#with how you transgressed and search for that same feeling again? or just have a breakdown and live in some sort of care facility knowing

[guitarnacle]

I've seen rocky horror so many times and somehow only just noticed Tim curry and Richard O'Brien at the wedding at the beginning??

[albertasunrise]

Oops Baby - Juggling Act

Masterlist

Summary: Being best friends with Frankie meant movie nights, drinks with the guys and a shoulder to cry on when you got your hear broken. He is head over heels for you but you don’t feel the same… yet a drunken mistake will tie your lives together forever!

Relationships: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+ (So... I know this took a while. Just been so unmotivated lately so been struggling to write. Hopefully with this is worth the wait. I'll be introducing a new plot twist this chapter to look out for that 🙊)

Series Masterlist - Part 1

Two months had passed since you'd told Frankie that you were pregnant. He had been a little slow to forgive what had happened that night. You had hurt him. Taken advantage of his attraction to you and it was something that you'd never forgive yourself for.

The rest of the group had also been slow to forgive your transgressions. You hurt one of them. You hurt all of them. But as the weeks went by, you did your best to prove to all of them how truly sorry you were.

Ben had been your biggest supporter.

"So how are things?" Ben asked as he sipped at his black coffee "You and Frankie getting on better?"

"They're better." You replied as you placed your mug on its saucer "He's been helping me with a few things. Started looking at prams and cribs."

"That's positive." Ben gave you a warm smile as he leaned over to give your hand a friendly squeeze.

"Yeah." You conceded, nodding as you fiddled with the rim of your drink.

"But?" Ben pushed and you looked at him like a deer in headlights.

"But?"

"There's clearly something that you're not telling me." The blonde scoffed and you let out a long sigh as you leaned back in your chair and rubbed your bump.

"He uh… Well, he suggested that he move in with me after the baby was born." You stated, "To help with the baby and stuff."

"So?"

"So… What if his feelings for me start to cause issues?" You questioned "I want to have feelings for him… I mean he's what every woman dreams of but I dunno… Just don't feel the same way he does." You finished with a shrug.

"Frankie's a big boy." Ben chuckled as he downed the last of his coffee and motioned for the waitress to top him up "I'm sure he can handle himself."

"I guess." You replied, sighing as you leaned forward to take another sip of your own beverage "Just don't want to lose him again."

"Then don't fuck him again." Ben snorted and you glared at him as you flipped him off.

"Smart ass."

…

Frankie opened your front door with the key you'd had cut for him as he carefully balanced the takeout. He noted you were nowhere to be seen when he stepped inside so he called out to you whilst placing the takeout down on the table.

"In here." You replied from your office.

Frank placed the last container down before going in search of you. He could hear commotion coming from inside the spare room you had turned into an office a few years back so pushed the door open to you dismantling furniture.

"What the hell are you doing?" Frankie shrieked as he stepped further into the room.

"I wanted to get a head start on the nursery." You replied with a shrug.

"So you thought you would start dismantling heavy furniture on your own?" He growled, grabbing your attention.

"I'm pregnant Frankie… Not disabled."

"You shouldn't be doing this sort of thing on your own." He snapped "What if you hurt fell?"

"Frankie-"

"I'm just… I don't want you to do stuff that will risk the baby."

"Why would I risk the baby?" You scoffed and Frankie practically growled your name out as he replied.

"I get you are used to living alone and being independent but you are four months pregnant with our baby." He continued "If you would just read that book I got, you'd know that you shouldn't be lifting heavy shit like furniture."

You felt a pang of guilt at this statement. You deliberately ignored the book Frank had gifted you. You thought he was just being a know it all but now, seeing how he was pleading for you to listen to him, you realised that he was just trying to help.

"You're right." You sighed as you pushed yourself to your feet "I'm sorry."

"I got us take-out." He stated, changing the subject and you practically growled in delight.

"Thank god… I'm starved." Sprinted to the table, sighing in delight at the smells that greeted you.

"Got you your favourite." He piped up as he pushed the container towards you with some cutlery resting on top.

"Thank you, Frank."

The two of you then sat and ate as you showed each other different ideas for the nursery. You had found an all-in-one crib, the changing station at the end with drawers beneath it and the crib. Frankie showed you a chair he could that he felt would be great for you when you breastfed and a few dials he liked also.

"Helicopters?" You chuckled "What if we have a girl?"

"What… Girls can't like them too?"

You rolled your eyes at his statement but grinned when he stuck his tongue out at you in response. You loved how things were finally starting to ment. That you were starting to get the old Francisco back.

"You thought any more about me moving in here for a bit when the baby's born?" He asked between mouthfuls.

"I have." You replied simply.

"And?"

"And I just had one concern." Frank's brows pulled together in confusion as he looked up at you.

"Which is?"

"You have feelings for me Frankie." He went to say something but you stopped him in his tracks " I just… I don't want things to get weird between us."

"It won't be a problem." Frankie replied as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I'm seeing someone." He replied plainly.

"Oh." You replied, a little shocked at his this news affected you.

"Yeah, I uh… Well, I met her a few days after you told us about the baby." He elaborated as a love-sick smile filled his features "I uh… Well, I didn't tell anyone cus it's still new but… Well, things are starting to get a little more serious so-"

"And she's okay with you moving in with the random chick you knocked up?" You scoff.

"She knows the situation and respects the fact I want to be involved… Want to help… Also, you're not some random chick!"

"How heroic." You grumbled, taking Frank by surprise.

"What?"

"Sorry… Nothing, just the hormones." You grumbled, trying to swallow past the lump in your throat.

"Are you jealous?" Frankie scoffed and you snorted.

"No, I'm not." You snapped "Just surprised you started dating when you're expecting a baby is all."

"Well, it's not like anything's ever going to happen between us." He stated as he forked more food into his mouth "I need to move on so that's what I'm doing."

"Right…" You trailed off, feeling tears sting at your eyes as you finished the last of your food in silence.

When the plates were washed and cleared away, you answered Frank's question. You knew you were going to need help when the baby came.

"Yes." You said as you opened the door for him as he went to leave "I would appreciate it if you moved in for a bit after the baby comes."

"Great." Frankie replied as he beamed at you and kissed your cheek "It's gonna be great."

You watched him practically skip to his truck. Your fingers touched where he'd kissed you just moments before. You were so confused by these feelings you were suddenly feeling for a man that four months ago, you'd slept with and rejected. You blamed the hormones.

You couldn't suddenly have developed feelings for him surely?

…

In the month that followed that evening, you and Frankie managed to clear out the office and start to paint it ready for the baby. You had your 20-month scan and after endless arm twisting and puppy-dog eyes from Frank, you agreed to learn the sex.

You were laying on the examination table, staring at the ceiling as the examiner prepped the machine for the procedure. You weren't exactly sure why you were so nervous. The baby had been active all morning, much to your chagrin and everything had been perfect on your last scan. Yet you couldn't help but worry that something might pop up.

"So, we ready to see how baby's getting on?" The doctor asked as she squeezed the gel onto your swollen tummy.

"Definitely!" Frankie replied. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

The doctor got to work looking for your little miracle. Finding them quickly and turning the screen so that you and Frankie could see the life you'd created together.

"Looking good mummy and daddy." Said the doctor sweetly as she grinned at you both "Did we want to learn the sex today?"

"Yes." Frank rushed out and you smirked at him, knowing how desperately he wanted to know.

"Let's have a look then." She said as she started to move the probe around, taking measurements as she went.

"Please be a girl. Please be a girl. Please be a girl." Frankie uttered under his breath, his hands enveloping yours as he stared at the screen awaiting the verdict.

"Well. She's measuring perfectly." The examiner stated and your heads shot up like Meerkats.

"She?" You asked and the doctor nodded.

"It's a girl?" Frankie squeaked and the doctor grinned.

"I can say with 90 per cent certainty that you are having a healthy baby girl."

Frankie choked back the sob that threatened to escape him at the news that he was going to have a daughter. He'd hoped from the moment that you'd told him you were pregnant that it was going to be a girl and his wish had been granted.

"Happy?" You asked, pulling his attention away from the screen and to you.

"Elated."

The doctor printed some pictures for you and sent you on your way with more tips for the last leg of your pregnancy. Frankie couldn't stop staring at the pictures as you left the building and made your way back to his truck, narrowly missing a lampost as he walked.

"Eye's up Morales." You teased as you guided the man to the car.

"I just… Just look at her." He gushed. His eyes were the size of saucers as he studied the pictures in his hands.

You smiled as you walked up beside him, resting your head on his arm as you both admired the pictures together. She was so clear. Her hands waving in front of her and her legs kicking. The first scan had been emotional but this one had just brought it all into focus. In four more months, you were going to be a mum.

"Can't wait to show everyone at the bar tonight." Frank said, pulling you from your thoughts "Ben's going to be stoked."

After a few more moments of wonderous staring, Frank finally helped you clamber into the car before getting in himself. You had loved the fact your appointment had fallen on drinks night so when you had suggested to Frankie that you surprise them with the news that night, he'd leapt at the chance. You had come up with a plan for how you were going to tell them. You just needed to set it up when they were out of earshot.

Frank dropped you home before making his way back to work and so then, with the rest of the afternoon off, you started to put your plan in motion. Come 6 it was time to leave. All three of the boys had offered to pick you up but you had declined. Wasn't like you could drink anyway.

Arriving at the bar, you managed to avoid the Miller brother's gaze as you snuck over to Fish who was standing waiting for you. With a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, you relayed your plan to him, smiling when he then passed that onto the barman whose attention he shortly grabbed. Then, when everything was in place, you walked with Frank as he carried the tray of drinks over.

"Ahhhhhh, that's what we want." Ben cooed as he helped Frank unload the tray before pouring everyone a glass.

"Who's the extra glass for?" Will asked. Something you hadn't noticed until he had pointed it out.

"That would be for me." Piped up an unfamiliar voice and you turned your head to seek it who owned it.

The was a pretty woman. Medium height with dirty blonde waves and striking eyes. She smiled shyly at you all as Frankie stood to throw his arm around her shoulders.

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet Mary." He said proudly "Mary this is everyone." He chuckled "The blonde Labrador over there is Benny… The more reserved blonde there is Ironhead-"

"Will is fine." The older Miller interjected.

"And this lovely lady here is Titch." He finished with a smile.

You gave her a wave, trying your best to hide the turmoil you were feeling with a smile. At first glance, she seemed nice. A little on the shy side but pretty in a girl-next-door kinda way. She wasn't stick thin. On the curvier side but her dress sense did nothing but accentuate her best features in all the right ways.

"So this is mummy to be." She piped up and she held her hand out for you to shake "I'm so happy to meet you. Frankie's told me all about you."

"All good I hope?" You joked and she grinned and nodded.

"Of course."

"Here, sit with me, baby." He purred as he pulled a chair up next to him, smiling sweetly when she popped herself down and leaned in to kiss him.

"So why are we only meeting this lovely lady now?" Ben pushed, his eyes glancing at you and noting how uncomfortable you looked.

"Well, Frank wanted to make sure this was something serious before introducing me to you all." She teased "Y'all obviously very important to him."

"Damn right." Will piped up, grinning at the look he got from Fish.

The table erupted into twenty questions for the next half an hour. Everyone but yourself wanted to know everything there was to know about Mary. Glancing at his watch, Frank noted it was time so coughing to grab your attention, he changed the direction of the conversation.

"Well, I think Mary's had enough interrogating for one evening." He joked, noting that the barman was preparing their surprise "Don't you guys wanna know how the scan went."

"Oooooh!… I do I do I do!" Ben answered as he positively bounced in his chair "How was it? Everything okay?"

"Everything is perfect." You replied with a smile. Glad to be off the subject of Mary for a while.

"We actually have a little surprise for you all." Frank piped up when he spotted the barman walking towards them.

"What is it?" Will asked excitedly.

"Is it twins?"

"No, it's not twins." You chuckled "We would have known that months ago if it was."

"What is it then?"

"Special order for ya." Said the server as he placed three cocktails down on the table.

"There's gotta be a mistake." Ben started "We wouldn't order pink coc…" The younger Miller trailed off as he shared a look with his brother before looking up at you and Frank "Really?" He squeaked and you nodded.

"Someone mind clueing me in here?" Will piped up and you chuckled wetly.

"They're having a girl." Ben replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Shit, that's awesome!" Will cheered as he stood up to hug you both "Congratulations."

"This is great news baby." Mary cooed as she kissed Frankie sweetly "I knew that's what you wanted."

For some reason. The fact she knew he wanted a girl before you made you want to scream. This was supposed to be your journey to share with him. Yet you knew you had no right to be jealous of her.

Frank had offered himself to you and you had rejected him.

You didn't even feel like that for him.

"Ugh… This little princess is using my bladder as a trampoline." You pipped up as you pushed yourself to your feet "Back in a few."

With that, you made your momentary escape. Desperate to get away from the happy couple for a while. After relieving yourself, you snuck outside for a moment. Needing another few minutes before rejoining your party. You breathed in the crisp evening air and willed the tears that threatened to spill.

"Titch?"

Frankie's voice made you jump and your hand grasped your chest as you willed your heart to slow.

"Jesus Frank." You grumbled, "Nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Sorry." He replied, "You okay?"

"Mhmm." You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

"Titch… What's wrong."

"Nothing I just…" You sniffed as you tried to pull yourself together "I just wasn't expecting you to bring her tonight of all nights."

"Why are you crying?" You growled at his question, not wanting to answer it but knowing he wouldn't drop it if you didn't "Titch?"

"Seeing her with you hurts!" You growled "There! Ya, happy? Seeing you with her has made me sad and I don't understand why."

"Titch-"

"I just hate the idea of you being together… This is supposed to be our journey and then I learn that she knew you wanted a girl before I did and…"

"You had your chance to share this journey with me Titch." He stated plainly and you nodded, knocking the traitorous tears loose.

"I know that." You growled "I just… I don't understand what I'm feeling right now."

"Come inside." You nodded, following him in wordlessly and rejoining the rest of the party.

"Everything okay Titch?" Ben asked when he noticed your eyes were red.

"Yeah… Just these damn baby hormones getting the better of me." You chuckled, leaning into him in a way you hoped would be reassuring.

"Man, those steaks look incredible." Will piped up as he eyes the food that had been delivered to the table across from yours.

"Fuck I miss steak." Frankie grumbled.

"Can't have it at all?" Ben asked, his voice taking on a sympathetic tone.

"Doc said to avoid it. I guess a steak once in a while won't kill me." Fish shrugged "I guess that's what you get for fucking up your heart with drugs." He joked, trying to lighten the tone.

"We all turned to shitty methods to cope man." Will said, remembering his own poor choices after he'd gotten out "Maybe save the steak treat for your birthday though."

"Sounds like a plan!" Mary agreed and she wrapped her arm around his and pulled him close "Your heart may be delicate baby… but you aren't where it counts." She finished with a wink, grinning at the growl this elicited from her boyfriend.

"Gross." Ben groaned, earning himself the finger from the happy couple.

"I should get going." You said suddenly, rubbing your belly and feigning a yawn "Baby is draining me, body and soul."

"Awe." Ben pouted, earning a kiss on the cheek from you.

"Night everyone."

You said your goodbyes and left. Glad to escape. You didn't understand why seeing Frankie and Mary together hurt so much. You should be happy that he found someone. He deserved to be happy and yet you found you couldn't be.

Then it dawned on you as you put your car in park.

"I have feelings for Frank!"

Next

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[kryptonbabe]

to a degree, if taste in art did not reflect a personality it would render the art meaningless. it's supposed to evoke a feeling. if there is nothing inside you that speaks to the art, it truly is just pure consumption and nothing beyond that.

Here are the posts about this for context. Yeah, of course one's taste in art might reflect aspects of their personality. That being said what we consider a personality is vast and multifaceted, your taste in art can reflect your fears, your desires, your past experiences (positive and negative), your views of the world - these can be intimate, or surface level. However I should say it at once: our actions and how we affect each other in real life are the only mesures by which we should be judged. To ponder over a disturbing theme is not the same as commiting a disturbing act. As Susan Sontag says in Regarding the Pain of Others: “Nobody can think and hit someone at the same time.”

Art can speak to facets of our psyches that are surface level, based on a recent experience in school you might look for a book on fishing, you never fished, you don't even intend, but your teacher talked about it in such a vivid way it spoke to you, so you borrowed a book, read it and never thought about it again. What motivated you then? Empathy for the dear teacher, a fleeting desire to experience that, a sudden curiosity?

On the other hand, art can speak deeply to us, as I felt when I first read Light in August by William Faulkner, a book dealing with parental abuse and race prejudice to a mixed race person, who was not a "good" person by the way. Still, my own past, as a mixed race person with some traumatic experiences made me really connect to the character, the book is also beautifully written despite its violence. Books like the Xenogenesis series by Octavia Butler also explore disturbing themes of violence and abuse in a graphic manner, and still, they can speak of a message that does not endorse these subjects. And I am fond of that kind of fiction, they open paths for me to understand my own traumas, intrusive thoughts and other undesirable feelings that have been part of my life for a long time. I developed coping mechanisms that take advantage of the fact that we are imperfect beings and there's acceptance in that. This is my experience however, there are no wrong ways to enjoy or appreciate art, even if those reasons are aspects of yourself that you're not proud of, a bad memory, a bad thought. According to E. H. Gombrich in his book The Story of Art:

“I do not think that there are any wrong reasons for liking a statue or a picture. Someone may like a landscape painting because it reminds him of home, or a portrait because it reminds him of a friend. There is nothing wrong with that. As long as these memories help us to enjoy what we see, we need not worry. It is only when some irrelevant memory makes us prejudiced, when we instinctively turn away from a magnificent picture of an alpine scene because we dislike climbing, that we should search our mind for the reason for the aversion which spoils a pleasure we might otherwise have had. There are wrong reasons for disliking a work of art.” The art objects he's talking about of course are not relevant, the focus is on our approach to a piece of art and how our prejudices can alter our perceptions of a given work.

I have't even touched on the matter of curiosity, the unconscious and the historical context of transgression in art - which is so interesting. We could talk about for instance if the philosophers and writers (Epicurus, Hume, Dostoievsky) who pondered about the problem of evil and wrote about it were all deranged human beings, if the researchers / teachers of literary studies who dedicated their lives to understand works of Marquis de Sade are all perverts. Why were they thinking about these things? Why would they dedicate so much time to make sense of those awful works of art. But then, why shouldn't we think about these things? They might be frightening, painful, uncomfortable aspects of life, but they are not going away any time soon. We do live in a society after all... and in that way we feel like part of its mess. We are not evil by nature like that silly Thomas Hobbes used to think, but we do have the potential for it and we often act on it, why? That is the place of science, philosophy and yes... art to answer. Until we find out, we keep trying.

So yeah, art can and will reflect characteristics of our existence, collectively and individually (as in what we can call personality), on the surface level as momentary interest or deep and emotionally, or yet as curiosity, intellectual concern, it might be instead an unconscious parts of our being (the Jungian shadow-self), who am I to pick and choose what moves others, people I don't even know and never met, towards any given art work? I don't even fully know my own self.

Sorry for the long ass answer, now let me just finish with another Susan Sontag thought, also from her book Regarding the Pain of Others: “Someone who is permanently surprised that depravity exists, who continues to feel disillusioned (even incredulous) when confronted with evidence of what humans are capable of inflicting in the way of gruesome, hands-on cruelties upon other humans, has not reached moral or psychological adulthood.”

[trickstarbrave]

still at it writing

i dont have a name for this au but i can tag it as seryn dragonborn so there is that

and look! we get to meet seryn too

--

Of all the ways Nerevar could have met the incarnation, he never anticipated it would be like this. Perhaps he should have, all things considered. 

The dunmer was brought in by House Dres, having stolen from their plantations. He was sickly, his legs broken for the transgression, and from how skinny he was, likely starving. But House Dres hadn’t brought him there just to be judged for those crimes, but because of the mark on his forehead.

It was a red birthmark in contrast to the grey of his skin. Almost like a third eye--the mark of the sharmat, as they called it. And to their credit, they weren’t wrong. A sort of supernatural power surrounded him, one Nerevar couldn’t quite place, as well as the familiar sickening aura of Dagoth Ur that lurked if one searched hard enough. 

And his face… Gods, Nerevar would know that face anywhere, no matter how skinny or battered he was. It was Voryn’s face exactly; the shape of his lips, the angle of his jaw, those full brows that he could already see furrowing in worry or annoyance… It almost felt like he was in the past again, staring down at his old ‘friend’, if not for the fact he was a dunmer and not a chimer. 

He set him up with healers who began tending to him. They set his legs, cast healing spells, and then got to work making a recovery plan for when he awoke. He wasn’t sure how he was going to introduce himself to the dunmer, or even how, but choice had been made for him it seemed when the healers called him to find the missing dunmer in a panic. 

His legs were broken, so how far could he even get? But regardless, Nerevar found him cowering in a wardrobe, having dragged himself there in the dead of night, terrified of being found. 

“G-go away!” He shouted, red eyes wide in fear that made Nerevar’s heart break. 

“Easy,” Nerevar kneeled down, his voice soft and gentle. “I’m not here to hurt you.” 

The dunmer didn’t look convinced, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“The healers asked me to look for you.” Nerevar glanced to see that at least the splits were still on his legs. “You probably gave them quite a fright disappearing like that with two broken legs.”

“... They said you were going to kill me.” His voice was soft and quiet. 

“Why would I kill you?” Nerevar asked, still not making a motion to touch him, though he could tell the other was slowly relaxing. Even the timbre of his voice was the same, making his heart race as much as he tried to fight the feeling. 

“H-house Dres said I was the Sharmat.” He admitted, still eyeing Nerevar with suspicion. 

“I know.” Nerevar replied. “That wouldn’t be the first time they were wrong about something though.” At that, the dunmer snorted, though he quickly looked away embarrassed for having done so. “Do you mind if I help you out of there? It can’t be comfortable, and the healers want to look you over.” 

A few moments passed of the other weighing his options and judging Nerevar carefully, before he finally relented. Nerevar was very careful as he scooped him up, careful not to aggravate his injuries, and carried him with ease back to his room. The way his arms felt wrapped around his shoulders was heavenly, but Nerevar knew he shouldn’t enjoy himself too much when doing this was a necessity. 

“What’s your name?” Nerevar asked as they walked back.

“... Seryn.” The dunmer admitted. “I don’t really have a last name.” 

“Well Seryn,” Nerevar finally made it back to the guest room the dunmer was staying in, laying him gingerly on the bed. The healers looked relieved to see he was still in the temple, beginning to check the splits on his legs and readjusting them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He offered a friendly smile, stroking some hair out of his face as another healer got to work making something to relieve his pain. “And I hope that you’ll stay here at least until you’re healed.”

“... You really don’t mind?” Seryn asked, his voice soft. 

“Not in the slightest.” Nerevar continued to smile. “It isn’t your fault this happened, all because of something you can’t control.” He brushed a finger against the birthmark, though he regretted it when Seryn winced. “At the very least, here in the temple no one can hurt you and you can focus on recovery.”

“And what about after I recover?” Seryn didn’t sound angry more… Broken. Depressed. Hopeless. Feelings Nerevar knew all too well.

“... I was hoping most of my people wouldn’t be the type to judge someone for things they can’t control,” Nerevar sighed. “But I suppose the wounds are still too fresh.” He glanced away briefly. “If Morrowind isn’t safe for you, I can ensure safe travels for you to anywhere in Tamriel.” 

Seryn’s eyes shimmered with hope, astounded by the fact Nerevar was really offering such a thing. “You’d… Go so far for someone like me?”

“If it’ll keep you safe and the rest of the dunmer content, I don’t mind in the slightest.” Nerevar smiled again. The healer pressed a bottle to Seryn’s lips, making him drink the bitter liquid that quickly numbed out the pain of his injuries. “We’ll discuss where you want to go when you’re healed.” 

--

Nerevar knew he should probably use the mask. It was always at the back of his mind, as Seryn recovered. If he did it now, there would be no risk of Dagoth Ur coming back. There would be no uncomfortable memories resurfacing, and he could live out his days in peace. All Nerevar would have to do is be the bad guy one last time, before sending him off on a boat once he recovered with some gold and supplies. 

Yet, he didn’t have it in him to do so. 

Divayth Fyr said it might be painful, and every time he looked at Seryn’s face his heart broke at the thought of hurting him. Even listening to him scream and cry from the injuries being healed was enough to move Nerevar to tears, making him sob outside the room and his whole body quaking. It was unfair to ask Seryn to suffer, wasn’t it? To ask him to confront Dagoth Ur and fight him back, banishing him for good. Seryn was still weak, his mind and body weary from the abuse he was subjected to. And when he looked at Nerevar, his eyes so sweet and almost loving.. 

Nerevar couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even bring up the idea, not to the poor soul who had the unfortunate fate of being Voryn’s reincarnation. Maybe it was selfishness that kept him from wanting to hurt the one he loved, even if Voryn never felt the same. But it was the truth, regardless. 

Instead, he wanted to do everything he could to set Seryn up for a good life. Perhaps, if he was happy and fulfilled, far from Morrowind, Dagoth Ur would never resurface. He could spend his life blissfully unaware he was in fact the reincarnation of Voryn Dagoth, make something for himself, and die happily surrounded by loved ones. He could meet someone new, fall in love even, have children, grow old with his spouse…

All things Nerevar honestly wished he could do but would never get to have. What better gift could he give Voryn’s reincarnation? Azura wanted him to make up for the past, and this was the best thing he could think of to actually make amends to the man he loved so long ago and hurt more than anyone. 

“You’re going to teach me to read?” Seryn asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Being literate will help you a lot when you travel.” Nerevar explained, a few simple books in his arms. “Besides, I thought you must be getting bored laying in bed all day.” He gave a playful smile, enjoying the melodic laughter that followed. He pulled up a chair beside him, a book in hand; Voryn taught him to read when he was a poor caravan guard, so it felt a bit like coming back full circle. Not to mention he’d taught Vivec as well, so it wasn’t like he didn’t know how to teach someone properly. 

[jasperjv]

nobody is celebrating twomads death because he was mentally ill, they are glad that a pedophile and rapist is wiped from this earth like all of them deserve to be. just because he had mental health issues does not excuse his horrific behavior. if you see people celebrating his death because of his mental health status, you are seeing rage bait.

Straight-up added nothing to the conversation here.

What people don't get is that behavior is a symptom of mental health status. "Just because he has mental health issues does not excuse his horrific behavior" except maybe at least some of it literally does. Psychosis means not being in control of one's behavior. It is not a few "mental health issues." It is arguably the most severe form of mental illness known to medical science.

I really don't know how to get this through your heads. You are actually thick. You are stupid.

We should have been able to see him recover and then be able to separate what can and can't be held accountable for. I said this already. But I can't tell if I got this message before or after that.

From what I understand— and a lot of the waters are muddied— he threatened to rape people online. That is not the same as doing it. I was also enraged during psychosis. I think I did threaten people online. Rape can be used in a rage just to threaten people in as extreme terms as one can muster. Separate what people actually physically go out and do versus their posturing online before trying to engage in this type of conversation. Otherwise social media has rotted your brain.

Anyway, no. I'm sorry if this hurts your feelings, but I don't have such a simplistic view of the world. It would be nice if I could say that rapists and pedophiles deserve instant death the moment they've transgressed. I simply don't believe in that. And a major part of why I don't is that I believe that one's punishment for a crime shouldn't fundamentally reflect or validate the effects on the victims, but should be secondary. People throw around "your feelings are valid" everywhere now, and yet, there is still this impulse to wait around for the punishment of guilty parties to vindicate their victims. Like, I thought y'all were saying their feelings are inherently valid? These are contradictions. If you can't see how, I'm at a loss.

If you can't conceptualize the separation between condemnation of crimes and the punishment for those crimes, which I hold central to my philosophy, once again, I am at a loss.

People aren't the way they are for no reason. You're talking to a guy who would have compassion for fucking Hitler or whatever, even if that compassion takes the form of pity (disrespectful). This is my personal philosophy, it always has been, it always will be.

There are edge cases whose mental illnesses do drive them to commit horrible crimes. And on the other end, there are edge cases of criminals who can't be rehabilitated. Neither of these should be thrown under the bus or used as fucking props for an agenda; an agenda toward short-sighted punitive catharsis where the whims of the victims, which are subject to change, can cause egregious discrepancies in punishment for the exact same crime. In my view, any system of society or thought is fundamentally flawed if it can't account for edge cases, no matter how uncomfortable or inconvenient they may be. And I think that finding a comprehensive system is both possible and a moral obligation to pursue.

I have used this as a springboard to express my philosophical views and surely they aren't unprecedented in academia. They're just hard to search up.

Anyway you broke my rule sorry this is ableism (or "saneism" whatever)

[browneowl]

It's been a while since I did a fan-recording of something, and since I'm beyond stoked for this game, I couldn't help but do one for BG3 when the idea came to me.

The idea is basically journal entries that Tav makes as they go along. I would honestly love to do more of these. Please let me know what you think.

Here's a transcript for what I wrote/say:

'Where in gods names do I even start?

Gods knows how many days ago I was abducted by mind flayers and held on that nautiloid ship, a powerful yet ghastly creation where every material is flesh-like but harbours an unnerving chill. There I was infected with an illithid tadpole. I can still feel the horrid sensation as it slunk its way through my eye socket. 

To all of our luck, it was attacked by githyanki warriors and their famed red dragons. In the chase the ship ended up teleporting to Avernus. With the aid of a githyanki named Lae’zel, a woman who goes by Shadowheart, and the peculiar addition of an intellect devourer called Us, we reached the helm; witnessing the chaos of the hells as we went as well as….the monstrous process of ceremorphosis…by my own fault. I believed I could save that woman from the pod as I did Shadowheart, but in my idiocy and hasteness, I killed her. I’m so sorry. But for a slow and complex process to occur within seconds at the push of a button….it’s nothing like anything I’ve heard or read of ceremorphosis. 

Once we reached the helm, we fought our way to the transponder, the demons and mind flayers well distracted battling each other. I managed to enact teleportation just in time as one of the dragons unleashed its flames upon the helm. The ship however did not survive the encounter, and crashed once it arrived back in Faerun, if that is where we are,…but not before I fell out a window. I vaguely remember being saved as some unusual magic, certainly not of my doing, caught me mere feet above the ground. Everything went dark as I plopped onto the sand.

Since waking up the next day, I haven’t yet found Lae’zel, if she survived the crash, and I don’t think Us made it out alive. Though I have reunited with Shadowheart, who carries a small object, an artefact of sorts I think, she had it on her person in her pod. She’s…mysterious to say the least, well, the same could be said about any stranger, but there’s something different, something in the way she won’t, can’t speak of herself, something in her eyes, but I won’t pry. She is a fine warrior, and pleasant company.

I have made a couple of new acquaintances; first was Astarion, who made an interesting first impression by sticking a dagger to my throat…it could have ended far worse, but we both reached the same page in the end. He’s apparently a magister from Baldur’s Gate, and having briefly talked with him again, he certainly has a charm to him. I’d be lying if I didn’t say something wasn’t quite right with Astarion, I swear his eyes have a peculiar tint, and he has an odd wound on his neck, hidden beneath his collar. I want to get a closer look, but don’t want to disturb him with questions or staring, as much as the implications are worrying..yet he stands in the sun unharmed. Am I rushing to conclusions?

Then we met Gale, a wizard hailing from Waterdeep. He’s intelligent, but definitely the confident sort, arguably to his disadvantage at first glance. ha ‘mere breeze’, it took everything in me not to scoff at his words. That irritation might have lingered if we hadn’t spoken again earlier, he spoke of his feelings towards what’s transgressed, how everything seemed so trivial before, he spoke of it so softly and earnestly. I’ve developed a better opinion of him after that.

I don’t know if I would consider him a companion, but while searching ruins this afternoon, perhaps an old cloister devoted to Jergal, we came across an undead being, he isn’t a puppet of necromancy like the others were, magic likely resurrected him, yes, but he has a mind of his own, a polite one at that. He has not given us his name, so we’ve taken to calling him Withers, he doesn’t seem to mind. He tells me offers us his services; favours from beyond the grave should any of us fall, though he won’t tell me why. He must have been, or is, a powerful priest of Jergal, if so.

I can’t waste any more time writing, we have limited time to rest, well limited time entirely. It’s already been at least 24 hours since we were infected, only six days left, not even that. I feel sick, my guts already binding into a stressful knot, but other than that, I do feel fine, no clear symptoms as of yet, which is strange, but it is early yet. For all our sakes, please let there be a healer nearby.

I wouldn’t wish this ordeal on anyone, but I am grateful to not be facing it alone.'

[yingren]

[  FORTY-THREE  ] :  “ we shouldn’t do that again. ” from dh who is absolutely going to do that again. 🙏‼️‼️‼️💯💯💯💯💯💯💥💥💥💥

feelings are complicated. 

“ mhm, it’s hot when you say shit like that. ” ren has long since stopped paying much attention to dan heng. he’s sitting on the edge of a shabby motel bed, the thin sheet barely covering his lower half, his skin flushed and slick with a sheen of sweat. his body feels restless, tense, as if every breath he takes is charged with an almost electric energy buzzing beneath his skin. he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and one hand runs through his shoulder-length hair, trying to calm himself with the motion. the other hand holds a cigarette, fingers pinching it with the same casual grip he’s used to, but there’s nothing casual about how he feels right now. he’s hoping the nicotine will settle his nerves, but it doesn’t - his body feels like it’s vibrating with unease, and no amount of smoke seems to dull the tension. if anything, he wants to believe the cigarette will work, that it will have some effect, but so far, it’s just a small moment of distraction in the midst of his restless mind.

a half-empty cup of coffee now serves as the perfect makeshift ashtray. ren dips the end of his cigarette into the cold brew, stirring the drink absentmindedly as he sits there, his body radiating heat that seems almost palpable in the chill of the room. dan heng is right, they shouldn’t be doing this again. but ren can’t help but feel that’s just a convenient excuse, a way of admitting to the fact that they both know it’s wrong. wrong and self-destructive, much like everything else between them. deep down, ren knows they’ll inevitably end up here again - whether it’s this room or another, some replica of this very space, with its flickering lights and a bed that creaks no matter how carefully you sit on it. if one of these bedframes doesn’t give way one day, ren would be genuinely surprised. at least, if that happened, he could get a good laugh out of it, though he doubts dan heng would find it quite as amusing.

he turns his body, arms stretching upward, then left and right. a satisfying pop echoes from the back of his shoulder, and ren lets out a low groan of relief, his eyes searching for dan heng’s gaze. maybe that’s his second mistake of the night, as if the first one wasn’t bad enough. the room is heavy with the scent of their latest transgression, and for some inexplicable reason, ren fucking revels in it.

leaning back against the uncomfortable headboard, one leg hanging off the side of the bed and the other stretched across the uneven mattress, ren reaches for the cigarettes on the bedside table once more. he knows it won’t help, but damn if he’s not going to try. the cigarette rests loosely between his lips as he leans toward dan heng again. one hand reaches out, gently brushing through a few strands of dark hair, tucking them behind dan heng’s pointed ear, the contact almost too much for him to handle, but he lingers. just a few moments ago, they had been closer than this, yet now the distance feels nearly suffocating. he inches closer, positioning his face near dan heng’s, his free hand gesturing toward the table on the far side of the bed. with a nod, the cigarette bounces slightly, and he nudges dan heng’s cheek with a closed fist, his knuckles grazing the bare skin.

“ quit acting like we won’t be back here in less than a week. you’re insatiable. ” he blinks slowly without leaning back at all. “ go on, make yourself useful and hand me a light, won’t you ? ”

[shiroi---kumo]

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ Water was easy. Water was always available and it was a show of submission to be poisoned so willing if only it comes back tainted. He has only a few minutes to compose himself. Only a few moments to get the monsters out of his head. But even as the man of blue leaves, the voices don't fade.

The voices don't leave... except this time it's not the same monster that always plagues him.

'Step aside and let me handle this.' The voice echoes from the chambers within as he swears he can feel hands slide down and over his shoulders. 'You're not equipped for this and you're just going to muck everything up if you continue to try. Look at yourself. You're already a mess. The last thing I need is you tainting Opettaja.'

And the worst part of it all is that he can't deny him. What is he going to accomplish by trying to handle this himself? He's already probably got the man thinking he's insane. He knows that he isn't his precious Maamuna... but wouldn't it be strange if he sudden is speaking their tongue again so fluently? Wouldn't it make him out to be a liar? How bad would that make them look then?

Probably horrible and the door is opening before he has too much of a chance to actually react and this man - Opettaja is here again. Is that what he's supposed to be calling him? What does that even mean? He almost wants to ask but something about even speaking the word seems tainted.

So jade eyes can only watch as the man of blue settles down before him. There's something calming about him. There's something about him that feels like he's being pulled in. There's something that feels like.... like the ocean.

This man is taking his mask off and he can only watch with tears staining his vision. He can only watch as the glass is pressed to the other Misterican's lips and a sip is taken. As if he needed to see that. As if he needed the reassurance to drink what is given him - he would have done so anyway.

He knows that it is impolite to argue and he is not ashamed of being made to beg. Pets only do as they're told and if he is to hand this man his leash then - then he simply must -

Small hands are taking the glass into them and soon he's bringing it up to his lips to take a much larger gulp than the sip that was just an attempt to demonstrate the water's purity. One drink and then another. A third and then a fourth until all the liquid as disappeared down his throat. It's cool and it lacks any kind of burn. It lacks a taste entirely and it must mean -

- it must mean that it lacks any poison.

This man does not mean to take his life or deal him any form of punishment for his transgressions. For shattering the sacred tenets. For all of the evil he has wrought up on this world.

For abandoning him in his time of need.

Even if he hadn't know the witch's plan he never saw this man fade. He never saw him fade and he merely believed the lies that were fed to him with any resistance to search for the truth.

"I -" his words are caught in his throat. He wants him to make a choice again. He wants him to give him more needs if he has them and he knows that this man's need is Misterican even if his mind is setting on fire at the thought .

If his mind is reminding him of every curse, every correction, every time he got backhanded for speaking those awful words but there is a twist in his stomach that is telling him those words aren't awful and that he's allowed to speak them

He's allowed to speak their mother tongue. He's allowed and His Excellency isn't here to scold for -

"N-no." He starts again, awkwardly holding the empty glass in his hands. "I - I than-" and he can hear the voices in his head urging him to say something a bit different.

"Kiitos O-Opettaja."

He says that he wants water, please.

The rain has already started to pour from both their eyes, silver streams of grief and fear and pain too horrible for words. It needs to come out, and the person sitting across from him can only ask for water as it does.

It's such a simple request to fulfill. He rises from the loft, making his way down twisting and turning hallways until he finally reaches the kitchen to retrieve the glass that has been asked for. And it's an equally simple trip back up.

"Here," he replies, hesitating before he can offer the drink. There's no reason to trust him, if Gaudium is all this one knows. If he's met Herba, there would be only more fear in the way of actually feeling refreshed.

This water may only feel like a terrible obligation, if his line of thinking is correct.

His mask folds neatly back into place so that the rim of the glass can hit his own lips. He takes a sip, swallows clearly and audibly, then finally he allows the man of white to take it.

Perhaps actions really do speak louder than words, or perhaps he's all wrong again. Either way, he's shown the water is just that, no strangeness attached. The water is safe. The water can help bring him back to a baseline of some kind, a way to tether him to reality instead of a nightmare.

"Nice and cool. Can I get anything else for you?"

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 6

Summary: Losing someone can make you realize what was already there and the Darkling is about to find that out the hard way.

Warnings: angst, violence, swearing, bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five  

=================================

Five days have passed and the Darkling had never stopped looking for his wife. His men never saw him rest, sleep was simply never on his agenda. He barely ate at all, merely giving time for the rest of them to gather their strength.

He was restless, constantly questioning how this could have happened. No matter how he looked at it, the Darkling felt guilt consuming him. Without his rage, he worried the guilt would have paralyzed him. Had he not went on a pointless hunt for something that’s likely a tale, she would have been right by his side, antagonizing him.

It’s been hundreds of years since he felt this way, as if his heartstrings are being pulled by someone other than himself. In this search for Y/N, he realized she is consuming. After all, she might have been right – a part of him may actually care for her. He cursed that part of himself over and over again as result.

They’ve tracked her toward Fjerdan borders. Every now and then, they would find bodies on the road, their throat cut or stabbed right through the heart. Sometimes, he found them alive still. He never refrained from calling on his shadows, trying to draw useful information to close in on their whereabouts.

Y/N never saw him use his shadows before. He couldn’t help but wonder if she’d disapprove of the means he’s using to find her. After all, she called him a demon on their wedding night. She would never accept him as he is, he had no doubt about that.

Did she want to be found by him?

The first body they found, the Darkling smiled. He didn’t question it was her hands who have taken the man’s life. There was no concrete proof, but he was certain of it. Every body found felt like her own version of breadcrumbs.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled heavily. If she managed to set herself free so many times to leave what was now five dead men behind, he couldn’t help but worry for her safety. What was the price of each crumb she left?

It wasn’t just the exposure to snow he worried about – and he did worry as she got cold too quickly and he was the one to warm her up before. Who’d warm her up now?

The darkness of the forest gave him cause to worry too – she may have tried to hide it, but he knew she was afraid of the dark. He realized it when her breathing turned shallow and fast their first night together just as she extinguished the candlelight. The next night, he left his candle to burn long into the night.

Something stirred inside him, a beast has awakened. Despite the war his heart and mind waged, he wondered if he’s his own worst enemy. Maybe it was time to let someone in. For too long, he had been alone in the shadows of his past lives.

Why is he repeating the same mistakes?

How can he be afraid when he married a woman who never blinks in the face of danger?

His heart was ice and stone until she came and now the ice has started to melt. All he’s done is hurt and destroy, but he wanted out of the loneliness that clings to him.

She was right, as hard as it is to admit it. He’s a demon, a devil that walks the earth and he cares. Because of her he hopes he might love again and he can’t let anyone take that from him – hope is the only thing stronger than fear. And when a devil falls in love and discovers hope, it’s the most hauntingly beautiful sight. They should fear him as he will go to the depths of hell to protect her.

While his eyes may have been closed, his heart jumped as a bright flash forced him to open them again.

He was never given a chance to be soft. His hands had to be bloody, to have people fear him. Only when they feared him, they wouldn’t hurt him. Now was the time to show them just why they fear him.

“Where?” He growled out, looking to Ivan and Fedyor who were looking at the sky.

“East”, Fedyor replied hastily, ready to follow Kirigan who set off in said direction without a second thought. He didn’t order anyone to follow, but they did.

Ivan and Fedyor walked two steps behind their general, alert as the flash had awakened them from a deep slumber. They weren’t the only ones shaken, unsure what they’re walking into but none showed fear as their general lead them straight to the source. Their loyalty, their belief in general Kirigan runs deep.

Except for David. He was afraid. He didn’t want to be in that forest and he didn’t want to be in danger, but he trusted Kirigan. Besides, Y/N was nice and Genya seemed to like her. So he came along too.

Kirigan walked in strides, the snow didn’t slow him down. His hands formed fists, his face twisted in anger, but his heart pounded in his chest as he had no inkling what he might find. All he knew was that he had to get there, fast.

As if made of darkness itself, the Darkling emerged on what looked like a battlefield. The trees surrounded a small clearing covered in snow that melted under the spilled blood – still warm as it poured from the dead surrounding her.

She’s on her knees, two Fjerdans chaining her up as if she’s a wild animal.

“You think you’re scary, huh?” She spat at the Fjerdan’s feet – a crimson liquid, Darkling realized. She’s bleeding.  

“That’s adorable”, she chuckled maniacally as she held her fierce gaze on the Fjerdan stood before her. They pulled her left hand behind her back and her right hand in front as they tightened the chains that were secured over rope that laid just beneath.

Darkling’s blood boiled. It is fear that brings rage, that hot burning anger that seeks to harm. Once again, he was afraid, not of her but for her.

Four more Fjerdans came from behind the trees, all covered in blood. “Fucking bitch”, one of them kicked her in the ribs and he couldn’t take anymore. He could kill them easily for what they’ve done – he’s killed every one of them he ran into in the past five days without even blinking, regardless if they were involved in her disappearance or not.

“Mister, I’ve seen scary and you don’t have his handsome smile.”

Licking his lips, the Darkling nearly smiles at her remark. There’s no possible way she means anyone else but him. Looking at his Grisha, he found them nearly all in position. They would attack in a minute, swiftly and deadly.

Yet in a moment of carelessness, he missed the Fjerdans realization they’re being watched. Too quickly, more of them appeared. The pitiful human managed to land a few consecutive blows to Darkling’s face before drawing a dagger.

Angry, dark eyes showed the Fjerdan that the Darkling’s brain is in a different mode, that he has switched gears from empathy he had for his wife to cold emotional indifference. Never once has he directed this mode in Y/N’s direction, yet it emerged when he sensed a threat to her life, letting out a part of him that was full on protective.

Grunting, the Darkling’s eyes narrowed at the human who dared to sink the blade into his heart. Despite his immortality, he could still hurt. The pain of a stab wound felt just as it would if here as fragile as the human before him.

But he’s not human at all.

Connecting his hands, the Darkling lifts his head as he summons the darkness that spills from every corner of the forest. “Foolish”, he sneers, “Attacking me in the dark?” The Darkling smirked, walking past the petrified Fjerdan, allowing his shadows to administer a thousand cuts for his transgression.

As he walked toward the middle of the circle, his shadows followed, aiding his Grisha in taking the rest of the Fjerdans so quickly that Y/N gasped.

Looking around in shock, she found Kirigan kneeling beside her.

“You have a knife”, she coughed into her shoulder, “A knife in your chest.”

“I promised”, he gasped for breath as he pulled the knife from his chest. “That I would protect you and I intend to keep the damn promise.”

On the brink of tears, her lips quivered before she laughed. “I thought you’d let them kill me.” Better to laugh than cry, she thought.

Frowning, he shook his head. “That would be too easy”, he waved David over who stood at the tree line, wide eyed. “If anyone’s going to kill you, it should be me.”

Even with tears blurring her vision, she giggled at his stupid remark. She had tried so hard to free herself.

It wasn’t the first time she had been captured by enemies, she knew what to do. But there were so many of them. Each time she freed herself, they would descend upon her. She managed to run, twice, each time they dragged her back kicking and screaming.

Despite his words, Y/N didn’t believe Kirigan would come for her. She had to be her own hero and she tried. In the end, she used everything at her disposal – everything.

Feeling the chains drop, Y/N glances at David, “Thank you.” The ropes were cut as well, but she didn’t move. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure if she could stand on her own and asking for help would wound her. Rubbing her bruised wrists, she reluctantly looked at Kirigan.

“Here”, Kirigan offered his hands. Truth be told, he wanted to carry her, but he knew her pride wouldn’t allow it.

Hissing, she forced herself up despite Kirigan’s offer. “I am perfectly capable of walking on my own.”

He’d have asked her again because she trembled when the wind blew. Her hair was matted with blood, her face red and not from blushing. He could see the damage they’ve done more clearly now as she bent to take a deep breath as if the simple act of breathing hurt her.

Staring at her, he nodded despite his better judgment. Her breathing was ragged, dragging her feet as she walked. She felt his eyes on her, it unnerved her. All she could do is hope her legs don’t give out, but it felt as if they would betray her any moment now.

“Go and make camp ahead”, he ordered his Grisha to speed up as he realized her stubbornness would kill her. Stepping before her, he wrapped an arm around her waist. There would be no asking her for permission this time, he’ll not allow her to deny his help. Hoisting her up in his arm, he held his breath as she cried out in pain.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

How could he not bring any healers? How could he have been so stupid?

Groaning, she sent him a stern glare yet found no anger in his. His eyes are like the ocean - they have the potential to destroy, yet when the waves reach the shore, they dissipate, leaving soft designs in the sand as a gentle reminder of its presence.

Leaning into his embrace, Y/N let out a gentle sigh of resignation. She’s been caught in the riptide and for once, she doesn’t want to fight it.

“I really thought I’d die”, she admits reluctantly.

Feeling him stiffen as he held her in his arms, Y/N frowned. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that, or anything at all. This isn’t what they do, they don’t bare their hearts open.

“And when I faced death”, she continued regardless. Tilting her head to look up at him, she let out a shuddered exhale. A shy smile adorned her lips as their eyes shared a gaze so tender, an outsider would believe them to be in love.

“I thought how silly it is that I don’t know your first name.”

Snorting, Kirigan raised his eyebrows, “Really?”

“Yes”, she breathes out.

Looking at her now, the Darkling couldn’t believe this is his wife. The woman who infuriates him so often seemed so small, so fragile in his arms. Her gaze held remains of the horrors she was cast into and yet he never saw her as earnest before.

“I married you and I don’t even know your name.”

Licking his lips, he stops. Truth be told, no one actually knows his name. His name was long forgotten, a piece of his soul he had left behind in the fold. He promised himself he’d never utter it while he lives. He had promised he would never be that man again.

Unfortunately for him, he seems to be breaking his promises lately.

He promised her he’d protect her and he failed, just as he promised himself he’d never care for her and yet he does.

“Aleksander”, he mutters, still unsure if it’s the right decision. He placed one of his greatest secrets in the hands of a woman who’d see his world burn. He gave her power she never should possess and yet he’s not afraid. No one could make him fear anything after the ordeal he was put through since she decided to tear down his defenses.  

Smiling softly, she closed her eyes. Resting her head on his shoulder she felt satisfied. It may be small, but finding out his name felt like a victory. She was born to play this game, it was her destiny. He is her destiny.

Waking up, she found herself wrapped in several blankets inside a tent. Grunting, she struggled to sit up on her own. It seemed to be dark still, but she had a blue light lantern lit inside. She may not know who left it there, but Y/N was thankful. Despite her fear of dark, she found it odd she did not fear Aleksander’s darkness at all.

When his shadows nearly encased her in the clearing, she didn’t fret or worry. She smiled.

As contradictory as it may seem, she wished he was with her now. Her entire body ached and still, she was more bothered by the empty spot beside her. Shaking her head, she bites her lower lip. Would it be so bad if she showed a sliver of vulnerability for a single night? Would making a small concession such as this truly take away her power?

Before she has a chance to change her mind, she’s already outside of her tent. The cold chilled her to the bone, biting every inch of exposed skin. Teeth chattering, she looked to the tent next to hers as it was the only one so close – seemingly intentional.

Trying to open it in the cold seemed impossible as her fingers shook violently. Feeling faint, she wondered why she couldn’t just stay in her own tent for the night. Surely it would have been a better idea than to admit she’s scared to be alone.

A warm liquid trickled down her lip and she nearly laughed at her own idiocy. The darkness and cold and her own injuries have all been fairly good reasons for her to just sleep and try to recover and she still tried to find her husband who showed so much disdain for her in the past.

Just as she was about to give up, a familiar head of hair peaked through.

Shivering, she wipes the liquid from under her nose with the back of her hand. Looking at it, she realizes it’s blood. There’s a slightly dazed look in her eyes, the blood loss suffered over the past days leaving its mark.

Looking up at Kirigan, her lips tremble and she sways slightly as her legs threaten to give out. “I didn’t know who else to go to”, she mumbles meekly before collapsing into Kirigan’s arms.

No…Aleksander’s arms.

Pulling her inside, he wrapped her in his arms as she shivered. Covering her with blankets didn’t seem to help either, but he had confidence it would soon enough.

She closed her eyes, clinging to him and selfishly, he smiled. It brought back memories of the night she climbed atop of him to warm up, he assumed. She didn’t know he was awake then, but she did now. She trusted him enough to seek warmth and as her shivers stopped slowly. That’s when the Darkling realized he would never deny her anything she asked of him.

“Fuck”, he whispers under his breath and her eyes open.

He looked at her in a haunted way, a shadow of a bruise marred his jaw and she reached up to touch it, her chest aching when he nuzzled into her palm. They have never been quite as tender with one another, never so intimate. It felt surprisingly nice.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” She asked, feeling so emotionally raw. Physical pain and lingering fear of impending death must have weakened her for a short while. Surely, she can allow herself a few moments of humanity?

He caught her wrist and pulled her hand down to press flat over his heart. “Here.”

Drawing a shuddered breath, her eyebrows knitted in worry. That’s where the knife was, she remembered with guilt. He could have died for her. Hating him requires too much energy; one she had little to spare. For the night, he can just be her husband and she will just be his wife. What harm can it do?

“Why did you come for me? Didn’t you say you wouldn’t fight for me?” Her confidence wavered as he sighed, brushing his fingers along her cheek. Not only did he come for her, but he murdered men for her.

Blinking slow, half in a daze as a low-grade fever began to grip her too, she had no more strength to deny how beautiful he is or how disarming his charm is. He may never love her, but she could…she could love him. If she ever fell for him, she knew she’d never be able to unlove him. She wouldn’t want to and that…that felt oddly comforting. For once, she was too tired to listen to her mind that preferred to set the world on fire rather than care for him.

As her eyes closed and her face relaxed, he stayed awake. He didn’t understand it, but he embraced the warm feeling spreading in his chest as she fell asleep.

“I’d burn this world for you.”

=============================

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless  @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon  @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06  @whatthefluffrichard​

PART 7

[besanii]

I need to know what caused Wei Ying to finally initiate a physical relationship with Xichen. Was it for Lotus pier and what the empress said? He does seem to have some feelings towards Xichen so did he not mind it bc of that? What does Xichen think about this whole thing ahhhhhhhhh so many questions. Sorry Lan Zhan cause ngl I ship them

[ part one (LWJ) | two (LXC) | three (WWX) | four (LWJ) | five (NQY) | six (WWX) | seven (LWJ) ]

[ follows on from six ] 

Alive.

The word washes over him like a wave, bringing with it a rush of joy and relief—his brother is alive—that lasts only a heartbeat before the significance of the news comes crashing down.

His brother is alive.

An arrow to the shoulder, the report had read. Knocked overboard in the heat of the battle and disappearing under the churning waters; for days they searched, picking through the bodies floating amongst the debris long after the Dongying forces had retreated. 

They found him, a day later, half-drowned and delirious with fever, unable to fight. News of his death in battle spread as he lay in his bed, one foot already through the gates of Hell and yet still strategising, planning, during his brief moments of lucidity. Conscious enough to know that they can use his perceived death to their advantage.

And indeed with the loss of Gusu’s greatest commander, their enemies pressed them harder, forcing them to cede waters they had previously held strong. Little did they know they were being lured into a trap, one that would decimate their fleet and end the battle once and for all.

“And how is Hanguang-wang now?” Lan Xichen asks. Only years of experience keeps his voice tightly controlled and his hands relaxed as they rest on the spacious desk before him.

“Replying to Huangshang, Hanguang-wang asked this lowly subject to pass on the message that he is well and not to worry,” the messenger reports. “Hanguang-wang has also said he will stay on to fight until the war is won, as is his duty as the commander of the fleet.” 

As a brother, Lan Xichen knows he should recall Lan Wangji from the front lines, allow him to return to Caiyi to nurse his injuries. As Emperor, if his best commander reports he can continue to fight and his staying on increases their chances of victory, then he has no reason to refuse. As a man—

He tells himself the rush of relief that courses through him at the news is because his brother is well; he does not allow himself to entertain the other reason. It is too shameful to admit, even to himself.

In the end, the Emperor wins out, as it always does.

“Very well,” he says finally, pressing the tips of his fingers together as if he is giving serious consideration to Lan Wangji’s request. “We will grant Hanguang-wang the right to stay, as reward for his loyalty.”

--

He does not call on Chenghuan Hall.

He tells himself it is to give Wei Wuxian space in the wake of such momentous news, to allow him to process it fully in his own time without the added pressure of Lan Xichen’s presence. It is a flimsy excuse, one he knows does not fool his Empress at the very least, whose knowing looks and raised eyebrow has his insides twisting with guilt and shame like a child caught stealing treats from the kitchens. So he avoids her palace too, and seeks refuge in the Imperial study until late in the evenings.

A whole month passes where Lan Xichen does not allow himself to see Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian does not send word to him either.

He wonders if he’s left it too long, whether Wei Wuxian would be upset or angry at their situation—at him, for putting them in this situation. If it is too late to show up now, after a whole month of silence, and try to make amends. 

Fortunately—if one could call any part of this fortunate—the decision is made for him when Wei Wuxian himself walks into the Imperial study one night and kneels in the centre of the chamber. Lan Xichen watches dumbly as he prostrates himself, forehead pressed against the tips of his fingers on the cold stone floor, his hair loose and unbound, spilling over his plain white robes, the very picture of contrition and penance.

“This lowly concubine pays greetings to Huangshang,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice loud and clear in the quiet of the study. “And humbly seeks your forgiveness.”

“Wuxian...” Lan Xichen begins hesitantly. He breaks off, looking around at the eunuchs stationed around the study with their heads bowed. “You may leave us.”

It is only after they file away, closing the double doors behind them silently, does Lan Xichen allow himself to cross the chamber to where Wei Wuxian is still kneeling. He hurries to help him up, grasping him below the elbows, but is met with resistance as Wei Wuxian stubbornly keeps his head and shoulders bowed.

“Wuxian,” he says helplessly. “There is no need for this.”

“This lowly concubine dares not stand until Huangshang has forgiven me for my transgressions,” Wei Wuxian replies, still in that formal, wooden tone of voice Lan Xichen has come to know too well. He sighs.

“It is cold tonight and you are barely dressed. You will catch a cold walking around like this,” he tells him gently, softening his grip on his arms. When Wei Wuxian still refuses to budge, he sighs again and tilts his face up with two fingers under his chin. “There is nothing to forgive, you have done nothing wrong,”

There is confusion and wariness in those grey eyes as they finally meet his, two emotions he had hoped never to see again.

“Huangshang is displeased with me,” Wei Wuxian says quietly, tightly, as if he would fall apart if he raised his voice. “Ever since the report from Jinghai. Huangshang can no longer bear the sight of me, now that Lan Zhan—” he bites off the name with a pained twist of his mouth.

Lan Xichen recoils as if struck. He had known the nature of their relationship before his brother’s departure, and their plans for his return. But hearing his brother’s given name, such an intimate address used so freely and without thought, is a stark reminder of what he had done. Who he had taken.

Wei Wuxian knows it too, from the shudder that runs through him as he exhales, and the way his hands curl into fists in his lap.

"This lowly concubine does not dare presume he has any right to beg forgiveness for putting Huangshang in such a difficult position,” he continues, the barest hint of a waver in his voice. “I only wished to let Huangshang know that he does not need to trouble himself over this any longer.”

There is a ring of finality to his words that immediately catches Lan Xichen’s attention.

“What are you saying?” he asks warily. “Wuxian—”

Wei Wuxian shuffles backwards, putting enough distance between them so that he can prostrate himself once more, touching his forehead to the floor.

“This lowly concubine begs Huangshang to grant me the death penalty.”

“No.” 

The word forces itself from Lan Xichen’s lips before he even realises he’s spoken, a spontaneous, visceral reaction full of hurt and fury beyond his control. For a long moment after, he cannot speak around the vice clamped tight around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. Wei Wuxian replies, but his voice is only a faint murmur against the blood roaring in his ears; he cannot see his face to read his lips, but Lan Xichen already knows what he will say.

“You cannot ask that of me.” The words rasp painfully against his throat. “I will not be the reason for your death.”

Wei Wuxian raises his head and Lan Xichen freezes at the sight of the tears in his eyes, the same hurt, the same helpless fury colouring his cheeks and knitting his brows.

“And I am not willing to be the conflict that destroys the relationship between brothers,” he cries. “I cannot—I will not do it. Huangshang. You cannot ask that of me. Please do not ask it of me.” 

He lowers his face to the floor once more.

“This lowly concubine is only alive today because of Huangshang,” he says, voice small and trembling but with an undercurrent of steel. “I should already be dead. If Huangshang grants me the death penalty now, it will only be putting the situation to rights once more, and Hanguang-wang will be none the wiser upon his return.” 

Lan Xichen reaches out a trembling hand toward him, but stops short, hand hovering just above the top of his head. He cannot ask this of him. As a brother, and as a man, he cannot do it. As an Emperor—

Almost as if sensing his indecision, Wei Wuxian raises his head, leans into the palm of Lan Xichen’s outstretched hand and smiles as those long fingers mould themselves reflexively around the curve of his cheek.

“This lowly concubine will never forget the kindness and affection Huangshang has bestowed upon me,” he murmurs. “So if there must be a sacrifice, please let me make it in your place.”

--

TBC (yes I have just decided there will be a part two to this)

--

buy me a ko-fi!

more paper-thin fic | verse

--

Notes

Such drama! Much angst! 

Sorry this took much longer than anticipated, mostly cos I’ve been devouring ancient Tezuka/Fuji fics and falling back into the ancient Tenipuri fandom in the past couple of weeks. So, uh, don’t be surprised if my next thing is Tezuka/Fuji instead (☞ﾟヮﾟ)���

[legolasbadass]

A Lifetime Apart [1/3]

Artwork by the lovely @gwen-ever​

Relationship: Thorin x OC

Summary: Thorin meets his One while still a young prince in Erebor, but their lives are torn apart by their families and the arrival of Smaug. 

Based on Alice Tynan’s interview with Richard Armitage in ‘The Vine,’ this fic was inspired by @gwen-ever’s wonderful art for the @tolkienrsb 2021! 

Warnings: Angst. Seriously guys, this is really angsty, get your tissues ready. (gwen and I are not sorry lol)

Rating: T

As always, the fic can be read on AO3. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 

There is a room in Erebor, a secret place where once their love bloomed in peace. All the memories of that place, where he held her and worshipped her with his lips, were forever engraved in his mind. It was there that, after months of struggling with his feelings, he had realized she was his One.

All Dwarves know that Mahal sometimes creates two of his children from the same stone, bonding them for life. Of course, not all Dwarves marry. Even those granted this honour by their Maker do not always choose to marry, for some value friendship above all other bonds, while others devote themselves to their craft. Still, as a young boy, Thorin had hoped Mahal would deem him worthy, and every night he had dreamt of the moment he would meet his One, conjuring their likeness like an artist who paints a picture and gives it life.

He had also wondered what it would feel like to meet his One. Would he know immediately? And how would he know? Perhaps it would be like in those romance novels his sister liked so much. A tender, all-consuming look from across the room, silently reassuring the other that they had found each other at last.

Perhaps due to long hours in the council chamber, Thorin had become more of a realist as the years went on. He always had to be on his guard, and he learned quickly that he could not trust his desires, for they could be manipulated by advisors and enemies alike. Romanticism was fine for artists but not for princes. The idea of a destined love became no more than a child’s fanciful dream, and Thorin grew gradually less opposed to the concept of an arranged marriage until the thought of it did not bother him at all. After all, his parents had been married for a political alliance and had still grown to care for each other. Thorin knew he would do the same.

At least, that was what he had told himself before he met Rúna, his dear Rúna.

He did not know immediately that she was his One, but from the moment their gazes met, he knew he would never again be the same. Her presence had so bewitched him that he had not realized he was walking toward her until she stood right in front of him. Then, stumbling over his every word, he had thought himself defeated, oblivious to the fact that she felt the same indescribable pull toward him.

“Thorin, at your service,” had been his first words to her.

“Rúna, daughter of Ragni, your highness,” she had replied with a curtsy, enchanting him all the more with her melodious voice.

“I hope you are having a pleasant time, Lady Rúna.” Already, he had loved the way her name rolled off his tongue.

“More pleasant than you, at least, seeing as you have found nothing better to do than stare at me from across the room,” she had replied teasingly.

Blushing furiously, he had attempted to remain formal and composed but, ultimately, had failed miserably. “I had hoped that would go unnoticed, or at the very least, that you would humour me and pretend like nothing had transpired. And just because I was watching you does not mean I am not having a pleasant time. On the contrary, my spirits were lifted by the sight of your fairness.”

Thorin could still remember the beautiful blush that had painted her cheeks. “Forgive me,” he had said hastily. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I did not say I did not enjoy it,” she had replied with the most enchanting smirk.

That was how their conversations usually unfolded. Thorin, who always prided himself on being in control and always knowing what to say, would find himself barely able to think. He blamed her low-cut gowns and the redness of her lips for that.

They soon became inseparable. Every day, they would meet in their secret room, a haven where they shared stolen kisses and soft caresses. Âzyungel, she would call him, for she, too, had accepted Mahal’s will. She had accepted Thorin as hers, and in those moments, both of them had believed nothing would ever separate them, for they were destined to be together.

Deep in the caverns of his mind, a voice called out to Thorin, warning him against the intensity of his passion, but he did not listen. He found himself thinking of her at the most inappropriate times, and she haunted the nights he wished he could spend with her. When he closed his eyes, he saw her smile and heard her laughter, clearer than the soft splashing of water against limestone rocks.

What would it be like to spend his whole life with her, his Rúna?

Thorin thought with utter surety that he would soon know when they announced to their families their intent to wed. At first, everyone was overjoyed. Rúna came from a wealthy and respectable family, so the king had no objections to his grandson’s choice — not that any of that mattered to the couple. Ale and Dorwinion wine flowed freely as the news travelled through the mountain. The prince had chosen his princess.

Thorin and Rúna welcomed their families’ approval, but they secretly longed to be alone once more. When at last they found themselves in the comfort of Thorin’s chambers, they drank some more wine between languid kisses, committing the moment to memory. Fingers braided hair then caressed the skin they hastily revealed, their cheeks tainted with the soft glow of love.

That night, like their hearts forever bound, their bodies became one. Thorin was gentle, attentive to her every need, and even afterwards, he continued to bathe her in tenderness, scattering kisses all over her skin as they murmured promises of eternal love to each other, bodies entangled.

Rúna fell asleep to the soft lullaby of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, and though she never doubted for a second his sincerity and devotion, those promises were never fulfilled.

Rúna knew they should have been patient, and although she was usually very sensible, she had not known how to resist her handsome prince, especially not when his body had promised her glorious passion, now and for the rest of their lives. Besides, it was not as though premarital relations were unheard of. However, princes had to follow much stricter rules. And these rules had been carelessly ignored. And as the days went on, Rúna knew she would not have the luxury of keeping their transgression a secret, for inside her bloomed the product of her and Thorin’s love, but also the cause of their demise.

Even if it had not been for her growing belly, her morning sickness and alarmingly fluctuating moods would have given her away. And they did. She had never seen her parents so furious, and their disappointment pierced her heart. Her father shouted about her stained reputation and their ruined bloodline, leaving her in tears as she tried to scramble away in search of Thorin even as she knew it was hopeless.

She knew they would separate them.

King Thror, with the support of Thorin’s parents, banished Rúna from Erebor, never to see her beloved again. She tried to fight them, indignation festered inside her like a poisoned wound, the unattainable promise of Thorin’s love shattering her heart into a million pieces, but it was hopeless.

They did not inform Thorin of this, for it was their firm intention never to let him know about the bastard child. Instead, they told him she was bedridden while they conjured up a more permanent plan. And so, unaware that his One had been taken from him, Thorin brought flowers to Rúna’s door every day. He hated every moment he was forced to spend away from her — it felt unnatural — but he consoled himself by thinking that they would spend their whole lives together.

Then the dragon came.

Thorin had been out hunting in the woods with his siblings when a strong wind began to rattle the treetops. Then a roar like thunder split the sky, and the blood of Thorin’s veins froze when he heard a shout from afar.

“Dragon!”

Rúna.

Without so much as a glance at his companions, Thorin bolted toward the mountain, fear clogging his throat.

Refusing to believe this was real, he did not even stop when the gates loomed above him, riddled in flames, but the screams piercing his ears grounded him to the bitterness of reality. The air was wrought with the stench of burning flesh and the sorrow of a broken people. All around him, children cried in fright, and mothers wept while the distant ringing of useless steel announced their defeat.

No help came from the Elves that day, nor any day since; a betrayal Thorin never forgot. Even if there had been survivors still clawing for breath inside the mountain, they had no means to reach them.

Rúna.

Thorin searched for her everywhere, shouting her name until his lungs burned, but when the moon appeared, and she was still nowhere to be found, Thorin knew it was hopeless. Grief crashed over him like a hurricane.

He had lost her.

He wanted to tear the sky open and demand retribution from Mahal himself, but all his remaining strength he used to remain on his feet. He had to be strong for his people — what remained of them. His family had miraculously survived, but even that could not have filled the gaping hole where his heart had once beat.

Rúna, his dear Rúna. The memory of her lips against his turned to ash in his mouth. When he had last kissed her and held her, he had done so thinking he would have a lifetime to keep loving her. But she was now no more than a memory.

He forced himself not to think of that, for his people needed him now more than ever. Only once he was finally alone did he let his tears run free, and all through the night, he sobbed into his pillow, his only comfort the memories of their secret room, untouched by fire and blood. Thorin held onto those memories all through the years, never forgetting, never forgiving.

—

Khuzdul translations:

Âzyungêl: Love of Loves (used here to refer to the Dwarven belief in a single, destined soulmate)

Taglist: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @mcchiberry @bitter-sweet-farmgirl​ @i-did-not-mean-to​

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

[maple-cloak]

So I was reading @chipper-smol shitlordAU and got inspired to make this Drabble

Basically it’s a 4K (wait Fuck that’s in no way right I thinks it’s more like 400 wtf was I thinking) word what-if where Ghost fights Radiance but she gets scared and runs away.

Also PK giving Ghost a hug.

Enjoy!

The Radiance was livid,

or rather, more livid then before.

First it was that Wyrm, who had created itself a new form and descended as a bug, a pale and pathetic bug. Stealing her followers away with his artificial light, Refracted light, a false light from a mere Wyrm who knew nothing of it.

But the bugs of what is now Hallownest followed that false light in lieu of her own, and she soon found herself forgotten, her entire being was relegated to the sol object that spoke of her Light. A single withering statue atop the nearby mountain peak.

She had waited, dwelling in the faint dreams the statue held, waiting for what her traitorous creations called their Pale King to finish her off.

But he never came.

Instead she was left there, fuming in her own rage, when she heard someone approaching. She briefly though the wretched Wyrm had finally come to end her being entirely, but was instead found by some simple miners, who had decided to climb to the peak of the crystal filled mountain, their helmets bearing a simple crest.

The Wyrms crest for his new kingdom.

And she saw an chance for revenge.

The simple memorabilia was enough for her to infect their minds, and in turn infect others who came in contact; she commanded them through their dreams to talk and spread word about her statue. To get more to learn of her, to get more to talk, and wonder, and before that Wyrm could learn how, her rage spread forth. With enough bugs to remember she had enough power to spread through his kingdom, expanding her influence throughout the populace, causing the kingdoms sharp decline, and she reveled in the kings panic and desperation.

Eventually the king had the idea to contain her in a vessel, using the void below the kingdom to make a being with no mind to think and be influenced, no will for her to break, and no voice to cry her name in suffering.

But she knew that the king had failed.

While its thoughts were not as loud as the common bug, there were still there, almost silent, but she could still hear the mantra it repeated, still feel the slightest of wills, and she knew that it would not hold.

“Do not think”

But that is a though

“Do not feel”

But the pain so great

“Do not speak”

But you must scream

“Do not hope…”

There is no hope for Hallownest

Eventually the cracks started to form. And she began to seep her influence out through them.

It didn’t matter if the kingdom had already fallen.

It didn’t matter that the Wyrm is no longer here.

She would destroy all evidence of the kingdom, leaving nothing behind for the few survivors to call home, and once that was done she would infect one of the many travelers that came through, and become a god in a new land.

But then came a second vessel

A vessel that had manage to escape the void and her servants who impeded their escape out into the open world without her notice, and when it came back she felt a tinge of fear. It had left the kingdom, and without the influence of the Wyrm that gave those around him minds it would become truly empty. And if it were to attempt so she would be imprisoned with no chance of escape.

Fortunately, there had been multiple influences, not just from a single ignorant king failing to notice the mind it had given, but from a multitude of bugs, instilling their own ideas onto to the second vessel. Gifting it a mind and a will, and she saw it as no threat.

But then it encountered one of her formal followers -Considered a traitor even by the other moths of her tribe, and she gave the vessel the Dream Nail. The moment she saw this she began sealing the mind of her container, preventing the other vessel from attacking her directly with the weakened talisman. The “Seer” however instructed the vessel to restore the talisman, reinvigorating the nail with essence by the time she had taken back the life she gave, the Nail had fully awoken

To worsen matters, the vessel had gotten the former Wyrms charm, and used it to unite the void under its ever growing will. And when it arrived at the temple it unsealed The Radiance prepared to use its container, missing a limb and having a cracked mask from her efforts to hastily take control, to kill the smaller vessel, a ghost of the kings attempts to contain her, given form with the goal of ending her life like its parent so many years ago.

But as the Kings Ghost and the Broken Vessel fought, the Ghost hesitated. It had seen its siblings pain and saw as it injured itself in order to give it a better chance of victory, of finally ending her.

And it ran.

It couldn’t handle its siblings pain and The Radiance laughed as the Ghost ran away, allowing her to reign unopposed.

But the Ghost was tenacious, and found a way to her without injuring its sibling.

The Godseekers, they came in search of a new God after theirs abandoned them; a role she intend to fill. But the Ghost had used their mind to get to her, fighting their way through the ‘Gods’ of Hallownest, many of whom she had control over, and eventually, they arrived at the peak, at her peak.

She though she would win, in a realm where she was no longer held back by the myriad of infected bugs or the broken vessel, but that Ghost was tenacious. And each ensuing fight it grew closer to victory, closer to consuming her within the void.

And it did, it had given the void focus, and it had consuming her.

But despite this, despite struggling within its clutches, her light drowning within its dark abyss. She found herself back in Hallownest, the people still panicked over the ‘disease’ that spread, the king struggling with his ‘solution’.

She has gleefully taken the second chance at ruining his kingdom, being more thorough then before, but as she infected a chef in order to ruin the kings meals (rather petty, but the further unrest that it would give the king was absolutely delightful) she found it slain by the very Ghost that slew her. She almost didn’t recognize it since it had molted, but it’s movement made it undeniable.

It too had been sent back, and The Radiance was livid.

Or rather, more livid then before

But not only that, she found herself trembling, not just with rage, but with fear. The being no longer had the same control over the void, but it still had the same skill that enabled it to use it at her most vulnerable, it was still the same being that killed Absolute Radiance.

Despite seemingly despising the very same Wyrm, making their life all the more frustrating, it refused to let her have her revenge. And it sought to do what it did before again, this time before she could end the kingdom.

And she was scarred.

———————————————————

The Feral Vessel and the Pale King had gotten into an argument.

Now this wasn’t particularly surprising, the two had always butted heads, but this argument was very heated. The vessel, who seemed to named itself Ghost, had been getting on the Wyrm’s case about its treatment of the Pure Vessel, while the Wyrm got angry at Ghost for instilling ideas into it, and that it they shouldn’t interact it as they have been.

The Pale King now sat in his room, it had been almost a week since the feral vessel Ghost had walked off at the end of their argument, and they had yet to be seen since. He stared at his hand lost in though, staring at the cracked void that stained it, thinking over the argument and going over scenarios of what could’ve been.

He hated to admit it, but he cared for the little Ghost. While it had caused plenty of trouble and headaches, deep down he knew he deserved it. For all the hundreds of thousands of siblings down dead in the void below, he felt that Ghost was his punishment. Humiliating and insulting him for his transgressions, the Wyrm knew he deserved it all.

And behind the mask of child-like pranks and dislike for him, he and his Root had long since suspected that they somehow knew more then even his foresight could account for. The familiarity with the White Palace, despite never once being there. How they traveled accros Hallownest with ease, knowing where hidden charms lay and even pale ore across the kingdom. Even with the few fights they have had, he heard they even wield a nail with such familiarity and ease, even ending a bout with the Pale Vessel in a draw despite receiving no training unlike the latter.

And above all, how they still care for his Root, and how she cares for them. How she enjoys mentoring them (and occasionally aiding in embarrassing the Wyrm but it’s hard to be mad when your wife is practically telling them to do it). Then there’s the excitement they show when sharing the language of hands they created with their mother, a language without words but with expression and symbols. It was something he actually wanted to praise them for, and something he was exited to learn as well.

The Wyrm frowned as these thoughts passed, bringing him back to the argument. Ghost was always insistent on the fact that the Pure Vessel wasn’t… pure. Hollow. Empty…

Unable to properly contain the Radiance.

And the worst part was that he knew they were right. He didn’t want to admit it, but Ghost was always right, even before they interfered, the vessel was never pure. The King always claimed that he knew what to do, how to solve the problem and that the Pure Vessel - Hollow, Ghost had taken to calling it (no doubt because his young sister, Hornet, calling it that) was the only, and the right answer.

He had practically abandoned his foresight by now, the only path he could see since tossing all those eggs into the void was one were his beloved kingdom fell, his beloved subjects who he cared so much for dead at the hands of a spiteful light, their burning corpses wandering his kingdoms husk. All that he worked for, and all that he is, was doomed.

The Pale King was snapped away from with thoughts with a knock as his door, and he quickly regained composer, if anything he could give his subjects some hope for their future. Calmly (or at least appearing so) he walked to the door and opened it.

“What is it?” He asked the guard, they were panting, having run as quickly to fetch the King

“T-the… “ the guard cleared his through. “There’s a messenger here my lord, form the Archives, says it’s urgent”

The Wyrm steeled himself, news from the Archives ment news of the infection. He dismissed the guard and swiftly made his way to the entrance hall, greeting the messenger, whom he recognized to be Monomon’s assistant.

“What is it Quirrel? Has Monomon learned something?” He inquired, startling the bug as he shot up straight.

“Y-yes your majesty it’s about the infection…”

Quirrel paused briefly for a breathand the Pale King noticed the faintest to hope in his voice

“The infection, it’s… it’s regressed”

The news had startled him, regressed? The Ra- the Old Light was the cause of the infection, it’s no ordinary disease she invade their mind and takes over . For the infection to regress would mean…

“Prepare me a stag for the Queens Station.” He ordered a nearby servent, who had already been anticipating such a command and he made his way to the Archives in the Fog Canyon.

He made his way swiftly through the caves, Quirrel aiding in avoiding the various Ooma’s that lived there.

“Monomon what do you mean the Infection has regressed?” He asked, walking straight into the main office.

“Well you majesty it’s exactly that, previously infected bugs have either lessening symptoms, regaining control over themselves, or simply becoming uninfected entirely!” She responded, expecting the king not to barge in in such a manner.

“But that would mean…”

“…somethings happened to the Old Light”

They both paused, a silence filled the room as they wondered what could’ve happened. As the Wyrm ran a hand up its face a though crossed his mind. Ghost, they always knew more then they should, familiar with things they have had no way to experience before. Could they have…?

“Keep looking into it, I’ll see if I can figure anything else”

“Be careful my lord” Monomon responded as they left the archives.

A single thought ran through his head, ‘Where was that Feral Vessel? Where is Ghost?”. It had been a few days yes, but what if they were preparing for something, going from one corner of Hallownest to the next to get what they needed for… whatever it was. He made his way to the resting grounds, where Ghost would regularly search for… something, but he found no evidence of them being there. We’re else would the feral vessel have gone? He stood in a empty plot, a place where he planned to build a monument for the dreamers.

Deepnest? No, hornet would not have wondered where they went when she came to visit. The Queens Gardens? No, his dear Root would’ve found them easily in her domain. So where could they be? He though it over, could there be anyone who would know of their whereabouts?

He paused. Grimm. Ghost had shown an unusual affection for the Troupe Master, and… he froze in a panic. When Ghost had first met Grimm his foresight had shown him the infection being killed form the inside.

He immediately took off, flying over to where the Troupes tent resided. No! They couldn’t have? Panic filled the Pale King, how could he not realize? Ghost was going to enter Radience’s realm with Grimms aid! They were, no they ARE fighting the Radiance!!!

The Pale King stumbled as he landed in front of the tent running inside.

“Grimm! Grimm!” He barely hid his concern for his child skidding to a halt in the middle of the show ring.

“Grimm!” He called out once more as the Troupe Master appeared with his usual (but still well performed) burst of flame.

“With what do we-“

“Not now Grimm, where is my child!” He interrupted the Nightmare Vessel, earning a slight frown that quickly turned into a sly smile.

“Your child hmmm~ and here I though that particular vessel was an annoyance you would love to be rid of.” He sneered, while normally the King would retort to such a comment, he was too preoccupied with the well-being of his little Ghost.

“Grimm, please” he pleaded out of breath. “Is… are… are they alright?”

Grimm paused, staring blankly at the Pale Wyrm. “I’m afraid I can’t be certain of their fate.” He stated blankly.

“Did they…?”

“Yes” Grimm nodded, not even needing the hear the question proper.

“They entered the realm of dreams to fight The Radiance, a trip that’s - unfortunately, one-way.”

The Pale Wyrm fell to his knees, tears that were once held right below his eyes végane to flow. Grimm for one was somewhat uncomfortable, not so much for having someone break down in front of them, no it was who had fallen before them with tears flowing down their face. They had never imagined the Wyrm to do such a thing, they never seemed the type. The type to adamantly refusing to untill alone or with someone they are close to, and even then resisting the urge to cry.

“I did make sure they knew what they were getting into.” Grimm comforted attempting to lift his spirits. “They even insisted we dance to show they were able, and might I add, they put up quite the performance.”

“They we-are quite stubborn.” The Wyrm said, standing up and dusting himself off, hoping that at the very least, they are still alive.

“There you go! Much more fitting for a king eh?” Grimm encouraged as the King wiped his eyes and composed himself. “Yes, I apologies, that was rath-” he stopped mid-sentence in shock, and Grimm followed his eyes and saw why. There was the vessel, Ghost, coming from Grimm’s quarters, limping.

——————————————————————

“Your certain of this?” Grimm inquired for like, the 15th time. Ghost was getting rather annoyed at the question and all it’s variants

‘Yes, I know what I’m doing.’ They signed again. They had already gotten all the charms and weapons they needed. A Mothwing Cloak which they manage to fuse with some of their void, (very painful process and it wasn’t nearly as effective as it would be if they had access to the pit below the palace.) some Monarch Wings they stole found (thankfully the Kingsmold were too preoccupied with Mawlek to notice) and a variety of spells from various Snail Shaman throughout Hallownest, (none of which were killed and/or dead, which is always good) and of course their Pure Root Nail (though they would’ve gladly stolen one from Sly if they needed one)

With those and the charms they took collected between getting everything else, they were more then ready. Grimm let out a sigh, “Very well then, do give us a superb performance hmm?” He said as he raised a hand, shooting out a light from his palm similar to the one of the Dream Nail Ghost was familiar with, only Grimms was a crimson red instead of a bright white.

As Grimm swung his hand down is a (stylish) arc, Ghost found himself engulfed in a red light, fading to a more familiar white before fading away entirely. Ghost looked around a platform similar in size in shape to the one in the Pantheon, though the material and style was different, a grey that wasn’t dark, but not light either, but the area surrounding it was, a endless sea of golden clouds.

Ghost didn’t dwell on these thoughts as they climbed up the few floating platforms, and faced the sun that bathed the picturesque scenery, knowing full well that this was no place of beauty

Ghost drew their Pure Root, their desire to protect Hallownest - and more specifically, their sibling Hollow - giving the Root its form as a blade, as sharp as a Pure Nail and just as deadly - and they faced the sun as she, The Radiance responded to their challenge with her anger.

The small platforms Ghost was standing on vanished, he fell a short ways to the larger platform he ‘awoke’ on, and didn’t hesitate to start attacking the spiteful god. Starting off with what could be mistaken for a shout, a scream towards the sky as their soul and void manifested as an upward outburst of screaming heads, The Radiance cried with rage

Blades flow form the sides, which ghost easily dashed between, not wanting to use their Shade Cloaks invulnerability too soon, as they slashed upwards towards the giant moth. They had both fought before, and Ghost had long since memorized how to evade each attack. Radiance shot out circles of swords, but Ghost backed off and jumped. aligning themself properly they shot out a spell they didn’t have when they fought before, a stream of bright daggers shot out from their hand, only a few hitting their mark before The Radiance teleported away.

As Ghost landed they quickly dashed to the side and blades shot out form the ground, covering over a third of the platform, and a beam of light from above threatened them. Using their Shade Cloak they easily fazed through the beam, and slashed at the sun-moth with a nail art before a soul-charged stomp on the ground, void and soul rising around Ghost protectively while striking at the gif above.

The fight had continued for a long time, Ghost evading or countering all of Radiance’s attacks, while the god itself became more and more desperate, as fewer and fewer attacks hit (not that many hit to begin with) as Ghost got into their rhythm. Before long, it took off higher and Ghost pursued, dodging incoming searing rays of light. But before Ghost could do more damage to end the fearful god something they never expected happened.

They woke up, in Grimm’s room, in the Troupes tent. They looked around, did they do it? They dropped off the ledge they were on and winced, almost crumpled from the pain. Did the Radiance hit them with one last-ditch blast? They slowly lowered themselves to the floor and looked down the hall down the hall to the main performance area of the tent. We’re they still in the dream realm? No, they would’ve seen the Nightmare Hearts leathery viens in the hall, and there’s no Nightmare essence floating around. So that means the Radiance has ejected them from the dream.

The Radiance fled, huh. Ghost had never considered it but they suppose it does make sense, without the dream nail they couldn’t return and hunt it down, and they had no void to restrain it. Ghost found that annoying, all that effort of collect charms and spells and other useful items and the stupid thing leaves. Coward.

With a huff the Vessel stands up, might as well let Grimm know their okay at least, and make there way down the vein-less hall. They tried to heal their injuries with Soul but found they had none, used at every opportunity during the fight with the flying puff-ball.

As they made their way down the hall they heard two voices talking, one was clearly Grimm but they found trouble identifying the other. The voice was male and they seemed distraught, but Ghost couldn’t pin a name, who did they no would be upset? Form what they could tell Grimm told them about what they did, but they didn’t know anyone who would be this upset about it.

But they didn’t have to imagine who when they saw who it was.

And they never would’ve imagined it was their father, the Pale King, who ran up and hugged them the moment he saw them.

And they never expect him to be crying.

The Pale King pulled away enough to get a proper look at the vessel, fresh tears streaming down his face and he held one hand against Ghost’s cheek, not only in shock, but in relief.

“How” he asked, barely a whisper. Ghost wasn’t sure how to respond, and was at a lost for signs at their fathers reaction

Thankfully Grimm was still Grimm and they knew Grimm

“Bra-vo darling!” He exclaimed clapping, “I have to say I did not expect this! How did you escape?”

This was enough to snap ghost back to his surroundings and found a pretty simple way to explain it.

‘Butt head ran away’ they signed

‘Don’t know worse insults’

“She… ran?”

Ghost paused for a moment, staring at their father, then made a gesture like they were throwing something to the side,

‘Ejected me’

As Ghost completed the motion they stumbled to the side, almost falling over until the Pale King caught them

Grimm, for his part, picked a terrible time to laugh openly, much to Ghosts irritation, thinking it was at them.

“Your telling me, your got the Radiance who has been terrorizing this kingdom for years to run in fear” Grim said continuing to laugh, “my goodness you are full of surprises!”

The Pale King could only stare in shock, she had been repelled? Not dead, but still, he didn’t have to consult his foresight to tell that his child he held up had bought him years maybe even a century. For them to have chased off radiance, the skill and strength they must posses…

‘Should be dead’ They signed grumpily, clearly upset at themselves but their father was having none of it

“Don’t understate your accomplishments! For you to have fought Radiance, to have beaten her to the point where she runs away? Maybe she isn’t gone for good but she will not be coming back for decades at the least! You… you’re…” he stammered, pulling the void-born child in for another hug “I… I’m sorry, for the… the atrocity la I’ve done, for my treatment of you, for… for my treatment of your… your sibling.” The Wyrm pulled away looking Ghost directly in their eyes “I was wrong, I’m sorry”

Ghost could only stand shocked at their fathers beaming praise, for their quirky frankly, unnatural behavior… and that last thing, their sibling. There was so much to be done, but things seemed so much… brighter, so much better. Hollow could finally be themself be happy. Ghost was at a lost for words.

‘We… talk later?’ They offered both too overwhelmed and Ghost, too tired, to make proper plans.

“I- yes, yes of course, of course” the father readjusted themself and his son to more effectively carry.

As they made they way out the King paused “Ah! And Grimm” he turned, facing the Troupe Master. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

Grimm, who had fallen to the background to allow the two some space perked up and gave an elegant bow to the Pale being.

“Think nothing of it. I had simply set the stage and you two, had been excellent performers!”

The Wyrm nodded his head, while Ghost used its free arm to wave, and the two made their way back home.

[ramp-it-up]

Baby

Pairing: Daveed Diggs x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Minors DNI, Wordsmith Daveed, descriptions of masturbation, references to breath play, manual sex, explicit laguage, oral sex (male receiving), love fluff. All errors my own.

A/N: This an ask from the 100 smut prompts ask list. What have I done? Smut level building with each story and y’all don’t even know.

BTW: This is in the Acceptance/Valentine’s Daveed AU. Short Stack x D.

You were so nervous that you surprised yourself.

It had only been 10 days since you’d seen him after three weeks of getting reacquainted and all the mind blowing sex on the regular.

You’d told yourself, and him, that you wanted to take it slow this time, but you weren’t prepared for him leaving.

You tried to go to sleep right after you got home from the second show on Sunday night because you wanted to get up early to pick up Daveed from the red eye Monday morning.

Your mind would not quit spinning, though, and you’d slept very lightly.

You hopped out of bed at 5 am, hyped to see your Daveed again. You decided to park and wait inside the baggage claim area.

You felt like a teenager when you saw D’s text come through that he’d landed. You texted back a cool, “K,” then freaked the fuck out. 

Who were you? Certainly not the one who’d left Daveed and pretended he didn’t exist for a year. 

Well, you’d tried it.

You watched as the crowds from the planes came down to baggage claim. You saw Daveed’s Oakland hat and curls above most of the rest of the passengers.

The rest of the crowd faded from focus as your eyes were riveted to Daveed. He had the biggest smile on his face. He looked so unreal. And so fucking good.

You felt the heat rise to your face. You were sprung, dickmatized, ruined.  You felt hot, cold, emotional and about to cry.

Shit.

You were in love.

---

Daveed had spotted you before you spotted him. 

He had that eagle eye for you. You were sitting down scrolling on your phone, your legs crossed. 

Damn, those legs tho. Even though you were short, those legs went on forever to a succulent promised land that he hoped to visit real soon.  

He licked his lips and recalled what you tasted like. 10 days was too long.

You stood up and searched the crowd. Your eyes locked and he could see that you were flustered. 

You hadn’t said you loved him back since you got back together, but he was almost certain. You wanted the same thing he did. He smiled as he came after you.

----

You felt like you couldn't move as you stared at Daveed. He finally reached you and dropped his bags on the floor. 

He didn't say a word, but bent down, wrapped his arms around your waist, picked you up, and kissed you, hard. 

You took off his hat, fisted his hair and groaned through the kiss. You had to get out of there.

"I missed the hell outta you," he told you when he finally put you down. 

He smiled down at your upturned face, took his hat out of your hand and smashed down your nice fluffy curls with it. 

You pouted, only pretending to be mad.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same about you. I missed you too, Diggs." You were so happy he was back.

"Finally! You admit you missed me. Maybe you really do like me and are not just using me for my body!" He laughed at you. "Not that I care at this moment."

"Yeah, I like you. And I will take you up on that usage agreement." 

You leaned up to kiss him again before leading him out to the parking lot.

“Your place?”

It wasn’t even really a question since he let go the place he had been renting. It didn’t make sense for him to stay somewhere else.

You couldn’t even front as you nodded eagerly. He rewarded you with another smile, then looked at you and bit his lip as you stood outside your car.

You cocked your head at him, mesmerized. Your body was feening for his. 

"You wanna drive?" Your voice was husky and full of desire.

Daveed put his lips close to your ear. You shivered. 

"Hell yeah, but I want you to get us there. I wanna look at you."

 He opened the driver's side door for you.

You stared for a minute and climbed in. Daveed looked at you in the driver's seat, leaned over and kissed your lips softly and let his hand travel down your body from your neck to your thighs. 

Damn, he thought as he shook his head and went around to the passenger seat. I'm this close to the promised land! He was excited but cool.

You tried to collect your thoughts but your brain was short circuiting with him so close and his spicy coconut scent filling your nostrils.

Daveed sat in the passenger seat, looked at you and put his infamous left hand on you. He was tracing patterns on your leg.

The sensation traveled to your core, the fabric of your leggings somehow a sensual conductor. 

“Tell me this. Did you touch yourself when I was gone?”

“W-what do you mean?” 

Daveed caught the stutter, and smiled, but he kept his eyes down as his hand moved up higher, stopping the tracing and now clasping the expanse of your thigh and squeezing just a bit, long fingers embedded between your lush legs.

“You know what I mean. I mean did you finger your pussy, circle your clit after licking your fingers and then pulling them out to taste them again?” 

His eyes held yours now. You couldn’t breathe.

“I mean, did you shove your fingers inside you as deep as you could and then did you curl them until you hit that special spot while still pressing your button?”

You gasped for breath and Daveed’s eyes went to your lips and tongue. He leaned forward to kiss you, but stopped himself with a small moan.

“Did you play in your sopping wet slit and let your fingers slip down to feel your other hole, accidentally of course, until you were sliding over the sheets in your own wetness?”

He was leaning toward you now, looking into your eyes as if he really wanted to know.

“Because that’s all I’ve wanted to do for 10 gotdamn days.”

And then he took your mouth, supple lips covering yours and tongue making you remember it’s past transgressions.

"You're trying to get me to fuck in this airport parking lot aren't you?"  

You could only say it after you caught your breath. You were actually trembling in this man's arms. Damn.

"Now why would you want to do that?" 

Daveed asked his question as he moved his hand up your face into your hair and gave a gentle but firm tug, making you gasp again and getting him harder than he already was. 

You moaned. "You know why...."

He loved to hear you struggle and made a mental note to show you more about breath play at your place.  

He forced your head back and marked your neck, turning places your skin a deep purple. So beautiful. Damn, he wanted to do demented things to you right now. 

“Fuck, Daveed. No marks!” 

He knew why you were protesting and it irritated him. He pulled your hair again. 

“That’s what the fuck makeup artists are for.”

He practically growled. That and his full beard made you ready to go right now.

His hand moved down your neck to your collarbone tracing it over to your chest and there it rested for a minute, his thumb caressing your nipple through the fabric of your hoodie. 

Which was really his hoodie.

Daveed moved his hand underneath, squeezing your breast gently in his hand.

 "No, I don’t know why..." He wanted to hear you.

"Because you are making me so fucking wet, that's why." 

Your needy whine threatened to take him out right then.  

"Word? That's what's up. Let me see.”  

Daveed raised his eyebrow at you.

You were past the point of denying him anything at this moment.

"Y-yes. Please." 

That was the green light.

He trailed his hand down your stomach to the waistband of your leggings. He slipped his hand in, his long fingers caressing your pearl. He could feel it swell right away. 

"Jesus!" 

He couldn't stand it. 

"You are wet.”

He plunged two fingers in your goodness and could feel your body grip them. 

"Damn, how are you so tight.!?!" 

He started pumping in and out of you, doing what he’d described earlier. He needed to be inside you, and soon.

"The dancing....always... keeps ....the core ....tight.... Oh...My....Damn..." 

Your eyes were closed as you felt your body quicken. Daveed leaned over, pulled the hoodie up and gently bit your nipple, playing with it with his tongue while it was still trapped between his teeth.

He could feel you start to pound around his fingers. 

As you started to moan, Daveed covered your mouth with his. You came on the palm of his hand. D was as hard as a rock and leaking in his jeans.

He watched as you came, wanting to bust himself. He had to do something.

"Are you sure you can drive?" He asked with an evil grin. "I think you should go ahead and get into the passenger seat so I can."

You opened your eyes and looked at him, confused.

"Just climb over me and I’ll shift into the driver's seat."

Your heart skipped a beat as you shifted up and over the car’s gear shift and onto Daveed’s own.

You came down relatively hard on his lap and he groaned. 

"Are you gonna drive?" You leaned forward and whispered in his ear. 

Daveed was gripping your ass while you rode him. He couldn’t speak.

"Let me get you off.... so you can move." 

You got on your knees on the floorboard of the car in front of him. You watched him watch you as you unzipped his pants and uncover the throbbing mass.

You smiled and kissed it lightly. 

"I've missed you." 

You looked up at him. “What do you want me to do?"

Daveed just stared at you, put his fingers in his mouth, and pulled them out slowly. He closed his eyes as he tasted you. You grinned and went to work. 

You licked his tip as you gently squeezed his balls. Then, you lowered your wet mouth around him, causing him to piston his hips up toward your face. 

You took his cock down your throat and moaned. 

“Damn, I’ve missed the sight of you letting me fuck your face. Such a good, good, good, good girl.”

He trusted into your mouth with every good and the praise made you want to live up to your title. You took what he gave you. And gladly.

After he came, and you swallowed, he looked around. 

"Let's get out of here before we get arrested."

You laughed and kissed him as you shifted around and he got in the driver's seat and fixed his clothing. 

You adjusted yourself as well. Satisfied for the moment, but anticipating more to come. 

He smirked at you as he put the car into gear. You dozed slightly as he drove back to the city, finally relaxed enough to rest.

As he pulled into your space in the parking garage, he gently shook you awake.

“As much as I want to I can’t carry you and my bags upstairs.”

You smiled and stretched, Daveed watching appreciatively.

“My big strong Baby. You can do anything.”

You took his face in your hands and kissed his forehead, nose and lips.

“Baby?”  Daveed’s eyes glowed as he grinned at you. “I’m ‘Baby’ now?” 

Your stomach and back were fluttering like crazy. But you sucked it up and smiled back at him. It was time out for games.

“Yeah, as in Baby, bring me something to eat? Baby, are you really playing that game right now? Baby, I need that dick.” 

You looked down and back up at him. “And as in, Baby, I missed you and I love you. So much.”

Daveed’s smile got bigger, impossibly so, and he kissed you back lightly.

“You know I love you too. Short Stack.”  He got serious for a minute. “I promise you I wont hurt you…”

You silenced him with a kiss. “Let’s just keep moving.  No take backs, no regrets.” Another kiss. “Now let’s get upstairs.”

Daveed agreed, and you got out and Daveed gathered his bags.  On the elevator ride up, Daveed held you in front of him, his arm wrapped around your ribcage as you leaned back against him.

You could feel his erection get bigger the higher you climbed.  Him nuzzling your neck almost made you forget that he probably was exhausted and hungry.

“Hmmmm. Baby? You hungry?” 

You smiled down at the elevator floor, anticipating his answer. He didn't reply, just walking out of elevator as the doors opened on your floor.

When you got inside and his bags discarded, he finally answered you. Walking toward the bedroom.

“I’m starving Short Stack. I need to eat. Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you."

You practically skipped into the bedroom behind him.

---- 

Tagging: @sillyteecup @ohsoverykeri  @theselilwonders @theatrenerd86 @sebastianabucknettastan @imatyoursurrvicesurr @riiyy @ivycomet @lonelydance @jbrizzywrites @curtainremote @biafbunny @summerofsnowflakes @honeysucklechocolatedrippin @peaches-and-mangoes @delaber @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @einfachniemand

[angstysebfan]

Okay I think I'm gonna hurt my own heart with this but hey, it's angst. Could you please write something where reader and Bucky are married, have a child or children and still work as Avengers. Maybe one day reader is sent to go on a mission and Bucky stays home on dad duty. Reader's mission goes badly and she doesn't make it home, leaving him all alone 😭.

(I may request an alternative ending to this because I'm a soft bean).

Oookay can I change up my second request that I sent, please (I've decided my heart can't handle the horrible ending I suggested 😂. Yes I'm a wuss). So mission still goes awry and they think reader is dead because they don't find her body. So Bucky is still told horrible news that she is dead. Maybe a month later he gets a call from a hospital that says they have her and have finally identified who she is and she's okay. (2/2)

--

Lol!! I understand not wanting the angsty ending. I might write angst, but I hate writing angsty endings... lmao! Hope you like this. WARNING: MENTIONS OF BLOOD AND INJURIES.

--

Be Careful

Bucky kissed you passionately, not wanting to let you go. You pull back and give him a smile, “I’ll be home before you know it. Take care of our little bean while his mommy kicks some ass,” you say as you walk backwards away.

“I will. Be careful. I love you, Doll,” Buck says with a smile.

You blow him a kiss before you climb the ramp to the quinjet before going on a solo mission. You turn back and look at your husband, “I love you more!” you shout before entering the quinjet.

Bucky watches as the quinjet lifts off and flies you away, until you are finally out of sight. He turns and goes back into the compound and into your shared apartment, where your 8 month old son is blissfully asleep in his crib. Bucky quickly checks on him before going back out into the common room, knowing FRIDAY will let him know if the baby wakes up.

--

It’s been several hours and there has been no word from you, and Bucky was starting to get nervous. You were supposed to check in an hour ago, but Steve told him to not panic. Bucky tried to distract himself with caring for your son. He fed him, played with him a little bit, gave him a bath and put him to bed. He hoped you would have been home before he went to bed, but there was still no word. 

Bucky sat in bed, thinking about what could have happened. He tried to think about how something had gone wrong, and you had to find a safehouse, and it was taking a little longer. He knew something was wrong, but when Steve knocked on the door, and Bucky saw his face, he knew it was worse than he could imagine. 

Wanda came to watch the baby, while Bucky went with Steve, Sam, and Nat to the location where they lost signal from you. When they landed outside of the abandoned HYDRA base, they search and eventually find your empty quinjet about a half mile away. 

Bucky ran over to it, calling for you in desperation. It was dark, but with the lights on the quinjet, the team was horrified to not only not find you, but see a lot of blood around the inside quinjet. Bucky thought he was either going to throw up or pass out. Nat seeing his reaction, pulled Bucky out of the quinjet so he can breath some fresh air. 

Sam looked at Steve sadly, “This is a lot of blood, Steve. If this is hers, there is no way Y/N is...” Sam couldn’t bare to finish his sentence. Steve took a sample with a piece equipment Tony and Bruce created, which showed that the blood did indeed belong to you. He sighs defeatedly and looks out of the quinjet where Nat was holding a sobbing Bucky.

He walks out and looks at Nat, “Take him back to the compound and have Tony and yourself come back when the sun is up. Sam and I are going to continue to search the area,” he says. 

Bucky pulls away from Nat, “I’m not leaving. I am finding my wife,” he says.

“Buck, you have to go back to the compound and take care of your son. You aren’t emotionally able to handle this mission. If the roles were reversed you would say the same to me,” Steve said, putting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. 

Bucky choked on a sob, but nodded, knowing Steve was right. Nat pulled Bucky to the other quinjet and set off toward the compound. Bucky was silent the whole ride, praying to whatever god there was that you were still alive. He knew he was going to make whoever hurt you pay no matter what, but he needed you to be alive.

--

The next day Wanda stayed with Bucky to help with his son, as she knew Bucky was distracted waiting to hear back from the team. When he saw the quinjet land he ran out, hoping that they found you. Steve walked out and looked devastated and like he was crying. Bucky took a deep breath as Steve walked up to him, “Buck...”

Bucky nodded, knowing you were dead. “I’m sorry. We couldn’t even recover her body,” Steve said, fighting back tears.

Bucky took a deep breath, wiping the tears that threatened to fall. He looked behind Steve and saw the rest of the team crying, all feeling the devastation of losing their friend. Bucky took a deep breath as Wanda brought his son out to him, knowing Bucky needed him. 

Bucky looked at his hansom son, who looks just like you, with Bucky’s eyes. How was ever going to be able to explain to him how he failed to keep his mother safe? How would he explain how amazing his mother was and how much she loved him, and Bucky let her go out alone and get herself killed? 

He forced himself to swallow the sob that threatened to come out when looking at his son and grabbed him from Wanda and held him close. After a few moments and walked away from team, not able to handle seeing them distraught. He went to his apartment and sat on the couch with his son in his arms. He looked at the big smile on his sons face and let the sob out. 

“I’m so sorry,” he cried.

--

After a funeral a few days later, Bucky was benched from missions, though he was pretty sure he was going to retire now anyway. He didn’t want to make his son an orphan, plus he was in no mood to go out and save the world. He tried to act normal for his son, but every night he cried himself to sleep while he held your pillow, which still smelled like you. 

He constantly apologized to you for letting you get hurt and killed. He had made a vow to protect you and he failed. He would never forgive himself for that. He knew his son would never forgive him either once he was old enough to understand. The team tried to be there, especially Steve, but Bucky was pushing everyone away. They all understood, but was worried about him. 

It’s been a month and Bucky was not doing well. Nat stepped in and started taking care of the baby. Bucky fell into a deeper depression then he thought possible, and finally asked for help to take care of his son. He felt he didn’t deserve to have his son. Steve had never been so worried for his friend and didn’t know what to do.

Tony and Sam took lead in looking for the people who did this, and went on a mission to another HYDRA base. Once they entered the facility they went to find files to see if they could get information, but what they found surprised them even more.

--

Bucky was lying in bed, looking at the ceiling. This was life for him recently, and he was ok with it, since he obviously deserved it. Your death, he concluded, was punishment for his transgressions as the Winter Soldier. He did start to take better care of his son, but still required a lot of help. 

While lying there, Steve came in, not bothering to knock. He rushed over to Bucky. “Buck, there is news,” Steve said urgently.

Bucky let out a sigh, “I thought revenge was what I wanted, but I don’t have the energy to find them and kill them. It won’t bring her back,” Bucky said sadly.

“No, Buck... Tony and Sam... they... they found her,” Steve said.

Bucky sat up and looked at his friend, “You mean they found her body?” he asked, hoping that’s not what he meant.

Steve shook his head, “She is alive, Pal. She is down in med bay, and she is alive, awake, and asking for you.”

Bucky was never up and out of bed faster, running out of the room and toward the elevator to get down there. He had to see it for himself. Once he got down to med bay he ran down the hall to where Tony was standing.

“Woah Barnes, you have to stop and take a deep breath before you go in. She needs to remain calm, you got it?” Tony said quietly.

Bucky nodded and slowly walked in and saw you lying in the bed, bruised, bloody, but alive. He thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest. “Y/N?” he asked, still not believing his eyes. 

You looked at him and immediately relaxed, “Bucky,” you said in a raspy voice. 

Bucky walked over to your bed and grabbed your outstretched hand. “Baby? Is... is it really you?” he asked.

You let a watery laugh escape, “It’s me baby. I’m sorry I’m late,” you said. 

You pull Bucky into a hug and you both cried into each others shoulder. Wanda brought your son into the room, and you both held him and each other tightly. Bucky swore nothing and no one would ever take you away from him again. You were home, safe, and alive. He was going to make sure you always were.

--

Oh i loved this one! Thank you for requesting it! Hope you liked it!

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[chatonne-rousse]

Seventeen Reasons, Maybe More

Chat Noir has one request. It's a simple request, really, one he doesn't understand Ladybug's reluctance to grant. He just wants Multimouse to come back as part of the team once in a while. He's absolutely sure she would be an amazing hero, and he's going to tell his partner exactly why, as soon as she arrives for patrol. He's practiced this. He has a list. There's no way she can say no! Right?

Written at the request of @jennagrinsoverml.

Read it on Ao3 here.

***

Three things happen in quick succession. Ladybug lands on the roof, her yo-yo retracts with its telltale zip, and Chat Noir springs to his feet.

He's waited nineteen agonizing minutes for his partner to arrive, though that's partly his fault for getting here so early on her solo patrol night. He just...he has something he needs to say, and he's ready to say it. He's been ready.

"Hey, Kitty. I thought it was just me tonight. Everything okay?" Ladybug cocks her head and looks at him with mild concern. She seems to have already assessed that he's physically well and has moved on to trying to figure out if the same is true emotionally. She really is a wonderful partner, and he loves her beyond measure. That's why he doesn't understand why he even needs the list currently burning a hole in his pocket.

He smiles, hoping to put her at ease. That'll make this easier. Hopefully. "I'm just fine, LB. But I was hoping we could talk."

"O...kay," she says, her brows furrowing further. "What is it?"

Chat takes a deep breath, lets it out through his nose, and sets his shoulders, determined. "I think we should bring back Multimouse."

Any trace of worry slips from her face in an instant. She pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes. It's her turn to take a deep breath.

He waits, impatient and a little nervous. This isn't an auspicious start.

He resolutely ignores the fact that her pose reminds him of his father, mulling over his son's perceived transgressions with annoyance just before he relegates Adrien to his room for an indeterminate prison sentence.

Yeah, he's not focusing on that. Ladybug is not his father. He chooses to defer to her because she's proven to be a brilliant strategist, but he has no intention of prostrating himself in submission to one more person. If they're supposed to be equals, he deserves the chance to plead his case, at the very least.

She opens her eyes and lets her hands fall to her sides. He doesn't see a refusal in her expression, neither is it a look of capitulation. But that's okay. He has his list.

"Chat, we've talked about this," she says wearily, shaking her head just a fraction.

"I know we have. But I still think she would be an incredible addition to the team, even if it's just temporary." Ladybug opens her mouth to speak, but Chat barrels on. "You don't know Marinette, My Lady. Not like I do. She's so smart and creative! She comes up with plans to help people all the time. She thinks quickly on her feet and--" He stops when his partner snorts.

One eyebrow arched in derision, Ladybug huffs another laugh before muttering, "If she's on her feet at all. That girl is clumsy."

His blood turns to ice. "What did you say, Ladybug?" He himself is surprised by the timbre of his voice, deep and even and just hinting at the wave of defensive anger he's actively holding back. His partner is even more surprised.

"Oh, Kitty, I'm just joking!" She waves her hands in supplication. "Marinette and I are friends. I'm just as clumsy as she is, and she knows it." Ladybug smiles and his ire dissipates as quickly as it came. "So do you, in fact."

"Of course. I could never forget the first time I met Miss Maladroit."

"Don't I know it." Ladybug rolls her eyes, folding her legs beneath her to sit cross-legged on the roof beside him. She gazes up at him, eyes shining, and pats the spot next to her.

Whether the decision to place herself in a position beneath him was deliberate or not, it doesn't escape Chat's notice. It also doesn't feel right. He lowers himself to the roof beside his partner, back to equilibrium. Sort of.

"So, Chaton," she says, bumping his shoulder playfully. "You were extolling the virtues of our mutual friend Marinette?"

His cheeks heat. "I don't know that I was doing that, per se. But I stand by what I said. She's pretty awesome. And she would make the best teammate. I know she would."

Ladybug is silent for a long moment before she sighs heavily. "Chat, I know you want to bring her back, but it's just not a good idea."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, My Lady." He unzips his left side waist pocket and produces his handwritten list with a flourish. "It's a great idea, and I can prove it."

She blinks.

He continues, undaunted, as he unfolds the paper and snaps it crisply. He chooses to ignore his partner's facepalm.

"Number One: Marinette is smart."

"You already said that." Her voice is muffled behind her hand but he can still understand her. Also, just because she's right doesn't mean he plans to respond.

He has a list to read, after all. He does skip numbers four, seven, and twelve, since he already said she was creative, helpful, and quick-thinking. Chat is so glad he made the effort to put this together so he didn't forget anything. And Plagg made fun of him for spending such a long time on it!

"...and finally, Number Seventeen: Marinette is a super fast learner, and I know she would be a pro at this in no time."

In his mind, he can hear Plagg's drawl from over his shoulder as he completed the list last night.

"Hey, kid, you forgot Number Eighteen: Marinette looks really good in grey and pink."

"Come on, Plagg," he sighs in exasperation. "You know it's not like that."

"So you don't think she looks cute as Multimouse?"

A pause. "I don't think I've ever said either way whether I did or didn't."

"You're barely making sense, kid. Also, you're blushing."

He scowls. "Don't you have some Camembert to stink up my bedroom with?"

Plagg produces a piece of cheese from seemingly nowhere. Adrien wrinkles his nose in disgust.

"I can have my cheese and watch your disaster unfold at the same time, don't worry."

Ignoring his kwami, he carefully folds the paper and tucks it in his desk drawer. He'll have to remember to put it in his pocket after he transforms tomorrow. He smiles, thinking about the possibility of working with Multimouse again if he's able to convince Ladybug. Marinette is such a great friend, and this would be the perfect chance to spend more time with her...even if she won't know exactly who she's hanging out with.

"Oh, kid," Plagg laughs, snapping Adrien from his reverie. "You're a mess. I love it."

Adrien rolls his eyes good-naturedly. Plagg is a pain in the butt, but life would be so boring without him. "Love you, too, buddy."

Chat looks from the folded paper in his lap to his partner, awaiting her response. Her expression is unreadable but she seems to be trying to read him very, very carefully.

"Chat Noir," she says at last, "are you in love with Marinette?"

"What?" he sputters. "How did you get that from anything I said?" What was wrong with everyone? If he had a nickel for every time... Chat shakes his head. "No, LB, I'm not in love with her. Marinette is a very good friend."

She lets out a bark of laughter. "Yeah, she's got a couple of those."

Chat smiles warmly, happy at the thought that even Ladybug knows about their friendship. It's so important to him, whether hero or civilian, on her terrace or in class.

"You know you’re the only lady for me, Bugaboo, but it’s funny," he says with a wry laugh, "she actually reminds me a lot of you. One time I even--" He stops himself just in time. Ladybug doesn't need to know that tidbit from the Heroes Day picnic. He shrugs, still grinning. “The pigtails and blue eyes don’t help, I guess.”

Her eyes search his again for several long, almost uncomfortable moments. He hopes she finds what she's looking for. He couldn't be more sincere about this.

Finally, she sighs and asks, “I know she’s your friend, Minou, but have you considered her safety?”

Oh, he has that one covered. "Did you miss Number Three: Marinette is brave? She's stood up to bullies and authority figures and...and even really strict parents,” he says, ticking each example off on his fingers. “Not everyone can say that."

Ladybug stares at him for a moment. “How do you even know all those things, Chat?” She facepalms again and shakes her head. “Wait, no, don’t tell me.” She sighs again. “This is...a lot.”

To be quite honest, he doesn’t know why he wants this so badly. He cherishes the moments of fun with his partner outside the heat of battle (though even akumas can be a sort of thrilling fun of their own) and would happily share the role with just her, the red and black yin to his black and green yang.

But Adrien hasn’t been able to shake the memory of his friend’s bright smile and brighter spirit, her bravery in the face of unknown adversity, the way she executed that brilliant plan with Ladybug so perfectly that day, with no previous training whatsoever. Sweet Marinette, kind and just and selfless, was meant to be a hero. He knows it. And it isn’t fair that Ladybug is refusing to give her another chance just because of a misunderstanding.

He knows that if the roles were reversed, Marinette would fight for him. She’s amazing like that. This is the least he can do.

“Bug?” Chat asks quietly. He watches Ladybug’s hand slide down her face before her eyes meet his. “I know you’re the Guardian and not me, and I respect that. I really do. But please, My Lady, could you trust me, just this once, to choose a hero? Please?”

Her face falls, stricken, and his heart squeezes in his chest. He hadn’t meant to upset her. His mind is suddenly awhirl with how he can do damage control on the situation.

But she speaks before he can. “Oh, Kitty,” she breathes. “I do trust you, I promise. I know it must not seem like it sometimes, and I’m sorry.” She huffs a breath and looks down at her spotted hand where it now rests on his steel toes. “Being the Guardian is really difficult. These are big decisions, and…” She trails off, then looks up at him again.

Once more, her eyes search his. Once more, he wonders why she’s so reticent about what seems like a great suggestion for a hero.

He doesn’t understand why he’s had to fight so hard for this, when he knows that Marinette is a friend of Ladybug’s, too. None of it makes sense.

But as usual, he’ll defer to his partner. He’s said his piece on the matter.

“Okay,” she says at last, with yet another sigh.

A giddy glee rises in his chest and sings through his nerves as his face lights with a grin wide enough to make his cheeks ache.

“Thank you, Bugaboo!” She winces at his volume, so he tones it down. He can’t tone down his excitement, though. “This is going to be amazing! I can’t wait to tell her!”

“Calm down, you crazy cat,” she admonishes, though she’s fighting a smile. “I need some time to think about how we can do this, and we’ll have to have rules. Don’t look at me like that, Chaton, you know it’s true!”

He waves a gloved hand. “It’ll be fine. It’ll be more than fine. You’ll see, My Lady! You won’t regret this!”

For just a moment her smile looks more like a grimace, but when he blinks, that strange look is gone.

He stands, reaching out a hand to help his partner up as well. As she brushes herself off and reaches for her yo-yo, she watches him tuck the list back into his pocket.

“I’m still annoyed that your suit has pockets and mine doesn’t.”

“Isn’t your yo-yo equipped with infinite storage?”

“Pssh. That’s beside the point.”

After a beat of silence, their shared laughter echoes across the rooftops.

Ladybug unhooks her yo-yo and prepares to zip off for her slightly-delayed patrol. “Good night, Kitty,” she says warmly. “Marinette is lucky to have a friend like you.”

“Good night, Bug. And...thank you.”

She nods once, and then she’s gone.

Chat Noir sits down again, his feet swinging idly from the edge of the roof. He could - and should - go home, but the thought of his lonely bedroom is less than appealing. He’d love to stop by a certain pink, flower-filled terrace on the way back, though he doesn’t think he could keep this news a secret, and Ladybug clearly needed time to plan. He isn’t sure why it requires a plan, but, well, he’s not the Guardian. There’s probably a lot more to it than he’ll ever know.

He thinks of his dear friend and how excited she’ll be to find out she has a second chance to be a hero. He thinks of the fun they’ll have on a cat-and-mouse chase (he laughs out loud at his own joke) across rooftops on patrol, the pastries she’s sure to bring for them to share, the warmth of spending time close to someone he cares about so much.

He can’t wait to tell Plagg the list actually worked!

When he stands up a few minutes later, his heart is light. He can face returning to his lonely house knowing that he’ll see his friends tomorrow, including a soon-to-be part-time superhero. And best of all, by trusting his choice, Ladybug trusted him.

It’s late and he should probably be quieter, but as Chat Noir vaults from the rooftop toward home, it’s with a loud whoop of pure joy.

[zelenacat]

When We Were Young- An Obitine Story- Chapter 25

Master Secura was not pleased to hear about the wedding.

“It hasn’t been announced yet,” Satine stated, “and I have to talk it over with my advisors.”

“But you accepted.” Ahsoka pointed out.

“I had to, he,” Satine paused, “knows family secrets.”

Obi-Wan lowered his head.

“You have a child,” Aayla Secura realized, “and Count Dooku knows.”

The Duchess turned to Obi-Wan and placed a hand on his leg, he took it off, instead choosing to hold her hand on the table.

“We can help you protect them.”

“The Council won’t be pleased however,” Satine pointed out, “that’s why they were a secret.”

“They?”

“The Duke of Sundari,” Obi-Wan counted on his fingers, “Padawan Tyra, Tristan Wren, Mara Supreis, and the two new foundlings Jinn and Lyra.”

Master Secura’s eyes went wide, “That is many transgressions.”

“Twins three times.” Satine pointed out.

“That doesn’t matter,” Aayla sighed, “come, Master Kenobi, we must update the Council. Ahsoka, keep looking.”

The Padawan nodded and continued, Satine scanned the room.

“I can’t believe you’re actually engaged to him.” Ahsoka muttered, searching corners.

“Not officially,” the Duchess defended, opening drawers, “my advisors don’t know.”

“But-”

“We decided we were going to continue the courtship.” Satine confessed.

“Ew.”

When they found nothing, Satine returned to her personal parlor where her children were waiting.

“You’re all so quiet.” Satine observed.

“Marrying Count Dooku?” Mara questioned.

“Not officially,” Ahsoka jumped in, “your mother said they agreed to an extended courtship.”

“That’s still gross.” Tyra admitted.

“And that kiss?” Korkie asked, frowning.

“I know,” Tristan nodded, “and I literally carried his laundry for him.”

Ahsoka shivered.

“I’m sorry you had to find out like that, children,” Satine sighed, sinking into a chair, “but it really happened too quickly.”

“I’m sorry, Lady Mother,” Mara smiled sadly, “I know you don’t want to marry him.”

“I don’t.” the Duchess agreed.

The room grew silent.

“Come children,” Satine stood, “it’s bedtime.”

Tyra shoved Ahsoka’s shoulder, “That includes you too.”

In the hallway, the group ran into the Jedi Masters. Satine made note of Obi-Wan’s stiffness, he was tired and embarrassed.

“We leave in the morning, Ahsoka,” Master Secura announced, “Master Kenobi and Padawan Tyra will be returning to Coruscant.”

Tyra was clearly disappointed, Obi-Wan put a hand to his head.

“Get rest, children,” Satine turned to her children, “Especially you, Ahsoka, you have a long day ahead of you.”

Mara kissed her mother’s cheek, “Goodnight, Lady Mother.”

Tyra did the same and looped her arm through Mara’s.

“Goodnight, Master Jedis.”

The girls turned.

“Tyra?” Obi-Wan spoke up.

Tyra turned, swinging Mara around as well. A mutual understanding seemed to pass between the two.

“Goodnight, Father.”

“Goodnight, Father.”

Tristan kissed the Duchess’ cheek, then gave a bow to Master Secura, winking at his father as he came up.

“Go on now,” Obi-Wan gestured, “listen to your mother.”

Ahsoka told her Momdalore to sleep well, then moved towards Master Secura.

“Peaceful sleep be upon you, Duchess.” the Jedi stated.

Satine smiled tensely, she knew the Jedi Council would not be pleased.

“Dad,” Korkie stepped forward and held out his hand, “I’m glad you’re a part of our family.”

Obi-Wan’s face melted and he placed his hands on Korkie’s shoulders.

“May I hug you?”

“Of course, Father.”

Satine nearly cried at the sight.

“Sleep well, son of mine,” Obi-Wan ruffled Korkie’s hair, “now go, I must speak with your mother.”

Korkie kissed Satine’s cheek before leaving his parents. Then it was just Satine and Obi-Wan in the hallway.

“I know you’re ashamed,” the Duchess stepped forward, “your fellow council members must not be pleased.”

Obi-Wan sighed.

“Ben,” Satine placed a hand on her Jedi’s cheek, “you can stay with me.”

“I-”

“It’s not a crime, Ben,” Satine continued with a swallow, “Jedi need love too.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan sighed, “I suppose that’s true.”

Satine took her Jedi’s hands and led him to her room.

“This is Jaym and Gorg,” the Duchess gestured, “they know.”

Obi-Wan shook both their hands, “Thank you for keeping my Satine safe.”

“Of course, Master Jedi.” Jaym responded.

“The Duchess is a gift to us all.” Gorg agreed.

Obi-Wan fixed Satine with a warm gaze, “Yes, she is.”

The Duchess pulled Obi-Wan inside and shut the door.

“Will you help me with this, Ben?” Satine asked, trying to unbutton her dress.

The Jedi clicked his tongue when he saw the girdle Satine was wearing.

“This thing is monstrous.” he frowned.

The Duchess huffed, “Try wearing it.”

Satine sighed when the pressure released from her stomach, Obi-Wan rested a hand on the large shell.

“I still can’t believe we have two more.”

“It was hard,” Satine agreed, turning to face him, “but now everything is alright.”

“Why's that?”

The Duchess grinned, “You’re here.”

Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around Satine, who yawned and placed her head on his shoulder.

“Let’s get you some sleep.” Obi-Wan decided, pulling his Duchess towards the mattress.

Satine sat down while her Jedi removed her shoes and socks.

“My shining Jedi Knight.” she muttered.

Obi-Wan smiled sadly, ”Your feet are still swollen.”

“Hera says that will end soon.”

“Hera?”

“The nurse,” Satine smiled, “you’ll meet her tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.”

The Duchess swung her legs over and pulled up the covers.

“Your shift?” Obi-Wan asked.

“No,” Satine yawned, “tired.”

After a few seconds of rusting fabric, Obi-Wan joined Satine.

“This is all I ever wanted,” he mused, wrapping an arm around her.

“This is more than my happiest dreams.” Satine smiled, closing her eyes.

The morning was not as sweet. Obi-Wan was already up and meditating, so there was no morning cuddle time.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan paused, opening his eyes, “I’ll come back if you want.”

“Can all of you read thoughts?” Satine sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

“No, why?”

“Tyra and the Count can.”

Satine could feel Obi-Wan’s displeasure.

“Yes, he read my mind, if it wasn’t for Tyra, I would’ve kicked him out of the palace.”

Rolling over, Satine faced her Jedi.

“I don’t like you having to pretend that you’re marrying.”

Satine sighed, “He knows about the kids, and he read my mind when I was thinking of you.”

Obi-Wan frowned, “Mean.”

Satine sat up, then flinched.

“What?”

The Duchess actually smiled, “Give me a minute.”

Obi-Wan didn’t question her that much when she exited the fresher, only raising an eyebrow.

“Have you ever given birth, Ben?”

“Right, sorry.”

Satine laughed.

A knock bounced off the door, “Satine?”

“Yes, Khaami?”

“I’m here to help you dress.” Khaami announced.

“Well, come in.”

Khaami entered, eyes searching for Obi-Wan. When she saw him, she raised an eyebrow at her Duchess.

“No, Khaami,” Satine shook her head, “you won’t be attending any more births.”

The Jedi snorted. The lady smiled, relieved, and marched over to Satine’s closet. 

“I guess I should go.” Obi-Wan pouted.

Satine kissed her Jedi, “Poor Ben, tell our friends I say hello.”

“I will.”

After a moment, the Duchess added, “And make sure Tyra Satine doesn’t get up to any obscene antics.” 

Mirth glowed in Obi-Wan’s eyes, “That’ll be a challenge.”

Satine watched as her knight in shining armor left, Khaami had to call her name three times to get her attention.

“Yes?”

“Black.”

“Black? I hate black!”

Khaami sighed, “We want to give the council the impression that you’re sad about this engagement.”

Satine bid goodbye to the Jedi before heading into the Ruling Council Chamber, Aayla had winked at her, they’d shared a moment.

“Duchess Satine?”

She frowned, reality set back in.

Once everyone was gathered, Satine took a breath, “The Count and I have agreed we will marry eventually.” 

Silence, then outrage.

“Your Grace-”

“Duchess!”

“Please, Your Grace, reconsider-”

Satine raised her hand, the room grew quiet.

“It will be a long courtship,” the Duchess continued, “but there is more you should be aware of.”

If the Ruling Council had been dumbfounded before Satine explained the ties to the Sith the Ancient Mandalorians had, and their current plan with the Jedi, they were certainly shocked now.

“Your Grace,” Countess Bralor sighed, “This is quite the mess.”

“And are you sure your sister will assist in the capture of the Count?” asked Governor Eldar.

“Death Watch does not like the Count,” Satine assured, “and the Jedi will gladly take him.”

In the next week, Satine had met with the Jedi Council (who sometimes struggled to address her properly), made contact with Count Dooku for a second courtship visit, and informed Bo-Katan of their new situation. She was exhausted.

Count Dooku returned a month later, and after much consolation from Padme, Satine felt brave enough to face him again. The Count’s arrival was less grand, the majority of the court couldn’t make it for this visit, yet he still chose to drive through the airways of Sundari. 

“My popularity here is increasing,” he boasted to Satine on their walk, “it will be good when we announce the wedding.”

“I worry about the extremists though.” Satine admitted, setting a ploy.

“What, Death Watch?”

The Duchess nodded.

“I have friends who will deal with that.”

This was news to Satine, but she tried not to show it.

“More criminals I presume?” she asked.

The Count smirked, “Eager to know, are you?”

“They do want me dead.” Satine offered.

Dooku shook his head, “They won’t kill you.” 

The Duchess frowned, “How do you know?”

The Count placed Satine’s hand on his arm, “Because you’re under my protection.”

“That guarantees nothing.” the Duchess countered, slightly shocked.

Dooku raised an eyebrow, “We’re on our way to announce our engagement.”

“Ah, right,” Satine nodded, “they happen not to like you either.”

“I may have a spy in Death Watch.”

Despite herself, Satine grinned, “That’s useful information.”

The Duchess was still smiling when she and the Count stepped out onto the stage for their press conference. The whispers hushed as Dooku helped Satine into her seat. Soon after Satine’s ladies situated themselves behind her, and the Prime Minister took to the podium.

“The palace is happy to announce today, that the Duchess is engaged to Count Dooku, Head of the Seperatist Alliance and Speaker of the Most High Seperatist Senate.”

Silence. Then a burst of questions all at once.

“Your Grace-”

“Duchess-”

“Your Excellency-”

“Count Dooku-”

Satine raised her hand, but it still took a few seconds for the press to quiet down.

“The Count and I have made our decision with what is best for both our systems. If you have any questions, please ask them politely.”

Some of the questions were general, how they thought this would help both systems, did they have any plans for initiatives, would Mandalore officially join the war?

“Not directly or immediately,” Satine answered before Dooku could, “our peaceful way of life will require some integration of aggression before we are ready for war.”

The rest of the questions were all about wedding plans at Satine’s dress. 

“I will have to consult with my seamstresses,” Satine announced after much prodding, “but nothing shall be announced until the day of the ceremony.”

“When will the ceremony be?” a journalist shouted.

“There is still much planning that must be done,” Count Dooku jumped in, “but of course we shall be respectful of traditional holidays.”

Satine turned to the Count, she hadn’t been aware that he knew of Queen Mara’s birthday celebration coming up. Dooku gave her a small smile. A camera flashed.

“Thank you,” the Prime Minister announced, Satine blinked, “the palace press secretary will answer any other questions.”

The Count helped Satine up and led her from the room, her ladies behind her.

“We did well.”

“We did.” Satine agreed.

“I think I should take some time to tour Sundari and meet the local leaders.” Dooku suggested.

“That sounds beneficial,” the Duchess agreed, “I’ll speak with my advisors about that.”

At dinner that evening, Dooku sat on Satine’s left, Korkie on her right. They glanced att each other the entire night, but neither spoke to the other directly. It was exhausting just being around them. It had been decided that the Count would take a tour of Sundari in the morning, so he excused himself early.

“Ugh,” Korkie sighed when Dooku left the room, “I thought he’d never leave.”

“Korkie-”

“Walk with me, Lady Mother,” Korkie whispered, “after dinner, there’s news.”

So they did, sitting in the garden, the Duke showed something to Satine that made her shriek.

“What? How?”

“Lady Mother,” Korkie put a hand on Satine’s shoulder, “don't worry.”

“Fire, Korkyrach,” Satine shook, eyes wide, “you can make fire with your hands.”

“It’s called force fire,” Korkie explained, “Tyra and Mara have been helping me.”

Satine began to weep.

“It’s alright, Lady Mother,” the Duke hugged his mother, “it only happens sometimes, and I’m learning to control it.”

“Be careful around the Count,” Satine wiped her eyes on her son’s shoulder, “I worry so much for you all.”

“It’s alright,” Korkie stated, “Tyra’s with Father on Coruscant.”

“And Tristan?”

“He called me after the announcement,” Korkie admitted, “he was pissed, but I talked him down, he’s alright otherwise.”

“Mara?”

“Left for a Seperatist world a few days ago,” the Duke informed his mother, “they’re gathering information.”

Satine sighed.

“Let’s get you upstairs, Lady Mother.” Korkie decided.

“Yes.” the Duchess agreed.

Satine was about to crawl into bed when her comm went off. She grabbed it, turned down the volume, and hid under the covers before answering.

“Hi, Ben.”

“This scares me, Satine.” Obi-Wan admitted.

“Ben-”

“And the way you looked at him,” the Jedi spat, “what was that?

“What was what?” Satine asked.

Obi-Wan sent her a photo from the press conference.

“Ben-”

“You look like you care about him, Satine.”

The Duchess frowned, “No, I don’t.”

“But that's what it looks like,”the Jedi stressed.

“Obi-Wan,” Satine said sternly, “don’t get any premonitions in your head that I love someone else, I love you.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth hung open for a second, then he smiled.

“Ben, it’s been what,” the Duchess counted, “about two months since our last children were born?”

“They’re doing great, Satine,” Obi-Wan grinned, “they smiled at me today.”

“Tell me about it,” tears filled the Duchess’ eyes, “I’ve missed all my children’s first smiles.”

“They were beautiful,” the Jedi’s eyes fogged, “Jinn reached up at me and Lyra giggled.”

Satine let a little sob escape her.

“Darling-”

“I miss you,” Satine confessed, “and I miss them.”

“I know.” Obi-Wan sighed.

Satine went to bed late that night and woke up just before lunch, long after the Count had embarked on this tour.

“Why’d you let me sleep?” Satine mumbled.

“Because,” Khaami pulled up her lady, “news from the Jedi has come.”

“And Dooku can’t well know we’re in league with his enemies.” Parna added.

Satine sighed and rubbed her eyes.

“You can do this, Duchess.” Khaami assured.

After she was dressed, in her usual purple and navy ensemble, Satine went o a private conference room with her Prime Minister, who was just turning on the communication device. Soon, a collection of blue figures appeared before Satine.

“Duchess,” Master Windu frowned, clearly upset to see her, “how wonderful to see you.”

Satine smiled, “Thank you, Master Jedi, I hear there is news?”

“News, yes,” Master Yoda began, “bad news, it is.”

Satine’s eyebrows rose.

“There is a Sith Temple on Concordia,” Master Shaak Ti stated, “hidden below ground, our sources say that the Death Watch are aware of this as well.”

“The Count informed me that he has a spy in Death Watch.” Satine announced.

“Told you this, did he?” asked Master Yoda.

“Yes.”

“And you believe him?” questioned Master Ti.

Satine opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again.

“I made a joke that I would be dead before the wedding at Death Watch’s hands, he said I didn’t worry because of his spy.”

Master Yoda nodded, ��Interesting, that is.” 

“How is your sister?” Master Mundi asked.

“Angry, but her wife feeds that fire.”

“Ah yes,” Master Windu frowned, “Asajj Ventress.”

Satine glanced quickly at Obi-Wan, his face was pensive.

“I suggest, Your Grace,” Master Mundi began, “that you destroy the Sith Temple on Concordia before the Count visits it.”

Satine nodded, “Thank you, Master Jedi.”

“A plan, you have?” Master Yoda smiled.

“Yes.”

“Wish you the best of luck, Duchess.” said Master Windu, frowning a slight smile.

“Thank you.”

When the comm ended, Prime Minister Djarin gave the Duchess the side eye.

“Your plan?”

“Recent developments have proved beneficial,” Satine grinned, “and I have some friends.”

  Satine met Tristan and Korkie for lunch that day, and as she sipped her tea and listened to her sons’ accomplishments, the plan took shape.

“Lady Mother,” Tristan sighed, “you have that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“You’re planning something,” Korkie agreed, sitting back, “and it involves us.”

Satine leaned forward.

“Tristan, what new skill have you learned?”

Her second son understood immediately, “Telekinesis, have you not noticed the floating wine bottles?”

Satine frowned, Tristan and Korkie burst out laughing.

The Duchess sighed, “Such immature pranks prove you aren’t ready for this mission.”

“A mission?” Korkie’s eyes lit up.

Satine rested her chin on her hands, “There’s an underground Sith Temple on Concordia, it needs to be destroyed.”

“Ooh.”

“Sweet.”

“I want you boys, Mara, and her Master to do the destroying.”

Tristan grinned.

“But how do we get around the Count?” Korkie asked.

“Secrecy.” Satine answered.

The boys then went back to school, knowing they’d be leaving on the weekend, and Satine returned to the palace, where the Count was waiting.

“How was lunch with your sons?” he whispered.

The Duchess hesitated.

“Teenage boys perplex me.”

Dooku actually laughed, “Perhaps a step-father is a beneficial addition to the family, then?”

Satine gave the Count a side eye, “You have quite the high opinion of yourself.”

“I most certainly do.”

“So tell me,” Satine began walking towards the gardens, “how did the public perceive you?”

“Well for the most part,” Dooku explained, “lots of stares and whispers.”

“May I suggest charity efforts?” the Duchess grinned.

“Charity,” the Count asked, “like helping the poor?”

“Yes, Dooku,” Satine grinned, “like helping the poor.”

A moment of silence leaked in and the Duchess turned to face her fiance.

“Call me Kal.”

“What?”

“My name is Kal,” the Count repeated, “as we’re engaged you should know my name.”

The Duchess repeated the name, it sounded strange in her mouth.

“Surprised, Satine?”

The Duchess winced, “Don’t call me that.”

“How about Tina, then?”

Satine frowned, “Even more revolting.”

“Then what should I call you?” the Count asked.

“Your Grace.” Satine decided firmly.

The Count bowed.

“If you would please excuse me, Your Grace, I must speak with my Master.”

The Duchess went cold and she hated how her voice quivered.

“You’re excused.”

Dooku turned and began to walk away.

“Kal?”

The Count froze, but he didn’t turn back to Satine.

“Who is your Master?”

The Duchess could hear the Count’s smile in his reply.

“You will never need to know that.”

Satine waited until Count Dooku was out of earshot, then ran to her room, bumping into Jaym and Parna on the way,

“Spy on the Count,” Satine ordered, “he’s talking to his Master.”

“Call Padme,” she whispered into her comm, “oh, please pick up.”

“Satine, I-”

“Did you know Dooku’s first name was Kal?”

A moment of silence, then the Senator excused herself from the room.

“What?”

“He told me to call him by his name, and I said that he couldn’t call me by mine.”

“Satine, are you okay?”

“No,” the Duchess whined, “we might actually have to marry!”

Padme sighed.

“What?”

“You should’ve been prepared for this.”

“I’m also sending my children to destroy an underground Sith Temple on Concordia that’s over a millenia old.”

“Satine,” Padme frowned, “you need to rest.”

“Dooku is calling his Master right now,” Satine pouted, “from my palace!”

The Senator’s jaw dropped.

Satine lowered her voice, “Of course, I have spies in action, Padme.”

“Dear God,” the Senator mumbled, “when did our lives get like this?”

“Master Windu did not seem pleased to know that Ben and I have children.” Satine confessed.

Padme snorted, “When he found out Anakin and I were married he just left the room.”

Satine giggled.

“Good luck with everything, call me if you need help.”

“I will, Padme, thank you.”