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luimagines · 8 months

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He’s Turned into a Kid Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Part three will include Twilight, Warrior and Hyrule.

Content under the cut!

Twilight

The small boy looked around quietly. He was so much smaller than you thought he would be. Curiously, he walked around everyone, taking in what everyone was wearing and what they looked like.

With enough time, of him checking everyone out and everyone staring at him, he reached up and gently ran his fingertips over his ears. “You look like me.”

He then smiles from cheek to cheek, looking so innocently happy. “No one looks like me in my village!”

Oh your heart, you kneel down. He’s taller than you this way, but you don’t mind. You doubt he does either. “Well hello there, young man. Traveling our way?”

Twilight tilts his head, looking around himself one more. You can see the way his demeanor shifts when he sees that he’s not anywhere that he recognizes. “Uh-oh...”

“What?”

“I’ve never been this far away from home before.” He clutches his arm before he turns to you, tugging on your shirt. “Hey. Are we close to Castle Town? Rusl used to go there from time to time. He might be there.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just take you straight home?” Hyrule mutters. He’s quickly elbowed by Legend and with good reason.

You’re not even in his era. You wouldn’t know how to help him get back to his village to begin with. But you can get to Castle Town from here no problem. And maybe Zelda would be able to help get Twilight back to normal. Otherwise, this might get very messy very quickly.

You hummed. “Well, what if he’s not in Castle Town? Then what would you do?”

It seems like a dumb questions, but part of you wants to be prepared for that very real possibility (certainty) when you get there.

Twilight didn’t seem to consider that. “Well, then I can take the road like he does. He says that it’s a three day trip from Castle Town to our village. So I would take me a while to get back... but I think I can do it on my own.”

“Have you done it on your own before?” You stand because your knees are starting to hurt from being in that position for so long.

“Well... no...” He looks un certain again.

You nod, sticking out your hand. He takes it without hesitation. “Well let’s try to get to Castle Town first. We need to talk to some people there anyway.”

“We do?” Wild looks around for confirmation from the others.

“Yes, Wild, we do.” You try to stress the words so he can get the hint across. “There’s a little problem that we need to see of the Princess can fix because she’s really good at magic. Right guys?”

“Right.”

“Of course.”

“Naturally. We were already on the way there.”

“See?” You turn back to Twilight. He looks calmer now and he even starts to swing your hand back and forth. “We’ll help you out, ok?”

“Ok!” He smiles back, humming a small tune to himself before he changes his direction with a little skip .”Let’s go!”

You giggle, letting yourself b puled forward as he charges. “Easy! Hey, hold on!”

“This is going to be so much fun! I’ve never been on an adventure before.”

“Well hopefully this is a nice one.” You smile. He was a cute kid.

Warrior

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” Warrior wrings his hands in front of himself, toeing the ground shyly.

Everyone stands frozen at the sight of him.

He’s hardly at the height of your hip and he can’t be any older than seven years old. He’s adorable. It’s not fair.

Warrior shuffles nervously on the spot. He knows that everyone is looking at him. He looks around for a moment before he shyly tugs on your shirt. “Where’s my mama? Have you seen her? She’s really pretty and tall and wears a lot of red.”

You gulp and kneel down to meet his height. “No, I haven’t, honey. Sorry.”

You can see his lip wobble before you put your hands on his shoulders. You smooth down his shirt and brush away the tears that have yet to fall. “Don’t cry. We’ll find her. Don’t worry.”

“She’s probably looking for me.” He tightens his hold on his shirt. “I’m going to get in trouble.”

“No. No, no, no, no, no-” You brush him down a bit more, fussing over him. “We’ll find her and explain to her what happened, ok? You won’t get in trouble. We’ll all friends here so we’ll look after you, ok? We’ll help you.”

“Promise?” He looks up to you with wide, wet eyes and your heart aches.

“I promise.”

“A heartbreaker before he even knows what that means.” Twilight shakes his head. “Using his looks to get something his way.”

“Twilight.” You hiss, turning to him. “Not helping.”

Warrior nods and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “Ok... Thank you...”

You nod and stand up again, holding out your hand for him to take. “Ok. We need to make our way to Castle Town. It’s about a day away. Think you can make the trip with us?”

He seems to take courage and nods, taking your hand in his. “I can! I live close by to Castle Town! It would help me get home faster!”

“Ok.” Legend stretches. “But we’d need to talk to Princess Zelda first before we can help you get home.”

He tilts his head. “Princess Zelda?”

“Yup!” You start to walk forward, signaling for the group to start making the trip. “She’s really nice. You’d like her.”

He hums quietly before he shifts to stand a little closer to your side. “My papa says he works close to the princess. He says she’s very pretty... Is that true?”

“She is very pretty. Yes.” You agree readily, mostly to humor him.

“Is she as pretty as you?”

You trip over your own two feet. You turn to look at him, not wanting to make it awkward. Even if you’re incredibly flustered. “I would say she’s prettier than me.”

“Impossible.”

Many of the others start snickering around you. You turn to give them a mild glare. Warrior doesn’t seem to notice.

“Mama would like you. She likes pretty things.”

You have to bite your lip. “Thank you, sweetheart. That’s very kind of you.”

Hyrule

“My name is Link, what’s yours?” The small child looks up at you with a bright smile. Hyrule got hit with a magic blaster faster than you could call out to him and this was the being who stood in his place.

You stutter out your name with wide eyes. He giggles and adjusts the hat on his head. “That’s a pretty name. It’s nice meeting you. Goodbye.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” You dive to catch his arm. Your action startles him and you’re quick to let him go again. The others around you are equally as startled but offer you no help. You try to catch your breath, taking a knee to match his line of sight better. “Where are you going?”

The boy suddenly eyes you suspiciously. “Why?”

“Why are you alone?” You ask him instead. “It’s not safe to go alone.”

He hums and kicks the dirt under his foot with his toe. “But I’m always alone.”

“They’re right though.” Four offers a little assistance. “It’s not safe to go alone. Do you know how to use a sword?”

The child looks a little uneasy. “...My aunts don’t want me to use a sword. They say that I have o get stronger first. My sisters try to keep me from using too much magic- but I’m really strong now! So I’ll be ok.”

You snap your fingers. “The fairies!” You turn to the others of the group. “Maybe they can help us fix this.”

The small boy takes a step back, clutching his hands over his chest. “I didn’t say fairies-”

“Are there any Great Fairies even nearby?” Legend runs his hands down his face. “It would take a lot to find them. Their fountains can be well hidden enough to avoid detection- not to mention the potential dangers that surround them.”

“We have to try.” You press on. “They might be strong enough to help him!”

Time takes a knee getting close to the child. “Do you know where they are?”

Tiny hands cover a tiny mouth. He shakes his head.

That’s...odd, you think to yourself. Hyrule wasn’t exactly open about it, but he didn’t try to his relationship with the fairies around his home. You tilt your head. “Well that’s ok if you don’t knw where they are. We can look them for them together.”

“You can’t.’ He whispers. He sounds scared suddenly. “I won’t tell you anything. I won’t let you hurt them!”

He turns to run away again but time grabs his arm again. this time he tries to fight back and Time is at a loss of what to do. You dive in, grabbing his legs as he starts to kick. “We’re not trying to hurt them!”

“Let me go!”

“We just need help!”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Enough!” Time booms in what you can only call the angry dad voice. He holds the child close to his chest, keeping him off of the ground. Hyrule stops moving, but he begins to shake, little tears star coming down his face.

You let him go and start to dry his tears and lower your voice to be as comforting as possible. “No one is going to hurt them and no one is going to hurt you, ok? We have a problem and we just want to know if they can do something about it.”

You feel bad but you don’t want him to run off, especially since he’s not where he thinks he is.

He sniffles and Time slowly lowers him to the ground again. “Better?”

Hyrule nods, pulling his hat over his face. He looks up at you with wide, wet eyes. “Promise.”

You hold out your pinky. “I promise.”

He copies your movement and nods. “If you hurt them-”

“We won’t.” You sigh. “Just stay with us for a little bit, ok? Just until our problem is fixed.”

Hyrule whines, stepping forward to hug you. You have no idea why or what’s going through his head, but you hug him back, rubbing what you hope are soothing circles on his back.

“I’ll be watching you.” He tries to sound threatening. “And not because you’re pretty.”

You have to bite back a snort. “Of course.”

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse #lu x reader #I WANTED THESE TO BE CUTE #WHY DID SO MANY OF THEM TURN ANGSTY #DX #I'M SORRY #</3

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snaileer · 1 year

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A Comet’s Flare - Part 1

Inspired by this

When Alfred hears a knock on the Manor doors, he thinks nothing of it. Bruce is still at WE for a little longer and the children of the manor at school, so he opens the heavy doors to tell the guest as such and take a message.

The words die in his throat.

There’s no reason for it, not really. The young man standing before him is no more unusual than any other, his features bearing a passing resemblance to the many occupants of the Manor but only in the way that many young men with the same characters seem to look alike.

Alfred could not tell you what it was that made his mouth dry out and his steps falter.

But he could tell you with certainty that it had something to do with the way he did not gasp or feel his heart stutter in his chest.

Instead, Alfred feels a wave of melancholy wash over him and steps aside to gesture the man in.

“Would you like some tea, sir?” Are the first words he manages to get out.

The man gives him a gentle smile as he steps inside, “That would be lovely, Mr.Pennyworth.”

Alfred leads the man towards the kitchen, feeling his back prickle with the soft footsteps behind him.

He doesn’t turn back around even once the kettle is on the stove and the man speaks again, “You already know why I’m here then?”

Alfred sets his hands on the counter in front of him, gripping it for stability. “I thought I’d have more time.”

“You’ve had quite a bit of time Mr.Pennyworth. Time has been rather lenient about it, in fact, letting you borrow so much.”

“I have work to do,” Alfred says, voice tight and insistent, “The West wing is due for cleaning, I’ve just ordered the ingredients for young Master Damian’s favorite dish, it’s nearly his birthday you know and there’s a gala on the horizon- I can’t leave now, it’d never get done-

“Mr.Pennyworth, there will always-“

“Alfred. Please,” Alfred turns and faces him, “Please just call me Alfred.”

The man gives a small nod in concession, “Alfred, could you honestly say that if you finished those things, it would be the right time? That there would ever be a right time?”

“But my boy- Bruce- he needs me, they all do! I couldn’t just leave them behind like that, let them fall apart. I raised him, I helped raise all of them-“

“And now you have to trust that you raised them to stand on their own.”

The screeching of the tea kettle interrupts Alfred’s reply, making him startle like a young boy. He moves it from the stove and sets about making the tea.

After a moment’s hesitation he pulls the Wayne china down and sets a cup and saucer in front of them both.

He’s silent as he pours the hot liquid and then sits next to the man with shaky legs.

He notices the large ring the man is wearing when it clinks against the porcelain. A skull shines in the metal, dark eyes staring back at him.

“Tell me about them.”

Alfred pulls his gaze up from the ring to the man’s face, giving a hum in confusion.

“Your charges, the ones whom you care for so much that you delayed your passing by more than a few months.”

Alfred’s mouth felt dry again and he sips his tea before finding himself capable of answering, “Bruce is… to say, he’s reserved,” Alfred throws his thoughts outward in lieu of his lack of action, “He seems to think that covering up his emotions will prevent him from feeling them at all. It’s… something that I fear I may have passed on to him. The conviction that if you will it, you can control it. And we see how well that worked for me,” Alfred looks down at his hands shaking gently in his lap, he clenches his fist to still them.

“It seems to have served him well enough, Alfred. He’s achieved many things. Many people would say that that conviction has saved their lives.”

“Many people would not see how it weighs on him,” He snaps back, “His accomplishments mean nothing to him in the face of his children, and too often does that same conviction get in the way of showing them he cares.” Alfred pauses, “I let it do the same to me, and I see the consequences every day, he prioritizes his mission, his work, over his life; I did- I do the same, choosing to ignore-“

Alfred stops, mouth open in what would be a gasp, “Julia!” He turns to the man next to him, seeing his hands wrapped around the fragile cup and an eyebrow raised in question, “Please I have to tell my daughter, she lives in England still, I left her there, I need more-“

“Time?”

Alfred stops.

“But I’ve already left her behind once, I couldn’t- I can’t do that to her again!”

The man said nothing.

“I can’t! It would be unfair, not to me- to her!”

The man hums, gazing out at the garden Alfred so dedicatedly cultivates- would he have to hire someone to do it? Would Bruce or one of the boys pick it up when he was- “I am not Death. Death has already come. And gone. I am here because you did not.”

Alfred remains silent, trying to reframe the man, trying to understand anything, make sense of the why-

“It has been a long time since I was in the living world.” The man is still looking out the window as he taps his ring to the granite countertop.

Once. Twice.

Three times.

The sound echoes.

“Too long, in fact. I believe I miss it. I should like to visit, see some things, places. Do you know a good place to watch the stars?”

Alfred almost questions him, but the answer slips from his lips, “Gotham Observatory is always open at night,” Alfred feels his brows furrow, “But you’d be more likely to see anything in the woods, there’s less light pollution.”

The man hums again, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. He takes a deep inhale and then opens them to look at Alfred, his stare heavy, “There’s a meteor shower the third night from now, I would like to see it before I return.”

Something akin to hope blooms in Alfred’s chest, “The skies will be clear for a while now I’m sure, there’s no weather for the rest of the week.”

“Three nights. Only.”

Sharpness stabs Alfred’s heart but he swallows it and nods, “Of course, thank-“

“You were telling me about your charges, Bruce and… Damian, was it?”

Alfred ignores the ugly truth and let’s himself fall into the stories about the many children Bruce has taken in-his grandchildren. He could almost believe he was reminiscing with an old war friend, detailing his favorite parts of each child that came through over the years, the things that simply drove him mad, their utter lack of care for themselves, not that he could really talk at this point but-

“Alfred? Who’s this?”

Alfred is ashamed to say he startles, if only lightly, when Bruce’s voice interrupts them.

He turns to see Bruce’s confused expression, lined with concern, curiosity, a threat assessment in the movement of his eyes over their guest.

The guest in question simply stands with a smile, finishing his tea-somehow the pot is empty- before setting the cup down on the porcelain with a light clink, “The tea was delicious, Alfred. But I believe I have to get going now, places to see, things to do, all that.” There’s a slight mischievous look to the man’s smile as he nearly glides past Bruce, “Remember Alfred. Three nights. No more.”

Bruce narrows his eyes and goes after him, “Surely I can call a cab for you then, I wouldn’t want one of Alfred’s friends to be stranded. I’d just need your name…?”

The man smiles, already opening the front door, “Actually, Mr. Wayne, I think I’ll walk. I imagine it’ll be good for me.” He huffs a laugh.

Bruce hardly has time to follow before the man steps through the doorway and Alfred’s voice calls out, “Let him go, Master Bruce.”

Bruce spares one last skeptical glance to the doors before turning back to the kitchen adjacent sitting room.

Alfred is still in the same seat as when his guest had left.

He never allows a guest to ‘let themselves out.’

Bruce scans the room, trying to piece together something from the odd behavior, his eyes snagging on the china he’d seen his mother use only once.

“Who was that Alfred? Why did he leave so quickly?” Bruce asks, voice lower than usual, as it always was when he felt too many clues weren’t adding up.

Alfred sighed, clapping his hands to his thighs before standing with his usual perfect posture. He looks to Bruce with a considering smile, “How would you like to join me for a bit of gardening, my boy? It’s been too long since you’ve walked these grounds with me.”

Bruce feels his face twitch with confusion, “Uh.. Sure, Alfred. I guess we can do that..” He says, feeling oddly wrong footed.

Alfred smiles back at him, “Wonderful, Master Bruce. Now,” Alfred steps forward, putting himself in pace next to Bruce,

“Let’s catch the sunlight before it goes dark.”

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darklinaforever · 2 months

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Was Anthony in love with Siena, and she with him ? (Because I've seen a lot of people ask this question, the answer to which is quite obvious...)

No. He liked her / had some forms of feelings for her / cared about her, and was used to her, but was clearly not in love with her.

Especially since their relationship was above all something very, very carnal, and not really emotional, something essential when talking about being in love. Anthony never seemed to talk to her about his personal demons in relation to his life and his family either.

Even when he sought to assure Bénédict that Siena would be taken care of if he ever died during the duel against Simon, it was more a way of honoring his word to her than out of love ; Anthony rightly attaches great importance to these things as his honor and duties.

Siena was the one thing Anthony had for himself even outside of his family. It was therefore an obvious way of escaping one's responsibilities concerning them ; Hence why when Siena finally leaves him for good, Anthony is finally ready to take charge of his role as viscount by choosing a viscountess, as has been expected of him for a while now.

According to season 2, Anthony explains that he never wanted to succumb to the blind delight of being in love, and even needs this feeling explained / described to him (by Daphné, his own little sister) that he doesn't really understand. So it's obvious that Anthony never felt true romantic love before Kate came into his life.

Jonathan Bailey, the actor of Anthony, himself once explained (at least it seems to me) that his character, before meeting Kate, had always established relationships in which he was certain that he would never fall in love with the womans involved.

Kate is described in the show as a woman unlike any other Anthony has ever met, by the latter himself, as well as as Anthony's real true love by Violet, during a scene where Anthony truly cries for the first time since the death of his father, upon learning that Kate has finally woken up from her coma.

As for Sienna, she also cared for Anthony, liked him / had some form of feelings for him, and was used to him. Quite obvious since she cries during their final separation. But she clearly wasn't in love with him either.

For what ? Because she was looking for stability, a way to secure her future life through a relationship with a man who would take care of her / provide for her needs. This is what Anthony represented above all in his eyes.

It's also very revealing that when he announces that he has to stop dating them, the first thing Siena says is that he had promised to always watch over her. Love or simple affection is not a question here.

Especially since Siena seems after a while to end up wanting the company of a man who values / prioritizes her in a general way, in addition to financial security. Especially since a man who prioritizes Siena, technically offers the latter much more certainty / security of the financial situation, which she must obviously understand / know.

Things she wants / needs, and which Siena eventually realizes, Anthony could never fully give her ; because of all his repeated empty promises in season 1, to always prioritize his family, and not take responsibility for her, without forgetting the commitment problems that Anthony seemed to have on the relational level in general (and of which we spectators, will learn the depth and the reason in season 2, the latter having always avoided romantic feelings since the death of his father).

Hence these reasons, why Siena ended up changing men at the end of season 1, without telling Anthony (which is still quite vicious for me but he is not better with her anyway), with the aim of putting him against the wall and finally stop their relationship (which was already going straight to the wall) for good.

But essentially, while Anthony primarily used Siena to escape responsibility, Siena primarily used Anthony for financial stability. Despite the few feelings they had for each other, their relationship was mainly based on a transactional exchange.

Through their primarily sexual affair, Anthony could escape his responsibilities as viscount, and Siena could achieve financial stability. In short, a relationship of toxic dependence (destined to be ephemeral on Anthony's side) has established itself between the two characters. A relationship therefore doomed to failure, and where romance did not really have its place, despite an attachment having developed between them with the time.

The answer to the initial question is therefore ; No. Anthony and Siena were not in love with each other. They certainly liked each other, were used to each other and above all dependent on each other. But not in love.

Siena left Anthony to live a better life for herself, and thanks to that, Anthony was finally able to take responsibility for his marriage. Thanks to this he was able to meet Kate, the real true love of his life, in addition to being the first to really introduce him to Love.

I can't even understand how people could believe that Anthony and Siena were in love with each other. Kate is obviously the one and only from this point of view.

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groguspicklejar · 10 months

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The Vows We Uphold [Chapter Fourteen]

Summary: In which a vow you once made comes to the forefront of your mind. And you must remind yourself how not to break it again.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Warnings: Angst, a bit of Cyare's backstory (i am so sorry), young!Cyare being a terror, Past Child Neglect, Childhood Traumas, soft!Din, protective!Din, Beetle being cute and cuddly, mentions of Brexlee, mentions of SA Trauma, the moment you've all been waiting for at the end :)

Word Count: 6.3k (huh... that's pretty tame, compared to the other ones)

A/N: The last semester exhausted me so badly, I'm not even sure how I got around to writing chapter 13. Then between writing the Obi-Wan fic and getting distracted by Kyle Gaz Garrick, I had to like get my shit together and we here now.

Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen

Masterlist

You wake up in his cot.

Somewhere in the time your conversation fizzled to a consoling hush, your eyes were quick to droop and sleep had taken hold of you before you could even think.

There’s no light, yet it is warm. A little cramped too, but you don’t mind. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you weren’t alone in the dark.

Your hand grazes the expanse of his chest and you stop there. His breaths are deep. They carry a calming certainty. Like the waves of an ocean. Like the clear waters of Naboo.

The steady thrum of his heartbeat is something to behold. It is the blazing fire in the middle of a blizzard. The gentle rain in the night. A sound that comforts your restless soul. It’s sacred to you. It’s sacred to the galaxy, but only you would know that. And that’s a privilege you’ll gladly carry to your grave.

When you feel his light breaths on your cheek, you're immediately aware of his missing helm.

Knowing that he trusts you enough to sleep –with his helm removed, at that– and allow himself to be this vulnerable, it unfurls a warm tenderness in your chest. The pads of your fingers delicately trace his skin. Memorizing the bone structure of his face. Tangling in his unruly curls, they feel much like the silk you used to wear on Naboo.

Your nails scrape his scalp and you swear his breathing changes. His groan echoes as he shifts. “Cyare…”

Heat flares at your cheeks at his voice, raw and unfiltered. A deep reverberation in your chest. You want to hide your face until you were quick to remember that the cot was completely dark, he can’t tell how much he’s affecting you.

You feel his bare hand squeeze your arm and you smile. “You’re awake.”

“So are you…” he muses softly, thumb rubbing gentle circles on your elbow. A quiet moment passes. “How are you feeling?”

It’s peaceful. Whatever tension charged the air in the last few weeks had dissipated throughout the night. Things had gone right back to the way they were. With the Mandalorian being as close to you as possible, unwilling to de-tangle himself from your grasp.

A wave of relief floods your soul. You’re so, so glad you had spoken your truth. Had said anything at all. Because he listened. He heard. And he’s still here. Right here with you.

It’s more than you could’ve asked for.

Should’ve asked you to be mine.

A lot more.

Your fingers trace his chin. The small pricks tickle your palm. You’ve seen the dark hairs on his forearms. You imagine the same dark strands lined across his strong jaw, rooted and growing like untamed weeds on his head.

You would’ve said yes. If he asked then you would’ve said yes. If he asks now… you would still say yes, but… you’d still need time. To repair the damage, to heal.

I would’ve brought you to the covert.

The mere thought intrigues and terrifies you at the same time. Yes, you often wonder what it’s like to walk among an entire community of Mandalorians. They are a fortified unit, tightly knit. A family.

You reckon, however, for you, it would be exactly like the first time you met this Mandalorian. Frightening. With a spark of wonder in your eyes, but scared, nonetheless. You would be an outsider to them. Maybe even a threat to some.

You wonder if Mando left someone special behind in his covert. Someone who wouldn’t take kindly to your presence. Someone who wouldn’t like seeing you hold his hand, clinging to him for dear life.

Would they scorn you? Try to get rid of you? At the very least, you know they would go out of their way to make you feel unwelcome. At worst… Well, you think you’d go missing very quickly. Most likely dead or somehow put right back where you were; in the arms of someone who would wish you harm.

Either way, it doesn’t matter right now. You’re not in the covert. Yet. It hasn’t come to that. But when it does, you will be sure to ask all the right questions so you can at least prepare yourself for any undesirable outcomes.

As for how you are feeling right now, the answer is very simple.

“Better.” you respond truthfully, enjoying the slight upturn in his cheek. “Less burdened by the weight of the demons that haunt me.”

His hand trails up your arm until you feel it upon yours. The warmth soothes you. Makes your worries less turbulent, less violent. Not a single thought crosses your mind when he moves your hand on his cheek, not enough to remove it entirely. Just enough of a shift until you feel his lips on your palm.

He plants a kiss there. Then another. Then one further down on your wrist. There’s a quiet sweetness to the way he kisses you. Like he would like to take his time carving his way all the way into your shattered soul and fill in the cracked spaces where some of the pieces should be. Like he would find the most ruined parts of you and keep them anyway, regardless of whether they’re too broken to fit within you again.

He takes them and holds them close, even if they slice his skin and make him bleed. He takes them and holds them close, because they are yours. He would keep them safe because they were once a part of you.

It’s a silent truth that brings tears to your eyes. Knowing that he would protect every part of you, even to his own detriment. It isn’t ideal. It’s cruel, to an extent. But it is the truth. And it brings some joy to your heart, paired off with a bit of remorse.

Breathing is easier now. Your lungs are less constricted like the strings around them have loosened. The strings around your heart have been cut off, letting your heart beat as loudly and as freely as it wants.

Ever since you told him about that night, you thought you would freefall into yet another dark hole. But the Mandalorian was right there to catch you before you got anywhere far.

His hands, though hesitant, were steady as ever. Anchoring you to him. Too often, you cling to his hands so that something other than agony fills the endless abyss in your chest.

“Thank you for telling me.” he says, shifting closer until you feel the warmth of his words against your skin. And then his lips on your forehead. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Maker, you want him to kiss you again. You want his lips on yours. But you don’t know if the implication of that will open the floodgates to something else. Something more. Something you’re not ready for.

It takes all you have not to move. To not lift your chin and meet his lips halfway. You don’t know how he would react, given what he knows now. You don’t want him to draw away again, thinking that he might do more harm than good if he were to reciprocate.

But now you trust that he wouldn’t go far. And that trust was hard-earned. It took a lot out of you.

He doesn’t ask why it took you so long to speak your truth. He just thanked you. Accepts this little shattered piece of yourself and holds it to his heart as if it won’t cut him.

“Thank you for validating me.” you whispered back, before pausing for a moment to think. “How much longer would you have waited for me to tell you?”

“As long as it took, Cyare.” he responds with a soft conviction. “Your scars are your own. Only you have the right to share them.” But a sombre murmur followed soon thereafter, “I'm sorry for distancing myself.”

You don’t dwell on his distance. It doesn’t bother you anymore. Not when you’re in his arms again.

“It's okay.” you tell him, gently threading your hand back through the locks of his hair.

No, it’s not. He's thinking it. You disagree, nonetheless.

You tuck your head under his chin and breathe in the warmth of his scent. The sound of his breathing lulls you back to sleep.

Later in the day, you think back to the night before. To the confessions uttered in the cold vice of his guilt.

He hurt you and I was too afraid to confront my feelings for you.

How long have those feelings been there to begin with? How long has he been pining for you?

The idea of the Mandalorian pining for anyone is ridiculous to fathom. Or would be if you didn't know him as you do now, but it is still baffling to think about.

I am so sorry, Cyare. I should’ve done more to protect you. I should’ve acted sooner to– to just…

You’ve never known anyone to drown himself in remorse for the vile actions of others. More often than not, you’ve only crossed paths with men who could care less if their actions hurt you. Not a lick of guilt in their veins at the sight of your tears.

But the Mandalorian? One frown on your face and he’s already holding both of your hands, asking what was wrong and what he can do to fix it, even when he wasn’t at fault.

You continue crocheting a sweater for Beetle as you mull it over. The skill comes easily to you, even though it has been a while since you’ve done it. Looping the yarn through itself was soothing. Kept your thoughts from unravelling your sanity when you recall the words of the Mandalorian.

The sweet, sweet Mandalorian who has feelings for you.

It makes sense.

Maker, it makes so much sense now. Why he was so against you and Brexlee from the beginning. Why he warned you against being with a man like him.

“I’m going to try and find some information about any Mandalorians that have come through here.”

He tells you as he puts his armour back on. Piece by piece, the metal sticks to him, becoming part of him once more. He reminds you of an ancient creature that you read about in the Clone Wars. It was so big that it terrorized an entire planet and had armour that made it impossible for the Clone soldiers to kill it.

The Mandalorian is similar in that regard. Impossible to kill. Your days working at Karga’s cantina made you vaguely aware of that fact. Far too often you would hear titbits of jobs taken by bounty hunters and mercenaries. And far too often you’ve noticed that some faces completely disappeared from the face of the universe, probably meeting their demise while trying to acquire their latest meal ticket.

Some jobs were known to be impossible tasks. At best, they were a sure way of getting rich fast. Suicide missions, at worst. One would either have to be really brave or really stupid to take such a job.

The Mandalorian always came back, though. He was one of the few who did. One of the few who stuck around longer than most. Karga had always been impressed by that. And so were you. It was slightly terrifying to think that there were more people like him.

“Okay.” you nod, but you made no move to grab your bag to come with him.

He didn’t seem to notice as he was placing Beetle in his floating pod. He made sure to grab a few snacks for him and a bottle of water. You suddenly remembered that the baby once had a plush toy. The little ewok doll that got scorched with some of your belongings in your last destination.

Hell, a lot of your belongings. Not all of them, as you had left some in the Razer Crest, but you would've at least liked to keep the fabric you bought for a time when you acquired a sewing machine. You'll also have to restock on winter wear.

“There’s a vast marketplace.” He’s walking down the ramp until he realizes that you’re still behind him. When he turns, his helm tilts up to look at you in question. “Cyare?”

The comment seems to have deterred you. Usually, you’re eager to explore every new world with bright eyes and a soul starved for wonder. It is understandable, given that you’re cooped up in a metal box for days upon weeks on end.

Yet that wanderlust seems to have shrivelled up and vanished within the span of a few moments at the thought of setting foot outside the Razer Crest. In its place is that familiar buzz at the back of your head. The irrational fear linked with being in crowds. Too many eyes, too many moving bodies in one place.

Too many hands. One might reach up your throat and–

“M–maybe I should stay here.”

It’s not like the last planet. Not like Sorgan either. There’s too many people here. Too many unfamiliar faces. It’s irrational, how you seem to fluctuate between wanting to see everything all at once to then wanting to never see another living soul ever again.

“Alright.” He nods, and you receive no inquiries as to why. You’re grateful for that. Instead, he offers, “Want me to take the kid with me?”

To let you have your own thoughts. To let you breathe by yourself. It’s like he knows you through and through. Like he understands the poison vines growing around the high tower built around you and lets them be, choosing to climb up, instead of tearing through them.

“If you don’t mind.” you smiled warmly, softly caressing the baby’s ear. “He could use some fresh air after being cooped up for so long.”

You once quietly vowed to be a terror to anyone who tried to control you.

“Again.”

Kandra looks at you with stern eyes. You hesitate to defy her today as they narrow. “You will never fix your posture with that attitude, young lady. If those books drop once more, you start from the beginning.”

Some days, you can’t tell who is more cruel. Your father or your senile governess. The greys blend with her neat blonde hair, pulled into a tight bun. Her prim and pressed uniform– a dark blazer, shirt and pencil skirt, does nothing to hide her crooked soul. Her eyes are cold frost and her pale wrinkled skin makes you wonder how a walking corpse is allowed to exist.

She is a walking reminder that the dead have no heart.

Rieya giggles as she struts forward with the books on top of her head. She does so with flawless grace. Makes you hate her a little more. Your thirteen-year-old heart has no business hating someone this much, yet here you are. Loathing another thirteen-year-old with every fibre of your being.

You hate this exercise. But you pick up the books and stack them on top of your head, nonetheless. And you slowly take one step after another. Rieya has already reached the end. A red line was taped to the wooden floor right at the edge of the ballroom.

You’re almost there. You count your steps. One. Two. Three. four. Your mind focuses on keeping your back straight. The books balance precariously on your head. Almost there. But your eyes catch Rieya’s. The smirk on her lips. Her books still on her head as she waits for you.

You want to scoff at her for showing off. Instead, your eyes shift back to the wall. Five. Six. Seven. Almost there. You practically feel the red line. Eight. Nine–

A shoe is thrown your way. It lands right on your shoulder. You stumble but don’t fall. But your books do.

“Insolent child!” Your governess is already storming her way to where you stand, her heels clicking like a ticking time bomb.

You stare at the books in horror. Then it burns hot as your gaze shifts to Rieya, who quietly laughed under the sleeve of her silk dress.

Kandra stops before you. Her glare even more frigid than her voice. “From the beginning.”

Your fists already clench. “She threw her shoe at me. It wasn’t my fault–”

“From the beginning!” The sudden crescendo of her tone makes you flinch. “Pick them up this instant and start again.”

But you hold firm, determined to defend yourself. You know she saw what Rieya did. “Lady Kandra–”

You don’t anticipate the loud crack that echoes throughout the room. All you register is tumbling to the ground and your cheek stinging brightly. You hold your hand to the throbbing ache, shocked eyes shifting back to meet hers.

Her expression was grim. Eyes set on pinning you down where you were.

In all of your years, she has never struck you quite like this. It was always with a small ruler, on your hands and wrists. Never on your face. It was your father’s request. He wanted no marks on your face as he paraded you and Rieya around his associates.

But today was different. You wonder why.

You hear not a peep from Rieya. Your eyes catch the brief shock on her face because she knew the same the as you. But it quickly fades and satisfaction replaces what could’ve been a moment of guilt. And that was when you knew.

There was nothing you could do to earn her respect, or her love, or anything other than disdain.

“You will obey an order, young lady. Pick up those books and start from the top.” You look at Kandra once again when she speaks. But the more she does, the less inclined you feel on listening. The more rage boils in your blood. “By the time I am done with you, I want no one saying anything about you being your mother’s daughter.”

You smile fondly at those last moments. Because in them, you showed them, truly, exactly who your mother’s daughter was.

That was the vow you made.

Cheek still stinging and a bit of terror in your heart, you still found it in yourself to smile. Much to their confusion, you smiled. And it felt good, knowing that you were about to catch them by surprise.

You picked up those books, alright. One by one, until all three of them were in your grasp. Two tucked in your arm and the other in one hand. However, instead of putting it on your head, you gripped it tightly.

Just like you did not expect to be struck down, Kandra did not expect a book to be flung to her face. You hear Rieya’s terror-filled yelp as the governess tumbles to the floor much harder than you did.

You take another book and turn to her, smirk widening further. Her horror increases as she backs away, the books on her head falling. “N-no, no, please don’t–”

It was too late. The book smacks her right on her forehead. When she falls, you storm towards her and you follow.

You were quick to straddle her and began reigning down punches. The more she yelled for you to stop, the more she pleaded, the harder you hit her. You grabbed the last book that had fallen from under your arm and you hit her with it too.

She screamed for help. You screamed too. Telling her how much you hated her. How much you wanted her to suffer as much as you did.

Years of being restrained and told to sit still, to obey, to do this, to do that, it all drove you to madness. Years of gnashing your teeth together for the sake of impressing your father and failing, years of pent-up rage at your siblings who bullied you relentlessly, years of being taken away from your mother a few days and weeks at a time for some ‘family bonding’ with all of them all came to a boiling point.

You hated it. Hated all of them for trying to turn you into something you’re not. For belittling you. For hurting you, when they were supposed to love you. They were your family. Why don’t they love you?

You don’t remember who pulled you off her. But you know you were satisfied with the tears in her eyes and the blood running down her nose.

“This is what my mother’s daughter looks like!” you screamed from the top of your lungs as you were held back by a palace guard, kicking and struggling against him through your heavy skirts. “You will never erase her! You will never kill her, no matter what the fuck you do to her! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you–”

You had screamed your throat raw that day. But it felt good.

You didn’t regret it, even when your father found out and punished you dearly for it. You didn’t regret the bruises on your knuckles. You didn’t regret how Rieya flinched whenever you looked her way the following weeks.

Even your governess, Kandra, was hesitant to push you too far from there on. The fire in your eyes meeting the ice in hers for every session. It thrilled you when the ice melted. She knew that even if your father were to punish you for disobeying her orders, you’d do it again and again and again.

It didn’t make things any easier for you. But it did make her fear you. Even as you learned a thing or two on how to be a proper lady, she knew that she could never truly erase the wildfire underneath.

That rage, however, buried itself within you since that day. You hadn’t it as prominently then as you do now. As you grew older, you just knew it brought you more trouble than good, hence why you became more soft-spoken.

“Try again.” You take a deep breath at his command and fire.

You were determined to get it right this time. The metal clanked loudly when you pulled the trigger. The pan swung from side to side and you grinned in satisfaction at the sight.

Gun training went a little better this time. You got a few more hits on the pan. Holding a blaster didn’t feel so foreign anymore. At least, not like the last few times.

“That was very good.”

You think, for a second, if your rage would pull the trigger instead of your need to survive. Unlike the knife you used to take Saros’s life, perhaps this would be different. Perhaps, you might kill for more than just a few precious moments to breathe.

You want to kill for justice. For that part of you that died on Nevarro. That vow you made starts to weigh more heavily on your shoulders.

Smoke trails from the barrel of the gun in your hands. You think you could get used to the smell.

You look at your thighs, silently making measurements to fit the weapon. “Think I should get a holster?”

It's going to take a lot more practice before you're even remotely proficient in wielding a blaster. But you like the idea of carrying one like the Mandalorian does.

His silence is all you hear from his end. His visor fixated on you when you glance up. It worries you. “Mando?”

He makes a strangled sound that you can’t decipher. “Y–yes, I think that’ll be best...”

“Are you okay?” you ask, mildly concerned at how tense he was.

“Yes.” he spoke a little too quickly before adding, “Wanna try throwing knives?”

You don’t think your grin could’ve been any brighter than any star in the sky.

You don’t know how long you’ve been locked in that closet. The skin of your knuckles still stung, so you knew it couldn’t have been for long. You can’t wait for the weekend to be over. You can’t wait to see your mother again.

There’s a knock on the door. A hushed whisper of your name follows. Your lungs deflate even more.

“Go away, Reymont.” You turn your head away from the door.

No doubt your father, that tyrant, forgot to let you out of your cage again. You figure Reymont came to pay you a visit to bring you something to eat. Although you were hungry, you don’t think you can take anything else from these people anymore.

Their books, their punishments, their uncomfortably itchy clothes that were supposed to be fancy, you don’t care for any of it. You just want to go back to your mother. You long for the safety of her arms. For your uncle’s wise words and dry humour.

You may share blood with Reymont and Rieya and their father, but they were not your family. They have no love for you. There is no love for you in this castle.

“Sister, I brought some garlic bread.” he says, and for a moment you almost don’t believe him.

It’s the smell of it that confirms his truth. Freshly baked bread. You’re tempted to forgive him. Your stomach gnarls at the though of food being so close, yet so far. But your pride was stronger than that.

You’ve suffered enough at every last one of them and you refuse to take anything else they have to offer if it means you’re going to get hurt again.

“I said go away. You don’t need to play this stupid game anymore.” You turn away from the door, resting your back against it. “And I’m not your sister.”

You never truly liked Reymont for not standing up for you when you needed it the most. But it was hard to hate him when he was being kind, even if you found it hard to actively reciprocate.

Maker, maybe that is where you learned to tolerate people’s abuse.

This small realization comes to you when you’re back inside the cot with the Mandalorian. He didn’t find anything about his own kind in the small town today and he didn’t stay for too long. You know it must be because he too was still on edge about what happened at the last destination.

You liked listening to him speak. Once he settles into a perfect rhythm, it’s hard not to be lulled by the soft timbre of his voice. He is gentle with his words. Spinning mundane tales into intriguing journeys that make you wish you had gone with him.

A calm silence settles between the two of you when he’s done. His tepid palm sinks onto your shoulder. “You have something on your mind.”

A light giggle passes through your lips. “You can’t even see me.”

“I don’t have to.” You can hear him smile. His thumb gently caresses your skin, lulling you further into the safety of his hold.

You relish his presence and his touch. It makes you forget the ache in your chest. It almost makes you forget the rage that simmers in your blood. Almost.

“When I was younger, my father would lock me in a closet when I didn’t obey his every command.” you quietly confess. “He would leave me in there for hours on end. And keep in mind, that I misbehaved a lot.”

This must not be easy for him to hear, given how attentive he is to children. It’s not easy for you to talk about it either. You’ve always wanted a father to look after you, to pay attention to you the way Mando does with Beetle. The closest you’ve come to having that was your uncle and that was good enough.

You hardly recall having any good memories with your father. It's not hard to remember the specific bad ones because they stand out the most. The only good memories you had were mostly when he was absent. That way, he couldn’t terrorize you.

“Somehow, it’s hard to imagine you as a rebellious child.” Mando said and to that, you chuckled dryly.

“Let’s just say I hid my mother’s spirit well under the weight of his teachings.” Your eyes fluttered in the dark as you felt him breathe. “I only let it out when it was most inconvenient for him.”

Business functions, work events and parties were the worst times to wreak havoc. And the best times, on your part. You picked those crucial moments to make a fool out of him for hurting you behind closed doors, and for not simply leaving you to live with your mother.

The Mandalorian is quiet for a minute. But he gives you the best answer that you never could’ve expected, “Good.”

The corner of your lip curves upward. Somehow, you are not surprised that your rebellion would please him.

“But anyway… I came to learn that he forgot to let me out sometimes.” you continued, yawning. “Because it was such a small space, so insignificant to what he had going on his mind.”

You remember feeling so hurt that your father never cared. Then that sadness turned to a never-ending rage. Burning through every question you wanted to ask, burning through any part of you that wanted to feel his love; for your rage was enough to keep you warm in the absence of your mother’s embrace.

“I thought his punishment would nurse some irrational fear of enclosed spaces in me but… it didn’t.”

The Mandalorian’s hand grazes your cheek and settles there. “How so?”

“When I ran from home, I took that to heart.” You feel his breath on your forehead. The echo of his heart under your palm almost lulls you into sleep, so you keep going, “Hid in small spaces. Hid between walls, between crates, cracks in the system…”

Those first few days were the hardest. Naboo was all you had known up until then. The harsh elements of every different planet caught you off guard, no matter how many times you had read about them on a data pad. But you were grateful enough to read up on how to survive.

And while reading and experiencing were two vastly separate things, you were thankful to have had all the knowledge you did then.

“Because that’s where no one thought to look.” you whispered. “I felt alone there. Isolated. Cold, most days, but…”

“Safe.” he finishes for you and feels your subtle nod.

In the dark. In this boxed in expanse. It should terrify you. It should remind you of the emptiness in your chest on Nevarro–

“Safe.” Another yawn leaves your lips. “As I do in this enclosed space.” You tuck your head under his chin, tightening your arm over his torso. “I feel safe here.”

Safer than you’ve felt with anyone. You should’ve gone to the Mandalorian sooner. Should’ve heeded his words before it all crashed and burned in your face.

You should’ve asked the Mandalorian to kill him–

It doesn’t matter. It’s okay now. You’re okay.

His hand gently grips the back of your neck and you let yourself sigh gratefully into his embrace. This feels nice. Better than anything in the universe. You appreciate his steadfast presence, his solid frame anchoring your sanity down, even when it rattles the cage to get free. His warmth blankets around you, letting your mind ease into a calming sense of relief.

A quiet moment passes before he adds, “With me…”

You smile. “You feel safe, Mando…”

The quiet murmur nestles in between his ribs. He can’t fight it as it takes root and blossoms there, wrapping itself around his beating heart.

“It’s Din.” he tells you, blood rushing to his face. “My name is Din Djarin.”

Your eyes fluttered wide open in the pitch black darkness of the cot. Any drowsiness chased away by his confession.

The air is punched out of your lungs. You no longer feel the warmth of his hand, but you feel the weight of his soft voice. It crushes something in you. Something long awaited.

Din Djarin. Din Djarin. Din Djarin. Din Djarin. Din Djarin. My name is Din Djarin–

He just told you his name. His real name. The name he was given at birth, by his parents, by a loving family, long lost to the wrath of a war he couldn’t prevent.

You’ve called him Mando and referred to him as the Mandalorian for so long, you were beginning to think that he didn’t have a name. At least not one that you were permitted to know in this lifetime.

The Mandalorian– Din Djarin has given you so much now. So much patience. So much knowledge. Equipped you to defend yourself. Space when you needed it. The freedom to be yourself. Love. So much love you don’t know what to do with.

And now he has given you something of his. Something… sacred. His real name.

You don’t– You’re not sure how to… how to express such gratitude for something as monumental as this.

Your palm touches his cheek as you shift. You have a long way to go before you’re ready to show him how you feel. But this? This is enough for now and you’re more than okay with that.

A silence passes in the moment. Where all of your troubles seem so distant, where they can’t find you. There is a second when you fear that it will all come crashing down, but you don’t dread the thought because you know that even if he does, he will be right there to help you pick up the pieces.

Through all of this, he makes no demands. No exchanges for his name. He simply gives it to you with no expectations. His name, a divine prayer to very few, is a gift for you.

“You feel safe…” Your lips press against the corner of his mouth. “Din Djarin.”

His name tastes sweet. You intend to savour it for all eternity.

You’re not sure how many hours have passed while you were in hyperspace. Waking up after a good nap did wonders for your exhaustion. But Mando–

My name is Din Djarin.

Din…

The warmth of his voice tingles down your spine. A single syllable. A word that you’ve waited for so long to hear, to know and to keep.

–Din wasn’t in the cot with you when you woke up.

“Mando–” The voice crackled and words were muffled by the speaker. “She doesn’t–”

You don’t dare step into the cockpit. You never have since that fateful day on Sorgan. It’s a lot easier to forget about all of it when you’re not in the threshold. The stench of Saros’s blood haunts you some nights when you’re most at ease.

Most days now, it’s not your own voice that cries out in the depths of your own broken mind. But his. And that of the man whom you threw a flash grenade at. He’s dead too, probably. As well as some of his friends.

You can still hear them. You can still see them. One after the other, they fall on the snow and blood pooling around each corpse. The solid stature of a warrior stands over them before he walks over to you. Before he kneels to you, offering his bare, blood stained hands.

It’s pure gore. Blood everywhere. On the snow. On his armour. On your clothes. Yet you’re not frightened one bit. For once, the sight of it doesn’t make you flinch or draw back in fear. The vivid dream reoccurs more than the nightmares. And somehow, you prefer it, no matter how grotesque it is. You prefer the sight of the Mandalorian killing every last of them in front of you. For you.

You think that's why you prefer to have Din sleep next to you. His scent wards off the one of the man you murdered. And of the one who assaulted you.

“–to you–”

Din hadn’t mentioned anything about the communications systems being damaged. If so, then he most likely noticed how you avoid going anywhere near the cockpit. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to fix it if you won’t even step inside.

“I’ll pay you triple the amount on her bounty if you bring her back to me.”

No one told you that grief tastes eerily similar to fear.

Too often since the early days, when you think of your mother and wonder where she is or how she is, you swallow down your tears when you remember her telling you to never look back. The ache in your stomach, that gut-wrenching twist when you hear something about someone’s house being burned to the ground on Naboo with people inside, tearing through your heart and gripping your throat.

That feeling clings to you like tar. Hot and bubbling up your throat even though you never drank a single drop. At least, not on your own free will.

It rushes into your lungs now, filling them until you feel as though you’re going to forget what oxygen feels like when you hear his voice for the first time in months.

“She doesn’t belong to you, Mando.” He doesn’t sound angry. “Do what’s right and we’ll call it even.”

You stand in the small corridor, listening, waiting. Haunted.

The light from the darkened cockpit illuminates the steel walls just enough that you see the Mandalorian’s shadow. It’s nothing like his. Din is bigger, bulkier. Rigid, if you’re really being honest. But that might just be the armour speaking for him.

So why is it that you’re staring at the shadow you’re almost convinced that he’s in there? In the Razer Crest, with you.

Please–

Your hands clamp up. Sweat breaks all over you. Your palms, your forehead. Everywhere.

You can’t tell if your heart is going to explode from the rate it pounds in your chest. Hives break all and crawl and crawl and crawl all over your skin and the icky sensation is paired off with the unbearable hands touching you where you don’t want to be touched and you want to peel it off. It feels like he’s everywhere at once, terrorizing you, tearing your heart wide open for him to watch you bleed.

“And please… tell her that I miss her.”

Brexlee sent a transmission.

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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secret-smut-sideblog · 4 months

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A Dangerous Thing

Astarion x F! Dark Urge

18+ violence, possession, near death, implied self harm, bhaal being fucked up, injuries, fear, hurt/comfort, fingering (f!), oral (f!), sub/dom, (mild) restraint, overstimulation

Almost losing her to Bhaal's influence, Astarion wont let her out of his sight again...

In trance he becomes aware of an absence at his side, her divine warmth missing.

"Darling?" He mumbled, fingers searching for her. A breeze on his cheek.

Eyes flashing open to the chasm of his tent door.

Gone.

Scrambling to feet he lunged out into the night, eyes frantic.

It was getting bad, he knew. Saw the way she would freeze, muscles clenching all at once. Paralyzed as she fought for control.

Would do his best to touch her with love, speak reassured to her rigid body. Help her back into herself, though he didnt know how much good it was doing.

We're close. She had sighed. The temple is near, I can feel it. Shuddered. I feel it everywhere.

Fuck. Fuck. He ran tent to tent, looking for those pale horns, those haunting eyes.

He had gotten sloppy, losing focus. Gods why did she put him in charge?!

"Whoa, Fangs! What's going on?" Karlach called, already pulling her boots on seeing the panic in his face.

"She's gone! Hells we have to find her!" He shouted, hands shaking. Eyes everywhere, in every shadow, every space between.

"Shit!" She went to wake the others, sounding out like an alarm.

Finally he saw a sign of her. Sharp footsteps leading into the forest, the heels deep in the mud. She had been running.

No time, he sprinted after her ghost. Calling out her name in big gulping shouts. Heard the others following behind.

I think if I couldn't control it anymore. She had whispered, their hands intertwined. Laying in blissful quiet. I'd end it. Said with such certainty, eyes resolute. It would be my last offering for the world. To stop myself. To leave it untouched.

He couldn't lose her. Not now. Not when she has given him so much. Not before he can tell her he loves her one more time.

Gods let him have this, this one bright beautiful thing.

He gasped out her name when he spotted her silhouette in a clearing. Sitting on knees in the dark.

His voice curdled in his throat as he drew closer, took in the full sight.

Her arms laying limp at her side, face wrenched up to the sky. Bhaal's red lights dancing sickening circles around the crown of her head. Eyes blown wide, glowing red hot.

"Here!" He shouted shakenly to the others somewhere behind, hovering around her. "She's here!"

Terrified into indecision. Hands reaching out, he had to do something.

"Get out!" Her jaw clenching down so hard he thought it would crack. He jumped back, breath caught.

"You are not welcome here. You are not me. You are not in charge." She hissed through her teeth, speaking to something unseen, rage dripping from every word.

"I guided your hand when you spilled your first blood." A deep nauseating voice erupted from her mouth, forming words with her lips. "I have always been here. I am all of you. I am eternal."

Her face going slack into a sickening smile. "You will to say yes to me, child."

Eyes clenching shut, face twisting, pulling back into her mind. "Fuck. You." Her voice venomous.

Lifted invisible by her throat she hovered in the air, legs slack beneath her. Feet grazing the ground. Sigils burning and whipping angry around her.

"I love you." Lashes emerging across her torso. "I love you." Cracking of ribs. "I love you." Arm wrenched from socket, flopping down at her side.

"Stop," Astarion breathed, despair flooding his vision. "Stop, stop, stop!" A rising scream chanted.

Her head lolling puppeteered to look at him. Eyes wide, all radiating crimson. A horrible smile smeared across her angelic face.

"The interloper..." It sneered in her features, amused. "Tell me, little waste..." Turning her in one motion to face him, hovering far higher above the ground. Her full body weight on her throat. Yet it still it spoke.

"Do you really think you can stop her?" Leaning her head down to stare condescending into him. "How long do you think she will resist her call? To deny her birthright?"

"I molded her myself, my body, my blood. She will heed to me."

"You're just another master, another piece of shit that needs control. You dont impress me." He spat. "I've killed one of you before, and I'll enjoy doing it again."

It laughed, booming. Lifting her arms wide, sigils spinning hurricane around her.

He heard the others coming up hot behind him, a flurry of noise. Spells, arrows, enchantments soaring through the air. All hitting mute against the cyclone. It cackled, delighted at their attempts.

Suddenly she wrenched back to the surface, body twisting. "Get away! Go!" Her desperate eyes reaching his. "I can finish this!"

"No!" He bellowed, enraged. "Let us help you! For once let us be the strong ones!" Bloody tears streaming down his shouting face.

Her eyes crumpled at his words and something in the hold broke.

In a piercing wail she fought against her restraints, hair whipping around her head. Pulling her limbs with incredible force against its control. Balling into herself. Releasing them out in a deafening scream. An explosion of force leaving her, pushing them all to their knees.

Prone, he watched her fall. Thudding silent to the ground. "No, no," He begged, crawling to her unmoving body. "Dont leave. Dont leave me."

Cradling her head he stared through thick water. Searching. Desperate. Hands coaxing, pleading, for her to come back.

Shadowheart, Halsin, and Minthara appearing quick at her side, pummeling healing words into her. Lighting her up in waves of blue.

"You can't go. I wont let you." He gripped her as they shouted around him, his tears dropping onto her mottled bruised neck. "I will search every corner of the afterlife and drag you back to us."

Giving it everything she had Shadowheart shouted one last spell, her hands bracing against her still chest.

Silence. Then with a heaving, gasping cough she returned. Hand instinctively finding his cheek.

A deep wail left him, pulling her into him, inconsolable. Body shaking with great heaving sobs of relief.

"Ow." She laughed wetly. Good arm shakily holding him. Eyes bright, meeting the tear stained faces that surrounded them through the window of his shoulder. "Hi everyone."

They all rushed around her, touching her, hugging her, voices all melding into one joyful choir. Still gripping her to his body they held him too.

Karlach planting big kisses on her face. Even planting a quick softer one on his forehead. "Welcome back, soldier!" She boomed. "Dont ever do that shit again!" Yelled with the same smile.

She laughed painfully, clenching her side. "Fuck, okay. You've convinced me."

"We need to get her back to camp." Shadowheart gently squeezed Astarion's shoulder. He agreed but still had his face buried into her. Tremoring.

"Let me lend some aid." Halsin smiled, offering his arms. Waiting for Astarion to release.

Loathe to let her go but knew he wouldn't be able to carry her in this state he nodded.

The druid lifting her gently into his arms she was absent from him. She gave a little sigh into the wide chest. He trailed close, never taking his eyes off her.

She smiled gently at him, reaching out for him. Finding his fingers in hers. Gods, she was cold.

He kissed them, pressing them against his cheek.

"You're okay to sleep, love." She hushed, trailing her hand down his back. "I can get one of the others."

In her tent, made into a makeshift infirmary he shook his head. Only last night she had nearly been lost and his body was still vibrating with anxious energy. Trying not to pace.

"We've moved camp, we're far enough away from the temple now." She tried to reassure. He waved her away, back still turned.

Her hand stopped on his back. Quiet. Still.

"I'm sorry I'm the one you love." A whisper.

He whipped his head, angry. The tears on his face that he had been trying to hide from her laid bare.

"No. No you dont get to do that." Eyes alight in equal parts adoration and indignation. "I have been broken apart countless times and you are by far the best thing that has ever happened to me. The only person who could ever understand me."

Face twisting in grief, in determination. "I have waited lifetimes for you. How dare you apologize."

Catching the light her tears slipped quiet out of her eyes. Even in this state unbelievably beautiful, always catching him off guard. Neck still patches of green, purple, yellow. Arm slung snugly in a sling. One tip of her horns now notched, caught in her fall. He trailed his hand along it tenderly, never to be the same again.

"I'm sorry." She choked, hearing the heavy catch in her throat.

"Stop." He stared hard into her eyes.

"I'm so sorry."

He pulled her hard into his body. Burying his face in her hair. "I love you. I love you. I love you so much." He pressed his words into her.

"I will never regret you. I will never have something like this again. Even in a hundred years I will never stop thinking of you."

A sob wracked her chest, shaking into him. One arm gripping his shirt. Releasing her grief, her fear into his cool body.

He stroked her hair, wrapping his legs around her lower back. Pulling her fully into him. Yes, let it out.

They stayed like that for a moment, hands anchoring eachother. Her waves of sorrow striking his chest. Breathing in, out.

"When I die I'm haunting your ass so hard." She whispered raggedly, her tears finally slowing. He laughed, wiping his own wet face.

"I'd be offended if you didnt, my sweet."

Pulling back to look at him, eyes overflowing with love. "Ow, damn it." Readjusting her arm in its sling as she shifted. "How long did Shadowheart say this should take again?" She huffed. He tried to hide his smile.

"What's the point of healing magic if it doesn't get the job done..." Grumbling her frustration.

"Already thinking about the next task? Gods you're relentless." He teased.

"We have things to do!"

"Oh how could you possibly take a break, the torment you must endure." He admonished, trailing kisses along her face.

She giggled, the sound lighting up his heart. Caught her sweet mouth in a kiss. Slow. Deep.

She moaned lightly into him, hand cupping the back of his head. Pulling him in deeper.

He sighed contentedly, so glad to do this again. That they had more time. More time for him to get lost in her.

Her hand pulling the ties of his tunic.

"Wait," He breathed, to her discontented whine. Hand still trying to pull him open.

Threading his fingers in hers, he pulled away. "My sweet, slow down." Took her eyes in his. Her mouth slightly swollen from their kiss making him stifle a groan, despite himself.

"You're in no state-"

"Then be gentle." She countered.

"Darling..." He started, unsure.

"Please," She whispered, pushing her forehead into his. Threaded fingers tightening on his. "I need you, I need this."

Gentle, he thought. Gods did he know how to fuck gentle? Had he? Maybe some time in the past, long before.

Could see the nervousness in her eyes as well, asked for entrance to her mind.

She obliged, and he found their thoughts mingling. Not the exact same, but rhyming. Fear. Longing. Love. Pain. Things lost. Things terrified to be found.

He smiled warmly, pulling her back into his kiss. I told you. He spoke to her.

What? She thought.

You and I know eachother. I see you, you see me. See me so clearly.

So is that a yes? Could feel her cheeky smile against his lips.

He sighed, defeated. Trying not to prove his rising arousal as she gave a little squeal of triumph.

Now, how to do this delicately. He pushed them forward, laying her down onto her back. Hand bracing her slow descent. Though he focused on undressing her as softly as he could, his kiss was searing.

Her hand pulled his shirt hard over his head, he maneuvered his arms to assist her. Her leg hooking up under his, pushing it out to be straddling over her.

"Oh so only I have to be gentle..."

"Do you want me to be?" She rumbled in his ear, sending a shudder down his spine.

"Gods no,"

Pulling the last of her clothes off he stared down at her, breath taken. Both by her beauty and the state of her body.

Criss cross slashes stretching across her torso, sewn deftly closed. Bruises that veiled over her ribs. Could see the discoloration between the tight bandages holding her shoulder.

Trying not to be overcome again, he leaned down, ghosting soft kisses over her angry skin.

"You'll tell me if we need to stop, yes?" He urged.

She smiled down at him, carding her fingers through his hair. "Of course, my love."

Satisfied he continued his feather light lips down her front.

"How are you so beautiful?" He marveled.

Delighted in the blush that crept up to her cheeks. To make a bhaalspawn blush, his bhaalspawn.

"Darling this position you've so graciously put me in gives me an idea." He mused, absentmindedly swirling little circles on her clit. One leg over her hip, one between her thighs. He stood up on knees, getting a better feel. Oh this could work.

"Good thing your lower extremities are unscathed, sweet thing." Grabbing a pillow he lifted her by one plush thigh and pushed it under her hips. Heard her little aroused groan at being manhandled. "Yes this will do nicely." He preened, now had the perfect angle.

"I never doubted you for a second." She tried for teasing but couldn't hide the lust in her voice.

His free hand dragging soft up and down her entrance, joining his fingers already worshipping her hard mound. Hands busy he had the perfect view to watch her unwind under him.

Her head fell back, arching slightly. Horns digging against the pillow.

He slowly inserted two digits into her, shallowly pumping. The angle perfect to go as far as he could, but not yet. Just teasing her entrance. Fingers on her clit pushing more force. Her little gasping breaths goading him on.

Started pushing inside her with earnest, fingers curling in the way he knew made her mewl. Hand on her clit feather light.

Alternating his force back and forth between his two hands he could tell he was driving her mad. Slick already dripping down under his fingers.

"Astarion," She groaned, hand gripping the sheet.

"I'm all pointy ears, darling." He teased, switching hands again just to make her gasp.

"Gods, please fuck me already." She panted, looking into his eyes.

"Ah, but we need to be careful." He purred, smiling like a fox cornering a hen. "Nothing too strenuous, you know. Gotta make sure you're-" Both hands with pressure, her eyes rolling back in her head. "Up to it." He finished.

"You know I can kill you, right?"

"Oh we're doing threats now," He hissed, smiling down over her. "How rude."

Both hands working in a blur she was an incoherent writhing mess. Hips trying to get away. He sat his weight on her side, pinning her there. "Oh come on now, I know you can take it."

He knew she was so close to being undone as he watched. Her hot panting groans getting more frantic, higher. Hips squirming helplessly under him.

Leaning over he looked into her eyes. "I want you to come all over my hand."

Her eyes went wide then squeezed shut. Face contorting in anguished pleasure. Clenching down hard on his fingers she wailed an esctastic cry. Hips jutting up into his body, hiking him up. Shocked by the strength of her.

Moving down quickly he pushed his mouth into her, tongue working rapidly. Taking up the pace of his fingers.

She almost screamed, hand gripping his hair.

Wrapping his arms around her retreating thighs he ravaged. Groaning into her, already so much creamy slick pushing out of her. All for him.

Already on the cusp of a second orgasm he watched her through her spread legs. Suckling down hard on her clit, merciless.

"Oh gods, oh fuck," She whimpered, head craning back. Pelvis shaking.

So perfect, you taste so sweet. He thought to her, connecting their minds. Honeysuckle... Groaning into her.

Her mouth falling open in a silent scream, eyes hitching. Seizing under his mouth, head lolling. Her body an arched bridge. Sharp talons leaving his hair and ripping into the sheet.

He palmed over her overstimulated core as she collapsed, knew his cool hand would bring relief. Kissing softly below her navel. Her body still trembling, breath regaining from the drown of her pleasure.

"If I wasnt already in the infirmary.." She breathed when she found her words again.

He laughed, sliding in next to her. Adjusting her slightly so he could slot under her. Wrapping his leg around her side, straddled behind her.

She fell back into his chest, already spent.

"Damn, maybe I'm not as ready as I thought I was." She laughed, threading her hand into his.

"Told you." He murmured into her hair. Pulling their joined hands to his lips.

She got quiet for a moment, knocking her head gently into his.

"I'm going to get better, I promise." Speaking on more than her injuries.

"I know, my sweet girl."

Part 5

#this one got away from me ngl #possession scene Heavily inspired by ptolemaea by ethel cain (lyrics from it too)#astarion smut #astarion x dark urge #astarion x tav

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orchidbreezefc · 5 months

Text

edgar woe.begone: low empathy, high masking

THESIS: my reading of edgar woe.begone is that he's a low empathy autistic who has no innate intuition for social cues and has had to teach himself everything about social interaction from scratch, which is an interpretation that i think explains a lot about him.

now, i am very critical of edgar as a person. i think he's a less than good person and a bad boyfriend. but let me be VERY clear right off the bat: these symptoms don't make anyone a bad person. these symptoms aren't even bad per se. theyre all disabling symptoms that make social interaction more difficult for the person who has them. like any symptom, they have to be managed and compensated for.

some people under the neurodivergent/mentally ill umbrella, as with any group of people, are bad people. being a bad person flavors one's approach to their mental illness, and mental illness in turn flavors the manner in which they're a bad person. the mental illness isn't what makes you bad, but it does affect how your shittiness manifests.

disclaimers done, a good place to start is the way edgar speaks, especially with jeremy's performance. edgar always sounds very reasonable, approachable, and agreeable, and there is never an ounce of genuine emotion in his voice. he talks like an autistic person with zero innate intuition for social interaction who has taught himself to speak in the way that he's learned will get the best response.

edgar's customer service voice is the only one we hear and likely the only one he uses if he can help it. we know edgar's a tactician, a persuader. why use any other voice than the one he's carefully fine-tuned to make people like him and be receptive to what he's saying? this isn't even necessarily cynical: what do you want him to do, talk in a more uncontrolled, emotional way--that he's not used to managing--that will make people like him less?? what good would that do?

edgar likes control. he's more comfortable when things are in his hands, and only his. propagation definitely factors in here--if [link: my theory] that propagation is what solidified the certainty of edgar's death is true, it's no wonder he wants to control and limit the spread of information. edgar prefers to be in charge of making the plans, ideally alone.

this is part of why mike is perpetually out of the loop, even regarding decisions that concern him--which is pretty damn paternalistic. but there's a more wholesome aspect as well: edgar genuinely thinks he's doing mike a favor.

edgar knows mike has undergone and is undergoing a lot, and that he's terrible with plans and a major blabbermouth. if edgar can take care of a problem without mike having to worry his pretty head and perfect eyebrows about what to do, without knowing it ever existed, isn't that so much better? that's edgar being a good boyfriend, actually. he's helping!

it probably doesn't even occur to edgar how much this limits mike's agency, how much it hurts mike that edgar refuses to let him in, how this puts them on unequal footing, how fucking patronizing it is to not let your boyfriend make his own decisions about his own life. oh, how the tables have tabled since him originally telling mike that keeping the story of woe.begone from him didn't protect him, it impeded his ability to make informed choices.

here's where the low empathy creates problems--edgar doesn't have that innate intuition for how mike's feeling, and he doesn't (effectively) manage or compensate for it, and he definitely doesn't communicate with mike enough to know how he's affected by this shit (avoiding too much information sharing is good, remember?)

and mike certainly isn't going to tell him! mike is a goddamn simp. he's not going to establish boundaries. he's not going to put his foot down and demand better treatment. as if he fucking deserves that in the first place, pshaw. the only time he pushes back is in season 10 when he doesn't remember their relationship, and edgar is deeply shaken.

edgar is devastated to learn he hurt mikey, because he does genuinely adore that man. he would get lasso lessons from michael and rope him the moon if he could. his low empathy and efforts to manage everything himself keep him from realizing that mikey, a hyperempathetic mess who gets sentimental about pens, seriously suffers from being shut out like this.

edgar's thought process must be equally inscrutable to mikey, who just figures it would be asking too much to be an active and equal participant in his own relationship and life. edgar's perfect and great, so if mikey deserved that, he would already be giving it to him. if mikey's unhappy with any part of their relationship, no he isn't. he's lucky he has edgar at all. he's lucky he has anyone.

recall michael's agonized admission that "everything is about rugby, dammit" 10(++++) years and edgar's literal death later. we can only guess at how bad his rugby was, but we do know michael never talked it through with edgar. he tells mike this was him 'letting it go' actually, when the fact that theyre having this conversation at all is proof that he extremely hasn't. this is what 'letting it go' looks like to michael: burying an issue forever and giving up on ever getting closure.

so yes, edgar does authentically deeply love his mikey-bear. unfortunately, if you never establish the communication to bridge the differences between your own methods of operating and that of your partner, love will only get you so far. and the first time around, where it got them was michael fighting back tears in an apartment in latvia over a wound from edgar that he suffered in silence until the day he died.

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deadprompts · 7 months

Text

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝙻𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝟽 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂.

content warning applies. change any pronouns / wording if necessary.

you're either with us or you ain't.

you do the same damn stink eye as your dad

i'm not saving you anymore.

you should be dead.

i love a gal that takes me to dinner and doesn’t expect me to put out.

you're sitting over there talking outside both sides of your mouth.

i know i had to make a pretty strong first impression.

you’re lucky. don’t forget.

i just bent over backwards to show you how reasonable i am.

it's gonna be dark soon.

did you just threaten me?

you see, now i just think you're lying.

kid. i ain't gonna lie. you scare the shit out of me.

are you kiddin' me?

do soy sauce packets count as food?

i'm dealing in certainties, and i'm doing my part to give them what they want.

what'd he have? a knife?

i get why you did it.

i would not have messed with that guy!

hot diggity dog! this place is magnificent!

i don’t give a shit if you think you’ve found the secret to life.

if you keep thinking everyone's an enemy, then enemies are all you're gonna find.

let me give you some advice.

you should go before you find out how dangerous we really are.

that takes guts... and then there's you.

people want someone to follow.

same goes for you too right?

little pig, little pig, let me in!

i want you to think about what could've happened, think about what happened, and think about what can still happen.

don’t pretend you don’t know the score.

anyone wanna finish the game? come on! i was winning!

it ain’t just about getting by here. it’s about getting it all.

people can try and you set you in the right direction, but they can’t show you the way.

listen, i like you, so i don't want to go hard proving a point here.

we'll win. but we need to wait for the right moment.

i hear your concern. i'm not insensitive to it.

people say i have an expressive face.

i always found it hard getting close to anyone.

that remind you of anyone you know?

if you knew us, if you knew anything, you would kill us.

well pardon me.

look, just put it down...

we need to talk.

hope you're not trying to hide stuff from us 'cause that generally doesn't go over very well.

i feel like i ought to give you a signing bonus.

you bunch of pussies!

nobody's evil. they just decide to forget who they are.

i think i've made my position very clear.

i'm serious. do you want me to prove how serious?

bet you thought you were all gonna grow old together.

whatever you had going for you... that is over now.

what's about to happen is gonna be hard to watch.

if you're having problems of that nature, come to see me.

some people are evil. i've seen it.

i was gifted these pickles.

how about a "thank you?"

i can't be the only one to notice that you got a fat lady in charge of keeping track of rations, can i?

he's an idiot.

you'll get yourself killed.

you should know, there is no door number four. this is it. this is the only way.

speak when you're spoken too.

in case you haven't caught on, i just slipped my dick down your throat, and you thanked me for it.

i can see this is hard on you guys.

we provide security for others. we bring civilization back to this world.

you guys have a barbecue or something and not invite us?

i'll find you.

you were thinking about someone else.

my apologies for leaving the place a bit of a mess, but we got a litany of other shit to attend to!

you like ice cream? we have ice cream.

me? i ain't doing shit.

you got your friend killed.

not making a decision is a big decision.

drink from the well, replenish the well.

suck my nuts.

he's a coward. they're more dangerous.

don't be rude.

this must be hard for you right?

no matter how things go down, i got your back.

we'll crack open some tequila, we'll talk, we'll work it out.

you don't have to do this.

your people are making me lose my voice doing all this yelling.

i'd like to take it back to awkward silence now.

i mean, you have been king shit for so long.

we made it. we can make it. we can.

you're not me.

it’s because you got no guts.

was the joke that bad?

is that you? underneath all that man bush?

thanks for saving my life before. and other time. oh, and the other time.

get on your knees.

you really want to see all these people die? you will.

i am indeed a smarty pants.

what the hell, man?

we're the ones who live.

don't wander around here on your own.

#prompts #twd #rp prompts #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #rp meme #sentence starters #inbox meme #the walking dead rp meme #twd rp meme #apocalypse rp meme #apocalypse sentence starters #apocalypse rp #tlou rp meme #inbox prompts #deadprompts prompt

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acourtofthought · 3 months

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I want your opinion on this, if you don't mind. E/riels insist the "His secret to share, never hers" moment was Nesta silently confirming their ship (lol). But I thought the whole Azriel looking pained and not wanting to go near the fireplace.... was because of his past? He is afraid/wary of fire, is he not? (Correct me if I'm wrong)

How are they linking this as a "omg he's struggling because elain is by the fireplace" moment? Some say mor was there too, so it's probably that but idk. What do you think? :)

I don't think it's in regards to any fear of fire because she notes it's not a thing but a "who" sat near the fireplace.

I think this line, just as many E/riel lines that have come before, is purposely ambiguous.

Stepping away from that scene for a moment.

Do you remember the line where Elain breathes "beautiful" and E/riels find that so romantic that she's looking at this scars?

But do we truly know that for a fact? Because Feyre literally says, "I couldn't tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath". His bright shiny Siphon is sitting atop his scarred hand and there is no way to know which of the two she was referring to yet E/riels claim with certainty that it's his scars.

Or the scene in ACOWAR where Az goes into Hybern's camp to retrieve Elain and they love to say he hadn't hesitated because that's Cassian's opinion of the situation. But Cassian was first arguing with Nesta over it and in pain. It's Feyre who was observing the argument between Nessian, where Nesta says "and there is no chance of ANY of you getting into its heart. Especially you. (emphasis on the word any in the actual book) and then tells us Az speaks up, "as if in answer to some unspoken debate" "I'm getting her back". If someone is having an unspoken debate with themselves, that means there is hesitation. And it was only after Nesta said there was no chance of ANY of them getting her back he says he will. The fact that there is time that went by between Cassian saying he'd get her back and Az saying he'll get her back proves that there was some hesitation on his part. But again, Cassian later saying "he hadn't hesitated" creates two versions of what actually happened when it came to Az and Elain.

And with TT, she took this supposedly poignant scene where Az never let anyone else touch it but she added in there that it's because Mor begged him with tears in her eyes that he was willing to sit out (he literally says "I won't be using this today" and that's because of Mor. Had Mor not wanted him to be safe than he would have been using TT himself).

And the potato scene. E/riels claim that as yet another romantic moment for the pairing but Rhys says that it's because of how his mother was treated that caused Az's reaction so was that scene truly because of emotions he had for Elain or was it because her serving them reminded him too much of his mother (which is not romantic) who was a servant? The fact that he later went on to look at Mor with hunger and yearning makes me think he wasn't having feelings for Elain days before only to fixate on another female right after.

It's the same thing with the fireplace scene because who else is sitting next to the fire besides Elain? Mor. Mor is on one couch in front of the fire and Amren, Varian, Elain and Feyre are on the other across from her. Now we later learn that Az can't stand the scent of Elain's mating bond but why would Nesta know that? She's been regularly absent from family dinners because she was avoiding her sister and Rhys. She kept to her rundown apartment during the time between Solstice and the start of SF so it's not like she'd have seen any interactions between them. The neutral but "charged" look was the very first time she witnessed anything and even that was somewhat confusing to readers. But Nesta had been around long enough to note the way Az responded to Mor (she was there when he snarled at the King over her and when he fought Eris in the HL meeting over her). No one ever confirmed to her that Az was in love with Mor so it's possible that's who she thought he had feelings for.

And if she thought Elain was his big secret, why did she tease him over him being Gwyn's new ribbon? Wouldn't she have have been uncomfortable over it because of what that meant for her sister?

I feel all these moments were written this way intentionally because when E/riels come at SJM with the pitchforks saying "but you added this in there!!!!!!" there's evidence to say "yes, but she also added this which shows you chose the wrong interpretation".

That hasn't been the case with other male love interests. Lucien staring at Elain with longing on multiple occasions and never looking at another female that way can't be taken away from their ship. There's no uncertainty over the truth of it. Him saying that Elain (much to his guilt at the realization) is the MOST beautiful female he'd ever seen. That title will always belong to Elain for Lucien, even above Jesminda. That Lucien's loyalty to Elain since the moment they became mates has remained unwavering is canon versus Az who met Elain and remained in love with Mor for a long time after, began to show lust for Elain but then showed admiration and encouragement for Gwyn (something he never showed to Elain versus Lucien who always acknowledged his female friends accomplishments but gave credit to Elain for her part in killing the King and believing in her vision to the point he was willing to risk his life for it).

#anti e/riel

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evilscy · 1 year

Note

i'm stressed and i nd to ask, what do you think will happen now with megumi and yuji?

Death.

But joking (or not) I believe we have no way of knowing for sure, Akutami is a box of surprises with each arc we experience reading. I think what we have to do now is absorb the possibilities, understand every minute tip he left in the previous chapters to understand and arrive at something that can give an indication of where the text is heading.

And, well, I think saying my opinion about everything that's going on is almost wanting to keep hope lol I only read the leak in JP and therefore my translation and interpretation could be wrong. Anyway, I ended up slowing JJK again early on and, I can tell you, everything that happened in this new chapter didn't shock me. I mean, every detail between itafushi and the dialogue that Megumi exchanged with Sukuna implies what Gege would do, I just didn't know the moment or how it would be then, about the way it happened, I'm surprised.

Since I saw the spoilers, I questioned myself a lot about things like: Will Yuji make it out alive now? Megumi is the only death in the end? (I'll focus on both because the question is about itafushi, ok?)

We know that at that moment his (Yuji) death is unfeasible, not because he is the protagonist because that doesn't save him, but because of his relationship with Kenjaku. Akutami still has work to develop and Yuji needs to develop even more, even if his end is death he has a way to go. And despite the angst, I am very satisfied with the chapter because Megumi is always Yuji's cause and will be his motivation to have strength because one wants to save the other. One wishes the other to live a long and fair life. And Yuji will not allow Sukuna to disgrace Megumi's integrity.

Of course it might be something that will take chapters to come to pass, but I like to think I'm right about that because Megumi is important to Yuji and we've already had enough proof of how much Yuji gives himself for those he loves. And gives his life per people, as he also “understands” his place in this world. He will know what to do.

Megumi is like that too, he also gives of himself and doesn't think when it comes to the people he loves: Yuji and Tsumiki (not that Gojo or Nobara aren't important). He fights for them and we had that punctuated in this chapter when Sukuna takes control of Yuji's body and Megumi doesn't think twice and acts on it. And it is very logical for Sukuna to act now, because now Megumi is vulnerable enough to question whether the curse in charge of her body is worth fighting.

And just like Yuji, Megumi has a purpose in all of this.

After all, how hurt will he be if he has the notion that he will possibly hurt people he loves? I believe Akutami will say something about this, about Megumi and Sukuna arguing at some point (or not). My only certainty is that Sukuna will make Megumi responsible for her sister's death. Hana may also die if Angel x Sukuna occurs. And maybe Megumi/Sukuna and Gojo will face each other at some point if everything unfolds as I believe it will.

Yuji vs Megumi/Sukuna is a possibility, as I mentioned above given everything that happens between them, but will it happen now? Or much later? Sukuna is unpredictable, it might torture Yuji if he acts at this point on the fact that Megumi is now the vessel. If no one shows up to help Yuji, I'm sure he'll be very hurt physically because, as I mentioned, I don't think Yuji is going to die. Not now.

Obviously these are speculations. However, I trust Megumi's strength a lot although I find it very interesting for Akutami to release this now, even if predictable in a way, because he simply paved the way by showing Megumi's emotional decline in this arc. I mean, how mad and impatient is he here?

How agonized is he that he can't allow Yuji to get away? Megumi isn't stupid, but the uncertainty of Sukuna's plan made him believe that he and Yuji could handle it. They are children, after all. They trusted their convictions and hoped that everything would go well just by being together. Even Yuji's fear of something happening, he didn't completely go against Megumi's decisions about sticking by each other's side in this mess.

And yes, maybe we don't even have Megumi's perception anymore, he might be gone for good. However, despite considering it a possibility, I don't believe it. I know that to dramatize it further, Akutami will voice Megumi at some point to bring Yuji to his peak, as he and Megumi have a very strong bond from the beginning.

Their death is a possible reality not to be ruled out because of all the possibilities out there, I can't see itafushi coming out alive in the end, since the beginning I was introduced to the manga: either the two die or one of them dies. The cloud of death just constantly hovers over their heads at all times.

They will sacrifice themselves to try and save each other.

Anyway, regardless of the direction they take, I'm completely ecstatic and more in love with everything that involves itafushi and the entire jujutsu kaisen text because every dialogue and every exchange of words makes this moment, this harrowing event, even more poetic.

#itafushi #yuji itadori #fushiguro megumi #sukuna #jjk spoilers #I am deeply sad and STRESSED #I just wanted a moment of peace #they deserve more than this #I can't take this anguish anymore #fushiita #megumi fushiguro #itadori yuuji

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theodysseyofhomer · 6 months

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So I know with Epic (which is excellent) coming out we all say that Odysseos was the one to kill Astyanax, but as far as I know in the original stories it was Neoptolemos/Pyrrhos who physically killed him (in varying brutal ways depending on the version because Neo was a monster). That said, the way I heard it Odysseos was the one to say Astyanax HAD to die, so I can definitely see him having some kind of guilt over that.

ancient sources are divided on whether it was odysseus or neoptolemus, and some don't say at all whose hands physically threw the baby (also astyanax isn't always a baby, not that that lessens the charge of child murder). i'm most familiar with euripides' trojan women, in which talthybius tells andromache that odysseus argued the other kings into executing her son. i assume that's what you're referring to. all this information is in the second paragraph of the astyanax wikipedia page, if you're looking for more specific citations for other versions.

i also think it's interesting that in the play we have with odysseus and neoptolemus interacting (sophocles' philoctetes), odysseus is the instigator, while neoptolemus enacts his scheme — and eventually goes against the scheme, out of compassion for philoctetes which odysseus completely lacks. in my headcanon, i tend to map that dynamic onto the rest of the war.

i don't know that it ever comes up as something odysseus feels guilty about. (even in pop culture mythology, epic is the only one i can think of that touches on the infanticide. i do like that it goes there, although my overall review is that epic is "just ok.") in euripides' hecuba, odysseus is also the one to lead away polyxena to her death; he avoids speaking to her or even looking at her, and she interprets this as a sign of the conscience he is viciously suppressing. (euripides is great. everyone should read euripides.) but neither of these stories come up in the odyssey, where we get the most of odysseus' internality.

what we can say with certainty about astyanax's murder is that all the achaean leaders signed off on it. and odysseus is, pretty much without exception, the one who comes up with the most ruthless ideas and convinces the rest to go along with them. someone else may be the hands, but he's the mind.

#orchidzach #ask

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dragonologist-writings · 2 months

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Title: Crown of Fire Fandom: Pillars of Eternity Rating: G Status: One-Shot Characters: Original Character (Nona) Additional Notes: Backstory for TTRPG Character, Family Drama & Betrayal, Leaden Key Recruitment Word Count: 1200 Summary: “You have been praying for justice, haven’t you? We are the true followers of Woedica. Justice is what we deliver.”

read below or here on AO3

State your name and purpose.

My name belongs to the gods and my hand to their service.

Even as a child, Nona spends many of her days in the temple. At first she is taken there by her mother, along with her baby sister Decima, as they go to visit her father while he works. But even as time passes, after her mother stops taking her (after Mother is gone), Nona still finds herself returning of her own accord.

It's a wondrous place, with grandiose architecture, chants that feel like magic, books and words and history memorialized in long rows of heavy tomes. More than that, the place carries a sense of belonging, of certainty, of rightness, and though at her young age she doesn’t quite yet have the words to express it, Nona feels it all the same.

Her father encourages her interest, of course.

“Would you like to become a priestess one day, Nona?” he asks with a smile. “You could lead the temple and help the erl in court, like I do. It’s a lot of work, of course, and you’ll have to study hard. But the priesthood runs in our family. It could be your calling just as it was mine.”

And Nona looks up with wide eyes at the crowned statue of Woedica, so resplendent and wise. Once again she feels that belonging, that certainty, that rightness, and she eagerly nods in assent.

What company do you seek?

I seek the company of shadows, that our labors may remain secret.

Nona knows what the papers say. She knows what they mean. But still she checks her work, over and over again, until she can no longer deny the truth.

Her father doesn’t believe her at first. “The erl would not be involved in such things,” he insists, but Nona shows him her research, all carefully documented and organized. It’s all there, undeniable proof of her suspicions and accusations.

Corruption. Deception. Even animancy experiments, the kind that have been outlawed in Aedyr for decades. Nona doesn’t know exactly how long it’s been going on, but it’s clear that the erl is using any means he has to collect a very forbidden type of power. More than that, it’s clear he has no intention of stopping, no matter how many of the gods' laws he breaks along the way.

It is the type thing the Church of Woedica simply cannot stand.

“Let me take care of this,” her father says. When Nona tries to protest, he stands firm. “You do not have the authority to convince the court of such things. I do. My voice will not be ignored. I will see that the right thing is done.”

And Nona, fool that she is, believes him.

Tell me of your labors.

To see that the craft of kith and wilder does not disturb what bones the gods have buried.

Nona knows everything has gone wrong when the guards come for her.

She does her best to keep calm, even as she hears the temple-goers whisper loudly, even as she sees Decima’s terrified face in the crowd. She tells herself that this is a simple mistake, and that her father will ensure everything is sorted out.

But her father only watches, stone-faced, as the erl reads out the charges of treason. And when the charges have been read, it is her father who declares her guilty.

“He is protecting you,” Decima tells her later, in the short time they have together before Nona must leave the city for good. “Had he done nothing, you would be facing execution rather than exile.”

She says this as if it is a good thing, and Nona has never felt such anger in all her life.

How do we know your purpose?

You shall know it by the confession of my tongue, the deeds of my hand, and the oath on my soul.

When the cloaked figures appear, Nona wonders for a moment if someone has finally been sent to kill her.

But the leader of the group, a woman with a stoic voice and sharp eyes, only smiles at her. “We’ve heard tale of a city,” she explains, “where a man rules through corruption and taints the land with animancy. We have heard of a Woedican priest who ignores his duties to The Queen That Was. And we have heard of you.”

Nona can only stare, speechless, and the woman’s smile widens. “You have been praying for justice, haven’t you? We are the true followers of Woedica. Justice is what we deliver.”

And how is your oath guarded?

“What are you going to do now?”

Nona is startled by the question, and by the reappearance of the hooded woman that she’d assumed would be gone by now. Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised- they are standing in Woedica’s temple, after all. Where else would Her servants be?

“I don’t know,” Nona answers honestly, and tries not to show just how much that answer scares her.

“Are you not planning on returning to your place here?”

“Here?” Nona laughs, but there is no humor in her tone. “There’s nothing for me here. Everybody in this city either still believes the lies or hates me for revealing the truth.”

The words leave a bitter taste in Nona’s mouth, but they cannot be denied. Nobody wants her here. Even her sister- (and she thought Des, of all people, would understand, would always be on her side)- even her sister is furious at her for destroying the façade of respectability her father had built.

But Nona destroyed it anyway. At the very least, she helped. And now, because of her and these strange agents, the erl is dead and his followers have fallen with him. Some had attempted a surrender, had begged for mercy, but there is little mercy to be found in The Burned Queen's justice. Nona does not claim happiness at this, but there is a catharsis in knowing that the scales have finally been evened.

(Father had fallen to his knees, had been one of the men to beg, and that was when Nona knew he had never been worth of a place here.)

Lost in thought, Nona nearly forgets the other woman’s presence until, after a long moment, she says, “Come with us.”

Nona looks at her, surprised and slightly alarmed. “With you? Where?”

“Wherever we are needed,” the woman answers simply. Her eyes continue to study Nona as she speaks, although she never loses her steady tone. “The Queen always has a place for those who serve her well, and you have proven your faith.”

Nona opens her mouth to answer, but before she can speak the woman holds up a hand in warning. “Be aware- this is not a responsibility to take lightly. This life is difficult, and dangerous. There are many places that do not accept the worship of our Queen, let alone our work for her. If you are to do this, you must be certain.”

Nona takes a moment, and thinks about what she will be leaving behind, and what has already been lost, and whether it will be worth it to keep walking down this path. She does not need long to find the answer. “I am certain.”

It is sealed by the Leaden Key.

#fanfic #pillars of eternity #oc: nona #despite what i put her through i love nona so dearly <3 #crown of fire

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yupuffin · 8 months

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Aside from anticipating getting my heart ripped out and stomped on during the dramatic developments that were teased in the upcoming quests, I'm also intrigued to learn more about Neuvillette because, despite apparently being notoriously impartial and proper as the Chief Justice, he does seem to have something going on: I can't tell yet if it's

a) a sense of doing things "for the greater good" b) naiveté regarding human emotional/thought processes, including his own, or c) active inconsistency/cognitive dissonance.

Or perhaps a combination of multiple factors.

He was completely unbothered by Navia lying to get into his office without an appointment (bypassing standard procedure), and now, according to the 4.1 trailer, he's apparently going to submit false charges against the Traveler to get them into the Fortress of Meropide--something that he stated earlier was taken very seriously and is itself potentially subject to criminal charges should it fail.

I'd attribute these with relative certainty to a) (possibly/partially b)) if it wasn't for one more inconsistency I noticed:

During Lyney's trial, discovering the true culprit was sufficient to acquit him without an additional verdict from the Oratrice.

However, when charges where pressed against Childe, after incriminating Marcel as the true culprit, Neuvillette subjects Childe to another round of judgment by the Oratrice, insisting that "This has always been the rule."

(Clearly not, because it apparently wasn't 'the rule' one Archon Quest ago...)

I realize that brings into consideration the additional factor of the Oratrice and how it operates, about which we still know essentially nothing--although Neuvillette apparently has a hypothesis and has previously considered the possibility of the Oratrice delivering an illogical verdict, so it's possible that I'm overthinking things, and this could simply be a subtle or backhanded way for him to produce a specific reaction from the Oratrice and hence kick-start the investigation, so to speak.

I'd hate to consider Neuvillette suspicious at all because he's so sensitive and kind on the inside that I want to believe he has nothing but good intentions, but I'm not good at speculating--I don't know enough about the story yet to draw any solid conclusions, even though some things just don't seem to add up. I think the same emotional naiveté that makes him so endearing as a character is probably a significant factor--that said, given that he's allegedly a very capable Chief Justice and has been around for hundreds of years, it's not unreasonable to believe that, in some regards, he very much knows what he's doing.

I find it especially intriguing in my particular thought process juxtaposing him with Alhaitham (my other favorite who, indeed, lives in my head rent-free), because... from a narrative standpoint, they're similar in that that they're both stoic as to be enigmatic, they both hold positions that grant them considerable autonomy, and they utilize said autonomy--as well as the abundant resources at their disposal--to assist the Traveler.

...But Alhaitham, on top of being incredibly perceptive rather than naive, is also incredibly consistent. Many players found find Alhaitham untrustworthy because he's highly self-assured and only agrees to collaborate with the Traveler under very specific conditions, with very little flexibility, refusing to bend to anyone else's will solely to appease them. As the Traveler later states, though, this actually makes him extremely reliable as an ally, because Alhaitham is candid about being primarily motivated by a strong sense of self-preservation. He's incredibly selective about how he expends his effort; he's unlikely to flat-out betray an ally because it would simply be too much work for him to set up a genuine, trusting, mutually beneficial relationship with someone, only to jeopardize it later. If he doesn't intend to cooperate, he just says so. ("Until you complete this task, you don't have question privileges" etc.)

Personally, I was inclined to wholly trust Alhaitham from the beginning due to this consistency.

Neuvillette, on the other hand, despite holding position as the Chief Justice, doesn't seem to invariably follow the rules and laws to the letter as one would expect.

As I've already stated, I do want to trust him--and indeed, he's open with the Traveler about the fact that he is actively in the process of investigating the Oratrice, and, even to him, there's just not enough information to draw any conclusions. Factoring in all of the above inconsistencies, though, I think it's as unfair to conclude that Neuvillette is downright nefarious as it is to assume, on the other extreme, that he's wholly benevolent, so I'm going to remain cautiously optimistic while I anticipate further developments from the Fontaine story in the upcoming version. 😆

#genshin impact #neuvillette #genshin impact spoilers #spoilers

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rose-arwen-padme · 1 year

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Suppression

The forbidden tale of Anakin and Padmé's AOTC courtship. A detailed expansion covering the movie, known deleted scenes, and many new scenes. If George showed 20% of their screen time, this is the other 80%. Told in Padmé's POV with ROTS awareness. Written for the enduring fans of Anidala.

Prologue

I don't possess the Force ability to influence minds, but my time as Queen, as Senator, and as Anakin's obsession has taught me there is power to be found in the consequence of my words.

Scrutinizing outsiders have judged my relationship with Anakin from the beginning. Our tale is like a misunderstood creature in a zoo, the spectators pressing their noses up at us on the glass. They gape with their pointed fingers. They're vocal with their opinions and privileged hindsight of how they would've handled the twists and turns differently.

They're unaware, or uncaring, of the elevated audience rows they hurl their uninvited speeches from.

Such detractors single out the warning signs as bombastic, obvious signs of doom. How resourceful they are at finding fuel for the fires they burn us in. As if blinded by these flames of their own creation, they do not pause to view their kindling as the moments they were as we lived them. What to us was one rough conversation in an endless day— our bodies and minds perhaps taxed from duties, unending travel, or even grief, mixed with natural hindrances like hunger, lack of sleep, etc— or a passing disagreement which was returned to after we'd had a chance to process and re-frame… to them, all of it only became chopped and isolated historical fodder. I imagine it's quite effortless to throw sentiments like stones at these events when you know they are events and understand their future importance.

How nice it must be, to absorb and contextualize simultaneously with the big picture... As the great Master Yoda might say, we had not that luxury.

Stand and judge me. Stand and judge Anakin. Force knows we both deserve it, to various degrees. It's easy to pass down the verdict when you weren't caught up in the wave yourself, hijacked in body and mind by forces beyond your control. We were all of us— and I include Obi-Wan in this— just trying to navigate each day as it came, doing the best we could with the information we had at the time. And so, I'll charge you to remember: Even the combined insight of the mighty Jedi Council never saw this coming. How could I be expected to?

{Are you an angel?}

No one knows the full story— our true story.

In terms of emotional presentation, what is the opposite of a highlight reel?

We were inexperienced, the both of us, and it handicapped us in precarious ways. Regardless, the cliché old adage stands frightfully true— when you know, you know, and Fate does not make allowances for how unprepared you are when It comes. We're told in romantic holomovies and wispy fables that such sudden, deep knowledge of finding your soul's intended sweeps you off your feet, making you dizzy with the butterflies and happy certainty of love.

We lacked such rapturous fortune.

Our recognition of fate came dosed in fear. It was absolute certainty wrapped tightly in nothing but the uncertain on all sides, with no air to breathe. It was the sudden lurch from familiar, solid ground to standing on the edge of a wet precipice, the wind ready to push us over at any moment. So we fought it. I swear it on the barren wasteland of all I hold dear— we did try. We fought it, until we… we couldn't. Until we had no choice but to either forfeit our sanity and suppress, or to give in to the abyss and hope we came out the other side whole.

We chose to hope.

Hope has always moved this galaxy forward. Always will. But in its progression, some get crushed beneath the wheel.

I would never separate my fate from my husband's. However, if I am allowed to speak in my own defense, he was far more prepared than I when destiny reunited us on Coruscant. He'd had a decade to process, to accept, to plan, to commit. I was late to the game. Popular thought seems to be that Anakin was the rash one— the unmanageable wild bull— and I the level-headed stoic. But I can never say enough how much I regret the pain I caused him, and the precious time wasted, as he struggled to stabilize me in the chaos alongside him. He knew we were inevitable from the first moment I stepped foot in Watto's shop. For a man infamously known for his lack of it, his patience as he waited for me to catch up to him was nothing short of astonishing. Albeit, that patience was far from perfect.

This realization of fate for a pair when thrust upon individuals in two very different stages of acceptance of it does not make for an easy-breezy love story. There were milestone moments that didn't play out like the glossy holomovies. Mutual inexperience coupled with raw intensity, making for clumsy actions and unpolished words.

But then there were those magical instances, which, unrestrained from knowing any better and ignited by our hungry want to experience, actually far surpassed possibility.

Those that would label us a toxic cocktail of abruptly rushed feelings and dramatic declarations knew scraps of the story. The closest people around us— the select few who knew— barely understood us, what we were to each other. The Jedi didn't even want to try.

So much has happened to him. To me. To us. I shoulder my share of blame without contest.

But I draw the line at any who would reduce us to shallow caricatures.

We were playful. We teased. We laughed. Oh, how Anakin could make me laugh. We bonded over losses, helping each other through grief. We fought— furiously. We made sacred amends. We peeled back sides of ourselves we hadn't yet shared with another soul. And we desired. Gods, Anakin and I desired like we'd invented it. We burned for each other like two stars going nova under our very skins, a touch both acting as the curative relief and as the explosive trigger for craving more. Professionals in the Red District of Coruscant practice for years to do with their entire bodies what we could do to each other with a single look. 'Boring' was not a word in our relationship's vocabulary.

I've been accused of falling for him too fast, before I really knew him. Such a charge is wrong on two counts. First, I knew exactly who Anakin Skywalker was when I married him. I saw firsthand glimpses of the wraith that would consume him long before most others did— even Obi-Wan. But, just as clearly, I likewise saw the good, the exorbitant amount of light in him that others failed to see. Even Obi-Wan.

And second, I did not fall for Anakin. One does not meet with the life-altering experience which made me feel more alive than anything ever had before and call it a fall. It will be difficult for the hindsight spectators with their superiority complexes to believe, but Anakin brought more excitement, passion, and joy into my life than anything I had ever known. Whether running a planet or a blockade, the nervous energy of addressing the Galactic Senate, or being surrounded in a war zone, it was all paltry compared to the rush I'd feel when his gaze simply met mine across a room. One does not fall for a man, a lover, a— forgive me, but— born pilot like Anakin Skywalker. I flew.

I acutely know this because the fall did come, only much, much later. By that point, the glorious height to which we'd soared became fatal once the descent began.

There are plenty who would have my Ani suffer eternally in hell for his crimes. I am not here to invalidate their reasons, nor to silence their cries for justice. I know what he has done. If they get their wish, my only request is this— let his same flames engulf me as well.

For this angel will gladly burn in hell by his side.

Continued at AO3 Link and Fanfiction.Net Link

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ifidiedinadream · 7 months

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babies of the band you say? well, good sex is nice right, and it only gets better the more you do it with the same person, so why wouldn't the two of them decide that hey, we might both be straight or so we think, but hooking up with someone always there on tour seems like a great way to relax right? do the others know? do they walk in on them and wonder when the hell these two turned gay and dating? do they think they're being secretive but really, constantly sneaking off together for a quick bj in some supply closet or behind a corner isn't all that subtle? does one of them high on concert endorphines bring up wanting to try anal sex/penetration and they both end up learning a lot about their bodies that night? i'll leave it up to you!

hellooooooo i wrote something funny please tell me it's funny

also on ao3

"Sorry for earlier," Aleksi blurts out. The curtains of their shared hotel room are closed and it's night. They should be sleeping, the day has been exhausting enough for them to doze off immediately and sleep like babies until tomorrow morning, but they're scrolling their phones in the dim light of their bedside tables instead. Olli just couldn't relax.

"It's fine, you were irritable, I understand that."

Olli does understand, but it still hurts a bit. Aleksi hardly ever loses his patience, and he never snapped at him before. Olli was expecting a reprimand from Joel or Niko if there had to be one, certainly not from Aleksi.

He guesses getting lost in a Swiss train station when their train was supposed to depart fifteen minutes later was too much bullshit even for calm, seraphic Aleksi.

(Especially when their flight had been canceled, they had to wait for hours at the airport with no certainty they would be able to leave at all, and when they finally managed to land in Switzerland, Aleksi found most of his gear broken and part of it missing. All in the same day.)

"I deserved that," Olli adds later.

"No, you didn't. I was an asshole."

Olli will never forget his clenched teeth and hard eyes, the way he spat out "Are you for real? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" when they finally reunited. Olli had been panicking himself, because what the hell was he supposed to do in a foreign country that wasn't part of the EU therefore provided no internet connection nor signal to lost Finnish boys like him, but he didn't tell the others. He was relieved upon finding them, very much so, but Aleksi's hostility made him feel like shit not even a second later. They didn't exchange a word all day until now and it felt so wrong.

It never happened before. Olli would say Aleksi and he are good friends, Aleksi is probably his favorite guy in the band and they get along very well most of the time. He's his best buddy, even.

He's glad they seem to be normal again.

"This tour has been stressful," Aleksi says, putting his phone on the nightstand to charge and rolling on his side, giving his back to Olli. They're sharing a double bed. "It really is no excuse for how I behaved but... I really need some release."

"You could've gone out with the others," Olli remarks, but he knows Aleksi doesn't unwind like that. Aleksi's back expands and shrinks back down, like he just took a deep breath.

"Clubbing won't do. I need something..." he trails off. He rolls in the bed again, turning to Olli. "Something more physical."

Olli snorts and puts his phone away. "You can lock yourself in the bathroom, dude. I'm not gonna judge, nor interrupt."

Aleksi grunts. "I become grumpy and obnoxious when I don't have sex for a while."

"I think any person with balls can relate."

Aleksi stares at the ceiling, seeming to consider it. "Maybe I should've gone to the club after all. I could've found a girl to hook up with."

Olli can't help but imagine the scene. He thinks of Aleksi getting on top of a woman and pounding his hips into her. His stomach flips because apparently he's a perv like that. A sigh from Aleksi's lips pulls him out of his daydreams.

"How I wish I had someone I could hook up with. I don't mean a one night stand."

"'Cause sex is nice, but it gets even better when it's always with the same person, right?"

"Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I do hook up with strangers when I'm at home sometimes," Aleksi confesses, "because I need the sex, and my hand isn't always enough, but at home I don't need it as much as I do when I'm on tour. It's stressful on tour. But at the same time, is finding a different girl every other night worth the hassle? When at the end of the day she doesn't know me, I don't know her, I come because of course I do but maybe she doesn't because I don't know where to touch her, I don't know her body, she doesn't know mine, it doesn't feel as good as it could, you know. When you know a person, it's one hundred times better."

"Yeah," Olli agrees, "it would be nice to have someone to hook up with. Always the same person."

"Yeah."

"Too bad there's no one."

"Yeah. Too bad."

Olli reaches his arm out to turn off his bedside lamp, assuming the conversation is over. When he makes to lie down again, he finds Aleksi hovering over him, blue eyes huge and bright even in the dark. Olli gasps.

"You didn't get what I was trying to say, did you?"

"I - what were you trying to say?"

"We could hook up. You and I."

Olli's hand, still on the light switch, turns on the lamp again. Aleksi is looking down at him with expectant eyes and Olli doesn't miss the vague desperation dwelling in them as well.

"But dude," he says, "I'm not a girl. You're not a girl."

"I'm aware." Aleksi pushes the blanket off of him, sitting up. He takes his t-shirt off. "Who gives a shit. It doesn't have to mean we're gay."

"So if I, a man, hook up with you, also a man," Olli looks at his hands, counting on his fingers, "it won't... it won't make us gay?"

"Nah," Aleksi says, "it's only gay if we catch feelings for each other. Which can't happen, 'cause we're not gay."

Olli must admit Aleksi's argument doesn't convince him in the slightest, he's pretty sure it's not how it works, but Aleksi's hairy chest is right there in front him, there's a bulge in his pajama pants, and suddenly he doesn't give a shit about labels anymore.

"Alright," Olli says. "Let's hook up, then."

***

Despite them not being gay in the slightest, it becomes a habit quite easily, naturally even. Olli and Aleksi hook up backstage before the shows, in the showers after the shows, in the bus when the others are exploring the cities, in the hotel rooms the others always let them share for some reason (Olli is sure no one suspects anything, they're being very subtle and sneaky about it, they're good at that. They've always been attached at the hip anyway, so why would anyone notice a difference now?).

One night they're both in Olli's bunk in the bus, Olli's cock is in Aleksi's mouth, his hands in his hair. And Olli's being silent. The others are asleep. Aleksi's slurping sounds are quiet, and so are the heavy breaths he takes when he resurfaces for air.

It gets a bit harder to not make a sound when Aleksi swirls his tongue around the rim of the head of Olli's cock, focusing on a particular spot on the underside, one that drives him crazy, so he puts his own fist in his mouth. Aleksi looks up at him with mischievous eyes, cheeks hollowed out, and when he pulls away he's smiling smugly.

"Stop teasing or I'll tell everyone you're into sucking dick."

"Shut up or I'll tell everyone you're the one whose dick I usually suck."

Aleksi wraps his lips around him then, relaxing his throat so that he can take all of him in. Olli sends his head back and it hits the wall behind him. It hurts but he's pretty sure it didn't wake anyone up.

***

Another time would be when after a show that went particularly well, in the heat of the moment, Aleksi grabs Olli by his shirt and pulls him into the nearest secluded space, which happens to be nothing more than a small storage closet. The others arrive when the closet door is closed, missing them by mere instants. The door isn't even closed, to be fair, it doesn't lock and the way Aleksi is thrusting his cock in between Olli's thighs makes it move and open slightly. No one is watching, no one is listening, Olli tells himself. It feels so good, Aleksi's dick soft to the touch yet so hard, his breath on his neck from behind, his hand wrapped around Olli's own cock - he doesn't want to stop and worry.

And why should he worry, anyway. It's not like they're being loud. It's not like Joonas and Joel aren't yelling and filling up cups with booze. It's fine.

What probably isn't fine is how much Olli is getting into this. Their habit soon turned into some sort of tradition, where Olli is having sex more than ever before in his life, even multiple times a day, and he's never felt better. Aleksi said it's not gay until they catch feelings, and sure, there are no feelings to be caught, they're best bros, but the idea that all this will stop once the tour is over makes Olli sick to his stomach.

But Olli doesn't have to think about it now. Tour is far from over. Aleksi's amazing dick is between his thighs where his pants and underwear were pushed off just enough to allow Aleksi this movement, and the urgency feels nice, too nice, desperate Aleksi must be Olli's favorite brand of Aleksi.

He's going fast and muffling his moaning by pressing his mouth on the top of Olli's shoulder. Olli comes all over Aleksi's fist, biting his lip hard, and Aleksi follows soon after, tightening the grip on Olli's hip. They stay in the closet until they're sure the others are too drunk to notice. They giggle and tell each other to stay quiet, making more noise in the process, and maybe they kiss, even make out (just to pass the time, obviously, no other reason), the urgency from before nowhere to be found. Olli doesn't find it in himself to care. It feels good; Aleksi's mouth is so warm and gentle and his hands on Olli's face are delicate and his eyes always turn so soft after sex, when he's finally satisfied. That specific gaze sort of brings butterflies to Olli's stomach, and today, when they part, it's not any different. It's only a moment, though; soon mischief is animating Aleksi's eyes again and he reaches out to grab Olli's balls, just a bit too tightly for it to feel nice. Olli says "ouch" and Aleksi giggles again, kicking the door open and storming out of it.

"What was that for?" Olli asks, fixing his pants before following him.

"For pinching my ass during the show."

They don't look suspicious, Olli thinks. The others wouldn't be able to notice anything with how much they've been drinking.

***

Tour goes on and the habit-turned-tradition turns into obsession, at least on Olli's side. It's science, Olli tells himself. The more endorphins, dopamine, oxytocin his body produces, the more it wants them. It's chemistry, really. He doesn't like Aleksi and he isn't gay, he's just getting his body addicted to the feeling.

Which isn't a problem, he'll get over it after a week or so of detox when the tour ends.

(Something Olli doesn't really want to think about, the tour ending.)

Now he's lying in the bed of his hotel room just like that first time, and something is bothering him, but this once it has nothing to do with Aleksi being mad at him.

"Can I ask you something?" Olli inquires, the kisses Aleksi is leaving on his neck doing little to clear his mind. Aleksi hums. "Do you think it's gay if we have, like, anal sex?"

Aleksi stops kissing his skin, pulling away slightly to look at him. His gaze is heavy lidded. He looks into Olli's eyes, then at his lips, and that's when he says, "Nah. Why should it be?"

"Because it would be. Two men having sex."

Aleksi has started kissing Olli's neck again, this time it's slower though, wetter. "It's two men having sex when you're sucking my dick behind a gas station, when I'm giving you a handjob in the lounge area of the bus when the others are watching hockey on TV." Aleksi's lips move downward, caressing Olli's collarbone, and then he's biting there, making Olli yelp. "It's two men having sex when we grind against each other first thing in the morning, still in bed, when Tommi knocks on our door and tells us to get ready for breakfast." Aleksi's hand fondles Olli's cock through his pants. "All of this is two men having sex. And it feels good, doesn't it? It feels right."

"Yes," Olli breathes out, because what else can he say when Aleksi is stroking his dick like that.

"Remember this: we're good as long as we don't catch feelings for each other."

"Right."

Right.

"We can try anal sex if you want," Aleksi says. "We have condoms and lube. Did you want to be on top or -"

"I actually wanted to try bottoming," Olli says, cutting himself off before he can add because I want to have you inside me on a whole new level as he suspects it could sound, indeed, a bit gay.

This isn't catching feelings.

"Alright." Aleksi flashes him a reassuring smile. "I'll be gentle."

"How do I - have you done this before?" Olli asks.

"A couple of times, yeah. With women, of course."

"Of course."

"Lie down."

Olli does. Aleksi takes his pajamas off slowly and then undresses himself. He grabs Olli's knees and parts his legs gently, lowering his face and kissing his inner thigh once. He tells Olli to raise his legs and keep them folded.

"Like this?" Olli asks, feeling a little exposed but Aleksi is eyeing him tenderly.

"Yes, perfect," Aleksi says. "I'm gonna touch you a bit... getting you used to the sensation. Okay?"

Olli nods. Aleksi's fingers end up in between his cheeks, brushing lightly, then up his perineum, making Olli shiver. Aleksi pours lube on his hole directly from the bottle and it's cold, but Aleksi assures him the lube has to be copious.

"Tell me if you need more, alright?" Aleksi says, and Olli nods once again.

Aleksi's fingers are gentle. He describes what he's doing to Olli, making sure he's okay. When a finger is inside it isn't necessarily comfortable, but Aleksi's patient and soft gaze makes Olli relax easily and his body gives in. Aleksi prepares him for a while longer, and when Olli says he's ready, Aleksi withdraws his hand and ends up on top of him, kissing him slowly before smearing his cock in lube.

Their bodies are flush and it's so slick where Aleksi's cock and his ass touch. Olli wraps his arms and legs around Aleksi because he loves the feeling of having Aleksi everywhere, of his scent permeating the air all around him; he loves how sweet Aleksi is tonight, his considerate questions and kind eyes.

He won't tell him that, of course, because that would be gay, and we all agree that neither of them is gay, so Olli just hugs Aleksi silently as the latter gently penetrates him, not before asking if it's okay a million times, not before reminding Olli he can tap out if he needs to, he can add more lube, he can stretch him more, he'll do whatever Olli needs him to.

They have slow sex. It's uncomfortable before it feels even remotely pleasurable, but Aleksi's tender care makes it all worth it. He moves so slowly Olli can feel every centimeter of him inside himself, and the way Aleksi is looking at his face, attentive and careful, makes Olli feel all fuzzy in the chest. However, it's when Aleksi tells him he feels so good that Olli lets out a moan, which seems to invigorate Aleksi, making him move a bit faster. Olli doesn't mind, he's totally relaxed now, and when Aleksi lifts his hips a bit and the angle changes, Olli feels a kind of pleasure he's never felt in his life before.

"Found it?" Aleksi asks, amused.

Olli moans louder, holding Aleksi closer to him. It's heaven. Heaven. His body has never felt better, his heart is warm and large and full, his head is above the clouds, and Olli comes untouched for the first time ever.

"Good boy," Aleksi says, and when he finally comes as well, Olli wishes he wasn't wearing a condom so he could feel all the cum inside him, claiming his body like it's his right.

But it's not because he's catching feelings. It's just that the sex is particularly good.

They're best bros. Fuck buddies at best.

***

The habit-turned-tradition-turned-obsession somehow ends up turning into something else by the end of the tour. Olli doesn't exactly know what, but he knows it's bothering him. If he couldn't stay a day without having sex with Aleksi before, now he finds himself fighting for his attention, hating it when he spends time with someone else (like when he went shopping with Joel on their day off) and feeling like the king of the universe when Aleksi rests his head on his shoulder (like that day they were late to the venue because the bus was stuck in traffic).

It's bothering him because deep down, despite him not being gay, despite Aleksi being his best bro, Olli knows he caught feelings somewhere along the way. He tells himself it isn't the case, that he doesn't like Aleksi like that, he only likes the attention, the sex, having someone to occupy his mind, but lying to himself can only get him so far, and it won't spare him all the hurt that will inevitably come.

Because to Aleksi it's only sex, he made it clear right from the start.

It gets even heavier on the last day of tour. They're getting back to Finland tomorrow and the fact that Aleksi will be in Helsinki and Olli in Oulu, how they won't have any excuse to sleep together anymore, how Aleksi will probably go on with his life like nothing ever happened tears up Olli's heart.

It wasn't supposed to come to this. Fuck.

That's why he agrees to go to Joel's acquaintance's party (a friend of a friend of a dude who works at a radio station), to try and drown his sorrows in alcohol before the hole in his chest gets too big and sucks too much of his life away. Aleksi will be there too, everyone will, but staying behind on the bus and crying his eyes out in his bunk bed is most likely the more pathetic option and Olli doesn't need that.

At the party, Olli drinks and drinks and drinks. He's Mr. Recovery Man so he'll be just fine for the flight tomorrow. There are a lot of beautiful women trying to start a conversation with "the Finnish bassist who looks like a model", as Olli overheard one of them say, but sex is the last thing on Olli's mind right now. All he wants is to hold Aleksi's hand for one last time before they have to part.

Before he has to tell him he fucked everything up by catching feelings and evidently not being as straight as he thought he was.

Olli drinks again. His mood gets better the more he drinks, his head and heart lighter, to the point, some time later, where he's actually having fun and dancing to the beat pumping through the speakers and talking to people; however, it's short lived. He keeps drinking until a line is crossed and his stomach starts to hurt. Olli finds a bathroom before it's too late, throws up his entire soul, and by the time he's done, he can barely stand.

Joonas finds him in the bathroom, holding on to the sink. His friend washes his mouth and takes him to the couch in the living room, asking him if he wants to go back to the bus with him and call it a night. Olli refuses.

(He doesn't want the night to end, because that would mean the tour has ended, and so has whatever he and Aleksi had.)

Joonas leaves, not without mumbling something about someone being a lovesick idiot. Olli considers the beer bottle sitting on the coffee table before him, but decides against it. He fights sleep but allows his eyes to close, focusing on the music resonating in his chest. He tries to figure out the notes of the bass he's hearing. It's a pretty basic bass line.

Someone sits down beside him. Olli opens his eyes and it's a blurry, blurry Aleksi, with wild hair and sweat all over his face. Olli's senses come back to him at once, suddenly alert. Aleksi doesn't look much more sober than he is.

"Kiss," Aleksi says, moving closer, but Olli pushes him away.

"In front of everyone?"

"They know."

"They don't."

"Literally everyone in the band knows. Niko just called me a pining mess," Aleksi slurs. Olli furrows his brows because it reminds him of something. "I just want one last kiss before you tell me to fuck off forever."

"You're drunk."

"So are you."

Aleksi tries to kiss him once again but Olli moves away. It hurts. It hurts like hell, but another kiss would only hurt more. "We can't do this. Aleksi, this was a mistake. We said we wouldn't catch feelings. But I have."

Aleksi suddenly turns serious. He looks at Olli's face for a moment, like he's searching for something there. His face is still blurry but he's as gorgeous as always, even with the two little expression lines in between his eyebrows. His gaze drops as soon as he starts speaking.

"So have I. I fell in love with you. Sorry I can't say it sober."

"You - what?"

Aleksi's face crumbles after an intense moment. He starts to laugh loudly and for a second Olli thinks this was all a cruel, heartless prank.

"Dude, we're so fucking gay," Aleksi says. "Don't know about you but I told myself so many lies during the last few months. Ever since we started hooking up. But I wasn't fooling anyone. Dude, I like you so fucking much. Always have."

Olli feels like he could cry; he hugs Aleksi tight instead, kissing him on the mouth when they part and not giving two shits about it.

"We should... probably talk about this when we're both sober. In the morning," Olli suggests.

"Can you - can you just say it out loud? Again? Just one last time... Or tomorrow I won't think it's real," Aleksi says, looking small somehow. It makes Olli smile fondly.

"What, that I like you back?"

"Yeah."

Olli cups the side of Aleksi's face, looking deep into his eyes, so blurry yet so beautiful.

"You're all I ever wanted."

#my writing #blind channel fanfiction #blind channel fanfic #rpf #blind channel rpf #aleksi kaunisvesi x olli matela

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