#why didn't i do this more since earlier???

[wolvietxt]

picking up the pieces

pairing : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : hurt/comfort, crying, reverse comfort (kinda), not proofread, neighbour!frank, established relationship, petnames summary : frank’s self-deprecating comments finally get to you wc : 2.2k a/n : guys i’m #alive and #thriving don’t worry stop asking me if i’ve died thank you though🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

you weren’t supposed to fall for him.

not when he barely said a word for the first three months you lived next to him. not when you figured out pretty quick that he came home with bruises that didn’t match the kind of work he’d told you he did. not when you’d catch him sitting on the front stoop, covered in sawdust or blood or both, breathing like the air hurt.

but somehow it just… happened.

he came over once because you left a note on his door. hey - package came to mine by mistake. he looked confused when he knocked, like he didn’t think you’d actually write something so simple. you watched him glance at the box, then back at you, and you could tell from the way he cleared his throat that he didn’t know how to say thanks.

after that, he started showing up more.

bringing your mail. checking on the leaky faucet you mentioned offhandedly. standing a little closer each time, like he didn’t want to leave.

then one night, you knocked on his door.

you were crying, and you didn’t say why. just said can i come in? and he nodded, stepping aside without asking anything. he held you all night and didn’t ask a single question. but the next morning, he made coffee and you found out he took his black, no sugar. you told him that was insane and he just said, “you’re insane,” with the ghost of a smile. and from that point on, it was… different.

you kissed him two weeks later. he kissed you like he’d been waiting years.

it’d been eight months since that first night. eight months of quiet dinners, long showers, fingers laced tight under the covers, and frank’s body curled protectively around yours like he’s trying to shield you from the world.

right now, you’re curled up in his lap. it’s raining outside, soft and steady, and frank’s got one hand on your thigh, his thumb dragging slow lines across your skin. the tv’s playing something neither of you are really watching.

he smells like soap. like flannel and heat and something that always makes your stomach flip.

“you know,” you murmur, “you could stand to take a compliment once in a while.”

his thumb stills. “i take ‘em.”

“you deflect them.”

“same thing.”

you glance up at him, turning to rest your cheek against his chest. “i said you were a good man earlier and you said ‘debatable.’ what even is that?”

frank snorts softly. “it’s honesty.”

you make a face, nudge his ribs with your elbow. “you saved that guy last week. the one in the alley? you didn't even know him.”

“guy was gettin’ his ass handed to him by two meth-heads. it ain't that deep.”

you push yourself up a little, looking at him. “yeah, well you didn’t have to get involved. but you always do. because that’s just who you are.”

he looks at you then. just for a beat. his face unreadable.

“…maybe i just like pickin’ fights,” he says finally. there’s a rough edge to his voice, but it’s not angry. more like resigned.

you laugh softly. “okay, tough guy. sure.”

he grunts. “’s the truth.”

you lean in, brushing a kiss to his jaw, then nuzzle into the space under his arm again. “you’re good, frank. whether you believe it or not.”

he mutters, almost to himself, “i’m just a mess, sweetheart. you’re gonna get tired of picking up the pieces.”

you freeze.

it’s not that what he said is cruel. it’s not even new - he’s done this before, poked at himself like he’s just some walking mess. but tonight, it lands different. heavier. sharper.

you don’t answer. just stay still, curled against him, eyes open and fixed on nothing.

frank doesn’t notice at first. his hand moves back to your thigh, slow and steady, but something about your silence must click. eventually, he tilts his head down, squinting at you in the dim light.

“…hey.”

you blink.

“what?” your voice is too soft, too tight.

“you okay?”

“yeah.” you try to smile, to brush it off. but it’s barely there, and your eyes won’t meet his.

frank shifts a little to get a better look at you. the arm around your back pulls you closer, like he’s anchoring you to him. “what’s goin’ on in that head?”

you shake your head. “nothing. just… tired, i guess.”

he studies you for a second, then lifts a hand and brushes your hair gently behind your ear. “you don’t look tired.”

you glance at him for half a second before looking away again. it’s too much. he’s too much.

because he’s here. breathing and warm and solid beside you. and somehow, even after everything, he still doesn’t understand what it means when you look at him and say you’re good.

you press your face into his shoulder like you can hide there.

but the tears are already coming.

you try to turn your face further away, but you’re curled toward him, wrapped up in him - there’s nowhere to go. your hand comes up to your cheek instinctively, wiping the first tear before he can see, but you know he does.

you feel his whole body shift slightly.

“baby,” he says, low. confused.

you shake your head again, voice trembling. “it’s nothing.”

he leans forward just a bit, trying to see your face. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing, i swear - i just…” your throat closes up. you press your lips together and try to breathe through your nose, but it doesn’t work. your shoulders shake. “god, i don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

his hand cups your jaw suddenly, tilting your face gently toward him.

“hey,” he says again, firmer. “sweetheart. look at me.”

you don’t want to. your eyes are glassy, lashes wet, cheeks red. you feel stupid. overly sensitive. like you’ve just ruined the softest moment with your own mess.

but he’s holding your face like you’re glass. like you’re made of something precious.

you blink up at him and your voice breaks.

“i just - i wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

frank’s lips part slightly. he doesn’t speak. his thumb brushes under your eye, catching the tear that slips down.

you exhale shakily, a little embarrassed now that it’s all out in the open.

“you say stuff like that,” you whisper, “like you’re some kind of monster. like you’re not good. and it just - it kills me. because you’re… you’re everything to me. you know that?”

his brows furrow. he looks like he doesn’t know what to say.

“…i don’t - ”

“i know you’ve been through hell. i know you think all that stuff ruined you. but it didn’t. not to me.” you swallow hard. “you love me like no one ever has. you take care of me. you make me feel safe. like i can breathe.”

your voice cracks again and frank just moves, pulling you into his lap before you can say another word.

he wraps both arms around you and holds you tight against his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head like you might fall apart if he lets go.

“shh, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. “c’mere. i got you.”

you bury your face into his neck and let yourself cry, finally giving in. it’s not loud. just quiet, broken little gasps against his skin as your fingers clutch the back of his shirt.

he doesn’t rush you. doesn’t say anything else for a long time.

just rocks you slightly, thumb tracing slow circles into your spine.

when your breathing finally evens out, he shifts just enough to look down at you. you don’t pull back. you stay pressed to him, arms tight around his waist.

“…you sure you ain’t got me mixed up with somebody else?” he says quietly.

you lift your head, watery eyes searching his face. “frank,” you whine.

he gives a soft sigh, like he already knows what you’re about to say but needed to hear it anyway.

“you’re mine,” you whisper. “you’re so good to me. you don’t have to be perfect, you just have to stay.”

he cups your face again and kisses your forehead. not rushed. not distracting. just gentle, grounding. and then another kiss to your temple. then your cheek. then your mouth - slow and soft and deep.

when he finally pulls back, he’s looking at you like maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to believe it.

“you ain’t goin’ anywhere either,” he says. “you hear me?”

you nod. your hand slides up to rest on the back of his neck. “i’m right here.”

“yeah you are.”

he presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes.

and for a long time, the only sound in the room is the rain outside and the soft hum of his breath against your skin.

the rain’s stopped by morning. the quiet hum of the house is almost peaceful, except for the soft clink of dishes in the kitchen and the distant chirp of birds outside the window. you’re curled up in the same spot you were last night, still wrapped in the warmth of frank’s body. the bed’s slightly colder now where his body had been, but you feel tethered to him in a way that’s grounding, safe.

he’s already up when you open your eyes, the soft scrape of the kitchen chair against the floor letting you know he's busy. you don’t rush to get up, letting yourself linger in the comfort of the bed, still feeling the traces of his arms around you. the scent of coffee wafts into the room, pulling you from your hazy morning thoughts.

frank appears in the doorway a few moments later, coffee in hand. his hair’s a little tousled, and he’s wearing that worn, grey t-shirt of his you love. the sight of him makes your heart stutter in a way you still haven’t gotten used to. 

he doesn’t say anything at first, just stands there, his gaze soft and steady as it meets yours. there’s a quiet understanding between you, something built from the words left unsaid last night, from the vulnerability you shared. there’s a gentleness to his presence now, like he’s giving you space to breathe without making you feel like you have to speak.

after a moment, he walks over and sets the coffee down on the nightstand, then sits down next to you, the bed creaking under his weight.

you shift slightly, leaning into him, your head resting on his shoulder. it’s a small gesture, but it feels like everything, like the world is aligning in these quiet moments. there’s a peace here, one that’s fragile but steady.

he picks up his mug, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. “ain’t used to somebody cryin’ over me and stickin’ around,” he mutters, voice low. the words aren’t heavy, but they’re raw - like he’s still figuring out what it means for someone to care that much.

you don’t answer right away, just let yourself settle deeper into his side, the warmth of his body grounding you, making everything feel a little less sharp. you close your eyes for a moment, feeling the beat of his heart against your cheek, the weight of his arm around your shoulders.

finally, you speak, your voice soft but steady. “you don’t have to get used to it. i’m not going anywhere.” 

his hand brushes against your hair, gentle and comforting, before he lets it rest on your shoulder, his thumb moving in slow, rhythmic circles. “yeah?” he asks, his voice almost tentative, like he’s still unsure if this is real.

“yeah,” you whisper, barely more than a breath. “i’m here. always.”

for a long moment, neither of you speaks. you don’t need to. the quiet fills the space between you, wrapping around you both like a blanket. it’s comfortable, the kind of silence that doesn’t feel heavy, but full of understanding. full of trust.

you finally pull back just enough to look at him, meeting his gaze. there’s a softness in his eyes now, a flicker of something you haven’t seen before - something like hope, quiet but steady.

he looks at you for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out if he can believe it. then he sighs, almost to himself, and leans down to kiss the top of your head, slow and tender.

the rain’s long gone, and outside, the sky’s starting to clear, the sun creeping in. but in here, in this quiet moment with him, everything feels like it’s finally falling into place.

you feel his breath against your skin as he holds you, his arms strong but careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he lets go. but you don’t need to be held that tight, not anymore. you’re grounded now, by him, by this quiet, simple love.

the morning moves slowly, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself breathe, really breathe, without the weight of everything else hanging over you. with frank, it’s different.

🛍️FRANK CASTLE : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies, @seasonofthenerd, @the-dixon-effect

@sreidmia, @10ava01, @divierses, @408destiiny, @tinyminxi

@tcddszn

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[csainzoperator]

hey stranger!

summary: when you accidentally get stuck in an elevator with carlos sainz.

(fem!reader×carlossainzjr)

an: i hope you guys like this for a change. i was supposed to post this on sunday but i got busy! let me know how you like it, or if you want more of such things. also, i haven't checked the word count yet, but i'll update that soon.

trigger warnings: mentions of alcohol, exes, cheating.

read under the cut!

the elevator jolts, making her stumble a little. it's 2:04 am. the building is silent, not a single person around. she's barefoot, holding her heels in one hand, she groans. her velvety dress slightly sways as she tries to steady herself, the lights flickering inside the elevator.

he's in a crumpled white shirt, his sleeves rolled up, his forearms on show as he fixes his hair. his other hand holding onto his suit jacket. he has his tie loosened around his neck, like he couldn’t care less about how he looks.

they exchange a glance that says, well, this sucks, without needing any words. she leans back into the cold mirrored wall, sighing softly. he presses the emergency button, hoping it does something, anything.

"ofcourse." she mutters, "ofcourse this would happen tonight of all nights."

"bad night?" he questions, gazing at her from the mirror.

"you could say that." she laughs, a laugh that lacks any humour, bitter and quiet. "i just broke up with my fiancé. at our goddamn engagement party"

he whistles low, nodding slowly as he processes the information he's been given. "okay. you win."

she tilts her head, looking up at him as she raises an eyebrow "and what about you?"

"my ex is getting married. and she sent me an invite 2 hours ago." he says as he looks down at his leather shoes.

a few moments pass by in silence. but it wasn't awkward, just shared sympathy. she sits crossed leg on the ground, looking up at him. "we've got time." she says, "and honestly i couldn’t give a damn anymore."

he slides down beside her, stretching his long legs out. "fair."

she offers her hand for a handshake, giving him a sad smile that's almost invisible if you don't look closely. "i'm y/n, professional disaster."

he takes her hand, giving it a firm shake, offering her a slight smirk. "carlos, recovering simp."

she snorts, getting comfortable on the floor. "that's the most honest introduction i've ever heard"

the lights in the elevator are warm enough to make a 60 year old woman fall asleep in a second. light breeze from the elevator fan spreads across the elevator. she tries pressing the emergency button again, only for it to not respond, just like how her ex didn't respond to her texts.

"alright, carlos. are you going to your ex's wedding?"

he sighs dramatically, looking up at her like he's about to reveal victoria's secret. "i burnt the invitation" he mutters, like he's telling her a secret.

she chuckles, "well aren't you quite out of a shakespeare play?"

he turns his head, looking at her with a small smile on his face, thinking about how he made her laugh, felt like quite the achievement after her sour mood earlier. "so, did you actually breakup with your fiancé at the party or did you something shakespeare worthy, like throwing wine on him"

she rolls her eyes, looking up at him, disgust evident in her face. "to be fair, he was the one kissing my cousin in the balcony."

his gasps, his eyes widening, "no."

she nods, patting his shoulder dramatically to soothe the shock. "yes. a whole bottle of expensive champagne. worth every second."

he whistles again, clapping slowly. "you're my hero. what do they say these days? eating? yeah, you ate."

she gives him a mock bow, "thank you, i accept cash as fan mail."

they both laugh, and for a moment, none of them remember why the night was bad. she stretches her legs out beside him, nudging his shoes with hers. "since we're trapped in a vertical metal coffin that plays jazz, how about we play 21 questions?"

he quirks a brow, containing a smile. "what are you? in senior high prom?"

she stares at him, her eyes narrowing. "do you have a better option?" he sighs, shaking his head.

she nods at him, "you go first"

he hums, thinking of a question, a second later he speaks up "what's your most irrational fear?"

she groans. "you're gonna laugh at me."

he shrugs, watching her. "i will either way, so just say it"

she sighs. "peacock feathers. they're just, i can't stand them. or peacocks in general, i think they're plotting something against us."

he doesn't speak for a while, he just stares, barely containing his laughter. "mhm, you're so right. we should tell the government to hide all the secrets just in case."

she rolls her eyes as he covers his mouth, trying not to lose it. "oh no, hide your kids, there's a peacock in the forest that doesn't have access to us but its still a threat!" she gently shoves him away, now laughing with him.

"okay. my turn. have you ever ghosted someone?" she questions.

"once. only by accident. i took a nap and forgot to text back...for three months" he winces.

her jaw drops, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "that's not a nap. that's a coma."

"i texted her saying i died briefly."

"how romantic" she teases.

he grins, rolling his eyes. "question. how many people have you kissed?"

she squints, thinking hard. "depends, does my bestfriend's cat count?"

he blinks, "...i don't know how to answer that"

"i'll say four, but five if you count mochi. he was surprisingly an affectionate cat."

he nods, smiling slightly. "uh huh, i'll keep that in mind."

they go on like that for hours, laughing, teasing, opening little doors into each other's lives.

"question twenty one" she says softly, "if we don't get out of here till morning...would you still want to keep talking to me?"

he doesn't hesitate. "god, i hope we don't get out till morning."

the end.

[heliosunny]

Hello! Wondering if you can do a fic with Anaxa? Maybe how he uses his gun to scare off other people from Reader?

Yandere!Anaxa x Reader

The scent of musk, sweat, and perfume clung to the air. Somewhere, silk rustled against bare skin, a stifled giggle was followed by a drawn-out moan. You sat stiffly on the cushioned floor, hands bound loosely in front of you.

Everything had gone black since that night.

The night your palace burned.

You’d watched the throne crumble, the flags torn down, the screams of your people. And then something—someone—had struck you down. The flash was so bright, you swore the stars themselves had bled into your retinas. Now all you saw was a sea of endless dark.

“Do you like the sounds?” a teasing voice asked. The man’s footsteps creaked closer. “Such a waste for someone like you to be blind... Can’t even see what you’re missing.”

That voice belonged to him—Kallius. He had taken you after the siege, claimed you like one might claim a broken heirloom, only to toss it onto the shelf for entertainment. At night, he brought women into the room and made a show of his indulgence, whispering cruel things to test your limits.

You flinched as the moans grew louder, fake and over-exaggerated, designed to pierce your ears like knives. One woman laughed as Kallius pressed her against the wall with a thud.

“This is what pleasure sounds like. Do you remember what that is?” he mocked.

“Why are you doing this…?”

“Oh? Still talking?” he chuckled. “Guess I’ll have to turn up the volume.”

There was another groan, sharper, more dramatic. You winced. You wanted to cry—but even your tears had dried up by now.

Then… the door burst open.

The moan cut off into a gurgled scream.

A warm spray misted your cheek.

You didn’t need your sight to know something was very, very wrong.

The woman had fallen silent. The other girls gasped, scrambling backward. You heard a soft metallic clink… the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

“…Big brother” Kallius muttered. There was a hint of amusement, but also fear. “You’re no fun.”

Anaxa stood in the doorway, the scent of smoke clinging to his coat.

“Too loud” Anaxa said flatly, stepping inside. “And you touched what's mine.”

You blinked, feeling something warm drip down your cheek. You reached up hesitantly—and felt it.

Blood.

You couldn’t even scream.

Anaxa knelt beside you, his hand brushing your ear gently. “Cover these,” he whispered, “You don’t need to hear what comes next.”

He stood again,“Out. Now. Before I forget to be merciful.”

There was a scramble of footsteps—heels on tile, fabric dragging. A whimper. Then silence again, broken only by Kallius’ low chuckle.

“You’re obsessed..”

“You’re still breathing. Be grateful.”

And then… his arms scooped you up, pulling you close to a chest you recognized even without your vision.

“You don’t belong in filth like that.”

You didn't reply. You didn’t even know how to. But you let yourself be carried, your face still warm with blood, your heart pounding against cracked ribs.

You didn’t know how to feel. You sat motionless in the chair by the fireplace, the blood still crusted on your cheek, a ghost of the earlier violence.

When he carried you into his chambers, Anaxa said nothing for a long time. He simply set you down on soft sheets and crouched in front of you. You could feel his eyes scanning every inch of your skin, his hands surprisingly gentle, checking your wrists, your arms, your face.

“…No bruises” he murmured. “Good.”

He didn’t speak after that. Just the quiet shuffle of him standing and walking away.

You heard the door close behind him with a metallic click. Locked—from the outside.

You exhaled, not realizing you'd been holding your breath.

Time passed strangely.

Minutes. Hours. Maybe longer.

Eventually, footsteps approached. The door opened, and cautious voices whispered to one another.

Servants. Two of them, women by their tones, helping you out of the stiff, bloodied clothes and into clean, silken ones. Warm water ran over your hands as they wiped your skin delicately.

They didn’t explain anything. Maybe they were too afraid.

You wanted to ask about your eyes, about a healer—anything. But all that came out was a hoarse, “Can I stay inside?”

“…His Highness says the fresh air will help.”

Later, as the sun—or what you assumed was the sun—shifted behind thick curtains, the door opened again.

You knew it was him. Even without seeing, you felt him.

That scent—faint gunpowder.

“Come” Anaxa said.

You stayed sitting on the bed, unsure, hugging your knees. “I’m fine here…”

“No, you’re not.”

He was closer now, and you didn’t even hear him move.

“You need to remember the world hasn’t ended. You’re still breathing. I made sure of that.”

You didn’t answer.

“I’ll hold your hand. I won’t let you fall.”

You hesitated. But your fingers still reached out, searching… and found his.

You let him guide you.

-------

Later that evening, you heard new footsteps

“The doctor you requested.”

Anaxa didn’t speak at first. He merely shifted beside you on the couch.

“Your Highness. With permission?”

Anaxa gave a quiet grunt, then turned to you. “He’s here to help. Let him.”

The doctor’s hands were cold. He checked your eyes, held lights near them—though you couldn’t tell how bright.

“Your eyes are healing, but slowly. The shock trauma caused temporary cortical blindness. It’s not permanent, but… you’ll need care. Rest, above all.”

Night crept in.

You curled beneath heavy blankets in the oversized bed, your thoughts swimming. Was this safety? Or just another cage?

The house was silent—until it wasn’t.

A soft creak.

Then another.

You shifted slightly, “Anaxa…?”

No response.

Suddenly, a rough hand clamped over your mouth.

You thrashed instinctively, but the body pressed against yours was larger, heavier.

“Shhh…”

Kallius.

“I missed that little shiver,” he said, pinning you to the bed, his breath hot and sour against your skin. “You really are a fine little plaything. No wonder Anaxa’s been hiding you like some precious gem.”

You couldn’t move—your limbs locked in panic.

“Let’s see how loyal he is,” Kallius murmured, dragging his fingers slowly down your arm. “Maybe he’ll still want you once I’ve had my fun. Or maybe he’ll finally toss you aside like broken glass.”

He shifted closer, the weight of his body pressing into you.

Your teeth clamped down on his hand.

“Ah—!!”

He yanked back with a growl.

You didn’t wait—you bolted. Your knees hit the cold floor. You didn’t care. You ran blindly through the halls.

“Y/N?”

You slammed into him chest-first, trembling.

He caught you instantly.

“What happened?”

Before you could even form the words, Kallius’s voice echoed down the hall.

“They bit me. Can you believe that?”

Anaxa didn’t reply. Not with words.

You felt the way his body stilled.

And then you heard it—the click of the safety coming off his gun.

“Woah, woah—easy, big bro-”

Kallius raised his hands in mock surrender, limping into view with a forced grin. “No need to point that thing at me. I was just teasing.”

Anaxa didn’t lower the gun.

He aimed directly at his brother’s thigh—and fired.

Kallius collapsed with a grunt of pain, hand clutching his bleeding leg as he cursed under his breath.

“I warned you” Anaxa muttered, already turning away with you still in his arms.

The next few days passed in an odd hush.

Kallius was nowhere to be heard.

In the meantime, servants tended to you more gently now.

But Anaxa was gone.

The quiet he left behind wasn’t comforting.

You still couldn’t see.

But your other senses sharpened. The scent of old books in the library. The breeze through the courtyard. The way sunlight warmed your face. You began taking walks with someone guiding you, or on your own when you were brave enough.

That’s where he found you—by the tall hedges in the east garden, tracing your fingers along rough bark and damp petals.

“I see you haven’t lost your curiosity”

You turned toward the sound. “You’re back.”

“Did you miss me?” he asked playfully.

You didn’t answer.

He didn’t mind.

“When I was younger. I was being pushed around by older kids in the village.”

You tilted your head slightly, unsure where this was going.

“There was a tree,” he continued, “with a single apple left. I couldn’t reach it. But someone else did. Not afraid of dirt or climbing. They picked it, dropped it down, and we split it right there under the branches like we were friends.”

You stood still.

“I always remembered that day,” he added, “because it was the first time someone didn’t look at me like I was nothing.”

He took a step closer. His fingers brushed your wrist.

“Come on. You’re tired,” he murmured. “Let’s get you back.”

The halls felt less threatening now, though you still didn’t know what to make of the man at your side—gentle and monstrous, savior and tormentor. He was all of it, layered and unreadable.

Late into the night, after servants had gone and silence had settled, you spoke:

“Anaxa.”

He stirred from where he stood near the balcony, the scent of fresh air clinging to him. “Hmm?”

“I want to know what you look like.”

That made him pause.

“I can’t see,” you continued, “but maybe I could… get an idea.”

You reached your hand out hesitantly.

He didn’t move at first.

Then, without a word, he stepped closer—close enough that his presence warmed your skin. You lifted your fingers carefully and brushed them across his jaw. You moved upward, tracing the curve of his cheekbone, the bridge of his nose—sharp, symmetrical. His lips were still.

And then your fingertips ghosted over something foreign.

An eyepatch.

You paused.

“...Is something wrong with your eye?” you whispered.

He flinched slightly under your touch, but didn’t pull away.

“It’s just… a memorable moment”

You could feel the unspoken weight in those words.

You lowered your hand slowly, heart aching with a strange mix of fear and fascination.

Anaxa didn’t speak again. He simply helped you lie down, adjusting the blanket, making sure you were warm.

And as his footsteps faded into the next room, your thoughts drifted somewhere darker.

Because no matter how gently he touched you…

No matter how many times he said you’re safe…

You remembered who he was.

You remembered the screams. The flames. The night everything ended.

He had stood there.

He hadn’t just found you in the ruins. He had helped create them.

He killed your family.

The moment you were stronger—when your legs could carry you, and your eyes opened again—you’d leave.

No matter what it cost.

That morning, a guard approached with a message:

“His Highness summons you to the east tower.”

Anaxa never sent for you through anyone else.

But the guard bore his seal.

So you followed.

You climbed the winding steps slowly, fingers brushing the cold stone walls. The wind bit sharper the higher you went, and by the time you reached the terrace, something already felt… off.

“Kallius?” you whispered, recognizing the scent—too sweet, like wine overripe.

He was waiting by the railing.

“My brother’s little pet… You just never learn.”

The world dropped beneath you.

You didn’t even have time to scream.

CRACK.

Everything went black.

When the news reached Anaxa, his silence was more terrifying than any scream.

“Where?”

“Th-the east tower. The guards—found them at the base. Alive, but unconscious.”

“Bring Kallius to the pit.”

Kallius was dragged in, his leg still limping from the bullet wound. He grinned as though it were a joke.

“Oh come on, brother, really? They tripped. Clumsy little thing—”

Anaxa shot him in the other knee.

He raised his gun again.

But before he could give the final command, the chamber doors burst open.

A woman ran in—one of Kallius’s devoted.

“Wait—please!” she cried. “He only did it because of that person! They're poisoning you, you don’t see it—”

Anaxa turned his eye on her.

“…So you want to die with him.”

“N-no, I—”

“Fine.”

He nodded once to his soldiers.

“Skin her too.”

Kallius’s screams were drowned out by hers.

-----

Back in the upper chamber, you still hadn’t woken.

Wrapped in bandages. Blood dried at your temple.

Anaxa sat by your bedside, unmoving.

He hadn’t spoken since he returned.

But his hand was wrapped tightly around yours.

It was days before your eyes finally fluttered open.

Everything was blinding at first—white bandages, the sharp sting of light. A pressure in your skull throbbed, dull and heavy, but—

You could see.

And sitting beside you, head bowed with exhaustion… was him.

When he noticed your eyes open, his single visible eye went wide.

“…Y/N”

Relief washed over his features like breaking thunder. He reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and cupped your cheek—but stopped himself before fully touching you.

“You’re back”

You tried to speak, but your throat was too dry.

All you could do was point shakily toward the pitcher of water. He understood instantly, helping you drink, then bringing you warm broth, soft bread, fresh fruit.

In the days that followed, your body mended.

You walked again. Slowly. But now, with sight returning, the world came back to you in sharp contrast—vivid, overwhelming.

And so did he.

Anaxa didn’t leave your side unless necessary. But when he did… the change was obvious.

Short-tempered. Anyone who so much as looked at you wrong was snapped at. Servants flinched when he entered the room, even if he was calm.

You pulled him aside one day after seeing a maid leave with tears in her eyes.

“Anaxa,” you said, “you can’t keep treating people like that.”

“They don’t deserve you.”

“That’s not the point.” you pushed, trying to stay calm. “People want to help. But they’re scared. And scared people don’t stay loyal forever.”

Reluctantly, he nodded.

“…I’ll try.”

That night, you bathed and dressed with the help of two familiar servants—girls who had been by your side since the accident. They were kind.

“I wanted to leave.” you whispered.

They froze behind you.

“He helped me, yes. But he also took everything from me.”

The silence stretched. Then—

Thump.

You turned just in time to see one of the girls drop to her knees, face pale.

Then the other.

Their foreheads hit the floor with sickening force.

Thump. Thump.

They began to sob.

“Please don’t go,” one of them begged, “Please—he’ll think we let you slip, he’ll—he’ll kill us—!”

The other was already bleeding from her brow, tears mixing with red as she struck her head again and again.

“We’ll die,” she wept. “We’ll die if you leave. Please, please stay—”

You stumbled forward, horrified, grabbing their wrists.

“Stop!” you shouted. “Stop, I’m not—! I won’t go now, okay? Just stop!”

The door opened behind you.

Anaxa stood in the doorway.

“What… happened here?”

You quickly turned.

“They were helping me. That’s all. Nothing’s wrong.”

He looked unconvinced, his gaze darting to the trembling servants.

You placed your hand on his chest, trying to ground him.

“I’ll handle it. Just let me.”

After a beat, he nodded once.

“Out,” you said gently to the girls. “Go. Get cleaned up.”

They scrambled to obey.

And once they were gone… the room fell quiet again.

That night, as you lay in bed, the thought clawed at you.

What happened to Kallius?

You remembered the fall, the pain, the blur of stone and blood.

And then waking up—alive.

But Kallius… you hadn’t seen or heard his name spoken since.

The next day, during a quiet moment, you asked Anaxa.

He was seated at your window, light slicing across the dark fabric of his coat, his eyepatch catching the glow.

“…What happened to your brother?”

He stilled.

At first, no reply.

Then, abruptly—his voice clipped.

“He got what he deserved.”

You waited, but that was all he gave.

Anaxa rose soon after, “Rest well” before walking out.

You didn’t sleep.

It was the next morning when you approached one of the more trusted servants—an older woman.

“I need to know,” you told her. “What happened to Kallius.”

She hesitated.

“If you promise not to leave… I’ll tell you.”

“What?”

“If you stay here,” she repeated shakily. “We’ll talk. If not… I won’t say a word.”

You didn’t understand. Not yet.

But you nodded anyway.

“…Alright.”

She looked around, then led you to the laundry halls, where voices didn’t carry. And in a hushed voice, she told you.

At first, Anaxa had simply ordered Kallius to be executed.

But something changed his mind.

Instead of death, Kallius was tied up.

Each day, one by one, his loyalists were brought before him—his guards, his lovers, his advisors. One a day.

Executed.

Some were skinned. Some beheaded. Others poisoned slowly while he watched.

They made sure he heard every scream.

He begged, cried.

But Anaxa never relented.

And when there were no followers left—

Anaxa slit his throat himself.

“He said… that was mercy.”

The horror sat low in your chest like a stone dropped in still water.

You returned to your room.

That night, you dressed for dinner.

You sat at the long table across from him.

“Good to see you up,” he said. “You’re glowing.”

You forced a smile. “Thank you.”

The meal was beautifully laid.

You lifted your goblet, your hands steady despite the churn in your gut.

But as the cool wine touched your lips, something felt… off.

Not the taste. The aftertaste.

You set the goblet down.

Across from you, Anaxa tilted his head.

“…Is something the matter?”

And that’s when your heartbeat stuttered.

The room spun.

You barely noticed your goblet slip from your hand, the wine soaking into the embroidered cloth. You gripped the table, but your fingers felt numb.

Anaxa was at your side in an instant.

“There we go,” he murmured gently, arms firm around you, lifting you up as though you weighed nothing. “You’re just tired.”

The warmth of his body pressed into yours. You were so cold.

Your legs didn’t listen to you. Your tongue felt heavy.

He guided you out of the hall, his voice low in your ear.

“Just repeat after me.”

You could barely understand his words, but your mouth moved.

Repeating something.

Over and over.

“Yes… I accept…”

“I will never leave…”

When you woke, you were back in your room—but everything was… different.

Ribbons hung from the posts of the bed. A tray of delicate sweets sat beside a floral bouquet. And your hand—

There was a ring on your finger.

The door creaked open.

Servants entered with smiles, bows, soft cheers. Someone scattered petals at your feet. They whispered congratulations. One girl held a cake shaped like a crown. Another gave you a shawl embroidered with phoenixes.

“May your union be eternal,” one whispered. “He’ll protect you forever now.”

Union?

You stood, half in a trance, as Anaxa entered last—his uniform exchanged for ceremonial robes.

“You’re awake” he said with quiet satisfaction.

“What… did you do?”

“You said yes,” he said, “You promised. And now everyone knows. You belong to this palace… and to me.”

You stared at him.

Everything fell into place.

He’d married you.

“You don’t need to run anymore,” he whispered. “You have a kingdom again. A husband. A future. All you have to do… is stay.”

[eclipsedechoesofmywords]

For Joaquin maybe like a mr used to be a player x miss/mr/mx (and other non gender specific titles) never had a bf and its them navigating the relationship cuz readers going to be all niave and unsure and hes just going to be a know it all reassurance king. (If any of that makes sense 😭)

"Who He Was"

[Joaquin Torres x gn!reader]

Masterlist

Summary: Navigating your first relationship was daunting enough without his history, but Joaquin was determined to prove his heart belonged to you, one patient, achingly sincere moment at a time.

Warnings: Fluff, light angst (reader's insecurities), past relationship mentions.

Word Count: 762 words

"What’s going on in that mind of yours?"  

Joaquin's voice was a soft, warm rumble that cut through the silence on his couch. You froze, the half-eaten slice of pizza in your hand suddenly feeling like a lead weight. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, and you realised you'd been picking at the crust for five minutes straight. Again.  

"Nothing," you mumbled, eyes fixed on the TV where some action movie exploded soundlessly. You had begged to watch it, yet you hadn't absorbed a single scene.  

"C'mon." He tugged gently at your wrist until you were facing him. His dark eyes were too perceptive, too kind, and it made your throat tighten. "You've been quiet all night. Did I do something?"

"No!" The word came out too fast, too sharp. You winced. "No, you didn't. It's just… me."  

He hummed skeptical, and shifted closer. The scent of his cologne—something woodsy and unfairly calming—wrapped around you. "You were thinking about the thing Sam said earlier, weren't you?"  

 "Damn, Joaquin, when'd you turn into such a sap? Last year, you'd have bolted the second someone mentioned labels."   

Sam's teasing comment at dinner had been harmless, but it had lodged itself in your chest. Joaquin just laughed it off, his arm slung casually over your shoulders. But you spent the rest of the night wondering about his words.

"I mean…  did you? Bolt, I mean. When people wanted… more."  

He sighed, not annoyed but tired, like he'd been waiting for this conversation. "Yeah. I did. A lot." His free hand tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. "But that isn’t who I am anymore. With you."  

"But why?" The question slipped out, raw and shaky. "You could've had anyone. And I'm just… I don't know how to do any of this. I've never even—"  

"Hey." His voice was firm, cutting off your spiral. "Look at me." Reluctantly, you met his gaze. "You think I don't know that? That you are… new to this?" A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "You forgot I've known you since day one. You tripped over your own feet trying to ask me out for coffee."  

"I stumbled," you muttered, face heating. "There was a curb—"  

"And you turned soo red when I said yes." His smirk softened into something tender. "That's when I knew, okay? All those people before—it was just noise. Distraction. But you? You're real. You don't play games."  

Your chest ached. "But what if I mess up? What if I'm… boring? Or too clingy? Or—"  

Joaquin snorted. "You think I'll let you get away for being clingy? Please. I'll thrive." He leaned in until his forehead rested against yours. "And 'boring'? You once spent twenty minutes explaining which toppings belonged on pizza. You are the least boring person I've ever met."  

A laugh hiccuped out of you, despite yourself. "That was a debate, not an explanation—"  

"Semantics." His nose brushed yours playfully. "Point is, I’m not going anywhere. Unless you want me to. Then I'd have to stand dramatically in the rain until you took me back."  

"You're ridiculous."  

"But you’re smiling."  

You were. Against all odds, your cheeks hurt with it. Joaquin grinned, triumphant, before pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "I'm serious, though. Ask me anything. Right now."  

You hesitated. "…How many other people have you said this stuff to?"  

"None." No pause. No flinch. "I've never brought someone to Sam's dinners. Never let them steal my clothes." He plucked at the sleeve of his sweatshirt, the one you were drowning in. "Never wanted to."  

Your breath caught. "Oh."  

"Yeah. Oh." He rolled his eyes, but there was no bite. "You're stuck with me, okay? That other Joaquin is dead. Bury him."  

This time, your laugh was louder, brighter. Joaquin's answering smile was blinding, and the knot in your chest unravelled for the first time all night.  

Later, he paused when he walked you to your door. "Wait. I almost forgot." Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a crumpled receipt and a pen, scribbling something before pressing it into your hand.  

 One dramatic rain scene. Redeemable anytime.

You snorted. "You are such a dork."  

"Well, I'm your dork," he corrected, kissing you until the world narrowed to the warmth of his lips and the steady grip of his hands on your waist.  

(And if you taped the note to your fridge later, well. That was between you and the magnet collection he was slowly building for you, one stupid souvenir at a time.)  

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Miraculous vs The Power of Love

I've written several posts where I talked about Miraculous' poor use of the power of love trope and how that massively turned me off to canon. Three strikes and you're out! When this topic comes up I usually bring up Adrien and only Adrien. This has led to some anger at the fact that I didn't mention love failing anyone else as it absolutely has. I've also seen some anger over my desire for Adrien to defeat Gabriel's control and win the day since Adrien is a victim and that means that it's perfectly fine if he fails to beat his father's control no matter what the consequences of that failure are. After all, the failure isn't really on Adrien. It's on Gabriel. A sentiment I understand, but don't agree with since this is a writing blog. I'm discussing the message the writing is sending not which character gets the in-universe blame.

I'm not going to change how I discuss this topic since it is my honest opinion, but I can explain that opinion in depth to hopefully save us all from miscommunication! That's why I'm making this post! It addresses all of the above. I'll be linking to this whenever the topic comes up so that I can include some nuance without having to go into all of the detail I'm about to go into because - as you'll see - this is a long one which is why I don't go into this depth in other posts. It would just totally derail them. I'm also not going to go into the deconstruction aspect of things here because this is already really long, but I do have a post on that for even more nuance!

If you disagree with any of this, that's totally fine! I just ask that you keep the your counter arguments civil. Remember, we're talking about a badly written kids show that none of us have the power to change and the magical power of love isn't real so it doesn't actually matter if I'm right about this. Nor is Adrien going to thank you for coming to his aid. He doesn't exist and, as always, my issue is not him as a person. My issue is the way the narrative uses him as a storytelling tool.

What Is the Power of Love?

The power of love is a trope where either platonic or romantic love saves the hero from some type of conflict or upsetting situation. It's a rather broad trope that can be used in conflicts of any size, but even TV tropes acknowledges that it's primarily "applied in dire situations to make things better. In fact, in many Disney movies it's the solution to everything." That definition is how I approach the power of love.

To put it more bluntly, unless we're talking about a specific example, when I say "the power of love" I am thinking of a story's climax or, in the case of something like a multi-season show, one of the climaxes. More specifically, I'm thinking of the lyrics to one of my favorite cheesy pop songs:

There comes a time When you face the toughest of fights Searching for a sign Lost in the darkest of nights The wind blows so cold Standing alone Before the battle's begun But deep in your soul The future unfolds As bright as the rays of the sun You've got to believe In the power of love

If it's not the toughest of fights or the darkest of nights, then the power of love failing may disappoint me, but I don't consider it an unforgivable sin. In some cases, I'd even be disappointed if the power of love was brought in before the climax! The power of love is the ultimate cheesy move so it makes sense to save it for the last minute if using it earlier would lessen or even ruin that last minute epic save.

To show what I mean, let's talk about another trope that Miraculous has failed to use well, but that doesn't ruin the show for me. A trope that has led the show to do the exact thing we just discussed: ignore a small moment when love should have won to allow for a bigger win when all hope seems lost.

The Evil Clone Thing

[Image description: the Buzz and Woody meme with the words "Evil Clones. Evil Clones Everywhere"]

There have been an absurd number of episodes where the evil clone/evil twin trope came into play, but the three big ones are Ladybug, Optigami, and the season four final. In each of these episodes, we see a good character replaced by an identical evil version. We also see the good character's love interest fail to recognize that their crush/romantic partner has been replaced. That means that all three of these episodes see the power of romantic love failing. We also don't see a more platonic version of love show up to save the day.

The worst of these episode is the season four final where Marinette doesn't recognize that Felix has taken Adrien's place. That deception is how Gabriel steals the miraculous so it's obviously a pretty big deal and can be argued as a major fail for the power of love. I don't disagree. I think that Marinette's love should have let her see through the lies and dislike that the writers took this route to make her lose. However, I don't have this on my list of moments when the power of love needed to win for the story to work.

While Marinette failing to recognize Felix leads to her darkest hour, it does not happen in her darkest hour. Her darkest hour comes when she actually loses the miraculous which happens in a completely different scene from the one where she's deceived. It's also worth noting that Felix is not present in this moment of loss so there was no opportunity for the power of love to pull off a last minute win.

The loss of the miraculous leads to a scene where Ladybug is sitting alone in the rain, ready to give up all hope. And what happens next?

[Image description: Chat Noir standing in the rain, smiling, holding out his hand to Ladybug]

Chat Noir shows up to reignite Ladybug's will to fight via his love and support. She takes his hand, he draws her into a hug, and they stand together as one, ready to once again face their enemy:

Cat Noir: We're gonna get them back one by one…until the very last. And we'll make sure this never happens again. Ladybug: You...and me? Cat Noir: You, the best superhero there ever was... and me, your loyal partner.

A lot of people love this scene and it led to some major hype for season five which means that it's time to quote some more of that cheesy song that I brought up at the start:

Stand by my side There's nothing to hide Together we'll fight to the end Take hold of my hand And you'll understand What it truly means to be friends You've got to believe (you've got to believe) In the power of love

While I don't love the season four final, it is a B-tier execution of the thing I was talking about earlier. Canon let love fail in a small moment to increase tension and give Ladybug a "darkest night" moment. That darkest night moment then led to a semi-epic power-of-love comeback that understandably got a lot of fans super excited for season five because they assumed that it was going to be the season of Ladynoir. In other words, for a lot of fans, the power of love did its job in the season four final!

All of this is why I don't bring up Marinette when I talk about the power of love failing. It does fail her, but not in her darkest nights and toughest fights. Any time she's overwhelmed and ready to give up all hope, someone comes along to give her the will to fight on. That person is usually Chat Noir because he's her end game love interest so of course the writers use him! His "you and me against the world" moments may not be the most epic example of the power of love winning, but they are the power of love winning, so saying that the power of love fails Marinette feels like an overstatement of harm. She's never had a total loss.

The closest we get to Marinette truly losing is the season five final. That episode feels like an ultimate-level failure to many of us, on par with Ephemeral, but the writers clearly don't agree. For them, season five had a happy ending which makes critiquing that final fight tricky. I'll be arguing that Adrien lost hard in the next section, but I can't say the same for Marinette and this section is about her so let's focus on that for now.

No matter how much I hate the final, I can't look at the picture below this paragraph and argue that love failed Marinette because what did losing cost her? This isn't the season four final where she genuinely suffered. This is her getting everything she's ever wanted! The miraculous are back in her hands, she won the heart of the boy she loves, and no one is actively messing with her love life anymore. That's a pretty solid win even if she didn't win the actual fight.

[Image description: Adrien and Marinette at the end of the season five final, kissing in the spot that used to house Emilie's statue.]

This is further complicated by the fact that - as written - the season five final doesn't put Marinette in a position to use the power of love. She's never given a chance to save Adrien or even just talk to him. She doesn't know that's he's in trouble, locked up in a padded cell, suffering all alone! And Adrien's love can't rally her in her darkest moment when all hope seems lost because - for the first time ever in a season final - she never got one of those! She was a badass in the final fight! No pep talk or supportive teammates necessary! She would have had a total victory if the writers hasn't made her try to talk sense to the villain or sent her Adrien's ring just so Gabriel could make the wish, further adding to the problem of this show's absolutely vile messaging around love.

In other words, lack of love isn't why Marinette loses the final fight. She loses because the writers wanted love to empower Gabriel in his darkest moment, a move the writers have the audacity to call a mutual victory. (Gross. Abusive terrorist should not get power of love moments without a massive redemption arc first. It's yet another insult to the trope. Gabriel did not deserve peace while his son goes on to suffer.)

If you think about the episodes Ladybug and Optigami you'll notice a similar problem. The power of love failed to let Chat Noir and Alya recognize that their romantic interests had been replaced, but that failure didn't lead to their ultimate defeat. It didn't even lead the villains to a minor victory! Both episodes maintain the status quo.

This doesn't mean that I like those episodes. I would rewrite both of them to let love win because they're good examples of small moments where love can win without cheapening or ruining the season's big climax. I just don't view these episodes as times when the show needed to use the power of love if it wanted to honor its chosen genre. That requirement only applies when it's a darkest night or toughest fight.

Before we move on, please note that Ladybug was the power of Adrien's love failing, yet I never mention it when I'm complaining about the power of love failing. That's because I'm never purposefully listing every time Adrien's love failed and ignoring everyone else. I'm simply listing the moments when love needed to let the heroes win because we were in one of the show's darkest hours and that is the only time when I consider the power of love a true requirement. Love can fail in small moments to increase the tension, but if love fails at the moment when all hope seems lost, then why are we even here?

There are only three episodes that get that level of criticism from me and each one had a single character whose writing infuriated me: Adrien.

Adrien vs The Power of Love

There are three episodes where Gabriel's identity is revealed and the final fight goes down. Those episodes are Chat Blanc, Ephemeral, and the season five final. In each of these episodes, Adrien suffers on a scale that no other character has had to suffer:

In Chat Blanc he is akumatized and forced to use his cataclysm to kill both his father and the love of his life, dooming him to spend eternity alone in a dead word.

In Ephemeral he is akumatized and forced to use his powers to hand the love of his life over to his father, thereby allowing Gabriel to win and rewrite reality.

In the season five final, Adrien is left alone in a jail cell, tormented by nightmares while his father dies leaving Adrien an orphan. Adrien is then told some truly colossal lies about what actually happened, leading him to believe that Gabriel scarified himself to save Ladybug's life. Since Chat Noir's usual role in fights is protecting Ladybug, this is arguably the equivalent of Adrien being told that his failure to show up killed his father. I'm not even sure if that's the wrong message because Gabriel did die from a cataclysm and Adrien would understandably blame himself for that, too, so maybe this was a way to address that without going too dark for kids and why does that argument hold water? Wtf was this trash fire of a story line???

When you compare Adrien's treatment in these episodes to something like Marinette's treatment in season four final you can hopefully see why it feels like comparing a broken arm to a mortal blow. It's not that Marinette doesn't suffer. In terms of individual moments of suffering, Marinette beats out every other character! But while she may beat Adrien in breadth, he is the clear winner in terms of depth and the only one who never gets a true power of love moment.

Marinette's darkest nights and toughest fights ultimately work out so that she can go on to some new type of suffering, the old suffering fading away to nothing more than memory. Adrien's darkest nights and toughest fights lead to loss and suffering for which there is no cure other than rewinding time or rewriting reality. The season five final even has Adrien directly state that he's not worthy of Marinette's love:

Adrien: I'm not in my right mind. I'm too angry — at myself for falling short of Marinette's love, at my father for sending me here in London, at this stupid app and these rings that use my image... it makes me sick! This nightmare is giving me the horrible feeling that, if I transform, I'll get akumatized and destroy everything with my Cataclysm — Marinette, Ladybug... (Takes off the ring and hands it to Plagg.) Plagg: Surely Ladybug can help you. Adrien: If I ask her for help, I'd have to give her information that would jeopardize my secret identity... and I can't.

This is literally Adrien's last scene in the main story line. He doesn't show up again until the happily ever after epilogue where he and Marinette kiss. In other words, the show had Adrien directly state that he's unworthy of Marinette's love and then did nothing to counter that statement. I guess this poor unfortunate soul is just lucky that Marinette likes him enough to keep him around in spite of his many failings...

Writers, seriously, what the hell are you doing? This is the kind of dialogue that should lead into a power of love moment! How is thinking about Marinette leading Adrien to despair instead of strength? Why is Plagg just accepting this? Plagg is a magical being who was assigned to watch over Adrien. Shouldn't a character like that help Adrien rally in his darkest night? Where's Adrien's you and me against the world pep talk? That should go both ways!!! Have him break out, call Ladybug to tell her that he's not coming, only for her to rally him so he comes and at least fights outside in the city while she does her solo fight! Don't leave him alone to rot while almost every other character in the freaking show gets to fight!

It would be one thing if Adrien gave up because he was alone and scared, but Plagg is there and the writers directly bring up Marinette and love only to do nothing to show those as positive forces in Adrien's life!!! Instead, Marinette is the thing that keeps him from the fight because Adrien's nightmare is him getting akumatized and killing Marinette even though Adrien knows nothing about Chat Blanc.

[Image description: Adrien's nightmare where he's a blue haired version of Chat Blanc, holding Marinette's body in his arms having killed her with a cataclysm]

To be clear, in each of the three episodes I listed above, Adrien is undeniably a victim suffering at the hands of his main abuser. They're also some of the worst moments of abuse in the entire show. It would be perfectly reasonable for a real life person to give into despair if they were put into this situation, but real life people don't transform into magical cat boys who wield the raw power of Destruction. I was not looking for realism here. I was looking for hope and inspiration!

I wanted to see Adrien win! I wanted his love for Marinette and/or his friends to give him the strength to overpower his father's control because that's what the power of love is all about! When all hope seems lost, it's there to let the hero win because love is stronger than despair, hatred, fear, and magical remote controls! It is the bright light that blasts away the darkness in your darkest night! Unless your name is Adrien Agreste, then no love for you! Suffer, feather boy, suffer!

Example of what I wanted from canon

There are many ways to fix these three episodes so love wins, but to keep this simple let's focus on Chat Blanc and what the power of love winning might look like if we let canon play unchanged up until the moment where Adrien loses control of his powers:

Hawk Moth: Cat Blanc, I'm giving you the infinite power of destruction!! Together, you and I will seize Ladybug's Miraculous and awaken your mother!!! Obey!!! Cat Noir: (tries to fight back but fails) I'm sorry, Ladybug! (He succumbs his akumatization and transforms into Cat Blanc. Ladybug watches in horror at his transformation.) Hawk Moth: Seize her Miraculous, My Son!!! (Cat Blanc lifts his right arm to Ladybug, activating Mega Cataclysm.) Ladybug: No, Adrien! You have to resist!! (Cat Blanc whimpers as he changes his mind and points his arm to Hawk Moth.) Hawk Moth: How dare you!? Not me, Adrien!! Cat Blanc: (whimpering while looking to both of them) I... I don't know what to do!!!!!!

Instead of having the mega cataclysm go off here, we instead see this: Ladybug and Hawk Moth both realize that Chat Blanc is incapable of listening to either of them. Hawk Moth's reaction is to turn and run away, desperate to save himself. Ladybug's reaction is to run to her boyfriend's side, not caring about the danger. She wraps her arms around him, closes her eyes, and tells him that it's okay. That she's here and she loves him and she'll stay here and love him no matter what. It doesn't matter who his father is, it's still him and her against the world now and forever.

The more she talks, the weaker the mega cataclysm grows. By the time she makes her final vow, the mega cataclysm is little more than a flickering glow. A black clad hand touches both of her hair ties, disintegrating them, leaving her hair to fall free around her face since that was a thing in this episode. The minor wardrobe change makes her pull back and look at her boyfriend to see that he's back to Chat Noir, a purified akumas fluttering off in the distance. Chat Noir is crying, clearly distraught, but he's himself again because Marinette's presence allowed him to focus on her love over his father's poison. They won. Love won. Fear and abuse lost.

The couple embraces. Hawk Moth's big gambit failed and they now know his identity so the fight is almost over. Paris will soon be free.

From there you can have an epic battle with the temp holders where the butterfly and the peacock are recovered. Nino gets to punch Gabriel in the face a dozen times or so as a treat and Adrien gets to cuddle up with some treats, sitting the fight out since he's already done his part by surviving the reveal of his father's identity.

You could also have Gabriel just give up because he doesn't have any moves left and the full implications of what he did are smacking him in the face, sapping him of the will to fight. Anything that lets this asshole suffer is fine by me! Emilie's fate is up to you. I like to make her at least semi-decent and revive her to give Adrien a happier ending and Gabriel the horror of divorce papers, but that's just me.

Final Thoughts

As I said at the top, I'm going to continue to complain about the way that Adrien was written in these episodes. I don't consider his victim status a reasonable excuse for the way these episodes played out. If anything, his victim status is an even bigger black mark against the writing!

I come to family-oriented media for hope and happy endings! I want stories about victims being empowered! I want Gabriel's controlling nature to totally backfire on him and not in a mutually-assured-destruction way like we saw in Chat Blanc. I want Gabriel's choice to cost him everything and for him to suffer that loss for the rest of his life while Adrien gets endless love and support, allowing him to survive the reveal and go on to live a happy life. If that's not what you're selling, then I'm not buying thus me giving up on canon after the season five final. There's just no coming back from that kind of colossal writing failure.

I will try to remember to use the word "forced" when describing the problems (as in "forced to kill"), but that's the only thing I can change while still sharing my honest opinion since my main problem with these episodes isn't Gabriel's treatment of Adrien. While I don't like how far these episodes took Gabriel, you don't need to rewrite him to make the episodes work. It doesn't matter how far the writing takes Gabriel, he should never be able to successfully manipulate Adrien while threatening Adrien's supposed True Love.

As soon as Adrien knows that Marinette/Ladybug is in danger, it should be game over for Gabriel because love is supposed to be stronger than all of the awful things that Gabriel has done up to and including the sentimonster crap. In fact, the sentimonster crap just makes it even more important for Adrien to win! Gabriel should think he has victory in the bag because he views Adrien as a perfect doll, but love proves Gabriel wrong letting Adrien overpower his amok and win. The trope is called "love conquers all" not "love conquers the mildly inconvenient." The more dire the straits, the more important the win!

Unfortunately, that's not the message Miraculous is sending. By letting Adrien give into his father's control in the show's darkest hours, the message is that Gabriel's control is stronger than love. That Adrien will never be free. That he was Gabriel's perfect doll and you were silly if you ever expected him to be more than that. That's not a message that I'm that ever going to agree with and is yet another reason why I only bring up Adrien + these three episodes when I talk about the power of love failing.

You are never going to convince me that Adrien being allowed to give into despair was a good thing unless you pair that argument with some major changes to canon like love square not being together and/or Adrien not knowing that his actions would endanger Marinette. Even then you need to design that fix in a way that ultimately allows Adrien to win otherwise you are sending a terrible message to the audience. There should never be a scenario where the final battle ends the way canon had it end.

Gabriel is the show's big bad, Adrien is his main victim, and the theme of their relationship has been control. That means that, when it comes to the final fight with Gabriel, Adrien needs to be involved in a way that gives him agency. I'm not saying he needs to fight his father on his own or even at all! I'm okay with him sitting out the fight so long as you pair it with something big like Adrien being the one to learn Gabriel's identity or something more dramatic like my simple Chat Blanc fix.

However, Adrien sitting out only works if it's his own, freely-made choice. As soon as you pair it with something like magic nightmare dust you are once again sending the message that Gabriel's control is the strongest force in Adrien's life. I truly don't understand how anyone can embrace that message and call it good, especially when canon didn't ultimately do something positive with it like letting Adrien become stronger as time went on. He actually got weaker as the show went on!

Chat Blanc saw everyone lose because Adrien was able to at least try to fight back, denying his father total victory. Ephemeral saw none of that fighting spirit and Gabriel just outright won. Season five once again saw Gabriel win only, this time, the show didn't even let Adrien be part of the fight. What an uplifting character arc for Adrien! (That was sarcasm.) Play the episodes in reverse order and you might actually have something if you add a fourth one where he finally wins!

If you want to talk about more minor conflicts where the power of love should have won then I'm happy to do that! Canon has lots of options to pick from! But unless you specify that you want to talk about something minor, these three episodes are going to be my only examples of the power of love failing because they are the only times when love completely failed the character in question. Total loss, no silver lining, writers wtf are you doing?

Listing times when love failed Marinette or Alya in the same list as these three episodes just feels insulting to Adrien unless the context is something like a list ranking the failures from smallest to largest. I'll once again point out that I don't even list the other times when love failed Adrien because my issue isn't Adrien as a person. My issue is Adrien as a tool of the narrative and the asinine message that the Agreste arc sends to the young children this show is aimed at. I wouldn't even be okay with this in a show aimed at adults unless it was clearly marketed as a grimdark take on superheroes. Miraculous should not feel like a kiddiefied version of The Boys and yet here we are.

Why was Adrien granted magical powers and allowed to fight his controlling father for five seasons if Gabriel was just going to die without Adrien getting a decisive victory? Why focus season five on Gabriel controlling Adrien to such an extreme if Adrien was never going to be allowed to break free? Why make Adrien the main love interest and focus the entire show on romantic love if you don't have anything positive to say about romantic love? Why bother getting the love square together before every single final showdown in the freaking show if their relationship status was going to mean nothing? Where is my power of love always so strong?

(Btw, that song I kept quoting is from the original English dub soundtrack to Sailor Moon R - The Promise of the Rose. It plays as love and friendship save the planet Earth from an asteroid. The updated dub replaced the song with the original Japanese soundtrack and the comments are full of people complaining about the change because the song just takes this scene to the next level! I bring this up because Sailor Moon set many people's standards for the magical girl team show genre that Miraculous is clearly taking inspiration from, but failing to fully embrace. If you don't want love and friendship to be on par with nuclear weapons and asteroid attacks, then don't write a show about love and magic aimed at kids.)

[mewnewew]

Sir Crocodile x Chronically Ill! Reader Pt.6

Aaaaand here's part 6 too. Here's where our poor reader has an attack in front of Crocodile.

Pt.5

Tonight had to be one of the worst attacks of your disease. You were in the tub, gritting your teeth in pain as the pain just kept ringing. As in it came in waves, and you were irritated. You wanted to stab someone, to be honest.

The warm water helped, but goddamn was this annoying. The attacks didn't come as frequently thankfully but when they did, they hurt like a bitch. The nurses your husband had hired had managed to help you till the tub, filling it with warm water and giving you pain relievers but you had taken some 2 hours ago, and you needed to wait for 30 minutes before you could take it again. You tried not to snap at them but you were pretty sure you had, and you felt guilty. Which wasn't helping by the way.

You were in pain, your hair felt awful, and you were just so angry at the situation. That seemed to be just the time when the Crocodile walked in.

You looked at him and raised an eyebrow, starting to try to grab a towel to cover yourself with. You were naked after all.

He waved your antics away, eyes looking away. He sat on the edge, smoking his cigar "Don't move"

"I'm trying to cover myself" You snapped.

He paused, then huffed "I won't look"

He turned away, his back to you.

You left the towel, put it back on the rack, and hissed as you rested back on the wall of the bathtub.

"Motherfucker" you whispered under your breath.

"Never took you for someone who cussed a lot," He remarked, a hint of genuine surprise in his voice.

"Yeah well- oh fuck!" You yelped. The surge of pain passing through you right now seemed to feel like a spark of lighting attacking you. You curled into yourself.

He snapped his head to look at you, concern in his face. "What? Do you-"

"I have to wait for 30 minutes before I can take my next dose of painkillers" You croaked, pain evident in your tone.

He reached out but hesitated. "Can I....touch you?"

You turned your head to meet him, blinking confusedly. "What? Uh, no."

"Fine then"

"Is this the worst you've ever felt?"

"No, but." You sighed, "It's the worst I've had in a while."

You didn't know it, but he felt helpless. He hated that. He hated seeing you this way. He knew you did have similar attacks earlier in your marriage but he had been reassured that it was manageable. But this......

You turned your head to look at him, a bleary sort of look in your eyes. Quietly, you were wondering if he was checking you out since neither of you looked at the other when changing.

"Why are you here anyway?"

He lets out a puff of smoke, pausing.

"I....wanted to check on you," He says, quietly. You know that he would not be caught dead saying that with an audience, which is probably why your nurses were not checking on you since you sent them out quite some time back.

You raised a hand, catching him and studying it. You needed some distraction, and talking wasn't helping. Your hands felt better, so you took a chance. His hand was much bigger than yours. Along with much more weathered, probably from the sand he controlled. He kept his hand loose, allowing you to study it. It seemed cute to him, the differences in your hands. Yours was smaller and not so weathered.

You looked at him, then cocked your head to the side. "What's the time?"

He looked at the clock outside the bathroom. "About 30 minutes past 6"

You sighed. "Help me out please"

He nodded, his hand supporting your elbow as he helped you up from the bathtub, you grit your teeth, feeling the waves of pain slightly increase from coming out of the warm water. He hooked your towel, handing it to you as you stepped out. You felt his presence close to your body, and knowing the difference in terms of size between your bodies, you idly wondered what differences would be there. You were aware that he could very well see your whole naked body, and you wondered when that secret wall broke between you. When did you stop having an issue with it?

Helping you outside, you were met with the nurses he assigned and he left your elbow, and you could feel the loss of that warm, weathered, loving touch. You knew he could have very well pushed for something back there. He hadn't and a part of you wondered whether he was as curious yet interested in your body as you were in his.

Soon you were feeling much better, having taken your painkillers, your medicine, and at the end of this attack. You were quite exhausted, your painkillers making you drowsy, another effect of them, and thus a perfect time for a nap. But you wanted to try something. So you moved through the house and found him in his study.

He seemed quite busy, signing paperwork which had a small mountain of the same decreasing at a steady rate.

"Hey, can I come in?"

He looked up and nodded, before taking a long drag of the cigar. Releasing a cloud of smoke, he asked. "What is it?"

"I'm feeling sleepy" You mumbled.

He blinked, raising an eyebrow. ".....And? I'm quite sure we have a bed"

"Can I sleep on you?"

Now both eyebrows were up as if not believing what he was hearing. ".....On me?"

You huffed and moved forward. Coming over to his side, he automatically pushed the chair a little backward for whatever you wished to do. You clambered onto his lap, leaning on his torso, facing sideways, your legs hanging off his knees, and hugged the hook close. This gave him pause. No one had ever wanted to be close to his hook. For good reason too. Yet here you were, hugging the thing to yourself like it was a teddy of some sort.

When he looked at your face again, you found that you had fallen asleep quite quickly as well. Soft snores emitted from your lips, you looked quite peaceful.

Later when Daz would poke his head in, Crocodile would flash him a look of caution, his coat slightly draped on you as well. Fast asleep on one of the most dangerous men in Alabasta.

[autistichansolo]

So I wanted to answer this during Bellara Week which started today (yay). It's under the cut because it's long (for both Calder and Aohdan)

For Calder, that's his best friend. They are both veil jumpers so have that in common (and did know each before the veilguard). They both are passionate about their people's history. Calder does help were he can with the Nadas Dirthalen (when he is at the lighthouse). Tho Bellara does get frustrated with Cal for being a bit reckless with artifacts in his experiments with them (and cause one to many explosions) so is grateful for him not being around some of time when she is working on it.

Cal tells he to keep the Archive Spirit. He sees the importance of it and the history that can be glean from it. He also feels like they have already lost so much so to just destroy something like the Nadas Dirthalen because of the possible harm it can be used for but some people is stupid. They can't control what others do with the information but it's still important to know it and share it (and getting a part of their history back).

Calder had met Cyrian before he supposedly died (even if it was briefly and he didn't know the whole details of what happened until Bellara shared them more). And he also understands having complicated relationship with siblings. He's two older siblings ended with the inquisition (one as inquisitor the other supporting the other) and thinking them dead for a time after the explosion at the conclave and then hearing them being alive (but also so far away and being used by the chantry and worries there). So seeing Cyrian alive and know what that means for Bellara was a lot. And it hurt to see his friend in pain about what Cyrian was doing and how in a way was losing him again. During the whole time he was supported of her and wanting it to work out so bad. And it hurt so much to have that moment of hope where it seem like it would be ok only for him to die. After that, Cal was there to be a comfort to her in anyway he can and really feels for Bellara.

For Aohdan, that's his girlfriend. He falls for her because she is so passionate about her people's history, about little serials, her writing. He loves listening to her talk about anything. And he loves to tell her stories about his time with the wardens that she also enjoys listening to.

He tells her to keep the Archive Spirit. He does understands her fear of it being used for wrong and hurting others. He has seen that kind of thing done with knowledge in Orzammar especially as a castless dwarf before joining the grey wardens. But he also could tell how important that information was to her and how hard she had worked to get it to work and does feel like it's right for her to destroy it or for him to have a say in it especially since that fear and thought came from a misplace sense of guilt regarding what happened with Cyrian.

In regards to Cyrian, Aohdan was at first happy for Bellara because he was not dead (and see how she felt guilt and hurt by his death) but then mad for the same reasons of why didn't you say something earlier and only came back to cause her pain. He tries to be supported through the whole thing but also did not like the pain that Bellara was feeling during the whole thing of trying to convince Cyrian to leave and him not and hurting others. He really hoped that Cyrian would listen and wished that a better outcome had happened in regards to that. But he was going to be there for Bellara through it all and give her someone to lean on and get comfort from especially after losing Cyrian again.

Rook Intro Hour: Bellara

Good morning, everyone! Good news: Bellara Week is coming up on @datvcompanionweeks! It will be from Thursday, April 17th - Wednesday, April 23rd!

To celebrate, today's Intro Hour will be centered around Taash!

How it works: I ask you a question about your Rook(s) and you answer it with as much brevity or verbosity as you desire. You can do this whenever you want, and I’ll reblog it + add some comments! There’s no time limit— if you want to do the older ones, they are collected here! (The post is updated on Fridays!)

Today's Question(s): What is your Rook's relationship with Bellara? What do they like about her? What do Rook and Bellara enjoy doing together? What does Rook tell Bellara to do with the Archive Spirit? Why? What does Rook think about Cyrian and the rest of Bellara's family? Lastly, if you want, write a unique banter between Bellara and your Rook!

[ohitslen]

Living together.

The snail video if you are interested :)

[slayerdurge]

A Deal with God (Post-Ending Durgetash Fanfic)

Summary:

Ever since she first woke up on that Nautiloid with an empty past and an insistent Urge, she had no interest in resisting it. Why would she? She loved the killing even before she knew who her Father was, and after she knew, she longed to reshape the world into endless piles of corpses in his name. Until she reconnected with Enver Gortash, her old partner, the one with whom she’d made all these plans for world domination in the first place, and the one who she felt very keenly had likely had this kind of corrupting influence on her before. He made her crave something more than annihilation. Made her selfish. Made her a heretic. Made her want to rule. And so she found herself behaving in ways she’d never have expected. She resisted Bhaal, resisted anyone else who dared get in their way, and allied with him and him alone to claim the Netherbrain for themselves… until she watched him die in front of her and knew that she’d have fought Bhaal naked with only her teeth and fists if that was what it took to get him back. But what she really needed was something even more daunting—leverage over Bane.

CHAPTER TWO - THE REUNION

[read on ao3]

Enver re-entered his body screaming.

As The Dark Urge listened in transfixed stillness, his screams gradually changed into a strange and discordant mixture of laughter and sobs, and all she could think was that she’d heard that sound before.

But she couldn’t place it until a series of sensuous fragmented memories crashed into her mind—the damp stone walls of an underground dungeon, the thrust of steel as it penetrated flesh, the tantalizing ferrous scent of fresh blood, an influx of saliva pooling in the bottom of her mouth, and the howling keen emanating from the pile of meat in front of her. Then came the feeling of satisfaction. The knife clattered to the floor, and as she wiped her mouth, she heard the sound change.

This was the sound of a torture victim who’d been offered a moment of reprieve, and the only coherent thought she could form in the mangled, macerated caverns of her brain was that that sound should not be coming out of him.

She couldn’t say exactly how long the sound continued, but eventually she became aware that it had stopped, and that his eyes, which had been alternately twitching and rolling backwards into his head, had refocused. He was looking at her.

She became aware of what she must look like, standing stock-still and staring at him in paralyzed silence, but she could rouse herself to neither speech nor movement. 

Slowly, he sat up, supporting his unsteady balance by spreading his hands flat on the rock’s surface. He looked around, taking in the sizeless expanse of the Astral Prism. His gaze seemed to sharpen. “How long?” he asked.

“How long…” She didn’t immediately understand the question. 

“How long was I dead?” he repeated, over-enunciating each word impatiently. 

The twinge of annoyance that caused within her brought her fully back to herself. “Less than a day,” she said. “Maybe slightly more. I lost track of time during the battle.” She glared at him pointedly. “You’re welcome, by the way. For your life.”

He stood, wobbling slightly but catching himself and righting his posture quickly. He walked towards her, stopping when there was only a few feet of distance between them, and met her gaze evenly. “Thank you,” he said, without a trace of sarcasm. “For my life.”

The Dark Urge found it suddenly difficult to maintain eye contact. 

He wasn’t looking at her anymore either. He was staring at the back of his hand, where the purple Netherstone had been affixed to his gauntlet. He touched the empty space left behind with his other hand, rubbing his thumb almost absentmindedly against the metallic surface. “Why don’t you bring me up to speed?” he said. “You mentioned a battle.”

“With the Netherbrain, yes.”

He looked up sharply. “How did you survive our encounter with it?”

“The Emperor saved me,” she explained. “Pulled me into the Astral Prism at the last moment. Along with your corpse.”

“So that left you with all three Netherstones. But how did you get them to work again?”

“Can you see through illusions?” she asked suddenly.

He tilted his head slightly, scrutinizing her more closely. “Not without the proper tools. I can tell you’re disguised now that you’ve mentioned it, but I can’t see your true form.”

She allowed her illusion to flicker momentarily, showed him the true light lavender color of her skin, the exposed bits of brain matter she disguised as scalp and hair, and the tentacles that blossomed from the front of her mouth. She didn’t drop her disguise entirely, and it soon flickered back into stable form. She planned to assume it consistently. It wouldn't do to have the non-tadpoled citizens of Baldur’s Gate thinking their savior was a monster. And if they were superficial enough that a more palatable face prevented them from realizing she was far more monstrous than any ordinary mind flayer, that was entirely to their own detriment. 

“Ah,” he said. “Then it was ceremorphosis that made the difference?” 

She didn’t speak aloud this time, instead projecting her thoughts directly into his mind. “That and I ate the Prince of the Comet.”

She heard his answer aloud in the form of a light burst of laughter, but his words came to her in her mind. “Well, there goes the chance for Githyanki liberation,” he said telepathically.

“They wouldn’t know liberation if it hit them on their upturned noses. They’d just trade one tyrant for another, like everyone else does.”

She felt his agreement more as a sensation than as a verbalized thought. In that moment, their mental states were so closely aligned that the edges between them had unintentionally blurred. 

“You know, I have Orpheus’s memories now,” she mused silently into their shared thoughtspace. “Perhaps I’ll impersonate him. Give the Gith a worthwhile leader to follow for once.”

This time his answer came as both an emotion and a thought. She felt his amused appreciation, after which he said, “I’d like to see that.”

“You’ll see it all,” she promised him. 

She could feel his reaction to that—a moment of unrestrained enthusiasm. Then his mind refocused. “So Orpheus’s power protected you from the Netherbrain long enough to get close to it again. And then what?”

“We fought. For a long time. I had to weaken it to the point where I could safely use the Netherstones again. With Orpheus’s knowledge and power, my own enhanced illithid abilities, and the help of the army of allies I’d been building, it was enough. The Netherbrain is now under my full control.”

“Well done,” he thought emphatically. He grinned at her, and she could feel the wave of emotions that filled his mind—joy, pride, and, most of all, vindication. His assessment of the victory was primarily focused on the fact that, despite everything, their long-shot plan had actually worked in the end. Then she felt him calm himself and fall back into a strategic mindset. “What became of The Emperor?” he asked.  

“He’s still around. He’s under my thrall, but he doesn’t think of it negatively now, of course. None of them do. Still, I make sure to watch him more closely than any of the others. He’s already escaped enslavement twice. That’s quite a remarkable track record.”

“It may actually be best to be proactive on that front,” he suggested. “Now that you have Orpheus’s powers, you can grant selective protection from the Absolute to enthralled individuals and monitor their thoughts through your direct access to the hive mind network, all while retaining the ability to recall their immunity at any moment. Sometimes the best precaution against rebellion is freedom. Within reason, of course.”

“Interesting! That’s certainly worth considering,” she said, excited by the potential possibilities this tactic opened up, and impressed that, even with all her natural illithid cognitive advantages, he’d still come up with it before her. “I knew bringing you back was the right call.”

“Of course it was,” he replied smugly. “That was never under contention.” 

“What did Lord Bane tell you?” she asked, a sudden suspicion crawling in the back of her mind.

He smiled, but no immediate thoughts were incoming. 

“You must’ve spoken before he sent you back,” she insisted. “You know too much. And you wouldn’t have reorientated yourself so quickly otherwise.”

“Wouldn’t I?” he asked, still smiling. She probed at his mind, but he evaded her advances for the moment. 

“I can read your mind at will, Enver,” she reminded him. “You can’t hide from me indefinitely.”

“I don’t need to,” he said, still sounding smug. As he opened the channel of his thoughts again, she saw, to her great irritation and relief, that there wasn’t actually anything he’d been particularly keen to hide. He’d been teasing her. “He told me I’d done well to bring you to him,” he said, “And that I was to grant you the appropriate respect and obedience owed by any Banite to one of their Lord’s Chosen. Which I plan to do, of course. One doesn't become a Chosen of Bane in the first place without a healthy respect for the concept of hierarchy. And you’ll make a fine Banite, Dark Urge. I’ve always thought so.”

Because their minds were linked, she could tell that his words were genuine. His dedication to Bane ran deep, and he'd be her subordinate as long as Bane said he was her subordinate. He would not hold back when it came to helping her bring her plans to fruition. 

Because their minds were linked, she could also sense the unspoken competitive subtone to his words. This mentality was so central to his basic cognitive functioning that there was no need for him to ever verbalize or affirm it, not to her nor anyone else nor even to himself. The unspoken challenge and promise underscored his every thought. This isn’t over. 

Gods, I hope not, she thought, though not to him. I hope this goes on forever.

Another realization came to her, and she felt shocked that she hadn't considered it earlier. “If Bane spoke to you before your resurrection then… that screaming…”

She knew instantly that she was right because he immediately broke out into laughter that she could hear twofold, once in his head and once aloud. She got the other relevant details too. His soul really had been tortured—he’d always known this would be the outcome if he died, and he was no stranger to the experience—but it’d happened earlier, before she’d made her offer to Bane. He’d known that she'd been aware of this fact, guessed how eager she’d been to end his suffering, and decided to have a little fun with her about it. He'd been faking, as a demonstration of how much his pain hurt her too, how much she cared about him. He'd been gloating. And now he was laughing at her, sounding for all the world like a naughty child who’d just seamlessly pulled off a very clever prank. 

“You motherfucker,” she exclaimed vocally, and she lashed out, striking his chest with her fist hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs, but not hard enough to stop his laughter. He was still laughing—choking and coughing at the same time, but still laughing. He grabbed her fist with his left hand, holding it firmly in place against his chest, and wrapped his other arm around her back in a way that made her acutely aware that her robes left her shoulders bare. “I'm going to murder you,” she growled aloud.

“You'd better not,” he warned her, also aloud and interspersed between fits of wheezing. “I'm not sure what you'd have to offer Lord Bane for a second resurrection.” His own joke sent him off into a new peal of laughter.

As she stood there in his arms, glaring at him in anger and disbelief and the most irritating depth of affection she'd ever felt for anyone in her life, she fantasized about all the different ways she could kill him, and she opened her mind to him again so that he could see it too. His laughter finally died down as he paused to watch, drinking in her visions eagerly, hungrily, as she showed him a dozen different ways she could end the life she'd gifted him. It would be easy. He was unarmed, far from his Steel Watch or any allies; he had none of his usual gadgets with him and no intrinsic magical abilities; he didn't even have their god’s favor. She had every advantage. She could take him with a blade or a spell or, if she was feeling ironic, she could command her Netherbrain to end him again like it had the first time. As he watched, she indulged in every vision with such glorious gory detail that she was sure if her Urge were still with her, it would have taken over and brought the visions into reality. But her Urge was gone, and she was in complete control of herself. She kissed him.

She felt his body respond—his mouth opened to welcome her tongue, his arms wrapped tighter around her, pulling her closer into his chest. She felt his mind respond—reeling through a wave of lengthy memories at high speed. She could see him thinking of countless instances when he'd wanted to do this, dozens when he almost had or when he'd thought that perhaps she would, and the handful of rare well-hidden occasions on which they'd actually done this before. The last group was recalled so fondly and in such painstakingly recreated vibrant detail that it was as though she had those memories back now too. She felt his emotions respond—knew his true grief when he thought he'd lost her, his cautious optimism when he thought that he might've gotten her back, and the utter unequivocal sense of triumph he felt in this moment. 

Finally, she pulled back, breathless and dizzy, both from her racing thoughts and from his. She placed her hands on his neck, under the pointed collar of his robes, and leaned her forehead against his. He reached out and stroked her cheek softly with a sharp-tipped gold finger. For the moment, both their minds were still. 

“We really should get back to the city,” he finally said, telepathically once more. “You've got a world to deliver.”

[moonchild-in-blue]

I haven't really done much art for tumblr (at all) lately, cus life, but! Here's a lil something I've been working on (it's a Xmas gift) 💙

(also peep that lil January calendar painting 👀 i did mini squares for each month for myself, because I need to have a physical one always, and they each have their own colour 🥺)

[fiongbonto]

Hey y'all. Elle here. I'm back again with another Claggor fanart but this time it's on digital.

I've already explained above why I did this piece digitally so I'll just add here my experience making it since this is an art blog anyway...

So yeah believe it or not but this art piece was my first attempt at digital rendering and I'm very proud of it :3 Huge thanks to @samdoesarts because I've been following his rendering tutorials to make this.

Can you believe I went from this (left) to this (right) in just a month? Seriously?? I am mindblown /gen

I know I have more room for improvement but I'm just super happy with the outcome. And of course it's not to say that digital rendering for the first time didn't come with challenges.

As I've said earlier, I've been following Sam's tutorials and not gonna lie, I quickly realized how hard it could be LOL. When I was watching his videos I thought it would be so easy because he does it effortlessly. What I found the hardest to do is choosing the right color for the skin palette (base color, shadow, and highlight). If I do it somehow the colors don't add up and I want to follow his advice against color picking directly from your reference.

Take a look at this example. When I added the light shining on his face it looked like he applied a bronzer makeup on his face LMAO (which is not my intention because I wanted to get the effect of skin in a dark room being subtly illuminated by morning light, hence the warm and dark color palette)

Here is the reference I got from pinterest:

So instead of manually color picking and painting my highlight colors, I looked for other artists' tutorial for adding shadows and light.

And what really helped me in particular was using layer modes for shadow and light. So special thanks to The Geek Artist on youtube because their lighting tutorials helped me achieve the mood I was aiming for in my digital painting. I've always wanted to add cinematic lighting on my drawings and it was made possible because of them.

can i politely ask for more claggor content riot is slow

...If Riot is slow then I am slower 😭

Anyway... the long wait is over because I finally managed to finish one drawing! (I'm hopeless)

I think I've said this a million times across many platforms, but I apologize for my sudden inactiveness. I have an excuse for it this time! Please bear with me 😭

The reason why I suddenly stopped posting art is because I've ran out of alcohol markers while I'm rendering some of my sketches. I waited weeks for copic to restock their refill inks to no avail until I realized I'm going to need to force myself to learn how to draw digitally or else I'll never be able to produce fully rendered art again.

"Elle. You can just use any other traditional medium. I thought you knew how to watercolor-" I ran out of some of my watercolors too 🥹💔

I can just post my sketches and be done with it but I know the Claggor fan club are starved and I'm a slow artist by default so I want to start giving you guys quality content to make up for it.

By the way, I have seen the messages some of you have sent me on my inbox and I'll be responding to them with art soon. Some are sent like a month ago so I want to reiterate through this post that I'm not ignoring you guys. I just need... more time to respond to them.

But why do I keep getting anonymous asks though? Literally I only have one message on my inbox that isn't anonymous. I want to know who are sending me their silly thoughts, headcanons and short stories. I want to talk to you guys. Y'all better start revealing yourselves to me or else! /lh

[nomidreams]

god i finally watched new episodes my honest reaction is jgiwoaoKzmxmkwkakkak

[seaofreverie]

NEW CONCERT ON THE HORIZON..... Going to see Franz Ferdinand next year !!!

[nickyheart7]

I have completed my "Liara Friendship Playthrough" and... yeah, it destroyed me a little. BUT! I did genuinely enjoy experiencing the platonic side of Shepard and Liara's relationship - they're clearly very close friends (as long as you're not a dick to her, I mean). I can see how some people believe that Liara is in love with Shepard, even as just friends, but really I think it's up to the player and how they could interpret it. Either way, Liara cares deeply for Shepard no matter what.

I won't go into too many details here because then I'll never shut up 😅 I do recommend Liaramancers do a friendship run if you've never done it before... because honestly, as hard as it was, I came out appreciating their relationship a bit more - even as friends, they're so soft and comfortable with each other. The way they talk, how they tease, have conversation, their affection (verbal and physical)... it's unlike anything else in the trilogy, imo. (All that on top of the romance just intensifies my feelings ten-fold.) Massive props and thank yous to Ali Hillis and Jennifer Hale for their phenomenal voice acting with these two - they really brought them and their chemistry to life.

While the main purpose of this playthrough was to experience Liara's friendship, it was also an experiment - I wanted to see who would attempt to put up Shepard's plaque at the end, since it was always the love interest. Obviously, I didn't have a LI this time, but I still wanted it to be Liara... So the entire trilogy, I only talked/spent time with Liara. Yes, i literally ignored everyone unless I had to talk to them for plot reasons. In ME2, I only spoke to squadmates when their loyalty mission was ready. And I brought Liara with me on every mission I could, while I tried to keep it even with everyone else. I did this to see if the game measures that kind of thing, and to an extent, I believe it does, at least for ME3 (As stated in an earlier post, in the beginning of ME2, Kaidan was the one who showed up, even though I never spoke to him voluntarily).

I say "to an extent" because Liara was the last person Shepard thinks about during the ending sequence (perfect destroy), and she's the one who walks out of the Normandy with Joker after they crash-land on the grassy planet. So I'm thinking ah, okay, it'll be her putting up the plaque... Nope. Was it Joker, since no LI and he's been with Shep the longest? No. Was it Kaidan, since I played FemShep? Also, no. It was Garrus! I was very confused by this because, as I've said, I never spoke to him unless I was forced to. So why was he the one? The only reason I can think of is the game chose someone who wasn't with Shepard during the beam run and had been brought on the most missions. Ngl, this disappointed me (don't get me wrong, I like Garrus, but this kinda bummed me out). I think I might reload and bring Liara/Garrus with me and see what happens.

Anyway, despite my slight disappointment with the plaque thing, overall I enjoyed seeing the platonic side of Shiara (and also clearing up some... misconceptions, I'll say... about Liara, though I always knew better, but still had to see for myself). I love Shiara even more now, which I didn't think was possible lmao. They are truly great together, as friends and, imo, even better as lovers.

Now I must do another playthrough and romance Liara to make things right again! jfsldksfjd

Today I am starting what I'm calling my "Liara Friendship Playthrough", in which I play the Mass Effect trilogy but don't romance anyone, not even Liara, so I can experience what her and Shepard's friendship is like (because in all 7 of my playthroughs, I romanced Liara every time). I'm so down bad for Liara that I will purposefully "friendzone" myself to see more Liara content 😭 Wish me luck y'all 🫡

[transmasc-rose]

I was talking to Curtis about how certain aspects of Doctor Who would be treated if they were episodes of Torchwood and/or had that rating leniency of Torchwood (imo the limitations of Doctor Who make for better TV than Torchwood in general, but not always) and when I brought up Amy's Choice, Curtis said I should do an episode rewrite and.

Hm. Hmmm. That could be really interesting. Amy and Rory and the Doctor's dynamic would be so... different in a Torchwood rated show, given the things they do with them in Doctor Who, and if they actually used the Dream Lord as an interesting villain (and they'd actually be able to play into the Doctor's worst traits in an adult show! For better and for worse!)...

However I'd have to actually rewatch Amy's Choice, and also decide how much I want to stay faithful to the episode, how much I want to stay faithful to "what would/could Torchwood have done here, and how much I actually want the result to be. Good.

Because "what Torchwood would do" and "what would be interesting" are not necessarily the same things.

(Accidentally wrote a Novel in the tags also. Whoops.)

[cxffecoupx]

seungcheol's mad. the members know just how to calm him down.

"YN! yn! you need to come to the practice room right now. seungcheol's furious!"

that's all you need to know before you leave your office in the pretext of grabbing lunch and head towards seungcheol's company building. even in the crazy traffic of the afternoon, the only thing running in your mind is the image of your angry boyfriend, eyes wide and lips pouted in annoyance.

which is exactly what greets you when you reach the boys' usual dance practice room that seungkwan called you to. you push open the door and see a few of them sitting down, faces pale from exhaustion, a few scattered doing some random tasks, and jeonghan standing next to seungcheol, chewing on his lips.

but seungcheol doesn't notice anything: he doesn't notice the way chan gently tugs at his shirt; the way his teammates take tense, heavy breaths in worry; the way jeonghan now pats his back, and certainly not your arrival into the room. you sidle over to seungkwan, who's face melts into relief at seeing you. he pulls you aside to brief you about the situation.

"the thing is, last week, we were told that we could take tomorrow off. but then they came in a few minutes ago, saying that we'd have extra practice tomorrow, since they pushed the broadcast recording a week earlier," he takes a moment to pause and looks over at seungcheol, who's still very unaware of everything around him.

"hyung's losing his mind because we'd all made individual plans for tomorrow. some of us were gonna go home for the weekend..." seungkwan's lips turn into a pout as he becomes aware of the fact that now he won't be able to. you turn around to look at your boyfriend.

"i want you to tell us why you preponed the date without consulting us first. it's not the extra practice we're worried about. it's the fact that you didn't care to ask us in the first place! aren't we the artists- no, i need you to listen to me right now- don't tell me to calm down!"

your lips press together in concern as you walk over to him. he doesn't see you even when you're standing right beside him, more intent on getting his point across.

"we've been working overtime since last month..."

"seungcheol..." you call him.

"...and yet, we haven't gotten a single break day-

"seungcheol."

"-and then you expect us to do our best and get more wins-"

"love..."

you hold his chin with your hand and gently turn his face towards you. the sudden shift in his glance is noticed only by you. the angry, outraged expression of his turns into a soft, meek look with just a single touch, sparkles automatically forming in his eyes as they focus on you. the staff beside you bows and leaves the room. your eyes follow them until they shut the door before moving back to his.

he slumps into your hand as you lean in to press a kiss, and wraps his around you, body feeling heavy. jeonghan nods and you lead seungcheol out into the breakroom.

his face still hangs low, lips losing their pout only when you press your lips to them. his frown turns into the smallest of smiles.

"thanks for getting me out of there. i was starting to lose my mind."

"kwan told me you were furious. i had to come running," you hold his cheek and he leans into your touch. his stomach grumbles in response.

"you might have been a little hangry back then. come on, let's get you some food," you drag him out of the building to a cafe nearby you often visit.

"sho you mean to shay you'd alwaysh come for me?" he mumbles through a mouthful of the hideously large croissant he'd ordered, a few crumbs and some chocolate filling dusting his lips.

"i don't like to be rushed..." you lean forward to wipe it off with your thumb with a fond smile, before licking it off.

"...but for you, i'd always come running."

inspired from this video on twitter (that completely, absolutely destroyed me because LOOK AT HIM?! adorable pouty cutie pie