#you cannot flee me forever

[french-mcyt-are-everywhere]

AURELIEN WAS SHITTLY DOODLED (WRONG HE'S BEAUTIFUL)!

check this blog out!

I NEED AURELIENSAMA DOODLE!!!!

something about this makes me really uncomfortable

The legs get the spider treatment

[ectoplasmer]

posting about marriage again please forgive me but i had a fleeting thought/image in my brain about ryou wearing one of those ruffle collar suits and wwwgdbfcvn CRIES

[nebulaafterdark]

A Marriage For Love

Summary: When Y/N and Aegon receive news that they cannot wed, they flee King’s Landing for a simple life in Bravvos. Upon returning to visit their families, they find themselves face to face with the consequences of their actions. Cheesy, targcest, idiots in love. Based off this request.

“We mustn’t allow them to carry on like this!”Alicent shouts.

“I agree,” Rhaenyra says, heartily. “Keep your son away from my daughter.”

“Keep your daughter away from my son!” Alicent bites out. “She should begin preparing for her marriage to the Lord of the Riverlands as Aegon should be spending more time with Helaena.”

“Mayhaps there is a simpler solution.” The King sighs, with a hand to his head.

“What is it you suggest, father?” Rhaenyra wonders.

“We might betroth Y/N and Aegon.” He smiles, looking between his daughter and wife.

“You may betroth my firstborn son to her…plain featured daughter when I am cold and in my grave.”

“Alicent!” Viserys roars.

Aegon wastes no more time listening to them quarrel, setting off in search of Y/N. He finds her in the library, as she often is. “Y/N,” he kneels before her chair. Closing the book and using his finger against the binding to hold her place.

Y/N looks up at him. “What is it?”

“There is something I must tell you.” From the time they were small, Y/N has been the one to hold his secrets.

“Speak it,” she squeezes his wrist.

“Only moments ago my father offered to betroth us, our mothers rejected the proposal. They want your hand for some River Lord and mine for Helaena.”

“No.”

Aegon cups her face in his hand. “Come away with me. We can build a new life, together. It may not be as lush, but it will be ours. You will still have your cakes as they please you, I swear it.”

“You would do that for me?”

“I would do more for you and worse.” Aegon smirks.

“Well…what shall I bring?” Y/N asks, ignoring the pang of guilt in her chest.

“Pack sparingly, a change of clothes or two. We’ll need gold and jewelry to trade; enough to get us started.”

“Where will we go?”

“One of the free cities,” he decides, “no one will be looking for us there. And it does not have to be forever, long enough for us to get married. If we’ve a child, they’ll have no choice but to honor our union.”

“Alright,” Y/N swallows.

“Go now,” he presses his lips to her forehead. “Meet me at the dragon pit in one hour’s time.”

The princess nods, nuzzling against him for just a moment before they break apart.

By the time anyone comes looking for them, Y/N and Aegon are long gone. Leaving behind only a note.

‘If you will not allow us to marry for love, we will do so elsewhere.’

King Viserys is so distraught at the news, he passes with the shock of it.

Rhaenyra takes her place as Queen, refusing to rename her heir.

————————————————————————

Life is different in Braavos, no maids, dragon keepers nor castle. Aegon cuts his hair up to his chin on the day of their wedding, freeing himself from the memories it holds.

There are rumors of course, about the town baker and his wife, the tailor, who may or may not be the long lost prince and princess. Their dragons do nothing to disprove these whispers, however they do stop them from reaching the Red Keep.

Years pass, news breaks that Y/N is with child, growing rounder by the day.

After a long day’s work, Aegon is exhausted, shucking off his boots near the door of their humble abode and bringing his wife an offering of sweets.

Y/N smells Aegon before she sees him, calling out from the kitchen, “what have you brought me today, husband?”

“What if it were for me, spoiled thing?” Aegon chuckles, lying his offering on the counter to wrap his arms around her. Their babe kicking at his palms.

Y/N reaches back, cupping his cheek. “Best turn about and fetch mine then.”

He smiles, pressing kisses to her shoulder. “How is our little dragon treating you?”

“Well enough,” Y/N sighs, stirring the broth. “I have not wretched this day.”

“That is good.” He pats her belly. “I brought you cake.”

“What kind?”

“Dinner first, my heart.” Aegon insists.

“Or I could have cake for dinner.”

Aegon sighs, as she leans into him.

“Please?”

“Very well.”

Y/N turns to face him, abandoning her cooking in favor of his kiss. “Thank you.”

————————————————————————

Bringing their love into the world is a long and grueling task, Aegon keeps her spirits up as best he can. Unfortunately there is only so much a man can do for a laboring wife.

Y/N is exhausted by the time she delivers the afterbirth, fighting sleep as she nurses their newborn daughters. A task she deems horribly painful in itself.

Aegon strokes her hair, whispering words of love and encouragement until the babes are satisfied. “You rest now, I will bathe them.”

His wife does not protest, allowing her heavy eyes to close.

Neither of the twins cry, until gods forbid he sets them down. “Shh,” Aegon hushes them, taking one in each arm. “Papa put you down for only a moment, surely you cannot be held at all times.”

The babe on the left yawns, stretching out her little arms. The babe on the right merely blinks at him.

Until they learn to crawl, Dahlia and Visera are indeed held at all times.

————————————————————————

By the time their sons are born, Y/N often tells stories of her family back in King’s Landing. Her mother especially, who she wishes to meet them.

Aegon returns from the dragon’s nest with two new eggs, one for each of their boys. “Stormborn and Sunfyre are thoughtful, they deliver us clutches in pairs.”

Y/N smiles, from their dragons came an egg for each of their children. “Let’s see.” She waves her husband over.

Their eldest son, Laenor, toddles toward him, pointing to the bright golden egg, “mine.”

“Ah, ah, hold on just a moment now.” Aegon says.

“Please?” The two year old pouts.

“Yes, alright.” Aegon sets the dark blue egg down beside his wife and youngest son. “We must be careful with it now, sit in Papa’s lap. We’ll hold it together, hmm?”

Laenor claps his little hands together, reaching up for his father.

Aegon backs up to the arm chair, holding the egg above his head, “climb up.”

Laenor furrows his brow, crawling into his father’s lap.

“There we are, my boy.” Aegon holds the egg infront of him, allowing Laenor to touch the egg’s scales.

“Look, Papa.” He points.

“I see, my love. Soon it will be a little dragon, just for you.”

Laenor squeals in delight, “Mama, look.”

“I see it, sweet boy. That is a lovely egg.” Y/N grins.

Dahlia and Visera play happily on the floor with their own dragons, still small enough to tote about.

At all of six months old, Aegon the fourth has no understanding of the word gentle, he slaps at the egg like a drum.

“Aegon!” Y/N can’t help but laugh, moving him away. “You must be kind to your dragon.”

“Him fly!” Laenor tells his brother, who merely stares back at him with a toothy grin.

“Yes, he will fly.” Aegon smooths down the curls at the back of his son’s head.

“When your uncle Joffrey, was born Ser Harwin took Jace, Luce and I down to the dragon pit to find the perfect egg.” Y/N recounts, with a far off look in her eyes. “He must be a man grown now.”

Aegon clears his throat, praying he does not live to regret what he murmurs next. “What if we went to visit your mother?”

“Well…” Y/N sighs, patting her son’s legs as he climbs over her. “We couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Aegon challenges, “it’s a short trip on dragon back.”

Y/N stares down at her hands, “my mother must be very angry at me.”

“My mother was never anything but angry with me.” Aegon chortles, “Rhaenyra will get over it.”

“Are you certain?” Y/N frowns, “I know how you detest court.”

Aegon nods, “for you, the world.”

————————————————————————

Word spreads through the streets of King’s Landing like wildfire. Princess Y/N and Prince Aegon have returned to them.

Daemon is the first of their family members to cross their path, all but dragging Y/N to his wife in the throne room.

“You wait here,” he barks at Aegon. Leaving him outside with the children. “Princess Y/N Velaryon,” Daemon calls upon their entrance.

Rhaenyra moves to stand.

The king consort leaves them to it.

“Your grace, I would first like to apologize for my long absence.” Y/N says, as her mother stalks toward her; expression unreadable.

Rhaenyra pulls her daughter into her arms, cradling the back of her head. “You must never do that to me again.”

“Mother,” Y/N cries, clinging to her like a child. “I am so terribly sorry.”

“Shhh,” Rhaenyra sways her. “We can still make this right.”

“I should like that very much.”

“You need only say the word and I will have your marriage annulled.”

“What?” Y/N withdraws, “no. You cannot annul our marriage, it’s been consummated…several times over. We’ve children.”

“Children?” Rhaenyra sucks in a breath.

“Two daughters and two sons.”

“Might I see my grandchildren?”

“Of course,” Y/N holds up a finger, dashing over to the throne room doors and inviting her family inside.

The children scamper in as Rhaenyra’s eyes well with tears.

Dahlia stares at her grandmother in wonder, while Visera clings to Aegon’s leg.

“This is my mummy,” Y/N tells her children, “remember how I told you?”

Laenor moves toward her first, waving his hands.

“Well hello, my prince,” Rhaenyra bends down to greet him. “Who might you be?”

He smiles, “up.”

Rhaenyra huffs a laugh, taking him into her arms. “That’s quite a name, Prince Up.”

“It’s Laenor,” Y/N says, bringing Dahlia closer, with their hands clasped together. “This is Dahlia.”

“Good morrow,” Dahlia smiles.

“Good morrow, Dahlia. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Rhaenyra beams, “if you could put in a good word for me with your sister, it would be much appreciated.”

“Visera is shy.” Dahlia whispers, “but she will come round.”

Aegon the fourth kicks his chubby legs, squirming about in his father’s arms as they approach the Queen.

“My goodness.” Rhaenyra turns to him, “what a warm welcome.”

The little boy squeals, as Y/N takes him from Aegon, freeing his arms for Visera, who hides her face in his shoulder.

“And this is Aegon, the fourth.” Y/N smiles, presenting him to her mother.

Rhaenyra grins, “hello, sweet boy.”

He covers both eyes, with his little hands, babbling loudly.

“You are a delight.” Rhaenyra reaches a hand out, tickling his belly. “I should like you all to join us in the grand hall for supper tonight. We will feast, in your honor.”

“Mother, we did not prepare clothes for a feast.” Y/N tells her. “But if you’ve material, I will make do. In these past years, I have learned to stitch quite well.”

“And I could assist in the kitchens.” Aegon offers.

Y/N’s eyes light up, “you must taste his baking, mother. It is divine.”

Rhaenyra shakes her head. Not sparing a glance at her half brother, “you are my guests. I will have gowns and robes sent to your rooms. You will find everything as you left it.”

Y/N smiles, “we’ll see you for dinner then.”

The Queen nods, excusing them.

Y/N and Aegon lead the children away from the throne room, up the stairs toward Y/N’s old apartments. Meeting her younger brother and his heavily pregnant wife on the stairs.

“Sister?” Jacaerys blinks at her.

“Jace!”

“My love, might you find Luce and Joffrey?” Jacaerys asks of his wife. “Tell them our sister is here.”

“Of course, husband.” Baela leans in as his lips brush her cheek.

“You’re going to be a father?” Y/N grabs for his arm.

“I am a father.” Jace grins, “this will be our third.”

“Has it been that long?”

“Some seven years, sister.” Jacaerys looks to the children behind her. “And you,” he laughs, “have more to show for it than I do.”

Again Aegon is left standing off to the side as Y/N’s family fuss over her and their children. He is glad for it, surely. This is her dream, not his.

“Aegon?” Alicent gasps at the sight of him.

He turns to her slowly, “Mother?”

The Dowager Queen grimaces, “a word?”

“But of course.” Aegon steals one last glance at his wife and children before following his mother down the corridor. For a moment he thinks she might embrace him, until she grabs his face harshly between her fingers.

“What were you thinking?” Alicent seethes, “taking off like that? Putting your father in such a state of distress; his illness took him not even a day after receiving word that you stole his only granddaughter and heir to the throne.”

“Stole her?” Aegon huffs a laugh, “I did not steal her.”

“Did you not think for one second of the shame it would bring on your siblings, or me?”

“As you thought of my wants when you promised me to Helaena?” Aegon spits back.

“It was expected of you,” Alicent seethes.

“Only my supposed wrongdoings are ever clear to you.” Aegon scoffs, “so strike me for it, as you always do and let us be done with it. How dare I desire to marry the one person in the world who loved me?”

Alicent recoils as though he’s slapped her.

“Aegon?” Y/N calls for him, “where’ve you run off to?”

“I’m just here, darling girl.” Aegon replies, striding away from his mother.

“Is everything alright?” Y/N asks, holding a hand out to him.

“All is well, my dearest love.”

————————————————————————

Dinners at the Red Keep have not been this tense in years. Namely because the Blacks and Greens rarely break bread together.

Jacaerys’ and Baela’s children dance with their cousins as the quartet plays merrily, the six of them becoming fast friends.

Y/N laughs, pointing toward their eldest son. “Look, my love.”

Aegon leans his head closer to hers peering around his brother. Laenor spins round in circles until he is dizzy enough to fall over. When he is able to stand, he goes straight back to it. Aegon chuckles, “we’ll need to keep an eye on that one.”

“Without doubt.” Y/N remarks, bouncing Aegon the fourth in her lap. He grabs a fistful of her mashed potatoes.

“Oh my,” Aegon grabs his hand, wiping it clean with his napkin.

“You’d like dinner too, wouldn’t you?” Y/N says, turning the boy toward her.

Little Aegon coos at her.

Aegon presses a kiss to his son’s cheek.

“Won’t you excuse me for a moment,” Y/N addresses the table, “I need to feed him.”

“We’ve nurses,” Daemon offers. “You’re welcome to finish your meal.”

“That’s quite alright,” Y/N says, pushing away from the table. “We’ve survived without nurses thus far.”

Aegon catches her hand, “will you return or shall I bring the children up when they are through?”

“I will return, shortly.” Y/N squeezes his fingers before moving down the row of chairs into the hall.

Aegon clears his throat, as other occupants of the table eye him, warily. “Lovely meal.”

“Indeed,” Otto agrees.

————————————————————————-

Y/N wakes the next morn to rays of sun shining through the large window of her childhood bedchamber.

Aegon feels her begin to stir, tightening his hold around her waist.

“What did your mother say to you yesterday?”

“It is far too early to raise this matter, my heart.” He grumbles.

Y/N huffs, toying with his fingers. “She was awful to you, wasn’t she?”

Aegon presses his lips to her shoulder, “it matters not.”

“It matters to me.”

Days pass, Y/N does not press the subject. Though she does exercise every opportunity to glare at her mother by law.

They spend afternoons in the courtyard garden, with their children. Picking flowers to make crowns, finding shapes in the clouds.

“Just there I see a rabbit.” Visera tells her mother and father.

“Where?” Aegon cocks his head to the side.

“There’s the ears and there’s its tail.”

“Oh, I see.” Aegon spots it, “that’s quite a coat of fur on him, hmm?”

Aegon the fourth plucks petals from the wildflowers Dahlia weaves together, sighing as she does.

“What troubles you, my love?” Y/N asks, passing a hand over her silver waves.

“Everyone has been so kind and happy to receive us…though no one seems happy to receive father.” Dahlia says, taking one of the flowers and tucking it behind her Papa’s ear.

“That is the way of things, my darling.” Aegon smiles, sadly.

“We are happy to receive him.” Y/N insists. “Give father a big hug.”

Laenor sees the pile of bodies, throwing himself on top of his elder sisters.

“Squeeze him as tightly as you can and say ‘I love you, father.’”

“I love you, father!” Even Aegon the fourth chimes in, with a loud approving babble.

“I love you too.” Aegon tells his children, wrapping his arms around them.

“I think if no one is kind to you, we ought to go back home.” Visera whispers to him. “It needn’t be the way of things.”

“Too right you are, my darling.” Y/N breathes.

“Y/N, might I have a word with you?” Rhaenyra calls out to the courtyard.

“Of course, your grace,” she smiles, looking to her children. “Keep father company for me. I’ll return shortly.”

Rhaenyra leads her farther into the gardens. “When you were a girl, your grandsire and I would bring you here to watch the changing of the leaves.”

“I remember.” Y/N says, wistfully.

“I owe you an apology,” Rhaenyra takes her hands. “For many years, I thought Aegon stole you away from me. I blamed him, for the death of our father.”

“It was not his fault, mother.” Y/N insists, “I wanted a marriage for love.”

“I see that now.” Rhaenyra assures her. “He is a fine husband to you and a good father to your children. I should not have pushed so relentlessly to end your union.”

Y/N shakes her head, “all is forgiven.”

“Even in our years apart, you have remained my heir. As I believe you would be a great ruling Queen, if that is what you desire. I will provide your children places of high status in court. For Aegon, a seat at the small council.” Rhaenyra offers, “and of course, my sincere apology for the way I have acted.”

“You wish for us to stay?”

Rhaenyra cups her cheek, “very much so.”

Y/N looks down at her wedding ring. “I know Alicent has been unkind to him. I will not stay in a place where he’s treated poorly.”

“I will speak with her.”

“And…I fear Aegon holds little interest in the small council.” Y/N admits, “I hope that too is negotiable.”

“All things are,” Rhaenyra assures her.

Taglist: @donalesaa @spacexdrago @shadowrose13-blog1 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @niyahnotnia @oh-you-mean-me @lycaonpictusphotography

[valacre]

: ̗̀➛ What Might Have Been

Megatron x Reader - transformers prime Summary: We look at a past interaction between you and Megatron. A moment that, to this day, has you questioning your love for the warlord. A moment that he remains ashamed of.

“Tell me why I should welcome back someone, whose every waking impulse has been to thwart me, undercut me, overthrow me!” - Megatron, TFP season 2, episode 24

Instinct yells at you to flee, to escape before those sharp denta close around you and bite, yet you stand frozen; paralysed in your fear. He’s been angry before but never to this extent, never like this, not to you.

“I ought to snuff out your life. Crush your body within my servo and be done with this ridiculous situation once and for all!” said he, optics so wide you feared those red seas would swallow you whole. Too close, too close he stood, yet you could not move an inch.

“Why do you deny me,” he said, voice such a deep growl it shuddered through your spine. “Why!” he roared, and you inhaled a silent whimper. “I would give it all to you. I would free you from this prison of flesh, yet still you say no!” Mass-displacing, he came ever closer to you, and those servos forever stained with invisible energon grasped your upper arms, squeezing to the point of pain. “Tell me if you abhor me. Tell me, and I will free you from this torment you so ceaselessly weep of.”

Spark squeezing, trembling in woe as you look upon him with fear, an all too familiar sight he’s used to seeing, but not from you, not like this. Still, he refused to relent, needing to know of what you felt, unable to connect his EM field to yours; none there for him to see, to feel.

You do not speak.

Megatron growls in frustration and squeezes your flesh further, making you jolt in pain as finally, finally, you let your voice free. You plead, and his anger fizzles out in a near instant.

“Please…” you weep, gasping from the pain before his grip loosens. “Kill me if you must.” His spark shudders. “But I cannot accept. My body is not a prison, you must understand this,” you say, sniffling as your teary eyes look upon him, keeping him trapped. “I do not hate you. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

I love you.

He releases you and steps back, silently gasping in an attempt to cool his frame. His optics did not leave your eyes, and you did not look away even as you held around yourself, gently massaging where his servos had been. Where he’d hurt you.

He mass-displaced once more, returning to his towering height, casting one last look at you before departing; leaving you to the silence of his habsuite, to the apology he could not utter; too ashamed of himself to speak of it.

Previous / Next Music: Lustmord – Other Woes Are Yet to Come

[dyingswanpavlova]

My secret obsession - Pt. 1 || 》 Aemond Targaryen 《

pairing: Aemond Targaryen, sister!reader

warnings: incest between siblings (implied)

summary: Aemond's younger sister is secretly in love with him.

The thing that hurt me the most was probably that he did not belong to me. A constant reminder of the painful truth that broke my heart every day all over again.

All I could do was silently observe from the sidelines.

His face was the most beautiful piece of art and it was engraved so deep in my memory, that I would see it whenever I closed my eyes.

His voice was...silk. Honey. Sweetness.

But at the same time he was so manly.

The was no man in the whole realm who could keep up with him. His abilities were beyond compare and so was everything else about him. Many people feared him because he had the biggest dragon. Others loathed him for his ability to be resentful for...well, forever.

I did not.

In my eyes, he was perfect. He was everything.

"Did you hear what I said, sister?"

My head snapped up and I stared at Aegon in confusion.

"What?" I muttered absentmindedly.

He groaned in annoyance.

"You have not been paying attention again." He said so slowly that it was almost offensive. I shook my head and shrugged.

"Forgive me. I was distracted. What did you say?"

Aegon shot me a suspicious look and I immediately knew I was in for a questioning. I suppressed the urge to sigh. Or flee.

"You have been distracted quite a lot lately." He said thoughtfully. "What are you so dreamy about?"

I rolled my eyes. "People tend to think, Aegon, even if you do not."

Aemond was currently swinging his sword at Criston Cole. It did not take him longer than two minutes to defeat him. Again.

I let my gaze wander along the training yard. Despite Aegon's rather weak attempts at perceptiveness, there were some things he was good at reading.

I was one of them.

I did not need to look at him to see the lazy smirk that slowly plastered across his face.

"Thinking, hm? And what is it you are so thinky about?" He raised a brow and ruffled my hair.

I rolled my eyes again and gave him a quick shove.

"None of your business."

His smirk widened and he brought his face down so he could whisper in my ear.

"I think I know the answer. And I think it indeed is part of my business, considering our kinship."

"Aegon, do not dare-"

"Do you think I am blind, sweet sister? I see the way you look at him."

My face flushed so hard it was bordering on painful.

"You know noth-"

"In fact." He interrupted me, feigning thoughtfulness. "I think everyone knows it."

"Aegon, shut up!"

He laughed and raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Aw, come on. I am your big brother after all. Who is going to tease you if not me?"

I kept my gaze glued to the ground firmly. Suddenly I felt extremely uneasy. Nauseous even.

Aegon seemed to notice my discomfort and his eyes softened. He tipped my chin up with his index finger. I tried to look away but he made me look up anyway.

"It is more than mere infatuation, is it not?" He asked softly.

I looked down and remained silent. Infatuation. What a ridiculous word. No, I was not infatuated with Aemond. I was starstruck, I was obsessed, I was insane.

I swallowed thickly and nodded, unable to meet his gaze. The pavement was suddenly very interesting.

"Does he know?"

My head snapped up and my eyes widened in horror.

"No! No, Aegon, you cannot-"

He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it.

"Calm down. I will not tell him."

I took a shaky breath and nodded. "Thank you." I muttered.

Aegon shrugged and returned his gaze to Aemond, who was currently busy tackling Ser Criston to the ground. That drew a smirk from Aegon. Aemond was better than him.

Aemond was better than anyone.

"You should tell him." He said suddenly.

"No." I said firmly and without hesitation.

Aegon snorted and shook his head. "Are you so sure that he does not feel the same for you?"

I swallowed and shook my head. "Even if he did. It is futile. Mother did not betroth us. She betrothed you and Helaena years ago. If she wanted me to marry Aemond-"

"She only betrothed us, because she holds on to the ridiculous thought that I will be king one day." Aegon said calmly. "Aemond needs a wife. And you most certainly need a husband."

I frowned and shot him a glare.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It simply means that nothing goes against you and Aemond together."

Was it really that simple? But then again...

Aemond was currently helping Criston back up, before he shot a nonchalant look at Luke. The tension was thick, but he would not act on it. Not yet. Aemond was not one to act recklessly. But he was one for retaliation.

Everything in the right time.

"He does not love me." I said quietly.

"How do you know?"

"He never...showed..."

"And did you?" Aegon raised a teasing brow.

I shot him a helpless look. "That's different."

"Oh, yeah? And why?"

I knew no answer to that. But a part of me was so mortified to find out the truth, that I preferred dying without ever finding out.

"You are not even in love with him. You are obsessed."

I gasped in shock.

"What?" I said in a choked whisper.

He nodded. "I can see it in your eyes. You would die for him."

"I would die for you, too, idiot. Or for Helaena. We are family."

Aegon let out a mirthless chuckle and crossed his arms infront of his chest. I hated it when he got smartassy like that.

"That is not what I mean and you know it."

"Aegon, shut your-"

"Sister. Brother."

I froze and swallowed before I looked up and met Aemond's intense gaze.

"You defeated Ser Criston." I said in a breathless voice. Aegon snorted. I would have gladly pushed him off a cliff, was there a cliff anywhere nearby.

Aemond nodded once.

"He taught me well." Was all he had to say.

We stood there in an awkward silence, before he cleared his throat.

"I shall go and get myself ready for dinner." He finally said and shot me a soft look. "Shall I take you to your chambers on my way?"

I was already about to respond, when Aegon pushed me and I crashed into Aemond's steel hard chest. He immediately wrapped his arms around me to steady me and looked at our older brother with increduloucy.

"You better, brother. I was just about to try my luck with Criston." Aegon said innocently. I glared at him before he vanished further into the training yard.

Aemond's hand lingered for a moment longer on my back and I tried not to look too affected.

"Are you alright?" He asked in that sweet voice. I forced a smile and nodded.

"Aegon was just being an idiot. As per usual." I muttered as he started walking me back towards my chambers.

"What did you talk about? You seemed agitated."

You seemed agitated.

He had paid attention? While engaging in a sword fight with our most skilled knight?

"He was merely being his annoying self. Nothing in particular." I muttered.

He was silent for a while. He had his hand on the small of my back while we walked. I tried my hardest to keep a straight back and appear like the effortlessly perfect princess I was supposed to be. As effortlessly perfect as he was. But for some reason it just got harder and harder for me.

"You were really good. The way you feinted to attack him, but then spun around and made him fall was splendid. The look on his face was priceless. He told me how proud he is of you the other day."

Aemond raised a brow in surprise. "You saw that?"

I tried my best not to blush as I nodded.

"You know that I have been watching you train for years." I smirked and added: "I have been watching Aegon as well, but after a while it got boring to watch Criston constantly beat him. It was like watching the same fight over and over again."

Aemond let out a rare chuckle.

"I get your point."

After a moment, he added: "Did you read the book I gave you?"

"The philosophy one?"

He nodded. I nodded as well.

"I did not know being would be considered such a fragile thing. But considering how quickly life finds its end, it should not have surprised me so much."

He smiled. It was subtle. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

"It is indeed. The metaphor with the flower reminded me of you."

"Me?" I spun around in surprise. "Why?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "You, too, seem to need other people around you to some degree, but you prefer the solitude of your own mind. Soliture and tranquility." After a moment, he said in a softer voice: "I am like that."

I looked at him thoughtfully.

"That could be applied to many people though."

He smirked softly. "Also, it reminded me of that book you read when you were younger."

"Ah, yes. The secret flower language." I smiled. "You remember that?"

"Mhm." He hummed softly. "Of course. You spent hours and hours explaining each flower to me and what they meant."

I bit my lip and shook my head. "Forgive me for the inconvenience."

His head spun around so quickly that he looked very unlike himself. "What are you apologizing for?"

"I thought...Well, I thought..."

"I was fascinated. Not annoyed." He said quietly. I blinked slowly, then my lips twitched into a soft smile.

"Oh."

He shook his head and smiled as well. A moment later we reached my chamber door. I looked up at him only to realize he was staring at me.

After a long moment, I said: "What?"

"You look pretty."

Without hesitation, I blushed furiously. And of course, instead of being a gentleman and ignoring it, he had to smirk knowingly.

"Can you not even handle a little compliment without blushing?"

I rolled my eyes, but I smiled, still blushing.

"Not from you." When I realized how that sounded, I quickly added: "You are my brother after all, how genuine can your compliment be then?"

He shook his head and sighed.

"I will see you at dinner." He said, reached out his hand and gently touched my cheek. Seemingly nonchalant and trivial, but my heart was pounding wildly in my chest. Every touch of his felt like the short, delicate moment of being ice, seconds away from melting. And then you are no longer ice, but water. Bland and sad.

The moment he withdrew his hand, I was exactly that.

Bland and sad.

"I will see you at dinner." I repeated in a soft whisper.

[justaz]

merlin convincing morgana to remain in camelot and bonding over magic. uther dies and arthur becomes king and merlin and morgana are eager for arthur to repeal the ban but it never happens. then arthur and gwen are courting and morgana and merlin are a bit upset but are happy for them (sorta) but mainly they’re waiting for the ban to be repealed. it never happens. then gwen and arthur get married and morgana and gwen (+ lancelot) are devastated but hanging on by a thread for the magic ban to be repealed. it never happens. morgana is growing angrier and angrier while merlin is growing more and more reckless. morgana picks fights with arthur while merlin sticks to the shadows and protects arthur from unseen threats like always but he stops putting up much of a fight. he keeps coming back beaten black and blue, bloodied, on the brink of death.

morgana finally snaps at merlin and is like “i’ve been waiting for the ban to be lifted like you promised it would be and nothings changed. i cannot stay in this kingdom and watch the love of my life be happy with my brother while hiding myself away! you can be fine with the lying and hiding but i’m done! i’ll make my own damn happy ending” and storms off to flee camelot. lancelot finds merlin and they talk about it and lancelot is like “honestly, she has a point. i’m in love with gwen and that’ll never change. it pains me to see them so happy even though i wish nothing but the best for them. the only reason i’m still in camelot is you, merlin. if you want to stay, i’ll stay with you. if you want to go, then we’ll go.” merlin unsure and lance goes “it was you and me in the beginning, it can be you and me again” and merlin tears up but is still unsure and lance compromises with “we don’t have to leave forever. just a month or two, a year or five. however long you need.”

merlin finally agrees and lancelot goes to pack while merlin finds gwaine and tells him his plan bc if he doesn’t tell gwaine then the man will hunt him down like a bloodhound. gwaine ofc immediately agrees to go with him and they all pack their things. merlin shuffles into arthur’s chambers and turns in his resignation from his service and arthur starts freaking out like “wait what?? what’s wrong?? what happened??? let me fix it. was it a nobleman? a knight? was it me?? please tell me it wasn’t me. what happened??” and merlin can’t handle it so he just restates that he’s resigning, bows and says it was somewhat of an honor, and then turns and leaves. he finds lance and gwaine in gaius’s chambers with mordred. merlin rolls his eyes but is also kinda grateful for his friends. arthur storms in and finds three of his knights also packed at they’re like “oh shoot we were gonna tell you in the morning but since you’re here, we’re resigning too”

now arthur is faced with three less knights and one less manservant than an hour ago (he has yet to find out about his sister’s fleeing). he questions them again and the room gives merlin and arthur some privacy for merlin to tell arthur that nothing is wrong but that they just need some time away. it probably won’t be permanent but they have to leave. arthur isn’t begging because kings don’t beg but he’s doing a damn good impression and merlin is on the verge of tears again and is begging arthur not to make things harder than it needs to be. arthur grows angrier now and is like “then tell me why. why are you leaving? why are my knights leaving? tell me.” and merlin can’t think of an excuse bc he doesn’t want to push his troubles of unreciprocated love onto arthur so he just stands there and arthur is like “i thought you were one of the bravest men i ever met. turns our you’re nothing more than a coward.” anyways they split on bad terms.

merlin, lancelot, gwaine, and mordred leave camelot and have their own little adventures and run into morgana again and they form their own little band of travelers. arthur, gwen, leon, elyan, and percival are still in camelot with gwen and arthur completely in the dark while the rest of the knights Know. it’s like a few months after merlin and them left and arthur and them are drunk and he brings merlin and them up and asks what happened. the knights are quiet and gwen sits up and asks elyan and her voice is desperate enough that elyan breaks and goes “morgana and lancelot were in love with you” and they all just stare at each other and elyan rushes to fill the silence with stuff like how they wanted gwen to be happy but couldn’t bear watching gwen and arthur be so in love all the time, he explains that morgana left on her own but lancelot followed merlin. arthur asks if merlin was in love with gwen too and the knights shift before percival goes “no, he was in love with you” and leon sighs before explaining the rest.

“morgana and lancelot were in love with gwen while merlin was in love with arthur. morgana left on her own and merlin was influenced by her choice to leave and lancelot and gwaine followed him. mordred followed both morgana and merlin, i’m not sure what he would’ve done had merlin stayed and morgana left. gwaine followed merlin bc he’s in love with him.” he rubs his eye bc he can’t believe the mess things are even though it’s been this way for years “morgana couldn’t stand it. lancelot was loyal to merlin. gwaine was loyal to merlin. mordred was loyal to merlin and morgana. and merlin…merlin has been protecting you for years, arthur. he’s charged into battle against the threats you can’t see, the ones in the shadows. i’ve kept an eye on him since he got here but he’s had it handled. but recently, after your wedding, he grew reckless. he came back from every fight beaten like a pulp. he stopped trying. not to let you die, but to let them get the upper hand over him. he was dancing with death. it wasn’t healthy for any of them. that’s why they left.”

the knights leave arthur and gwen in their chambers to stew in silence, drunk and guilty and missing their friends and wondering how they could’ve missed the signs. merlin and them on the other hand are traveling from town to town, village to village, kingdom to kingdom and protecting villages from raiders, protecting druids from raids, stepping in on executions and freeing sorcerers.

[noxxytocin]

Day 30 of Gaunting Salloween - Dementor

• Ominis Gaunt's POV - Sebastian's POV near the end

Art by: @wrengaunt 🫰✨ thank you mate! I hold our collabs so dear!

CW: major character death (ending is subjective), attempted suicide, abuse

No one emerges unchanged from the shadow of wicked deeds. We are never the same twice, yet we cloak ourselves in the hollow pretence of who we once were, only to suffocate beneath the weight of it.

Each sin, each brush with darkness, leaves a hole—forcibly carved into one’s soul. A wound that time cannot mend.

I lost my dearest friend to this very darkness. It twisted the very essence of who he was. How I fought to save him…yet, in the end, it was I who surrendered him to Azkaban’s frozen arms instead of my own. It was I who cast him into the iron maw of despair, sealing his fate behind those bars.

For five long years, Sebastian has suffered in that wretched place, while I am left to decay, slowly corroding beneath the guilt. His voice haunts me, in every corner of my chamber each evening. His weight is there just on the right side of my bed. With each sunlit morning, I hear his smile as golden warmth touches my skin.

His melancholic tears, only imagined, seize me from my sleep, drawing me from nightmare into a reality that feels no less harrowing. And his screams—silenced, perhaps, yet vivid in my mind—shatter me. They remain an agony only I am cursed to endure. I sacrificed his life at the altar of virtue, bartering it for a semblance of righteousness, and the cost has been nothing less than the damnation of my own soul.

His name—well, I had thought it forever consigned to the silence of memory, never to be uttered again by any living person. Yet there it was, resurrected, and the tremor that overtook my hands, the shattering of my teacup upon the floor, spoke more clearly than any words could. Not that it should have fallen from my elder brother’s lips.

“What did you just say?” I demanded, hardly believing my ears. Surely, I had misheard. Such a notion was simply inconceivable.

“There was hardly any need to disgrace a fine cup of Earl Grey over mere mention of your… paramour,” Marvolo drawled, flicking his wand to remedy the mess that, truth be told, offended him more than the matter at hand. He sighed, exaggeratedly so, before restoring the teacup to its rightful place and erasing the offending spill from the carpet as though it were a trifling nuisance. “It appears you heard me quite well. That peculiar pet of yours has made his escape. Remarkable, really.” He allowed a mocking smile to play upon his lips. “I must admit, I am rather impressed—given his apparent lack of mental faculties. Perhaps he has deceived us all. Even you, little brother.”

I could scarcely believe it. Not a single wizard or witch had ever escaped that godforsaken place—or so it was thought. And yet Sebastian, of all people, had managed to flee Azkaban? Something felt amiss. Surely, he would not dare to repeat his past folly.

“Is that all you know of it? You must tell me more,” I insisted, stepping closer to Marvolo. My hands trembled with barely restrained fury, longing to seize him by the neck—to madly wring it.

“Now, now. Why such a flutter of feathers?” Marvolo chuckled, his tone maddeningly calm as he placed a hand upon my shoulder. I recoiled instinctively at the contact. “You’re trembling, dear brother. Tell me—are you afraid he’s coming for you?”

My heart plummeted at the very notion. Never once had I entertained the thought that Sebastian might escape with vengeance in his heart, seeking retribution for my betrayal in turning him in. Could it truly be possible…? No—surely not...

“Sebastian would never—!” I began, my voice faltering as a sting crept into my eyes. “He would never…”

“Oh, do come off it,” Marvolo sneered. “I wouldn’t let him deprive me of my most cherished fantasy. What sort of brother would I be if I allowed that?” With a dismissive scoff, he pressed a folded piece of parchment into my hand. “Here. I’d rather not have your unsightly tears ruining my suit.”

He paused only long enough to mutter, “This was left on our doorstep today. It’s for you.” And with a twisted smile, he turned on his heel, calling over his shoulder as he departed, “My condolences.”

The door shut with a decisive thud, leaving me in silence.

Condolences?

With shaking hands, Ominis hastily broke the seal of the parchment, his wand poised as he cast the charm to pull the inked words into his mind.

Ominis,

Please, forgive me. All I ever wanted was to protect Anne. All I ever wanted was what was best for us. I hold no resentment for the silence, for the absence of letters, for the visits that never came. I do not fault you for turning me in. I know, perhaps better than anyone, the toll this has taken upon you.

I do not wish for you to suffer on my account any longer.

You’ll find my body by the Black Lake.

The Black Lake? His...body? What—what was happening? Surely he didn't mean to… no! Such a thing could not be. It simply could not! My fingers clenched around the parchment, crushing it as tears traced paths down my face. And then, with chilling clarity, the realization struck: if Sebastian had indeed escaped, they would send the Dementors after him. They would find him. And they would…

“Damn it!” I spat, wasting no more time, apparating to the nearest point by the Lake. I would save him. This time, I would truly save him. He couldn’t slip away like this! Not after all we had endured, all we had been to one another. The memories, the laughter, the joy shared between us—I would not allow him to erase it all. I would not let him be taken. Not like this. “Please…no…”

Sebastian's POV

Surely, this wouldn’t be too painful. All I had to do was lie here and wait. It was no different from Azkaban, really. I only wished it could be swifter. The Black Lake stretched before me, as beautiful and haunting as it had been in my school days. Still and silent tonight, fogged in a biting chill that somehow seemed less oppressive now—perhaps softened by the numbness of what I had endured. Nothing could match the icy ache of losing everyone I ever cherished. This would be simpler, far gentler than facing Ominis’s look of disappointment, that quiet agony in those sparkling, teary eyes. I was certain I’d already heard his heart shatter when we had said our farewells in the headmaster’s office, his arms clinging to me as if he would never let go.

But Ominis would never have to endure such sorrow again. And at last, I would receive the punishment I deserved. I did not merit life, not after all that I had failed to protect. I had failed my uncle, my sister, my friends, my parents. And with the Dementor’s Kiss, I would be stripped of this darkness within me, even if my wand lay broken and powerless. I would become little more than a faint memory—a ghost to haunt their thoughts but never in life.

Leaving that letter behind was absolute torment. To be mere steps from Ominis—close enough to knock, close enough to cross the threshold and fall into his arms—was a temptation almost maddening. But such a reunion was no longer within my grasp, not after all I had done. The life we shared, the trust between us, lay shattered beyond repair. I knew, with agonising certainty, that I would find no welcome in his gaze. Nor from Anne, had she survived.

Yet, in that brief moment, I caught sight of him through the tall, glass window. The sight was both a gift and a curse, a vision so achingly beautiful it rooted me in place. His skin, pale as alabaster, gleamed softly beneath the golden light. He wore his finest attire, perfectly tailored to his now slender, tall frame—a frame that time had carved with subtle grace. His face, angled and sharp, bore the same familiar beauty marks on his cheeks, delicate as though painted by careful hand. Golden hair, fine as silk, was slicked back as usual and those alluring eyes were still a set of gemstones.

“Ominis…” I muttered, tears dropping onto my cheek.

But even this vision, this fleeting glance of all I yearned for, could not compel me to reach out. Instead, gripped by fear, I let the letter slip from my trembling fingers and turned away, fleeing as if the very wind urged me onward, far from the sight that both healed and broke my heart.

And now, here I lay, alone and resolved to free him from me forever. With my soul surrendered, I would no longer have the power to bring him pain. No longer would I be the burden he clung to in silent suffering. In the void I would leave behind, he could finally find happiness. At last, he would be free.

A sigh escaped me, my breath rising in the night air, ghostly white against the pitch black—pale as the moon above. I turned my gaze towards the Lake, watching as a thin sheet of ice began to form along the shore, creeping outward until the entire surface lay frozen in solemn stillness. This was it. The end I had chosen.

Tilting my head back, I took in the brilliant glow of the moon. So bright, so achingly familiar; it reminded me of Ominis’s eyes, wide and glistening, capturing light like a silvery mirror. But the sight was shattered as a shadow crossed my vision—a figure cloaked in darkness, hovering before the moon’s face. And then another. And yet another. They were here. The Dementors had come.

“I’m ready,” I whispered, my breath shallow and weak, the bitter cold already robbing me of its warmth.

The Dementors gathered close, circling like crows, hovering just above me. Then one descended, its gaping mouth drawing out the very essence of my being. At first, I could see it—a misty blur of myself slipping from my body. Another Dementor swept down, stealing even more, and slowly, steadily, the world around me faded with each kiss of oblivion until there was only darkness.

Or so I thought. Until I saw him. Ominis—smiling.

The image bloomed with a vividness I had almost forgotten. It was the first time I had ever seen him smile, truly smile. I remembered it clearly: I had just taught him Confringo, and we’d singed our eyebrows in the Undercroft while practicing that cursed spell. I’d made some jest, something so absurd it had him laughing, his smile radiant, his laughter spilling out in waves around us. I’d often wondered why that spell had held such fascination for me. Now, it was plain as day—the memory bound to it, the warmth of his smile. And here it was again, unfolding before me as though I had been swept back in time.

The memory shifted, blurring into another scene—Feldcroft. I was back in my childhood home. Ominis and I were alone; Anne was fast asleep, and Solomon was away for work. We lay side by side in my bed—a rare and precious thing. Ominis had escaped from his own home that evening, seizing a moment of rebellion to apparate to Feldcroft the moment he’d “turned in.” I remembered the surge of pride I’d felt, seeing him stand against the grip of his family, even for a single night.

We lay there, laughing and talking in the stillness, sharing secrets and dreams. I remembered our hands, the way they moved—gliding, grasping. We pressed close, warm against one another, needing no blanket to shield us from the chill. It was, I believe, the first night Ominis truly slept. I could see him now, peaceful, his breath slow and soft, and I could feel the weight of my own heart as I realized then, in that precious moment, the depth of my feelings for him. I couldn’t look away from his lips as he lay there, utterly still, and the truth of it settled over me that next morning.

Another memory surfaced—the Sorting Ceremony. I had just been placed in Slytherin, nerves prickling at me despite Anne’s reassuring presence nearby. And then, a boy sat beside me. I didn’t know him yet; I only knew of him. The name Gaunt carried a certain weight—whispered, feared. And here he was: Ominis Gaunt, their youngest, sitting quietly at my side, as silent as a mouse.

No one dared to breathe in his presence. Students stole glances, wary, as if expecting something dark or strange from him. I was no different—I half expected Parseltongue to slip from his lips the moment he spoke. But what came instead was a soft voice, timid and gentle. “Would you mind… telling me what each food item is before me?” he asked, his hand tugging slightly at my sleeve, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. It surprised me—and endeared him to me in a way I couldn’t have understood at the time. But in that moment, I unknowingly found the truest friend I would ever have.

Then came memories of comfort, tender and bittersweet, unfolding before me. After the horrors of the Scriptorium, I saw myself holding him, his grief raw from the loss of his aunt and the fright of the Unforgivable curse used against me. He was fractured then, torn, yet I held him close, wrapping him in all the love I could offer at the time.

Now, rushing forth, the memory I cherished above all others—the moment of my first confession, however clumsy it was. It was just before Anne’s curse. I had managed to sneak a few spiked Butterbeers from The Three Broomsticks under the cover of a disillusionment charm and brought them back to the Undercroft without spilling a single drop. Ominis and I had our fill that night, laughing and emptying every last mug.

In my drunkenness, I blurted out a thought that had been buried for far too long: how I’d never kissed a boy, but if I ever did, it would be him. Of course, the both of us were stunned by my suddenness. I could still remember the look in his eyes, wide and wobbling. And then, without a word, he leaned in, his lips pressing gently against mine.

The warmth of that kiss burned hotter than the Butterbeer. I melted into its sweetness, kissing him back with nothing but my longing. When Ominis pulled away, I nearly whimpered, wanting to press back into him. We said nothing of it afterward, slipping back into our usual banter, yet we both knew it had changed us. It gave hope. Hope that perhaps in the future, we could be more than what we were.

So many memories flickered before me, so vivid and consuming that I barely noticed as I drew my final breath. I didn’t feel the chill settling in, nor the tears slipping down my cheeks. The joy of those memories held me fast, but then, I was before the Dementors once more. And faintly, I heard his voice, calling out from the distance, growing nearer with each second.

“Sebastian!” he cried.

The sound felt so real, so achingly real. I closed my eyes, letting go, feeling the pull as my soul began to slip from my body. I could see it then—a glow, bright and pure, emerging before me, filling the sky with such brilliance it blinded even the Dementors. And in my final moment, I saw him—Ominis. His face hovered above mine, his own tears falling, warm against my skin, his eyes shining with a light that outshone the moon, outshone even my soul’s glow.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered with my last breath, letting those words carry my love and my regret.

[axkirak]

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : VI]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content waring : 18+ smut/nsfw, manipulation, fingering, p in v, virgnity loss, unprotected sex, creampie (Just asking for a friend: Do the Bene Gesserit need a condom?🤔)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: On your twentieth birthday, after spending nearly three years with Qimir, you finally decide to reveal your secret to him. And from that moment, your relationship with him will never be the same again.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : As mentioned, This fan fiction mixes elements from two universes, so some details might not match canon perfectly. I’ve made adjustments but will try to keep key canon elements intact. I hope you read this for enjoyment, not to nitpick details.

ps. Writing smut in English is rather demanding for me. I hope you can forgive any mistakes in this EP. I’ve done my best 😭

➡  Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread // My mother is my enemy

[Episodes 6] Four things cannot be hidden—love, smoke, a pillar of fire and a man striding across the open bled.

On your twentieth birthday, after spending three years with Qimir, you finally decide to reveal your secret to him.

There is no point in hiding it any longer, especially after he has already seen something he shouldn’t have on that ship. Besides, you no longer wish to conceal it. That near-death experience has changed your perspective—not just on your own feelings but also on the visions that have surfaced from deep within your subconscious. Through the fog of time, you sense profound changes—both in the future paths and in the bond between you and him.

A bond you never wanted to form. Feelings you wish to deny. But no matter how hard you try, in the end, you can’t escape it.

Sometimes, fate has a strange way of twisting things—you can’t help but think that when you recall your first meeting. You hated Qimir with all the intensity of your feelings. You couldn’t stand him. There were moments you even plotted his death, planning to flee far away. But who would have thought that three years later, you’d find yourself lying in his arms on a small bed in a rundown hotel near the Starports on Olega, far removed from the bloody events on Tatooine.

You are uncertain if it can even be called love. But one thing is certain: Qimir's presence changes your life forever. He changes you. You change him. And you have no idea if it is for better or worse.

Resting your head on Qimir's chest, you let his large hand caress your back. It's strange how safe you feel with him, despite having witnessed him kill so many people.

But it's not just you who feels this way. Qimir doesn't seem to fear you either. His words are blunt and direct when he finally asks about what he's seen. "I saw what you did—you control people with just your words," Qimir says. "What exactly are you? A member of some witch's coven?"

He turns on his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, holding you close as if to comfort you from the terrifying events that have unfolded earlier. Yet at the same time, it is clear he intends to keep you there, preventing you from leaving until you answer his question honestly.

You know Qimir’s intent, but do not push back. You remain silent for a moment before replying.

"It is an ancient technique passed down by my people," you confess, feeling as though you are revealing a terrible sin to some forgotten god. "We use our voice to command others, bending their will to our desires." You pause before adding, "And no, I am not part of any witch’s coven. My mother said those covens are nothing but lowly imitators, trying to replicate what we truly are."

"Your people? What do you mean?" Qimir frowns, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. A wave of unease washes over you as you realize that the moment of truth is finally upon you.

“I am Bene Gesserit.”

Bene Gesserit—those words, foreign to most in this age, are known only to a select few who have studied ancient history.

According to old records, before the rise of the Jedi Order, the Bene Gesserit was a powerful religious order that held great power throughout the galaxy, known as the Sisterhood. They only accepted women deemed worthy into their ranks.

It is said that the Bene Gesserit were the true originators of the Force, passing down their teachings through generations. The Bene Gesserit sisters possessed mysterious powers and physical capabilities far beyond the reach of ordinary people. They could neutralize poisons within their own bodies, control others with the power of the voice, and train their minds and bodies to heights that defied natural limits. Some could even glimpse into the future with an eerie sense of prophecy, though only fragments of what was to come—except for the Reverend Mothers who led the order. They alone held the power to peer through the memories of their ancestors, journeying through the past, present, and distant future.

And it was this obsession with the visions they received that drove their beliefs. The Bene Gesserit were convinced that the universe was heading toward destruction, haunted by the prospect of a terrible future. Their only solution was to guide human evolution to its pinnacle through meticulous breeding programs that spanned generations. They strengthened their power by sending their sisters to marry and breed with the ruling houses of various planets, integrating themselves into the political and religious structures, and influencing every layer of society, from the lowest to the highest ranks—all for one ultimate goal: the creation of the Kwisatz Haderach, a superior human who transcended all others.

Yet ironically, it was the Kwisatz Haderach himself who brought about the very doom of the universe, which the Bene Gesserit had feared and attempted to avoid all along.

The Bene Gesserit succeeded in creating the Kwisatz Haderach as intended, but they utterly failed to control him. Paul Atreides, the only son of Duke Leto Atreides and Lady Jessica of the Atreides, a Bene Gesserit sister, became a religious icon before he reached twenty. He was revered as the Lisan al Gaib—Voice from the Outer World—and was worshiped as a godhead. He led the Fremen, the ancient people of Arrakis, in a jihad that spread across the galaxy. Tens of millions perished in the holy war, and hundreds of millions more during the tyrannical rule of the Kwisatz Haderach’s own son.

Eventually, the Kwisatz Haderach's dynasty was annihilated by the vengeful masses, and the universe slowly began to heal, giving rise to numerous new sects, including the Jedi Order.

The Bene Gesserit were said to have vanished during this time, and rumors of their demise were widespread. Some claimed that the Kwisatz Haderach, driven by his hatred for the Sisterhood, had eradicated them entirely, while others believed they were blamed for the jihad and were hunted down by the vengeful populace.

Regardless of the cause, the true reason for the destruction of the Bene Gesserit was their overwhelming power and the mysterious goals they pursued. It was decided that the Bene Gesserit witches should no longer exist in the universe, as no one wanted to risk the emergence of a second Kwisatz Haderach.

For thousands of years, you have been the last Bene Gesserit. Although your skills and powers are far weaker than those of your ancestors due to a lack of proper training, you still surpass both Jedi and Sith. Your power is the source of the Force they wield—an ancient power that none can fully replicate unless they are also Bene Gesserit.

“I am not only a Bene Gesserit; I am also a Fremen,” you reveal, deciding to share another layer of your secret with him. You point to your deep blue eyes, the eyes of Ibad, the distinct mark of your ancient race, now long extinct along with the Bene Gesserit. “My Fremen name is Hara[1], a name known only to my mother."

You are surprised at yourself for disclosing your Fremen name to him. For the Fremen, a tribal name carries deep meaning and significance, given only to those who can be trusted completely.

However, you feel a sense of relief after finally speaking, though it's not complete. There are still secrets you haven’t shared with him, but revealing this much is already more than enough. You trust Qimir, but you are unsure how much of this truth he can truly accept. Deep down, you are terrified he might see you as a monster, shun you, or worse, decide to eliminate you like others might. Your very existence might be too dangerous to allow you to survive.

But Qimir says nothing. He appears deep in thought, his expression unreadable. You can’t discern his feelings, and the silence grows unbearable. Finally, you ask, 'Do you fear me now that you know who I am?'"

As the words leave your mouth, you bite your lip unconsciously while waiting for his reply, worry gnawing at you. How strange it is to be afraid of his rejection more than your own death."

"Fear?" Qimir tilts his head, puzzled by your question for a moment. Seeing your distressed expression, he quickly grasps your concern. "I have no reason to fear you," he says, stepping closer to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, then the tip of your nose. "I do not fear you," he emphasizes, sealing his words with a firm kiss on your lips.

You let Qimir kiss you a little longer. When he finally gives you a chance to catch your breath, you ask, 'Even though I am dangerous?' Your voice is barely a whisper, filled with uncertainty.

Everything feels too perfect and too smooth, and instead of providing reassurance, it only makes you feel more uneasy.

Qimir smiles widely, almost as if he wants to laugh but is holding it back. "Oh, in that case, it’s me you should fear more." He teases, his tone playful, as he resumes kissing you. Not on your lips, but now on your ear, nibbling playfully, while one of his hands moves up to your breast, caressing and teasing your nipple through the fabric with his thumb.

Your eyes widen as you realize what is about to happen. You grab Qimir’s arm, quickly halting his mischievous actions before things can go any further. “Qimir,” you call out his name, your heart pounding, your voice faltering with each shaky breath.

Qimir stops immediately, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. You see the clear reflection of desire in his dark eyes. “Don’t want to?” he asks, his voice carrying a hint of pleading, though the playful smirk at the corner of his mouth suggests something more sly, as if he knows every thought in your mind without reading it, knowing that you won’t refuse.

His knowing demeanor makes you feel annoyed, but there is little you can do. In a situation like this, you are at a disadvantage in nearly every way.

“Well, I…” You try to speak but hesitate for a moment, your cheeks burning hot as if set aflame. You don’t know how to explain it to him without making yourself feel even more embarrassed. “I don’t know how... I’ve never... you understand, right?”

That isn’t entirely true. Even though you have never been intimate with anyone, you aren’t that naive. As a Bene Gesserit, you can see the past through ancestral memories, which sometimes bring you glimpses of things you shouldn’t see, intruding into your dreams. But dreams and reality are entirely different. You feel out of place, unsure of what to do, like someone who has read extensively but fails when it comes to practical application.

Qimir lets out a clear laugh, his sly smile shifting to one of genuine amusement, making you blush even more. Before you can protest, he seizes the moment and silences you with a kiss.

This time, though, it feels different.

Never before has a kiss between you two felt so deep and intense. His lips and tongue are sharp and distinct as they invade, filled with a potent desire that permeates every touch, burning with unwavering purpose, as if he wants to touch the very core of your being, reaching the true self you have never revealed to anyone.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far. His mouth lingers on your lips, and his hands gently cradle your cheeks. “Relax, don’t be afraid,” Qimir whispers, his lips trailing to your neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath your skin, then moving down to your chest. “I told you before, you don’t need to hide yourself when you’re with me.” His voice is soft, almost dreamlike, but every touch is real.

You follow his lead, as if under a spell, letting him undress you without resistance. His large hands roam over every part of your soft skin, planting kisses along the curves of your body, from your shoulders down to your hips, and finally to the inside of your thighs. His dark eyes examine your naked form without looking away, not missing a single detail, taking in every perfection and flaw—nothing hidden, nothing concealed.

“I want you to feel every emotion within you—anger, fear, and desire…” The word ‘desire’ from Qimir’s lips was as sweet as honey. “Embrace who you truly are, what you can be, and what you can do when you’re with me—only with me.”

You flinch as his fingertips brush against your delicate folds before sliding inside you. You can feel every knuckle as he slowly works his way deeper, one finger becoming two, gently stretching you as he allows you to grow accustomed to the sensation. He then begins to move them slowly, his thumb rubbing your bud, massaging every sensitive spot inside and out, sending shivers of unfamiliar pleasure through your body.

Waves of strange, stinging bliss ripple across your skin, making you restless as you writhe in the throes of sharp delight. But his other hand presses firmly on your lower abdomen, forcing you to stay still.

“Be a good girl,” Qimir admonishes, a grin tugging at his lips, clearly enjoying watching you struggle helplessly beneath him.

You moan, burying your face in the pillow, your entire body trembling with the intensity of your climax, making you feel like you are floating in a sea of stars. After catching your breath for a moment, you look up to see Qimir hastily removing his own clothes. His skin is pale, his body sculpted with lean, defined muscles, as beautiful as a statue in a temple. But what sets him apart are the scars, some small, some large, like cracks in marble. Yet these imperfections only make him more striking, unique, and beautiful.

Qimir turns to look at you, fully aware that you have been watching him the entire time. His face softens in the dim light, but his eyes remain dark. You sense the intense longing within them—a desire he’s harbored for a long time. You wonder why you never noticed the fragile restraint in him until now. He seems on the verge of snapping, as if he’s been wound too tight, ready to unravel at any moment.

Qimir wastes no time, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close until there’s no space left between you and him. His hardness presses firmly against the crevice of your thighs, the heat spreading through your body as his cock gradually sinks into your swollen slit, filling you completely.

A low moan escapes his lips, soft and barely audible. Qimir pauses briefly, giving you a chance to catch your breath and adjust. As he takes a moment to relish the closeness, he revels in the warmth of your tight, slick, silky walls that embrace his length perfectly.

"It might hurt at first, but it’ll get better soon. Just bear with it," he murmurs, his hand gently stroking your hair. He plants a warm kiss on your cheek, trying to comfort you as your face contorts with pain. It feels like he’s about to tear you apart as he pushes in fully. You lock eyes with him in shock as a flood of emotions washes over you—strange, frightening, painful, and thrilling all at once.

Your lips part, letting out a silent moan as Qimir begins to move, thrusting in to the hilt until you can feel every inch of him deep within you. He brushes away a stray lock of black hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His lips press a kiss to your sweat-dampened temple as his hips thrust forward, quickening the pace. Your soft inner walls tighten, clenching around him as his tip repeatedly hits your sweet spot.

By now, the pain has subsided, replaced by waves of pleasure building inside you, ready to explode.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you grip Qimir's shoulders as if your life depends on his mercy. Your hips rise to meet his movements, every fiber of your being striving to get closer to him, nearly melding into one.

The rhythm changes slightly, slowing down and becoming less steady but more forceful. You pant heavily, feeling the climax approaching, each movement bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Just a few more thrusts, and you both reach the peak together. He spills into you, his release filling you up and spilling over. The hot, wet feeling of his cum makes your body shiver and feel dizzy, still unaccustomed to these new sensations.

The room gradually returns to calm. When Qimir pulls away, your body suddenly feels light and empty, like weightless cotton. You drift in the calm afterglow, enveloped in his embrace as he nuzzles you, kisses your cheeks and forehead, and caresses your hair tenderly, just as lovers do."

But there are no words of 'love' from his lips. The last thing you hear from Qimir before slipping into sleep is, 'You’re no longer alone. You belong to me.”

Instead of feeling reassured by these words, a strange unease flickers through your mind, as if you've just stepped onto a path of grave mistake.

Footnotes:

[1] In Fremen culture (as depicted in the film Dune), Fremen names are special names that differ from regular ones, only shared with outsiders when there’s deep trust and acceptance. For example, Chani tells Paul her Fremen name, 'Sihaya,' as a sign of accepting him as a lover. That’s why the reader needs a Fremen name—it’s culturally important (and I certainly WILL NOT USE Y/N as a Fremen name, absolutely no way!). I’ve hinted at this name since EP : I (if you pay attention, you’ll notice it), and it ties into the story, so I hope you're okay with the name I picked.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Let’s talk 1x08 and 2x08 epilogues and how they set up next season

Allow me to explore this idea: what clues can 2x08 epilogue give us on what to expect for Season 3, taking 1x08 epilogue as an example? In TV shows, the epilogues of season finales are meant to set up the events and the tone for the next season.

Let’s start with Season 1 finale, and how it translated in Season 2:

1) Setting up the feud between Elrond and Galadriel in Season 2:

2) Setting up Celebrimbor’s pride as the reason for him to fall prey of Sauron’s deception:

3) Setting up Eregion (mainly the forge) as the one of the major locations of Season 2:

4) Setting up Sauron’s connection to the Three rings of power:

5) Setting up the forging of the rings of power plot in Season 2:

6) The red herring:

Now, let's take a look at Season 2 finale epilogue, and what clues it might give us for Season 3:

Sauron and Fëanor Hammer:

To me, this scene is quite straightforward: it’s foreshadowing for Sauron forging the One ring in Season 3. Because the show can’t postpone that to Season 4 (Fall of Númenor), really. We know this from Tolkien lore. 

"A sanctuary. Protected... by the Elven Rings":

This location will definitely be Imladris (more known as Rivendell), and, if Season 1 finale is anything to do by, it will be one of the major locations in Season 3. With Elrond building it, and becoming an Elf-lord of his own right.

Gil-galad: Sauron's armies are roving across Eriador. All Middle-earth is within his reach now. Even Lindon. We must decide whether to attack and bring the fight to him... or to fall back, to prepare our defenses. Galadriel: The sword or the shield. Elrond: Many of Eregion's bravest fell. The few who survived are all but broken. In body or spirit. They have little strength left with which to fight. They barely had strength to flee. Arondir: What course would you advise, Commander Galadriel? Galadriel: I would remember the counsel of our dear friend, Celebrimbor, Greatest of Elven-smiths. And remind our people... that it is not strength that overcomes darkness, but light. And the sun yet shines.

From Tolkien legendarium we know several things: Sauron will attack Lindon, and lay siege to Rivendell (“First Siege of Imladris”). The Elves will also fight back, and this will culminate in the Battle of the Gwanthló (probably Season 3 finale), where Sauron allows himself to get captured by Ar-Pharazôn and brought to Númenor as prisoner, kicking off Season 4.

Will there be consequences to Morgoth’s crown wound?

What consequences will this wound have on Galadriel?

In “Fellowship of the Ring”, Frodo is injured by the Witch King of Angmar, using a Morgul blade. In spite, of being healed by Elrond, this wound never fully heals, even after the One Ring is destroyed and Sauron is defeated. On the anniversary of receiving the wound, Frodo becomes seriously ill, and he's unable to lead a normal life (like Sam, for instance). This leads him to go to Valinor, at the end of the story.

“Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured," said Gandalf. "I fear it may be so with mine," said Frodo. "There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?” The Return of the King

Frodo: It's been four years to the day since Weathertop, Sam. It's never really healed. The Return of the King (2003)

This wound forever changes Frodo, and it’s only a blade forged by Sauron, what consequences will Morgoth’s very own crown, a object filled with dark magic, have on Galadriel? And can 2x08 already have provided us with some foreshadowing on this?

These shots can imply blood binding theory is correct, and Sauron might have transferred some of his powers to Galadriel. This is not mere “camera work”: in the first screenshot it’s Sauron looking down at Galadriel, and the second is Galadriel waking up. The effect on both is the same; hinting a sharing power between them.

In Tolkien lore, Galadriel is a powerful elf-witch, an Elven queen of great magic and power, however in "Rings of Power" we haven't seen her either dealing nor displaying any kind of magical abilities. Yet. Having her blood bound with Sauron can be the show’s explanation for her source of magical power, as well as to why she never faces him directly, working against him from afar, and why Sauron couldn’t conquer Lothlórien unless he went there, himself; as well, as to Sauron’s grouping of her mind for thousands of years into the future, and how Galadriel is able to see into his mind, too.

The Three Elven rings of power: 

Season 2 finale epilogue also focused on the Three Elven rings of power, and this is not random, because Sauron will try to get them during the “War of the Elves and Sauron”. If blood binding is correct, Sauron might take advantage of this to have Galadriel handing the rings to him.

This scene is meant to symbolize the end of Galadriel and Elrond feud over the rings, but also to showcase that Elrond trusts these rings, now.

I’m not sure if this is also foreshadowing for Elrond getting Vilya next season because it seems a bit premature, so in on the fence with that one.

Gil-galad worried expression:

This expression recalled me of Elrond’s on Season 1 finale, which makes me wonder what it can mean. Is this look connected to the rings of power or with these characters?

Gil-galad is the current ring-bearer of Vilya, and, from that perspective, it doesn’t seem to make sense for him to worry about the rings. Especially since he used its power (+ Nenya) to heal Galadriel, earlier. So, it can be related to the characters, yes. And from his angle, it can point to one in particular: Galadriel.

Where is Gandalf headed next?

Woman: Goodbye, Grand-Elf. Gandalf: Grandelf? Nori: They've never seen an Elf before. Never even left home before. [...] And what to leave. If I had my druthers, we... We'd walk the wastes of this world. Eatin' snails and beetles till the sun run out of days, but it's high time. I walked my path, and you walked yours. Gandalf: We are very different creatures, Nori. When all is said and done. Nori: Not so different at all, if you ask me. Nori and Gandalf part ways, 2x08

Can this dialogue be foreshadowing or set up for Gandalf meeting the Elves in Season 3?

Is there a red herring like in Season 1 finale?

Yes, I believe so. And it’s Galadriel appearing all victorious and light after her fight with Sauron. This can parallel Sauron Season 1 finale red herring; where he arrives at Mordor, also looking victorious and ready to take over the place (we all know how that turned out).

If this is, indeed, a red herring what can it mean? That Galadriel will find herself struggling harder than ever with the darkness in Season 3, as a consequence of Morgoth’s crown wound.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

I wish you would write a fic where no one abandons Aemond and he lives a long happy life with his family who love and trust him 😭

A tidbit for you, in the spirit of the game (not quite what you asked for, it's more Helaemond than anything else)

Where would I go?

Her question to her mother echoes back at her in her mind as she looks out at the lazily rolling waves of the sea, the horizon stretching on for an eternity against a cerulean blanket.

Here is where she has gone; where ever here is, she does not know. She gazes down at her bare feet, wiggling her toes in the sand, marvelling at the way it feels between them. Her slippers have been discarded, alongside Jaehaera's, somewhere off to the side, not far from where her daughter now plays. She smiles softly as she watches her little girl lift up shells towards the sunlight. How long had it been since either of them had felt it upon their skin? She cannot remember.

She turns, seeing her younger brother walk slowly down the beach towards them. His approach does not feel quite so heavy as it has over the last half a year. She feels no fear as he advances, there is no intent and no expectation of her from him. A weight has been lifted from him.

Come with me.

Helaena had refused Aemond's plea to accompany him to Harrenhal, though upon learning of their mother's plan to yield the city to Rhaenyra, she had agreed to flee King's Landing; he on Vhagar, she on Dreamfyre, his niece clutched tightly to her chest.

It had been an age since Aemond had had the pleasure of witnessing his older sister on dragonback, and she was as graceful a rider as he had remembered, despite the whimpering child that clutched tightly to her clothes.

The rumble of their dragons nestled beside each other within the dunes brings him a sense of peace. They are as much a comfort to each other as Helaena is to him. There is no certainty that Dorne can house them forever, but for the moment there is no war, no threat to their lives, no discontent, simply brother and sister discovering a brief moment of peace that they have never known before.

Aemond stops short of touching Helaena as he comes to stand behind her, despite the way his fingers flex with the urge to. He has not yet earned that right, not after how he has behaved, compelled by fear and desperation.

He eyes her carefully as she stares wistfully out to sea, the breeze gently blowing her silver hair around her head, as though it is strands of delicate silk.

"You want to know if I still see it, do you not?" She eventually asks, her voice soft.

"Yes," is all he is able to utter, voice thick with emotion.

She turns then, looking at him, her expression relaxed and almost dreamy. "You are never seen again," she repeats, "but it is because you are finally free."

Aemond lets out a breath he had not know he had been holding in, a tear rolling down his unmarred cheek. The relief that floods through him makes him feel as though he could simply float away. He needs to anchor himself.

As his hand wraps itself around Helaena's forearm, she does not flinch or pull away. There is understanding in her eyes as she looks upon him, and a promise that in spite of the uncertainty of their future, it is one they shall both live to see.

[varpusvaras]

The days continue like that.

Fox tries his best to continue focusing solely on Leia. He feeds her, plays with her, puts her down for a nap. Feeds her, bathes her, puts her to bed.

They continue to keep watch in turns. Ben stays up first, while Fox sleeps the best he can, and then he stays up until the suns start to rise.

Then they do it all over again.

Ben does most of the housework. Fox thinks that he takes pity on him, and lets him focus on taking care of Leia, instead of making him do any of the maintenance that the house needs every day. Fox tries not to feel too bad about it.

The days and nights go by.

Leia starts to get a little restless. Fox hasn't had the courage to let her outside, in case they are spotted. Or in case there are any of the gangs or other dangers lurking around. Or because the days are hot, and Leia's skin is light and sensitive, and Fox doesn't want to expose her to the suns too much.

He sees Ben watching them. It almost looks like he is getting a little restless, too.

That night, after Fox has gotten Leia to fall asleep, Ben speaks.

"I think we are out of immediate danger now", he says. "Of course, it might just be because they haven't managed to track us down yet, but perhaps we can afford to relax a little."

Fox is not sure if he wants to relax a little.

He is, quite frankly, a little afraid of what will happen if he does so.

He can see that there is something else tied to what Ben is saying, though.

"Are you getting tired of staying inside the house with us around the clock, Kenobi?" He asks.

Ben makes a little huff. Fox doesn't know if it's a laugh or a sigh.

"Not that I don't enjoy your company", he says. "But I do have a job. Or at least I had a few days ago. I might already be laid off for not turning up for my shifts. Things are a bit scarce here, and even though there are various jobs available, getting one that is at least somewhat on the side of legality is always a bothersome thing. And, since things are scarce, they cost credits. Even more so now, as there are three mouths to feed, instead of one."

He looks at Leia, and smiles slightly.

"Even if one of the mouths is smaller than the other two", he says. He sounds fond as he speaks, and there is a look in his eyes that Fox knows.

He wonders who exactly Ben is thinking about when he looks at her.

"I do have credits on me", he says. "A lot of them."

Ben turns to look back at him. He raises a brow.

"And they cannot be traced back to you?" He asks.

"No", Fox answers. "They were reserved exactly for a situation like this. Just like everything else we have with us."

He decides not to think too much about that right now. He's doesn't have the energy to start and really think about how everything they have with them is everything they currently have left.

Ben nods. He is quiet for a while, clearly thinking.

"I will still go out tomorrow, to see if I still have a job", he says. "We do need to get more supplies as well at some point. Might as well do it at the same time."

That is true. Fox has supplies with him, but they are not going to last forever, and they need to keep up a stock, in case they need to leave again.

So he nods.

"Good. I will leave more weapons for you. But do not stay and fight. If they come, flee. Do not worry about me or anyone else."

Fox nods again.

It's for the best. If he flees, they will probably not go after the boy.

"I don't think I could even fight against all of them", he admits. "It would be a losing battle from the start. Most likely Vader himself would come after her-"

He stops talking when he sees the expression on Ben's face.

He looks like he has seen a ghost.

He stands there, his face white and his eyes wide, and Fox isn't sure if he is even breathing anymore.

He looks more like a ghost himself.

"Ben?" Fox calls. He doesn't seem to hear him. "Ben? General Kenobi?"

Nothing.

"Obi-Wan?"

That gets him to move again. Ben breathes in sharply, and his eyes focus fully back on Fox.

"He..." His voice comes out as a strained whisper. "He's...alive? Anakin is alive?"

Fox nods.

Ben sits down on the floor. He stares at the wall, and when he doesn't get up after a while, Fox stands up, and carefully pulls him back to his feet. He walks him all the way to the bed and makes him sit down on it, next to Leia, who is thankfully still sleeping.

Ben doesn't say anything. He just keeps staring somewhere, somewhere beyond the walls of the house.

Fox takes the first watch for the night.

[senualothbrok]

Come What May

Summary: On what Gale believes is his last night alive, you cannot give him your body. But there are countless ways to declare love, and infinite ways to express it.

An alternative act 2 romance scene, featuring a Tav who is a cleric of Ilmater. "Come What May" is a song from "Moulin Rouge".

AO3 link

Non-18+. Angst with a happy ending.

Trigger warnings: references to prostitution (Tav's mother), sexual trauma, grief/bereavement, graphic depictions of illness, Gale's suicidal ideation.

A/N: This fic is a response to the anon who requested an alternative act 2 romance scene between Gale and a Tav who wants to save intimacy for after marriage. I feel that I should apologise because I am clearly incapable of writing a straightforwardly sweet/romantic piece which does not involve trauma and angst of some sort. I have no idea why this happened, please forgive me.

Please note the trigger warnings and exercise self-care. It is, however, angst with a happy ending.

I highly recommend listening to "Come What May" from Moulin Rouge during/after you read this.

I deliberated over whether to post this. It feels like my weakest work, and I feel slightly ashamed about it. I'm still not sure if it's good enough to post, but decided to bite the bullet because I wanted to give it to the anon who reached out. I really hope it does bring some comfort and enjoyment to someone out there.

I cannot thank my dear friends @inglorionamy-ammy and @dekariosclan enough for being truly wonderful beta readers and helping me with some major edits on this piece. Thank you and I am forever grateful for your kind hearts and keen minds.

“I’m in love with you.”

There is anguish in Gale’s eyes. His voice trembles with fear and urgency. You feel it all, a sunbeam shooting through the blue-green haze he has conjured around you. For you. 

You gaze at him, breathless. Nothing compares, not even the beauty and wonder of his creation. When Gale looks at you, you do not feel dread, that ancient squirming beneath your skin. He is not the lumbering colossus of your nightmares, leaving a trail of whimpering bruises on your mother’s flesh. When he is near, you feel a yearning to draw closer, not away. You had never thought that possible with a man.

In that moment, you are possessed by a wild terror. An agonising thought that he will slip through your fingers, as though he never was. His last night alive. 

Your heart surges, and you cannot stop it. You answer without thinking.

“I’m in love with you too.”

Panic seizes you. Your admission is a sacred boundary crossed. A bulwark broken. You have the urge to bolt before all is lost.

But then Gale’s face lifts. It radiates with a smile, and all at once, you are beaming with the knowledge that you are the cause. Fleetingly, you let yourself imagine the miracle of seeing that smile again and again for the rest of your days. It is not a leering grin from which you flee, nor a repulsed grimace from which you hide. Sometimes, in his presence, there is something about solitude that no longer feels like safety, but loss. It bewilders you.

He huffs out a laugh, and you are mesmerised by the curl of his eyelashes, delicate as butterfly wings. 

“That’s a relief. It’d be a shame to spend my final hours making an ass of myself.”

There is a flame in his eyes that sets you alight. You cannot look away. You do not want to. Something swollen simmers in the space between you, just as it had that night when the Weave had made you one. 

He dips towards you. You are drifting towards him, dizzy from his scent. It is like nothing you have breathed before. There is no trace of sourness, no stale grease. It is sandalwood and leather, scrolls and soap. You are entranced by the plump curve of Gale’s lips, the soft earth of his eyes. In your mind, you see the smooth curve of his shoulders, broad and welcoming. His feather light fingers turning a page, like a sculptor’s touch on setting clay. 

The glaring marks on your mother’s neck, withering into wounds. The blood of her scabs, pooling in her navel.

You flinch.

Confusion flits across his features. You shift away.

“I'm sorry,” you manage. “I can't.”

You are winded by his spasm of hurt, a storm of despair, rejection, doubt. Part of you wishes you did not have this gift, this curse of Ilmater - to read others’ pain, to feel others' suffering so deeply it becomes your own. And you know, as you reel from the chains you cannot shed, that you should say no more. But you cannot bear it. You cannot let him suffer from a lie.

“I love you,” you choke. “But I can't.”

His brows steeple. He is silent. The thought that he does not believe you is a torment. You cannot be another loss, another reason for him to believe his life means nothing. To convince himself there is no one who would mourn his death. 

The words spill out as though you are clutching, searching. 

“I made a vow.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath. “A vow.” His gaze darkens. “You're promised to another.”

“No.” You jerk your head, frantic. “No. It’s not that…” 

He stiffens, as though he is braced for a blow. That he would expect harm from you is devastating.

“I made a promise to Ilmater,” you confess. “I can't be… intimate with anyone. Not like that.”

His eyes widen. You notice that there are flecks of gold in the brown of his irises, flaring with surprise. You fumble for proof, excuses, anything to skirt around the edge of it. The scar inside you that no one but Brother Rogier has seen. Your burden, your wound. Yours and yours alone.

“It keeps me safe.” You sound frenetic. “So that I can heal. I can't be charmed, or harmed by phantasm. Ilmater protects me from–”

It is ridiculous. You feel it as you speak. To suggest that such feeble protections would keep you from the magnitude of his love, when he is certain he will soon be dust and ash. Insulting. You are ashamed.

Disbelief curdles in the tight line of his lips. 

“Please. There’s no need for that.” He looks away. “You have a compassionate heart. That much is clear. But there's no need to go to such lengths to spare what remains of my pride.”

You stare at him, bereft. “Gale–”

“I understand perfectly.” His voice is broken glass. “And I would never force my heart on someone who doesn't reciprocate my affections, no matter how pitiful I may appear.”

He turns his back to you. You can no longer see his face. This is the right thing, you tell yourself. The good thing. He will walk away, and you will remain intact. Safe. You will endure. 

But a frenzy has come over you. As you watch the sagging of his shoulders, the clenching of his hands, you realise that you do not want it. You do not want this sacrifice, this secret. 

You want him.

You have never wanted anything so much.

You lurch forward. He spins around at the desperate questing of your fingers, lacing into his. You fall to your knees, pressing his hand to your heart. Recognition sparks in his eyes as your tadpole brushes against his.

“Please,” you whisper. “Let me show you.”

****

She used to be beautiful, you thought, kneeling there beside her. You stared at the welts marring her olive skin, her scarlet hair flaking to rust. There was a sore on your mother's thigh, weeping with pus, and you looked away when Brother Rogier pressed on it, ashamed at your squeamishness. 

You had seen far worse, waiting in dark alleyways and side streets while she heaved, clamped against the wall by some hooded giant, or kneeling as a grunting shadow loomed over her. You had never felt disgust or shock, only vague impatience, as you watched her finish and rearrange her skirts. Coins jangled in her pockets as she took your hand, bounding towards the promise of candlelight in the distance.  Later on those nights, she would hold you close in a warm bed, lulling you to sleep with whispered songs. With a full stomach and a formless hope, you ignored the greasy stench of strangers’ sweat which she could never shed.

It angered you, how nauseous you felt, as you listened to the bubbling crackle of your mother's breathing. You were only ten, but you were no longer a child, and you knew her moments were numbered. To feel disgust as she lay there, leaking into a peeling pallet, a guttering flame - it was the greatest betrayal. A sin you could never forgive. When Brother Rogier covered your mother's modesty with his usual gentleness, you started to cry. 

You had been suspicious of him at first, stooped and shrouded in his tattered grey robe. You had never met a priest of Ilmater. All you could see was his bald head, so shiny it looked wet, and the backs of his calloused hands, hairy as a beast’s. When he first took hold of your mother after her collapse, you screamed.

But he did not scold or strike you. He spoke to you softly, as an equal, not a child. 

“I want nothing from your mother, or from you,” he said. “I have sworn a vow of chastity.”

He had crouched to look you in the eye. It was a dignity you had never been given before, as the ugly runt of a streetwalker. It made you feel like he truly saw you, in a way that no one but your mother did.

“It means I will never take a woman or a man. She is safe with me. And so are you.”

And you were. With him, you felt safe. He was the only other person who would touch her, when  the sickness ravaged her body and her mind.  He tended to her in the temple with poultices and prayers, giving you food, water and shelter. She was well beyond thanking him by then, all speech and thought swallowed up in decay. Yet when her fire was snuffed out, he was the one who stood with you, cleaning her for burial. He was the one who anointed her so carefully, so reverently, for a return to Ilmater’s embrace.

“Ilmater sees you,” Brother Rogier had said. “He bears your suffering.”

And as you wept into your mother's cold, hard hands, with Brother Rogier steadfast beside you, you thought of every stranger who sucked and thrust your mother's beauty out of her. You thought of their relentless claws in the darkness, and Brother Rogier’s tender fingers in the light. You thought of your life, broken and empty, but for Ilmater's unexpected kindness.

And you made a promise. You promised you would never give your body as your mother had. All that you were, all that you had, you vowed to give to the Crying, Broken God, the one who stood with you and endured.

****

There is a tiny scar near his temple, framed by a dew drop of a mole. You had never noticed them before. As you lie facing him, cocooned in the illusion of the lush grass beneath and the boundless night above, you drink in every pore of his bronze-kissed face, every shadow that lifts as his gaze roams over you. You feel it like a caress, drifting over the patches and blemishes marring your skin, and for the first time in your life, you do not feel the need to hide them. 

“Tav.” His voice is so low, you strain to hear it. “I’m so sorry.”

He draws closer. He has seen the gaping hole inside you, and he remains. You can feel his longing to comfort, his desire to heal. It is a familiar urge, your second nature. It would be a gift, if you could accept his reassurance. If you could rest in his embrace. If only.

He senses your hesitation. Abruptly, he pauses, his fingers hovering above yours.

“Is this… alright?” Worry twists his features. “Are you comfortable with–”

“It’s alright.” 

He gestures between you. “Because if it makes you feel uncomfortable, I can–”

“It doesn’t.” 

He frowns, questioning, fretting. 

“I'm sorry.” You look down. “I'm sorry I can't…”

He jolts. Your breath hitches as his fingers find the point of your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.

“I love you.” His brow quivers. “There are countless ways to declare love. Infinite ways to express it. The joining of bodies, the pleasures of the flesh…they're but one stitch in a vast tapestry. My love for you goes far deeper, burns far brighter.”

You gaze at him, motionless. When you speak again, your voice is torn.

“I want to. With you. One day, when I’m not...” 

You grimace as the images flash through your mind. The weeping scratches on your mother’s breast. The oily sheen on her calloused skin. You try to blink them away.

“When I can, I want to.”

He nods slowly, firmly. He shines, as though there are no more shadows between you. That there never could be.

“It’s different with you.” You try to explain. “When I’m with you, I don’t have to hide. When I’m close to you, I feel…safe.”

You know it is not enough, but it is all you have. You can only give him the truth, no more, no less.

“You’re not like the others,” you say finally. “I… want to be with you. To…touch you.”

You clasp his hand. There is the faintest glow of lavender that trails down the muscles of his neck, a glinting sliver of his chest through the opening of his robe. You look at him with concern. He grimaces slightly. You think you see a trace of embarrassment, but you are not sure. 

“I - ah –” 

His mouth opens, closes. He struggles for words.

“Is it hurting?” You wince. “We can try that poultice again, I have some in my–”

“I’m alright,” he huffs. “I’m quite alright, Tav.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Not…quite.” He shakes his head. “Not now. It’s–”

He bites his lip. There is a strange silence, as though you have reached a frontier you cannot pass. And yet, the intensity of his gaze draws you, like a thread tethering your soul to his. Your fingers follow its path, hovering over the dark ring at his centre. He tilts his head, and almost imperceptibly, he nods.

His eyelids flutter at your touch. The lines of the orb feel like a scar, a stitch sinking into his skin. There is a coldness to the purple pulse under your fingers. You notice that Gale has stopped breathing. You draw back.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” he answers immediately. His lips are parted. You catch the wet glimmer of his tongue. “Not at all.”

He clears his throat. You swallow. For a moment, you cannot look at each other. He runs his hand through his hair, while you fuss at your tunic. A hushed heat falls over you, and as if on cue, you both roll onto your backs, fixing your gazes on the celestial canvas. 

It is quiet for a long time. And then your hand returns to his, as if it belongs there. You trace the grooves on his palm, as he caresses the callouses of your knuckles.

“I would wait an eternity for you.” His voice is rough, fractured. “If only I could…but the orb, the fate Mystra demands of me–”

“You don’t deserve this,” you choke.

He scoffs, a burst of anger and disgust. “I was foolish. Selfish. It was unconscionable. I endangered everyone around me–”

You spin back to him. “You don’t deserve this, Gale. Not this. Not her abandonment and punishment. Not any of it.”

He stares at you. There is both a hardening and a softening in him as he wrestles with your words. You understand. You know how it feels to grapple with a burden, haunted by whether you can ever lay it down. Plagued by whether you should.

A tangle of hair falls into your eyes. Slowly, tentatively, he reaches up to tuck it behind your ear. Your skin tingles from the ghost of his touch.

“I could never tire of looking at your face,” he breathes. “Hearing your voice, seeing you smile. Watching you laugh. Being with you, basking in the miracle of your presence.” He closes his eyes, as if committing you to memory. “When the time comes, this is what I’ll picture. Only you.”

The sorrow of his smile floods you. The resolution, the resignation in it. All at once, you are drowning. He gasps, flinching forwards. 

“Please.” His thumb draws gentle circles on your cheek, brushing away your falling tears. “My love, please don't cry.”

He speaks with a tortured awe, as though no one has ever wept from his pain. 

“I would never want to bring you grief. Only joy. Beauty. Happiness and wonder.”

“Then don't do it.” You try to stifle your sobs. “We can work this out together. You don’t have to die.”

You cup his flickering hand against your skin. 

“Any goddess who would ask you to do this isn’t worthy of your love. You're worth more than any mistakes you’ve made. So much more than this cruel forgiveness. You’re… everything.”

Ilmater would never ask this. He would see Gale, his regrets, his triumphs, his goodness and kindness. His love. Ilmater would bear his suffering as his own. He would walk with Gale through the roses and the thorns. You wish you could make him see.

But he does not see it. “Please don't cry,” is all he says, as he wipes away your tears. 

***

“What's your happiest memory?” 

It feels like a deflection at first. A misguided focus on your sorrow instead of his own. You do not want to back down. You want to convince him that Mystra is wrong, that he deserves to live, that he should endure. But there is a plea in his question, a ragged insistence, and you cannot refuse him.

You close your eyes as you consider. 

“My mother loved to sing,” you start. “When she sang, it was like time stood still. Her voice was so beautiful… I can’t describe it, but I remember it. Everything about her was beautiful… until she got sick.”

You feel your mother’s crimson waves, wrapped like a veil around you. The cradle of her arms, so thin and willowy, yet strong as spider silk. 

“Just before she got sick, my mother took me to a tavern to see Red Millie. A singer - you won’t have heard of her, but she was a celebrity around our parts. The barkeep took one look at us and tried to throw us out, but we managed to hide away at the back.”

You remember your glee, sneaking with your mother through the gaps in the crowd, shrouded in shadows. There was a whimsy, a spirit within your mother that no amount of degradation and destitution could ever kill. Not until the very end.

Gale’s jaw clenches. “Blind prejudice. Needless cruelty, to deny such simple pleasures to a woman and her child. What I wouldn’t do to give that fool a piece of my mind.” 

A tide of tenderness washes over you. You squeeze his hand. 

“It wouldn’t have changed anything. But thank you.” 

Reluctantly, he eases. His anger moves you in a way you cannot describe. You are reminded of how Brother Rogier chased off the boys that spat and threw stones at you, as though there was nothing that mattered more than your dignity. 

“It was incredible, anyway,” you go on. “My first time at a real show. It was the only time I saw my mother’s face light up like that. Red Millie had red hair just like hers, and a voice that could bring warriors to their knees. And that night, she sang this song, a song I’ll never forget.”

It takes you unawares, how clearly you can still hear it. How it echoes inside you like a temple bell.

“Afterwards, my mother looked at me like she’d never done before. She was smiling, and there were tears in her eyes, and she held me so tightly I thought she would never let me go.”

Your chest heaves. She is a bottomless ache. You struggle to find your breath.

“What was the song?” Gale asks softly. 

The grasp of his hand stills you. No one but Brother Rogier has ever heard you sing. You have always thought your song fragile, brittle, like thawing ice. It has always been a secret part of yourself, set aside for your mother and Ilmater alone. But when Gale asks, it is a foregone conclusion. Something you give him freely and without reservation.

And so, with your tears mirrored in his eyes, you sing him your mother’s song.

“Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place

Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace

Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste

It all revolves around you

And there's no mountain too high

No river too wide

Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side

Storm clouds may gather

And stars may collide

But I love you

Until the end of time

Come what may

I will love you

Until my dying day”

****

“Come.” He stands suddenly, lithe with determination. “I want to show you something.”

He reaches down to you, and when you take his hand, the world around you dissolves into a whirl of blinding light. You stumble, but with his fingers intertwined in yours, there is no space inside you for trepidation. There is only wonder.

He strides forward. You gasp as a vista of oak, marble, and vellum streams from his free hand. Not for the first time, you are enthralled by Gale in his element, working miracles from the Weave. You marvel at the sculptures and paintings that appear around you, the plush seats and ornate walls enlivened by the spines of a thousand books.  Within this sanctuary of deep reds and gilded greens, open tomes and scribbled notes gleam in the glow of the fireplace. All you see and feel and smell is Gale.

“This is my home in Waterdeep. The centre of my universe.”

You stand speechless, taking it all in - the gift of Gale’s trust, the purity of his love as he bears his soul to you. With a flourish, Gale leads you towards an intricately carved piano that waits in the corner of the room. 

“This is beautiful, Gale.”

You are referring to all of it - Gale's art, his home and haven, Gale himself. But Gale beams down at the piano with a special focus.

“It was my mother's.” 

His thumb grazes its elaborate markings. There is such a delicacy in the gesture. An act of worship.

“She gave it to me, when I finally got my act together and moved into my own place. What a day of joy and mourning that was.” 

He chuckles, brimming with memories. You wish you could see them all.

“She was a marvellous pianist, back in the day, when her fingers were nimbler. Truly exceptional. She was no wizard, but to hear her play–”

His hands dance, fervent with admiration.

“She played with such passion, such unparalleled mastery, that her music had a magic of its own.”

He gestures to the bench in front of the piano. As you sit, your thigh brushes against his. His fingers trail idly over the keys.

“It was always a treat as a child, to perch here beside her and watch her play. No matter how much of a menace I'd been, how exhausted she was from the endless havoc I wreaked and all the questions about the universe I demanded she answer. No matter how incandescent she was with me for burning this or summoning that…” 

He gives a huff of affection. 

“She would still invite me to sit beside her and listen. Every time.”

Gale's smile illuminates every part of him. It is a smile like no other, a fixed star in an endless night. 

“She sounds like a wonderful woman.”

He bobs his head. “Indeed. Formidable, and fearsome, and wonderful. You would like her. And she would adore you.”

There is an instant before he holds your gaze - a flurry of his fingers, a low murmur. And then, the piano bursts into life with a familiar song that shatters your heart into a thousand pieces before restoring them one by one, sealed in gold.

You are shaking. “Gale,” you whisper through tears. “The song–”

He takes your hand and presses it against his cheek. You feel it all - the roughness, the smoothness, the swelling storm, the steady sea. There is so much more you want to tell each other, things that spill over the seams of speech, lapping at the edges of all your empty spaces. In this moment, you do not need it. You simply listen.

****

You are sitting on the balcony. Framed by golden shafts of sunlight, he looks like a vision from your dreams, real and unreal at the same time. You know everything around you is an illusion, a haze of yearning and remembrance. Yet it is truer than anything you have ever seen or felt, greater than all your nightmares, the spectres of the past. It is his world, melting into yours, making you one.

“My favourite spot.” 

He pats the velvet seat beneath you. Dust motes shimmer in the rising air.

“Many times, evening turned to night and back to daybreak once more while I sat here, lost in words.”

He looks out into the horizon, the shifting waves and seagulls soaring overhead. You are reminded that he has created all of this from memory. The undulations of the arches before you, the chiselled grooves of the stone floor beneath you. The bustling docks and well worn buildings of Waterdeep in the distance. The empty wine glasses on the table, reflecting the setting sun. You feel the love and longing in his creation. You see the mourning in his frown, the dark determination in the twisting of his mouth. A farewell. 

“You'll come back here,” you tell him. “When this is all over. You'll be back.”

He turns back to you. There is a faltering, a crack in his conviction. You hope, with every ardent prayer within you, that it is enough.

Your hand seeks his. “What's your happiest memory?”

A fleeting surprise passes over his features, but there is no hesitation. 

“This,” he says. “Now. Being here with you.”

You are taken aback by the force of his sincerity, the gratitude that glistens in his gaze. Of all his accolades, all his many accomplishments and adventures, of all the people he has loved and lain with, this is what he cherishes most. You, bruised and battered as you are. Only you.

“And for you, I’ll wait.” He clasps both of your hands in his. “I'll wait for as long as it takes. A thousand years could pass, and I'd still be here, waiting.” His lips curl. “If you'll still have me, that is.”

You cannot help but laugh at his unexpected pun, and the hint of pride in it. Your cheeks flush with the implication of his smirk. It takes you a beat to register what he has said. When you do, you halt.

“Is that a promise?”

He freezes. Desperately, you search his face.

“It's a promise.” You surge forward. “You're going to wait till the day I can give myself to you completely, mind, body and soul. You're going to live.”

He looks down at his hands, wrapped up in yours. You can feel the roiling inside him, the relentless battle between hope and sacrifice. And when his eyes meet yours again, you are overcome by a love that blazes through everything hidden and broken within you. 

There is the ghost of a nod, and his hair skims your neck as you reach for him. When your lips find his, he trembles, his hands questing, coming to rest at the small of your back. You cup his cheeks, and the caress of his tongue against yours is a prayer answered. A vow.

In the warmth of his embrace, you watch the weary sun take its dive into the sea. He holds you close, and as the piano whispers your mother’s song, you let the gentle rhythm of his breaths lull you into sleep.

******************************

Liked this fic? Check out my other work.

[leavemeslowly]

If you wonder why I am so afraid than you must know that when you don’t write or answer for longer than usual I am terrified you will never write again. I attempt to foresee or prepare myself for when you decide to stop this nonsense we are involved in.

I try not to catch feelings but I also catch myself smiling at my phone while reading your texts and thinking about you when I fall asleep. I hadn’t been writing in a long time but now, after I have met you, it comes easier than ever. You say, and rightfully so, we have to see where it leads us. I want it to lead me back to you over and over again. I haven’t felt this kind of peace in forever.

My mind is a stormy sea with waves crushing my tiny boat. You silence the storm. You distract me and I trust you.

I told someone you are obscure, but harmless. I have met a bunch of guys who I knew were harmful without even needing to know their names first. I was falling for their traps even though I knew better. Still, I am scared you and I, us, is all in my head and there is a line I should not cross.

Moreso, I don’t want to hurt you. Yet, I know I am capable of it. Because hurting you and hurting myself in turn would mean these feelings are real and mean more than a passing glance. I can’t think that way. I silence the voice inside my head screaming at me to run. To never write you again. To let it go because whatever is happening cannot be real since I do not deserve it.

I have never comprehended the art of being patient or loyal. I was taught to flee once it gets too confusing. I was taught to suffer in silence, to eat up tears and smile. I have learnt nothing good will come of vulnerability, but perhaps I was miseducated?

[satans-codpiece]

Ramattra for the first time ask - 62 or 65

-dalishthunder

Hehehe I write about 62 a lot, so I'm gonna do 65 >:)

65) …you talk about being with them for the rest of your life.

It comes after a fight.

A screen is shattered in his office, half the contents of his table thrown to the floor. He lays with you as best he can on the tiny couch that was only ever meant for just you. His head on your belly, both arms pressed onto either side of you, his legs so long he's almost having to crouch just to get this close.

"Why are you here?" He asks after a while. His words are quieter, his voice raw and synthetic, not quite processed fully.

You stroke your hand through the thick cables of his hair, pushing them idly from side to side. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you with me?" As soon as he speaks his vents open again- but none near your hands. Steam only rises from his lower back.

"Because I love you." His whole chassis shudders and he turns, pressing his faceplate into your belly. The ribbon cables fall loosely around him, obscuring his audials. He's always so shaken by the confession, how you can say such a thing so easily. "And you can't scare me off that easily. Really, you're the one stuck with me."

How you can speak with such levity while he's drowning in shame baffles him every time.

"Stuck with me forever, actually." You lean down, stretching to press your lips against one bundle of wires. His faceplate is just out of reach- until he looks up, his chin digging into you- but you reach forward anyway and kiss his array.

"You don't mean that." The self-hatred flees his voice, leaving only disbelief. "Surely, you cannot be serious."

Your eyesbrows screw together in one of those human expressions he can't quite understand. "Of course I do. I'm gonna be here as long as you want me here. Ideally, I hope it's for the rest of my life. Which is practically forever for me." You hesitate, then try to grin, to bring back that softness you're spoken with before. "Is that... okay?"

Your life.

His processes hang, cycling through and re-analyzing your speech over and over. He wants to answer, wants to say anything. He knows his internals are buzzing louder, can see the vibration meter embedded in his spine beginning to tick up- can feel the warmth that gathers about his body.

"Ramattra?"

Your entire human life.

A million questions run through his circuits, queries on longevity and survival rates. The answers don't actually matter. Because the thought of denying you this, of denying that he wants this so badly, it feels like the desire itself would rip open his plates one by one. So he nods, a jerky motion of actuators not quite obeying him. "Yes," He finally croaks, the word hardly distinguishable- and just as quickly lays his faceplate down to your stomach again.

Your fingers rifle through his cables again, the only hand stroking along his jaw plate. Warmth of his body permeates through to yours. His hand shift, turning so each palm is pressed up to your ribs. So easily could he kill you with only a motion, only a thought. Instead he squeezes, holds you just a little tighter and hopes you meant it.

[lotusrootdesignerpants]

I’m up at five to get the train two hours from the city. She drives me out to a lake, the quarry kind, and says time to hitch a ride. Sheepish. Are you crazy. Hitch or walk twenty-four kays. First are partner visa sweethearts having trance vibes, she an English rose, he Moroccan from Lake Como dripping sacred geometry bracelets. In town we get sunstroke, get to noon, uncollected, unloved, in fudge shop dairy cow kitschtopia, till she flags down a big old beast whose backseat turns out to be full of slobbering dog and detritus, like, hoarder car, and she blabs our full hike itinerary and places of residence while I clench my legs in the junked up filthy cluttered but dogless front seat and obfuscate her disclosures. Gritted teeth, girl squeeze my hand if you are capable of strangling him from behind… and then he lets us out and I’m scampering around tripping over my reprimands. We get in behind rainforest waterfalls all day and eat whole mangoes and cliff-jump and stand right in the falls being pummelled. Pools stacked on pools and pools and pools all bridged by falls. Stairway to heaven. Wiry little albinos fearless getting feet in crevices hopping right round us and leaping off. Twelve k in our bikinis. We have surgically unpicked ourselves from our lineage and then every member of that lineage, in receding order, from their forebear. I’ve had the thought: I am game to talk forever. I never want to need to break or go to sleep or anything. But then lapse and like, la petite silent mort of the ego, infinite regress of selves watching selves. Normal. And all this week I’ve been swimming circles around the teatree watering hole, running barefoot on the empty beach at dawn, getting lost in the forest, swimming in rips in storms, walking on the empty beach in storms, clearing the backlog of mental sediment until thought is distilled to a single monologue and then once the thesis is set down to a dialogue. An internal forum of supreme health. Next waterfall sweeps us 500m back. Deep qld afternoon blue, cornflower now with no canopy. Every few minutes of nothing: a deafening eruption of cicadas. Then nothing. We access a fearful memory, she comes with me into my fear, it’s educational, she wants to teach me how to feel, but I access it via thoughts: “I am suffocated. My autonomy is taken.” I am ideal for death row. I’ll grieve my own life with a series of cue cards, with ticker tape. I am switching over the cards or I am in the newsroom typing. Now breathwork. I get to like, almost feeling something. Gold star! Her stupidest student. Then I feel cold. I’m still in a whirlpool, flattened against a rock, hands clenched, air suddenly dark, a black-green. The shivering implodes into a feeling I’ve only ever had during sex. Quivering annihilation. Paralysis. I am laying back, in the memory, with my teen self in the bedroom, assuming the very posture. Cicada crescendo. My lip quivers, I mean pulses, as I flee. Need sun and rock. The kind paternal bone of the world. I’ve animorphed to snake. Stretch and roll. (Now I am on mushrooms on a clifftop in Herzegovina at sunset, another heatwave day, the hazy Ottoman warmth throbbing up through my spine.) She looks at me as I’m standing weakly up from chaturanga and struggling back against the current. This is the first day of my life. What’s the bright world. I don’t know where I am, I don’t know where I’ve been, but I. Know where I want to go. Oyster-blue milk starred by pondskaters spiking red into the blue opacity. Angles of the RGB light. Fern crosshatching. Yes, swear I’ll remember it… how ridiculous… I cannot forget what I have seen so clearly. It will be safekept somewhere. Because I have worded it. I made those descriptions in real time, I confess, oyster-blue, it’s true because I peeled the label straight off the world. I encountered it, FOR THE FIRST TIME, as plain text, emotional domain bypassed.

Back in rainforest (and unsteady still and amorphous and dusk coming) I am in floods of logorrhoea. Talking really earnestly about memory, knowing my handwriting when I write will be the huge rambling cobwebs that follow the use of certain drugs. Loosethumbed. I’m like, yes, yes, you’re good, you’re amazing, I’m okay. I’m just gonna do this more and more forever and why would I not? And yes community, yes intimacy, yes we must all live together and feel each other’s wounds, it’s impassioned leftist sentiment… and she’s affirming something too.

[afro-elf]

I'm not lashing out at you. You are a fellow citizen and we likely agree ideologically on 95% of things. We suffer together. And we are dependent on each other not just to survive, but to improve things.

The easiest way to do that is to vote for better policies! If Dems aren't left enough, primary them like AOC's community did to whoever held that seat before she was elected! I'll help you even!

I am not lashing out at you, but you have to understand our fates are tied. As long as the US is still a democracy, my survival depends on getting as many people who agree with me to push and vote and ACT as possible!

Retreating to our own little corners will only result in defeat. We need to band together! You can't soup kitchen and community garden the functions of the Federal government. We need real power, and we need to seize that power together!

community building is the opposite of retreating into little corners, bud!!!!! you have no idea the power that comes from a united community on the ground. it has a ripple effect. it empowers us all. we cannot rely on the dems to save any of this because they are ineffective. relying on our fellow man is all we fucking have. governments and states come and go but community is fucking forever. you need to know that if shit hits the fan you can rely on your neighbors and friends for survival! you need to know that you can care for the vulnerable and downtrodden. that shit usually starts at the bottom, not the top

lately i've been thinking a lot about this news story i saw about the west bank. i can't remember it but it was about the current seige of jenin. one of the palestinians in the video said that even if they have to flee their homes they know they can stay in the homes of neighbors and not be turned away because that is the character of the palestinian community. that should be our model here in the states not just for survival but for long-term change, that is the only way we all make it out of this in one piece