anxiously. Lucien threw his brother a cold look, as if to say back off. Mor and Cassian were glaring at him as well.

“No. Nothing else,” Elain said in a small voice. 

“And what have you done to help get us out of this mess?” Mor asked accusingly. “You’ve spent your time holed up in Autumn. If I remember correctly, you offered to kill Beron before the last war with Hybern. What’s stopping you now?” 

The room went dead silent and Azriel forced himself to hold in his low snarl. It was easy to point fingers at Eris when the fallout had little effect on her. If Eris attempted to kill his father and failed, what did it matter to Mor? She might even prefer that outcome. Eris raised his chin, met her cold gaze.

“I can assure you, as soon as the opportunity presents itself, I intend to,” Eris said tightly. His voice was even but Azriel could practically feel the weight upon his shoulders as if it were his own burden. He desperately wished to reach out to him, grasp his hands where they were fisted on the table.  

“Yeah? And when might that be?” Cassian asked dryly. Nesta gave him a sharp look, which he ignored. Eris dropped all pretenses of civility as he focused on Cassian, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he likely fought to hold in the scathing insult he wanted to hurl at him. Azriel cut in before he could voice it.

“He’s a High Lord. It’s not as easy as waltzing into court to slit his throat,” he snapped.  Cassian merely shrugged and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms against his chest.

“While we’re on the topic of Beron,” Rhys cut in smoothly, “Has he given you any reason to suspect he’s aware of our alliance?” Eris’s gaze lingered on Cassian for a moment, a look of disgust on his face, before he finally turned to Rhys where he sat at the head of the table.

“No. Though he does suspect there are traitors in his court. He’s had more than one lord executed in the past week on charges of treason.” Lucien’s face darkened at his brother’s words, like he suspected there was more to their deaths than Eris was letting on. Azriel’s heart thudded painfully at what he’d been forced to do to those males—how much it had horrified him. He wanted to beg Eris to abandon Autumn and save himself before it was too late, but he knew he’d never listen.

“I understand it’s not as easy some might suggest,” Feyre said carefully, “but it sounds like your window of opportunity is closing.”

“As touched as I am to know you worry about me, Feyre, I have it under control,” Eris drawled. Feyre didn’t smile. Azriel felt her attention slide to him. He held no delusions that his family actually cared for Eris’s well-being, but he knew they likely worried about what it might do to Azriel if his schemes with Beron did not go as planned.

Eliminate Koschei’s sole ally and we might avoid this mess altogether, Rhys said into Azriel’s mind. Perhaps you can convince him to make a move. Azriel tensed at the suggestion. Under no circumstances would he encourage Eris to go up against Beron, no matter how much it might help them.

“Why can’t you kill him?” Nesta asked Rhys. “Surely as the most powerful High Lord in history it would take little effort?” She arched a well-groomed brow. Feyre gave her eldest sister a reproachful look. Azriel looked to Rhys. It might cause them a headache with some of the other Courts, but Nesta wasn’t wrong. It would be easy for Rhys. 

“It could be considered an act of war against all of the Courts,” Rhys answered pointedly. As if they’d discussed this before. 

“But are they not our allies? Would any of them truly care to see Beron killed?” Nesta insisted. “Dealing with the other High Lords seems preferable to facing Koschei.”

“Beron’s death is not mine to claim,” Rhys said firmly. At that, Nesta kept quiet, her eyes darting to Eris. Azriel’s stomach sank. 

The conversation lulled as they contemplated all that they knew. Azriel couldn’t take his eyes off Eris. He didn’t need to understand Elain’s vision to know that Eris was in grave danger. They all were. But the thought of any harm coming to the beautiful, brave male across from him made Azriel want to tear the world apart before Koschei ever got the chance.

***

After hours of bickering and debating Elain’s words, Rhys finally called it quits and told everyone to go home. Nyx had slept through most of the meeting but was now fussing in Feyre’s arms, and he could tell his brother wanted to be alone with his mate and son.

Azriel stood quickly, hoping to catch Eris before he could leave for Autumn, but then Mor sidled up beside him and placed a hand on his arm.

“Can we talk?” All traces of her cool disdain were gone now that Eris had left. Azriel forced his frustration down—plastered a smile on his face, despite the disappointment that settled in his stomach like a rock.    

“Yeah, of course.” He followed Mor as she strolled to the balcony doors that overlooked the endless snow-capped mountains of the Night Court. The magic of the palace kept the jasmine-scented breeze warm as it washed over them, even as drifts of snow swirled in the air like mist. 

“I miss you, Az. I never see you anymore,” she said, bumping her shoulder against his arm. “I don’t like how we left things the last time we spoke.” Azriel forced himself not to grimace. He really didn’t want to talk about this, and he didn’t meet her eyes.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” he offered, hoping she’d drop it. 

“Why did you?” she asked cautiously. 

Azriel suppressed a groan and his heart rate kicked up. He should just tell her and be done with it. He couldn’t avoid her forever, and though they were at odds right now, she was one of his closest and oldest friends. Surely he owed her an explanation. But his heart rebelled at the idea of telling her about Eris. He didn’t want to hear her judgment—couldn’t bear to listen to her say another bad word about him. He sighed and turned to face her. 

Mor’s face was so open and trusting that Azriel let himself take it in for one more minute before he undoubtedly wiped the expression off her face, perhaps permanently. He took a deep breath and blew it out.

“I…don’t know how to tell you this,” he admitted. “I only ask that you hear me out.” She nodded, her expression solemn. “I have been spending a lot of time with Eris. Sharing intel, monitoring the situation with Koschei and Beron.” Her eyes shuttered at the mere mention of Eris’s name. Azriel pushed on, wanting to get it out before she bolted. “Eris is not the male I’ve always thought him to be. He’s…good.” Mor’s eyes flared in shock and Azriel continued quickly. “There are things you don’t know about him, about that night. Secrets that are not mine to share. I will never dismiss your feelings about what happened,” she looked like she was about to be sick, “but I feel…something for him. I wanted you to know because I don’t want to lie to you. And I don’t want to hurt you.” He kept his expression open—let her see the truth of his words. She stared at him, her eyes wide and face pale. A full minute of painful silence passed before she spoke.

“How could you?” She whispered the words as tears welled in her eyes. She backed away a step and shook her head. “Eris?” Azriel’s stomach sank as the tears started falling. “You have feelings for Eris?” The words caught in her throat and her face crumpled.

“Mor, I’m sorry—” he said miserably, but she just shook her head and winnowed away. He remained on the balcony after she left. Was he being unfair? Had he committed some great sin in choosing Eris? For letting himself be happy?

It had gone about as well as he’d expected it to, he supposed. At least she knew now. But the disappointment ate away at him as he stared out at the gray-stoned mountains. Would he be forced to choose between Eris and his family? His chest tightened and his throat felt thick at the thought. There was no question of what Azriel’s choice would be. He only hoped he wouldn’t be forced to make it, for he knew it would fracture their court of dreams apart.

***

Azriel flapped his wings broadly as he soared over the sloping hills on the outskirts of Velaris. He’d chosen to fly back from the Moonstone Palace, needing time to clear his head. Soaring through the skies was the only time he felt any sense of peace—second only to the time he spent with Eris. But the male had already returned home, so he’d have to make do. 

Azriel loved the feel of the wind in his wings, the freedom it offered him. Though he rejected any ties to his Illyrian heritage, he couldn’t deny the song of the wind as it thrummed in his blood. It was a wild, beautiful symphony that spoke to his soul in a way nothing else could. 

As the lights of the city came into view, Azriel flew higher, circling around by the sea. He floated between the twinkling stars above him and their reflection off the dark water below and felt as if he were one with the sky. He dipped and looped through the air for some time before finally landing on the roof of his apartment, exhilarated from the flight. 

He would never grow tired of it. 

***

The moment Azriel stepped into his apartment his shadows settled. A second later, he realized he was not alone. Eris was asleep on his bed. 

His shadows pulsed around Eris slowly, rising and falling in time with his deep breaths. Azriel watched, mesmerized, as they seemed to move as one. They’d never behaved like this before. 

The moonlight lit up Eris’s pale face, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. Azriel wondered if he ever truly slept peacefully in Autumn. If he had somewhere he could go to get away from it all when living in the Forest House became too much. 

Azriel kicked off his shoes and removed his jacket before laying down beside Eris. He tugged Eris’s body against his and melted into his warmth, his nose tucked into his silky hair. He always smelled delicious, like fall leaves and spice and apple cider. Eris stirred and sighed contentedly. He turned in Azriel’s arms and pressed his face into the crook of his neck.

“I thought you went home,” Azriel said quietly, stroking a scarred hand across his muscled back.

“I did,” he mumbled drowsily into Azriel’s skin. Az’s heart swelled, so much he thought it might burst. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.” The words were a soft murmur. 

Azriel let himself enjoy the peaceful silence—he got so little of it these days. The remaining tightness in his chest eased and he wished he could stay like this forever. He savored the feeling of Eris tucked safely against his chest. He knew they should discuss Koschei. Elain’s vision. Beron. All of it, really, but neither seemed able to bring themselves to shatter the quiet calm. He continued rubbing soothing circles along Eris’s back and longed for the day when he could do this whenever he wished 

Eris placed a soft kiss against his throat and slid a hand up Azriel’s chest, letting it rest on his neck. He trailed his lips along Azriel’s sharp jaw and his blood heated instantly. He rolled them so he hovered above Eris on his forearms, met the male’s sleepy gaze.

Azriel leaned down and kissed him deeply, savoring the taste of him. He settled between his legs and felt the already hard length of him pressed against his stomach. Their kisses were slow, and each sweep of their tongues kindled the fire simmering beneath Azriel’s skin. He let himself get lost in Eris until their clothes found the floor and there was nothing between them.

“Azriel,” his name was a whispered plea from his lips. “I want you.” Azriel kissed his neck, dragged his teeth over the smooth skin of his collarbone as he reached down and fisted Eris’s cock.

“You have me.” 

Their lips met again and Azriel groaned against his mouth. Eris sat up, not breaking the kiss, and turned and pushed Azriel back against the headboard. Eris straddled his legs and wrapped a hand tightly around Azriel’s length as he dragged it over the tip. 

Azriel’s hands fell to his hips and he stroked his thumbs over the soft skin. He trailed a hand along Eris’s spine until his fingers found the split of his backside. He lightly brushed them over the slit and trailed them down until they found the sensitive skin there. Eris groaned at the featherlight touch and Azriel pulled him closer with the arm now wrapped around his waist.

“Oil,” he breathed against his lips, and Azriel pulled away to reach to the bedside table where a small vial of oil now sat. Eris sucked at the skin of his neck as Azriel coated his fingers liberally. His hands trembled as he pulled Eris against him, kissed him like he was desperate for air. His heart fluttered nervously in his chest. 

Eris pulled back to look at him, sensing his hesitation. Azriel met his gaze with wide eyes. His cheeks flushed when Eris took his hand and guided it behind him. “Touch me.” The words sent a tremor of pleasure down Azriel’s spine and his cock became painfully stiff.

He slid a finger along his backside, pressed it against his core before pushing it inside slowly. Eris dropped his forehead against Azriel’s with a soft groan. And then their lips met again, achingly slow, as Azriel eased him open. His shadows swirled around them and twined their way up Eris’s arms, whispering against his skin lovingly. 

Azriel added another finger and watched with reverence as Eris let his head fall back in pleasure. He was the most beautiful male he’d ever seen. He knew he was gone for him, and he bit his tongue to keep the words from spilling out of his mouth. 

Azriel dragged an oil-slicked hand up his own cock and lined himself up against Eris. He moaned into Eris’s neck as he slowly sank down onto him, seating himself in Azriel’s lap.

“Eris,” he said his name like a prayer as he pulled his face down for a searing kiss. They moved together, slow and unhurried, until they were both trembling with pleasure, until there was nothing in the world but the two of them. Azriel’s heart burned brighter with each touch, until he was sure it would shine through the shadows and lighten up the darkness. 

Azriel and Eris tumbled over the edge together, each held tightly in the other’s arms.

***

Azriel rested his head back against the pillows. Eris lay beside him, one head on his shoulder as he twined their fingers together.

After they’d cleaned themselves up, Eris had put on the pair of sweatpants Azriel had offered him, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the Heir of the Autumn Court dressed so casually. Eris seemed equally bemused that Azriel owned such unsophisticated clothing, and said as much with a haughty sniff. Even so, the sight of Eris wearing his clothes stirred something low in his gut.

Azriel’s thoughts slowly drifted back to the meeting at the palace, and his subsequent conversation with Mor, and his mood darkened. Eris sensed the change in him immediately.

“What is it?” Eris asked.

“I told Mor,” Azriel said with a sigh. Eris tensed beside him and then propped himself up on an elbow to look down at him. He scanned Azriel’s drawn face, the shadows in his eyes, and grimaced.

“Went that well, did it?” Eris asked dryly. Azriel groaned and pinched his brow between his fingers, massaging away the ache. “Give it time. She associates me with one of the worst moments of her life. I’m not sure that’s something she’ll ever get past,” he said, voice low. Azriel’s temper flared. What happened to Mor was not Eris’s fault and he was sick of him shouldering all of the blame for it.

“I hate that they believe the worst of you. I hate that I believed it for so long.” He’d wasted so much time and energy hating the male beside him. What might their life have been like, if he hadn’t been so blinded by rage? He looked into Eris’s amber eyes. “I’m sorry, Eris.” 

“Don’t be. I played my part well.” Eris brushed a thumb over Azriel’s lips and smiled sadly. 

Azriel thought back to how Nesta had reacted upon learning about him and Eris. She hadn’t judged him, nor had Rhys. Feyre had been civil—polite, even—the last time they spoke. Perhaps he was being unfair. But Cassian… he wasn’t sure what his brother thought of it—or how much he was even aware of at this point.

“Why do you hate Cassian so much?” Azriel asked. 

Eris snorted softly. “What’s to like?” 

Azriel waited. Eris glanced at him, his eyes wary as he scanned Azriel’s face, as if gauging how he might react to the truth. Eris sighed and flopped back onto the pillows, gaze fixed on the ceiling as he rested his corded arms behind his head. Azriel admired his profile, the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of his straight nose. If Eris didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t push. Several minutes passed before he finally spoke.

“When I found out I was to be married to Morrigan I was still young, and still very naive in regard to the reality of being Beron’s heir. I learned quickly, but for a short time I foolishly allowed myself to imagine what it might be like to have an ally. An equal—someone who might have my back, and could help me navigate my father’s scheming court. I was young and unseasoned—and terrified most of the time.” Azriel stared at him, hung on his every word. “My relationship with my brothers has always been complicated. Some of them are worse than others, yes…though the worst of them are now dead.” He grimaced as he said it, a flicker of pain flitting across his face. Azriel felt a pang in his chest at all Eris had endured. “Even still, I tried to protect them. It was my duty, as the eldest.” He swallowed roughly before continuing. “None of us were spared from Beron’s cruelty. He doled it out equally and often. Jasper and Orson survived it in the only way they knew how—they became cold and unfeeling. Vicious, at times. But they weren’t always that way. It was our father’s treatment that warped them into cruel males. They could be horrible. Violent. But I loved them all the same. It got them killed in the end.” His eyes were distant and haunted, lost in the memory. “My brothers could never truly be my allies. I couldn’t trust them fully—not with Beron pitting us against each other. But Mor, my wife, would’ve been my equal, at least in the way that mattered to me. At the time, that was all I wanted. A friend.” His mouth tightened in displeasure, his high cheekbones flushing slightly, as if desiring friendship was something to be ashamed of. He cleared his throat. “I quickly learned she wanted nothing to do with me, that her only wish was to be free of the engagement. I didn’t blame her—I still don’t. I vowed to her that I’d never touch her and instead I offered her friendship. Though thinking back, I can see now how silly that offer must have seemed to her. A life trapped in Autumn, with me as her only companion. Needless to say, she didn’t want it.” Eris sighed and closed his eyes. “Shortly after that conversation I found out that she’d slept with Cassian. She’d made her intentions clear, and I respected her wishes. I told Keir I was no longer interested, and I broke off the engagement in no uncertain terms. You know what happened next.” 

Eris opened his eyes again, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. His voice was even and low, but his pulse fluttered rapidly in his neck. Azriel wanted to roar at the unfairness of it all. That Eris had known cruelty from such a young age. He hated that it was something they had in common.

“And Cassian?” Eris’s eyes burned like twin flames.

“Cassian has everything he could ever want and still manages to feel sorry for himself,” he said scornfully. “He has a family he can trust, a safe place to call home. He’s mated to a powerful, brave female, one who is far too good for him I might add, and he still somehow sees himself as the victim of some great injustice—still thinks of himself as the underdog.” Eris’s voice was like ice. “Cassian is general of the Night Court’s armies. He’s had the job of delivering news of soldiers’ deaths, and yet I doubt it ever crossed his mind that I might be responsible for the Autumn soldiers he killed,” Eris hissed. “That I was the one who had to inform the families of those males that their sons and brothers and fathers and mates are gone forever. I couldn’t even tell them why.” Azriel’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t for one second considered the families of those males—or that Eris would be the one to report their deaths. “He calls me a coward. But what dangers does he face, hiding in Velaris behind his High Lord’s power? I risk my life, every day, to keep Rhysand’s secrets. To protect my mother and my remaining brothers. To lessen the stain of Beron’s rule in Autumn. I wonder how powerful Cassian might feel if he were forced to live in Illyria, or the Hewn City, for the rest of his life.” Even though the words were not directed at him, Azriel felt his face flush with shame. “I’ve never met someone so willfully blind to how good his lot is in life. It’s pathetic,” Eris said coolly. “So for Mor to choose him, to choose what was done to her, over shackling herself to me? Fine. That was her right. But to be blamed for it, when I played no part in what was done to her? To be made out as a monster, equal in measure to Keir, by the very male who brought the hardship upon Mor in the first place?” Eris clenched his jaw and the temperature in the room spiked. “He’s an ungrateful, selfish prick.” 

Azriel swallowed roughly and studied Eris’s cold face. Mother spare him, but…he understood. He really did. Gods. They were all incredibly lucky, each and every one of them. Azriel didn’t know what to say. He was guilty of a lot of the same things Cassian had done. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice hoarse. “You’re right. I—Gods, Eris. I’m sorry.” Eris didn’t look at him, but he reached down and grabbed Azriel’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

“Don’t apologize. I don’t blame you,” Eris said. Azriel laid back on his side so he could watch Eris while he gazed up at the ceiling. Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Azriel thought about all Eris had said. He knew in his heart that Cassian had hated killing those soldiers. Eris was wrong to think it didn’t affect him. Just because Azriel was a bastard and hadn’t thought of those families didn’t mean Cassian hadn’t either. He couldn’t be sure, though, so he didn’t defend him. Eris was justified in his anger.

Azriel sighed and closed his eyes. It was all so complicated. He hated himself for the part he played in all of it, and vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to make up for it—for the centuries of judgment levied against Eris.

Eris finally dragged his gaze from the ceiling and looked at Azriel. He rolled over onto his side so they were facing each other and reached out to brush aside the dark waves that had fallen across Azriel’s forehead. He smiled faintly.

“Do you have to go back?” Azriel asked softly.

“Yes.” But Eris made no move to get up.

“Should we talk about Elain’s vision?” 

“Not tonight.”

So they didn’t. Azriel and Eris remained like that, legs and hands intertwined, content in their silence, until the late hour sent Eris from the safety of Azriel’s apartment. 

He took the warmth and Azriel’s heart with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Full Chapter List

Tag List: @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @christeareads @jules-writes-stories

[oxygenbefore1775]

brief summary of jeankasa 3+1 witcher! au fic that I desperately want to write but would probably never do

(fiy this is books&games based, netflix series can go to hell)

Jean (early 30s) is the head of the royal guard of the Kaedweni King Henselt and the veteran of Brenna Mikasa (probs 40s-50s) is the sorceress at the Royal Court of Kaedwen, the veteran of the Sodden Hill and Brenna; her sorcery is almost exclusively good for the battlefield only and her politic influence is almost non-existent which is probably why Henselt tolerates her presence at court despite the fact that she is a half-elf

1: the year is something 1270-1271, before the death of Demavend and the beginning of the second northern war, Kaedwen

Henselt is on the hunt in the forest for boar despite the recent sightings of monsters/scoia’tael in the royal woods. Unable to change the king’s mind on the safety concerns, Jean insists Mikasa accompany them for protection. Jean likes Mikasa (something he suspects her of as well), but his duties as the royal guard keep him near the King, while she spends most of her time away from Court - and thus, he uses the opportunity to spend some time with her. Suddenly, a chort attacks the party, ramming down the front rows of the huntsmen (the beast probably had its den nearby and the presence of intruders who were ignorant of its warnings were enough of a nuisance to slay). Jean orders his soldiers to get to the King while he, momentarily forgetting the true extent of her abilities, rushes to Mikasa, who has kept to the side of the party. As the chort charges a second time, Mikasa makes a split-second decision to create a portal, moving the King and the majority of the party to a safe distance. However, the portal doesn’t last long enough for Mikasa and Jean to get to it before closing, leaving them alone in the woods with the rampaging beast. Setting up a portal is easy, but it still requires concentration to avoid rendering the transportation deadly - something Mikasa currently lacks. Additionally, the chort proves invulnerable to the sorceress’s magic and the soldier’s steel sword, leaving Jean and Mikasa no choice but to run. When that soon becomes ineffective, Mikasa takes a risk and teleports them. To compensate for the danger, she connects the portal to the place most familiar to her, one she can easily visualize. As luck would have it, that place turns out to be Mikasa’s chambers back at the castle. They tumble onto her featherbed. [...] Before they can do something about their compromised position though, the castle servants burst through the doors to investigate the noise.

2: the year is also something 1271, after the battle of Vergen but before the Loch Muinne gathering

The Royal Ball is held at Ard Carraigh in celebration of Henselt's crushing victory over the Vergen defenses. Jean enjoys the festivities, but Mikasa, despite being a sorceress, stands aside and doesn't engage in any conversations. Jean asks her to dance, and she agrees. As they dance, Mikasa shares her concerns about their victory over the army consisting largely of elder races, fearing it will fuel racist sentiments towards non-humans, of which she is one. Jean suggests that she seek ties with the noble families of Kaedwen to further her influence and spread anti-racism sentiments. Mikasa responds that it wouldn't be possible since she is not seen as marriage material by the nobles. Jean reassures her that such matters wouldn’t concern him (implying his deep feelings for her). Before they can kiss, the dance requires them to switch partners, leaving their moment unfinished.

3: the year is 1271-1272, Nilfgaard has invaded Kaedwen already

After the battle with Nilfgaardian forces, Jean is left wounded. Despite the draining nature of healing magic, which she doesn't often practice, Mikasa goes out of her way to treat him. Using this brief moment of peace, Mikasa takes the opportunity to talk to Jean before he is moved from the front lines to an infirmary deep in the country. Kaedwen emerged victorious from the battle, but Jean is still worried since it was only vanguard forces of Nilfgaard; a much larger and more powerful army is still to come. However, he holds out hope as King Radovid is coming to their aid soon. Mikasa doesn’t share his sentiments, hope is a fool’s ally. She confesses her frustrations with her duty and the Lodge's expectations, admitting that she sometimes dreams of escaping the pressures placed upon her. However, she quickly reassures herself and Jean (if he were awake to hear it) that she would never abandon her responsibilities, especially if her efforts mean keeping the ones she holds dear safe. She hints at her feelings for Jean, hoping for a moment of connection. What she doesn’t notice is that Jean has fallen asleep thanks to her treatment and thus is unable to hear her. Before realizing this, Mikasa had hoped for a farewell kill, but now it doesn't seem appropriate.

4: 1272, after Radovid’s annexation of Kaedwen

After Radovid takes power in Kaedwen, he butchers almost all of the sorcerers and imprisons Mikasa to later torture her - not for information but to set an example to all others seeing as she’s a sorceress at the royal court. As she stays shackled in the dungeons of Ard Carraigh, Jean comes to her rescue. He sneaks her out of the dungeons by using the remaining influence that stayed from the years he served as the royal guard. He leads her to the channel on the outskirts of the city where an inconspicuous carriage waits for her - Jean has arranged it so that Mikasa will travel to the north where she can go to Kovir and Poviss in search of sanctuary. Mikasa wants Jean to go with her but he can’t leave his parents like this fearing that him fleeing will result in their deaths and generally he is in no danger under Radovid’s rule. It’s implied that they won’t see each other for quite some time, maybe years, so before saying her final goodbye Mikasa kisses him and disappears into the dark.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

🦀 👑 - MIRELURK QUEEN for Piper and ❛ you’re my family too. ❜? I think the quote works perfect for her

Welp, this one is just awfully sweet 🥺 and you're absolutely right, it's a perfect Piper quote!

She deserved some more love this event, so I'm glad she got this sweet ask :)

I hope you like it!

"Piper?" Your brows raised high on your head, eyes widening with disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

The reporter didn't bother answering-- with words, anyway-- instead, she fell straight into you, wrapping her arms tightly around your shoulders as she collided with a force that almost knocked the wind from your lungs.

"You-- I thought you were gonna stay in Diamond City..." You whispered, your own arms falling to reciprocate her all-encompassing embrace.

"I had to see you off, Blue."

Your chest warmed at the sentiment, your hands wrapping all the tighter around her as you buried your face in her shoulder.

"I'm glad you came."

"Me too." She said, looking over your shoulder as her eyes caught the blinking lights of the menacing device behind you. The portal that was here only to whisk you away to the most dangerous place she could imagine.

And Piper could imagine quite a lot.

Finally, you shifted in her embrace, and the two of you pulled away from one another.

"I couldn't let you face this on your own."

You nodded at that, the hollowness you'd felt before she arrived returning for a brief moment in the face of your imminent departure to the infamous Institute.

"But what about Nat?" Your mind pushed what Piper had said to the forefront, reminding you why she hadn't come with you in the first place. "What about leaving her behind, about keeping her safe. The mayor--"

"I left her with Ellie." The reporter interjected, "She'll be safe with her. I think." Piper bit her lip, her eyes uncertain as they looked to the ground below. "I hope."

You smiled at her, your brows creased with empathy.

"She will be." Your words were firm as you took a step closer to her. "I know she will. She's scrappy." You gave her a light punch in the shoulder, and that forced a small grin to her lips.

"Just like her sister." You added.

"Yeah... No, you're right. I shouldn't worry so much. I just..."

"She's the only family you have left." You said somberly, your gaze fogged over with your own emotions concerning the matter. "I get it, Piper. I do."

Her expressive eyes snapped to your own, blazing with a new sort of determination.

"No." She shook her head firmly.

"N-no?"

"No." She said it with a shrug this time, as though it was an obvious sort of response.

"It's true, she's my sister. I love her more than anything in the world, and she has been my only other family for so long. But, now it's different. She's... not the only one anymore."

Your eyebrows creased together tightly, and Piper just smiled, shaking her head at your visible confusion.

"It's you, Blue!" She burst out finally, "You're my family now, too. That's why I had to be here, why I couldn't let you go... in there, without saying goodbye first."

You smiled as you nodded your understanding to her, but Piper could see the sadness in your eyes. The worry.

Saying 'goodbye'...

"Goodbye..." Piper continued, placing a hand on your shoulder to pull you out of your thoughts. "And good luck... and, I'll see you soon."

The reporter's grip on your shoulder tightened, and she dragged you forward and into her arms once again.

"I don't know what you're going to find in there, but... You're the strongest person I've ever met. And you're going to get out of it. You're going to find him. I just know it." She whispered over your shoulder, and you felt your chest warm at her words.

"And then..." You started hesitantly, and she waited for you to continue, never releasing you from her comforting embrace. "Then we can be a family again?"

You heard her release a breath, a small chuckle in response.

"Absolutely." She smiled into your shoulder as she spoke, "So you'd better make it back. Cuz if you don't, well, I'll just come in after you."

A laugh escaped you at the thought of it.

I wouldn't doubt it. You found yourself thinking as you reluctantly began to pull away.

"Because, like you said, I'm scrappy... And because family has to stick together, no matter what." Piper finished with a definitive nod, both her hands still resting firmly at your shoulders, as though she couldn't bare to let you leave just yet.

"And also because you want to get the in-person scoop on the Institute yourself."

"Well... Now that you mention it..." She looked away as she laughed, and you couldn't help but join her in the mirth. The bit of light fun, on the cusp of leaving to perhaps the most dangerous place in all the Wasteland, to find out once and for all if your son, your one true remaining family member, was still alive.

No matter what happens, you reminded yourself, Piper will be here for me. Piper... and Nat.

My family...

[baradorable]

Name: Rift (Raymond Cruz) Age: Thirties Gender: Male Species: Human (Mutant) Occupation: Freelancer/Mercenary Allegiance: Krakoa (Former), Orchis (Former)

Art done by GeckoBara

This is my X-Men OC. Rift, AKA Raymond Cruz, is a mutant with the power to create portals. His abilities have made him a top asset for many groups. 

Personality

Rift is the "love 'em and leave 'em" type. Since he can always just use portals to leave any situation he wants, he's quick to ditch relationships and situations when things hit a rough patch. He does that with most situations, really. He's a mercenary, though he won't do anything he deems too evil, like kidnapping or murder. He's still willing to commit other crimes if they pay well. And given how useful his powers are, he makes sure to charge a lot for his services.

He's smart, charismatic, and able to analyze situations well. He's strategic. Which makes him dangerous. He has a competitive side, which can sometimes slip out on the field. If you're able to get him in the right mindset, you can get him to forget his carefully-crafted plans and possibly mess up.

Because he invested a lot of time in developing his powers, he's come up with a lot of strategies to fully exploit them. He knows his limits and potential well. He takes pride in his abilities and the need people have for them. So he gets jealous interacting with someone more powerful than him. His worst trait is that he'll try to one-up these people. In extreme cases, he might even try to sabotage them to bring them down. He's backstabbed some of his fellow mercs to ensure he comes out on top.

Part of this is a desire to be liked. He grew up in a very anti-mutant world, so he's used to being disliked for who he is. He secretly craves validation. Since he abandons people quickly, he struggles to form strong bonds. On the rare occasions he finds a serious relationship with someone, his jealousy and competitive often lead him to sabotaging anyone he sees as a threat to the relationship.

When he’s off-duty and walking around in his normal life, he takes on the persona of a shallow himbo.  He speaks in a flighty tone, seemingly misses big social cues, and freely speaks his mind in a way that can inadvertently hurt someone's feelings. He's cultivated the image of a in idiot for his own gain. It's a persona that allows him to have fun and avoid showing his true self; someone who strives to be perfect and beloved. After all, it hurts when people reject the real you. But if they reject the mask you put on - the act that doesn't represent the real you - then there's no harm done.

TL;DR: He's smart and hot. He's flaky and possessive. But he's hot, so it's okay. He's a good guy. He's just not a nice guy.

Backstory

Rift is American. His mother immigrated from Ireland in the mid or late '80's. His dad was born in America, but I haven't decided where his family is from. I'm thinking Portuguese, just for some self-indulgence. But also because Marvel doesn't have any Portuguese heroes at the moment.

His powers activated when he was 14, and he would spend the next several years working on developing his powers. He'd frequently ditch school or home, due to anti-mutant sentiment held by the people around him. He ended up developing some prejudices towards humans.

He ended up making a business out of transporting people around. Think Uber, but faster and with more range. Once word of his powers got around, various organizations began to seek him out. Rift would eventually parlay into full freelance mercenary and spy work.

Here's my idea of how he fits into the Marvel universe. You can ignore this if you don’t follow X-Men continuity.

He was one of the mutants depowered by M-Day, but came to Krakoa and got resurrected to get this powers back. His natural prejudice towards humans made him predisposed to liking the nation, and he was willing to lend his services to X-Force in order to help mutants.

However, the Five were very hesitant to remove his secondary, eye-based mutation; one he always kept hidden out of resentment and disgust. Many other mutants insisted the should keep his extra eyes and take pride in being different. Empty platitudes that he found patronizing. So he left and continued his work as a freelancer.

He ended up coming across Orchis, who would hire him on to spy on Krakoans and allow them to move around the world without notice. Orchis is an organization made up of people from several groups (S.H.I.E.L.D., A.I.M., HYDRA, etc.) to deal with the threat of humans becoming extinct and supplanted by mutants. 

While he knew they were anti-mutant, He was unaware just how anti-mutant they actually are. They paid well, so he could stand to put up with them if he got something out of it. And it put him in conflict with other mutants, so he'd always have the opportunity to test his powers. 

Of course, come Fall of X, they inevitably betrayed him and every other mutant. He was on a mission to Arakko during the third Hellfire Gala, thus avoiding most of the chaos. Once he heard about how Orchis attacked Krakoa, he fled to deep space and stayed there for a few months.

After Fall of X, he returned to Earth. He hated humans even more after they supported Orchis’ anti-mutant tactics. But he also hated the X-Men, since they and the leaders of Krakoa let the only sanctuary for mutants fall.

Job

He's a "freelancer" (read: mercenary) who works with various groups. His official codename is Rift, but for various business-related reasons, he's also known by several aliases: Bluebird, Luscinia, Luzon, Cardinal, Ripple, and Thrush.

He'll use a different name to obscure his identity, or know what kind of group is hiring him. For example, one criminal organization calls him Cardinal. Anyone who calls him by that name is likely associated with that organization. The NYPD know him as Luscinia.

He has different ways for people to contact him, and the type of name they use for him tells him what kind of work they have in mind, or who's hiring him. The goal is to keep everything separate, & being able to filter what kind of job he chooses to accept. (It's actually a lot more complex than having different phone numbers, but I'm giving you the simplified take.)

He doesn't kill, and he avoids directly harming innocent people. Spying, stealing information and theft are okay though.

Portal Power

Rift’s main power is to create portals, which he uses to spy on others, transport people, smuggle things, or create diversions. He rarely fights people directly; instead, he uses his powers to mess with the field. When creating a portal, one will open up close to him, and will connect to a portal that will appear at his desired location. His range is about 15,000 km. He can't access other dimensions through his power, but he can teleport around a dimension he's currently in.

His powers require him to see a location in front of him, or to have been there before. Otherwise, his powers "guess" the location, and open a portal to a completely random location on the planet, usually within two thousand miles of his current location. His power is also location-based, not person-based; he can't specifically try to find a person unless he knows their exact location. So no thinking of Spider-Man and trying to catch him at home.

These portals, once opened, can exist independently of Rift. He usually wills them to close instantly after he uses them, and can choose for how long they remain open Otherwise, they close after about two minutes, regardless if they're used. The portals can be any size, as long as they fall under 24 feet in diameter; they can't grow beyond that to accommodate travel for larger opens or things. There are no limits as to how many people can go through.

The number of portals active depend on their size. So he can create a lot of small, hand-sized portals at once, but only two 12 foot portals. Distance has no affect on his ability to make portals, though firing off too many portals in rapid succession will tire him out.

A cool side-effect of his portals is they won't bring anyone to a place that's impossible to visit. You can't be brought to the inside of a solid object, or in an area too small for one to logically fit. The powers can drop you into the ocean, but they won't place you inside a whale or trap you halfway through a statue. Because of this limitation, Rift can't open up a portal inside your guts, or force you through a portal into a chest at the bottom of the sea.

Other Notable Techniques

Moo-neuver: He opens a portal and lets stampeding cattle run over his opponents.

Torrent: Opens a portal to somewhere in the ocean, shooting forth a torrent of water at a target.

Smokescreen: By opening a portal above a factory chimney, he blasts his opponent with smoke.

Perfect Aim: If he has a firearm, he can open up one portal at the top of his gun, and and another in front of the target. By sending the projectile through the portal, he’s almost guaranteed to hit his target and avoid anything getting in the crossfire.

Black Hole: A theory, one he hasn’t tested out. What happens if you open a portal inside another portal? Or if two portals open into each other? Can two locations exist in the same place, at the same time? This results in neutron degeneracy pressure, where the rifts collapse in on each other to create a black hole. 

Scatter Slap: A secret technique he hasn’t discovered yet. He can touch something and open up countless tiny portals on a molecular level, getting in-between a person’s molecules/atoms/whatever the hell. This would let him instantly scatter someone or something across the world with his powers. Instant vaporization.

Secondary Mutation

He has another mutation: red eyes that grow on his arms. They're basically like tattoos, but become actual eyes when exposed to enough direct sunlight. The more sunlight his body gets, the more eyes appear. His skin will also turn red, and the eyes on his face will turn red, and gain black sclera. They can blink and look around independently, but he currently has no control over them, nor can he see through them.  Without sunlight, he begins to revert to his usual state. 

He's ashamed of this mutation, so he always covers up. 

He doesn't know it, but should he let his second mutation run its course, he'll be able to see from all of these eyes at once. If someone makes eye contact with them, the eyes can temporarily "steal" their sight, giving Rift the ability to see through that person's eyes. Meanwhile, that person now sees from one of the eyes on Rift's body. It's a very disorienting power.

His primary power is about escaping and providing his own personal freedom. His secondary power is about trapping others and taking things away from them. I feel like it's a good metaphor for his personality: he's flexible and living his best life, but has a sinister, controlling side that even he isn't fully aware of.

Trivia

Time for some fun

He’s bisexual. He leans more towards women, romantically. He leans towards men, sexually.

Claims to be a top, since one-upping and dominating others is his thing. But he’s actually verse top.

Has used his powers during sex.

He’s definitely a dom in bed. Very kinky, very in control. But sometimes, with the right partner, he’s can turn into the biggest sub you can imagine.

He used to have casual sex with a human friend who admired his eye-based mutation. That something Rift hated about himself was beautiful to him. This friend took Mothervine to try and force a mutation in himself, but would end up dying from the result. As he was dying, Rift broke him out of the hospital so they could spend their final moments at their favorite beach.  

Expert frotter.

He’s a quarter fairy. He has the potential to learn magic, but doesn’t know it. I like to imagine this magic would let him access Otherworld, or other dimensions.

[the-peddito-and-doise-show]

HURRY UP I DONT KNOW IF DOISE CAN FIGHT FAKE PEDDITO BY HIMSELF (even tho i love him lots)

Also, i hope gusto and peddito are able to make up 💔💔

“Look, Gusto… I’m-a sorry for-a leaving you and the others behind, I really am. If-a we could, we would’ve done it already, but it’s-a just that… uhh…” Gusto: “Okay, I’ve heard enough. This is what you come up for an apology? I may-a be a dumb sack of potatoes (as Meister Stiff said), but at-a least I know that I’m-a DONE with this-a nonsense! I’m-a DONE! You and Doise abandoned us here when we were at our-a worst point yet! Even your… your… came back here, and-a he couldn’t come up with anything as well! One thing STAYED consistent—and THAT was your awful APOLOGIES!”

Gusto: “I hoped. I hoped, even though it-a seemed impossible, that-a you would come back someday when you first left. I really did. With each day passing, I started losing more and more faith… until it-a just… was gone. Do you know what-a that-a feels like, Peddito?” “…” Gusto: “I didn’t think so.” Both sat in silence for a moment, as a deep look of regret formed on Peddito’s face. He truly regretted what he did, all those several decades ago. He really did. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words to fix their long broken relationship… until something clicked in his head. “Gusto?” Gusto: “…What?” Peddito took a deep breath, as he made eye contact with Gusto, letting him know that he did have to say something in particular. “We—I couldn’t get to you, Gusto. When we found-a the portal that-a just-a appeared out of nowhere one day, the first thing I planned to do after going in to check the strange surroundings inside there was to get-a you and the others. But-a the portal was-a closing in fast when we looked back. We desperately ran as fast as we could towards the portal… we just kept running, and running, and running—yet, we never made it. We never did. You’re-a not the only one who spent eternity stranded in an otherworldly dimension, trying to keep ourselves alive. Each time I slept, I thought of you and the others. Lost. Frightened. Confused. Each time, I woke up, with heavy amounts of-a regrets chained to me. With each day passing, I started losing faith, until it-a just… was gone. Do you know what-a that-a feels like, Gusto?” Once again, both were in silence. Gusto: “…” “…” “…I’m-a sorry, Gusto. I hope that you can forgive me.” Gusto: “…” Gusto: “…I’m-a sorry too.”

For a moment, they looked at each other for the third time in a row—as they weirdly started to laugh about the whole thing, laughing on and on… before hugging each other, crying out waterfalls. Both of them had never been this both happy and sad at the same time.

This time, they finally understood each other, even after everything they’ve gone through.

—————————————————————

Meanwhile, the gang was busily traveling through the depths of the white void—wanting to both save Doise and an entire dimension at hand.

“WAIT! STOP EVERYTHING!”

Then, everyone stopped in their tracks, as they all looked towards Pizzamancer in annoyance, hesitance, confusion… you get the idea.

“Do we even know where we’re going? And plus, GET THIS RAT OFF MY BACK!”

He shook furiously, as Cement (who thought he was getting a casual free ride) desperately hanged on for his life.

“I don’t know, maybe you should’ve thought of that BEFORE we wasted several minutes of our time running into pretty much towards nowhere, jackass!”

Several agreements came and went after Doisette’s sentiment.

Meister Stiff: “Maybe that portal up there should solve our dilemma!”

Meister Stiff then proceeded to point upwards, due to the propeller hat allowing him to be way up in the air and to be able to notice things that most people wouldn’t notice.

There was, indeed, a portal up above them.

“How did we miss that?” Both Doise Chan and Peeperman exclaimed.

Eigilante: “They don’t pay me enough for this…”

Meister Stiff: “Nobody pays you—you just like to beat up people.”

Eigilante: “Oh, right.”

“WHATEVER! Let’s go in there immediately; we’re wasting time!”

[nakachuchu]

Fictional Love | Park Ilpyo

SYNOPSIS: He knew he was a fictional character, but he fell in love with you anyways.

READER: gender neutral

WORDS: 1.1k

WRITTEN: 03/15/2023

NOTE: Thank you @sonicfangirl123 for requesting! I will be doing your other requests before the month ends :) Sorry this one didn't end with any tail cuddling!

Park Ilpyo was aware that he was a fictional creation made for the amusement of readers and viewers everywhere. He struggled to come to grips with the knowledge, which left him feeling empty and lost. He had always been proud of his tenacity and resolve, but now he questioned the purpose of it all.

Ilpyo had a responsibility to fulfill despite his difficulties. What he wanted didn't matter. He was an important person that would help determine the future of the entire planet, so he couldn't allow his sadness to get in the way of his work. So, he set aside his emotions and carried out his tasks, using all of his strength to battle the forces of evil.

He first encountered you in one of the conflicts. He had never met anyone quite like you. Even though he had never expressed his sentiments to anybody before, you seemed to understand him.

Ilpyo found himself attracted to you as you battled side by side. He was inspired by your fortitude and tenacity and felt more alive than he had in a long time.

Yet he couldn't quite put his finger on something else about you. It appeared as though he was powerless against whatever influence you had over him. It wasn't until later, when they were alone together, that you revealed the truth.

"I know who you are," you said. "I know that you're a fictional character, and I know that you're struggling. I can help you," you said. "I have the power to bring you into the real world, where you can be free from the constraints of your story. Are you interested?"

He didn't hesitate. He knew that this was his chance to escape the fictional world that had been weighing him down for so long. He took your hand and stepped into a portal, leaving behind his world.

The moment he stepped into the real world, the weight of his burden became clear. He had spent years fighting against those who wanted to take over the world. Now he had to face the reality of his life, without the safety net of his fiction. But, he liked that. He liked knowing that he was free.

You took him to a beautiful place, where the trees were so tall that the sky seemed to be the limit. There were flowers of every color and type, as well as birds of every feather and bird.

The air was so pure that he could smell the cleanness of the earth after a good rain. The birds were so full of life that he felt they could fly away at any moment and never look back. He wanted to run through the meadows and chase after the birds, but he knew that he had to settle for gazing at them from afar.

"Welcome to my world, Ilypo," you said.

He smiled at you. You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Thank you for bringing me here," he said.

"You're welcome. I've watched over your story for years now. You weren't supposed to find out, but because you were blessed by the gods in your story, you ended up finding out.

He was grateful that you had taken care of him. He looked around. You had created a beautiful garden, complete with flowers, trees, and even a lake. Everything was in perfect harmony.

"I have no other purpose in this world than to create beauty and watch over stories," you explained.

He understood. You were a goddess, and you had a purpose. Your purpose was to create stories and watch them unfold. Much like him, you were a slave to the world.

"I'm a goddess, and it's what I do. I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble, but I had to do it, you know, for the good of the world,” you said with a hesitant smile and a shrug.

"I got to live out my story and you got to watch it happen. It's just the way things happened. It was a win-win situation,” he replied.

He had to see the better half of things or he'd fall into a bottomless pit that he would never get out of.

You smiled at him. His story had been one of the best written. You had been so happy to have been the one to bring it to life.

He was so grateful that you had chosen him to be the hero of his story.

"Are you hungry? I can conjure up a restaurant."

You waved your hand and a cloud of dust wafted up, signifying that a building had appeared out of thin air. Ilypo's eyes widened, impressed. You smiled at his reaction, liking the attention from him.

“I do like ramen,” he said.

You laughed. “Enjoy yourself. I have a book that needs finishing, I'll be a bit busy but help yourself to this world because it's our world now.”

‘Our world.’ He liked the sound of that.

"I'll be back for you, my love," you said.

Then, you disappeared into the air and left him alone in the beautiful, bright meadow.

Ilypo smiled to himself before grabbing a book from the plant-made bookcase in the middle of the meadow.

He sat under a tree to read the first book from your world. The book was about a young boy who was given a destiny at his birth. He had to hold the entire world up with his soft hands and innocence, but the burden was too high.

He couldn't live up to the expectations of his people. They needed a savior, not a child. Ilypo understood.

Despite everything, he enjoyed reading the book. It gave him a sense of peace and control. Even though there wasn't much going on in his own life, being able to transport himself to another world was all he had to ease the pain.

Ilypo closed the book and put it back on the shelf in the meadow. He looked up at the blue sky. The sun was shining through a gap in the clouds, warming the air and creating a rainbow of colors in the grass. It was a sight to behold.

He closed his eyes and let his mind wander as he read. The more he read, the more he believed that this was the world he belonged in. He was enjoying the new world, but he missed you.

"Thinking about me?" you questioned.

He opened his eyes and smiled. You were leaning over him, casting a shadow over his face.

"How did you know?"

"Easy guess," you replied. "Have you eaten?"

"Not yet."

"Well, let's eat because I'm starving."

[autolovecraft]

There was nothing like a ladder in the tomb.

It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the bald fact of imprisonment so far from the tomb. In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. His drinking, of course, only aggravated what it was meant to alleviate. Being without superstition, he did not heed the day at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week. His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible. Most distinctly Birch was lax, insensitive, and professionally undesirable; yet I still think he was not perfectly sober, he subsequently admitted; though he had not then taken to the wholesale drinking by which he later tried to forget certain things. Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily? Armington helped Birch to the outside of a spare bed and sent his little son Edwin for Dr. Davis. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not shake clear of the unknown grasp which held his feet in relentless captivity. He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before. He had not forgotten the criticism aroused when Hannah Bixby's relatives, wishing to transport her body to the cemetery in the city whither they had moved, found the casket of Judge Capwell beneath her headstone. Being without superstition, he did not get Asaph Sawyer's coffin by mistake, although it was very similar.

Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol.

In either case it would have been appropriate; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. He could not walk, it appeared, and the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge; his fingers clawing the black mold in brainless haste, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom step of his grim device, Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom. It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight.

I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before.

He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer.

[mythicandco]

It was not often that Emperor Belos visited Hunter’s room.

Usually he was working on the portal or in his throne room, or occasionally roaming the castle halls after dark. Hunter had once seen him without his mask, staring at a mural of the Savage Ages. He’d somehow looked equally disgusted and wistful. He was saying something under his breath that could’ve been a conversation, had there been anyone around to talk to.

Hunter had left his uncle alone that night.

But today Hunter was just sitting in his room doodling Red, waiting for new orders to come in. He’d grown weirdly attached to the palisman since they had flown in his window, and they were a wonderful model, sitting perfectly still while he tried to capture every detail and shadow. He wasn’t very good, but he was sure he was improving.

That was when a gentle, yet resounding knock sounded from the other side of his door, and a familiar voice asked, “Hunter, may I come in?”

Hunter’s eyes went wide and his palisman ducked under his pillow in a flash. He stashed his drawings under the bed and said, “Come in!”

Emperor Belos pushed open the door with the care of a potionist concocting a delicate brew. He was wearing his mask, but it looked like he’d thrown it on in a hurry and hadn’t tucked his hair out of the way, instead having it tied loosely up into a ponytail.

Hunter always got deja-vu when he saw his uncle with this hairstyle. The last time he’d had it up like this was when Hunter had accidentally damaged his staff and Belos had gladly agreed to help him fix it. He wasn’t sure why his uncle had been so eager to help him fix his mistake. It seemed like every passing day made Belos’ curse worsen, and his fuse shorten.

But even with his outbursts of violence (which were all perfectly reasonable considering the circumstances of each one), Belos still cared about Hunter. He trusted him with secrets he never told anyone else, and appreciated and cared about him as long as he stayed loyal and useful. Hunter remembered the stories his uncle would tell when he was little, tales of two brothers who went on adventures and quests and sometimes messed up, but ultimately cared about each other above all else.

Belos had never told the character’s names, but Hunter had always kind of imaged them in his head as himself and his uncle. He wasn’t sure why, but it was just what felt right.

Belos’ hand hovered in midair for a moment, before he reached up to take off his mask. The door shut behind him and he sat down next to Hunter, looking at the wall.

“Are you alright, Uncle?”

“Yes,” he smiled a little bit. “Thanks mainly to you. I’m proud of you for getting the Titan’s blood. You did well.”

“I almost didn’t,” Hunter replied, looking away. “I almost failed again.”

“We mustn’t dwell on would’ves and could’ves,” Belos waved a hand almost dismissively, as though he was clearing himself of those thoughts as well. “What matters is that the Day of Unity is closer than ever, and it’s because of your hard work.”

Hunter couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Emperor Belos.” He paused, recalling a question he’d never been able to ask. The last time he’d wondered about this aloud, Belos had turned him away and said, “Maybe at a later time.”

But now seemed like as good a time as any - he’d come into Hunter’s room, most likely just to talk to him. The Titan’s plans were going smoothly and everyone had a moment to stop and breathe. But on the other hand, if Hunter asked, his uncle might leave. He might never get a chance to sit side-by-side with him like they were brothers again. But on the other other hand, what use was sitting in silence?

“Uncle, I’ve been… meaning to ask you something,” Hunter admitted finally before he could chicken out. He bit his lip as Belos turned his full attention on him, already regretting his decision. Well, no turning back now. “With the Titan’s blood acquired and the portal almost ready and how everyone’s taking a little break before the Day of Unity arrives, I thought it would be a good time to ask.” He swallowed. Moment of truth. “…Who were my parents? A-and I know they were killed by wild magic,” he added, “but what were they like before?”

Belos’ expression turned from listening intently to horrified to very, very sad in less than a heartbeat.

Hunter’s back straightened. “I-I mean, y-you don’t have to-“

Belos held up a hand, silencing his nephew. “No, it’s alright. You have a right to ask. It’s only fair after the trouble I’ve put you through.” He chuckled, but it was dry in his throat. “I didn’t…” He hesitated.

“Your mother was a wonderful woman. She was always going off to slay beasts or tame small creatures. I know she loved animals and had a fiery spirit. And your father loved her very, very much.” He paused. “We didn’t part on the best of terms. I wish I could’ve told her that I was happy for her.”

“You said not to dwell on would’ves and could’ves,” Hunter pointed out. Belos smiled again.

“Yes, well, I suppose deep down we’re all sentimental old historians,” his uncle responded. “Now, I knew your father very well. He and I would always get into all kinds of trouble. It hardly mattered when one of us fell, because the other would help him back to his feet. We almost never saw eye-to-eye, always butting heads, but it was the kind of friendly rivalry good friends are supposed to have. He was like a brother to me.” His expression hardened.

“I’m sorry you don’t have a sibling, Hunter.”

“I-“ the witch paused. This thought had occurred to him only once, back when he was little. It was a silly thought - who needed a sibling when your uncle was the emperor of the Boiling Isles, and your family was his entire Coven? Hunter didn’t need friends to weigh him down, not when he had big things to accomplish. “What do you mean? I have you.”

Belos visibly winced, and Hunter flinched. He’d said something wrong, now he was going to be left alone again, or maybe worse, please don’t-

But the emperor didn’t move beyond that, and instead let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “You are the spitting image of him.”

Hunter took a moment to process this. “My father?” he finally asked. Instead of replying, Belos stood up. Hunter’s worry increased. He had said something wrong, he had upset his uncle! “I’m sorry,” he stood up as well. “Whatever I said wrong, I didn’t-“

“It’s not your fault, Hunter. I must get back to work.” Belos put his mask back on, and then he was gone. The door shut behind him with a click.

Hunter buried his head in his pillow with a muffled sob. An indignant chirp startled him from his wallowing in self-pity.

“Huh?” he sat up, ramrod straight. “Red?”

“Chirp, chirp chirp chirp tweet,” the little bird palisman replied, hopping from one foot to the other.

Hunter let out a yelp of surprise. “He is not!”

The little bird cocked their head at him. “Chirp chirp tweet, chirp.”

“Alright, maybe that,” he admitted. “Did you listen to that whole conversation?”

“Tweet tweet tweet,” Red swooped down and scooped up the drawings from under the bed. “Tweet chirp chirp chirp tweet.”

“Haha, fine,” Hunter picked up his pencil. “What was the pose you were doing earlier?”

“Tweet chirp tweet tweet tweet,” Red hopped up onto his shoulder and craned their neck towards an unknown source above and in front of Hunter. Somehow he was able to draw it, and it came much easier to him than the other poses Red had struck so far. He even added himself, with the bird on his shoulder. It looked pretty good. He held up the picture to show the little palisman. “What do you think?”

“Chirp,” the birdlike, wooden creature responded. Hunter laughed.

“Okay, but only a few more.”

[hotwings0203]

An Ode to the Unseen

Thinkin about readers who feel self conscious, readers who feel like they’re not happy with their weight, readers who don’t feel girly enough or feel too vulnerable because of whatever height they’re at. I’m thinkin about readers who suffer from body dysmorphia, who shy away from looking at themselves in the mirror to avoid seeing their scars, body hair or acne. This is for the readers who feel too submissive and feel like a pushover in their lives, and this is for the readers who feel like they’re too fiesty and not soft enough. It doesn’t matter if you feel like you can’t relate to the stereotypical tropes in writing, or if you feel like you can’t act like a perfectly constructed Y/N in real life, this ones for you💖

A/N: Hello to all reading! I made this on a whim just to tackle some of the insecurities lesser described characters in stories might feel, but this is in no way meant to exclude anyone at all! We all have beautiful bodies, and should own up to it even if we don’t always see the problems we face in writing. Some of these topics might be sensitive to readers or trigger memories that might be disturbing to others, so please heed the warnings! Also the Hawks prompt at the end gets pretty nsfw, so heads up for that hehe

CW: dubcon, manipulating, fluff, slight angst, EDs, body dysmorphia, kidnapping, abuse, degradation, some nsfw, yandere, language, insecurity

You’re ever feeling not particularly happy with your face or body because of an acne breakout, or a rash that won’t go away? Maybe a birthmark that you try to cover up with makeup? Even stretch marks or scars from surgery?

You can bet your ass shigaraki will notice the way you can barely glance at the mirror some days just so you don’t have to see your own reflection when it’s time to go to bed with him.

His obvious and intense stare makes you fidget and gets your skin crawling, but he says nothing that night when he holds you a little too tightly-tighter than most nights he’s with you. The sound of his raspy breaths lulls you to sleep, but when you wake up he’s already gone, out on another mission or at a meeting with the Yakuza.

You feel groggy and gross, and going to the bathroom just to look in the mirror again to see whatever ails your body and/or face does nothing to stop your groan of misery.

You do your business all while turning away from your reflection, not wanting to see a second more of your discontentment staring right back at you while you wash your face, brush your teeth, and meticulously do your hair.

Finally making your way downstairs to the bar, you sit on one of the barstools and hold your head in your hands, not wanting to meet anyone’s gaze and no doubt seeing their disgust at your ailment.

But you look up when a soft whirring sound and purple-black tendrils of smoke appear before you

“Young master L/N,” Kurogiri says. “Have you been feeling alright? You retired earlier last night and had the most uncomfortable of expressions on your face, I couldn’t help but notice.”

No matter how much you despised or were wary of Tomura, you knew his caretaker, Kurogiri, had your back. He was respectful of your space, and if he knew you weren’t in the mood for talking then he wouldn’t push you

And so you told him your predicament, opening up about your problem spot(s)

“It’s so embarrassing, Kurogiri. I feel gross and I feel like everyone’s looking at me,” you mumble, putting your head down on the cool polished wood countertop.

He’s silent for a moment or two, before the tendrils of his supposed hands warp into a small portals. They appear again immediately, producing a couple of bottles and place them in front of you.

You raise your head slightly at the sound of sloshing liquid and rattling pills as the bottles are lined up before you in an orderly fashion, and you eye them suspiciously.

“What’s this?” You ask, picking up a tube as your curiosity is piqued.

“Young master Tomura Shigaraki had warned me beforehand of your reclusive nature when you ponder on what cannot be controlled, and sent me a list this morning to pick up some medication that might help you, should you need it. He asked me to bring back every item as soon as possible, so you wouldn’t feel the need to procure anything by yourself and strain yourself unnecessarily.”

You scoff, not buying the surprising act of affection. “So, what, he’s just doing this so he doesn’t have to look at my disgusting (body part of choice) anymore? He wants to come back and see some perfectly molded pet to stare at all day?”

Kurogiri shakes his head, however.

“I know how the young master is perceived to many: abrasive, immature, and brash in his thoughts and actions. He has a long way to go in terms of maturing in the way he views things, and unfortunately he was not blessed with…the best of upbringings, so he truly doesn’t know any better, as you already know.”

You wince internally, feeling slightly guilty now.

“But,” he continues slowly, “he was not born with evil in his heart. He’s just bitter with society, and is desperate for others to know his pain and see the world for what it really is towards those who are suffering. That’s why he is so taken with you, young L/N. Before you came here, he observed your mannerisms and was thoroughly attracted to the way you could see through people’s surface level facades. Although your views on the world may differ here and there, he is desperate to show you that he understands your suffering, and that he’s there for you-“

“-yeah, well, he has a funny way of showing it,” you mutter darkly, memories of chains and dark rooms and various marks on your body flashing through your mind. Even if Kurogiri was telling the truth, it would take some time for you to come around and even begin to try to give yourself to Shigaraki. He was just too volatile, too rough and negligent of your wants and needs. He lashed out at everything you did, and made you feel like nothing you ever did was enough to please his shifty nature.

“Yes, I can understand you bitter feelings towards him,” the black and purple mass hummed in thought. “I have tried explaining how a human girl is to be treated, however, and he is slowly trying to learn. I feel as though he may feel embarrassed at times from his lack of knowledge at such simple social norms, and that is another factor of his frequent temper tantrums. He might be the leader of a powerful villain organization, but when he realizes he has no knowledge of making friends or keeping relationships, it’s an embarrassing blow to his ego. Especially with you, he is especially sentimental and touchy regarding topics that pertain to you. He often will sit here in silence after you two have a, uh, little spat, and hesitantly will seek my advice on how to make things up to you. ”

And you realize with a grimace that he’s right-there are days after you both have a big blowout(usually over the most pettiest of things, maybe you turned away from him while sleeping and he took it as a sign of disobedience, or maybe you didn’t greet him when he came back from an especially tiring mission and he used that opportunity to take his pent up stress out on you) that he’ll come back after storming out of the room only to creep back in hours later with various trinkets in his hand.

You’d be alerted of his presence when the pitch black room is blessed with a yellow ray of light from the opening creaky door as he enters, and you will yourself to continue breathing slowly, as if you were still asleep. But he’s so quiet and stealthy as he comes closer to you, it’s hard not to be surprised and flinch or jump when his arm reaches over you just to place one of your favorite snacks on the cracked dresser next to you.

It’s hard to keep your head down on the dusty pillow and keep your curiosity in check when you feel him breathing down your neck as he lays a stuffed animal on the blanket next to you, and you often wonder where he knows to buy such fragile and innocent things.

Your aesthetic that he so closely has memorized from each singular color to the details of your favorite patterns make a stark, disturbing contrast to his greying, deadly aura. It’s almost impressive that he pertains each gift to your taste when he’s feeling especially sorrowful

“But nevertheless, the master has asked me relinquish these to you as soon as you came downstairs. And, just between me and you,” he leans closer and you do too, finding yourself wanting to know this secret side of your captor even further, “he was muttering something as he left, something along the lines of not wanting you to feel like you had to use these products. I think he was trying to say that he never wants you to feel as though you have to make up any part of your body you feel insecure about to him. He wants you to stay the same way you always are, and if you never adjust to your surroundings here, then he at the very least wants you to be comfortable in your own skin, blemishes and all.”

“This may or may not come as a surprise to you, but he himself knows what it’s like to feel insecure about his own skin and body,” and it comes across so ridiculously innocent and striking to you that such a lethal character such as the infamous Shigaraki would have the same problems a normal, functioning member of society would have: skincare and body insecurity. But the lines, scratches, and scars that litter his face can attest to this notion. How often did he himself avoid looking in the mirror for, not wanting to see his translucent skin, the clawmarks that left bright, angry trails up his face and down the sides of his neck, the cracks in and around his lips and eyes? Is that why he left his hair down skit covered his face, and the hand on top covering him whole more often on than not?

And so you finally open the lid to the tube, testing the feel of its contents that promise your mutinous skin some time of relief.

The door suddenly bangs open, and the man of the hour himself slinks in, nails idly scratching the underside of his jaw as he mutters under his breath to himself.

He lifts his head and sees you and kurogiri at the bar, a tube of ointment in your hand , the lid opened in testing as the rest of his presents are in array all around you.

As if you were accepting them.

As if you were accepting him

He feels his face beat up and his deteriorating body starts to prickle and sweat. He merely scratches harder, his mumbling continuing as he slowly makes his way over to you

You watch his little unsure shuffled towards you, and you can’t help it when your heart twinges as you take in his hopeful yet cautious expression, no matter how hard he tries to stifle any vulnerable emotion

So, in a moments decision of truce you quickly lean forward to whisper to Kurogiri one last favor before turning to see a new light of your captor

“Before I go, I need some things from you, please. By tonight, do you think you could pick up some self care things at the corner store for me? I’m talking face masks, lotions, Vaseline, and hair products.”

“I think if I see him accept himself and care for the body he’s in least for one night, I could be happy in my skin, too.”

Feeling conscious about your weight, whether it’s over or under your preferred look? Please, don’t make Kiri laugh at your naivety

You groaned as you stood on the scale, the numbers reading back at you seeming more mocking than simple statistics

You weren’t meeting your preferred weight, and it was beginning to take a harsher toll on you now more than ever with Kiri around all the time

It was easier to ignore it when you lived by yourself in secluded bliss, where the walls of where you lived couldn’t talk or pass judgement about your eating habits, the times you did or didn’t keep up with yourself as months of promising to do the Chloe Ting workouts turned into forgetful reminders that dwindled down into barely passing thoughts.

Where you had your own, carefully chosen friends who could relate and share the secrets of their insecurities, the little area of pudge that just won’t go away, that upper area of their arms of legs that refused to build muscle even after months of eating straight protein and going to the gym.

You got to choose your own happiness, you got to choose if you wanted to spend countless hours scrolling through social media with your coworkers, gazing in envy at the hundreds of models people swooned over, or if you wanted to call it a day and eat a whole bucket of cookies and cream ice cream while watching a sappy rom com, just because it made you happy

But now, not so much

You could tolerate Kiri gradually distancing yourself from friends who he thought didn’t have the “best interests” for you

You could patiently follow the chipper rules of his house to wait for him when he got home, greet him at the door in nice clothes, and sit down to eat dinner with him

You even started getting used to having his eccentric, loud friends over who bustled and teased you around when Kiri invited them over for a boys night even if that “boys night” ended in them being hurriedly ushered out as he caught a glimpse of you in an accidentally-provocative apron

But your sanity and self worth was slowly started to snap like an overstretched rubber band when it came to trusting your body. Your mutinous, betraying body that just didn’t do what you fucking wanted it to do, that was constantly compared to the models friends Kirishima would bring around, like Mina and Jirou

They were angels, of course, so, so sweet to you

Constantly reassuring you that the new dress your captor boyfriend practically shoved you in in his eagerness to see you in red (his color) fit oh so well on you

They tried to convince you that no, the dress wasn’t stretched too tight on you to be considered healthy, and no, it didn’t need to be shrank in some places either

They tried, they really did

Unfortunately for them however, their relentless support didn’t hold a candle’s light to the body builders and Pilates instructors Kiri would model with for health magazines almost every month

They could never understand what it was like to be in constant doubt and shame when you feel your seemingly mismatched figure, their bodies reflecting healthy proportions in every nook and corner, skin and smooth and soft as a baby’s, with glowing reflections of perspiration

And you always seemed like the only poor unfortunate soul who sat in the corner, sulking and watching ripped muscles and leaned, toned limbs mingle amongst each other to socialize and effortlessly slide inside various apparel that of course fit their body and shaped them in ways you couldn’t even dream of

And it didn’t help that night after night, Kiri would hold you on his lap, bouncing his eager knee as he shoveled bite after bite of food into your unwilling mouth

He infantilized the hell out of you, convinced you were too naive and self-loathing to see your true beauty and how he had to take it on himself to show you what he saw in you

It made you feel pathetic, and helpless. Maybe that’s what you were though, maybe that’s really what he was trying to show you

You felt like you deserved it, anyways

So you stand there, on the weighing machine, feeling the last shreds of self confidence slip down and out of your body, akin to the light tears that splash on the marble bathroom floor.

“Babe? What’re you doing?”

Aw, fuck

You quickly brushed away your tears and stifled your imminent sobs to avoid being coddled as usual by the gentle giant who stood behind you

It frustrated him to no end, no doubt. It didn’t matter how often he’d sit you down and kiss you all over, letting you know how much he loved every precious inch of your body, it didn’t matter how gently he’d cradle your face to force you to look into his eyes just to tell you how beautiful you were, how lucky he is to have kidnapped you

It was never enough for your fragile heart, and he saw it in the way you flinched under his praise and shrunk under his loving gaze that raked over your body that he compared to an angel’s

As if you thought he was a liar, just saying it for your sake

As if you didn’t believe his words, as if you didn’t want to believe his words

As if you were disobeying him

“It-its nothing Kiri, just PMS,” you mumbled, the snot in your nose making you sound nasaly and shaky

“Your period was two weeks ago, and none of your symptoms have ever made you throw up.” He says with a raised eyebrow, his arms crossing as he leans against the doorframe

So he did see you slip out after dinner and head straight for the toilet, huh?

Busted

If he wasn’t so worried about you, he would’ve ditched the mild tone kept up for your sake and had you bent over one knee with a red ass just for lying to him

But from the way you quickly step off the scale and attempt to squeeze past him tells him you aren’t just being hard-to-get, you’re not in one of your resistance fits

And he thinks he knows exactly what’s causing you to not-so-subtly shift your eyes from the weighing scale back to your own body, as if you hadn’t already been doing that for weeks now

He just has to make sure

“Did someone say something to you?” He catches your arm and gently yet firmly prevents you from slipping past him outside the bathroom, away from him

“No, no, seriously I just felt sick, I think I ate something weird,” you try to laugh breezily but the waver in your voice does nothing but further increase Kirishima’s aching heart for you

“You sure? ‘Sure I don’t need to go talk to someone who maybe said the wrong thing to you?” And although his cheerful voice holds nothing but playful jest, the dark glint in his eye does nothing to indicate that all he wants is a friendly talk, especially when he tightens his grip on your arm and pulls you so close that you’re nose to nose with him, looking right at him with tears eyes and flushed cheeks

There’s no point in pretending anymore. He might seem like an airhead, but he’s not one of the city’s top hero because of his airy, gentle nature

“Ugh, no Kiri, no one said anything to me. I just…” you trail off, not wanting to feel the inevitable embarrassment you’ll feel when you tell him the truth

How disgusting you feel when you see his buff, toned, chiseled body that’s akin to a Greek God’s compared to yours

How you long to secretly have the right figure to one day be worthy enough to be deemed his partner in a modeling gig, just once, just to feel like you’re worthy of him and his equivalently built body, a body that reflects hard work and perseverance

Something you seldom see or feel in your own mass of distorted limbs

“What is it?” He pleads softly, begging you to let him fix anything for you, to let him be a man good enough for you

You look into his ruby red eyes that hold a puppy-in-love expression, and when you find only adoration for you in them, you can’t help yourself for falling into the trust and care you so desperately want in that moment

“I’m…so tired of not feeling good about myself. About feeling overweight, underweight, seeing bits of pudge and flab in one area and then seeing some thin and gangly areas in others. Like, I just want my body to be normal, to be healthy like all the people you model with. I feel like nothing I do or eat or wear makes my body look how I want it to look, and no matter how much I try it’s so hard for me to see the beauty of what you see in it.”

And finally you can’t bear looking at him anymore, so you squeeze your eyes shut and turn away

Much to his credit, he pulls you in and nestles your head against his chest, letting your tears and snot wet his tank top

“Oh hun, is that all this is?”

You roll your eyes and try to pull back from his chest, but he doesn’t allow it as he simply holds you there, shushing you and rocking you back and forth

“Kiri, that’s a pretty big thing for me.”

“I know, but…why are you so concerned about how they look anyways? I mean, that’s their job, right? To look good for pictures!”

“I don’t understand,” your voice comes out muffled against his shirt.

“What I’m saying is,” he chuckles and soothes a hand through your hair, “is that you shouldn’t compare yourself to people that have nothing to do with your daily life. Like, you wouldn’t compare yourself to a firefighter right? ‘Cuz thats their job, to save people, not yours. Similarly with models and shit, that’s their job to look good. You didn’t sign up to be a model, so you shouldn’t stress yourself to look like them. Plus, it’s not like it has any affect on what kind of person you are on the inside, you feel me? I’ve met some pretty nasty and rude people with killer bodies, but can you guess how much respect I had for them?”

You nod slowly, still not fully grasping his confusing logic but sort of getting the underlying meaning to it

“But it’s hard not to compare my body to theirs when you’re constantly around them.” You admit. “It feels like I’m not good enough either to be next to you when I’m just sitting on my ass, not doing anything” You grip his shirt and let the last of your tears out, accepting his soft and heavy hands stroking against your back and up and down your shoulders

“So? Do you ever see Sero or Denki modeling next to me? Or Mina and Jirou?”

He did have a point.

“No,” you say slowly.

“Exactly, because models and bodybuilders have a job to dedicate themselves to a life of working out. They do it because that’s what a majority of their life goes to get paid for. It’s all superficial, that’s not how the average person is, like the friends I mentioned. Otherwise the whole world would be full of people walking around with ripped abs and giant pecs. Could you imagine some lanky dude like Denki sporting a 12-pack and ripped pecs?”

“Hell no,” you laugh breathlessly, the image so horrifying to you both that you feel the vibrations of his boisterous laughter rumble through you and soothe your emotions.

“Now you’re getting it,” he speaks into your hair, the smell of your shampoo flooding his senses and getting him dizzy along with a treacherously rising boner

“Plus, what kind of man would I be if I picked my girl out just because of the way she looked? I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re beautiful-no, beautiful can’t even begin to describe you. Your palms feel so soft compared to mine, your arms are so beautiful when my hands are wrapped around them, your thighs are just the right size, your stomach is such a comfy pillow for me to lay on, and don’t forget your plush, slick, tight pu-“ he rambles on and you can’t help but yelp and clap a hand over his overworked mouth as his shower of body positivity starts turning more lewd…attesting to the bulge you begin to feel pressing against your leg.

But it’s funny, you can’t seem to find yourself being mad at him as your face flushes and you see not ill-intent and perverseness in his warm eyes, but pure and honest devotion to you and to the words he truly means

It softens your heart, and you use a finger from the hand smushing against his mouth to lift and stroke the side of his cheek, conveying your gratitude to him.

It seems he understands, as he takes his forced moment of silence with patience and just looks at you, hoping this time you could really see what he felt for you.

“The thing is,” he says after a minute, gently taking your hand away and turning you around so that you both were facing the mirror, “I love you because of who you are. If I wanted to date some model, I would’ve done it by now, trust me,” and you swat your hand against his chest as he stifles a laugh and turns you to look at your own reflection in the mirror.

“I didn’t take you just for your body. I took you because of the way you smile, the way your laugh is so soft sometimes and then all roudy and crazy and loud the next. I love you because of how passionate you talk about the things you like, the way you deal with problems, the way you treat others. All these things make me want you, so damn bad.”

He lightly rocks his hips into your backside so you can really feel how much he wants you, and you let out a soft gasp

He doesn’t let you move, however, he just holds one wrist in his meaty palm and holds your jaw in the other, positioning you so that you meet his wondrous gaze in the clear reflection.

He knew he was never known to be the smartest in his class, having Bakugo drag him by the teeth to pass class itself, so he hoped you could overlook his lack of vocabulary that so desperately was trying to tell you that loving you went even beyond anything he could barely articulate.

Leaning towards your ear, his breath tickles your lobe as his sharp teeth graze over your goosebump-riddled flesh.

“And if it takes all night to show you how much you and your perfect body mean to me, I’ll gladly take out any words that don’t do the job and show you physically how I feel. And just the way you are, too.”

If there’s one man who could not give one less of a fuck about how dainty, small, feminine, or easy to handle you may or not be, it’s the birdman himself: Hawks

Running errands with him when he allowed it was hell, though it should’ve been a paradise you felt owed for.

It was bad enough that when you hesitantly asked him what would look good enough to wear when you walked next to him as the Number Two hero’s captive girlfriend, he merely shrugged and said “Whatever you want.”

Which was not of any help, due to his excessive mood swings and possessiveness spiking at the most seemingly harmless things, such as you talking to the checkout worker at a branded store, wearing a skirt that he deemed was for “sluts who put out for attention”, or even not looking directly at him enough when he was talking to you.

So just to play it safe, you decided to wear jeans and a cute blouse, one that you thought did well for your figure and yet remained modest enough for Keigo’s liking.

He gave you a warning look before opening the door outside, silently telling you to behave yourself in public

You always did, of course.

It was never enough to keep him less suspicious of you regardless.

Deciding to bag some groceries first, he kept a tight grip with your hand as you both inconspicuously tried to navigate the winding back alleys, avoiding people and waiting in intervals to pass the street

He had a black cap on with a red feather embroidered at the top, sunglasses and a beige and white jacket that had a high collar for covering his face-you might be lucky to have the freedom to wear what you wanted to a certain extent but Hawks wasn’t so lucky

His wings, of course, couldn’t be concealed regardless of what he wore

The two of you luckily manage to snag a few stores here and there, the groceries in both his and your arms weighing down on your bodies, his feathers doing little aid to help when his wings started sagging under the bulk as well

Which is where you both were finally caught by a gaggle of fangirls

You passed the cafe they gathered around outside, and barely had time to register their squints of suspicion at Hawks and his poorly-shrunken vermillion wings before you heard squeals of recognition coming from their group a couple feet back

He swore under his breath, crushing your hand in a death grip and attempting to speed up further away from them

But the Number Two hero wasnt fast enough for his own good, this time

It was almost inhuman how quickly they caught up to you and swarmed around, effectively cutting you two off from trying to escape

They shoved papers, phones, various body parts and markers in his face, trying to get him to sign each and every article they had on themselves

And poor you were caught in the midst of it, being carelessly jostled around as each girl tried to force her way closer to him

The volume of their excited devotion and praise of him was making your head hurt, and you wondered how Hawks was managing to put up such a flawless, easygoing smile and responding to all their questions and comments without having a panic attack or snapping at them

After a minute or two of pure chaos, with the help of numerous feathers the hero-now-victim finished most of the autographs.

“Well, girls, thank you so much for your support and time, but me and my lady should get going now-“

“-wait, that’s your girlfriend?” One asks pointing at you in disbelief

You give her a weak smile and little wave

“Yup, the one and only!” Hawks beams at you with pride, holding you in an endearing headlock

“Wow…you guys are so cute!” Another chimes in after a few moments of silence, and you try your hardest not to fall into your same old patterns, to not embrace your old thoughts and insecurities with such open arms

But old habits die hard, and they certainly aren’t dead yet

Especially when the first girl thrusts a shiny phone at you, fluttering her lashes and baring her teeth in a poor imitation of a smile. “Would you be a dear and take a picture of all of us with him?”

“Uhh, sure, yeah, no problem.” You decide that getting this whole ordeal over quicker would be the best option for you

But as quick as you want this to pass, you can’t help but take an extra second to see the difference in your hands and hers when you take the phone from her hand

While her smooth, small and soft hands are seemingly unmarked, her acrylics accentuating her feminine form, you feel as though your larger ones should hide in shame in comparison

You’re not a slob, not by any means when you go out with him. But what was previously just you feeling comfortable in your own skin of knuckle hair, cuticles here and there, and nails bitten short from the cold stand anxiety of living with such a volatile man starts to turn into a realization of how different you are to these people who are trimmed to perfection

You shake off the sinking feeling in your heart and back up with the phone as the rest of the girls and Keigo line up for posing

The details in the phone camera do nothing to ease your growing timidity

The screen reflects what you see right in front of you- smooth hair, not a frizzy strand in sight blowing with the wind, perfectly manicured hands that are so delicate and small compared to your boyfriends’ gripping his upper arms, desperate to feel the hero’s assets.

They’re all at a perfect height with him too, the heels and boots they wear so easily lining them up at his chest level so they have a perfect view of his pecs and upwards

All of them are so beautiful and uniform, so dainty and careful with themselves. If one of them said that they were dating Hawks, you’d believe that they were worthy of it too

You snap the picture and hand the device over, trying to hide your trembling bottom lip and frigid hands

The girls thank Hawks a plethora of times, give you some once-overs as well as slight sneers and faux waves, and you both head on your way back home again

You’re quiet that night while making dinner

It’s chicken pad thai, one of his favorite dishes handmade by you

No matter how shit you feel your cooking is, he insists you make him a 3 course meal while he takes a shower, leaving a feather behind to watch over you

Usually it’s fine, usually you ignore or absentmindedly swat away the plumage’s less-than-innocent rendezvous trailing around your body, floating behind your neck to tickle you, “accidentally “ falling in your shirt or wedging itself down your pants (no doubt commanded so by Hawks)

But today, it’s silent and still, precariously perched on the edge of the kitchen counter as it observed and picks up the various sounds and vibrations of your movement as you bustle around the kitchen

It picks up on the way you chop the onions a little too aggressively with your large, clumsy fucking hands

Another reminder of how different you are than the average Hawks Fangirl ™

How they sashay and swing their hips around in a perfect circle when approaching him, while you stumble and trip over your own damn feet, the epitome of clumsiness and gracelessness

The feet which never endow heels or boots often because of the height difference it gives you and Keigo, because of the way you try desperately to adorn different slouches and postures to not look so out of place and awkward around him

And while you’re stirring the pasta in its sauce, the feather also picks up on the rhythm of your shattered heart

Shattered so when you remember how the girls sneered at you because you weren’t femme fatale like them, how you just stood there like a fucking mannequin while they cooed well placed praise, and how eloquent sentences flowed from their tongue like honey

You could only wish you ever spoke like they did, or adopted any of their mannerisms that seemed so natural and effortless like them

Your aching heart thudded dully while you scrutinized your miserable self, and flared up into a kicking rate when you realized you shouldn’t even care what your captor or any of his fan girls thinks

In fact, this was all his fault.

You slammed your mixer down, tapping your fingers against the countertop deep on thought

The vibrations the feather picked up was the last straw of its patience, as it alerted its owner to come and address you

Mumbling under your breath at your predicament, you banged around pots and spoons in your anger, failing to notice the plumage silently join its approaching owner, the water from his shower dripping down his wet shoulders and hair

“What’s goin’ on chickadee? It sounds like you’re tryina’ tear down the kitchen.”

You barely spare him a glance over your shoulder as you take in his bare torso, only a towel wrapped around his midriff

“Nothing. Just finishing up dinner,” you mumble.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing. It sounds like your hearts racing a mile a minute. So I’ll ask you again- what are you so upset?”

He yanks a stirring spoon from your hand and uses his grand wings to turn you towards him, a condescending pout on his face as he amusedly takes in your furrowed eyebrows, heated up cheeks and shaking fists.

He wants to keep pushing me? Fine, then I can play his little game

“You wanna know why I’m upset? I’m upset because I’m here against my will, creating problems for myself that I never even wanted in the first place!”

You jab a finger into his chest and his eyes narrow at your impertinent tone.

“Now wait a sec’-“ but you cut him off immediately, nose to nose with him now as you continue to blare at him

“I’m upset because I never feel fucking good enough for my kidnapper. How pathetic is that? Any time I have to beg you on all fours like a fucking dog to go outside I end up regretting it, ‘cause all I see is how flawed I am!”

He’s staring at you with wide eyes now, actually bewildered at the turn your ranting came to. So it’s not just about being kept here against your will, you’re actually upset about not feeling good enough for him?

“Those girls today…they were so perfect and feminine and beautiful and they had such small fucking hands that would fit perfectly in yours like mine never do, and perfectly pedicured feet, and had such pretty voices, fuck, I mean I’d date them too if I were you!”

You ignore the rage and bafflement in his expression, he looks at you like you’re crazy and maybe for the moment you are as you keep mouthing off to him

“So why don’t you, huh? I mean I only go out with you a couple times a year, but you see them almost every day! Girls who have hair that flows like goddamn waterfalls, girls who you could pick up and throw around so easily or at least girls you’re not embarrassed of.”

“I’m clumsy, I can’t walk with grace, I’m not at a height that’s easy for you to look at me with or thats even considered sexy, I probably don’t even weigh anything around you that people would call worthy of being some fit bitch for you!”

At this, you sink to your knees in front of him, almost spent out. You can’t bear for him to see your face, no doubt scrunched up in tears and snot with mussed strands hovering around your face like you just got electrocuted.

Another thing to ridicule yourself about, a fucking crying face. You don’t want him to see another ugly trait about you that he no doubt will snicker about behind your back.

“Isn’t that why you never let me out? Because I’m not cute or good material for tabloids, right? I don’t look good enough or act right for the Number Two hero, and that’s why you’re embarrassed, right? It’s been so long since I tried to last leave so I know you trust me-that means the only reason you hate going out with me and covering yourself up is because you can’t stand to be seen with such a fugly-“

“That’s enough.” His cold voice booms louder than yours, and you startle at that.

“Look at me, Y/N.” The tone at which he speaks leaves no room for argument, but when you continue to look down he snarls and detaches a feather, forcing your head up with it.

“You keep calling yourself all these things, but don’t tell me that moronic is another word you’re gonna add on, right? I mean you can’t possibly be that stupid enough to believe all those things you just said.”

You glare at him, sure that this was just a way for him to get you to shut up.

“I thought living with the Number Two hero would let some intellect rub off on you, but I guess it’s the complete opposite, if anything. Because you seem to have forgotten your place in my house.”

You yelp when suddenly a multitude of other feathers zoom towards you, pulling at your limbs and clothes as they lift you into the air, suspended to a height a couple of feet above Hawks’ eye level.

He just stands there with an eerie smirk on his face as he watches you flail around midair, trying to regain your balance.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re 6’3 and have bigger hands than me.”

With a flick of his finger, the feathers are directed to slam your body into the ground, leaving you wheezing on your back.

“And it doesn’t matter if you’re 4’7 and fall over yourself every time I call for you.”

He stands above you now, hands in his pockets and he smiles down at your curled up body. You look at him cautiously, unsure of what he’s playing at.

“You’re mind because I want you. I want everything about you, your heart, your mannerisms, your soul, your movements-they all belong to me and only me.”

He crouches down to a kneel, gently running a hand through your hair before turning it into a fist and yanking your head up to face him.

“And there isn’t a goddamn thing that’s gonna stop me from having you, when I want, and how I want. You think you have a chance of leaving me, or me leaving you when I, in your words, ‘go out and see beautiful girls like that all the time?’ If I haven’t left you for them by now, I sure as hell never will.”

You decide for now to take the backhanded compliment about being able to leave in silence. In a messed up way, he was proving his loyalty, and right now you needed all the reassurance you could get.

“And why the hell do you care how you look in public anyways, huh? Are you trying to seduce someone?”

You frantically object, and he sneers at your desperation. “Good, because it should only matter what I think, and you wanna know what I think?”

You stare at him wide eyed now as he pulls your head closer to him

“I don’t give a flying fuck if you think you’re some foxy slut or if you feel like a clumsy oaf. Because you wanna know why?”

He starts unzipping his fly with a handy feather, and you mentally berate yourself for pushing him to a point where he has to ‘prove his love’ to you, knowing where this was heading.

“Because when you’re sucking my cock or lying underneath me, it doesn’t matter how tall or short you are. When I tell you to take your clothes off and hump my foot like the good little bitch in heat you are, I don’t care how much you weigh. I’m still choosing you to be my fuckmeat, my obedient play-toy when I want, and I’m doing it with all your ‘flaws’, aren’t I? ”

You cringe when his tongue flicks out against your earlobe and down your jaw, your endeavors of trying to shove him away proving fruitless as he just snarls and bites your neck.

“Even if you think you don’t have the prettiest, smallest, biggest, or smoothest hands, they’re still the hands I’m choosing to play with my balls, yeah? I mean, you should be proud of your fucking sexy and lewd body…look at what it does to me.”

He gestures to his exposed member now which is hard against your thigh. You bite back a whimper as he begins to tear open your shirt with one free hand as the other slips down your pants.

“So be a good girl and show me how proud you are of being mine.”

[ura-writes]

Trampolinist

Summary - You’re a player who jumps from server to server, often revisiting several and always trying to find access to new ones. When a victorious game of duos Skywars on Hypixel wins you an invitation to one of the most famous yet exclusive servers in the community, you find a world you never knew existed, allies you’re not certain you can trust, and enemies that may not be just that. Oh, yeah, and an anarchist piglin hybrid.

(c!technoblade/server jumper!reader)

Basic warnings: minor blood, swearing, light threats

A/N - hello! I decided to start this series as a result of a sporadic idea at midnight after quite an odd dream. Some information you might need:

A few select people can jump servers without using portals, and you (the reader) are one of them.

Some servers are public and some require invites. Hypixel and a lot of the other bigger servers are public, while SMPs such as the Dream SMP are private and require an invite.

Jumpers, as they are commonly referred to throughout the series, still require an invite to private servers, though some have figured out loopholes to this process and actively exploit it, earning the title of “Crashers”. You have figured it out but don’t use the ability.

The rating for this series is 14-15+, most likely including minor to graphic descriptions of blood/injuries, violence, swearing, minor manipulation and death.

There are select groups of people who hate Jumpers and actively try to perma-kill them or get them source-banned from servers, leaving them stuck in single player and isolation.

From the author:

This will be in second person.

There will be no use of Y/N or (Y/N) or anything along those lines. I understand some people use them as a descriptor, but in my opinion, it looks a bit messy/choppy.

Feel free to criticize, though don’t be super harsh.

Also gl free to point out spelling mistakes.

I love love LOVE feedback! Gimme it! Please! /lh /gen

Anyway, those are the basics that you need to know! For now, at least… hehe.

Enjoy the first part!

-ura

——

The familiar particles signalling a personal portal opening in the lobby sends a few people scattering, but most just move to the side, though there are a fair few that stay to watch the person step out of the rip in reality.

The person stumbles out, cursing the deities to high heaven, brushing dirt and sweat and even a bug off of their face, certainly looking a bit worse for wear.

This was certainly not what the audience was expecting. They were expecting a prim, proper or at least somewhat distinguished person to step out of the actively sparking spiral, as most Jumpers are that way, even just a bit.

Nope.

“What are you looking at?”

The people step back a bit, noticing the sword the person clutches in their hand.

That person is you.

“Fuck off, would you? You probably see Jumpers on the daily! Fuckin’ annoying.” you grumble, sheathing the sword at your side. “Fuck… is this Hypixel?”

With a cursory sweep of the attire of the people surrounding you and buildings towering over everyone, you determine that yes, it is, in fact, Hypixel.

Of course, that may have also been the big-ass sign in the sky with the server’s name on it. That too.

With a sigh and a wave of your hand, you pull your inventory up. The typical “please place your personal belongings in a safe place before playing a match, otherwise they may be wiped.” message pops up when you do. You huff, wave your fingers to dismiss the text. Not like you’ve been here a hundred thousand times or anything like that.

The Netherite blade at your side, your armor and any sentimental belongings you have on you go straight into your enderchest, categorized in one of the shulker boxes designated specifically for this purpose.

As you walk along, trying to sort your inventory out (fortunately the server provides a free repair and replace to anyone’s clothing, as yours are beaten pretty much beyond self-help), deciding what match you might want to play, the crowd that was surrounding you quickly scurries off with a few screams.

A quick glance upwards catches your gaze on a red and white nametag.

Huh. Don’t see those often.

Whispers of the name you can’t quite see from where you stand rapidly reach your ears, ringing with slight familiarity.

Dream.

Odd. The masked man doesn’t often come onto public servers, mainly sticking to his own private server, named after him. The Dream SMP. How egotistical.

Without another glance towards the fan-people, you select a game idly. The blue text pops up in front of you, confirming your want to play the match.

Skywars Duos.

Before you know it, you’re whisked off to the arena, a bit dizzy from your landing, but fine nonetheless. The timer for the start slowly counts down, ticking slowly as people pop into existence with increasing frequency.

A presence behind you alerts you to your teammate. You nod at them just as the beeping of the final ten seconds counts down.

After a few repeated sessions, most being losses, you decide on one more match before you head to a tavern for the night, preferably one with a view.

This time you’re the second one to arrive. And for once, you take a longer look at your teammate.

He’s the guy everyone was freaking out about a few hours earlier… what was his name again? Dr-something. Or was it a Tr-something? Ah, who knows. It doesn’t matter as long as he’s good. You don’t bother to look at his nametag; he’s probably just some hotshot who thinks he’s all that.

“Not going to freak out?” he asks you. You snort at the question, shaking your head with a glance at the timer.

“Just here to kick ass.”

“Fair enough,” he replies. “You any good?”

A laugh from you echoes as the beeping of the countdown starts.

“We’ll see.”

The barrier below you drops, sending you hurtling to the floating island below. You quickly hit the ground, rolling into a crouch while your teammate raids the chest beside you, tossing a few bits of armor and a stone axe as well as a golden apple, which you catch and nod gratefully.

The hood on his head drops when another player attempts to take him out of the game. He ducks, barely avoiding the glimmer of the enchanted sword, sweeping her legs out from under her. The enemy player narrowly rolls out of the way with her shield being knocked out of her hands into the dark blue void below the floating island.

She curses loudly as his axe lands beside her head, kicking it to the side.

In that moment, you shove her hard off of the crumbling stone, jabbing your axe in her shoulder for final measure. Her falling figure flashes red with the loss of hearts, and eventually, she disintegrates into dust, the announcement of her tag being eliminated in the chat making you smirk.

“Well, you are good.”

You send him a smirk and collect the spoils of your kill, mostly a few potions and the iron blade, tossing a few of the former to your teammate and splashing a speed potion on yourself.

With practiced movements you begin to build to the middle islands, your teammate throwing the occasional snowball at any approaching enemy players, even knocking one off their bridge. The message of their death rings in the chat, being the fifth elimination.

The chests there contain better loot, even a diamond sword and chestplate, a strength II potion and a Power I bow with fifteen arrows. You take the bow and chestplate (with permission from your teammate, who gladly takes the sword and potion) and book it to the center chests, almost laughing at the amount of snowballs and arrows lying there.

“Well, I’m not complaining,” you muse.

You hear a yell of your tag, quickly spinning around to block the swing of an enchanted axe, their teammate quickly turning to gang up on you after finishing off another person.

Great. You’re fighting two people now.

Swing, duck, dodge, swipe, duck, swipe, block—shit, you got stabbed! Two hearts disappear from your health bar, sending a flurry of curses flying from your lips.

But luckily, your teammate is fast enough to eliminate the weaker of the two.

The tables turn.

The clash of blades, splash of potions and grunts of pain quickly move to the edge of the center island. It’s two verses one now, and the three of you are the last competitors in the match.

Block the swing, return the blow, duck, block, dodge—

A sudden stab in your shoulder alerts you to an arrow stuck in the skin there, slowly depleting your health.

It’s merely a distraction.

The enemy player barrels into you, sending you stumbling backwards right at the edge of crumbling gravel.

Poison becomes your downfall.

The smack of another half heart.

As one last resort, you grip onto the block with one hand, the other dangling with your bow into the void. Gritting your teeth, you do your damndest to drag yourself up, the poison wreaking havoc through your body and strength.

Shit. I’m not going to survive this, am I?

The one-handed grip on your bow tightens, nocked arrow slipping between your dirt-covered fingers.

You make a decision.

Just as the enemy player comes over, smirking but low on health, you let go of the block, drawing your arrow back as you fall into the void.

The broadhead meets its mark just in time, signalling a victory with a dragon appearing underneath you right before you hit the death line. A sigh of relief escapes your lips; you direct the dragon upwards with a rush of gratefulness soaring through your body. Respawning isn’t a pleasant process.

Twenty or so seconds later, you appear back in the lobby with your teammate at your side. The lobby is nearly empty, only a few people milling around, most having traveled elsewhere or checked into a tavern or hotel.

“You’re good. We could use you on our side.”

“ ‘We’?”

Two other figures appear out of seemingly nowhere, one wearing white-rimmed black sunglasses with a blue hoodie, the other a bandana and a white hoodie with flames on the front of it.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, calling up a portal in your mind, ready to dash through it at the slightest hint of a threat. Sparks form by your palms, their signature color drawing the leader’s attention.

“Calm down. I have no interest in killing you.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” you retort. “Three versus one isn’t exactly fair y’know.” The sparks grow brighter; though they are primarily used to call up portals, they can deal quite a blow to anyone who forcefully comes into contact with them.

Dream (you now read off his nametag, getting sick of referring to him by random aliases) extends a hand in front of his body. Something hovers in it, glowing a soft white and reading something you can’t quite make out.

“It’s not going to kill you.”

Bandanna laughs at that.

“Reassuring,” you snap, taking a closer look at it.

Invitation: Dream SMP

Active?: Yes

Expires: Never

Taken aback, you sputter out a few jumbled sentences before asking why they’d invite you of all people. Sure, you may be okay at Skywars, but that doesn’t warrant an invitation to literally the most exclusive server in the network.

“Uh—what?”

You take a quick glance at the two others, noting their tags are red and white as well, reading Sapnap and Georgenotfound.

“You don’t have to accept.” Dream steps forward to set the glowing orb in your hands. “Just know that we picked you for a very good reason.

How… interesting.

“Is it ‘cause I’m an inactive Crasher?”

The three stiffen at the moniker used for the infamous Jumpers, the ones who figure out ways around the system, the lines of fate that make up the different servers, finding loopholes that not even the best Mender can. They exploit them, gaining almost god-like abilities on the server only to wreak absolute anarchy on the infrastructure until the admin can step in, if they haven’t been eliminated from the system or perma-killed already.

From what little you know about the Dream SMP, you know the admin is a god of sorts, mostly staying out of the way but occasionally fixing matters that need it. Otherwise they stay… wherever gods stay.

“No,” George pipes up. You note his accent, odd and slightly out of place, but not unpleasant. “You being a Jumper does help, however.”

You’ve heard of elusive servers where Jumpers have access to a lot of power and near-unlimited resources, though no one can quite figure out why. Those servers are typically entirely anarchy.

“Yeah, sure.” But you clutch the invitation closer to your person anyway. It glows a bit brighter at the increased contact.

“Think on it.”

Those words echo through your mind throughout the rest of the night, in your bed, subconsciously in your dreams and into the next morning.

It’s no easy decision. You know you’ll be dragged into all sorts of politics, conflict and battles unlike the Skywars ones you usually find yourself dealing with.

Your hand grips the glowing ball a bit tighter, reading the same three statements engraved on it repeatedly until the words are branded into your mind.

And then it disappears.

“Invitation accepted.”

[stellocchia]

So, I once made a post about c!Tommy and c!Dream’s relationship throughout season 1 (which you can find here), but today I was thinking, why not do the same for the Exile Arc?

There are some people that still don’t seem to have a comprehensive idea of what actually went down during that time (either because they joined the fandom afterwards or haven’t watched it at the time) so I’ll try to do that here. I’ll cover the first 2 streams here, and then continue in the next part because this is gonna be way too damn long otherwise...

As always I’ll be talking only about the characters and the roleplay from here on out and also I’ll be touching on some very heavy topics under the cut (such as gaslighting and abuse). Also this is gonna be another one of my Overly Long Analysis, so... you know... be warned of that.

I’ll be going through this vod by vod, so It will be so long... God why do I always do this to myself?

Let’s start with TommyInnit Is Exiled From The Dream SMP... which is the vod when Tommy actually get’s exiled.

So, the exile scene per se has been covered a 100 times over, but, right after Tubbo asking Dream to “please detain and excort Tommy out of my country” Dream yeets Tommy off the walls and then he immediately establishes the general idea of how it’ll be in exile: “I don’t think you wanna die Tommy. You need to- to listen to me”.

Also it is to be noted that in this “exile” time and time again Dream establishes arbitrary rules that were most certanly not meant in the initial sentence (which is why it’s much more of a kidnapping then an actual exile). Starting from before they even leave L’Manburg completely. In fact when they are still in the vc with the others and still just down from the obsidian walls, Tommy and Dream have this exchange:

“Do I have any time to speak words? What can...” “NO. NO. NO. NO!” “what the...” 

And then right after (just after leaving the vc):

“Do you have food?” “Yeah...” “Good, we’ll be going a long while still” “Am I not allowed- well surely- surely I’m only exiled from L’Manburg-” “Oh, no no no. You’re exiled from everywhere that’s been touched”

The sentence was only for him to be exiled from L’Manburg. Dream theoretically only had authority over the Greater Dream smp in any case, so how come immediately Tommy’s “sentence” becomes being exiled from “everywhere that has been touched”? What authority did Dream have to exile him from the Badlands? Or the Holy Grounds (considering those are widely considered neutral)?

This is from right after Ghostbur joins them:

“Well, I don’t- I don’t have to come with you” “Well, I mean, I’ll kill you” (...) "I don’t have to follow you! I don’t-” “Tommy! Then I’ll just kill you. What happens if I kill you?” “I die...”

Again, technically Tubbo only asked Dream to escort Tommy out of his country, not all the way to his place of exile. Tommy here is right, he is exiled, he is not supposed to have a jailor going with him, he is not supposed to be imprisoned. All he supposedly had to do was get off the lands he wasn’t allowed into and then he’d be good. Of course Dream’s plans were different there.

Also the trend of constantly undermining anything Tommy is feeling at any given moment sure doesn’t stop with the Exile Arc! 

“No, no! I don’t want to head anywhere! I wanna to go back! I wanna go back!” “Fine fine, we’ll head this way then. It’s fine, this is fine” “I don’t wanna go!” “Tommy come on...”

Honorable mention to Dream talking about the first time he exiled Tommy:

“Do you remember- this is actually funny! Do you remember the first time you ever joined the server? And uhm... you got exiled? By me?” “Yeah?” “It’s kinda like that, except now if you don’t listen you die”

And the conditioning begins all the way here, with Dream trying to decide Tommy’s emotions for him:

“Oh... I hate you” “*laughs* Okay Tommy, you don’t hate me” “No, no I definitely do” “Noooo, you don’t hate me”

Cue Dream just blowing up Tommy’s second Summer Home after he explained that it was supposed to be a safe haven for him and Tubbo. Also note that Dream is already getting rid of any mob attacking Tommy even if at this point he still had armour and weapons to defend himself. I talked about this before, but Dream does seem to want Tommy to be as dependent on him as he is on Tommy, which is why during exile he made him dependent on him for protection/safety and company and in prison for food. Also Ghostbur going: “I don’t think this man is very nice...”, thank you Ghostbur, I wish you could remember that, but you’re trying your best and I appreciate it...

“How long is- how long am I exiled for? When can I just go back?” “You can’t (...) if you go back you die”

Again, not Dream’s decision to make. Tubbo was the one exiling Tommy meaning that, if Tubbo actually had the decision power in that istance, Tubbo was the one who should have decided when he could come back. Also, again reiterating the point from before:

“I thought I was only banished from L’Manburg, that was the deal, not the entirety of the smp-” “Oh no. No you’re banished far enough where they don’t see you”

Also, a little look into Tommy’s mentality here:

“Tubbo said he wasn’t thinking with emotion, but with reason, but: what the fuck is the point if there isn’t any- any emotion?!”

This is honestly why he is Dream’s exact opposite and probably why he finds him fun, while Tubbo is irrelevant to him. Tommy thinks emotions should always be taken into account when making decisions and he values sentimentality over everything. Dream is the opposite, to him emotions are irrelevant and sentimentality is a weakness. Tubbo is a bit of both, which makes his clash of ideologies with Dream a lot less evident. 

Anyway, they get to the island and Dream builds Tommy a dirt shack for him to set his spawn into. And then there is the first istance of Dream taking all of Tommy’s stuff (building blocks and food included) and blowing it up. Which, again, is in no way an actual exile condition. Tommy is in jail basically. He got kidnapped and now he is in jail. Also right after that Dream gives them food and obsidian (of course acting like he is doing them a big favour, when he actually just created that need), which Tommy bromptly refuses, later burning the obsidian.

Also Dream’s parting words here are: “I’ll see you never”. Which couldn’t be less true! There is quite a bit more after that, of Tommy and Ghostbur settling in, finding a ruined portal with some armour and the village nearby and Techno visiting, but this is about c!Dream and c!Tommy and it’s already incredibly long as is, so maybe I’ll talk about everything else another time...

Onto the next one: Tommy Is Alone in Exile with Dream...

This stream starts off with Bad visiting Tommy to give him a few presents (which consist of Chirp, 2 diamonds, an enderchest, and almost dead diamond pick with silk touch, some coocked chicken some bones and a few stacks of oak wood logs). Also Tommy sees Logsteshire for the first time. Then Dream arrives and he is not happy about the present (something something, having other people giving Tommy useful stuff would make him less reliant on Dream). Also Bad seems to be slightly scared of Dream since he immediately tells Tommy that he should not say that any of the stuff he gave him was from him. Anyway, Dream destroys everything, but Tommy, with Bad’s help, manages to save Chirp. Here’s their exchange in this scene of course:

“Tommy?” “Yes! Yes?!” “Do you have uh... something you wanna put on the floor here?” “Yes *throws in 3 red concrete blocks*” “Anything else Tommy?” “No! You’re evil by the way, you’re an evil man-” “Come on... I know there is something else you wanna drop down here...” “No there-... *gives disk to Bad* I don’t reckon there is!” “Okay are you sure...?” “Yes!” “Alright... how about uh- how about your armour Tommy?” “No this is- I actually earned this myself” “I know you did! Just drop it in the hole Tommy” “No, no! You can’t just come and demand things from me! I’ve been exiled, I’ve done your shit! What- what do you mean-” “Tommy~” “What?” *Dream hits Tommy with an enchanted netherite axe* “Drop them down~” “Hooooo okay okay okay!”

So, in case anyone was wondering, physical abuse is there as well. And this is fully depicted as physical abuse. Like, normally, with this being Minecraft, it is implied that violence is generally inconsequential, here though c!Tommy reacts to it clearly in pain and shock. There is no doubt there. 

Sapnap arrives at this point as well. After that Dream makes it a point that Tommy cannot have the enderchast that Bad gave him because you can never have enough random arbitrary rules when kidnapping someone apparently! 

“Why are you here? Why are you here? What- what could you- what could you possibly want more from me? You’ve tortured me-” “I’m just! I’m just... keeping an eye on you Tommy” 

I’ve highlighted this because, considering the last time Dream was there he said he would never see Tommy again, Tommy’s confusion here is more then understandable. But of course Dream acts like it’s obvious that he would be there and that it’s necessary to make sure that Tommy is not “up to no good”. Also, another extremely important exchange: 

“You’ve exiled me you stupid manipulative green bastard!” “Yeah I know! I know! And you know why I did that” “Yes? Yes?” “No, you know why” “Why?” “Because you don’t listen to me ever. You’re the only person who doesn’t ever listen to me (...) listen, you are like a little annoying bug in my room and it pisses me off so I take you and I put you outside and that’s what I did. And now I’m just making sure that you stay outside”

So... the bullshit about this being about George’s house is out of the window by the first proper exile stream. Also Dream goes in the ever increasing list of villains who, if annoyed enough, will reveal all their evil plans to the protagonist. Like Tommy screaches enough and Dream will immediately go in evil monologuing mode...

“So what do you actually want from me then?” “Well nothing, I’m just here to talk to you. Tommy, we’re still friends ok? Just because I exiled you doesn’t mean we’re not friends-” “Just because I killed your friends and family doesn’t mean we can’t be bros...” “Well, it’s true!”

Ok so, it’s confirmed that Dream would still go on with this “friendship” facade even if he killed Tubbo or Wilbur then. Also:

*Tommy sees a creeper* then in the most monotone tone ever: “Help me” Dream sprinting from the other side of the cave: “TOMMY!”. I love this scene and I love this two dumbasses (and I mean the cc’s here). Also, to go back to the serious stuff: once again Dream is the one killing every single mob around Tommy because he blew up all his means for defence. Also Bad and Sapnap are still there as well, but Dream is always the on interveening (mostly because he is the one following Tommy around more closely). I’ll have a few of the more interesting quotes here afterwards until the next interesting scene:

“If I had 8 legs I would fuck you all up” “Oooh, no you wouldn’t” (Dream de-valuing Tommy’s anger once again)

“Stop following me” “NO” “Well okay then...” (honestly this was just funny...)

“Can I call you Wilbur? Or is it Ghostbur...?” “You can call me whatever you like” (for those saying that Ghostbur not correcting Tommy was weird)

“Alright Wilbur, what do you need an enderchest for? I might make an exception but-” “We- we need it so that we can access our stuff from the old world, the old world” “But not to go back” “How would we be able to go back with an enderchest?” “Well I don’t know maybe there is stuff in there that’s... better” “Tommy do you have anything that could get you to go back? In the enderchest?” “A boat? What’d you mean?” “Yeah to be honest we just need wood to get back, it’s not really-” 

Here we have Ghostbur poking holes in one of the new rules that Dream added that day. As a matter of fact, why would an enderchest be dangerous? Tommy mostly keeps sentimental stuff in there and a bit of iron. Still that’s the whole point: Dream is trying to get Tommy under his control so he needs to bring him to a point where he’ll listen to his orders even when they don’t make any actual sense. Also, btw, Dream doesn’t actually give them an enderchest after this exchange.

“Do you want to come with me Tommy? Do you want to come with me and visit the old library?” “No no no” “Yes! Yes please!” “No he wants to stay here with me” “I don’t. I definitely don’t” “He does! He’s just trying to be nice to you Wilbur. He’s trying to be nice to you” “I’m not Wilbur, I want to come with you” (way to gaslight an amnesiac ghost...)

“So how long is Tommy supposed to be here?” “Like a week?” “Oh, a week is not bad!” “*laughing* No he’s here forever” (Like goddamn, imagine if every minor griefing was punished with permanent exile!)

“M-maybe like- does Tommy gets like visitations? Like once every month he get’s to go to L’Manburg-” “No! No no no” “No visitation, huh?” “No visitation” (well, let’s thank Sapnap for trying...)

So, after this Tommy gets his plan to go through the Nether and find a quick way to and from L’Manburg to, perhaps, sneak in unnoticed at some points. Dream “allows” him here to go to the Nether (even though technically there is no reason why the exile would extend to there as well), so they get to work on fixing a ruined portal. “Did you know, I apparently blew up a nation and killed everyone” (thank God we have Ghostbur, he makes everything better). One thing I want to note though: at this point Tommy still kills the mobs attacking him when Dream is not stalking him and doing it for him, which is kind of nice. We are still at the first exile stream though...

“Can I go back for like an hour and see all my friends?” “No, they can come here though. I-I mean Tommy, I think- I think that someone could come here and visit you, but you can’t ever go back. Like I-I don’t have anything against people coming here and visiting you if they want to. They don’t HAVE to, but they can if they really want to” “Tommy think of it this way: whenever you’re in prison you can’t just go and visit your friends, but they can come and visit you” “They can come and visit you, yeah, that’s actually a very- that’s a perfect analogy”

I wonder why the best analogy for Tommy’s situation is not a f*cking exile analogy, but actual prison. Maybe because he is confined to one place, not allowed to keep any personal items and never allowed to go back? Also they actually get to Nether hub at this point and there is the famous scene with Tommy looking at the lava: 

A curious thing about this scene (aside from being a clear indication of the beginning of Tommy’s depressive spiral) is both that Dream didn’t seem to particularly care about Tommy dying up until now (and in the future as well) as long as he is the one to kill him. Meaning that he seemed fine with it as long as he had control over it. And yet at the end there he agrees with Tommy’s statement of “it’s never my time to die” which kinda makes me think that Dream by this point was already entirely set on his idea of Tommy needing to be alive for Dream to control the whole server. Tommy and Dream head back to Logstedshire after this scene.

*Tommy looks at the lava while standing very close to the edge* “I’ll go back through just to... check and see” *Dream hits Tommy away from the edge* “Come on” *Tommy goes back to the edge and Dream pushes him away again, this time covering the hole* “It’s not your time to die yet Tommy” “It’s never my time to die” “That’s true” 

“Home sweet home...” “Home sweet home. I think it’ll be good! People might visit you all the time, I mean, I can visit you! It’s- it’s actually fun to come here! It’s a little bit- it’s a change of scenery, you know?” “It’s not fun to be stuck here” “Well... you’re not ’stuck’ it’s your vacation home!” “Can I go back? I’m ready...” “No but you can leave this area, you can go somewhere else. This is just- like, I took you far away, you can go further if you want”

So, if anyone is wondering, this is not, in fact, Dream giving Tommy more freedom. Especially considering that when Tommy does leave Logstedshire later on Dream literally hunts him down, so no, that was never an option. What Dream is doing here is make himself sound benevolent by comparison by telling Tommy that the only other options he has are worse since they are even further away.

“I’m here for a good time, not for a long time” (more hints towards Tommy’s depressive spiral)

“Guys how do you know when it’s too much?” (and again)

“Can I go and see the tree?” “Tommy, you can’t go and see the tree” “Dream why don’t you let him just- it’s not in L’Manburg! Why don’t you let him just see the tree and then escort him back?” 

Ghostbur my beloved, pointing out holes in Dream’s rules all the time. Something tells me that’s the reason why Dream tried to kill him later on...

Anyway! This concludes this first post because it’s... Oh fuck this is REALLY long.... welp! I’ll make the others in the next few days! 

[wherethewordsare]

Oop didn’t see you’d already done that! How about that (33???) one about Unknowingly dating a mobster?”

So I actually wrote one about Jaskier being a biker here. But I hope you like this for #33 instead?

33. Everyone thinks I should stay away from you because you’re dangerous

“Geralt!” Lambert crowed, throwing an arm around his shoulders before he could sit down in the booth. “Here we were thinking you’d forgotten us, chasing that bard of yours off to who knows where,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. 

Geralt pushed him off, rolling his eyes as he squeezed in next to Eskel in the booth. Eskel patted him on the back and passed him an ale, giving him an apologetic look. 

“Seriously, Wolf, you look…” Lambert looked him over, frowning slightly, “happier.” There was something almost accusatory in his tone. 

Eskel shot him a look and suddenly Geralt felt like this was less a meet up to travel together back to Kaer Morhen and more an intervention. So this was how it was going to be. 

“Say it,” Geralt growled, suddenly feeling defensive. Jaskier wasn’t even here and he felt the sudden unstoppable urge to protect him, even from his brothers. 

“Geralt, we don’t mean to-” Eskal started

“He’s going to make you soft and it’s going to get you killed,” Lambert said flatly. “We’re witchers, Geralt. It’s dangerous.” 

There was a loud thud under the table and Lambert cursed into his drink.

“Geralt, we’re worried is all. Last year you came back with far more fresh scars than you have before,” Eskel reasoned. It almost sounded like it made sense until. “We think maybe you traveling without the bard next season would be better for you both, get you both out of danger.”

He sat there in silence, his stomach roiling. He never expected them to understand, but he would have never thought that his brothers would be adamant about him leaving Jaskier behind. 

“No, and that’s the end of it,” he said through gritted teeth before sliding back out of the booth and making his way to his room for the night. 

The next morning the trek back to Kaer Morhen was tense and silent but they would get over it. Geralt ignored the part of him that tugged him back towards Oxenfurt, back to the warm bed he had left three days before to meet his brothers. It would still be there in the spring. 

--

“Why am I not surprised to see you here,” Yen clucked her tongue at him as he trudged out of the muck. 

“Yennefer.” He said in way of greeting, the drowner’s head tapping against his thigh. 

She wrinkled her nose but reached out a hand to pull him back onto solid ground anyways. “Do you know where I can find this?” She held out a sketch of a flower with pointed leaves and delicately curved flowers. 

“Who are you trying to black mail now?” He asked, figuring there was only one use for a plant like that. He fell into step beside her, wincing at the ache in his knee where the drowner had tried to slash him. 

“Nothing for you to worry about, witcher,” she smirked. “I hear you have that bard with you. Surprised he’s not hiding in the trees trying to get material for his newest ballad,” she scoffed. 

Geralt almost felt it before she started, inwardly sighing. 

“You know, that never made sense to me,” She cocked her head as though trying to puzzle something out. 

“What’s to make sense of, Jaskier travels with me, I travel with Jaskier. There’s nothing more to it.” He shrugged. 

Yennefer rolled her eyes, her hand idly plucking a twig from a low branch as they passed. “You know what I mean, Geralt.” 

“Hmm,” he scowled at the ground. His leg was starting to itch. Jaskier was going to fuss at him about getting muck into it and the thought of that alone eased him slightly. 

“He’s fragile for one. Mortal besides. What happens when you inevitably out-live him and lose your edge over sentiment, Geralt. What then?” She snapped the twig easily between her fingers, the green wood frayed as she let it drop to the ground without a second thought. 

It wasn’t something he didn’t worry about but it was something he didn’t have to worry about right then. 

“Nothing for you to worry about, mage,” he growled, trudging on ahead. 

“I won’t be there to be your bed warmer when he’s gone,” she called after him. His medallion vibrated slightly, signaling her leaving by portal. He limped the rest of the way back to town feeling slightly colder than he had a moment before. 

--

Jaskier was dozing against a tree at the edge of their camp, his bare legs stretched out into the sun, his lute in his lap. He looked like peace and home and safety. Geralt slipped out of his armor and moved to press in along side him, their thighs pressed together.

Jaskier slumped in against him, resting his head on Geralt’s shoulder. “You took longer than I thought you would,” he yawned, stretching a bit before pressing closer, despite the heat. 

In the shade of the tree, Geralt could see the grey that looked more blonde in the direct sun starting to come in at Jaskier’s temples and he ached a bit at the thought. 

Time would never move the same for him as it did Jaskier. 

“I can hear you thinking, dear heart,” Jaskier peaked up at him, smiling softly. “What is it? You look like someone insulted Roach.” 

Geralt huffed softly. “Not Roach.”

“I would hope not. Roach is out best girl, aren’t you Roach?” Jaskier called over only for Roach to look back and flick her ears back. 

“Jaskier?” Time moved differently for them both but that didn’t have to mean what others thought it did. Geralt could still give part of himself up for a moment and live with that for the rest of his life, couldn’t he? Would it make him unfeeling if he survived losing Jaskier in the end?

“Hmm?” Jaskier was still half dozing, his face now turning into Geralt’s neck, his breath puffing warm and damp under his ear. 

You’re the most dangerous thing I have ever touched and I’m terrified. He thought. He shifted slightly, letting his still booted foot bump gently into Jaskier’s. Maybe he would know, maybe he would understand without Geralt having to say it. Maybe Jaskier would spend how many ever years they had left and know that saying the words would somehow make Geralt weaker and he couldn’t risk it, even if it did make his bones ache in a way no monster could touch. 

Or maybe… 

“Do you still want to go to the coast?” Geralt breathed, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s temple. Some dangers were just worth the risk.

[lokiondisneyplus]

A review of “Journey Into Mystery,” the penultimate Loki Season One episode on Disney+, coming up just as soon as I paper cut a giant cloud to death…

Journey Into Mystery was the title of the first Marvel comic to feature either Thor or Loki. It began as an anthology series featuring monsters and aliens, but Jack Kirby, Stan Lee, and Larry Lieber were so smitten with their adaptation of the characters of Norse myth that the Asgardians gradually took over the whole book, which was renamed after its hammer-wielding hero(*).

(*) The early Journey Into Mystery stories treated Thor’s alter ego, disabled Dr. Donald Blake, as the “real” character, while Thor was just someone Blake could magically transform into, while retaining his memories and personality. It wasn’t even clear whether Asgard itself was meant to exist at first, until Loki turned up on Earth in an early issue, caused trouble, and Blake/Thor somehow knew exactly how to get to Asgard to drop him off. Soon, the lines between Thor and Blake began to blur, and eventually Thor became the real guy, and Blake a fiction invented by Odin to humble his arrogant son. It’s a mark of just how instantly charismatic Loki was that the entire title quickly steered towards him and the other gods.

But once upon a time, anything was possible in Journey Into Mystery, which makes it an apt moniker for an absolutely wonderful episode of Loki where the same holds true. Our title characters are trapped in the Void, a place at the end of time where the TVA’s victims are banished to be devoured by a cloud monster named Alioth. And mostly they are surrounded by the wreckage of many dead timelines. Classic Loki insists that his group’s only goal is survival, and any kind of planning and scheming is doomed to kill the Loki who tries. But this ruined, hopeless world instead feels bursting with imagination and possibility.

There are the many Loki variants we see, with President Loki, among others, joining Classic, Kid, Boastful, and Alligator Loki. There are the metric ton of Easter Eggs just waiting to be screencapped by Marvel obsessives (I discuss a few of them down below), but which still suggest a much larger and weirder MCU even if you don’t immediately scream out “Is that… THROG?!?!?” at the appropriate moment. And all of that stuff is tons of fun, to be sure. But what makes this episode — and, increasingly, this series — feel so special is the way that it explores the untapped potential of Loki himself, in his many, many variations.

This is an episode that owes more than a small stylistic and thematic debt to Lost. It’s not just that Alioth looks and sounds so much like the Smoke Monster(*), that it makes a shared Wizard of Oz reference to “the man behind the curtain” (also the title of one of the very best Lost episodes), or even that the core group of Lokis are hiding in a bunker accessible via a hatch and a ladder that’s filled with recreational equipment (in this case, bowling alley lanes). It’s also that Loki, Sylvie, their counterparts, and Mobius have all been transported to a strange place that has disturbing echoes from their own lives, that operates according to strange new rules they have to learn while fleeing danger, and their presence there allows them to reflect on the many mistakes of their past and consider whether they want to, or can, transcend them.

(*) Yes, Alioth technically predates Smokey by a decade (see the notes below for more), but his look has been tweaked a bit here to seem more like smoke than a cloud, and the sounds he makes when he roars sound a lot like Smokey’s telltale taxi cab meter clicks. Given the other Lost hat tips in the episode, I have to believe Alioth was chosen specifically to evoke Smokey.

Classic Loki is aptly named. He wears the Sixties Jack Kirby costume, and he is a far more powerful magician than either Sylvie or our Loki have allowed themselves to be. He calls our Loki’s knives worthless compared to his sorcery, which feels like the show acknowledging that the movies depowered Loki a fair amount to make him seem cooler. But if Classic Loki can conjure up illusions bigger and more potent than his younger peers, he is a fundamentally weak and defeated man, convinced, like the others, that the only way to win the game into which he was born is not to play. “We cannot change,” he insists. “We’re broken. Every version of ourselves. Forever.” It is not only his sentiment — Kid Loki adds that any Loki who tries to improve inevitably winds up in the Void for their troubles — but it seems to have weighed on him longer and harder than most.

But Classic Loki takes inspiration from Loki and Sylvie to stand and fight rather than turn and run, magicking up a vision of their homeland to distract Alioth at a crucial moment in Sylvie’s plan, and getting eaten for his trouble. He was wrong: Lokis can change. (Though Kid Loki might once again argue that Classic Loki’s death is more evidence that the universe has no interest in any of them doing so.) And both Loki and Sylvie have been changing throughout their time together. Like most Lokis, they seem cursed to a life of loneliness. Sylvie learned as a child that a higher power believed she should not exist, and has spent a lifetime hiding out in places where any friends she might make will soon die in an apocalypse. Our Loki’s past isn’t quite so stark, but the knowledge that his birth father abandoned him, while his adoptive father never much liked him, have left permanent scars that govern a lot of his behavior. The defining element of Classic Loki’s backstory is that he spent a long time alone on a planet, and only got busted by the TVA when he attempted to reconnect with his brother and anyone else he once knew. This is a hard existence, for all of them. And while it does not forgive them their many sins(*), it helps contextualize them, and give them the knowledge to try to be better versions of themselves.

(*) Loki at one point even acknowledges that, for him, it’s probably only been a few days since he led an alien invasion of New York that left many dead, though due to TVA shenanigans, far more time may have passed.

For that matter, Mobius is not the stainless hero he once thought of himself as. While he and Sylvie are tooling around the Void in a pizza delivery car (because of course they are), he admits that he committed a lot of sins by believing that the ends justified the means, and was wrong. He doesn’t know who he is before the TVA stole and factory rebooted him, but he knows that he wants something better for himself and the universe, and takes the stolen TemPad to open up a portal to his own workplace in hopes of tearing down the TVA once and for all. Before he goes, though, he and Loki share a hug that feels a lot more poignant than it should, given that these characters have only spent parts of four episodes of TV together. It’s a testament to Hiddleston, Wilson, Waldron, and company (Tom Kauffman wrote this week’s script) that their friendship felt so alive and important in such a short amount of time.

The same can be said for Loki and Sylvie’s relationship, however we’re choosing to define it. Though they briefly cuddle together under a blanket that Loki conjures, they move no closer to romance than they were already. If anything, Mobius’ accusations of narcissism in last week’s episode seem to have made both of them pull back a bit from where they seemed to be heading back on Lamentis. But the connection between them is real, whatever exactly it is. And their ability to take down Alioth — to tap into the magic that Classic Loki always had, and to fulfill Loki’s belief that “I think we’re stronger than we realize” — by working together is inspiring and joyful. Without all this nuanced and engaging character work, Loki would still be an entertaining ride, but it’s the marriage of wild ideas with the human element that’s made it so great.

Of course, now comes the hard part. Endings have rarely been an MCU strength, give or take something like the climax of Endgame, and the finales of the two previous Disney+ shows were easily their weakest episodes. The strange, glorious, beautiful machine that Waldron and Herron have built doesn’t seem like it’s heading for another generic hero/villain slugfest, but then, neither did WandaVision before we got exactly that. This one feels different so far, though. The command of the story, the characters, and the tone are incredibly strong right now. There is a mystery to be solved about who is in the big castle beyond the Void (another Loki makes the most narrative and thematic sense to me, but we’ll see), and a lot to be resolved about what happens to the TVA and our heroes. And maybe there’s some heavy lifting that has to be done in service to the upcoming Dr. Strange or Ant-Man films.

It’s complicated, but on a show that has handled complexity well. Though even if the finale winds up keeping things simpler, that might work. As Loki notes while discussing his initial plan to take down Alioth, “Just because it’s not complicated doesn’t mean it’s bad.” Though as Kid Loki retorts, “It also doesn’t mean it’s good.”

Please be good, Loki finale. Everything up to this point deserves that.

Some other thoughts:

* Most of this week’s most interesting material happens in the Void. But the scenes back at the TVA clarify a few things. First, Ravonna is not the mastermind of all this, and she was very much suckered in by the Time-Keeper robots. But unlike Mobius or Hunter B-15, she’s so conditioned to the mission that even knowing it’s a lie hasn’t really swayed her from her mission. She has Miss Minutes (who herself is much craftier this week) looking into files about the creation of the TVA, but for the most part comes across as someone very happy with a status quo where she gets to be special and pass judgment on the rest of the multiverse.

* Alioth first appeared in 1993’s Avengers: The Terminatrix Objective, a miniseries (written by Mobius inspiration Mark Gruenwald, and with some extremely kewl Nineties art full of shoulder pads, studded collars, and the like) involving Ravonna, Kang, and the off-brand versions of Captain America, Iron Man, and Thor (aka U.S. Agent, War Machine, and Thunderstrike, the latter of whom has yet to appear in the MCU). It’s a sequel to a Nineties crossover event called Citizen Kang. And no, I still don’t buy that Kang will be the one pulling the strings here, if only because it’s really bad storytelling for the big bad of the season to have never appeared or even been mentioned prior to the finale.

* Rather than try to identify every Easter egg visible in the Void’s terrain, I’ll instead highlight three of the most interesting. Right before the Lokis arrive at the hatch, we see a helicopter with Thanos’ name on it. This is a hat tip to an infamous — and often memed — out-of-continuity story where Thanos flies this chopper while trying to steal the Cosmic Cube (aka the Tesseract) from Hellcat. (A little kid gets his hands on it instead and, of course, uses the Cube to conjure up free ice cream.) James Gunn has been agitating for years for the Thanos Copter to be in the MCU. He finally got his wish.

* The other funny one: When the camera pans down the tunnel into Kid Loki’s headquarters, we see Mjolnir buried in the ground, and right below it is a jar containing a very annoyed frog in a Thor costume. This is either Thor himself — whom Loki cursed into amphibianhood in a memorable Walt Simonson storyline — or another character named Simon Walterston (note the backwards tribute to Walt) who later assumed the tiny mantle.

* Also, in one scene you can spot Yellowjacket’s helmet littering the landscape. This might support the theory that the TVA, the Void, etc., all exist in the Quantum Realm, since that’s where the MCU version of Yellowjacket probably went when his suit shorted out and he was crushed to subatomic size. Or it might be more trolling of the fanbase from the company that had WandaVision fans convinced that Mephisto, the X-Men, and/or Reed Richards would be appearing by the season finale.

* Honestly, I would have watched an entire episode that was just Loki, Mobius, and the others arguing about whether Alligator Loki was actually a Loki, or just a gator who ended up with the crown, presumably after eating a real Loki. The suggestion that the gator might be lying — and that this actually supports, rather than undermines, the case for him being a Loki — was just delightful. And hey, if Throg exists in the MCU now, why not Alligator Loki?

* Finally, the MCU films in general are not exactly known for their visual flair, though a few directors like Taika Waititi and Ryan Coogler have been able to craft distinctive images within the franchise’s usual template. Loki, though, is so often wonderful to look at, and particularly when our heroes are stuck in strange environments like Lamentis or the Void. Director Kate Herron and the VFX team work very well together to create dynamic and weird imagery like Sylvie running from Alioth, or the chaotic Loki battle in the bowling alley. Between this show and WandaVision, it appears the Disney+ corner of the MCU has a bit more room to expand its palette. (Falcon and the Winter Soldier, much less so.)

[writer-panda]

Hit on the groom and what became of it - chapter 2/Take me out maybe (with a sniper rifle)

Disclaimer: I don’t own Miraculous or Batman (and other DC characters). This is just a fanfiction. 

Chapter 1  -|-  Next

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As much as Marinette disliked the meeting with the female entourage, when the time came to start working on Adrien’s suit she wanted to scream. She could clearly see that he was uncomfortable with even the gentlest touches. She did her best to make it as non-invasive to him as possible.

They had absolutely no privacy whatsoever. The Bodyguard (Gerard; His name was Gerard) and Nathalie observed their every move. Marinette was half-convinced it wasn’t her who was under watch. 

The professional atmosphere was far cry from her usual working environment. When Uncle Jagged, Clara Nightingale, or even Diana Prince came to her for clothes, it was always very informal. They would joke, gossip, or exchange stories while she worked. Now? Now she was wary of even speaking with Adrien. 

Likewise, the boy refused to meet her eyes or open his mouth. 

At some point, when she was trying to find the right shade of white for the undershirt, she noticed a make-up stain that was not there before. 

“I’m sorry, but I will need to request you remove the makeup. It is staining my materials.” She informed Nathalie and Gerard coldly. It was all she could do to resist calling the police there and there. Sadly, the commissioner was good friends with Gabriel, so it would most likely just end her career and make it worse for Adrien. 

“I was assured it would not leave stains on materials. Please accept our apologies. We will cover the costs of destroyed materials,” Nathalie informed her in an equally cold voice.

“I see…” Marinette’s lips thinned. Inside, she was screaming. But there was nothing she could do. The hit was in place. Soon Adrien would be safe. It would go without a hitch. It had to. 

As the group was leaving, she could’ve sworn the Bodyguard gave her a mournful look. As if he shared her sentiment, but was powerless to stop it. She’d know that look. She saw it in the mirror all too often.

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The Wedding (even the narrator started to capitalize it) came faster than Marinette wanted to accept. And there were still no words about the kidnapping. She made sure to specify that they were to take him before he was married or no payment. Did she not make the money enticing enough? Were there already attempts that were stopped without media coverage? Maybe she forgot to check some boxes?

A million scenarios ran through her head as she wandered through the alleyways.

The whole event was happening in Gotham Botanic Garden. Whatever the weak excuse was given to the press, Marinette knew the real reason: it was one of the few places in the world where Gabriel could marry his son to Lila legally without messing with courts. And bribes were said to be cheapest there. 

As the designer for both the bride and the groom, she was invited to the main ceremony. 

Lila was kind enough to even give her a seated place… right next to Chloé Bourgeois.

Marinette had a hard time deciding if it was bigger punishment to her or the mayor’s daughter. Ultimately, the two girls did their best to not look at each other during preparations. At first, that is, because the first chance she got, Chloé to drag the designer to a remote garden gazebo in a secluded corner when she was least expecting it.

“Wha-!” Marinette was about to protest, but the blonde covered her mouth. She seated her on the bench and took the seat on the opposite side. 

“I’ve been friends with Adrien since we were kids.” She announced in the usual ‘I’m-better-than-you’ tone. “I also know that you’re not always an idiot.”

“Gee! Thanks, Chloé… I’m honored with your praise.” Marinette deadpanned, interrupting the heiress. “Now get to the point”. She really hoped her dress wasn’t damaged or she might just turn to murder. 

“Fine. You worked with Adrien on his suit.” She paused, and for a moment, just a brief moment, her mask fell. That was not what Marinette expected. She has never seen Chloé so… so… The designer’s brain lacked the word to describe how her childhood bully looked like. “How is he?” The blonde asked, her voice almost trembling. 

Marinette opened her mouth, but no sound came. 

A moment passed.

“Not good.” She finally admitted. “During the measurements, he winced even at delicate touches. Plus I was called in last week to make some adjustments to his garments. He lost weight between then and now. And he wore makeup on his right arm. On both occasions.”

“Makeup?” Chloé’s eyes widened. 

“Yes. I would’ve probably missed it if I didn’t soak my fabric into makeup removed beforehand.” She thought back fondly to her brilliant idea. 

“They hurt him!?” Chloé burst out after few seconds. “I will show those… those…”

“Believe me, I share the sentiment.” Marinette nodded sagely. She needed plan B and needed it fast. There had to be something… “I slipped him a burner phone on his way out. I doubt they found it. If it gets really bad, he can try calling the police.”

“You are devious sometimes, Dupain-Cheng.” 

“Thanks. I try.” 

“So… they are coercing him into it?”

“I think so. He is resigned to his fate it seems, but he tries to show some rebelliousness. It wasn’t his father’s idea to hire me and Lila would rather walk to the altar naked than wear anything by me.” Marinette cringed. Any interaction she had with the Liar made her feel almost dirty. And forcing politeness was physically painful sometimes. 

“I got that much from the fact he hasn’t reported it yet. That burner phone was a good move, but Adrikins was always too obedient.”

“And I’m sure you had nothing to do with it,” Marinette muttered, but Chloé didn’t hear her. The heiress somehow managed to derail her rant into telling the story of her entire childhood.

Marinette listened only with one ear, filtering the information for something useful. The rest of her consciousness focused on something else. She started to seriously entertain the idea of using Miraculous to get Adrien out. She would need a combination of several powers though. Trixx was the obvious choice. Illusions would be a great asset. Maybe the Tiger, for the Power Up? If Roaar didn’t exaggerate her power, she would be able to put a distance between them and the city before anyone even realized what happened. She would need to time her illusion right though. And there were the American Heroes to watch out for…

If she didn’t use miraculous immediately, she might get a drop on the bodyguard(s) and then make an exit using Kaalki’s power when they were alone. Disable cameras, take out the guards, get in, portal out. It was feasible but still involved too many risks. If anyone connected miraculi to the operation, Ladybug would be in great trouble. She couldn’t endanger Paris like that… not even for her partner and best friend. 

Then, there was the most dangerous plan. Don’t use Miraculi at all. She was confident enough in her skills to enter undetected. Maybe even sneak out. The question was, would Adrien make it. She could sneak him Plagg’s ring. Chat Noir would have no problem leaving any prison. But… there would be the same risk as when any other Miraculi was connected and the whole point was not to use them in the first place. 

“Ugh!” She let out an angry sound that startled Chloé. 

“What’s with you, Dupain-Cheng! Don’t you see I’m opening my heart to you!?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to do something productive.” She snapped at the blonde. 

“Why, I…”

“Silence. Your tale was entirely unhelpful. Let me focus.” 

Gotham. What was in Gotham that could help her? The most corrupt city, famous for its high crime rate, mad villains, and eternal gloominess. Even now she could feel some of it resonate in the air. As if the whole city was one big Akuma. Probably no help from the establishment… The police were more likely to put a bag on her head and deliver her to one of the crime families… 

“What in Gotham can help…” She voiced her musing loudly, causing Chloé to peak up.

“Waynes!” She proclaimed. “That serial adopter would jump at the chance to get another orphan…”

“Adrien isn’t an orphan… Yet.” Marinette grumbled. “But he will be married by then, so I would need to plan a double homicide… Meh. No great loss.” She said without a shadow of care. It was like the thoughts about the murder were completely normal for her. 

Chloé shivered. “Remind me not to get into your way when you’re in that mood.”

In the distance, the orchestra was starting to play, signaling the guests that the ceremony would start soon.

“Ugh! Hawkmoth it!” Marinette raged as she ran to the clearing. She no longer had the time and if she was the only one missing, Lila would make her prime suspect for anything that happened. Blast it. She would get one more chance. Screw the career. She could survive living somewhere in Argentina if it all went to hell. 

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Adrien already accepted his fate. His father and Lila made sure that all avenues of further rebellion were closed. He exhausted everything there was. 

To this day, he was grateful for that burner phone from Marinette. He made sure to hide it but always have it somewhere nearby. It became a form of a lifeline for him. A one-off save-your-life ticket. It would only work in short term, but at the rate everything was going, it could potentially save his life…

He missed his life before the mess with The Wedding started. 

Hell! He even missed Plagg’s stinking cheese. He would maim for some camembert.

“Adrien,” Gerard spoke solemnly. There was no need for more words. They both knew what was about to happen and Adrien took just a bit of solace in the fact that he was not entirely alone, even if no one could help him. 

“I’m ready.” He spoke, barely above a whisper.

Before he realized it, the ceremony was undergoing. Lila, in her stunning dress, held the attention on herself like a pro. No one even thought about looking anywhere but at them. The dress was similarly just so… Lila. It made all of her features all the more proponent. Yet, there was just a small, barely noticeable, stitch that said Marinette. A smile ghosted his face. There was some good out of this. He managed to make his friend famous. After today, no one would deny her style. 

“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The marriage officiant spoke. Adrien didn’t even care what convention the wedding was in. 

The silence swept across the garden. 

No one dared to even breathe loudly.

Adrien lowered his head. Here, the last…

There was a rustle somewhere close to the front. He looked up, a small glimmer of hope appeared in his eyes. 

Marinette was standing there, her backs straightened and one finger held up. “I…”

She felt the gaze of hundreds of guests on her. They were the most influential people in the world of modern business. Waynes. Luthor. Queen. Burgeiose. Agreste… And they all kept staring at her. 

She tried to swipe the hall with a glance, but something attracted her attention. A glint of light somewhere in the distance.

“Watch out!” She shouted, tossing a chair she was sitting on just a moment ago. 

The metal item sailed through the air until it crashed in the middle of the alley.

With an arrow sticking out of it.

For a second (which felt much longer) everyone stared at it.

Then the mass panic started. People got out of their chairs and started trying to get out of there. They trampled one another as each considered themselves to be the most important, hence first to evacuate. It was chaos.

Among the mass of people, Marinette tried her best to make it to the altar. She saw that Gerard and several other hired bodyguards were of similar minds. 

She managed to squeeze through the crowd the fastest, only to find Lila knocked out and Adrien and the Officiant missing. Adrien’s cousin (best man) and Alya (bridesmaid) were both nowhere to be found. They probably ran away. There was still no trace of the Groom. That is until she saw a giant mass of brown mud dragging the boy away. 

The sad thing? Adrien wasn’t really protesting much. 

Gerard was the next to make it through. He noticed Adrien a tad quicker and tried to chase whoever it was that tried to kidnap Adrien, but a fist made of mud slammed into him, sending him flying away. 

“Holy Hawkmoth!” Marinette cursed once more. Okay, so far, it was only a curse for her, but he deserved it. 

In the distance, police sirens could’ve been heard, but with how fast the mud was escaping, Adrien would be long gone before the police arrived. Marinette had to do something.

Wait… Why am I trying to stop the kidnapping I ordered? She suddenly questioned herself, freezing in place. 

Two guards rushed past her and started firing at the mass, but the bullets seemed to be about as effective as Parisian police when dealing with Akuma. 

The last Marinette saw of Adrien he was being taken into the sewers.

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After the police arrived, Marinette was of course first to be interrogated. (“Gee… Thanks, Lila”). They wanted to know how she noticed the arrow, did she see the attacker, how did the kidnapper looked like, and dozens of other questions. By the end, she was exhausted. Somewhere after the sixth question, her phone pinged. Luckily, the police didn’t bother with checking it and believed that it was just a worried friend. 

Not the kidnapper trying to contact their employer.

Finally, after the police released her and informed her that no further information was needed, she could contact her Maman.

“Sweety? Are you okay? I’ve seen the news!” Was the first thing that came through

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’m perfectly fine. The police held me back for questioning a bit. I’m going back to the hotel and be back in Paris first flight tomorrow, okay?”

“Stay in Gotham! I’m coming to pick you up!” Her mother informed her.

“Wha-!? But there is no need! Seriously Maman! There’s no need to trouble yourself.”

There was a silence on the line for a moment and Marinette could feel that her mother was trying to glare at her through the phone. It worked. 

“Fine… I’m at Wayne Plaza, room 30-14.” She relented, not wanting any more arguments. She would still have several hours to sort the mess with Adrien. What could possibly go wrong?

Trying her best to be careful, Marinette left the site of crime and traveled to the industrial district. The taxi driver couldn’t be bothered less about why she wanted to go there. He just wanted to get paid and leave. 

The only-slightly-creepy aura of the completely silent area full of factories and warehouses served as a perfect background to contacting the kidnapper. Marinette, after making sure she was truly alone, activated the voice-scrambling app on her burner and dialed the number that sent her the text about successful work. Her Maman showed her that, thinking she wanted it for a prank. Or that’s how Marinette presented it anyway.

“Who is this?!” A voice on the other side of the call asked.

Marinette took a deep breath before answering. “I was led to believe you have what I wanted.” She tried her best to channel Chloé into her voice. 

“Ah… Yes… There’s been a… complication.”

“What do you mean ‘complication’?” She hissed into the phone call. 

“Um… I had the package… But then someone stole the stolen package…” Whoever that was informed her. 

“Who?” She demanded. 

“Last I checked, Lawton was the one who had ‘im… But it might’ve changed. But don’t worry, Boss… lady?” They asked. Marinette didn’t give either confirmation or scolding, so they continued. “I’m still in the game.” With that, they hang up. 

“What did I just get myself into…” She moaned. Then, the realization hit her. “What did I just get Adrien into…”

Elsewhere, Adrien was starring into a pair of curious sea-green eyes. 

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