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commander-rahrah · 2 months

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Talking to the Moon: Part VII

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Word Count: ~5600 Warnings: swearing, blood, some borrowed in game dialogue, violence, nudity, canonical warnings apply!

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

part I: here part II: here part III: here part IV: here part V: here part VI: here

Summary: Set in Act III, in Cazador's Palace. Continuing from part 6, Astarion has been captured and forced into the seventh slot of the ritual. But there is more conflict then just the physical fight before him. There is still the fight between his broken mind and heart to finish.

Notes: Hi everyone! So, we made it to the big bad fight... Parts of this is based off of how my actual first playthrough went when completing this mission (my character got one shotted and died in the very first round LOL,) along with head cannons that I created months ago as soon as the fight was finished and I finished bawling my eyes out. There is descriptions and some dialogue pulled straight from these scenes, just like the previous chapter, but there is a lot of stuff that I added to read between the lines. I also created a scene for after the fight but before Astarion invites you to the graveyard, as I feel like that poor man needs time to decompress and think before all of that happens! I will include some other quick notes/comments up here, which is slightly spoilery for the chapter - but I wanted you to be aware before you read.

(1) There is a bit of "main character" energy from reader/Tav in this one. As it has been established, reader is blessed by Selûne and this factors in heavily into this chapter! It is a big set up for things to come for completing their own personal arc :)

(2) I know there is a lot of discourse about some people wishing you could hug/comfort Astarion after the fight, and others who believe it is his moment and to just let him be. I agree with both sentiments - so I wrote it in the way that I envision Astarion would be okay with aka he initiates it himself. This is my opinion and characterization for Astarion, and is something that as someone who has touch aversion would be comfortable doing myself.

Anyways, thank you so much for reading. I truly hope you enjoy this chapter and all of the angsty, sad, happy, tender moments it holds. As always, kudos and comments are very very appreciated ♡♡♡

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It was like fire was in his veins, pain seeping into every nook and cranny of his body in a way he’d never known.

He would take whips and chains. Teeth and claws. Coffins buried in the ground again. Anything but this.

Astarion couldn’t help the broken scream that escaped from him, the sound echoing throughout the chamber before perhaps his last words escaped him. They were a desperate shout for you, your name shredding his vocal cords. He could barely keep his eyes open from the pain, but what he could see was the searing red that filled the entire room from the infernal magic. And blurry figures through the tears forming in his eyes — his friends gathering together defensively around you.

His mind was a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts. He wanted to you to run — to know that you would at least survive this… that would be his only comfort before he died. He needed you to run. To be safe. To live.

But that selfish voice in him, the devil on his shoulder, whispered and hoped you wouldn’t. Knew you wouldn’t. That hoped maybe, somehow, you could pull through. That after fighting the chosen of gods, an undead dragon, hoards of enemies… just maybe you could defeat the vampire master. Maybe Selûne was watching, and his prayers would finally be answered all these years later in the form of you.

His heart and mind continued to fight as his body kept burning, the pulling of the red magic on his limbs stretching his muscles and bones, pulsing through every pore of his skin.

But he knew what the answer would be — regardless of what he thought, what he hoped. You said it yourself, you would do anything for him. You would die here for him, if it came to it. And at this rate it would.

He was your undoing. He knew it would come to this and yet he still fell for you. Let you fall for him. Let you kiss him and teach him, comfort and protect him. Knowing it would one day lead to something like this.

An end just as violent and bloody as he was.

Astarion had never hated himself more.

His tears broke free, sliding down his face as he silently screamed from the pain and anguish. His voice too broken for anything more than a fragmented choking sound to come out.

It happened in an instant. A flare of blue magic that cut through the scarlet light around them. Then a loud snap echoed through the cave. A teleportation spell — someone was leaving.

Or coming closer.

Then your scent, so sweet and warm washed over him. His eyes closed as he breathed it in, realizing he was must be slipping into delusion from the pain. His brain, or maybe the tadpole, offering the hallucination as a final comfort before death.

“Quickly!” A male voice hissed with urgency.

The voice broke him from his stupor. Gale? He could barely open his eyes, but he forced them open the tiniest smidge.

You were in front of him, your eyes slightly glowing from the magic everywhere as they focused just behind him. “Darling,” He mumbled in confusion, so unsure of what happened, of how you were here.

You spoke so softly to him. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He looked down to see your hands flashing with their own magic as they cut through the incantations binding him.

He felt the pressure on his ankles dissipate, his eyes flicking to you and the rest of your friends. They were shouting as they launched spells and swung their blades at the beasts and creatures under his master's control. Karlach’s scream of rage vibrated the stone floor as she cleaved through a werewolf like it was nothing.

But where was he? Where was Cazador?

And as he thought it, he appeared. His master’s red eyes piercing through Astarion as he felt the final piece of the incantation snap free, his body started to fall the few feet back to the stone ground he was hovering above.

The ancient vampire must have felt it, the spell breaking, the moment he was free. His eyes snapped to you instantly and if looks could kill… Cazador’s jaw set and his nostrils flared as he took a single step forward with his staff raised.

"Wait, no—"

And just as fast as you had appeared, Cazador was launching a powerful spell at you. Astarion screamed your name, lurching forward to shield you. But it was too late. It was as if time slowed completely as he watched you whirl around, your hair splaying as you turned to him, your eyes widening with shock. And fear.

And then you crumbled to the ground.

“Such a waste.” The ancient vampire snarled from across the dais, waving his staff as he finished the incantation.

Images flashed into Astarion’s mind of your lifeless body in his lap in the Shadowlands, the sound he had buried of your heart slowing until it stopped. You had promised back in the Shadowlands, on that tiny dock — you promised you would stay out of harms way. This wasn't happening, it was a nightmare. It should be him, not you.

No, no, no, no.

“NO!!” His words were echoed throughout the chamber as Shadowheart thrust her hands forward — a blinding, golden glow in her hands rocketing towards you, unmoving on the ground.

It struck your chest where Cazador’s dark spell had hit just mere seconds before — seeping into you, spreading across your body until it radiated with magic. Your unconscious form was raised into the air, floating with a golden outline. The tips of your silvery-white hair waving with a breeze that came out of no where. Then your eyes flashed open — but they were not their usual shade, his newfound favorite color since he met you. No, they were glowing silver, radiating authority and power as they stared at his old master.

You opened your mouth to speak as you remained floating, but it was not just your voice. A female voice that dripped with authority echoed your words, like something was speaking through you. Someone.

Gods, it couldn't be.

“Your reign of terror and abuse ends here, Cazador Szarr. I refuse to let your hate and cruelty fester any longer." You dipped your chin down, your blazing eyes narrowing as you remained locked on the ancient vampire.

Cazador cocked his head, an eyebrow raised at the spectacle of you. Astarion knew the gears were turning in his head, calculating and trying to figure out how he would turn this into an advantage. What he would get from you.

But your voice continued, the second one still joining you as you floated closer to the center dais, closer to the vampire master. "You believe yourself to be all-powerful. You believe yourself to be a blessing, a mercy to the creatures you keep at your feet. A benevolent master who can make himself a God."

Everyone in the room had stopped to watch, the ritual stopped with Astarion freed. Friend and foe both had weapons at their sides, mouths slightly agape as they tried to process what they were seeing. Who they were seeing.

There were not many beings of Faerûn who could say that they had seen a God in the flesh.

As it was Selûne who spoke through you know, who granted you this power, who had created this vision of blinding radiance in this dark, decrepit crypt.

"But what you really are… is a result, from a cycle of venom and greed and fear. And that cycle ends today.” You, she, said it so matter-of-factly. Declared so simply that it was both of your wills, so it would be so. Closing your eyes softly, your hands lifted up like you were summoning something deep within yourself.

Astarion's mouth fell open as light began to radiate out of you, silver and bright like the fullest moon on a clear night. He had become so accustomed to the talent of his friends — Shadowheart's golden light, Gale's purple and blue, Wyll's fiendish red. But this, this was something different. Pure and unfiltered power from the Goddess of the Moon. Then the light erupted, traveling so fast and loud that his elven senses twinged.

It hurled into the Vampire Master, his face mirroring yours from moments ago — filled with shock and fear. Astarion had never seen his master afraid, not in two hundred years. His steps faltered, off-kilter as he reeled from your blinding light that clung to him.

Who was the weak, pathetic boy now?

"NOW!" Your screamed, your voice returning to your own — though Selûne's power and magic still radiated off of you. Determination lined every single one of his friends' faces as they rushed forward to hurl their attacks on the Master and his creatures.

Astarion's hands were steady as his fingers unsheathed the daggers at his side, his stare deadly as he stalked towards the man who had ruined his life, broken him over and over. Cazador was trying to twirl and deflect, but the attacks kept coming as he was blinded by the light that was you. Yet, he still caught Astarion's eyes, still smiled wickedly at his spawn — even though Astarion could smell his terror and rancid blood from here.

"You are going to regret underestimating us, Cazador." He hissed as he flung his magical daggers out. They struck true, one slicing through the soft flesh of his side and the other up across his cheek.

"Agh!" The vampire's knees shook as he tumbled forward, another blast of magic hit into his back. His red eyes flickered up through his strong brow as he remained keeled over, "You don't have the balls to kill me, boy. Or did you forget that every part of you is mine?"

Astarion's nostrils flared as rage flooded through him, his vision turning red without the infernal magic surrounding them. He held his palms open as his daggers returned to them, twirling them in his hands without thought as he stepped forward once more. "You can't be owned by a dead man." He spat, before sending his daggers out once more.

"NOOO-" The ancient vampire's screams filled the crypt, bouncing off the stone floors and walls. With a poof, he turned into his infamous mist but your light clung onto him — illuminating his path as it raced for the sarcophagus nearby.

"No, no!" A deep desire for vengeance flooded Astarion as Cazador tried to escape, his voice a snarl he could barely recognize. His red eyes could focus on nothing else but his tormentor's end, his pain, his misery. He could draw it out, torment the sadistic bastard to match what he had done to him for all those years. A pounding was filling his pointed ears, the steady thump increasing as he chased after the mist. Using his vampire spawn strength he tore the top of the sarcophagus off, shoving it angrily to reveal the beaten and bleeding vampire within. "No, no! No healing sleep for you. Wake up!" He growled, grabbing him by his pretentious, soiled collar and throwing him to the ground.

Cazador weakly fought back, scrambling back onto his knees. He sneered up at his spawn looming over him, "Get your hands off me, worm!"

"I'm not the one in the dirt," Astarion spat, gripping the dagger in his hand so tightly that is already pale knuckles turned completely white. His bare chest was rising up and down, not from breath but with deep emotion. "One last thrust and I'll be free of you. I'll never have to fear you again."

The vampire spawn put on the mask he had mastered for centuries, his face a lethal calm as he suggested, "But if I finish the ritual you started, I'll never have to fear anyone, ever."

If he did this, there would be no hiding, no running. No more fear, for either of you. He would destroy anyone and anything who would come to harm you. Who would stop him? You both could be anything you wanted, matched equals backed with powers that equaled those of the Gods.

His old master only scoffed, "You think me a fool? That I would allow anyone to usurp me, speak the words, and ascend in my place? The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual. Complete it and those bearing the scars will be sacrificed - you included. You are simply a means to an end. I made you to be consumed."

"I AM SO MUCH MORE THEN WHAT YOU MADE ME!" Astarion roared, bending down more to scream in his face. He felt the intoxicating feeling of power, control flooding through him when Cazador actually flinched, "You fucking leech." His jaw was set tightly as he breathed in the scent of blood that was filling the room, desperate, primal need suddenly filling him. He was losing his focus, his bearings — what was this all for? Who was this all for?

Safety. Agency. Freedom. Power. Control. Dominance. Ascendancy.

The words were twisting darker and darker in his head as once again his broken mind and heart battled against each other. His hands started trembling as he finally looked away from the ancient vampire beneath him. Looking up to his siblings still bound by the remainders of the spell, up the stairs to the thousands of souls — real, present souls — who were trapped down here for centuries. He could feel his heart starting to climb up his throat as two separate sides of himself battled internally.

Remember who you are, Astarion.

You had said that — so softly, with such a gentle touch as you had tried to ground him. No one had ever looked at him like you did, touched him like you did. His red eyes flickered over to you, and his half-dead heart fluttered strangely. He spoke with less of a bite, the edge disappearing, "If I do this I will be free. Truly, completely free. Isn't that what you want, my love?"

Your eyes looked at him, boring into his soul like no one else had. You stepped forward, so unafraid unlike him. There was no tremble in your hands, nor shaking in your knees. You didn't even look at the vampire master cowering on the ground, the immortal male who minutes ago had killed you. No, your beautiful eyes remained only on him as you stepped forward.

Silver was still lingering in your eyes, but he realized it was not latent power from Selûne. It was tears, threatening to break free as you spoke. The saddest smile spread your lips, your brows tugging in the middle. "I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

When would it end? Cazador had everything, his every whim met, more riches then one could imagine, thousands of spawn under his control. Even if he had completed the ritual, the vampire bastard Cazador was already plotting his next plan for cruelty by taking you. When would it end? Would any of it had ever been enough?

Could he live with himself, if he became that? Could you?

You spoke again, your voice so soft it was a whisper, "Let the cycle end here, Astarion."

His name on your lips struck him hard. It made him feel alive again, blinking back to reality. He shook himself out of the dark daze he was descending into, "You - you're right. I can be better than him." His gaze went back down to the man below him, the stirring feelings in him resolving as his fingers closed on his dagger once more. "But I'm not above enjoying this."

Fear glimmered in Cazador's eyes as Astarion fisted his long hair and plunged his blade into his chest.

And again.

Astarion imagined every lash, every carving cut, every scream and howl.

Again.

Every tremble and gulp he pushed down in an alley or tavern or forgotten hallway. Every moment of self-loathing. Every broken thought of wishing for it all to end — for someone, somewhere to just end him already.

Again.

He was covered in blood, the sticky red liquid splattering over his bare torso, creeping up his arms, neck and face. It was not appetizing, it did not cause a frenzy.

No, only a strange satisfaction.

Like a cleansing of his body and mind. His soul.

Complete catharsis.

Cazador's body had stopped moving long ago, laying mutilated at his feet.

His magical dagger, soured with the blood of his old master clattered onto the stone floor behind him. His trembling fingers losing hold of the blade, then his knees buckled and he was kneeling on the floor. His whole body was shaking, gasps escaping him as choked sobs climbed up his throat. He could not keep it down, not after all these years. Not after centuries of suppressing it, forcing it down to not give him the satisfaction.

Hot tears fell fast down his cheeks, and the howls of anguish, triumph and rage finally escaped.

Astarion wasn't sure how long he knelt in that pool of blood for. Time had no meaning at the moment, all of his senses suddenly turned off as he cried and howled.

“It’s over.”

Your voice. You.

Fluttering his eyes open, he found you kneeling in front of him. Your eyebrows were furrowed, your own cheeks stained with tears.

“It’s over,” You whispered again. You had kept your distance — your hands resting on your thighs, as you too knelt in the blood. Not from fear of him, but to give him space. You couldn’t ask to touch him, not at this moment but you needed him to know he wasn’t alone.

Astarion launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around your body as he buried himself into your neck. His cries started all over again.

“It’s over. You’re okay. We’re okay.” You continued the comforting whispers, holding him against you — you started to rock, swaying the both of you back and forth.

He couldn’t stop the sobs escaping him — they had been building up for so long and now these they had broken free he wasn’t sure how to stop. He tried blinking away the lingering tears from the bottom of his vision, taking you in. “You, he—“ He put his stained hands on either side of your face, drinking you in in. “What did I do? What did I do?”

"He's gone. He's gone." You whispered.

Astarion pushed his forehead onto yours, mumbling incoherently, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, M'sorry..."

"Shhhh, my love." You said tenderly, your fingers caressing the nape of his neck in a comforting touch. "I've got you. I've got you."

• • •

Astarion wasn’t sure how he got back to the inn.

The journey back was a blur of healing spells, quick decisions and whispers of worry. He had stumbled back next to you, your arm wrapped around his waist holding him close to you. It was his only reassurance as the rest of the world swirled around him. He hadn’t let you ask — gluing himself to you in a silent answer before your mouth could even open. Now you both were in the group’s room in the Elfsong Tavern— the rest of your companions out for the remainder of the day. He was sure there was an exchange of looks and whispered words about him before the decision was made. He was sure that if he had been really looking he would have seen pity across all of their faces. But he didn't care to. He couldn’t really bring himself to react to anything but what had happened.

Cazador was dead. By his hands.

He was free. Yet stuck. Forever a spawn. Forever fragmented and damaged probably — if how he felt right now was any indication.

But free, nonetheless, he guessed.

You had pulled across the privacy curtains and made him a hot bath, the steam and smell of oils clouding throughout the room. Hints of magic too. Then you asked him in a gentle voice if he would like to get cleaned up, gesturing down at him. Astarion blinked as he looked down at himself and his ruined clothes. The shirt he was wrapped in wasn’t even his own — Wyll had thrusted it at him in that good gentlemanly way he was trained to do since he was a boy. The knees of his pants were shredded from the stone floor he had knelt on. And blood. So much of it. There was red splattered everywhere on him — dried and caked on by now. He wondered if the feeling of Cazador’s blood would linger like the other phantom touches and feelings that haunted his skin. Maybe he would be scrubbing at it long after it was physically cleaned off of his skin too — turning his almost pearlescent skin dark pink.

The vampire could only nod at you, lifting his arms up to attempt to pull off his shirt before wincing. Even with his immortal body and vampiric strength, he was sore. The pulling and stretching of his muscles from the binding magic would linger for a while he imagined. "Help me." He muttered weakly. You averted your gaze as you helped him peel the shirt off of him, your touch the most gentle it had ever been. Astarion was so lost in his own mind that he didn't even realize he had stepped out of his ruined pants, his blood-soaked boots moments later. He barely registered his movements as he crawled over the large wooden sides of the tub and slipped into the water.

The heat of the water instantly warmed his muscles, giving him some reprieve from the physical pain that lingered. It even lifted the fog from his mind as he sat for a moment in the water, watching the water move around him slightly - barely tinting to red before some kind of enchantment cleansed it away. As he watched the blood and dirt drift off of him, he felt the numbing going away too. The tremble in his hands returned, shaking under the water as he blinked back to reality. That feeling from down in the crypt was returning — he felt like he was back on his knees in the puddle of blood, his heart crawling up his throat, his skin hot and crawling—

His red eyes flicked up to search for you, finding you seated near him but with your back turned — trying to offer privacy but to be nearby if he needed you. Astarion’s throat closed up again as he looked at you, the comfort he so desperately wanted. It was almost overwhelming. Just weeks ago, he was trying to wrap his head around why someone would want such soft, simple touches. Why someone would just want to be held, nothing more. Now he felt his body shaking and tears forming from your absence.

“Join me,” He finally croaked out to the back of your head. His voice was a weak whisper — gods, he sounded pathetic.

You twirled in your chair, looking over your shoulder to him with furrowed brows. “Astarion, I—”

But he cut you off, your name was a choked sob from his mouth. “Please,” He begged before you could say anything else.

You immediately relented, standing up, taking off your clothes unceremoniously and sliding into the wooden tub. It was the most he had seen of your body in months, and not at all how he pictured it would go. Astarion felt your knees brush his as you sat across from him. Even just the barest touch had the crawling sensation across his skin calming. He took a steadying breath, before he finally took you in.

Only your shoulders and up could be seen in the deep wooden tub. Red blood had dried all over you, shaped like handprints— his own handprints had smeared the blood that crusted over your soft skin and stained your silvery-white hair. A pang shot through him. “Look what I’ve done—” His wet hands cupped the side of your face, echoing the action that probably put the stains there in the first place. Guilt flooded through him.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” You laid your cheek flush into his hands on your face. Then you turned your mouth, pressing your lips to his palm gently. Kissing his hands like they weren’t capable of monstrous, violent things. Like they hadn’t been covered in blood moments ago. “Are you?”

He stroked his pale thumb across your cheek before withdrawing it. Instead he searched for your own hand under the water, intertwining his fingers with yours. He kept his eyes on the water, shifting slightly back and forth — thinking quietly. “I don’t— I’m not sure how to answer that, right now.”

“Take your time, my love.” You said softly, squeezing his fingers. Astarion was thankful for your calming presence, but he needed more. He knew once you longed to just hold his hand, and it was a terrifying thought. But now he needed to be wrapped up in you, held so tight he would forget where he ended and where you started. In the small space of the tub, he barely had to move before he was pressed against you. His head in the crook of your neck, his nose pressed into your soft skin, inhaling your addicting scent. His arms around your waist as he held on to you for dear life. Within an instant you had your arms wrapped around him, fingers twirling in the ends of his hair, as you comforted him.

“I— I’ve lived with this all for so long. This pain. Who am I without it?” He whispered into your ear, so afraid to admit such things while looking in your eyes. But you pulled away, just enough so you could see him. Your eyes searching his — and they were so tender and full of deep emotion. Love, he finally realized. His half-dead heart fluttered at the realization. You loved him — even as the broken, undeserving creature he was. But instead of falling into deprecation and self-loathing, he savored the realization. He let himself get lost in it, the feeling of being loved by you. The reality of being loved by you, and it was so good… after so many years of shit.

“You are so much more than your pain, Astarion,” Your thumb stroked his side gently, your hands still wrapped around him as you held him close. “Or your past. But now you can define yourself however you want to be.”

Fresh tears slipped from the corners of his red eyes as he buried his face into your neck once again. His emotions were too intermixed, too hard to communicate out loud now as they all vied for his attention. But instead of numbing himself like had for centuries, he let himself be calmed by you instead.

Astarion stayed in that tub with you until there was no trace of the blood and dirt, nothing left to remind the vampire of him. He had made a silent vow to himself to never speak that name again, to not give the dead vampire master power over himself anymore. You seemed to catch on quickly to that too, the poisonous name had not been on your lips since you left the crypt. There was of course the giant fucking ritual carved into his back. And his fangs and sanguine hunger that could only remind him of who had cursed him to this existence. But one thing at a time. Cleaning off the blood would be a start. Burning those retched clothes that he had suffered in as well…

You both were pruny, but clean, when you finally emerged from the tub. Your beautiful eyes never strayed from his face as the pale elf stood up and slipped out behind you, grabbing your extended hand for support. Damp footprints were left behind as the two of you trailed over to your bed hidden in the corner of the room.

You were lying in bed now, both of your naked bodies wrapped in the warm blankets and each other. There was nothing sexual about it… nothing like Astarion had experienced. To be fair, such thoughts were not even registering in his mind right now. But he was surprised at how much he enjoyed this — simply skin to skin with you, no lust or biting or anything.

It was the most at peace he had felt in weeks. Months. Years, really.

Despite everything else that had happened today.

His pointed ear was pressed to your chest, listening to the steady thrum of your heartbeat like it was his own personal lullaby. But he felt it stutter a few times, your breaths a bit shaky — pushing up he found you scrambling to wipe tears away from your cheeks. Before he could open his mouth, you were giving him a sad smile, "I'm fine." You whispered.

"Darling, you're crying," He said softly back, his thumb catching one of the tears you had missed, starting to roll down your freckled cheek.

"I'm just relieved you're here with me. I was terrified all day, but when he took you — when you were bound by that magic... Gods, I've never been so petrified in my life."

Now you know how I feel. He almost blurted it out, but stopped himself. No, in all of his selfish wallowing these last few hours, he hadn't even brought that up yet — that once again, you had fallen. Taken away from him, from this world. Even if was for just a moment. "I seem to remember having this conversation once before... on a dock in those wretched Shadowlands. What of your promise to me then, hmm? To stay out of harms way."

Your mouth and brows quirked down, "I was supposed to just standby and let you die?"

"I had to watch you die today. Again." His voice broke, his bottom lip trembling as he tried to keep even more tears at bay. "If it wasn't for...," He trailed off. If it wasn't for Shadowheart. If it wasn't for Selûne really — who both powered their cleric but had also done something more. Taken over for you? Imbued you? He wasn’t sure how to describe what he witnessed in that crypt. “What happened today with her? With Selûne?”

“I— I’m not sure," He watched your throat bob as you swallowed, your face furrowing as you thought. "One moment I was with you, and the next... I don’t know. I was there but not. Filled with divine fury and... I wasn't going to allow anything to happen to you. Apparently, neither was she."

Astarion placed his head back on your bare chest, your hand instantly finding the side of his face. Your fingers traced the bottom of his jaw, his strong cheekbones and up to the tops of his ear — before you repeated the smoothing motion all over.

"I will never just standby when it involves you, Starry. Whether it is a physical threat... or something deeper within yourself. I will always shield you, defend you..." You licked your lips nervously instead of finishing your sentence

Love you.

Astarion's mind finished the words instead as you trailed off. He moved his head so he instead shared your pillow, moving so your faces only an inch apart. He studied your face carefully, “Why… why do all that for me?”

Your eyes stared into his, shining with emotion before you lowered your voice into a soft whisper, “You know why, my love.”

His heart fluttered at the unspoken declaration. His cold fingers reached up, curled and delicate as he had ever been, “I can’t help but think— Do I deserve this? Am I worthy of this? Of you?”

“Astarion...." You pushed your warm, flushed check into the palm of his hand, "All you need to ask yourself is do you want this?”

Gods, your eyes and the intimate way the stared into his soul. Your lips, so tender as they pulled into a gentle smile. Your patient touch and desire for him. Your quick wit and sharp tongue. Your big, stupidly kind heart. All of it. He wanted every part of you, to call you his and for him to be yours.

But before he could gain the courage you spoke again, “You don’t need to answer today — enough has happened, my love.”

Hot tears escaped from his red eyes as you displayed your patience once again. He pressed his forehead to yours, a sob escaping him. But it wasn't a cry of anguish, or pain. He wasn't howling with rage and grief. They were tears of overwhelming joy.

The vampire gave himself a moment before letting out a little puff, “Gods, I can’t stop crying. I feel ridiculous.”

“You aren’t ridiculous.”

“I’ve cried more today than I have for my entire life I think. The first one and this one combined.” Despite the crying, he found himself hoping of having yet another life. A third on with you. A chance to start over, all over again.

“I think it’s justified,” You said kindly, "Rest, my love. We will have tomorrow. And the day after that."

At your whispered words and gentle caresses, Astarion finally fell asleep, dreaming of that promise. Tomorrow and the day after that... with you.

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upper-sixth-fanclub · 1 month

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I find gyutaro really interesting because to be honest, I don't really understand him. In a way that makes me want to know more.

He says he likes pitiful and ugly things, and finds it funny/cathartic to bully people, even outside of his demonic need to kill. His entire purpose, his name, identity, is built around daki. To me, he seems to be much more motivated by his love for daki than his hatred for everything else. Does he really like pitiful things? Or just he just like having the ability to punch down?

Hello again.

And oh boy I could write you a whole freakin' essay on my thoughts and feelings about Gyutaro's character profile. The short answer is: both? Both is good. My dude has been sitting on rancid vibes his whole life AND death; no therapy, medical attention, or social support network. He was let down, and he's still angry about it, and the only person who never let him down was Daki. The slightly longer 'Charlie Day standing in front of a conspiracy board' ramble under the cut. Sorry it's a little rushed, I'm shooting from the hip here.

I will say I don't think it's impossible for a character to have multiple motivations as long as they don't contradict each other too much. He can be motivated by spite AND codependency. Sure, he's devoted his entire identity and career and autonomy to Daki, but he seemed to still remember his grudge against humanity as a demon. Their synchronized villain monologue was literally about taking fortune from others, so that they could live better lives. And that kind of self-righteous sadism goes hand-in-hand with how much he loves Daki. He'd been rejected by humanity, so he rejected them back. The only person who didn't mistreat him was Ume. Society adored Ume for her beauty, so he taught her to make that into a weapon. Which is awesome-- she stands up for herself and knows her worth-- but it eventually twisted into something awful when she's matured as a demon and just uses violence for almost every problem she has.

As for his sadism... again, I think it's not a case of one or the other. When Gyutaro was demeaning Tanjiro, many folks caught on to the way he was using words and insults that had once been reserved for him as a living person. That grudge carried over beyond the demonic amnesia, and it feels sincere and personal. I think he projects hardcore. He likes pitiful and broken things because hey, it's not HIM who's pitiful and broken, but unconsciously, he knows he used to be in that position. He's the powerful demon, he's the one who gets to be in a position of control now. And what did people in a position of control do for him? Well. Throw rocks and call names and bully.

I think his idea of sympathy is twisted too. I've expressed before how his affections tend to root in possession and domination, and so he relates to people with shitty lives by taking control of them. Again, like with Daki. He adores her so much and wanted a happy life for her, and she would probably agree she IS happy as an oiran given every privilege one could have. But she doesn't know that there's more to life than being an oiran and hurting others for your own gain. His ideology was literally what raised her, so her perspective is as rotten as his, resulting in an echo chamber. When Gyutaro began to offer Tanjiro demonhood, it wasn't out of a place of sympathy. It was out of a place of control-- he even threatened to kill Nezuko if Tanjiro didn't take up his offer. That's peak crab-bucket behavior: he wanted to make things worse for the Slayer siblings, even if he would argue the opposite. So I think yes, he likes pitiful things, but not in a healthy way. And yes, he likes to punch down, because that's what pitiful things are for, according to Gyutaro.

#mod gyutaro #daki #gyutaro #meta commentary #gyutaro headcanons #daki headcanons

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tinogiehd · 1 year

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they’ve never had a single nuanced critical thought in their lives and they are incapable of understanding the concept of personal discomfort or simply disliking something. to them they live with the black and white twitter mentality that everything is absolutely wrong or absolutely right with no room for ideas being able to coexist simultaneously. they are incapable of processing that they can personally be uncomfortable with something without it being a moral absolute for everyone to follow. they think everything they personally dislike or find uncomfortable has to be justified with being a crime or being completely morally bankrupt. and then their alleged morality and the hills they die on are hypocritical as fuck and just show they have no true backbone and only bend to whatever their mob mentality echo chamber is saying the loudest that week. you see it in them armchair diagnosing tubbo, a STRANGER to them, with autism and when he says he is not autistic, claiming that anybody calling them out is ableist and implying being autistic is inherently bad. you see it in the way their viewpoints flip from week to week. one day dream announces lore that has been planned for months so they create a hashtag against it in response, and later they flip the narrative and claim the lore was damage control in response to the hashtag. one day tommy is a silly child who is incapable of thinking for himself and is being victimized without knowing, the next he’s so strong and they’re glad to see how much he’s grown into an adult. at the end of the day most of what they do and say is simply meant to frame dream in the worst light possible and they finally have something they can use as justification for his permanent condemnation. they’re incapable of just being able to say they dislike something without a moral justification or without claiming something criminal has occurred, so in an attempt at performative activism and claiming they care about victims they use accounts they claim to care about and exploit them to push their own personal agendas and in the process trigger countless people whose voices they refuse to listen to because they do not value any voices that do not agree with them. nothing they say or do has value anywhere but the internet where nobody but their mutual circles will cheer them on. like actually go outside and experience real life i am so fucking serious.

the day that these people understand that things rarely RARELY exist in black and white is the day that I can breathe again. it’s so fucking unhealthy to view everything in either the worst possible light or one that absolves somebody of every trace of wrongdoing. you are ALLOWED to dislike somebody without it being an objective issue of morality. you can be personally uncomfortable with situations or comments made or past political views without projecting your discomfort onto everyone else and presenting it as an objective right and wrong- because it isn’t in 99% of cases. nobody owes you a certain belief just because you have it and you cannot demand somebody see the world through your eyes. that’s just not how things work. and it becomes so painfully clear that morality is a front when you can set it aside because your fav isn’t abiding by the standards that you’ve so deliberately set.

the echo chamber is so crazy to me, like what the fuck gives you the right to armchair diagnose somebody you’ve never and will never meet with autism, and then call people ableist for taking issue with that. people should be taking fucking issue with that. and the stupid fucking damage control narrative like we have SEEN dream’s damage control play out before, like the january dreamxd lore stream and geoguessr. we have seen examples of it being immediate and poorly planned, usually panic responses to a horrifying situation- which is also what october was. pretending like a lore ending that has publicly been in the works for fawking months was damage control- multiple weeks after the fact- is delusional. i’m sorry. and there’s only so much wiggle room you can give your ccs if you genuinely believe that dream is a criminal or predator. tommy is not a victim or too young to understand; he is an adult surrounded by adults who have been in proximity to predators before and have proven themselves capable of publicly cutting ties with them (cmc). instead of facing the fact that tommy’s morality does not allign with their own, they found a way to use it to once again present dream in the worst possible way because god forbid they accept that nobody fawking cares.

touch grass. die, maybe. go volunteer at an animal shelter. do something useful with your lives instead of harassing ccs with immensely triggering topics or spinning a narrative about dream being a master manipulator that your ccs clearly disagree with in an effort to protect them from yourselves and your own narrow-minded agenda.

#aya asks #long post #negativity #grooming mention #drituation #🫶

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breakingthroughdawn · 1 year

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Hiya! I’m gonna post this and see how long it takes for someone to get mad. I hate serious talk, but I have to put this somewhere where I won’t get an echo of what I already think. Because echo chambers suck. (I’ll use the block button if I need to for my own well-being.)

Videogame debate does more harm than good and makes no progress in the long run, and actually seems to be more counter-productive for the people against the game, because the attention and drama seems to be enticing to more than you’d expect.

Yelling and hurting eachother does more harm than good, and all it does is divide everyone more. We have enough divisions already, why are we making more?

Trying to eradicate information or the existence of something entirely does more harm than good (and you’re honestly not likely to succeed, people find workarounds anyway).

Telling everyone the content is horrible and morally wrong makes some people shocked. …I’m pretty sure most people would follow it up with “tell me more!” or “explain it?” Or “how’s that?” To get more details. Forbidden Fruit is a phrase for a reason, many enjoy the idea of something they think is bad or taboo. They’ll probably go looking for information to find it on their own anyway.

…

These are arguments about violent and Mature-themed videogames like GTA, what did you think I was talking about? 🤡

See, memes aside, the problem I’m having with a lot of the discourse rn is that everyone is pulling out every stop. For a goddamn game. The game has problem-themes, mhm. The source has problems, mhm. We knew this, regardless of what side of the problem you’re on, most people are aware of the discourse (and if not, bless you sweet person, please continue to live in blissful ignorance as long as you can).

Will everyone just *shut up and actually use some empathy please*?

Imagine with me, you tell a person that GTA is harmful to others in concept and don’t think people should interact with it. It has sexual/nude context, it allows murder without true consequence, and encourages bad driving. Obviously, playing as someone with such morals is going to encourage that behavior! (Just follow my thought experiment for me if you’re still reading)

There are a few ways that seems it could go (in my mind):

1) they put it down and never touch it again, losing something they were enjoying that was not from their view hurting anyone, but because you told them they were morally wrong for doing it they listened. They agree with you, and they simply move on, finding a new focus and carry on with their lives.

2) they don’t put it down, but they understand what you’re saying, and they actually find more details of this as they go along, recognizing the discourse you brought to their attention, and actively thinking about what they’re playing. They analyze it, they actively argue or debate it, if they stream it they point out how they’d change it, or they headcannon something new and argue with the problematic narrative every chance they get.

3) they don’t put it down, and they argue back at you for being overly sensitive and trying to control what they’re doing.

If you attack them more personally/vigorously than I described, it will likely be more visceral: they argue back with more force, and you have now gained a new enemy and possibly a ruined relationship with this person, and they probably have a more aggressive view of “your side” of this discourse.

4) they do put it down, as you asked, and now go and tell others why it’s evil and spread the word.

This can also be blown up into aggression, harassing and attacking anyone who is still ‘being part of the problem’.

…

Does- does no one else see which of these are upsetting? It baffles me sometimes how horrible people can be to each other.

To speak plainly and without reserve now: JKR already got her royalties, afaik. She’s been paid.

The people who made the game are going to sell copies wether you want them to or not. People are already playing it anyway.

Everyone turning on each other like this is so goddamn asinine to me.

Edit: Mhm, royalties are gradual, got it, she’s gonna make more money, got it. Doesn’t mean you call someone names.

I’m not saying that you should buy it, I haven’t even said what my own plans were. If you want to boycott everything made by assholes, microsoft, apple, twitter, google, amazon- you gonna toss your phone and computer? Yell at everyone who doesn’t? Goodness.

#dawn’s thoughts #hogwarts legacy

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roo-bastmoon · 1 year

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Reliable real-time translators

I speak some Japanese and very little French, but I know barely a word of Korean and I'm nosy... so when our boys do Lives, I like to try to follow along by using notifications on certain real-time Twitter translators whom I find to be reliable*.

I'm listing the real-time translator accounts I know of here in case anyone else finds it useful. Please also feel free to comment if you know of others--but read below for the types of accounts I cannot in good faith promote, okay?

SEL and also SEL but for WeVerse stuff

MIINIYOONGS

YOONSEO

KOO PICASSO

CLAIRE

CHARTS K

BANGTAN SUBS

Use this list at your own discretion.

*Please note: I am not a cancel-culture type of person. I'm a Gen Xer and I highly value independent critical thinking skills. I will never throw stones, nor do I typically grab a torch or pitchfork and go after someone in public.

If you're a fascist, racist, sexist, any kind of queerphobic, an anti, a manti, hate on a member, or are a rabid cult member, I will quietly report and block you and then just turn my attention to what I want out of life, not what I don't. (When I say anti, I'm also including people who post sasaeng-type content that endangers our members.)

But I do sometimes follow people I don't agree with, because I don't want to live in an echo chamber. I'm not out to police people--not their thoughts or ships or personal lives. I also allow for people to make mistakes and have flaws, because that's how humans learn, and it's especially commendable if they apologize and are working on changing.

You have to demonstrate to me the active will to lie or cause harm for me to completely reject you--and once I do that, we're done done. So please know, I am very, very careful about how I judge others. Because...

Why am I telling you this?

Because some of these translators post hurriedly and make mistakes, or they mishear, or they have to work or study and cannot always translate for all 7 members every hour of the day. Sometimes they just get it wrong. And I can absolutely forgive that. They are providing a free service, they always apologize for errors, and I know to do my due diligence and get translations from many sources, because Korean is nuanced and tonal and therefore open to some interpretation. Whenever there's a doubt, I ask a native Korean.

What I won't tolerate is a translator picking fights with native speakers, being rude to questioners, or skewing a translation in favor of their ship (or not-ship). Nor will I follow a translator who has hinted at disliking a member, no matter how far back in their past. That's where I draw my lines.

But some folks listed above may be problematic for you. That's cool. If you want to DM me with evidence of intentional wrongdoing, I will listen with an open mind and decide if I need to stop following them or listing them here. But so far, I've been following these folks for months--many of them have been systematically attacked by the cult specifically because they love Jimin or view Jikook positively. They get absolutely railroaded if they get a single phrase wrong and ratioed as antis or liars sometimes. And I'm sorry, but I know from working as an editor of translated novels back in the day, translation is HARD.

Please do your due diligence and police your own internet experience. I cannot judge for you what you find acceptable. There are big accounts that translate but also post hotel info and flight info and photos of the Tannies' homes and family and friends and vacations and rumors and if that sets right with you, that's your business. It's human to be curious and I'm not trying to be judgey, because I've honestly been curious about some of that stuff too, but that's not a loving way to be an ARMY and I'm not gonna promote those accounts.

I will say that in my experience, all humans are flawed, all money is dirty, and all life is about compromise. It's always good to ask people where they stand before making assumptions. Text errors I can forgive; malintent I cannot.

At the end of the day, people who translate with good intentions genuinely amaze me and have my respect.

It's totally fine by me if you don't agree. But don't bring drama to this post. People who bring drama will be forced to ride the drama llama, you hear?

Love, Roo

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chinchillinator · 1 year

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I posted 13,298 times in 2022

106 posts created (1%)

13,192 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@spacegirlsgang

@weird-is-all-ive-got

@clegerncodeofconduct

@raedear

@paradisetemporarilymisplaced

I tagged 1,854 of my posts in 2022

#battle buddies - 216 posts

#goncharov - 103 posts

#unreality - 94 posts

#babys watching trust (again) - 67 posts

#black sails - 52 posts

#going batty - 42 posts

#tma - 33 posts

#is that your sword or are you just happy to see me? - 32 posts

#trash person thinking trash thoughts - 32 posts

#the greatest ghost hunters who ever lived - 31 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#so now he and joe have to share the babiest bed and he realizes this and has to escape immediately so he doesnt take it back bc thats rude

My Top Posts in 2022:

It’s not just fiction. It’s not curating your fandom space. It’s not scrolling past things you don’t want to read. Nothing we do exists in a vacuum, and that includes fandom engagement.

That old adage about writers telling the readers more about themselves than their characters really has been speaking to me of late. It’s true, I’ve been reminded that it’s true many times in rereading my own work and in looking back at what I’ve written recently. I cannot craft a story that is devoid of myself. Simply because every word I write is colored by my own world views. I think it’s very strange if any writer were to claim to be the exception to this.

Based on who I’ve had the joy of interacting with online because of my writing, I know that most of the people reading my work and engaging with it share at least some of my views. Seeing as what I’ve written is impossible to divorce from those views, they must come through in what people read. So if someone enjoys what I’ve written, it must be because they agree with my stance on certain things and have a similar perspective regarding certain things. I know this is definitely true of the things I’ve read, as well. Which is to say, if I do find something in a piece of work that feels at odds with my views and perspective, I will click out and move on. As I imagine many others will if they’re in a similar situation. This leaves me with a community of fellow readers that share my views and perspectives and are happy to have those ideas reinforced and reiterated in what they read. It’s a lovely place to be as both a writer and a reader.

Where this created community becomes insidious is when the views and perspectives being reinforced and reiterated are deeply racist, antisemitic, homophobic, misogynistic, or discriminatory in any other way. When there is a group of people reading works that are written by others to include these discriminatory tropes. When there is a writer allowing their discriminatory views to color their writing and when their views are harmful to the perception of real life minorities. This echo chamber that’s been created is only perpetuating deeply problematic stereotypes that are both symptoms of and root causes of real life discrimination.

It’s not just fiction. It’s ideas and views and perspectives you’re carrying throughout your day to day life. And it’s not a question of whether or not you’ll act on those things, because you already are. You’re reading and supporting things that echo those harmful views. You’re writing things that perpetuate those harmful views. You’re putting into the world further discriminatory imagery that may catch the attention of someone new and pull them into this community. Where discriminatory tropes and stereotypes are suddenly on display openly, repeated again and again until they no longer seem harmful or wrong. Until they just seem normal.

You’re not creating something in a vacuum. You’re normalizing ideas that cause real, true harm to minority groups. Ideas that have led to our rights being taken from us, our bodies being attacked, and our lives being ended. Because those of us who don’t share these ideas are already avoiding your work. We’re already curating our online spaces to see as little of it as possible. We are not the ones being constantly shown these views and accepting them as the norm.

This is not the norm. This cannot be the norm. This is why conversations about discrimination in fandoms, and in all fictional works, need to be held by those open to creating a true dialogue that can initiate change. You are allowing yourself to see racist stereotypes as “okay” because “it’s fiction.” You are allowing yourself to excuse someone who is putting out blatantly discriminatory messaging. You are allowing this to become your status quo.

The next time you see a brown person stopped at the airport security checkpoint, ask yourself if you would accept that as “okay” were you to see it written into a novel. If the answer is no, consider why you’re accepting this.

35 notes - Posted October 23, 2022

Reliable sources say: the actual translation is “Not even the devil would take Primo.”

44 notes - Posted June 19, 2022

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)

Relationship: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova

Characters: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova

Additional Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Switching, Laughter During Sex, 5+1 Things, Blink And You Miss It D/S Dynamics and CNC, Canon Compliant, but like what time during canon? who’s to say, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, (thats actually the thesis of the fic not the butt stuff)

Summary:

Nicky loves his family, he really does. But the blessed indulgences he gets to share with Joe when there’s no one else around to interrupt or bear witness, he misses those things as much as he misses his family when he’s been without them for too long. Nicky has spent several long hours deciding exactly how he would like to be taken apart when they’re finally alone. How he would like to take Joe apart.

—

Or, 5 times Nicky and Joe wanted to do butt stuff but couldn’t +1 time they finally did

Awww baby’s first pwp.

54 notes - Posted January 23, 2022

Okay so I know we’ve all been looping the Goncharov theme but like major shout out to @caramiaaddio for also transcribing it because now I can like show what I’ve been rambling at my friends about for so long. Y’all haven’t had to hear me obsess over this so it’s not annoying to you yet. Maybe.

Because what I love about this theme is that it encapsulates both Goncharovs. Hear me out. Obviously this is what plays during the palace dance scene and since that’s framed so fully on Gonch himself because, duh, main character, you can say that the whole theme itself centers on Gonch. But! I actually think that the opening to the waltz is Katya’s leitmotif.

Putting it under the cut in case you’re my friends who’ve already heard me talk about this too many times.

This is what I’m talking about:

Those four bars show up with Katya more than with Gonch, like think about it. I mean, it’s literally played in a major key when she meets Sofia. Which, like, SUBTLE. But anyway, variations of it play in the background of her and Gonch eating together and with the themes surrounding her feelings of being trapped by societal norms and the expectations of a good wife, it feels like these scenes have a lot more to do with her arc. It’s also buried in the scoring that’s backing the entire boat scene AND plays out when Gonch hears about her “death”. So it makes sense that this would be her leitmotif!

MEANWHILE, what do we hear a lot during the most intense scenes of Gonch himself? This:

See the full post

116 notes - Posted November 21, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

has this been done yet

202 notes - Posted September 8, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#heres to another normal one my dudes #thanks to lizzie for dying so i could make this bomb ass meme #also dont tell me to tag more things tumblr. i tag for Me i dont want other people being able to find things on my blog.#this is MY incomprehensible hellscape!#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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golbrocklovely · 2 years

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Wait a minute when did you see his vacation post because when i read it he had about 5 or 6 comments disagreeing with him, not full on hating on him simply telling him his thought process did not apply to the general public. If you saw NONE then there is further proof he deleted them which is not cool. If you are not able to start a conversation and have people add their own experiences because you see it as a personal attack towards you, then why start the conversation to begin with. Just deactivate the comments if all you’re interested in is people blindly agreeing and praising something that does not apply to them. I was all for him starting a book club, that was his original idea for dumb & wise, but what fun is it if all he reads is self help books that apply to only him and how to get rich quick??

He looks up to Bezos, Musk, the Paul Brothers, Jeffree Starr and all because they’re extremely wealthy. And while it’s great to challenge yourself to see how far you can go, dont start preaching to regular people about how they need to have the same mindset as these toxic men who value always working and not having any time off ever and scam their workers when they all have the ability to travel anywhere, purchase anything, and do so without giving back to those who got them there. Musk literally said hes never had a day off and sleeps on friends sofas. Bezos the riches man refuses to pay workers past minimum wage, and rented out a ride in a amusement park all to himself and had no one with him nor let anyone else ride it, The Paul brothers moved to Puerto Rico to get a tax cut when hundreds of people on the island are loosing their homes and suffering, and thought they could break every rule and kill their sea turtles, and Jeffree Starr moved to the middle of nowhere Wyoming because no one in La could stand him. Thats who he wants to mirror his mindset and business approach after😕.

i haven't checked on the post since he made it. i was more commenting on when he first posted it, i didn't see anyone outright disagreeing with him until i got on here. but that doesn't mean there weren't comments disagreeing, i just didn't see them originally.

and like i just said in the previous ask, i do think to some degree he doesn't really want to hear ppl's opinions. he'd rather live in a bit of an echo-chamber. maybe i'm wrong, so don't take my word for it. that's just how it feels sometimes. bc it's not like he replies to ppl who disagree or tries to keep the conversation going. he just posts and moves on lol

he looks up to ppl who've made a shit-ton of money, and while i get that from a business stand point….. find better ppl. there are probably plenty of rich ppl who didn't abuse a fuck ton of ppl on their way to the top. granted if you're trying to look up to billionaires you aren't gonna find any good ones. that's just my personal opinion.

i think his issue is that he believes the one main way to be successful is thru wealth and business. and while that is definitely one way, it's not the only way. there are plenty of ways to be successful. but i think he hyperfocuses on business and working bc it's the one thing he can control. his emotions? absolutely not. but he can control how much effort or time he puts into something.

i've never really mentioned this before, but sometimes there is an intensity with him that concerns me a bit. especially when it comes to him talking about working or editing. he just seems… like he's ready to burst at any minute.

i truly hope that both him and colby can take a much needed time off when hell week is over.

#ask #personal

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warriorofteaching · 6 months

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Passing the Torch

I follow a few teacher reddits and it truly astonishes me the types of things people post. As a long time redditor and part of a few useful reddits, the idea was now that I’m teaching full-time, it would be good to be a part of a community of other teachers so that I can “eavesdrop” on conversations and keep an ear to the ground of what other professionals are thinking. To be fair, I certainly have an idea of what other professionals are thinking and like any part of the internet, it is the loudest people who are heard the clearest. Or perhaps, it’s better to say, it’s the echo chamber I hear the clearest. But that too has its value. There are two types of posts I want to address today: the posts about retiring and the posts about only doing what you have to.

The posts about retiring I found so interesting the first few times. The education system is broken. There is nothing you can say that will change my mind. Despite it being my first official year full time teaching, I’ve danced around the education industry for long enough and during COVID enough to know what the system is like and to know what the kids are like these days. Frankly, I agree with many long-time retiring teachers belaboring the labor conditions of education and the ridiculous bureaucracies tied to any governmental agency. My biggest question is this: what is the goal of posting this on an internet forum?

My immediate thought is sympathy. After all the pain and struggles they’ve been through, they want the anonymous collective to say: “yes, you are right fellow teacher. This shit sucks and we don’t blame you for leaving. Go, be free and with our blessings. We would follow you if we could.” And for the most part, that’s what they get. They hear their own pain in their chosen echo chamber. It is echoed and amplified for them to feel the catharsis of letting go of a career which rarely loves anyone back. Being the new, innocent teacher that I am, I can’t help but wonder: what about other new, innocent teachers? When they see these posts, how must they feel about their chosen profession and the next few years of their lives?

I find myself wishing these old, bitter teachers who have been broken and shattered by the system would simply shut up and gtfo. I understand the idea of warning other newbies about the pain and the struggles you went through as a veteran but these don’t have to be the pain and the struggles the newbies go through. They don’t have to experience the same trauma you did and just as no one can invalidate your experience of being a teacher, you don’t have the right to poison other people’s future experiences of teaching. Before they’ve even had the chance to experience it for themselves. Everyone has a right to their trauma but that doesn’t give you the right to traumatize others with yours.

There’s a bit of a crossover here with the other kind of posts: telling young teachers what they should or shouldn’t do. In particular, veteran teachers telling newbie teachers to only do what is asked of them and/or in their contract. I get it. When teachers go above and beyond the terms of their contract, it makes it worse for everyone. If administration, the government, or society at large, can expect one teacher to go above and beyond for nothing, they can expect all teachers to go above and beyond for nothing…Right?

If I have an awesome chef at a restaurant who goes out of the way to remember my order every day and know exactly how much spice I liked in my soup, I can expect that of every chef and every restaurant right? (For the record, this is an actual restaurant I went to.) Do you see how ludicrous this sounds? Of course not! I appreciate that chef for going the extra mile but I don’t expect everyone else to do the same. Yes, there is an absolutely a problem with the way society at large perceives teachers and the sacrifices they are “supposed” to take but that does not give you the right to take away the choice for new teachers to go above and beyond what is asked. If they want to, that’s okay. And if they don’t want to, that’s okay too. But it is their choice. Not yours, as the veteran teacher and their mentor, and not societies at large.

It’s like we teach our students. They have to be the ones to make the choice about whether they want to put the effort in and how much effort they want to put in. They get what they put in and despite what bitter, jaded teachers will tell you, it’s the same for teachers. It’s true, you likely won’t get the appreciation, thanks, and respect that another profession might get and you are going to get a lot of hate from students, parents, administration, and heck, probably other teachers too. Somewhere along the way, we lost, as a profession, the most important thing. You don’t do it for the appreciation, thanks, or respect. Hell, sometimes, you don’t even do it because you care because, let’s face it, sometimes, everyone around us is a little shit and we just don’t give a shit anymore.

You should be doing it because you like it.

And you know what? Sometimes, it sucks doing the things you like. Yet another lesson we teach our kids.

It’s always so clear when people are leaving the profession for greener pastures. It’s also always so clear who has had another profession, another career, another “real job” before they became a teacher. And before any of you bitch at me, it’s not about how easy or how hard one job is compared to another. It’s just about the realities of having a career and working. The education system is broken. No doubt. No question about it. But let’s face it, so is virtually every other system in our society right now. Sure, we haven’t collapsed into anarchy yet but the cracks are starting to show everywhere around us.

Education was once hailed as the golden equalizer that gives everyone the same opportunities. The ability to make every young child excel. We all know that’s a load of shit. Fine, then education is training for the workforce. We teach kids the skills they need to function in a workplace right? Maybe. Sort of. Eh. I’d say we’re 50/50 on that. But at least, at the very least, we teach them how to be good, engaged members of society! Some of you are surely rolling your eyes at that kid in class won’t drop their TikTok addled phone full of conspiracy theories and bad science.

But why do you think society at large, that a job outside of education, will be any better? Do you think kids are the only ones with brains broken and addled by social media? Do you truly think every adult knows how to function in a workplace? Just ask any employee of any large company about “their awful boss” and they will surely have stories to tell you of the emotionally stunted manager who got promoted by nepotism. Do the research into how any billionaire made their money and the unequal opportunities they had.

Our education system and our schools reflect our society. They take what we see in society at large and magnify it tenfold because, this may shock you, kids are tiny adults. They are tiny adults growing up with more powerful technology than the previous generation. They are also tiny adults growing up and learning from the big adults and amplifying all their bad habits tenfold because they are children who don’t know any better and, le gasp, aren’t learning any better from the big adults who also have bad habits. Are you seeing the positive feedback loop we’re getting stuck in?

If only there were some third-party adult who knew better, who had the emotional and critical capacity to decide which hills were worth dying on and which ones to forfeit. Who knew which battles were too much for them to handle and which ones to let go of. If only there were experienced veterans who could train those third-party adults on all the on-the-job type realities like every job should have (but not all do). If only there was someone who could break this positive feedback loop! Are you picking up what I’m throwing down? Do I have to spell it out for you like I do for my kids who won’t say a thing when I ask them a meaningful question but won’t stfu when I’m trying to tell them something important? See? I get it too.

It’s only been three months since I started full time teaching but I’ve already told my students a few times why I became a teacher. My goals were quite lofty and my kids had a good laugh about it. I told them I became a teacher so I could teach them not to be little shits. I teach them in hopes that when I get older and have to retire, I have good reason to believe the world won’t get even shittier. Maybe it’ll even keep getting better. Because despite what the media wants you to believe and despite all the truly awful and shitty things happening in the world, despite how clearly the cracks are showing in our society, there is good reason to hope. Just like we tell our students, sometimes, you just have to change your perspective. You just have to change what you’re looking at.

And when I retire, I won’t write a post about how awful my experience was teaching. Even if it was. I’ll write a post that tells every teacher you want resources? Here’s resources from a lifelong career of teaching for you to use neatly organized (maybe after retirement cause let’s be real, who has the time). Because what a new teacher needs is not the crushing weight of your very legitimate PTSD, it’s the resources to do the job you very understandably and very reasonably no longer can. I truly do not blame anyone for leaving a broken profession. I criticize you for demoralizing teachers who have yet to step foot in the classroom and make the change you did for as long as you could.

Stop burning new teachers with the torch you’re passing to them and start handing it to them.

Sincerely, A New Teacher who could use some resources

#reddit #reflection #teaching #education

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hyperbcle · 7 months

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@finclines wyatt stuck his tongue out, nose scrunched up in faux annoyance. "why should i be objective about the love of my life? don't snub me." now that he was, you know, allowed to be alive, he was shouting into the echo-chamber that was tiktok on some obsessive and overbearing boyfriend shit. his followers loved it, even though they begged for a finn face-reveal every single time he posted about him. and he was tempted every time because he really was the least objective person ever and wanted to brag about how pretty finn was, but he didn't want it to make it's way back to finn's dad somehow. it was probably for the best, anyway, because accidentally becoming a tiktok couple sounded like a nightmare and wyatt didn't think he'd do well with the serotonin rapid-firing at him via notifications. it was another addiction waiting to happen if he let it. "why are you shocked? people will do and say anything under the guise of anonymity, baby." he pointed at himself, a real-life example. "to be fair, while morally questionable i don't think it's illegal? you're just a t.a." assuming the student wasn't seventeen going on eighteen, of course. but finn didn't really know that, and he could feign plausible deniability or something. he blinked owlishly, caught off guard at finn's immediate acceptance of the idea. and he was thankful for sure, because it wasn't like he wanted to argue with finn. arguing always left him exhausted and itchy, and he could never truly feel good about it whether he won or not. but like... finn had just seemed questionable at best, and now all of a sudden he was agreeing and putting more thought into it than wyatt was. well, maybe not more, but he was thinking entirely differently about it. wyatt had been thinking more about how emotionally ready he would be for a dog - if he could genuinely care, make himself get up and hold himself accountable without making finn take care of not only him but another living thing. his laugh came out a little nervous. "hey, you know you're allowed to think about it, right? i know. i'm very charming and persuasive and needy so you want to give in immediately but this is your house, too. you can like, take more than five seconds." his smile was uneasy, feeling not for the first time that their power-dynamic was a little bit skewed. because look, he could mean it however he wanted but finn's feelings were valid and after the whole student loan thing and the house thing he was trying to be more mindful. "i don't want you to agree because i'm boo-hoo disabled or because it's what i want. i want you to want a dog." he clung to finn's shirt, head dropping back on a dramatic groan that was somewhere between bratty and exasperated. he was maybe trying to make light of the disabled thing, because complex ptsd is like that. but whatever. his point remained. "five? sure, sure." he agreed, solely because what did he know, honestly? his head tilted onto his shoulder curiously, eyebrows pulling together. and... huh? finn was going out of his way to ask about park? his confusion was apparent, using the back of his hand to feel finn's forehead. "are you running a fever? what'd you do to with my boyfriend? who are you?"

#finclines #finn.#t.

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ksgrossman1 · 2 years

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People Who Are Different Than You

“One answer is simply educating ourselves.”

This sentence in the article I’m reading strikes me in its simplicity and its insight. Another way to capture the essence of the sentence is to say answers are found by being curious. Solutions to problems and resolutions of conflicts are found by being curious.

There is a now famous scene in the show “Ted Lasso” where a quote is wrongly attributed to Walt Whitman. The incorrect attribution doesn’t change the importance of the quote. “Be curious, not judgmental.”

Be curious. Not judgmental.

The author of the article I’m reading, Barbara O'Neal, is telling a story about her accidental exposure to female writers and writers of color. These are writers unfamiliar to her. Writers nobody intentionally introduced to her. Writers who have since opened her world to new ideas, new thoughts, and understanding.

At the time, she told herself, “I need to be reading lots of books and watching lots of TV and films that are not written by the same small group of writers.”

When the opportunity presented itself, O’Neal was curious. Not judgmental.

She says, “We cannot be truly educated if we’re only exposed to people just like ourselves.”

Unfortunately, educating ourselves about others is hard work. Being curious is hard work. People are quicker to leave places to avoid considering diverse opinions than to stay and be curious. They would rather find an echo chamber to support each other's preconceived thoughts.

That’s a shame. As O’Neal says, “It’s so easy to find material about people who are not just like me, who don’t live in the same narrow strata I do.”

So, be curious every day. Do the hard work. Read female writers, Black writers, Latin writers, Native American writers, Asian writers, etc. Be curious about people who are different than you.

I agree with O’Neal, who says, “Reading widely gives us insight and open-mindedness. More, it gives us open hearts, a commodity in short supply in our harsh, accusatory, divisive world.”

If you want to go deeper and figure out the best ways to surround yourself with a successful and effective peacemaking network, subscribe to my email newsletter.

If you know someone who can benefit from this post, please share it with someone who trusts you, and share PeaceShark.com, with them. You can learn more about me and what I do to help families at AttorneyGrossman.com. If you want more tips on relationships, negotiations, and resolving conflicts, register for my newsletter at KeithShares.com.

If you like this content, follow me on Twitter and Instagram. You can also connect with me on LinkedIn and at the Grossman Law & Conflict Management Facebook page.

Make it a great day. I’m sending peace, love, and harmony your way.

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ladybugout-au · 3 years

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Dear. GOD. After seeing Furious Fu, I would honestly love to see LBO!Marinette just chewing out Su-Han for all his canon-to-fic BULLSHIT. Like, I know you’ve already got a plan to incorporate Feast into LBO, which I’m super excited for, so this asshole showing up with all his nonsense after the new Team Miraculous is set, hell maybe even after they’ve already retrieved the Butterfly and the Peacock, and watching Marinette (and possibly Fu since he has the memories to stand up for himself) tear this dude a new one would really be the cherry on top of an already awesome fic. Sorry to rant in your inbox lol but the new episode just made me so. ANGRY.

In the lounge room of the Liberty, everyone jumped as they heard a noise from up above deck, as if something heavy had fallen or been dropped. Marinette briefly pulled away from Luka’s hold, staring up at the ceiling and wondering aloud, “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Juleka admitted, exchanging concerned looks with Rose.

“That definitely wasn’t Mom,” Luka noted with a tilt of his head.

Pounding footsteps followed, making it clear that a person had clearly gotten on the houseboat without the gangplank being there.

Nino jolted on alert, turning to Duusu with a hushed whisper. “Hide!”

“All of you,” Kagami began, standing up and looking around vaguely at every kwami. “get out of sight.”

The kwami, breaking out of their trance after the brief scare, scattered in every direction to find their own individual hiding places, some choosing to hide with their respective holder and others preferring to hide behind or inside objects. Ivan went into his usual protective mode, wrapping an arm around Mylene while she clung to him.

Marinette stood up, rushing over to the table and picking up the Miracle Box to stow it away. She looked around, then dashed for the microwave and stored the box inside.

She shut the door just in time for the intruder to descend from the staircase: an old man, dressed in Chinese garb and carrying a strange mystical-looking staff. He had a stern expression, his brows knitted together as he scanned the room like none of them were even there. He raised his staff, his gaze eventually locking on the microwave the Marinette was standing near.

Without a word, he pushed Marinette aside, earning an offended, “Excuse me—hey!” from her as he grabbed the microwave door and tugged it. When that did little more than jostle the microwave itself, he tried blindly tampering with the buttons to no avail.

Marinette slapped his wrist away, standing with all her pride as guardian as she asked, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He glared at her in response. “Young lady, I demand you open your magical sealing chamber and return what’s rightfully mine!”

She blanked, the words catching her completely off-guard. This guy thought their microwave was a magical sealing chamber?

In response, Marinette gave a brief glance to the others, who were all looking back at her with equally puzzled expressions, any tension from before completely gone.

An unspoken question echoed throughout the room: Is he for real?

Before Marinette could ask any further, Tikki emerged from her hiding spot, flying over and explaining, “Marinette, I know who this is! This is great master Su-Han, the guardian of the Miracle Box!”

Marinette raised a brow skeptically. “But I’m the guardian?”

“He was responsible for the box before the incident that Master Fu caused,” she corrected.

Su-Han looked down at Marinette condescendingly. “So you are the current holder of the box.”

“That’s right,” she confirmed unapologetically. She gave a side-glance to Luka and the others, seeing that they were prepared to stand up and fight for her, but she gave a subtle gesture to let them know that it wasn’t necessary. Resolving to deal with Su-Han herself, she faced him again. “How did you find us?”

He held out his staff, the jewel on it mere centimeters from her face. “Guardian scepters are equipped with compasses that can find their Miracle Box at any given time.”

“In case you lose it?” Marinette blurted out, but didn’t apologize or try to take it back.

“Insolent!” Su-Han gasped. “You are not even a proper guardian. I can tell that this box hasn’t even been properly passed down to you!”

“Because Master Fu gave it to me,” she explained, “and we agreed that he should keep his memories.”

“Fu?” Su-Han echoed. “You mean Wang Fu? Chicken legs?”

Is this guy five? Marinette wondered.

Orikko popped out from their hiding place, waving a paw at Su-Han as if in warning. “I take offense to that!”

Su-Han glared at Orikko at the comment, and Orikko quickly ducked back down. Turning his attention back to Marinette, he continued, “Wang Fu is a student who wasn’t even able to fast for a day, nor do a thousand finger-pushups. He was never a rightful guardian, and he failed to fulfill the hope we’d seen in him.”

“Master Fu may have made mistakes, but he’s done his best to make up for all of them!” she argued. “He protected the box for over one hundred years and it’s because of his choices that our team was able to defeat Hawk Moth!”

“Team?” Su-Han asked, his face scrunching up as if he were piecing something together.

“Yes!”

Marinette gestured to her boyfriend and friends for emphasis. Luka, Ivan, Kagami, and Juleka stood while Rose and Nino pinched and stretched their shirts to show off their respective miraculouses.

“Children?” Su-Han gaped. Glaring at Marinette, as if she had personally given out the miraculouses herself, he declared, “Children are never meant to hold miraculouses, especially from the first and most powerful Miracle Box! Kwami are extremely powerful, cosmic creatures!”

A voice piped up from across the room. “Y-you say that, but—!”

Marinette and Su-Han turned to look at Nooroo, who had peeked out from behind Rose’s shoulder. He breathed up, seeming to gain some confidence, then floated out to the center of the room.

“They saved me and Duusu from the hands of evil! We would still be in Gabriel’s clutches if not for them!”

“What?” Su-Han asked. Just when Marinette thought they might be getting somewhere, he turned back to her and accused, “The peacock and butterfly were lost?!”

“Fu lost them when he was escaping the temple,” Marinette explained, a mixture between unphased and annoyed at the man’s outbursts, “but we got them back and everything’s okay now.”

Luka chimed in from his place near the couch, “Marinette has been an incredible leader, as both Ladybug and the guardian.”

She smiled at him in thanks, but Su-Han was clearly focused on anything but the positives.

“Ladybug? You’re even wearing a miraculous?! Guardians aren’t meant to hold miraculouses!” he said, throwing his arms out for effect.

“What—why?” she asked, genuinely confused.

Instead of answering her, Su-Han pulled out a book, shoving it pointedly towards her with the cover facing downwards in his palm. “Let me remind you of a few important rules you’ve violated.” He flipped through a few pages, then pointed at one of them. “Rule fourteen: Kwami must not live outside of the box.” He flipped through a few more. “Rule fifty-two: Guardians must never lose a miraculous. “He flipped to a page near the end. “Rule one hundred and thirty-three: Guardians must never, under any circumstances, wear a miraculous.”

“Master Fu wore a miraculous,” she argued, having never heard of any such rule from him.

“And that proves exactly what I’m talking about!” Su-Han retorted. “Neither you nor Fu are capable guardians because neither of you have respected the rules of the order!”

“...”

When Marinette initially imagined the Order of the Guardians and the people who ran it, this was not what she’d pictured. She had pictured zen and calm, not belligerent and immovable. She was reminded vaguely of her grandfather when she first met him, and that wasn’t a good thing.

She tossed another gaze at everyone, who gave her the same look and nod in response: let him have it.

“Young lady, I’ll repeat myself once,” Su-Han warned. “Return the Miracle Box and the miraculouses to me before--”

Marinette grabbed the book out of his hand, shut it with a satisfying “clap,” then set it back in his hand. “No.“

“What did you say?” he asked, aghast that she would speak to him that way.

“I said no.” Marinette advanced on him, the sheer force of her presence making him take a step back. “Now let me remind you about everything you must’ve missed this whole time.”

She raised a finger at him, raising additional fingers as she went on. “One: You intruded on my boyfriend’s house without any sort of permission. If you’d actually called out to us, we might’ve actually been willing to come out and listen to what you had to say. Two: You wouldn’t have even been able to be here in the first place if not for me using Miraculous Ladybug after our team took down Feast, which you weren’t able to do. Three: We aren’t children, we’re teenagers, and the fact that you can’t tell the difference or bother learning what technology is shows that I shouldn’t trust you with the Miracle Box even if you had a right to it. Four: You didn’t bother to listen and blamed me for losing miraculouses when it was you and your order who didn’t keep an eye on a poor boy who didn’t want to be there. Five, last but not least: I say the kwami are allowed out of the Miracle Box because I am the guardian. You and your order have been gone for over one hundred years and you can’t go making demands after I brought you back. You told me rules I didn’t even know about and didn’t explain why you have those rules in the first place. The kwami are my friends and they have feelings and I’m not going to shut them in a box because you told me to.”

Silence filled the room, no one saying a word and Su-Han’s face contorting between shock and outrage.

Marinette took a step back, standing at the ready and gesturing to herself. “So if you want the Miracle Box, you’re going to have to go through us first.”

She tossed a look at her team, all of them doing a synchronized, confrontational motion to face Su-Han.

“Tikki!”

“Plagg!”

“Wayzz!”

“Pollen!”

“Trixx!”

“Nooroo!”

“Duusu!”

They then shouted in unison, “Transform me!”

Several individual flashes meshed together, overtaking the room and then fading to leave several heroes behind, their weapons equipped for battle.

Su-Han looked amongst them, a flicker in his eyes that hinted that he knew he would be outmatched, but also wasn’t willing to admit it. He retreated a few steps back, hands out to show that he was prepared to defend himself.

It was at that moment that Ladybug heard and noticed movement from behind him, realization striking and a smile overtaking her face. Pulling back from her fighting pose, she placed a hand on her hip and stated confidently, “Captain Anarka will escort you out.”

He looked confused, and he was only able to let out a, “What—?” before a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Su-Han wasn’t even able to turn around before he was pulled backward, a jewelry-adorned fist decking him in the face and sending him flying into the staircase. His scepter fell to the floor and he could only gape at the woman standing there, cracking her knuckles while he was sprawled out on the stairs with all air having been knocked out of him.

“A trespasser on my ship, eh?” Anarka asked, a grin on her face but her eyes glinting with malice. “I don’t take kindly to ship rats who threaten my crew and think they’re too good to walk the plank.”

Su-Han hurried to get up, only for Anarka to grab him by his shirt and haul him up the stairs, a rapid shuffling noise following as Ladybug went over and shut the door.

A few seconds passed and the atmosphere shifted to peace, everyone mutually releasing their transformations and relaxing. Marinette smiled reassuringly at everyone, letting them know that things were okay, but then jumped as she heard a resounding, “Marinette!”

The kwami all emerged from their hiding places, Marinette having no time to react as they all charged at her, their tiny bodies clinging affectionately to whatever they could grab of her.

“You’re amazing!”

“Thank you so much!”

“You stood up for us!”

“You’re the best guardian ever!”

Marinette gasped, finding it hard to move without disturbing any of them. Trying hard not to laugh, she protested, “Aha—hey! Stop, you’re all tickling me!”

She blushed, looking over at her teammates who were only staring at her with pride, which just made the pink on her cheeks turn red. “This is so embarrassing!”

Once the kwami had their fill of thanking her, they finally obeyed and flew away, each giving her smiles of approval. She covered her face with a hand, waiting for the shyness to die down, then noticed the guardian scepter out of the corner of her eye, still lying on the ground.

She approached, touching the scepter at first to make sure it was safe, then properly picking it up and letting it stand next to her. She tapped the gem on top, eyeing the compass that Su-Han had been talking to her about, then followed its direction back to the microwave. She walked over, opening it up, then took out the Miracle Box and held it in her free hand.

Looking back and forth between the two clearly ancient objects, she couldn’t help chuckling. “They don’t really suit me.”

Her friends giggled in response, Luka in particular shooting her a warm smile and approaching. One of his hands went to the scepter and the other went to rest on the Miracle Box.

“I think you make them work, actually,” he replied.

Marinette beamed at him, thoroughly warmed by the compliment. It didn’t feel like that long ago when her support was lacking and defeating Hawk Moth seemed like a pipe dream.

Now, holding the Miracle Box and scepter in her hands, she didn’t know why she’d ever doubted herself.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Then, looking at the Su-Han-less room, she gave a shrug and walked back with Luka to the couch. “So, where were we?”

#((Technically spoilers for post-Hawk Moth stuff but nothing you guys don't already know.))#((For the record anon I'm still debating on doing ''Feast''))#((because it's a direct episode rewrite which LadyBugOut doesn't have so I'm nervous about it))#((I figured this might be a good start though.))#((I imagine Team Miraculous would have everything resolved by the time S4E6 hits))#((so hence the time jump.))#collab: LadyBugOut AU #canonicity: all #canonicity: canon compliant #writing: all #writing: canon compliant #writing: salt #character: marinette dupain cheng #group: team miraculous #salt: all #salt: other

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whxreforsvkvna · 3 years

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mirage errone pt. 1 || bakugou x reader

genre: Princess!reader x bandit!Bakugo, ft. Bakusquad, quirkless!au

warnings: all bnha characters are above 18+ (unless otherwise mentioned), multi-chapter, minor (and some major) swear words here and there throughout fic thanks to Bakugo

word count: 1.3k

prompts: in which a self-proclaimed good-hearted bandit group kidnaps the wrong princess

There were many things that drove you to be against your kingdom’s ruler. He allowed his people to suffer in the throes of hunger whilst he dined on the richest of foods with neighboring authoritative figures. He had raised the tax rates by another two percent at the end of last year, driving many into debt and despair.

There was one thing you despise most of all when it came to the king. Being in the same bloodline as him was enough to make the thought of ceasing her existence seem enticing. Being related to the royal family was one matter, but being the illegitimate daughter of your kingdom’s ruler was another, more forsaken, one.

This title given to you from the moment you were born was like a witch’s curse. You were bound to living behind these colorful, gold-rimmed walls with outsiders not knowing of your very existence.

Yet at this very moment, you couldn’t help but allow the corners of your lips to curl in the smallest of smirks as you witness Princess Bibimi’s current outburst. This had been the pot of gold you had been waiting for in your nineteen years of living in this forsaken palace. If the redness in your sister’s face wasn’t an indication for her rage, then the entirety of her bedraggled appearance made up for it.

“For my twenty-first birthday, I am obtaining a husband?” she scornfully spat out, despite the warning look her mother sent her way. “A husband? From one of our rivaling lands, no less!”

“It’s a proposition that is too beneficial for our country to not proceed with.” The king sighed for the umpteenth time. From your seat near one of the frontal pillars, you could tell he was beginning to form yet another wrinkle upon his whitening brow. “You should be aware of this more than anyone else, Bibimi. You excelled in your political studies.”

You were on the verge of drowning out the remainder of the conversation, seeing as it was going nowhere in favor of your sister. The king’s word was final in every situation he placed himself in, and he had no exceptions, even for his own family.

The princess pointed an accusing finger towards you, “Why can’t you give her away, instead?”

Your breath stilled for a moment, the fire in your sister’s eyes brought a cold shiver in its wake. Nineteen was too young to be married off in the eyes of the royals, and Bibimi was well aware of the advantage the younger had on her.

“Now, now,” His Majesty waved a hand in dismissal, “you know how useless that would be.”

Ah, that’s right. There was one other advantage you had over your sister.

No one in their right mind would want a bastard royal as the next ruler on their throne. This taboo of a situation allowed you to slip away from arranged marriages, and other political affairs.

Clutching tightly at the skirts of her dress, Bibimi begged for her early dismissal from their king. He agreed with little resistance, tiredly shaking his head as he watched her storm off. He looked towards your direction, taking note of you fixing your slouched posture.

“Have you any objections to the upcoming arrangements?”

“None, Your Majesty.” You replied in a small voice, avoiding his beady stare.

“At least one daughter is happy.” He mused as he waved his hand, signalling for your own dismissal.

You stood from your seat and curtsied before hastily leaving the throne room.

♛♕♛♕

You decided to reside in the privacy of your chambers that night, quizzing yourself with neighboring countries’ former hierarchies. Your time alone was shortly lived when knocking resonated throughout the silence.

“Your Highness, please pardon the intrusion but Princess Bibimi wishes to speak with you.” Your personal maid announced upon opening the door, her face contorted into one of fear as your sister loomed behind her.

Bibimi pushed past the maid and ushered her away from the door only to promptly slam it shut.

“What brings you to this side of the palace, sister?” you greeted her, marking the page of your book before gently shutting it.

“Don’t ‘sister’ me,” she huffed out, elegantly sitting on your vanity’s chair. She pauses for a moment as she picks up one of your many combs to examine its design. “I cannot believe he is doing this.”

Here we go, again. You internally heaved a large sigh.

You stop yourself from correcting her misused address to your father. Instead, you offer a gentle smile, “You’ll have two lands under your disposal once both Kings pass on.”

“I don’t want any of that,” she whined, setting the comb down. Her long lashes fluttered as she feigned a pout, “Not at the cost of my own happiness.”

“I’m sure you will grow to be happy with the Prince,” you offered., only to be taken aback by the harsh scowl directed at you.

“Have you no clue of what’s going on? I’ve just heard the first prince is missing. I’m being wedded to the second eldest. He is merely a man in this situation.” This was also news to you. You wondered if this information was being kept hidden from the public. “If the older one was to suddenly emerge, I will have only one kingdom under my command.” Bibimi went on for a final comment, “The second son is not as handsome as the first, as well. I would have been more content if it were a different situation.”

You felt disgust grip at you upon hearing her words. Rather than replying to the materialistic words, you stayed quiet and continued to listen to her rant.

“For the King’s sake, why couldn’t we have the arrangement with Mirio’s kingdom instead?”

“Prince Mirio Togata?” you echoed.

“Who else, you dimwit.” She snapped, seemingly annoyed. “He’s the only prince I’d willingly bed with.”

“Bibimi!” You gasped, taken aback by the vulgar phrase.

“Oh, shut up. We can’t all be saints in this stupid palace.” She rose from her seat, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on her dress. “I’ll take my leave now as it is no use speaking with you and that fake innocence of yours.”

“Take care,” you weakly called out to her as she stepped out the door.

Mere seconds pass before Bibimi is reeling herself back into your room, slamming the door shut behind her as she looks back at you with widened eyes. The shoutings of guards as they scrambled out in the hallway caught your attention.

“Bibimi? What’s the matter?” you slipped off the bed, stepping towards her. “What’s going on?”

“Stay back.” She hissed, fiddling with the knob’s lock. “There’s an intruder in the castle.”

“What? Will father be okay?”

“Idiot, this is no time to think about that man. Help me find some place to hide.” Bibimi left the door to start pacing around your room, scrutinizing places to hide in or under.

With your fast-thinking, you guided her towards your large wardrobe, “Quick, hide in here.”

You aided her in stepping into the wooden furniture and tried to follow suit but felt her hands press against your shoulders. “No, you can’t come in here! Go somewhere else.”

Her forcefulness sent you to the floor and you watched in a daze as she closed the wardrobe doors, sealing herself fully from the public eye.

You mentally cursed at her, wanting nothing more than to grab her out of there and slap some sense into her. But doing so would waste precious time you needed for hiding away.

You’re in the process of crawling under your bed when arms are pulling you upright and a hand is cascading itself over your eyes to conceal your vision. You’re thrown into panic upon hearing a gruff voice whisper in your ear.

“I’ve got you now, Princess.”

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imkylotrash · 3 years

Text

The Noble Kind

Pairing: Sir Gwaine x reader

Request: She's the queen, married to uther but is just a year or 2 older than Arthur. She has magic. They had an arranged marriage cause her kingdom which is extremely powerful didn't want to go to war with uther as they were taking in refugees to protect and didn't want to inforce the idea that magic is evil. She has an affair with gawain and they run away when she's pregnant. Anonymous

Tagging: @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @shadowhuntyi

“It’s for the greater good,” you mother tells you right before you marry the King of Camelot in an attempt to prevent a war. Uther is a great king for the most part but he is frightened by what he doesn’t understand. Magic is one of the things he knows nothing of - leaving it up to your kingdom to take in the refugees running for their lives.

“To a strong alliance,” he toasts at the wedding party and you keep a smile plastered on your face through the entire evening even though you hate every second. You’ve always said you’d marry for love but there’s no lost love between you and Uther. He agreed for the alliance and nothing more. You agreed because it was the right thing to do for your people. None of you could afford to go to war with each other.

“A strong alliance,” you echo lifting the glass of wine placed in front of you. In the crowd, you spot Gwaine looking at you with sorrow in his eyes. He didn’t want to believe it until he saw it with his own eyes. But then something changes, you see the flip switch as he raises his glass to you before downing the whole thing. You should’ve known he wouldn’t take this well.

“Have I lost your interest already?” Uther asks with a sparkle in his eyes of something you can’t quite figure out.

“Of course not, dear. I was simply amused by the people dancing.” You’re quick to recover having been taught etiquette and manners your entire life. You know the game well enough and you’ve only gotten better after your mother abdicated and handed the crown over to you. The loss of her king, your father, had been too much. You stepped in knowing you’d had to give up what little life you had acquired. Gwaine was the only thing you refused to let go of.

“You should join them. Show them they can trust their new queen.” You wonder where Arthur but that question doesn’t go unanswered very long. He comes in by a back entrance quietly sitting down next to Uther.

“As you wish, my king.” You join the common people dancing and they’re quick to welcome you and show you the steps. It’s the most fun you’ve had all night. You don’t see Gwaine in the crowd though which worries you. It won’t do anyone any good if he gets drunk enough to make a scene.

“He’s in your chamber,” Merlin whispers using his magic to carry the sound to you and only you. He must’ve figured out who you were looking for.

“Thank you,” you whisper back. Merlin is the only one who knows about you and Gwaine but he’s promised to keep quiet. He doesn’t want to cause problems for neither of you. It’s another hour before you feel it’s appropriate to retreat for the night. Uther doesn’t object when you inform him that you’ll be spending the night in your private chambers and you don’t feel guilty for doing so. The marriage is strategic and you both know it. Besides, there’s something about only being one summer older than Uther’s own son.

You finally reach your chambers having sent your servants to bed with the promise that you’ll be able to take care of yourself. It’s an excuse to keep them from seeing Gwaine. He’s drunk when you enter, he’s very drunk.

“Do you ever stay away from trouble?” you ask noticing the split lip and the bruise on his cheekbone. He’s been fighting again.

“You know, I had the strangest dream,” he starts but you’re too tired to make sense of his metaphors. You want him cleaned up and ready to sleep.

“Let me,” you whisper carefully wetting a cloth and rinsing the worst of the blood from the cut.

“You could always do the witchy woo,” he says wiggling his eyebrows and puckering his lips.

“It’d do you some good to heal naturally. Perhaps you wouldn’t worry me so much,” you reply but the second he mentions the pain you’ve lost all resolve to let him heal on his own. You can’t let him be in pain when you can take it away.

“Fine,” you whisper placing your hand right about the cut and closing your eyes. In mere seconds, the wound has closed as if he’s been waiting for you here the whole time and not been out looking for trouble.

“Thank you,” he says this time a little more serious. You feel as though you can finally exhale as you crawl into bed with him. These are your moments of peace, the moments where you can avoid the pressure of your title and the expectations that come with the crown.

“You know, you did just get married. Normally, there’s something you’d consummate the marriage as well.” He’s drunk and out of his mind, but he’s your crazy drunk and looking into his eyes you feel nothing but love.

“Sober up and I’ll think about it.” You don’t consummate anything that night but you do the following nights. You get careless and before you know it, you’re late. Gaius confirms your suspicions and congratulates you thinking it belongs to Uther. But Merlin knows the truth though which means he’ll be the only person who can help you.

“We must leave tonight,” you confide in him. If Uther finds out that you’ve disrespected him in these manners, he’ll have you hung and declare war on your kingdom. If you flee, you’ll be able to have the baby and come up with some sort of plan for your return. It’s the safest option.

“Meet me down here tonight. I’ll get you out of Camelot but then you’re on your own,” Merlin murmurs already concocting a plan for how to distract Gaius as he helps you escape. There’s no time for excitement when you tell Gwaine what has happened but you can tell he’s over the moon.

“And it’s mine?” he whispers eyes full of affection. He never thought he’d want to become a father but learning the news of your pregnancy has proven him wrong.

“Of course it’s yours,” you say with as much dignity as you can muster. How could he ever think it wasn’t his? You stop dead in your tracks when Arthur appears around the corner.

“Sir Gwaine. My Lady.” He kisses your hand from obligation rather than willingness.

“Could I have a moment with her Highness?” Gwaine knows he can’t say no but the hesitation is enough to raise suspicion. He continues down the hallway as you remain with Arthur.

“He’s good with a sword but that brainless head of his is going to get him killed one day.” You chuckle having said the exact same thing to Gwaine many times.

“Perhaps his sword skills will be the thing to save him from the troubles his brainless head creates?” you suggest hoping the talk of Gwaine will distract you from the real question; why are you down here? But it doesn’t and you mention the only thing that will make him run the other way.

“I have terrible cramps. Gaius promised he had a potion that could help.” The mentions of menstrual cramps is enough to send him running and you hurry on laughing at how easy men can be distracted. Sound travels through these tunnels and you’re close enough to hear both Gwaine and Merlin.

“I used to think you hated nobles,” Merlin laughs enjoying the company of his best friend one last time.

“Yeah, well... maybe that one’s worth dying for, eh?” You don’t mention their conversation as you enter but your heart is beating a little faster after hearing his declaration. That night you and Gwaine escape Camelot with help from Merlin. You seek refuge in your own kingdom using magic to distort your features and remain hidden. By the time, Uther realises what has happened, you’ve taken in too many sorcerers for him to launch an attack that will ultimately lead to a war he will lose. Not too long after the birth of your child, you return to the throne with Gwaine by your side and a little heir running around the throne room.

“Is it wrong for me to miss being on the run?” Gwaine asks you as you walk in the garden surrounding the castle.

“I miss it too sometimes. But I couldn’t abandon my people.”

“You just might be the first noble to care for their people,” he smiles. He takes your hand in his and the topic is never brought up again. Gwaine settles into his role with grace leaving behind the tavern fighting instead focusing on little Merlin and you.

“I’m pretty proud of our little family.”

“Me too.”

#gwaine x reader #gwaine blurb #gwaine imagine #gwaine bbc merlin #bbc merlin blurb #bbc merlin imagine #bbc merlin #sir gwaine x reader #sir gwaine blurb #sir gwaine #king arthur #merlin #uther pendragon

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alj4890 · 3 years

Note

Hello dear! I have an ask I just recently read TRH book 1 what if we get Liams POV when Riley goes into labor and when he has to make that awful decision. What are his thoughts when Riley passes out and there’s no doctor? Maybe we can find out how they got the door open?

I replayed TRH book 1 & 2 recently, so this ask couldn't have come at a better time 😂. I wonder though if anyone else thinks it was odd that Godfrey was put in charge of installing new security at the Palace. I mean, why wasn't Liam and his King's Guards handling that? I don't know, but those chapters of Riley giving birth are some that hurt me, and only because the poor woman is denied an epidural 😂 I would have Godfrey strung up by his thumbs for causing that and allow Olivia to torture him to her heart's content. But enough of my revenge ideas, let's see what I can do with this for you.

@gkittylove99 @krsnlove @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @yourmajesty09 @mom2000aggie @ofpixelsandscribbles @twinkleallnight @lodberg @amandablink @neotericthemis @mm2305 @sfb123 @iufilms

Masterlist

The Decision

It was too much to comprehend.

One moment, Liam was confronting the man who killed his mother and the next was nothing but chaos and darkness.

Screams rent the air as flashing red lights revealed steel enforced doors dropping down over the ballroom's doors and windows.

Liam knelt beside his wife when he realized she had been knocked down by a panicking guest.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, gently brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Only my pride." She tried to smile but a painful tightening around her middle struck.

Her eyes widened when she felt a wetness between her legs.

"Liam!" She gripped his arm. "My water broke!"

"What?" He searched through the crowd for their friends. "Now?"

She nodded while breathing through another contraction. "We have to get to the hospital."

"We will." He helped her up. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable while we get a door open."

"Liam!" Riley doubled over. "I don't want to have our baby in a ballroom filled with people."

"Is there a problem?"

The couple stiffened when they heard Isabella's voice. Her husband Bradshaw smiled at them.

"Our guards would be more than happy to help with the door situation," his smile held a hint of smugness, "as long as your child is betrothed to one of our twins."

Olivia arrived at that moment followed by their other friends.

"Are you saying your guards won't help rescue you without a betrothal?"

"We're in no immediate danger." Bradshaw explained.

"In fact, we're quite comfortable waiting for your pitiful little guards to find a way out." Isabelle added. "No need for us to cross international lines and damage delicate feelings with our more than capable personnel."

"Delicate!" Olivia heaved a deep breath. "We don't need your help to get out of this."

"We don't?" Maxwell asked. He let out an oomph when Olivia elbowed him. "I mean, yeah we don't! This isn't the first time we have been faced with a challenge."

"No steel door will ever convince us that their baby should be forced to be with one of your twins." Drake added.

Olivia beamed at him before turning her fury on the visiting monarchs. "I'll have it opened in no time."

"Yeah!" Maxwell cheered. "Go Nevarkis Ingenuity!"

She rolled her eyes while going to examine the metal door that covered the double doors into the ballroom.

"Oh!" Riley eased back down into a chair. She raised her eyes to Liam's. "They're getting stronger."

He gently rubbed her back. "Have you had any pains this evening?"

"It was all in my back. I thought it was from being on my feet most of the night." She took deep breaths to calm down. "But now--"

The flashing red lights and alarm stopped. The couple turned to see a proud Olivia slip a strange looking quartz bladed dagger back into a garter under her dress.

There was a square shaped hole cut within the wall with numerous wires exposed.

"That's going to be difficult to repair." Maxwell muttered.

Liam could not have cared less about the damage. If Olivia wanted to tunnel underground to get them out, then he would gladly rip up the marble tiles himself.

Riley cried out as a strong contraction struck.

"I need a distraction!" She puffed through the pain.

"How about some music?" Hana asked. "I composed a new piece recently."

"Or we could sing." Maxwell offered. "Any song you'd like."

"We could?" Drake shook his head. "Sorry Brooks, but that's not happening."

"You would deny her a song when she's in labor?" Maxwell's jaw dropped.

"I doubt our singing would help her any." Drake replied. "Might even double her pain."

While his friends bickered, Liam found his thoughts drifting back to the secret chamber they had unearthed less than an hour ago. He slipped his hand into his breast pocket to touch the letter he had discovered.

His mother's words about how much joy he had brought her echoed in his heart. He wished she could have lived to see the type of man he had become. He had tried with everything within him to live up to her expectations. Would she have noticed? What would she think of him as king now? What would her opinion have been on this choice he and Riley were given for an arranged marriage for her grandchild? Would she approve of them wanting to give their baby the right to choose his or her own spouse?

He wished he knew. He wished she was here guiding him in not only capturing her killer but in also knowing what to do for his wife and unborn child. He would have given anything to have her wise counsel once more.

"Hana!" Riley yelled to stop the argument between her three friends. "Please play whatever you like." She glared at Drake. "Someone's voice is getting on my nerves."

Hana hurried over to a piano and began to play a soothing song.

"I'm going to check on the door situation." Liam pressed a kiss to Riley's cheek. "I'll be back in just a moment."

"Hurry, please." She pleaded.

"I'll watch over her." Maxwell promised.

"I'll go check on the door with you." Drake added.

Liam made his way through the crowd, pausing here and there to reassure everyone that they would be out soon.

"Give me a boost." Olivia ordered.

Drake squatted down and linked his fingers together.

Olivia slipped her heels off and placed her foot in his grasp.

"One...two..." He heaved her up in the air, "three!"

Olivia steadied herself and quickly studied the mechanism that had allowed the door to drop. A lock had formed thus causing them to be unable to lift it up.

After poking and prodding with one of her stilettoes, she noticed the thin metal holding the lock in place.

"Bring me down." She ordered.

Drake grunted as he brought her back down. "Next time, stand on my shoulders."

"Did you figure out how to get it open?" Liam asked.

"I think I might be able to weaken the lock with heat and one of my daggers. Once we destroy that, we should be able to lift it." She explained.

"Can't we hotwire it?' Drake asked, gesturing toward the exposed wires.

"Not since I had to cut so many to get the alarms to turn off." She remarked. "I wouldn't be surprised if there is some emergency failsafe in place for an enemy's attack on the wiring. It might even drop another door on us."

Liam ran his hands over his face. "Do whatever you can to get us out of here."

"Good." Olivia nodded towards the bar. "Drake, we will start with the brandy to use for fuel."

Liam shook his head at her plan to start a fire of sorts. He hoped she didn't end up hurting herself in the process. Honestly though, he couldn't seem to focus on what he could do to help get the doors open.

"Your majesty! I don't think I can breathe in here another second!" Penelope grasped his arm while hyperventilating. "I don't do well in enclosed spaces."

"When will we get out of here?" Another noble demanded.

Questions began to be thrown at him as the crowd closed in a circle, trapping him directly in the middle.

"Is Olivia trying to burn us up in here?"

"We're going to die!"

"What are the guards doing to save us?"

"Auvernal's guards will have us out in minutes, if your king agrees." Bradshaw yelled out over the crowd. His smile was the final straw to break Liam's barely restrained temper.

"Enough!" Liam roared. "We are not going to die in here. The guards are doing all they can and Olivia is graciously assisting." His eyes zeroed in on Penelope. "Go sit down to try and calm your breathing. You're in the same ballroom you have danced in for years." He then turned to Auvernal's king. "As for your assistance, it isn't needed at this time."

Bradshaw shrugged his shoulders as if it wasn't a big deal, but his eyes held a deep seeded anger as he looked upon Liam. "If you think your guests wouldn't prefer to get out of here as quickly as they can, then I suppose there is little we can do."

Murmurs rose once more around him. Liam clinched his fists then pushed his way through when he heard Riley call out for him.

Will this night never end?

It was becoming too much for him. The whining of his people, his wife in pain and in need of medical care, his own innate need to chase after Godfrey and make him pay for poisoning his mother...he needed it all to stop for a minute to allow him to think.

"Liam!" Riley had tears falling down her cheeks. "We need to go to the hospital now!"

She gripped his hand as Hana finished the last few notes to her song.

He knelt before her chair. "Olivia has found a way to open the door. We'll soon have you out of here and--"

The sound of metal screeching had everyone turning toward the double doors.

Seeing the steel door go up caused Liam to scoop his wife in his arms and rush toward the exit.

Their friends and guests spilled out after them to only stop short.

Godfrey had installed these same safety measures on every window and exterior door along the first floor.

"Liam?" Riley puffed through another contraction. "What are we going to do?"

"I found a way out of there." Olivia boasted. "I'm certain I can--"

Bradshaw clucked his tongue. "This isn't the same type of door, your grace." He smirked at her. He knocked against the thicker steel door. "My guards could find a way outside to open it, but only if you sign this."

He produced a betrothal contract.

Riley whimpered as she looked at it and then her husband.

"Get. That. Out. Of. My. Face." Liam ordered.

He turned on his heel to take his wife upstairs to their chambers. Once he reached the first step he spoke over his shoulder. "Olivia, we trust you to handle this. Hana, please call Riley's doctor and ask her to meet us here instead of the hospital."

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

The hours dragged on as they waited. Olivia appeared periodically to vent her frustrations with getting the door to open. Drake, Maxwell, and Hana attempted to keep Riley's spirits up as she endured the ever increasing contractions.

Liam felt absolutely useless. He didn't know what to do to help his wife. He didn't know the first thing of helping a woman give birth. What if there was a complication? What about their child? What if he couldn't clear the baby's airways? What if--"

"Liam?"

He focused on Riley, weakly gripping his hand. "Yes, my love? What can I do?"

"I feel...odd."

Maxwell nudged Liam out of the way to check her blood pressure.

"Where did you find a blood pressure kit?" Drake asked.

"I know it's hard to believe, but Bertrand has high blood pressure." Maxwell winked at his friends. "I can't imagine where his source of stress comes from."

Riley tried to smile at his teasing. She could feel whatever it was pulling her under making every movement feel like it she was wading through quicksand.

Maxwell's smile disappeared. He studied Riley's flushed cheeks and stepped back.

"What is it?" Liam whispered as his friend pulled him away from her bed.

"Her blood pressure is really high right now." Maxwell glanced over his shoulder. "I don't know if that's normal for a woman in labor, but I do know that this is when I would be calling an ambulance if it was Bertrand with this reading."

Liam rubbed his hands over his face. This entire night was one nightmare after another.

"Riley?" Hana shook her by the shoulders. "Riley?!"

Liam rushed back to the bed to see his wife passed out. He took a cold rag and wiped her face, hoping it would bring her back to them.

"Riley?" His voice cracked. "Please, wake up." He looked around at their friends. "What should I do?"

"I don't know." Drake draped his arm along Hana's shoulders when she began to softly cry.

"Keep talking to her." Maxwell jogged out the room. "I'll see about the door!"

Liam turned back toward Riley. He placed his hand on her stomach and could feel the tightening of contractions along with the faint movements of their child.

Riley opened her eyes.

Liam gently cupped her cheek.

"What happened?" She asked.

"You blacked out." He explained. "Your blood pressure--"

Maxwell returned with a frustrated Olivia.

"...short of dynamite, I don't know how I'll--" she stilled when she saw the color drain from Riley's face.

"I think it's happening..." Riley became unconscious once more. Her head dropped back on the pillows.

"We have to get that doctor here now." Liam looked up at Hana. "Any word from her?"

"She is right outside." Hana explained. "And so are Auvernal's guards."

Liam took off out of the room. His long, deliberate strides had him at the balcony overlooking the entryway where the Auvernal monarchs stood talking to some of the guests.

His friends had to nearly run to catch up with him.

Bradshaw looked up and curved his lips. "Trouble, King Liam?"

Isabella snickered. "I hope Queen Riley isn't suffering unnecessarily."

Liam launched himself at the smug king when he brought up the severe pain Riley must be in at this moment.

Shouts from his friends, guests, and the King's Guards drowned out him telling Auvernal's monarch to have his guards break down the door.

"No." Bradshaw's easy smile grew into an evil smirk. "I don't see any reason to have my men do anything like that to help a woman who isn't a part of my country nor one who wishes to ally herself with mine."

"You bastard!" Liam jerked his arm back. His fist formed as he prepared to beat this man within an inch of his life for denying his Riley a doctor.

It took Drake, Maxwell, and Bastien to hold him back from starting a war with Auvernal with a single punch. Olivia and Hana got between the two kings while Isabella merely looked on in glee.

"My wife and child are going to die if I don't get that doctor in here now!" Liam shouted. "And you stand there refusing to--"

"Not refusing!" Bradshaw snapped. "I'm trying to help you." He snapped his fingers and was handed the engagement contract by a nearby Auvernal guard. "Sign this and my men will have your doctor in here within five minutes."

Liam felt all the adrenaline that had rushed through his veins when he tried to punch the man leave his body. He felt not only weak but utterly worthless. He couldn't see any way out of this. He couldn't lose his wife. He couldn't lose the child they had eagerly waited for.

He couldn't get the damn door open without the very people he had grown to loathe these past nine months.

"Liam," Olivia whispered, "it's the only option we have now."

"We'll find a way to break it." Maxwell whispered.

"Yeah," Drake patted his shoulder. "Right now, you need to just accept the deal to get Brooks and the baby some help."

Liam glanced over at Hana to get her advice.

Tears filled her eyes. "I--I know this isn't what you want, but we have no choice."

Liam swallowed and snatched the paper from Bradshaw's hand. He signed the cursed document and tossed it in his face.

"There! Now get that doctor in here before it becomes null and void."

Bradshaw quickly gave the orders for his guards outside to break down the door with a battering ram.

In three minutes, Dr. Ramirez was following Liam up to the royal chambers.

She helped rouse Riley and then guided her through the delivery.

Liam watched in awe as his wife produced the most perfect baby girl he had ever seen.

Tears of joy and immense relief trickled down his cheeks as he held his daughter for the first time.

"I think we should name her Eleanor," Riley said, watching him kiss their little one's forehead, "in honor of your mother."

His eyes practically glowed as he looked upon his wife. "Thank you, my love."

She snuggled her head on his shoulder as they both gazed down at their own miracle.

Liam knew he needed to tell Riley what had happened with Auvernal yet he didn't want to ruin this first moment of them as a family.

He silently vowed as he held his daughter that he would somehow find a way to save her from an arranged marriage.

#choices the royal heir #king liam #liam x riley #trr drake walker #trr olivia #trr maxwell #trr hana lee #choices trh

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glxssylaufey · 3 years

Text

Mischief Maker - fic teaser

a/n: this is my very first time writing so please forgive me if it’s not that great or if there’s lots of mistakes! i hope you enjoy it nonetheless :)

summary: loki x reader ; There’s a new guest staying at the Avengers Tower. To make matters worse, the reader is put in charge to watch over the new member of the compound.

word count: 1,782

warnings: none

There was something exceptional about the way you could stroke your paintbrush upon a canvas so many times until an entire story formed upon the platform. You were sat on top of a grassy hill about a mile or so from the Avengers tower, basking in the warm sunlight while you painted away at a piece you had worked on for quite some time now. Being an Avenger was all you could have ever asked for, but of course it had its moments that never failed to make you completely irritable. Whether it be Tony’s constant fuss about literally anything or even Thor simply chewing too loud. Because of this, you found painting was an excellent outlet for all the negative energy that builds up throughout time. Not to mention the pieces you made were high quality. You had never attended any kind of art school in the past, the talent had come to you naturally.

Though like most great things, nothing lasts forever. Your concentration was abruptly interrupted when your phone started ringing. Glancing down at your phone, you weren’t at all surprised to find that the caller was Tony. You swore that man had something going on practically every hour of the day. Not even giving the call a second thought, you continued your gentle painting. Of course, Tony was stubborn. A second round of ringing started almost immediately after the first had finished. Sighing with obvious displeasure, you sat your brush down and wiped your hands of any wet paint. Clearing your throat, you quickly tap the accept button and hold the phone to your ear.

“Tony, I’m-”

“Busy, yes, yes, aren’t we all?” he cuts you off. You roll your eyes. “Listen, I just need you to get in here, we’re having an emergency meeting.”

As much as you would have loved to keep the day as peaceful as it was, you were an Avenger and had a job to do. Besides, Tony never called to have an emergency meeting unless it was truly an emergency. Glancing to the direction of the tower, you sigh into the phone.

“I’ll be in soon. This better be good.” you grumble before ending the call, not even waiting for Tony’s response.

When you entered the tower, you immediately made your way to the kitchen to wash both your hands and art supplies. Much to your dismay, you found that Tony was already there waiting for you. You weren’t necessarily going to avoid him, but you were contemplating setting off this meeting for as long as possible. This was supposed to be a relaxing day after all.

“Aha! You’re finally here Picasso, now get over here.” he spoke in his usual pushy manner. He took long strides towards you and snatched everything out of your hands, quickly setting them down on the counter with very little care.

At this point, what could you really do besides listen to him to get this whole situation over with?

“Good god, Stark, what’s going on here?” you asked, making the irritation in your voice noticeable. Tony simply scoffs as he quickly walks you into the next room where everyone else was uncomfortably sitting.

“Well, I don’t think ‘good god’ is the way to put it.” he sarcastically states, pushing you softly into the meeting room. Tony’s remarks suddenly make sense when your eyes meet the god that was sitting in the room, handcuffed and muzzled. He looked at you through dark eyelashes, a strand of raven hair resting upon his face. Loki. Knowing his past, you were surprised at how calmly he sat there next to his brother in a room full of the same heroes that took him down. You weren’t an Avenger during the attack on New York, but you most certainly heard all the stories. From the traumatic experiences, to the excessive repair to the city, you’ve heard all the things imaginable. Not that you needed very much explanation, seeing as you lived in New York when the incident happened.

“Is this some kind of joke?” you ask, turning to look at Tony, your voice barely a whisper. There was a quiet wave of sighs from the rest of the Avengers in the room, almost as if they all already knew your reaction ahead of time.

“Oh, I sure hope so.” Tony spoke loudly. “If this is a joke, now’s the time to tell us, Point Break.”, he said, stepping to the side so he could create full eye contact with the blonde god.

“This is not a joke, Stark.” Thor claimed, keeping the eye contact as he stood from his previous seat. “My brother has spent a great deal of time in the dungeons back on Asgard. He has changed.”

There was a small exhale from Bruce that caught your attention. When you looked at him you found a look of impatience on his face.

“So why bring him back to Earth?” Bruce asked, lightly pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I decided it would be best to allow my brother to work here as an Avenger.” Thor explained. The remark made your eyes go wide. “Do you all not agree that keeping him here in our sight is better than allowing him to wander free where he could possibly do more harm than good?” Thor’s suggestion caused Tony to throw his hands up in the air.

“Then I don’t really think he’s really changed that much if we have to babysit him.” he advised. You sighed lightly and looked back to the older brother.

“I don’t know, Thor.” you started “I have to agree with Tony. Plus, I’m sure the rest of us are thinking the same thing.” you gestured towards the rest of the people in the room. Thor scanned the room to find both Natasha and Steve nodding their heads in silent agreement. But Thor was relentless.

“Please, Lady Y/N, I assure you my brother means no harm.” he turned to you with pleading eyes. “I beg that you give him just ten days to prove himself worthy of an Avenger. I beg you all.”

You had always had a soft spot for Thor and watching him look around the room desperately at everyone wasn’t helping you at all. Thor Odinson was one of your closest friends and you felt you owed it to him to allow his brother to share the compound with the rest of the team. Even if the brother in question was a cold-hearted mass murderer.

“If nobody else will agree to keep tabs on him, I will.” you agreed with a heavy sigh. There was a loud eruption of voices from the room, Clint had even walked out. They didn’t seem to matter though, as all you could focus on was the excitement on Thor’s face.

“Oh, it’s a miracle!” Thor exclaimed, ushering towards you to pull you into a bear hug. “My family will be forever grateful, Lady Y/N!” he vowed as he nearly squeezed the life out of you.

While Thor proceeded to embrace your body to his, you couldn’t help but look over his shoulder to Loki who still sat so motionless. After moments of staring, he slightly cocks his head to the side, carefully observing you. Observing the person that would act as his chaperone for the next couple days. You couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but something about his piercing gaze made your skin crawl. Thor finally sets you back onto your feet, snapping back to reality. You soon realize that you were just left in the room with Tony, Steve and the two brothers.

“Like you said, Thor, he gets ten days!” Tony declared, walking out of the room. Thor quietly mutters something under his breath before turning back to Loki, who was now craning his neck to look up at his older brother. Thor began to speak to him when you felt a hand placed tenderly on your shoulder. When you turned around, you were met with Steve who had clear concern written all over his body language.

“Are you sure you’re up for this? This is Loki you’re dealing with.” Steve spoke in a whisper. You nodded quickly, not giving what he was saying much thought. Mostly because you knew that if you dwelled on the situation, you would start to panic.

“Of course I’ll be okay. I wouldn’t have agreed if I knew I couldn’t handle it.” you confirmed to him. Steve could tell you were anxious, yet he let you be. He gives you a small pat on the shoulder before exiting the room as the rest of the Avengers did. Looking back towards the gods, you found Loki was standing and out of his chains while Thor removed his muzzle in a not so brotherly manner. Loki was tall, much taller than you that’s for sure. The only person that stood taller than him was Thor, even then he was only taller by an inch or so. Once it seemed like Thor was done practically unwrapping Loki, you slowly took a step towards the two of them.

“I’ve told Loki that you shall tell me if he starts to misbehave.” Thor confirmed to you with a caring smile. Loki gives a curt scoff and rolls his eyes, making your body go tense with nervousness. Thor must have noticed because he gave his brother a swift shove in the back. “I will leave you two alone. Please tell me if things go wrong, Y/N.” and with no further instruction, you were left alone with the God of Mischief himself. The room felt heavy with silence as Loki continued to look everywhere in the room except for you. Although you did not mind at all, seeing his stares seemed to make you jittery. You couldn’t help but jump a little when you finally heard him speak.

“Am I allowed my own chambers or will I be forced into that cage again?” he asked with bitterness. His voice was deep and smooth, it almost seemed to echo in your ears. When you looked back up at him, you noticed he still wasn’t looking at you much to your relief.

“Oh, um, no. I’ll show you to your room.” you spoke quickly once you remembered how to form words again. You turned on your heels towards the door to lead Loki to one of the spare rooms in the Avengers compound. It was at that moment that you began to question your chaperoning skills if you couldn’t even bring yourself to look him in the eyes. One thing was for sure, these were going to be a very long ten days.

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