#how can you be so old and yet have such a fragile sense of self?

[mmelolabelle]

Armand is someone who has been has been trained (in brothels, by Marius, and by 500+ years worth of life experience) to adapt himself to what the people around him want. Throughout seasons 1-2, different people get very different versions of Armand, depending on who they are and who’s retelling the story at the time.

It’s the primary way Armand protects himself, whether he’s a teenage sex slave or the oldest, strongest person in the room. It’s how he controls people. Fundamentally, it’s the only way Armand knows to make people love him (an approximation of love at least). Worse, it’s the only way Armand knows how to love — by twisting and contorting himself into whatever form he thinks his current obsession wants or needs him to be. He even does it to his victims for crying out loud.

And then here’s Daniel, who is constantly seeking authenticity and truth. Who’s bullshit detector is never “off”. Who cannot tolerate any kind of masquerade, manipulation or lie – no matter how kind or well intentioned. Not out of any moral or ethical objection, but because Daniel simply cannot leave things well enough alone once something attracts his attention. He has to know. He has to see where it goes and how it ends.

“It’s my job, I’m built this way”

“It’s in your nature, Mr Molloy. Couldn’t get out the door without lobbing one more bomb.”

Daniel knew something was off about “Rashid” from the beginning, so he began to pick the situation in Dubai apart until Armand revealed himself. And then he kept going until he completely destroyed the narrative Armand had spent 77 years constructing.

Daniel deliberately and systematically pulled “Armand, Amadeo, Arun” apart and laid him bare with nothing but but a laptop, some free time, a near-suicidal disregard for his own personal safety and a mouth that just wouldn’t quit.

There’s power in being seen, in being known, ugly parts and all. What would it feel like, to be completely exposed like that for the first time in centuries?

So yeah it makes sense to me that Armand, who puts on all these acts and artifices to draw people in, but which only serve to ensure they’re kept at a distance, would turn his big sad orange eyes on the person who blew them all to smithereens and be all “…I wanna do this forever, actually.”

[tokoyamisstuff]

Delicate

Homelander x F! Reader

Summary: You and Homelander have been official for a while now, but you have yet to understand why things never went beyond a certain line.

Warnings: slight angst, slight manhandling, somnophilia, masturbation, explicit smut, praise kink, dirty talk, oral sex

A/N: not proofread as always bc I cringe at my own writing. take it or leave it

Homelander had never learned how to be gentle.

Of course he knew how to touch someone without breaking them if necessary, but there's limits to his self-restraint. Especially when it came to the intimate kind of encounter.

This sadistic side of his was an expression of his desperate need for control, an inability to truly let himself fall and be vulnerable with another person.

For decades his mantra was that normal humans only exist for supes' - and mostly his - entertainment. Your weakness was his thrill, the sheer difference in power so ridiculously high that you might as well be filthy bugs - and Homelander was like a cruel child with a magnifying glass.

Usually his mates were supes themselves and even they could barely handle his violent urges, but you are a mere human. So fragile and precious that it terrified him at times.

What if he loses control in the heat of the moment? What if he breaks you? Or even worse: What if you see him for the monster he really is and run away like everyone eventually does?

A while ago Homelander heard the story about Ice Princess' fling, some Vought employee nobody. She accidentally froze his penis off during climax. Hilarious, honestly. The first time he heard this story he had a very good laugh, and he still can't look that guy in the eye without cackling when he passes him in the hallways.

But now, being romantically involved with one of those weaklings himself, the possibility of something similar happening to you made his stomach turn...

...but of course, as Homelander always does, he chose to ignore the problem at hand instead of addressing it.

Why bother with an unpleasant conversation if he can just prolong this innocent, chaste bond for as long as possible? He'd rather have you like this than unnecessarily putting you into harm's way.

You on the other hand slowly but steadily grew impatient with your boyfriend.

At first you thought he was merely being chivalrous, but it's been three months and still nothing. He's famous, so you had involuntarily learned about his past affairs - and he's definetly not old-fashioned.

Then why is he hesitating so much?

Most of the time you don't dare talking about what's bothering you, simply because any issue of yours seemed so insignificant compared to the horrible things John's been through.

Admittedly, he once literally lasered a guy's head into mush just for throwing a can to his son's head. So while his reactions can be a bit unpredictable, John cares so deeply about the few people he loves that you want to spare him any more trouble.

Unhealthy way of handling things, admittedly.

Last week you had planned it all out: What you could only describe as the perfect date was supposed to continue in his apartment, and you could literally see all blood flow from his brain to nether regions as you entered the bedroom in finest lingerie.

Anyways, you had initiated several times up until now, and initially he'd always go along with it. However as soon as your make-out-sessions turn more heated, he'd abruptly end them and practically storm off.

Everything went so well at first, with you straddling his waist and tentatively grinding against his lap. His hands moved against his will as his resolve crumbled, finding the curves of your body and relishing in the feeling of your exposed skin under his gloves. His jaw clenched as he fought the urge to go all out, fearing dangerous consequences.

A proper dosage of pain can function as aphrodisiac, at least in your opinion. So you didn't tell him to stop, in fact your senses were too clouded by desire to even notice the way his fingers dug into the cushion of your hips.

Yet there was just the tiniest microexpression, just the fraction of a second where your heart sped up and your face contorted in pain...

...and Homelander, shocked with himself, threw you so frantically off of his lap, you landed face firsr on the floor instead of the bed.

Against all reasoning, you laughed hysterically at his not-so-subtle rejection, and god knows you'll tease him about it until forever. But also, understandably, on the inside you were as hurt and confused as never before.

Doesn't make it any better that your boyfriend had been avoiding you like you were the goddamn pest ever since.

Just like today, when Homelander comes home to you way past midnight, double checking with his x-ray-vision whether you were already fast asleep.

John was aware that this topic has been tormenting you for a while now, and while he never intended to hurt you - quite the opposite, really - he also clung to this pleasant illusion he had created with you.

Lucky at cards, unlucky in love, or so they say.

The course of his life had convinced him that all remotely good things happening to him will be taken away again. A farce prepared by destiny itself just to mock him, maybe evening out the scales since he had been blessed with too much power.

On days as shitty as this one however, nothing compares to having someone to come home to - even when he made sure that you weren't awake to confront him. He tosses his boots aside, grateful for you to be a sound sleeper as they fell to the floor with a loud thump.

Your boyfriend's heart sinks as he pulls up the blanket, being greeted by a handprint-shaped bruise on the side of your hip. Seems like it still hurts too much to sleep on that side. His fingertips run over the dark purple-ish mark, a pained groan escaping your throat when he gives in to the temptation to squeeze your ass.

He really is the worst.

Homelander freezes until he's certain you continue sleeping undisturbed, the sound of his own heart hammering against his chest drowning out all other noise. His palm is still lingering on your body, running up and down your sides and earning relieved sighs in return.

Before you'd feel his excitement too much, he manages to tear his body away from you, his erection twitching painfully as he rolled onto his back.

John really had pure intentions when he embraced you from behind, simply wanting to distract himself and fall asleep while cradling you in his arms - yet instead his already hard cock buries itself neatly between your thighs, the friction making him utter vile things.

Damn it Y/N, why the fuck do you always sleep in underwear only?! Is it to taunt him or to test his limits? Because it's working.

A breathy moan escapes his lips as he spread his legs wide, cock already leaking precum when he ran his thumb across the slid. He grabs it fiercely, pumping hard to make quick work of it, while roaming every inch of your skin he can get his other free hand on.

"Need some help with that?"

Shit.

ShitshitshitshitSHIT!

Seems like he was a little too busy with getting off - so much that even his heightened senses didn't catch you waking up to this scene. Your boyfriend had a habit of sleeping naked, so right now there was none of what he did left to the imagination.

"Heyyy sweetheart..." John tried to put on his trusty showman attitude, an awkward grin stretched across his face while trying to cover himself with the next best pillow. "Sorry babe, didn't wanna wake you up. Just go back to slee-"

"And miss out on the show?" you chuckle half-sleepily and he wants to die. He's done worse things in his life, way worse to be precize - so why is he fucking shy nowy just because you caught him? "Aww, you're blushing." He contemplates lasering your lips together to make you shut up.

"C'mon, John, I know you're holding back for some reason, but we don't have to go all out." Shuffling closer to your boyfriend, you give him those damn doe-eyes he can never say no to. "And I'd love to lend you a hand, if you know what I mean."

John instinctively closes his eyes as your face moves closer, lips eagerly awaiting yours...

...but just when you were about to touch him, he takes a hold of your wrist. "Y/N, I-" he shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. "Just- just let me go to the bathroom, okay?"

You frown. Worse, the humiliation makes tears dwell in your eyes. Pushing your partner is wrong, but without context you really start doubting yourself here.

Suddenly the stench of fear was lingering in the air, and your heart starts racing like a hummingbird. Trying to calm yourself was a fruitless attempt in front of a man that could perceive almost anything, even your pathetic strangled sobs.

So he was right: You're afraid and maybe even disgusted by his behavior, and just offered yourself to placate him.

Maybe he should just snap your neck to escape the inevitable heartbreak.

"A-Are you cheating on me?"

"Huh?" That question caught him off guard. He was prepared to hear anything, seriously all kinds of insults or accusations, but that? "Are you dense? Why the fuck would I cheat on you?"

And that's when it dawns on him: You are scared - but not of him.

To your defense, he did have a reputation of not being able to keep it in his pants. Maeve had remarked that fact more than once so you wouldn't forget. And him constantly being swarmed by the prettiest celebrities didn't do any good to your self-esteem either.

You're scared of him leaving you.

"Then what is it?" you sniveled, shrinking into yourself as you hugged your own legs. Seeing you like this and knowing he's responsible was somehow even worse than his earlier apprehensions. "You always react as if you got burned whenever we touch. Did I do something wrong, or- or am I not attractive enough?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" John scoffs in an almost irritated tone, unable to refrain from rolling his eyes. Comforting people didn't really come easy to him, even if he hated himself for not being able to let the shielding facade drop just this once. "You're gorgeous and you know that! C'mon, you women are always causing arguments out of thin air. Stop making this about yourself, would y-"

Seeing your glossy eyes turn into a glare at his ramblings made him shut up immediately, but the damage has already been done. "You know what, I'll-" For a while, you sit on the edge of the bed thinking and with every passing second of silence, Homelander's anxiety skyrockets. "I think it's better if I sleep at my own place for a while."

That's exactly what he's talking about, damn it! The line between control and insanity is a thin thread, and he is not willing to take any chances - when it comes to you at least.

"No!" he almost screams at you, jumping up from the bed and pointing a warning finger at you. "You're not going fucking anywhere!" When he sees your wary expression John's eyes soften, instantly regretting his outburst.

Why does he always fuck up? Why can he never seem to keep what makes him happy? Why can't he be what you need?

Homelander buries his face in his hands, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself just like you taught him. "Look, I-" He reluctantly put his hands on each of your shoulders and when you don't flinch away, he starts rubbing circles on your back. You always do it for him when he's upset, so he figures maybe it can help you too. "Please...I'll tell you the truth, okay? Just...don't leave."

You turn around to face him, nodding mutely as he wipes a tear from your cheek with his thumb. Seeing you cry was gutwrenching, moreso when he was the reason. "I..." he helplessly gestures around, wishing there was a script to this like he was usually provided. "I tend to become...rough."

"So?" The initial hurt now turned into confusion, suspicion even about whether he was telling the truth. You defendingly cross your arms, like a barrier so you wouldn't falter before you got answers.

"I'm not made out of glass." Compared to his strenght, you might as well be. "And I can talk. If you become too wild I'll let you know."

Stubborn as always. But he loved that about you, too. "It's not that easy, Y/N." His head falls in defeat and exasperation. John's about to cry himself, and he hates you seeing him anything less than perfect. "I'll hurt you, and then you'll hate me. Or worse..."

Consciously ignoring the worse part, you cup both sides of his face, making him look up to meet your eyes. "John..."

You straddle his waist again, feeling relief now that you finally understood. Peppering kisses across his face and neck you whisper "I was so, so worried you had grown tired of me..."

"Never." Homelander wasn't someone to apologize often, let alone sincerely. The times he did ever since leaving the lab he can count on one hand.

But despite him being...well, him, John knows best what it's like to be plaqued by insecurities. He hugs you tight enough to make you feel the sincerity of his words. "I only wanted to protect you. I never wanted to make you feel this way."

"Next time talk to me from the start, okay?" You smile softly as he aggrees, and he doubts to be deserving of all your sympathy.

Your hands never leave his body, featherlight touch reassuringly calming his nerves. And yet together with the fact that the only thing currently separating your bodies was your thin panty, it was no wonder that his body reacted the way it did.

A moan disrups your conversation when his cock stiffens again, and you can't help but buck your hips against him in response. Your panties were already soaking anyway, due to the friction and his dirty little deed earlier.

The scent of your lust wipe all negative emotions from your boyfriend's mind, replacing them with something else.

"I want you, John" you breathe against his ear and he whines. "We could just take it slowly..."

"I don't know how" he admits, and you smile at his reluctant aggreement. Gently being shoved down on his back again, it feels like he melts beneathe your fingertips. "Then I'll teach you."

Goosebumps rise on his skin as your fingertips ghost over his body, and you lean over for a longdue kiss, so tender and affectionate John thinks he will fall apart.

Homelander's groan gets swallowed by your lips as you pull your panties aside, slick folds now grinding against his cock. Your name falls from his lips in meek whimpers and you refuse to believe this wonderful man could ever harm you.

"Let me take care of you." Shit, how do you always know exactly what to say?

Raking your hands through your hair as you sit up, air gets stuck in Homelander's throat at the sight, making him choke.

You look fucking magnificent.

Hell, he'd pay an artist to paint you like this so he could look at it forever. If only it didn't require another person seeing you naked...

"You know, I thought it was just my imagination..." A mischievous smile plays on your lips now that you think of it. "But my panties have been disappearing a lot lately."

Your boyfriend didn't respond anything else but a whimmer, shame washing over him at being caught. Not that he was really subtle to begin with.

"Speak up" you tease, giving his shaft a soft squeeze and he instinctively thrusts into your hand like a dog in heat. "Did you use them to get yourself off to your fantasies, huh? Naughty boy." His cock twitches in your palm at the words. "From now on, I want you to come to me for release. Always."

"I trust you" you add as doubt is clearly written on his face, voice firm and as unwavering as your loving eyes, driving tears into his own. You lower yourself on his cock, savouring the feeling of being filled out like this. "Mhh...you feel so good inside of me. Will you behave, John?"

"Y-Yes..." was all he managed to wring out, since it takes every ounce of strenght inside of him to not cum to your sweet affirmations right away. John clutches the bedframe so hard that it crumbles under his grip, but to his surprise you don't wince at the sound - quite the opposite, it shot a wave of heat right through your core.

"John...look at me." You guide his hands away from his eyes to cup your breasts instead, looking at him like he's the best fucking thing in the world. The intensity of your gaze causes him to shiver, makes him wanna hide.

Yes, this is too good to be true.

Whatever you see in him right now he will taint with his own hands given time.

And yet he can't stop anymore, now that he's aware of the depht your love helds for him.

You read him like a damn book, noticing his internal struggle so you silence the voices in his head with a passionate kiss. "So good for me, John" you cheer him on, moving your hips at a low pace.

Tension finally leaves his body and he dives his tongue into your mouth, groaning deeply as he moves his body alongside yours. His touch was careful yet bruising, sending pleasant tingles down your spine.

"I love you, John" you cry out as your foreheads touch, eyes never leaving his. "I love you so damn much!"

That declaration was enough to drive him over the edge.

Homelander pulls you as close as close as humanly possible when he stills momentarily, jackknive-like thrusts chasing after his high. The sounds he made as you got filled up bordered on obscene, as did the amount of cum spilling out of you.

"Shit" he speaks breathlessly against your skin, covering a bitemark he had just caused with kisses. "M'sorry..."

And yet he wasn't willing to let go off of you just yet, this amazing orgasm unable to ward off the embarassment of his poor performance.

"Never apologize for having a good time, silly" you chuckle, brushing your nose against his. "I'm flattered, if anything."

John never knew that sex could be so...satisfying, more than just physically. Filled with carefree laughter instead of expectations.

After all, he was conditioned to never wanna disappoint.

"Nah-a-ah." You yelped as he spun you around effortlessly, now him being the one howering over you, bearing his canines like a starved predator. "I refuse to let my goddess go unworshipped."

"John...I'm okay, really. Sex between lovers is not just about that..." And yet when he opens your legs, you don't resist.

He bets you taste just as fucking good as you smell, feisty little thing. Driving him crazy all those weeks. Do you have any idea how hard it was to endure this sweet torture for your sake?!

A shiver runs down your spine when he licks his lips at the sight of your leaking entrance, taking a deep inhale. There's a hunger in his eyes that no sane person could ever comprehend - but you indulged in it, craved in his twisted kind of love.

Heh, you were a goddamn freak just like him all along, isn't that right?

Homelander takes his time kissing a path down to your navel, admiring the marks he left on your body he was now able to see as the lovebites they are. He briefly looks up to assure himself of your consent, an answering smile all he needs to continue.

"Myyyy tuuuurn" he chants so cheerful, you almost thought he had put on his formal persona.

A relieving finger finally has mercy and slides into your already overstimulated sex, making you arch your back when he curls it inside. Pleads and curses falling from your lips as he enters a second one and then another, and you desperately try to move yourself deeper onto him.

"Attagirl!" Seems like his confidence has returned, at least judging by that damn smug smile his tone indicated. The frustrated pout you wore right now was so adorable, he decided to end your misery and bury his head between your legs as well.

You were still fucking yourself on his fingers while he relished the taste of himself on your pussy, before enveloping your clit with his tongue. "That's my fucking girl right there" he mouths as he ate you out, pumping his fingers keenly on your weak spot he so easily found. "Come on, I want to hear you."

When you came it felt like you were ascending to the afterlife, screaming his name at the top of your lungs before collapsing into the sheets.

Your legs had long since gave out but John put them over his shoulders, humping the mattress while his tongue still ran over your nerve endings, shooting jolts of overwhelming pleasure through your system.

"Oopsie" he coos, a predatory glint in his eyes as he crawled on top of you again, his kiss giving you a taste of your own spent. "Made me hard again."

You eyes flutter open after the last bit of your climax had ebbed out, exhausted yet invitingly batting your lashes as your limbs entangled once again.

"Seems like I found the Homelander's weakness."

[aphroditesmoon]

smoke signals (part ii)

lighthouse keeper!sevika x selkie!reader

summary: sevika is content with her life, the loneliness that comes with her job is inevitable. but then one day, as she reaches the peak of mundanity, almost turning into insanity, you appeared. cold, quiet, clueless, sea-sent you, like a wish fulfilment for her.

warnings: selkie!reader, reader has selective mutism in beginning.

a/n: thank you for the love on part 1!!! i love selkies and seals! and i think we all meed some softness and love in this trying times.

taglist: @lilredbird101 , @djstinkyfartz

wc: 2.4k

PART1 PART 3

---

To find simple kindness in life isn't as easy as people make it out to be. To give out kindness after receiving none of it is even harder. 

You know what it was like to have your innocence ripped off from your hands since you were young. To have to force yourself to stand up tall against the fragile sand breaking in between your toes and keep walking anyways, despite knowing that there's nothing waiting for you at the other end of the world.

Losing your mother at a young age meant having to be comfortable in your own presence. All selkies were seals, but not all seals are selkies. And on nights where you're swimming under the moonlight with your friends, crossing borders after borders, it felt like everything is going as it's meant to be. Even if the feeling never lasted. 

You're a runner, or swimmer, technically. You needed to constantly be moving to fill that emptiness in you. You'd find a place with new kinds of entertainment to satiate the deep curiosity you have for the man-folk, and then leave before you can get attached, that was your game. 

But lately the thrill was disappearing. There was this feeling you just couldn't shake, the feeling that you were truly and completely alone even in a room full of people. 

There was a longing for true connection, but no one to connect to. No one made sense to you. Except her. 

You've been hanging around her for months now, even when she doesn't notice you, while shes doing work, getting on and off the boats with the big man and hia daughters, when she's enjoying the cold wind under moonlight while the sea is calm.

She confuses you, a woman with so much freedom, and yet she chooses to stay here instead, all alone. Why deprive yourself from real connections when you can easily obtain it? Do the other humans not satisfy her?

And so maybe your new curiosity is taking shape in this weirdly lonely and awkward woman. 

You don't really know what you want, self discovery as half sea creature /half man isn't easy. But all you knew that for some reason, the waves of your heart is insistent in going her way, and so you follow in hopes that it would help you feel any other other than aching desperation to be understood.

When she picked you up and carried you inside last night, you had managed to acknowledge a few things about her. The first thing is, she's a man of action. If plan A doesn't work, she's going straight to Plan B. She didn't force you out of your silence and instead worked through it. 

The second thing you learned was that she's less scarier than she looks. And the third is that you were wrong about her purposely depriving herself of human connection. 

With how quickly she went for aiding you is one thing, but you could see the same kind of craving for another person in her eyes, when she caught you out of bed and rummaging through her belongings, there was more of confusion than irritation, but most importantly, there was a need to comprehend your existence.

You couldn't find your coat. It's a few hours before dawn, and she's somehow managed to fall asleep by the rocking chair downstairs. You had used the extra time you had before its time for her to wake up to quietly tiptoe around the tall tower, exploring every level and getting yourself familiar with the place. 

This place is as old as it looks. The paint is peeling off the walls, and the lights flicker every few seconds, giving the tower a sense of melancholy and nostalgia. 

It was just the kind of place you liked, historic but also monotonous. 

Once you reached the level she was at, you silently watched over her, observing her sleeping manner as she remained unconscious. You didn't want to accidentally wake her up, so you only looked around from wher eyou stood to see if you could find your coat, but when you couldn't, you decided to go back to bed, all out of options. 

What was your motive, truly? You weren't sure. You've decided that you're staying, but what angle are you going with?

You've had your fair share of experiences around humans, and in each time, you made sure to have a certain role or goal you're going in with, it saves time, and it's necessary for your own safety. The last thing you needed was some dirty sailor or pirate, locking you up against your will.

But this time, nothing is clear, not even your intentions. You see this situation as a process of trying to understand yourself through understanding her. So the end goal, should probably be some feeling of clarity, right?

It sounds silly, trying to find  pieces of yourself in another woman's puzzle, but sometimes, things fit even in places they dont belong in.

—

Sevika woke up 5 minutes later than usual with a sense of urgency in her chest, which technically meant that she was still early, but that wasn't the point. Something was different today, compared to all the other repetitive and mundane days she's had.

Usually, she'd berate herself for the clumsiness as she'd have nothing else to do. But today, as soon as she woke up, you were the first thing that crossed her mind.

The peculiar girl that somehow survived the antagonising waves of the sea. 

She pulled herself out of her chair and was about to make her way up to the bedroom until she saw you standing outside from the window, leaning against the railing, basking in the calm air as the sun slowly rose up.

You were checked out if reality, enjoying the morning glow as the wind blew through your hair, turning your cool skin even colder. It was a sight to behold, Sevika thought. There was no one who seemed more in her element than you at this moment.

As you seemed blind to her presence, she decided to take advantage of it and get started on breakfast. omelettes would do, at least for now. She even added an extra effort by drawing a smily face on it using soy sauce. 

You entered back in while she was still preparing the food and went up to her from behind, taking a peek at Sevika's neck twisted to meet your face. "Good morning.” Sevika greeted as she placed the plates on the table.

She then beckons you to take a seat with her,  and you don't hesitate to do so.

How did you sleep? She wanted to ask, but she doubted that you would answer. The speaking barrier is stressing her out. There are still some things she actually needed to figure out, were you mute or foreign. Because if you were simply unable to speak, at least she'd be relieved to know that you could understand her.

She sits opposite you and watches you ravage the omelette without a single care for her and the world, not that she'd blame you, if you've been up earlier than her. you must be starving.

You appreciate each bite like it's be your last, and Sevika views you with both awe and frustration, not knowing what to do in this situation. 

It's quite a silly thought process actually, she already knew that there was nothing she could do and that you'd be stuck with her for a while, but how does she tell you that? Or do you already know and that's why you're weirdly chill? Why are you so chill? Were you still in shock?

And why is she having more trouble processing this than you were? Sure its jarring to spend months alone and then suddenly be having breakfast with a stranger who steals her bed, but Sevika has always been a rational and calculated person, so what was the issue now?

Sevika groaned, wiping a hand over her face,  causing you to look up from your plate.

She caught your eye and straightened her back. "I- we need to talk." She forced the words out, not breaking eye contact.

Your eyes never strayed from hers as you feed a spoonful into your mouth. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" She asks slowly. No response.

Sevika didn't want to show her disappointment, so she decided to start with something easier. Pointing her finger to herself, she repeated her own name in a show of introducing herself. "Sevika." She repeated, still pointing to her chest.

You nodded then, shyly but surely. Sevika couldn't help but beam at you, smiling ear to ear. "Yeah? You understand me?" You nodded again.

"And you?" She asks. "Your name?" You're unresponsive again, simply staring blankly at her. Sevika tries again, pointing to herself and saying her own name. "I am Sevika." She says, then begins pointing towards herself, "You?"

She thought that you must be completely lost in your head again as your eyes squint in confusion, but then after a minute or two passed, you shook your head at her.

"No?" What does that mean? The imaginary brick wall between the two of you that she thought had been removed, has just returned.

"I'm Sevika." She repeated herself for the fourth time. "And your name is?" You shook your head at her again. 

"No name?" Sevika is grasping at the end of the straws here. "You have no name, or you can't remember your name?" You went static again. Sevika sighed.

"Well, I need to call you something." She muttered under her breath. "How about this, I'll say a few names, and you nod your head at which one you like, how bout that?" Unresponsive, of course.

Here goes nothing, she thought. "Lily, Kate, Alia, Nadia, Tella, Belle-" Sevika went over a bunch of names in her head until she paused at a particular one when she saw something flashed in your eyes.

She said the name aloud and noticed your eyes widening slightly. "Is that your name?" You didn't quite agree, but you tilted your head to you and gave her a look that said "It'll do." And so for now, It'll do.

---

The phone isn't working, she had known it wouldn't. The line here have always been problematic. Sevika anxiously paces back and fourth after hanging it up, rubbing her temples in a manner that distinctly shows her frustrations. 

"Well there's no safe way to send you out." She says, turning to look at you, who's comfortably  on her rocking chair, playing with a strand of your hair.

"But that isn't something we don't already know." She finishes her sentence.

She halts all of her movement all of the sudden, reminded of something she'd almost forgotten to bring up. Sevika reaches further into the backroom by the kitchen and comes up with a familiar piece of clothing.

You all but jumped out of the chair, striding towards her. This was the first time you've ever reacted this strongly towards anything for all the time you've been here.

"I guess this is yours?" She asks, waving your white coat up. You nodded and extended  your hand to take it from her, but just before she could, you pulled your hand back and frowned.

"What?" Sevika asks. "You don't want it?"

She watches you open your mouth briefly, as if about to say something, but the. closing it back and taking a step back.

"I'll admit, " Sevika starts. "It is quite a useless coat, very inefficient." She teases as she walks forward, taking note of how you keep moving backwards. 

"What's wrong?" She asks again, genuinely worried. "You're not suddenly gaining consciousness about the realities of your condition and stranger danger, are you?"

You laughed at that, a choked, short laugh. But a laugh nonetheless. Sevika smiled despite herself. 

"So you do understand me."

You sat back down at the rocking chair, leaning back and closing your eyes, completely ignoring her and the coat. Sevika confusedly hung the coat on the chair by the window, and dragged it infront of you before taking a seat.

"In all seriousness, you did understand what I've been telling you, yes?" You opened your eyes, and stared into her dark orbs.

"You're going to be stuck with me for a while, until I can find someone to help me get you back to where you came from." You responded with a single nod.

"And you do know where you come from?" You gave it a moment before nodding again. Sevika's eyes brightened. "That's good. Great, even. " She reached for a long folded paper that's pushed to the side by the closet on your right and rolled it open in front of you.

It's a map. "This is a map." She stated. You raised a brow at her, an expression that translated; "I know what a map is."

"It would give me instant relief if you could just circle where you're from, just so we can get some things clear.

She passed you a pencil and moved to give you some space, patiently waiting for you to point towards your home.

You looked through the foreign words you've somehow mastered as you travelled and found yourself in a state of hesitancy for the first time in your life.

You never knew where you were born. From the first time you opened your eyes, you had found yourself in dry land, an infant who had stuck  by her mother's side, and before your mother had passed, the both of you returned into the deep blue sea, swimming through unnamed waters.

You can feel her expectancy as you raised the pencil in your arm, drawing it closer to the map. And so in the end, you dotted a big circle over the whole map, and passed it back to her in satisfaction.

"You gotta be fuckin with me." Sevika groaned, making you smile.

"You are..." A pain in the ass, you thought she'd say, "-an enigma." 

Sevika rolled and dropped the map to where she got it and began walking upstairs, leaving you behind. "I got some checking to do on the lights, call me if you need me. Or don't."

Your eyes stays on her back until she disappears before they turn to your coat that's already dried up and safely hanging over the chair. 

You're gonna leave it there for now, you decided. After all, you'll be here for quite some time.

[cheshiresense]

Ok so I've actually gotten several asks about what Starrk's relationship with Unohana/the Fourth is/was like, but I don't have time atm to get into it, but I also want to toss out some of my headcanons about it because I've thought about it a lot, so I'll just list out a few headcanons in no particular order and get back to those asks later.

- First of all, Unohana is actually super protective of Starrk, but in a way that just confuses and/or scares people. Like she’s the sort to say dead serious no joke “my lieutenant is a gentle soul, you will answer to me if you upset him” while Starrk’s murdering his way across a battlefield and his reiatsu is eating a bunch of people for lunch 😂😂

- Unohana never thought she even had any protective instincts but Starrk just brings it out in her. At her age, with her experience, she can better sense just how old he actually is, just as she can sense-smell the amount of blood on him, so she knows he's lived a long time and killed a lot of people. But she can also tell he's not like her, he doesn't enjoy that sort of thing—when he kills, it's probably either because he has no choice or because he does it out of a sense of duty to whatever it is he believes in enough to fight for. Case in point, literally no one as powerful as she knows Starrk to be would choose to enter the Fourth with an honest interest in learning even more about healing than he already does. He's patient with even the weakest unseated Shinigami, and Unohana no longer has to personally come running every time the Eleventh decides to stop by to harass her officers because Starrk is there to stonewall them at the gates. But at the same time, the grief and loneliness she can sense in his reiatsu makes her want to shed blood because it never goes away. He can coax the shyest officers out of their shells with that no-pressure-calm he's constantly radiating, and for all that he'd prefer a nap over conversation any day of the week, he's also indulgent with members of his own squad when they ask him questions about a lecture or for a spar when he has time. He's reliable and steady and everything the Fourth needs him to be, with a reserved personality and a long-suffering air about him but careful hands and an even more careful mind in everything he does. And yet, hidden beneath all that, Unohana has never met anyone so constantly, miserably tired all the time. So yes, in her opinion, Starrk is a gentle, even fragile soul. She doesn't know - yet - what broke him so badly, but he's also hers now—she chose him, and he chose her, and she doesn't think she's imagining the way the Fourth feels stronger and stabler with his presence, with the easy way he shoulders the weight of a division right alongside her, with how their subordinates walk around with more confidence too in response to having two monsters watching over them now. For his competence as her second-in-command alone, she would've shielded him from anyone who upset him. But for the way he follows her around, genuinely eager to learn; for the way he sits with the younger officers and answers their questions and shows them new Kidou spells and treats them to snacks and protects them on missions; for the way he can stare down her Bankai without flinching and only grumble afterwards about how he deserves a week of sleep for such a hard spar but never even bat an eye when she reaches out to heal him with the very hands that had done their level best to rip him apart for several hours only minutes earlier; for the way he can give back just as good as he gets and allows her the chance to let herself off her own self-made leash every few weeks without having to hold back—for all of that and more, she would challenge anyone who dares try and force him to draw his blade against his will or break him any further than he already has been.

- I headcanon that for students who want to enter the Fourth, they have to take a separate written exam before they graduate. Results aren't great because there isn't actually much of a medical track at the Academy, plus it's generally considered uncool to end up at the Fourth, so there aren't many who would even take the exam, and of those who do, most can't even finish the entire thing, and minimum pass percentage is probably something like 50% lmao. At this point, it's less an exam and more an assessment of where the student is at so the Fourth's seated officers can sort the newcomers more easily when they have to start them on the basics. Then along comes Starrk who not only finishes the entire exam but also gets everything right, and it catches Unohana's attention enough to get her to make the trip to the Academy to speak to Starrk herself just to find out more, and the more she finds out, the more she thinks she'll finally be able to name a lieutenant with the kind of standards she's always wanted to be able to measure them by. At the end of the impromptu interview, she asks one more question—she asks him if he'd be willing to take one more test and become her official student. The lieutenant seat is his either way, but she's never had a personal student before. She won't be teaching him from scratch, which is a shame—someone with potential and a learning curve like Starrk's should've been scooped up long ago. But there's also more than just medical Kidou and surgical procedures she can pass on to him, and he may be a gentle soul, but he's a gentle soul with something he fiercely wants to protect, and that means there are other things she can teach him. He says yes, and that day, on the day they meet for the first time in any timeline, in a training room deep beneath the Academy, all seals activated for both privacy and containment, and even then they'd barely held—Unohana unseals her Bankai for the first time in centuries, and Starrk weathers every blow with the unyielding bedrock found beneath mountains and deserts and canyons and oceans, timeworn but timeless and enduring all the same. In the aftermath, both of them bleeding from multiple wounds with a good chunk of their reiatsu depleted, she thinks, yes, this one will be mine. He is strong enough to stand with me, tempered enough to be unafraid of me, old enough to have experienced the worst the world can offer, and wise enough to accept and bear it. And yet he remains... soft, at heart. Kind, in a way I do not fully understand, but it is precious nonetheless. It is something that should be protected. He is someone I can protect, so he will be mine.

- She'd prob also be like "let's get this signed and sealed before the old coot catches wind of another dual-wielding Shinigami and thinks he has first dibs just because he got the other two" 😂

- She would 1000% give Shunsui a shovel talk. It's probably the most terrifying shovel talk anyone has ever received in living memory ganbaa shunsui be brave you can do it.

- As for Starrk, he adores the fuck out of Unohana. But he’s also constantly baffled by how she kind of mothers him sometimes, in really off-putting ways (to others) but he doesn't realize that. Like the first time he goes out on a not-a-date with Shunsui, Unohana will be like "I wrote a dissertation called 101 Ways to Sterilize a Man, please read it over, I require urgent feedback" all while staring gloomy-eyed straight at a sweating Shunsui from behind Starrk's back because she'd watched this brat grow up, so she knows his skirt-chasing tendencies better than most, knows the way he likes beautiful people, likes flirting with them and charming them, likes the novelty of a new relationship and the thrill of the chase, and so she also knows the way it always ends with broken hearts but hardly ever his own. At most, he'll pout for a few days or a few weeks and mope and whine to Ukitake, and then he'll move on. He's always earnest and genuine in the moment, treats his lovers with all the respect and affection in the world when they're together, but he bores easily, and for all that he plays a good game of being open and friendly and approachable, Unohana has rarely met anyone more guarded when it comes to matters of the heart than Kyouraku Shunsui. He'd grown out of genuinely pursuing people in more recent decades, goes through the motions but no longer seems very interested in romance or even short dalliances, mostly only flirts these days with his long-time female acquaintances who all know better, but it would be easy for him to fall back into old habits. If he dares to be as careless with Starrk's heart as he'd been with previous lovers, Unohana won't stop until the Eighth Division will require a new captain.

- Starrk totally calls Unohana Shishou-san eventually. He has a thing for nicknames. Shunsui is of course Taichou-san. Shiina is Sensei-san. Unohana is Shishou-san. One person per category. It's an odd quirk of his.

[sillyyuserr]

A deep dive on the contrasting themes of tbhk (misogyny/breaking gender stereotypes) 🖊️

Tbhk or better know as Toilet-bound hanako kun is a manga both written and illustrated by two woman, that is semi-nonfiction-fiction. It uses themes and/or topics of the supernatural, yet taking place in an accurate highschool setting. The creators of Tbhk, AidaIro, are both presumably in their late 20s, as a past work of theirs, was made in 2011, when they were still students. if we estimate they were both 15 in 2011, they would be 28-29 years old respectively. Despite being on the younger side, and despite both being girls, AidaIro seems very traditional in the sense of norms and values. Yet, they seem open to breaking those same values.

for example, many gender norms are broken. Those being:

Akane/Aoi. This relationship trope has been set up to be the very one sided obsessed type. And it’s not very common to see the guy, be the hopelessly obsessed one. Akane, in a primarily female dominated field.

Kou. A key trait of his is that he’s always cooking or cleaning. He’s the housekeeper, he’s an incredible cook, and he takes care of his little sister. That being a primarily female dominated field.

the contrast to those being: sexism. Examples:

The woman in this manga, do practically nothing. Despite the main character being female, trust me when i say Nene did more heavy lifting in the PILOT CHAPTER.

we don’t see much individuality from any of the woman. Yes aoi’s getting some from akane but at the end of the day you can clearly see no doubt they’re still getting together. Despite all her character growth she’s still just a soon to be wife. And i hate that. I hate that so bad. She had a whole arc where she separated herself from Akane, only spoke to Nene, really stood her ground with boys, only for her to end up right back with him cut it OUTT.

And don’t even get me started on the infantilization of every single woman. I love akane but COME ON. I don’t remember exactly where it is but he’s said things like oh i’d never lay a FINGER on a girl implying he’d never hit a girl which like ok polite thank you but i feel like that shows that he don’t see woman/girls as other people, he views them as more fragile, and that its such a sin to throw a punch at a GIRL. But for guys? nahh nahh he’ll fuck up teru anyday.

Get your twig ass arm away he’s on the other side of the damn QUARRY as you guys smh..

The literal SECOND aoi picks up a sword he takes it from her fucking hands LORD

akane, my guy, that look was so warranted you lucky she’s polite i woulda beat you ass

she even said she knew how to use it he’s just so self righteous FUCK ALL OF YOU

Her ass was NOT playin!!!

Another aspect could be every female character (excluding Tiara) (duh) having a love interest.

EX. Aoi, akane

Nene, hanako/kou

fucking no.2, misaki

every mother in the story ( - Aoi’s), her husband no willing single mothers, just depressed divorced ones. No #feminism#singlemom at all. Aoi’s moms whole character is being divorced, Mitsuba’s moms whole character is being a widow, yet Minamoto’s father (despite being entirely absent) is not known for also being widowed? His wife is dead and he’s not seen as a struggling parent. The single father gets sm grace but he’s clearly having a hard time parenting his own children. Kou doesn’t even set up a spot at their table for him. He’s literally just not there.

Theres a lot more that could be said, but i’m going to just leave it here i’m tired 😭

ALSO I WAS SUPPOSED TO POST THIS WAYY EARILER ABOUT 2 WEEKS EARLIER BUT IM PREPPING FOR EXAMS and i got jumped twice

[dragonagegayz]

Reflection Ruesday

@alystrin03 tagged me to do this and YASSS I love these work in progress games and just all the little games that make their rounds in our lil community and its all so <<<333

So bust out an oldie that is just sitting collecting dust cause I was writing for my GW Skunch character but then I created Oz then Bas and well I have a fever and the only thing that can solve it is more Oz and Bas so sorry Skunch

But here is a part I was working on for a planned long-form series I probably won't ever finish or go back to but that's ok, I am called to greener, hornier pastures

But here is the work for my Rookanis piece, with my Rook that is TOTALLY not a complete and utter self insert... 👀👀👀 SFW surprisingly lmao

If there was anyone who deserved a night out, the First Talon of the Crow’s and the former leader of the Veilguard were the perfect two for one. Not that Lucanis and Rook were particularly outgoing people, they much preferred to stay inside, being in each other presence with a book in hand, or a glass of wine, a cup of coffee, or each other in hand (usually it devolved into being in each other’s arms, at least by the end of the night). So it was a little unusual when the elf had approached the Crow with a proposal to go out. “We never really go and do stuff, we couldn’t before with the whole saving the world thing,” Rook had said, the smile on his face was a tease, probably a response to the awkward smile Lucanis knew he must have been wearing. “But now we can, and I think we should if only to try it out and see if we like it or not,” That made sense and the assassin was more than willing to agree, willing to do anything to please his lover.

Now though he felt some level of regret as he searched through his clothes for an acceptable outfit he thought would woo Rook. They had separated after their late afternoon coffee where his Warden had mentioned the potential date, Lucanis had to return to some duties he needed to finish and then got home to find an outfit while the other went to go shopping, saying he didn’t have anything to wear for such an occasion. (The Crow had tried to give the Grey Warden money but he had refused, something about how a man should be able to pay for his own clothes. Lucanis still managed to slip a full coin purse into the man’s pocket as he gave a final kiss goodbye). When he had arrived home to find something, he knew Caterina’s eyes were following him throughout the manor though she had something nothing to him directly. Illario had been much more upfront.

“Eh, going somewhere fancy cousin?” He asked as he barged into the other’s room, hands on his hips as he looked around the now mess of clothes thrown all over Lucanis’ room. His cheeks burned under the scrutiny of the other Dellamorte. “Rook and I are going to the Diamond tonight,” The First Talon grumbled, throwing aside yet another jacket he found too old-fashioned, I mean who did a half-loop stitch anymore? There was a knowing chuckle from the other as he crossed his arms, a judgemental look on his face as the disgraced Crow looked around the room. “And it is going… well?” It was a tease, meant in good nature but it had only served to make the other assassin more irritated. “If you are only here for unwanted comments, you can go. I need to be there in an hour and your drivel isn’t going to help me find something suitable,” he snapped earning a fake, offended gasp from the other. “Oh cousin, I’m so hurt,” He threw a hand up to his forehead, leaning back with the other hand clutching his heart. “My fragile heart can’t take the abuse,” Lucanis just rolled his eyes, going back to the closet for another root around of something suitable for his lover and the title of First Talon, he had to keep up appearances after all. He could still feel Illario’s eyes on his back, it felt a lot like when they were teenagers growing up, screaming at his cousin to get out only to be met with just out of the door frame but still in staring distance. A look behind his shoulder confirmed as much. With a purposely overtly dramatic huff, Lucanis went to slam his door shut when the other’s foot caught it right before it could close.

“You are never going to find anything, I know your style. Let’s just say it’s less than… formal,” Another teasing smirk. Lucanis could perfectly picture Rook’s face in response, that confused head tilt and scrunched face. He tended to pull that face when his cousin was talking, much to the First Talon’s amusement. “I don’t prefer to look like a roaring peacock, no,” He snipped, throwing another jacket to the side.

[sandsorghum]

complexities,perplexities or some thoughts I had at 2am about kento & hiromi

idk im just ramblin' here - u been warned

When i first fell for nanami kento, i thought it was because of his commitment to his principles, the steadfastness in that regard.

i definitely find a parallel of that in Higuruma, even though it was less tempered idealism than "lost (his) temper" idealism - Yet if anything, that tragic outburst of murderous passion is testament of his obsession and zeal. It's his temporary denial and anguish that underscores years of enduring such bitterness and frustration, the decades long slog proving the strength of his willpower, that accumulates into one terrible moment of weakness; a process that simultaneously corroborates and yet is corrosive to his convictions. And now his conscience will have to suffer that slip-up forever.

Something has died in him; if it wasn't already dying for a long time. What survives, subsequently? Or what is rebirthed? I don't regard his psychotic break as fragility. After all, can we recognise someone's strength only after they've been pushed to a breaking point? And it takes a different sort of strength of will to rebuild, to live past who you thought you were, to accept becoming someone you thought you'd never be. Maybe it even takes an admission of weakness, and gentleness...

Higuruma ultimately finds his North Star again, remembers why he became an attorney, it's a return to his original beliefs; There's a definite through line despite the ramification of his actions, the kind of consistency and commitment which I find so compelling, that's a quality he shares with Nanami.

But Nanami's lapse is far less ruinous, his escapist delusion leads him to play a salaryman for a few years, compared to Higuruma becoming a damning executioner in a day. When Nanami rediscovered his purpose, he just shrugged off the corporate schtick and becomes a jujutsu sorceror again, in a sense accepting what he knew he was destined for from an early age. He accepts the truth and returns to a reality already familiar, albeit unpleasantly familiar, to him.

For Higuruma there's so such going back. That "reality" has vanished. No old job or routine he can simply pick up again.

Higuruma's "getting lost" has much bigger consequences - he can no longer be a lawyer, what was once his calling are now mere echoes of the past, reminders of the things that made him him.

The years of effort molding his identity have been entirely stripped away, by his own hands. Imagine all that pain and confusion on top of how hard it is for him to navigate through his guilt - fighting Sukuna was meant to be an act of, if not absolution then penance, hell, probably even capital punishment. But he didn't die so now what? it's just...purgatory for him?

Adding to that, he's supposed to be the 'next' Gojo Satoru? Perceived that way for his power alone? Admired or even looked up to, in some respects? How laughable. How cruel.

Pressured to live up to that mantle, when he already has such a hollowed out sense of self, I suspect being valorised that way is a further type of torturous erosion. But I also know Higuruma isn't the type to permit himself to wallow in such self-pity for long; ironically in a way that makes him resemble Satoru, he won't let reputation define who he is. So, I don't think that bothers him as much.

The real challenge is finding out how to operate in a new system, above or outside the laws he once upheld, in a way that's aligned to his fundamental values, to preserve some version of his old self. Now he's in a job where he can make the call to kill curse users, at his own discretion? Who's going to question his judgement, besides himself? What's the line between vigilante justice and divine retribution?

So, I honestly don't know if Higuruma can even adhere to those same strict ethical codes he had before, how much his basic sense of right and wrong has shifted or will shift due to the nature of his new work.

Which is all to say, I wonder now if maybe the appeal I see in Higuruma isn't exactly steadfastness at all, but flux instead; that is, the seemingly contradictory responsibility and impetus of self-determination, through the construct and malleability of moral choices. If there is anything consistent, any proof which makes him an unquestionably principled character, perhaps it would be the very questioning and interrogation of which of his actions are right and fair, a thorough self-examination. If I love Nanami for his stalwart certainty, strangely I'm equally drawn to Higuruma for his rigourous scrutiny, his so-called "uncertainties", how he holds space for...not doubt, but other perspectives and possibilities. And how he finds his way through that maze of multiplicities, whether he's stumbling or striding, I want to accompany him on that journey. Goodness, restraint, mercy...none of these are foregone conclusions with him; that's what makes him so enticing to me.

also yall seen that nose of his? sheesh

anw obvsly can't stop yapping about them my inbox is open if anyone wants to yak about how they will fold you in half are so unique

[mindhealing]

Author Of Your Tale!

No matter how old you think you are or you may be, if you have no idea or no record of birth as is the case in certain areas and regions, you are still a child of the divine force, Divine Spirit which created, maintains and sustains all life and existence, and hence you retain a childlike nature, one of curiosity and adventure, belief and trust in the divine will, process and timing of your life and life experiences. That's if you know and understand this simple truth, as truth though being available to everyone, isn't caught by everyone except those who are ready for it in their life and life experiences, they have made the conscious choice and decision to accept responsibility for their life and life experiences, for their choices and what happens to them. Life gives you the opportunity to create and make your life and life experiences, whatever you want and desire it to be but then there are consequence for every decision and choice you make, knowingly or unknowingly, consciously or unconsciously and there is no escape from it because it's a law of life and a law of spirit, infallible and immutable.

The mind cannot readily distinguish between a thought in your head and what goes on in the world around you, it responds to imagined dangers with the same urgency and clarity of sense and purpose as real ones, not understanding the difference between them and it clings to hopes or regrets or appropriate emotions as if they were physical objects. This is because thoughts and emotions, your environment and  surroundings, and the events and circumstances of your life and life experiences, are processed through the same sensory systems of the body, thereby blurring the boundary and lines between what is internal and real and what's is external and not real. In many cases, what causes your distress or the negative emotions you feel is not the circumstance itself, but the thoughts the mind produces, the mind's interpretations and assumptions layered with fear, anxiety and expectation, or desire. People often fear their own thoughts more than the actual event or circumstances, and this fear eventually manifest as their life and life experiences. The mind creates projections of events and circumstances, what can or could happen, what shall or should have happened, what may never happen or shouldn't happen and it responds to all these mental constructs as if they are real and true. As a result, people often find security and joy in external structures, like friendships, love connections and relationships, wealth and fortune, materiality and material possessions. These become your anchors for identity, but this external anchoring is fragile and doesn't last long, and as soon as the environment shifts, so does your sense of self and self direction.

Before the reward, there must be labor, planting, maintaining and finally harvesting in that order, so you plant before you harvest. Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap especially after a hard and tedious labor, rather judge by the seeds that you plant and what you eventually harvest, and ultimately the blessings and prosperity that becomes yours. Truth is the easiest thing in the world to lose and yet it is the hardest thing in the world to get back when it is lost. When you can't control what's happening around you and in your life and life experiences, then challenge yourself to control the way you respond to what's happening. Let people do what they need to do to make themselves happy, mind your own business and do what you need to do to make yourself happy too. Understand that life is a succession of lessons which must be lived out, experienced and  understood before you can move to the next stage of your life and life experiences. When you strive to become better than you are, everything around you becomes better too, moving with your flow and energy.  Life doesn't have to be perfect for it to be wonderful, it is wonderful at every and all given moments of your life and life experiences, by virtue of your existence and the gift of life itself. Your dreams do not come true just because you dream them, desiring and aspiring them to come true, they come true by your effort and work. Everything works out as long as you believe in it, the divine will, process and timing. You have the capacity to create and manifest, endure and overcome endure, transform and realize everything you have ever wanted and needed, no matter what your present life situations and conditions are.

You are where you are today as a result of the choices you have made, adjust your decisions to get where you want to be and manifest. Every human being is unique and different, so be you to your fullest potential and don't try to be a copycat or to be someone else. Don't get discouraged when the going is tough as eventually it gets better,  the ending paving the way for new and happy, wonderful and exciting beginnings. Do not live entirely on what you have been told by the society and the world at large, rather be guided by your inclinations and intuition, your  tendencies and belief and remain true to yourself. Your are the writer, sculptor, painter and designer of your life and life experiences, your tale begins and ends with you so you decide what happens and how it's going to play out. Be bold, brave and adventuresome, and break free from the sea of sameness all the time, try to do things differently. You don't have to be perfect to be enough, you are more than enough as you are and you are amazing with all your beautiful imperfections, flaws and warts.

You must make your dream a priority in order for it to become the course trajectory of your life and life experiences. What seems to you to be bitter trials and tribulations, challenges and problems, troubles and issues of life are blessings in disguise, they create the opportunity to see, know and understand who and what you truly are. You find that you are a Magnificent Being of pure Light and Love and vibrate and project this love to the world and to all creation. Adventure is the bridge between dreams and reality, they make your dreams come true. So when you walk across that bridge of adventure, you can explore the unknown and uncover hidden wonders and truth that have been hidden from you. With every step, you move closer to the attainment of your dreams and desires,  ambitions, objectives and goals. Adventure is your creating and writing the tale of your life and life experiences, giving you the courage to take risks and make bold decisions that help shape your destiny. You won't know what you are capable of if you don't try. Things will always work out no matter what you are going through at the moment, so don't resist and don't fight it just move with the flow trusting that everything will be fine and that you will be taken care of.

Life is rooted in new beginnings and phases, each stage or phase that you enter might require reformation and transformation, patience and preseverence but you will find yourself blossoming into fresh new and better version of yourself along the way. Stop being afraid of what could go wrong, and start becoming  excited about what could go right and the joy, bliss and wonder of amazing things that are coming in the way of your life and life experiences. Remember that you don't have to see the whole staircase before moving but believing and trusting in divine process and timing, shows you the path every step of the way. When you are stressed and exhausted, you can control your focus, attitude and emotions but not the event of your life and life experiences, so you can stay charged and on course when the going gets tough. What you focus your attention on will determine the  outcome of your life and life experiences, so don't waste your time looking back on what you've lost, rather forge ahead and make every moment count. Keep moving for life is not meant to be travelled backward only forward, expecting nothing but the best. Self-awareness is probably the most important thing towards greatness and success, and finally you have discovered it because you have learnt to stay connected to the divinity within you, your Higher Self which is your authentic self waiting to connect with you and show you the truth about yourself and which you now know. The best moments happen when you least expect them to, so stay on course and create the most beautiful, wonderful and amazing tale of your life.

More to come.

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Can you spare some recommendations for Drink (Dream x Ink)? It would be very cool if there’s unrequited love- but it’s not needed. Any rating is fine. Thank you for your time!

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

Oil Paints & Water Ribbons by CharaKohai (Teen And Up, Incomplete)

After the death of the destroyer, Ink and Dream settle down together. Having twins, Palette and Easter, they start their newfound peace in the form of a family. Nightmare, on the other hand, is devastated by the news and wishes to take revenge but is currently taking care of the remains of what the destroyer had left. Palette is content, but Easter isn't so with the fragile peace the family enjoys. Should she try to enjoy the peace the family blindly follows or bring up old wounds that are bound to reopen sooner or later?

Do You Actually Like Me? by HallowAlex (Teen And Up, Complete)

Dream POV: There’s a reason why me and Blue take turns cooking and leave Ink out of it. Ink can’t cook. As much as I try to avoid the base from burning down, he just doesn't want to admit how bad he is but tends to try and try again. Believe me, I try to convince Nightmare to be his “old” self again and I realize now that they are two different personalities sharing the same body. Anyway Ink tried to make us pancakes to surprise us but with the bad smoke that was coming from the kitchen, he really DID surprise us.

Behind the Flashing Lights by ThatEldriBitch (Mature, Incomplete)

Nightmare and Dream have always been enemies—no matter the AU, no matter the time line. They always, inevitably end up on opposite ends.... ...But what if it was all an act? What lies behind the flashing lights and extravagant fights? What are the brothers hiding? What do the fans...not know?

The Artist's Domain. by Mary_Dawn (Not Rated, Incomplete)

It was over, the multiverse was collapsing, everyone was dying and there was nothing anyone could do about it, there was nothing he could do, and it frustrated Ink. After struggling so hard to keep the creators interested, to motivate them and give them a story that was worth their attention, they abandoned him. Ink didn't know how to feel. But it would all be over soon, and soon it would stop mattering altogether. Until something strange happened. What would you do if you had the opportunity to do it all over again? To improve and change? Or simply being in control? That's what Ink is very, very interested in finding out.

Personal Emotions by AppleBloomer (Mature, Incomplete)

Four-hundred-and-ninety-four years… That's how long she had been encased within a prison of stone. That's how long she had been left to slowly feel the multiverse's positivity seep away. Straight into the ever reaching darkness of the cruel king's grasp. That's how long she had been forced into isolation, her only company being the voice of her corrupted brother who spat worlds of hatred and malice. Yet he only ever occurred from time to time. More often than not she remained alone within the Crypt, her senses completely muted. Her consciousness hardly clung to life, preserved by the flickering strength of her soul. ... Dream had spent nearly five hundred years imprisoned in stone. That's a long time, and a lot had changed. Getting used to it would be difficult, even with the help of Ink. ... The Wattpad version will not contain sexual content.

[lord-of-the-bundle-of-sticks]

Tell me about your OCs!

omg i have so many.. like a comical amount..... im assuming you mean my lotf ocs though since they're rhe ones im posting about currently

they were originally for a narrative for school but i changed them to be lotf ocs after i finished since the concept was so similar, but they're separate from the rest of the boys

they're also supposed to represent the seven deadly sins, though currently i feel like they kinda. don't fully represent the sins yet. but im working on it i swear 😣😣 they don't use their real names on the island for the most part (for reasons im still thinking of), but there are a couple school ids just laying around with their real names on them

yk for having these ocs for more rhan a year they are Surely underdeveloped LMFAOO anyway

i'll just start with wrath since hes. supposed to be The main one.. he's always had issues with getting along with people and didn't have a lot of friends. his ass does Not want to be around these people but he stays around them for survival reasons, he's a hunter along with gluttony and they become kinda close during the island (mainly because gluttony INSISTS on being his friend and wrath finds him less annoying)

bro misses his dad and his stupid dog sm. he doesnt tell anyone because he feels stupid for missing them at his "big age" but bro is so sad abt it (he is 16 years old Wrath you are NOT grown)

anyway Gluttony hooray!! despite hunting he also gets berries from higher places since he's the tallest one out of the seven.. he struggles with controlling himself when it comes to food even though he knows other people need to eat as well, especially when they finally get the hang of hunting and roasting meat and such. it gets so bad he. Eats sloth lmao. after that he feels too sick to eat for the most part, only really eating fruits again,, im still working on his personality for the most part, he can be very loud and annoying but hes very eager to help! which is why he has more jobs than the rest of the group i think

sloth was mentioned earlier so uh. My boy!!! the first one that actually got a design hooray! Hes useless. basically. he sleeps a lot and is still exhausted after, so even if he wanted to, he couldn't help out to the same extent as the others (? odd sounding sentence, hopefully that makes sense though),, he has very low self esteem and doesn't believe he should even breathe the same air as the rest of them. bro doesnt even hold a grudge against gluttony or anything after he dies (he haunts one of my friends ocs) because he thought it was justifiable

im yapping about pride now i think hes wonderful. my Pride and joy. Hah. grt it. laugh please. hes kind of the "leader" of the seven, orders people around and they follow because they dont wanna just. sit on their asses all day.. (+ hes pretty) often refers to people as peasants and only has a select few of people that he sees as somewhat on his level,, hes so convinced he could do it all on his own but crumbles when actually asked to do something like hunt. probably envys biggest bully (BESIDES GREED GOOD LORD I HATE THAT GUY). this guy loses his arm to envy RIGHT before they leave the island. Mega L moment bro

envy my love.. sigh. hes similar to sloth with his self worth, constantly jealous over other people and their abilities. spends so much time picking people apart and creating perfect versions of himself in his head, only to be brutally reminded of his mediocracy later. he was a scout before they landed so he tried to keep track of how long they've been on the island and identifying poisonous plants/berries, but his fragile mental state made it hard for him to focus

greed. hate this guy. he's not greedy for money, but rather for power - absolutely LOATHES pride but tries to act sweet around him to get on his good side. he latched onto envy because of how fragile he was, only pretending to truly listen to gain his respect and trust. he made sure that he was envy's only friend and isolated him from the others so he could have someone to help him take down pride, which envy was happy to do at first but slowly realized what greed was doing and ended up killing him instead 😝 yeah greed does. A lot to envy.. do not rest in peace ho

LUST cant believe hes last sigh. as you can imagine this guy is a flirt, basically flirted with everyone in the group besides greed (he thought he was ugly off the bat).. hes a teen so hes not freak to the max but hes. a little interesting. he seeks temporary affection to avoid the heavy feeling of loneliness in his heart - he has a big problem with feeling lonely because he's too feminine to be friends with the boys at his school, but too masculine to be friends with the girls at his school,, he wishes he could be comfortable with his femininity but still be "man enough". he absolutely hates being called a woman. nearly pulled down his pants when envy mistook him for a girl because he was so mad 😭.. its okay hes not usually one to hold grudges, he's actually one of the ones that tried to be friends with envy despite the isolation. he's also a feeler, if theres too many things going on and too many negative emotions he absolutely breaks

um yeah thats. Kind of it for them, if you want to know more or ask questions feel free!! thank you for giving me this opportunity to yap LMAO you do Not have to read allat - might edit more if more things come up/change

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I got some assorted headcanons for Nightmare's henchmen because I've been thinking about how many chronic issues those guys are bound to have non-stop lately...

Killer:

He doesn't take care of himself properly, even after he starts taking care of the others. Meaning my guy is most likely gonna have some issues with chronic dehydration, which, in my experience, leads to "fun" things like: long-term and short-term memory issues, struggles with focus, difficulties regulating emotions (meaning, the longer this goes on the more often he might flip between different stages), difficulties sleeping, frequent headaches, chronic fatigue, dizziness and vision blacking out when he gets up from a sitting position, and joint pains.

Being dehydrated also generally makes pre-existent mental issues worse. So the struggles with guilt, self-hatred and all that stuff that is very present at Stage 1 are probably all accentuated by his lack of proper self-care.

Horror:

His skull and empty eye socket both cause him pain often. Especially with switches in temperature or humidity. Because of the positioning of those wounds, that often leads to debilitating headaches and often teeth pain too. He pulls on his bones to try and alleviate the pain because the pressure does help in the moment, but the strain he puts on them always leaves him far more sore after.

The years of starvation also left his bones far more brittle and prone to breakage. He's gonna be extra careful even while doing things like getting out of the shower or sitting down. He would benefit from getting braces and several different kinds of mobility aids, but it's not like he's got access to any of that either in his world or at the castle, so he learns to make do without.

Dust:

Because he's got a high LV and yet his soul is still inside of his body, he experiences a lot of side effects from that. Things like: chest pains, frequent headaches, auditory and visual hallucinations, memory problems, frequent blackouts, disorientation, and bone fragility (though, unlike Horror, his bones aren't more prone to breaking, they're more prone to dusting).

The thin layer of dust that constantly covers his bones causes frequent rashes and irritation. It's not unusual to see red blotches on his bones. Massaging his bones with oil or cremes would help relieve some of his discomfort and I'm sure that Killer does his best to find and steal some for him, but their resources are still limited and his access to it is only temporary. Also, that scarf he always wears doesn't help, what with it being covered in dust. And having his hood always up doesn't help either, since fabric rubbing against his already sensitive and irritated bones is probably Hell. Wearing some lighter and breezy clothing would do wonders for him. (Yes, this is part of my propaganda to put all my faves in pretty dresses. It would look cute and it makes sense, I swear).

Cross:

Old badly healed fractures from his time in the military probably cause him a lot of general pain he's grown used to in the years. But, by far, the worst of his problems come from his and XChara's unusual soul situation. Sharing a soul cannot be easy, and it probably leads to a great deal of disorientation and confusion around their memories and identities.

Not knowing where one ends and the other begins makes social interactions with outsiders to their bond rather difficult. It most likely led Cross to develop a great deal of social anxiety which is why he often tends to isolate himself and suppress most of his emotions. Truly, he tries to minimize the amount of meaningful social interactions he gets because the panic attacks afterward are just not worth it

All skeletons should immediately be put in loose pretty dresses /hj

But honestly I love these very much, they seem very probable. And I can honestly relate to Killer’s dehydration and Horror’s teeth problems, those things suck. (For me tho it’s often because water is a boring drink.)

Also do you think that whenever Killer decides to take the others on his responsibility, does he do things like help Dust rub the cream on his bones, especially with those hard to reach places or extra painful spots? Maybe this is something they’d have to work up to, as doing something like that is a rather vulnerable thing, requiring trust.

I think itd be a cute image though, and maybe if we go with the headcanon that horror is or grows to be a little bigger or taller than Murder and Killer, he offers Murder some of his clothes since they’re bigger and looser. I’d imagine that Killer would have to frequently steal and horde painkillers and numbing medications for the gang, and perhaps manage it all carefully to avoid overuse.

And Dust probably wouldn’t want to wash his scarf, but I wonder if he’d accept a cleaner version of a scarf that looks just like it and just keep the old one as a comfort somewhere in his room.

And I’d imagine that Dust and Horror would have to frequently remind both Killer and Cross/XChara of who they are, where they are, the time and the year.

And very likely have to remind Killer about things multiple times either because he forgot something, or because he was asked to do something but didn’t realize if that experience was real or not. Perhaps they create a little system of asking if they can hold Killer’s hand (or let him hold their hand), to anchor him in reality whenever it seems like he’s not really present or sure.

{ @stellocchia }

Honestly id love to hear more about all of your headcanons. They’re all so detailed.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Dancing 'til the Break of Dawn - Pt 35

<Pt34

(TWST Zombie apocalypse AU where Yuu beast tames just a little too close to the sun)

Despite being a cat, Grim was not stupid. He was possessive, selfish, and prone to ignoring the fact that Yuu was a separate person with his own wants and needs…

But he wasn’t one to take risks.

Especially not where Yuu was involved.

When Yuu had sat in his old apartment, oil slick over the floors, a pack of matches in his hand, and told Grim that he wasn’t going to be staying there anymore, Grim had listened. Perhaps because Yuu hadn’t bothered to make a small island in the oil where he could safely stand – Yuu had told him, on no uncertain terms, that if he wanted him to stick around, then Grim would have to let him out of the house.

Yuu had been let out of the house.

He had still set the place ablaze as he left, of course, out of sheer spite.

For what, he didn’t really know.

(Not Grim, apparently – Grim hadn’t minded. The place was only sentimental when his favorite pet was there, it seemed.)

Nowadays, Yuu wasn’t quite in the same position. He could pull Cater’s gun out of his backpack and press it to his head, but it wouldn’t be enough. Grim wouldn’t prefer that Yuu die, there was a reason he wasn’t a zombie yet, but Yuu knew, ultimately, if he ever did die, Grim would simply bring him back. Which meant that, if he was ‘bargaining’, it wouldn’t work as leverage. He needed to die in a way that Grim couldn’t immediately reverse.

He had no accelerants on him, and Ace and Deuce were close enough to pat out any smaller flames.

So, that fateful day when Kalim had pointed them out to the zombies, Yuu had made a simple decision:

He would give Grim what he wanted.

And let him see the consequences.

Grim would, of course, try to make Yuu ‘play nice’ with other humans. He’d seen what happens when Yuu was left with no one to interact with for too long, and was more than smart enough to avoid that. He would set up little ‘playdates’ where he would try to get Yuu to bond with whichever survivor was unlucky enough to be close by.

Enter Kalim Al Asim.

… exit Kalim Al Asim. Immediately afterward.

Yuu couldn’t bring himself to directly go against Grim’s wishes, thanks to that pesky thing called self-preservation skills, but he could find loopholes. He was supposed to play nice. So, he, as a good samaritan, informed Kalim of his bodyguard's daily attempts to assassinate him. Really, was it Yuu’s fault if Kalim took it the wrong way and kicked him out?

And Yuu had been ready to keep driving away any and every person Grim sent his way until Grim gave up and let him have his ‘friends’ again.

Yuu was stubborn, if nothing else, and he could and would outlast Grim.

He hadn’t expected to get sick, nor did he think he would be so hard on Grim that the monster would have to go to Ace and Deuce for help, but he wasn’t going to complain. It had certainly sped things up for him. Grim got to see how having them around had immediately made Yuu feel better (in a literal and figurative sense).

The zombie would be forced to come to one obvious conclusion: Yuu needed Ace and Deuce to be happy and healthy.

It was manipulative. It was, admittedly, bad for his already frayed mental health. But Yuu didn’t have any other choices.

Ace and Deuce couldn’t die.

And he didn’t trust Grim to keep his word. Not for long, not if Yuu could never prove otherwise.

Not if Yuu couldn’t retaliate even if Grim killed both of his ‘friends’ in front of him.

Because, ultimately, Yuu held no power here, and both of them knew it.

But it was, perhaps, because he was so ‘fragile’ that he could, sometimes, get what he wanted.

When in doubt, have a mental breakdown.

“I’m not a cat, Grim. Humans need social interaction.”

He could see the exact second the zombie softened, if only slightly.

Yuu blinked a few times, until tears formed in the corner of his eyes.

“You can get it somewhere else.”

“And what happens when I get too attached to the new people? If I had become best friends with Kalim, like you wanted, would you have gotten jealous of him, too?”

The zombie hesitated.

“How long do I have to keep doing this?” He gently disentangled his fingers from Ace’s, so he could wipe his face. “I can’t – I can’t.”

Grim looked stricken.

So did Deuce. He jumped to his feet, taking Yuu’s face into his hands, his thumbs swiping beneath his eyes to brush away stray tears.

Yuu leaned into him, if only slightly.

And then snickered when Ace wrapped his arms around him from behind, sticking his tongue out at Deuce from over Yuu’s shoulder.

The attempts to cheer Yuu up were, admittedly, a little clumsy. But the fact that they’d tried at all, in their own ways, was more than enough to make up for it.

He really might be in love with them, he thought.

“Please let them stay,” he said, quietly.

“Yuu, they –.” The zombie glared at the ground for a solid minute, thinking hard. “They’re corrupting you.”

Is that what it looked like, from Grim’s perspective? That Yuu had only started acting out when Ace and Deuce had gotten involved?

“Grim, the reason I’ve been lashing out more is because of loneliness. That’s why I burned down that apartment. I did that before I’d ever met either of them.”

Grim seemed to be struggling to process this. Perhaps because it put the blame almost entirely on Grim for isolating Yuu like he had. And Grim loved Yuu, so surely he couldn’t hurt him, right?

“... can’t you choose better people, at least?”

“Sorry, Grim, but they’re the only ones I want to keep.”

“They hate me,” Grim said, almost petulant about it.

“Because you make Yuu cry,” Deuce said, flatly.

“I would argue that you’re just as at fault,” Grim said.

“But look at who he goes to for comfort,” Ace said.

Something flickered across the zombie’s face as it looked at the two humans behind Yuu.

And then it smiled. “Actually… sure. If you can keep them on a leash, then you can keep them.”

… wait, what?

No, no, something was wrong. Grim should agree begrudgingly. This was too easy.

There was a catch. But what was it?

Something about how Yuu needing to ‘keep them on a leash’, probably? ‘Misbehaving’ was, in general, a subjective thing. It encompassed everything from glares to mild insults to outright murder attempts, depending on who was asking.

Yuu worried his lip. “O… ‘kay… I’ll allow a self-defense clause… on both ends, obviously… if someone physically attacks someone else, they should be able to retaliate…”

“Deal.”

A shiver ran through Yuu.

Was Grim… banking on Ace and Deuce trying to kill him?

Yuu… didn’t think they would. The risks were higher than the rewards. Sure, there was a chance that taking out Grim would get rid of his hivemind, but there was also a chance that the ‘control’ would shift to a different zombie (one that might not be quite so benevolent toward Yuu). Not to mention, burning someone alive isn’t exactly a quick process. Grim might take Ace and Deuce out with him, if they tried.

And they had all lived together for months without anyone trying to murder each other…

But Grim looked so confident.

What was Yuu missing?

He looked at Deuce.

Probably safe. He wasn’t likely to murder Grim. He was much more likely to grab Yuu and run. He wouldn’t be able to do that without Yuu’s consent, he wasn’t strong enough to carry Yuu all on his own, and wouldn’t get very far if he tried.

Deuce was, probably, safe.

He looked at Ace.

Ace flashed a halfhearted smile, pressing closer to him. “Trust us a little more, will you?”

Yuu hesitated.

”… okay.”

~

Yuu sighed as he tossed a match, something in his shoulders loosening as he watched that damned clothing store go up in flames.

And then he turned around, scooping Grim up so he could hug him to his chest, as usual.

“Feel better now?” Ace teased, slinging his arm around Yuu’s shoulders.

Yuu hummed, absently scratching beneath Grim’s chin.

(If his pinky hooked under the cat’s collar to keep Grim from snapping at Ace’s fingers, because the two were glaring daggers at each other, then that was no one’s business but his own.)

“Nothing like a little arson to soothe the existential dread,” Yuu said.

Deuce grinned. “Isn’t lighting things on fire a sign of psychopathy?”

“I’m pretty sure you should be worrying about our cannibal ‘friend’, not me.”

Said cannibal shot Yuu a look that screamed ‘call me your friend again and I will cannibalize you’.

Noted!

Deuce grinned. “I can worry about both of you at once.”

“I haven’t even eaten anyone in ages,” Ace complained. Whether he was complaining about the ‘mischaracterization’ or the fact that he couldn’t get his hands on any ‘food’ was up for debate.

“It’s not for a lack of trying. We just haven’t found anyone you can eat,” said Deuce.

Ace huffed, though he didn’t seem all that upset. “You eat, like, fifty people and suddenly it becomes your thing.”

“That is how it works, yea – fifty?!” Yuu said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m a terrible person,” Ace said, with all the false bravado the world had to offer.

“Nah, those are rookie numbers. You had, like, six months alone and you didn’t even manage to hit triple digits…” Yuu said, shaking his head.

Ace’s mouth dropped open. See how there was no Human Meat in there? This was, clearly, proof that he needed to up his game.

“Fake-ass cannibal,” Deuce joined in.

“Stolen valor,” Yuu agreed.

~

Deuce pressed his face into Yuu’s back. “‘May the best man win’, huh?”

Yuu shrugged as much as he could while laying on his side. Which is not much.

“I’m practical, what can I say?”

Because, really, Yuu wasn’t against the idea of running away with his partners like Deuce wanted… but, at the same time, he absolutely was. If they ran, they would never be able to stop running. There were more zombies than humans, these days, and the hivemind wouldn’t make it easy for them.

“Think of it this way: at least we still get to be together,” Yuu said.

Deuce sighed. “With a few limitations.”

His hand, on Yuu’s hip, flexed just slightly. Usually, at night, Ace and Deuce would hold hands. But that was before, back when Grim didn’t wedge himself between Yuu and Ace’s stomachs. Ace had retaliated by finding a way to cling to Yuu regardless, his arms around Yuu’s shoulders, his face burrowed in his neck, his knees hooked around his thighs... just overall determined to touch Yuu as much as was physically possible, out of sheer spite for what Grim was trying to do.

Yuu sighed, lightly. “There would have been limitations either way.”

They’d be able to do whatever they want, sure, but only for a short period of time.

Lips brushed against his skin. A quick, chaste kiss between his shoulder blades. “Yeah. I just wish…”

He trailed off without finishing the thought.

Yuu closed his eyes.

“I know.”

~

He felt a paw poke his ears, and Yuu fought the urge to tense up. He couldn’t look guilty, couldn’t incriminate Ace and Deuce, not after all of the effort he’d just gone to to keep them around.

“I don’t know,” Yuu shrugged. “I might’ve pulled them out while I was sick? Everything’s kinda hazy…”

“You gave him dangly earrings, right?” Deuce said, frowning. “You’re not supposed to sleep in those. They can catch on bedsheets, and then you have to say goodbye to your earlobes.”

If Grim didnt believe them, he didn't let anything on, content to curl up in Yuu's arms for the time being.

~

“Listen, all I’m saying is that there has to be things we can do other than read,” Ace said.

“Just because you’re illiterate doesn’t mean everyone else is,” Deuce said.

“Says the guy with the worst grades here,” Ace huffed. “And it’s just – boring. Like, ‘ooooh, look, a magic wizard school’. There are zombies, everywhere! I couldn’t care less about whether this one guy passes his alchemy class!”

“I think it’s nice,” said Deuce, sounding a little offended on the books’ behalf.

They looked at Yuu to break the tie.

Yuu took a long drag of his cigarette as he mulled over what he should do.

The ‘fight’ didn’t mean anything. They were arguing for the sake of arguing. It was a way to pass the time. Because, frankly, all of them were sick of sitting around and reading at this point. They had long since run out of things on their reading list. So, they explored and chatted and did basically anything else.

Despite this, he took Deuce’s side. What can he say? He played favorites.

“Sorry, Ace, I’m contractually obligated to take Deuce’s side at all times.”

Ace’s face always flushed a pretty shade of pink when he was annoyed.

“That’s not fair. Aren’t I your first?”

Yuu narrowed his eyes. Ace knew exactly what that implied. Grim probably wouldn’t know, it was a slang term that he doubted Grim would ever come across. It was ambiguous enough that Grim would probably just interpret it as Ace saying Yuu had found him first. But it was still an unnecessary risk.

“You should get addicted to shutting up. It looks prettier on you,” Yuu said, blowing a little bit of smoke in Ace’s direction to be petty.

“Already addicted to cigarettes, thanks to you two, so I’m afraid there are no slots left,” Ace said.

Yuu was very annoyed.

He also really wanted to kiss Ace at the moment, for reasons he couldn’t entirely understand (maybe the urge to shut Ace up by force?), and the fact that he couldn’t was only serving to make him more frustrated.

There was a tug on his pants leg.

Yuu looked down at Grim, his face immediately draining of all color. The zombie’s teeth were tangled in the fabric of his sweatpants.

Yuu, quietly, allowed Grim to drag him away from his partners. Grim wasn't placated until they were over two meters away from each other.

Ace had a knife in his hand. Yuu hadn’t seen him pull it out.

Deuce managed to make him settle down, thankfully, wrapping his hand around Ace’s in a move that both soothed his boyfriend and made it hard for him to stab something. Multitasking.

Yuu flashed a smile Deuce’s way. Deuce managed a smile in return, but it was much more wobbly — much less convincing.

They continued walking. The tension in the air was palpable, and Yuu feared no one was going to break it.

Yuu felt a hand lock around his arm and pull.

Now, Yuu was pretty used to being grabbed at. So, he had immediately followed the hand, content to let the universe (and, quite possibly, a complete stranger) decide where he was going. He didn’t even think to look at who had been dragging him along until several seconds had passed.

He turned his head, vaguely curious.

Ah… Ugly-Bob-Man… yay… he’s still alive… would have been a shame if he hadn’t been…

“Did Yuu just get kidnapped?” Ace asked, finally done processing what had just happened.

Even Grim seemed a little shocked and offended.

Ugly-Bob-Man continued in its mission despite this. In fact, it sped up a little.

Yuu’s eyebrows knit. “Um?”

He didn’t get an answer. Just a thin-lipped smile.

Okay, now Yuu was slightly unsettled.

This was, in his opinion, pretty bad. His tolerance for bullshit was way too high, and yet things just kept crossing that threshold. He kept raising the bar, why did the universe insist on jumping over it again and again?

They turned a corner, and Yuu came face-to-face with another group of survivors. A decently-sized one at that. Not what you want to see.

And, to be fair, the survivors also seemed uncomfortable and on edge at the sight of him.

Or, maybe, it was at the sight of the zombie beside him. Who’s to say –?

Isn’t that the guy from the perfume ads?!

He watched on, very confused, as Ugly-Bob-Man dragged Yuu over to Perfume Guy and forced them to hold hands.

Ugly-Bob-Man made a happy, slightly squeaky sound and clapped his hands together.

Perfume Guy looked at Yuu. The words ‘what the fuck’ were etched clearly in every (barely there) line in his face, but no one was particularly interested in going against a zombie’s wishes… it wasn’t directly attacking anyone, and neither of them were interested in changing this.

Ace, Deuce, and Grim finally caught up with them.

“Great! Everyone’s here! Now, we have gathered here today to witness the sacred union of Vil Schoenheit and Yuu –.”

Perfume Guy (‘Vil Schoenheit’, apparently) flinched. Hard. He stared at their interlocked hands in muted horror.

And Yuu felt much the same.

Because he was pretty sure he knew where this was going… but, surely, he was wrong. Grim wouldn’t –.

“Wait, wait, what’s going on?” Ace cut in.

“They’re getting married,” Ugly-Bob-Man said, flatly, as if Ace was the weird one for questioning it.

…

“WHAT?!”

~~~~~

Pt36>

[granadahvlmes]

Echoes of Bonds - The Greek Interpreter and the Naval Treaty

Another entry in a series of short essays inspired by @fruitviking on the following prompt:

Someone (I would like it to be me but I don't have the time right now) ought to write an essay on the recontextualising of the Adventures and Memoirs stories in light of the fact that they are written posthumously.

These two consecutive stories, The Greek Interpreter and The Naval Treaty, stand apart in the Holmesian canon for their rare exploration of Holmes and Watson as individuals rather than halves of a partnership. They offer fleeting glimpses into lives that stretch beyond the comfortable confines of Baker Street—a reminder that even the closest bonds cannot bridge every gap. For Watson, recounting these stories after Holmes’s death is not just an act of remembrance but an anguished wrestling with the spaces they each occupied outside one another’s orbit.

In The Greek Interpreter, Mycroft Holmes emerges as a shadowy figure from Sherlock’s enigmatic past—a man as brilliant as his brother but even more detached. To Watson, this revelation must have felt like peering into a locked room he would never be invited to enter. Mycroft’s existence hints at a hidden world Holmes rarely shared: a family, a history, a wealth of secrets Watson could only glimpse through the narrow window Mycroft briefly opened. Even Mycroft’s offhand recognition of Watson—“You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive”—feels like a nod to Watson’s perpetual role as an observer, always on the edges of Holmes’s deeper life.

In hindsight, Watson might wonder how much of Holmes’s world was deliberately kept hidden. How many secrets did Holmes choose to shoulder alone, his brilliant mind a vault Watson was never allowed to unlock? Did Watson’s presence, though steadfast, ever truly lighten Holmes’s burden—or was he simply another witness to a life that remained unknowable, even to those closest to him?

By contrast, The Naval Treaty offers a rare glimpse into Watson’s own life, illuminating a professional network that existed independently of Holmes. For once, Watson is not merely Holmes’s chronicler but a man whose own reputation draws others to seek his aid. An old schoolmate turns to Watson, trusting his character as much as his skills as a doctor. Yet even here, Holmes’s brilliance looms large, overshadowing Watson’s relationships and accomplishments. Holmes dominates the investigation, his deductions consuming the narrative. Watson is once again drawn back into his orbit, his own individuality eclipsed by the gravity of Holmes’s genius.

In grief, Watson might view this story with bittersweet clarity. Did Holmes’s dominance amplify Watson’s life, making him part of something extraordinary? Or did it diminish him, reducing his identity to that of a companion in someone else’s legend? Writing these accounts after Holmes’s death might feel like both a tribute and a confession—a recognition that Watson’s devotion was so complete, he rarely paused to consider the cost to his own sense of self.

Through these stories, Watson confronts the silences that marked their relationship. The Greek Interpreter reminds him of the vast expanse of Holmes’s life he could never touch, while The Naval Treaty highlights the fragility of Watson’s independence. Together, these tales are less about the cases themselves and more about the moments they reveal: Mycroft’s cryptic presence, Holmes’s bursts of playful arrogance, Watson’s fleeting assertion of self outside their shared adventures.

Yet these moments, poignant in isolation, take on unbearable weight in the shadow of separation. For Watson, they might evoke a gnawing sense of inadequacy. Did his unwavering loyalty blind him to Holmes’s deeper needs? Did the spaces between them grow wider because Watson trusted too much in their bond to bridge them? Now, with Holmes gone, does Watson find himself haunted by the realization that those gaps can never be closed?

Holmes’s guarded nature, so clearly reflected in Mycroft, sharpens the ache of these questions. Watson, who once believed he understood Holmes better than anyone, now doubts how much he truly knew. Was Holmes, even in his rare moments of warmth, always holding something back? Was this withholding an act of self-preservation—or a quiet acknowledgment that Watson, no matter how devoted, could never fully share the weight he carried?

Watson’s reflections are tinged with the sharp edges of grief. He replays their conversations in his mind, searching for meanings he might have missed or words he should have said. Did Holmes know how much Watson valued him—not just as a genius, but as a friend? Did Holmes, in his own way, long to be understood but never dare to reveal the depth of his vulnerability?

Even moments of joy between them, treasured in Watson’s memory, now carry a bittersweet sting. He might recall a rare instance of Holmes’s unguarded laughter or an unexpected expression of gratitude. These fleeting glimpses of Holmes’s humanity now feel like fragments Watson failed to fully appreciate, moments that slipped through his fingers when he wasn’t looking.

In this light, The Greek Interpreter and The Naval Treaty become more than mere anecdotes. They are echoes of a bond defined as much by its silences as its words. Mycroft’s distant relationship with Holmes mirrors the gulf that Watson fears he too could never cross. Even in their closeness, there were barriers—unspoken words, hidden worlds—that no friendship could overcome.

Watson’s act of retelling these stories is both a comfort and a torment. It immortalizes their partnership, their brilliance, their triumphs. But it also underscores the fragility of human connection, the inevitable truth that even the strongest bonds are marked by what remains unknowable. For Watson, this realization sharpens the ache of loss, leaving him with a question that lingers over every memory: did I truly know him? Or did I only ever see what he allowed me to see?

[anonymousboxcar]

Spamcan/D199 Headcanons & Analysis

While writing this fic and replying to folks’ lovely comments, I thought a lot about Spamcan and what makes him distinct to me. I feel like he’s different from the other rude diesel antagonists.

In my opinion, what sets him apart is that he has a companion. Bowler and Old Stuck Up arrive alone while Spamcan shares his trial with Bear. He also says “we” and “our controller” to Bear. There’s familiarity between them; he thinks of themselves as a package deal.

Bear validates this: “Shush! It’s their railway.” He doesn’t agree with Spamcan’s bigotry, but he still calls the NWR “their” railway. He’s aligning himself along lines of “us and them,” suggesting he and Spamcan are on the same “side” to some degree. He also considers themselves a package deal, even if he’s frustrated with it.

So how did these two become acquainted?

Well, Bear is a diesel-hydraulic engine — a type BR declares non-standard. Spamcan is a diesel-electric, safe for now from the cutter’s torch, but Bear’s position is much more fragile.

Considering what we see of Spamcan, he doesn’t seem like he’d befriend Bear for altruistic reasons. Yet he still refers to himself and Bear as a “we.” He even worries about what Bear thinks of him after he breaks down with his oil tankers.

And that’s what I think is at the root of this. Spamcan doesn’t care about Bear, but about what Bear thinks of him. He cares about maintaining a self-image that convinces Bear to stay with him, to keep following him.

Spamcan wants Bear to be dependent upon him.

I imagine their dynamic on BR was Spamcan demanding Bear’s loyalty in exchange for protection. And by protection, I mean dumping his work on Bear with the excuse of keeping him “out of sight, out of mind” from their controller. Bear didn’t have any better options, so he went along with it. Now he’s at the end of his rope.

But my pre-canon musings aside, do you see what I’m getting at? Spamcan’s one manipulative son of a gun!

He utilizes Bear’s threatened status to keep him close, to have someone who backs up what he says. His use of chummy plural pronouns is a strategy to wear down Bear’s sense of individuality. He tries to create camaraderie while also diminishing him, reducing him to a satellite in his orbit.

Spamcan is arrogant and boastful, but he has a degree of subtlety, too. That’s something that Bowler and Old Stuck Up never managed. The fact they came alone on their trials suggests they don’t have any followers or “friends” of their own, any of Spamcan’s finesse.

But you know who does manage some of that finesse? Diesel.

I like to think that Spamcan hears the story of Diesel’s trial. To him, it’s clear that Diesel worked the best when he flattered other engines and made himself indispensable to them. Messing with the trucks backfired in the end, but Spamcan would never do such a foolish thing. He can do one better than Diesel.

It’s not Spamcan’s plan to go to Sodor — he would rather stay on a “modernized” railway — but he figures it’s his duty to spread modernization. Like a “good diesel,” he volunteers himself with Bear for the trial. The Sodor engines will be on guard now, so who better to go with him than the fellow diesel to which he made himself invaluable? It’ll ensure someone has his back in hostile territory.

Spamcan’s miscalculation is in assuming that Bear will be grateful for recommending him to go on trial, winning him more points with him. But on BR, Bear was vulnerable. Now that he’s on Sodor, he has a chance of getting to safety. He doesn’t need Spamcan’s protection.

And every time Spamcan tries to appeal to him, he’s showing himself at his nastiest. Bear’s personal morals aside, if Spamcan hates “outdated” steam engines, how long will it be before he turns on “non-standard” diesels? How long will it be before Bear stops being useful to BR and to Spamcan?

When Bear tells Spamcan to shut up, he loses his only support right as he makes enemies out of every steam engine on this island. He’s alone and it’s all his own fault, all because he assumed he could manipulate his way out of any situation.

In that way, Spamcan isn’t too different from the other rude diesel antagonists. He fails because he’s arrogant and discriminatory. He fails because our protagonists resist swollen egos and prejudice where they see it.

But I like to think I’ve made a decent case for the ways he is different. I think he’s a bit subtler, a bit more manipulative than the others, even if he’s no more successful. What do you guys think? :)

[tired-truffle]

Something's Gotta Give

A CullenxLavellan fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.6k

Part 38 - Teeth and Tongues Used as Weapons

"Oh, darling muse - he would have fought the fates for you. Poets, they can be soldiers, too." - p.d.

Tag list: @thomrainierapologist (If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know!)

Warnings: Emotionally heavy chapter, demeaning self-talk

Masterlist

Ash wondered vaguely where she might find someone to oil the hinges of the office door as she nudged it open, squeaking spreading eerily like an out-of-tune fiddle as she paused in the doorway. Darkness filled the night sky behind her, stars hidden under heavy clouds. Candlelight from upon the sturdy wooden desk at the centre of the room flickered, illuminating her face with heavy shadows. Her pulse beat in a panicked rhythm, moments from leaping out from beneath her skin and skittering away into the dark. Yet she couldn’t avoid this forever. The inevitable anger, the fear, the disappointment of the man she’d so quickly grown to care for. The former Templar who’d captured her heart only to have his broken in return.

It had been mere weeks since he’d told her of the torment he’d suffered under the hold of demons summoned by mages. How she had helped him heal from it. And in return, she’d torn that wound wide open.

He stood facing away from her, positioned on the opposite side of the room as if he had contemplated slipping out unnoticed. Had he sensed her arrival and attempted to dodge this confrontation? Was he that afraid of her? The thought sat in the back of her throat like a bitter slave as she pulled herself up to her full height, using her old crutch since her body was still too weak to hold her fully. Breaking a couple of ribs didn’t help.

“Cullen,” his name was ripped from her throat in a ragged breath. It was the only word she could manage to say. How was she even supposed to start? Should she apologize for accepting a spirit into her body when she was a child? And then, to complicate matters further, she had allowed herself to become romantically involved with him, all the while concealing the spirit's existence - despite learning of his horrid past with possessed mages? That didn’t seem right. 

He stiffened, his fists clenching, leather gloves creaking under the strain. “Ashvalla.” It was a thousand questions all wrapped up into one word, hoarse and tired, like he could barely bring himself to say her name, like he didn’t know who she was. And in a way, he didn’t. 

Ashvalla, is that you? 

Ashvalla, are you truly possessed?

Ashvalla, why did you keep this from me, do you not care about me as I did you?

Ashvalla, Ashvalla, Ash—

She used to love when he said her full name, the way it would roll off his tongue. But when he said it with such despondency, it tore at her fragile heart and rent it to pieces. 

“Formality to maintain distance,” she said in a clipped tone. “I’m not surprised.”

He turned then, and Ash had to use every ounce of willpower not to stumble forward and wrap her arms around him. The bags under his eyes were pronounced, like bruised shadows, deeper and darker than usual, and his eyes appeared dulled and glassy, robbed of the spark she’d grown accustomed to when he looked at her. A flicker of what looked like fear rested in his gaze, a frown pulled at his lips. His cheeks were thin, he hadn’t been eating well, and his normally styled hair had fallen out of place in certain spots, his facial hair having grown in slightly, giving him a more dishevelled appearance. He was slightly flushed, and from the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, it was obvious it wasn’t a blush. She had done this to him, shame twisted in her gut, but she refused to back down. She had done what she’d had to do, she only wished he hadn’t gotten hurt in the process. 

“Yes, well…” he ran a hand through his hair, “I’m sure you know why.”

“I can hazard a guess,” Ash said with a lazy drawl - casual to cover up her racing pulse. 

Cullen’s lips pulled back in a look of distaste, and for a moment, Ash thought he may yell at her. But with the control that only years of Chantry discipline could teach, he shoved it back under a disapproving glare. “Oh, can you now?” He folded his arms over his chest, mimicking her drawl. 

Ash lifted her nose, a fire burning in her eyes. “I didn’t come here to exchange scathing remarks. Say what you want and let us be done.”

He advanced with deliberate, measured steps. His gaze remained fixed on her, and he halted when the space between them was reduced to several feet. Too close and yet too far. Ash longed for an entire continent to stretch between them while simultaneously desiring not a single inch to separate them, yearning for the space to vanish altogether. “Why did you keep this from me?”

“Keep what from you, Cullen?” she all but spat, her lips twisting into a scowl.

“Don’t be like that,” he snapped, irritable in this state, but this was what Ash expected, what she had prepared for. An angry Templar who’d discovered a secret-keeping mage. A liar. “Your magic, I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before, it’s…different from other mages. Stronger. And the way you vehemently defended that Avvar mage…Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about—“ He cut himself off, his mouth working around the words that he couldn’t say. 

“My possession?” She offered as flippantly as if she’d been talking about the mild weather. 

“Yes,” he hissed out with a narrowing of his eyes, maintaining his distance. 

She leaned more of her weight on her crutch, her knees weakening under the force of his intense gaze. “You know why.”

Cullen growled as his frustration overtook his fear - what Ash assumed was fear of her - and he strode towards her. His face was dark and gloomy, tight with rage. She stood her ground, resolute though her knuckles turned bone-white where she clutched her crutch. He halted just inches from her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, her fingers twitching with the urge to seize the edges of his mantle, to tug him nearer and lose herself in his comforting warmth. His intense gaze bore down on her, a towering presence over her shorter form.

“I want to hear it from you. I want you to look me in the eyes and say it out loud.”

A muscle ticked in her jaw, her shoulders trembling ever so slightly as she fought to maintain her upright posture. He didn’t seem to notice, the fire in his eyes wholly absorbed by this secret revealed to see anything else. “I am a possessed mage, and you are a Templar, former or otherwise.” The words were bitter, sharp as a knife and twice as precise. 

“Is that all you think this comes down to?” he asked incredulously, his hands splayed at his sides. 

“The way you spoke about that mage in Kirkwall and the Avvar mage…” Ash averted her gaze, focusing on keeping her feet steady on the ground. “I would imagine you would wish to put an end to any similar threats lest history repeat itself, as it is wont to do.” She was being unnecessarily mouthy, but she couldn’t stop herself. Each word she spoke laid another brick in the wall she built between them. She would keep building until there was nothing left of his presence around her. 

“That’s what you think of me? That I’d actually—“ he broke off, exhaling sharply through his nose. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? It’s your duty is it not?” Ash didn’t know where this anger came from, this sneer that spread across her face. She’d meant to stay impassive, aloof, but her body had other ideas.

Love pounded at her ribcage like jail cell bars, but Ash was an unforgiving warden.

“Maker’s breath, are you challenging me to-to kill you?” He acted like it was utterly unheard of for people in their respective positions to suggest such things. For Ash, it was simply an undeniable aspect of her existence - Templars were bred to put down mages like her. She was the embodiment of magic, and he held onto his fear.

They’d both been complicit in reaching for the sharp end of a sword, even though its gleam enticed. It still cut all the same.

Ash leaned forward, her teeth bared like a cornered animal, ready to bite the hands that tried to soothe it. “Kill a possessed mage? Isn’t that what Templars are supposed to do? Or are there other rules when you’ve fucked them first?”

He flinched like she’d struck him with the back of her hand, his lips parting and his brows raising. Something akin to hurt flickered in his eyes, a shadow passing over a field set ablaze, before he replaced it with a stern grimace. “Do not think you can throw our intimacy in my face whenever it suits you best.”

“Whenever it suits me?” Ash laughed humourlessly, tinged with a manic energy that bubbled up in her chest and coated the back of her throat. “I apologize for thinking that the man who has killed possessed mages is going to kill me; a possessed mage!”

Cullen sucked in a deep breath, holding it for a beat before releasing it in a frustrated hiss. “It's not that simple,” he snapped back with the same ferocity, his temper flaring. "Can you at least attempt to understand why I'm upset? Why you keeping something so significant from me is deeply troubling?" His jaw clenched. "Is that really so difficult for you to comprehend?”

Ash stepped forward, their chests only inches apart, his scent surrounding her - elderflower and armour polish. What was once comforting now tore at her heart like a storm over a dilapidated shack. “It wasn’t just you that I kept it from.”

He scoffed derisively. “That doesn’t make it any better. Does it not occur to you how dangerous this is? To have a demon within you?"

“She’s not a demon,” Ash cut in quickly. “She’s a spirit of love, hardly your average rage or desire demon.”

A desire demon, the one that had tortured him at Kinloch. She hadn’t realized the impact of her words until she saw a tremor begin in his hands.

To distract from the shaky movement, Cullen threw his hands up, exasperation written in the tired lines around his narrowed eyes. “A spirit, a demon, whatever you want to call it! It's still in your mind, possessing you! How can that not concern you?"

“I feel her more in my chest, actually,” Ash said, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference to him, but choosing to be difficult anyway. She was rewarded with a flare of his nostrils and a tensing of his shoulders. “And we have an agreement.”

Judging by the look on his face, one would think Ash had suggested he profess his undying love to Corypheus. “An agreement?” His voice raised in volume, loud enough that Ash had to resist the urge to flinch back. "An agreement to what? To let it stay there? That's insanity—"

“Love has done nothing wrong. She has had ample chance to hurt me if she wished to, but she hasn’t. If she wanted to harm me or anyone else, she would have done it already.” Ash held her ground, even as her knees threatened to buckle, her lungs threatened to seize. Even as Love pounded and howled against her ribcage, desperate to stop the gnawing ache growing in her heart. There was no fixing this, Ash knew it, but Love wasn’t ready to accept it.

“You don’t know that.” 

Something in Ash snapped. She felt it like a bone cracking over a rock, and her rage burned beneath her skin, crackling and sparking as she suppressed the magic pressing at her fingertips. Love’s flames would only make things worse.

“Don’t you dare condescend to me, Cullen Rutherford,” she seethed, ignoring the startled widening of his eyes - those beautiful, honeyed eyes - as she poked him in the chest with her long finger. “You don’t know what I do, you have not lived with this spirit for as long as I have. I can feel her intentions, her wants and wishes. She is good, even if she’s incredibly irritating half the time. I've spent so long denying her and pushing her away, but she has never been anything but gracious. Your ignorance about spirits is your own problem, do not make it mine.”

He snatched her wrist, pulling it away and to the side, his grip tight. “How long?”

Would the answer make it better or worse? Ash doubted it would help, but maybe if he realized she’d never been solely herself around him, he would have an easier time letting her go.

“Since the night my parents died.”

Cullen’s jaw slackened, his breath catching in his throat. “You…you’ve been possessed since you were eight?”

His fingers convulsed around her wrist, clenching tightly and sending a sharp jolt of pain through the thin bones of her wrist. His eyes clouded over, a shadow of deep sorrow flickering momentarily across his face. “So this entire time, ever since I’ve… you haven’t…how do you know that what you feel for me is truly you, and not the influence of this spirit?”

He asked a question she did not have the answer for.

She wiggled her fingers, but he was too distracted by his revelation to notice. He’d never known her un-possessed, the woman he cared for, had opened up to as he had none other, had never been solely herself around him. And she never would.

“You’re hurting me,” Ash said, barely able to suppress the whine in her voice. He released her like she was made of fire, recoiling with a sharp intake of breath. She cradled her wrist protectively against her chest, the skin red but not bruised. His eyes moved from her wrist to her face before dropping shamefully to the floor. 

“I—“ Cullen faltered, “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s fine,” she cut him off, dropping her arm to her side as she sagged against her crutch, his eyes narrowing at her movement. 

His head shook. “It’s not fine, and neither are you.”

Ash scowled, putting the back of her hand to his head before he flinched away. A mild fever, just as she had suspected. “You look like shit too.”

For a brief moment, it appeared as though Cullen might either retort defensively or outright reject her statement. But even he couldn’t deny it.

“Yes, I suppose I do.” He conceded, running a hand through his messy hair - a gesture that only added to his frazzled appearance. “That tends to happen when the woman you care for keeps dangerous secrets from you.”

“What was I supposed to do!” Ash bit out, her irritation spiking as her energy waned. “Was I supposed to say ‘oh, sorry Cullen, I forgot to tell you but I’m possessed by a Spirit of Love, just thought you’d want to know, don’t kill me though’?”

“You were supposed to say something,” he said with the same force, his temper quickly rising to meet hers. “You should have told me before we ever even started—”

A sour taste coated her tongue. He couldn’t even articulate what their relationship had meant to him, too disgusted to entertain the idea of being with a mage like her, no doubt.

“So you could lob my head off as soon as the confession left my mouth?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Must you be so crass?”

“Why, does it bother you? Picturing my possessed head separating from my possessed body, my blood splattering across the ground. Isn’t that what you should want?”

His eyes widened in horror, taking a step closer as she stepped back, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach out to hold her but couldn’t quite bring himself to. “Maker, no. Don’t…don’t say that. There has to be some other way, that spirit…there has to be.”

He wanted to rid her of the spirit, return her to ‘normal’, palatable. Of course he did, she didn’t know what she expected. He was a former Templar, but that training didn’t just disappear because he cared for her.

“Once someone is possessed there is no removing the spirit or demon without killing the host or making them Tranquil,” she spat. “Is that what you want, Commander? If I was Tranquil you’d never have to deal with my more irritating qualities. You could fuck me whenever you wanted and I wouldn’t care, I wouldn’t argue, I’d just shut up and take it. Isn’t that ideal?”

“Stop saying that!” His hands squeezed her biceps, giving her a little shake, and she dropped her crutch in shock, her legs struggling to bear her full weight. His eyes darkened, his brow pinched as he gritted his teeth. “Never suggest that again. You know damn well that isn't what I want. How you can say that after…everything we’ve shared? Did I truly earn so little of your trust?”

Ash longed to trust him, to love him as he deserved and hold him and be cherished by him. Her heart ached for him, but she couldn’t afford the risk. 

She couldn’t tell him, it didn’t matter anymore.

“What other secrets are you keeping, Ashvalla?”

With a forceful jerk of her shoulders, she pulled out of his grasp, her stance widening. She resented that accusation. “My nightly blood magic routine for one.” Ash rolled her eyes. “Or all the bodies I keep stacked in my closet.”

“This is not the time to be making jokes." His tone was harsh, his teeth clenched together. "I’m attempting to have a serious conversation, and all you're doing is making snide remarks."

“No, you’re trying to lecture me and tell me what to do, to admonish my bad behaviour like the naughty little mage I am.” Ash stepped forward, a hand laid on his chest as she tilted her face invitingly - the mask she’d been so close to separating from sinew and bone snapping back into place. With eyes half-lidded, she purred, “Do you want to punish me, Templar?”

Cullen’s breath faltered, his hands raising as if to hold her before thinking better of it and letting them hang in midair. “That’s not what I’m doing.” 

Pressing her body up against his, she shot him a coy look through thick lashes. “But is it what you want, Commander?”

He let out a small strangled noise, his hands instinctively moving to her hips to keep her from knocking him off balance. Staring down at her, he opened his mouth to speak, but shut it with a sharp clack, his leaden tongue betraying him. 

Arching her back, a flirtatious smile ghosted across her lips. Ash grabbed his collar, pulling him close, his startled and feverish face only inches away from hers. “Pin me down and have your way with me. Teach me a lesson.”

This was how she had always felt the safest, seduction and whispered promises of desire that told a story of a powerful woman. It wasn’t her and it was her, two sides of the same coin. If he were to reject her now, when she was her and not her, maybe it would hurt a little less. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t fair that this was their end, but life seldom was. She would survive this, and so too would Rae. That was what mattered. Though it didn’t make the anger that welled up in her suddenly watery eyes any less irritating. 

“No, I—“ The words faltered and faded on his tongue as he tensed, his gaze searching hers. It was too late for her to hide the emotions flickering across her face, too late to retract what she’d said, what she’d done.  

He took a deep breath in an attempt to collect himself, his hands gripping her hips a little tighter, his fingers digging into the fabric of her robes. His chest heaved as he released a frustrated sigh. “Why are you doing this? This isn’t you.”

Ash ignored him, willing the tears to stay put. “Tell me what you want.” She desperately needed to know, yet it was the very last thing she wanted to hear. A thick, heavy dread had been slowly coiling in her gut since the moment she awoke, a gnawing sensation that was inches away from rending her in two. Cullen looked down at her with tired eyes.

“I want you to be rid of that spirit.”

Blood rushed in her ears, her magic surging beneath her skin, her muscles, through her bones, sharp and burning and relentless. He didn’t want her - she couldn’t exist without love, there was no cure for spirit possession save for death or Tranquility - and she should have known it. He didn’t want her and it broke her heart. He didn’t want her and maybe he never had. 

“I just…” he continued before she could make sense of her thoughts. “I don’t want you keeping dangerous secrets from me.”

Ash narrowed her eyes, ignoring the prickling tears at the corners. With a scoff, she pushed off of him, letting him stumble back at the sudden absence. Picking up her crutch, she leaned against it once more, all the while pretending she didn’t notice how he scanned her, how he searched for her thoughts among the pile of glass shards she offered him with bloodied hands. 

He remained silent for a beat, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Ash said, detached as she buried her tears behind yet another mask. “You weren’t special.”

It was a lie, and he always had an uncanny ability to see right through her. “Then why do you care, why come here at all? If I’m not special to you, if I’ve never been special, then why do you care about how I feel?”

Ash’s ears pinned themselves to the sides of her head as she snarled. “What makes you think that I do?”

His eyes darted across her face as he watched her closely, scrutinizing every minute movement, every small flicker of emotion she couldn’t keep at bay. “Stop. Stop with these lies. Look me in the eye and tell me that you never cared for me.”

Ash scoffed again, panic rising in her throat as Love fought and fought against the deception sitting at the tip of her tongue. She tried to say it, opened her mouth to speak, but Love held her back, only a strangled noise squeaking through their invisible battle. 

Cullen took a step closer until he was nearly towering over her. He grabbed her chin with a gentleness that had all her falsifications melting away like ice in a spring thaw. “Say it.”

“I can’t,” she ground out, tugging her chin from his grasp. “Are you happy now? I care about you but I still lied to you. I broke your trust, I broke Rae’s trust, Dorian is pissed at me too. And still, I wouldn’t change anything.”

And yet, Rae had been more upset with Ash for forgiving her so quickly. Even after all her biting words and anger thrown at Ash like a whip, Ash had pushed it all aside out of fear. Fear that her sister would hate her, would throw her out of Skyhold and leave her to traverse Thedas alone - or worse yet, chain her in the dungeons, taunting her with the noises of her home above. But Rae hadn’t done any of that and…the hurt remained. Her dagger may have missed, but her words had been sharper than any weapon, lodged in Ash’s spine. But who was Ash to not offer forgiveness when she had kept a damning secret?

Would her mother’s lips curl in a sneer if she could see the resentment towards her sister that burned so deeply inside that even Ash could barely see it?

“Why?” More demand than question and Ash bristled.

It was so obvious to her, her one goal had been realized. Did she really have to spell it out for him? “Rae is alive, I was able to retrieve her from the Fade and she does not bear the burden of having to choose which of her companions stayed behind to die on her behalf. If I’d told you or anyone else I would have risked not being there - locked away or tranquil or dead. I would have risked Rae, and I will never do that.”

“So that’s it then?” he shot back, a frown marring his handsome face - reddened with fever, and perhaps she shouldn’t have pushed him as she did. “You do not wish to be unpossessed, nor would you change anything that has happened?”

“This was a mistake. I warned you that Rae would come first, and you promised it wouldn’t bother you, and like an idiot, I believed you.”

“This isn’t—“ he cut himself off with a growl. “You can put her first and still—“ he broke off again, placing his head in his hands. 

She would do him the kindness of ending this horrid conversation. It would only continue to hurt them, and they had been plenty hurt already. They did not deserve to suffer further. Cullen didn’t, at least.

“Let this be done. I have nothing else to say. Whatever we had…cannot be fixed.” Her voice broke, but she pressed on." “You cannot trust me, nor Love, and I do not wish to be with someone who cannot accept me as I am.”

His hands formed into tightly balled fists at his sides. She may as well have run him through on his own sword for how much agony flashed across his face. He released a tired sigh, and her from his heart, she assumed.

“If that is what you desire then so be it,” he said, resigned to their fate. A former Templar and a possessed mage could never be. Ash had known this all along, she’d been a fool to ever think otherwise.

She nodded. “I will leave you to it.” 

His eyes burned with the need to argue, to demand more of her, but he scanned her weakened form and she hated the pity that settled in his gaze. “Yes, I suppose you will.”

What in the Void was that supposed to mean? Yet, it didn’t matter now; it was all over. She had harboured a secret, concealed it from him, and in doing so, had hurt him beyond repair. He was angry and wounded and he could never love her the way she loved him. And Creators, did she love him - and that was the worst part; it hadn’t been enough. She only wished it didn’t feel as though her heart was splintering into a thousand pieces within her chest. 

Her throat constricted - she was suffocated standing close to him yet unable to reach out and touch him, she felt the sudden urge to flee, to be somewhere where the reminder of what she never should have had - and yet lost - couldn't mock her so openly. She turned on her heel, ears ringing as she pushed herself along tired legs towards the door, crutch held tightly beneath her arm.

He didn’t call after her, didn’t beg her to come back, and she did not glance over her shoulder. The rope that had tethered them together snapped as she reached the door, flinging it open and escaping into the night. Away from him. Her heart left to bleed out slowly on the cold, hard ground.

Next Chapter

A/N: Ash is an unreliable narrator and her thoughts and feelings are not the same as mine. Haha, anyway, Alexa play Despacito.

[gintrinsic-writing]

For the Unusual Fic-Specific Asks for Authors ask game – would you be interested in doing Perspective Flip for This World (is only gonna break your heart), chapter 1’s head trauma fic?? If you want a specific character I think Legend would be interesting, but honestly I’d love to see any character’s POV! (I love this fic so much I need to put in an actual decent comment for it asdfgh)

I'm notoriously slow at writing fiuhshsdfush sorry, but it's incomplete. I probably didn't get to the part you most wanted, but I work the rest of the week, then have to host family for 5 days, so I'm not going to have a chance to write again for a good bit. Hopefully this is still fun to read! I might be able to get to the rest when life slows down.

Based on this short fic.

--

“Four?” Legend questioned, wariness coloring his tone. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Four rasped. His fingers flexed around the hilt of the Four Sword over and over again. Even from across the field, it was easy to see that his breaths were too shallow. He licked his lips. “Wild, could I have more of that herbal water?” 

Wild’s ears drooped guiltily. “I’m sorry, but there’s not much left, and Warriors still hasn’t had any.”

Legend sent a sharp look to Warriors, cutting off the self-sacrificial bullshit before it could even begin with a well-timed frown. Warriors acted like he didn’t notice, but he pressed his lips together as he tied off the last of Time’s bandages. Drama queen.

“Right,” Four murmured. He handed his empty cup back, then tugged on his hair. His hand visibly trembled. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” 

Sky questioned Four about an injury, and several others joined in. Legend tuned them out, thumbing one of the heart rings as he watched Hyrule. The traveler swayed a little as he approached, and he sat down without an iota of grace. Sweat dampened both their arms as he leaned against Legend. It was uncomfortable; Legend didn’t consider moving.

“Don’t volunteer for watch tonight,” he murmured, rolling his eyes when Hyrule stuck out his tongue. 

"Don't tell me what to do, Leg."

“Bitch.”

“Worrywort.”

Before Legend could think of a comeback, he noticed Four beginning to pace. The grass nearly reached the smithy’s knees. 

“I’m not… me. I mean I am, but…” Four frowned. “I’m not just me. That’s the problem.” 

Hyrule crossed his legs where he sat. “You can tell us. We’ll do whatever we can to help.”  

Four’s eyes darted along the length of the Four Sword as if searching for something. “For you to understand, there’s something I need to…” He trailed off a sharp exhale. “I named myself for the Four Sword because—because drawing it gives me the ability to split into four separate versions of myself. Only… it’s not working now.”

“Like cloning?” Legend asked, thinking back on some of the oddities he’d come across on his quests. 

“No. They represent different parts of me. They’re my colors.” Four’s sudden smile was a fragile thing. “My sense of reason, my sentiment, my temper, my bravery. Obviously, it’s more complicated than that, but that’s the gist. And right now…” Once more, he touched the dried blood along his hairline. “I can’t hear them at all. I can’t split.”

“Split?” Legend mouthed, just as Sky asked, “Hear them? You normally hear voices?”

Well, that was concerning. Legend thumbed his heart ring again, glancing around at the others. Warriors was still in that eerie way of his, and Wild looked strangely mournful. At least the Old Man seemed to be resting well.

 “It’s not like that. I get… impressions. Influences,” Four answered timidly. 

“The voices influence you?” Warriors asked, and ah—there it was. That tone he used when he was truly worried and trying not to show it. Legend wondered if any of the others recognized it for what it was yet. “How often does that happen?”

Four twitched, then smiled again. “I’m probably explaining this poorly. The voices are me. They’re normal.”

Wariness returned to Legend’s gut, and he could feel Hyrule slowly tensing. He had a feeling things were about to get worse.