#( and you shall never be able to love for your love has been twisted beyond repair and the only love you can give is the mercy of death for

[pastel-rights]

Sweet prince(ss) this, belladonna that, miss journalist here, my beloved there… do you even KNOW my name???

[pixydustworld]

At Ginny Weasley's 25th birthday party, Hermione found out 2 things:

1. Ron was dating Theo, which was an uneventful reveal ("No gasps?" Theo complained, "I almost got the mark! I'm dangerous!").

2. Pansy had invited Draco Malfoy.

And he had shown up.

“Thank you so much for coming.” Ginny sighed, sounding like she was about to cry, an empty glass clutched in her tiny fingers, “I love you.”

Pansy nodded enthusiastically, arms wrapped around Ginny’s middle, lipstick smeared beyond repair. “We waited to cut the cake for you!”

Behind the two of them, the cake sat pristine — untouched, 25 lit candles balancing precariously around the edge. A definite fire hazard, Hermione decided.

“Sorry I’m late,” Hermione said, digging Ginny’s present out of her bag (new wand holster!) “Collins kept me in his office after a meeting.”

“Did he try to kiss you again?” Ginny said loudly, “Do you want Pansy and I to ruin his life?”

“We can fuck his dad.” Pansy agreed. “Become his stepmother. Ground him.”

“He’s 45.” Hermione said flatly, “And I’m fairly confident his father is dead.”

“Well,” Ginny pouted, attention quickly drifting to her fiancée, trailing tiny little kitten licks up Pansy’s neck, “If you don’t let us do something, someone else will do much worse.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.” Hermione argued, ignoring that last bit, “I can actually be quite scary.”

Pansy smiled, but it seemed a bit forced. “You’re very small.”

“Like a chihuahua.” Theo said, snuggled up to Ron’s side, voice slightly muffled.

“But a feral one.” Ron said helpfully, like that made everything better. “One that bites ankles.”

“Let’s cut the cake, shall we?” Hermione said. Out of the corner of her eye she could see several candles oozing off the top, a definite flaw in the structural integrity of the cake. “You all have waited long enough!”

The evening went on, in glorious delight. Hermione was almost able to ignore the way Malfoy was watching her, until he cornered her in the kitchen.

Alone, with only a stack of dirty dishes to witness their conversation.

“Hello!” She said, voice a bit too cheery for the dark look on his face, “Can you believe Luna is dating George Weasley? Quite the plot twist, if you ask me — ”

“You didn’t tell me Collins tried to kiss you.”

“I didn’t.” Hermione agreed. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Hm.” Malfoy said, “Capable in all avenues of your life? Don’t need me to fuck you anymore?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “That is not what I said.”

“Am I allowed to kill him?”

Before, she would’ve laughed, watched as his eyes glittered until they melted, until he laughed, too. But now, after fucking him for six and half months, Hermione knew the unfortunate truth: Malfoy was not joking. He never had been.

He was overly dramatic (the buckbeak incident from third year still was occasionally mentioned) but also quite sincere about his threats. A terrible combination, Hermione found.

Hermione shook her head solemnly. “No.” She said, “You are not.”

“Figured I should ask permission. You can punish me later.”

She caught his wrist. “Draco.” Hermione said softly, “Don’t be dramatic.”

He feigned a gasp. “I’m not doing anything.” Which was currently true. All he was doing was looking down at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“I’m just annoyed that my girlf—” he hesitated, and Hermione glanced away. So casually cruel, dangling that word out in front of her when he didn’t actually mean it.

“My person,” he continued “didn’t tell me that Collins from work, who is quite possibly the worst individual I’ve ever met, has tried, on what seems to be multiple occasions, to kiss her.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I can do that myself.” Hermione hissed. “Once, I punched Harry. He got a bloody nose!”

(She did not mention that said punch had been an accident, and she had cried about giving Harry a bloody nose for roughly 15 minutes after it happened. Harry had to console her, it had been, for a lack of better words: a mess.)

“I know you can,” Malfoy nodded, his smile, as always, a little mean, “But taking care of you is one of my favorite things to do. Those duties extend to light amounts of assault.”

“No need,” Hermione said primly, “I jinxed his balls to his left kneecap.”

Malfoy winced. “Effective,” he said, “my murderous little chihuahua.”

The air seemed to grow thicker, the muted silence stretching between them. Like clockwork, Hermione felt her eyes darting to his mouth, felt her skin prickling with a familiar heat. It felt, almost, as if she was someone else whenever he was around — a different version of herself, desperate for only his attention, longing for his approval.

Malfoy’s eyes were soft as he looked down at her, hands on either side of her, skin warm to the touch. Hermione wondered how he managed to keep all his softness sacred to only her.

Their first time had been a blur of sharp teeth and bruised flesh. He’d fucked her on the floor of her office, skirts rucked around her waist, whispered filthy words in her ear. In return, she had bit his neck until blood trickled down his flesh, smeared across her lips, the taste of copper mixing with the salt of their sweat.

After, when he’d tucked himself around her frame, holding her whole body, Hermione realized she liked this, too.

To sink into his embrace, to allow him to hold the weight of her bones. It had been bliss unlike anything she’d ever experienced, a freedom of thought; the world had been soft and quiet, his body a barrier between her and the noise.

The second and third time had happened in the same way: a challenge, someone to meet it — a broom closet, her groans blocked by his thumb heavy on her tongue, his face twisted in pleasure as he sunk inside her, inch by inch; a stolen moment in the bathroom of a crowded pub, his fingers tight in her hair, her hands pressed against the cool tile as he had pounded her from the back, grinning at her friends moments later, his cum dripping down her thighs.

But after that, they slipped into something more. His softness grew beyond the moments after they’d fucked, uncontained; she saw it in his eyes when she spoke, felt it when he guided her along the street, hand warm on her lower back.

And here they were, six and a half months later, the same feelings fresh, evergreen. It always felt a bit like the first time with him, limbs trembling, skin flushed; mind blissfully empty.

Malfoy touched her face, bringing her back to the kitchen, to the present, to the soft sounds of the party in the room next door. Back to him, and his inescapable warmth. He tilted his head to the side. Waiting.

Hermione nodded.

“Stick out your tongue.” He said, voice soft.

Heart hammering, Hermione did just that. Watched, in frozen anticipation, as Malfoy leaned over her frame, his front pressed tightly to her own, and spit into her mouth.

Wet and sloppy, dribbling off the edge of her tongue.

His fingers slipped under her skirt, flipping it over her stomach, tugging her knickers down her thighs, eyes hard on her trembling tongue. “Good,” he whispered when he found her wet, dripping down her thighs. “Spit.”

Hermione's eyes fluttered as she lowered her tongue. His saliva — her own, now — dripping down to land on her exposed cunt, joining the mess he created.

At the same time as he slipped his fingers between her legs, he pressed his other fingers into her mouth, muffling her whimpers.

“Keep you stuffed on both ends,” he whispered, thumb pressing down on her tongue, three fingers sunk into her cunt, “Nice and full.”

A muffled sound came from behind the cracked door. “I’ll get more fire whiskey!” Theo’s drunken voice cut through the murkiness of Hermione’s mind. slicing through the kitchen with the effectiveness of only the best cooking knives, “There’s got to me more inside the cabinet!”

Malfoy was hunched over her, his entire body curved around her back, fingers stilling inside her cunt. She felt his muscles tense, preparing to pull his fingers out, but her own tightened around his wrist, keeping him trapped. Within her, above her, inside her.

The door knob twitched, but then, Ron’s voice — “No, baby, I found another one. Under Harry’s head, he’s using it as a pillow, but I think we can take it —”

She hurried to release him, to set him free, to appear unaffected and pretend like she hadn’t clutched his arm tighter at the thought of someone catching them but it was already too late.

“Shy, all the sudden?” He whispered, teeth grazing her flesh, thumb finding her clit, pressing through the wetness.

“Do you want me to fuck you in front of all of our friends? Would that make you happy?” Hermione had a terrible feeling he would do it, too. Split her open for all to see — and that she’d let him.

“At least,” She gasped around his fingers, tongue thick, spit dripping down her neck, “then they’d know about us.”

He froze above her.

“What?” He took his fingers out of her mouth, and her traitorous tongue followed the line of spit.

“I said,” Hermione repeated in a voice that could be interpreted as petulant, “at least, everyone would know about us.”

“You don’t want anyone to know about us.”

Hermione scoffed. “No,” she said, “You are the one who doesn't want any of our friends to know — ”

“Come on, angel.” Malfoy said, eyes serious. “Think for me. Use that beautiful brain. When have I ever said that I didn’t want people to know about us? If you allowed me, I would tell the entire world that you let me fuck you. That you let me worship at your altar, take care of your every need. It would be the only thing I spoke about.”

“No,” Hermione whined, thoughts thick and heavy in her brain, she could still feel his unmoving fingers inside of her, “That. That’s not true, you said let’s just keep it between us.”

“As in, let's keep sex between us.” He squinted down at her in the yellow light of the kitchen. “Are you fucking other people? I’d like a list.”

“There isn’t a list.”

“I wasn’t clear before,” Malfoy was saying with great effort, “That is my fault, but please, allow me to be clear now. I’d like to be the only person you have sex with. If you’d have me.”

“When would I even have time to have sex with other people?”

He frowned. “I just said something very romantic.”

Hermione waved her hand, “Yes, very romantic, but — you sleep in my bed. With me. Every night. When do you think I’m hypothetically finding the time to fuck other people?”

A horrible thought occurred, “Have you been sleeping with other people?”

Malfoy recoiled as if she’d slapped him. “I think about fucking you all the time. Always you.” He said, looking a bit mad. “If you’re not beside me, I wait, like a dog at the door for your return. I am at your disposal. I am yours to use, to keep, to toss away — there is nothing, nothing I’d refuse, if only you asked.”

Heart in her throat, Hermione asked: “You want more?”

“I want everything.”

Hermione nodded. “You can have it.” She said, the grin on her face too bright for the dim kitchen, “I want all that you are, too.”

Malfoy let out a shaky exhale. “Later, we’ll tell everyone. I’ll become a nuisance to casual conversation, with the amount I’ll mention you. But, I’m going to fuck you now, alright? Will that be a problem?”

Hermione shook her head, stomach squirming. With more than just arousal, she realized.

Excitement was brewing — he wanted her, just as much as she did. Wanted the sleepy evenings and lazy mornings. Wanted to sit beside her at the pub, hand on her thigh for all to see; wanted to be her date to exhausting ministry galas, wanted to be seen. Wanted everyone to know.

“No,” she gasped as he pressed in to her, “That won’t be a problem.”

[mareenavee]

From this here list: 5. How do you decide how long your fics/chapters will be? Do you have a word count goal? 12. What do you hope readers will take away from this work?

and for the extra challenge 15. What is one question you wish someone would ask you about this work? Ask it and answer it.

Well hello, my friend :D So good of you to ask! And thank you for including a link back to the game. It's an awesome set of questions!

I did already answer 12 here, so I'm going to behave as a corvid might for a second and twist the question a little bit. Instead, I'm going to talk about what I take away from the fic writing process. That'll be below the cut.

Without further ado, some answers :D

5. How do you decide how long your fics/chapters will be? Do you have a word count goal?

This is a good one! I am not worrying about word count on this project, merely celebrating milestones. I tagged it as a longfic, and a longfic it shall be. I just wanna write until the story's done without worrying. I always worry about a million things generally speaking, so this time -- not so much. It'll likely be big fantasy epic novel length project by the time I get through it, and that suits me just fine.

Chapter wise, I do try to keep things below 9k words as often as possible. Ideally, I feel the pacing/flow of a chapter is best between 5 and 7k words. Some are shorter. I do have flash forward chapters which are generally much shorter purposefully than most of my others as a sort of break. This isn't a rule set in stone, however.

12. (Revised) What do you hope to take away from this work?

I talked a tiny bit about this here, but to expand on the notion -- With this project specifically, I want to prove to myself how much I am capable of as a writer and as a creative. I have left an old fic up on my profile which was clunky and broken and never finished. I have tons of unfinished stories in my google drive and my ehds scattered in my things irl. And lots of older finished works, too, for that matter. All of it is part of the journey, but I'd forgotten.

For a long time, I think I cared too much about being a "good writer" that I couldn't carry the pressure anymore under the weight of everything else I was going through. When you're so deep in that kind of mindset, it's tough to see past it. I needed help, and got it, and then decided when I was feeling like things were starting to improve that I no longer wanted to be the writer who couldn't write.

I picked fic as a low stakes project, one I didn't necessarily have to tie to my other screennames or even my professional/actual name or share at all if I didn't want to -- all with the goal of simply finishing a story no matter where it took me. Sharing the story and my love for this fandom has found me in the midst of other writers and artists whose work I cheerlead as loudly as I can, and we support each other now where before I'd been mostly silently giving in to writer's block and other things. I am beyond grateful for this. <3 It does help immensely to have friends who just get it on so many levels.

So what do I hope to take away from this project? That I can do this, and I always could. And that I can keep going.

15. What is one question you wish someone would ask you about this work? Ask it and answer it.

THIS IS SO OPEN ENDED!! How do I do this without spoilers? URGH. Okay. How about this?

How would this story have changed if it was simply though the eyes of the protagonist and not a rotating POV structure?

I think that if Nyenna was the only voice telling the story of how she'd become this legendary hero, we'd be so close in her thoughts and in her head, we'd not be able to understand the motives of the other characters who'd interact with her. She does a lot of selfish things, as we know from what's posted so far. She has a sort of filter of expectation over how she proceeds through her quest and through the world. She's convinced things have once again been taken from her. She holds a lot of anxiety in her head, even if she's attempting to do what needs to be done. There's a constant battle with indecision.

I think without the other points of view, we'd only have a limited picture of who she is, and who she's capable of becoming. We'd also have the drudgery of once again 'reading' Skyrim's main quest solely through the eyes of the Last Dragonborn. We've done this already, for the most part, even if it's been awhile.

I think if it was just Nyenna's perspective, at least in the way that I'm currently telling this story, we'd just miss out on the gems of other characters observing this legend kind of becoming real and walking into her power. Because, honestly, we don't get many opinions in game other than "Wow, cool. Okay do some quests for me then?" (: I think it's just interesting to have her friends and those who love her see the stakes of the quest and see the toll it takes on her. Their opinions are what breathes fresh life into the familiar tale, I think. Or at least, I hope it's doing that. (:

[industrialxillusions]

SEND MY MUSE AN ❌ FOR THEM TO SAY ONE REGRET THAT THEY HAVE.

@flyatahighergame​ sent: ❌ ❌

“How anyone could ever narrow it down to so low a number as two when one has lived such a life as I have is beyond my comprehension, but for the sake of this exercise, I suppose I shall try.”

For several long moments he considers and then––

❌ 

“I regret running away from reality––no matter how harsh. I suppose there’s something to be said for my choice in card decks as a commentary of self, however… When … when Cyndia realized that she was pregnant, we discussed the potential consequences, what was likely to follow when taking into account her condition… and yet I don’t think that I ever truly allowed myself to consider it until the moment that likely became reality and thus there was nothing more to hide behind, because there are entire worlds of difference between likely and reality. Perhaps if I had been willing to sooner face such unwanted and terrible truths… perhaps so much could have been avoided. Perhaps I might have been a father to my daughter from the start, just as I am certain Cyndia would have wished of me. Perhaps I might have considered myself fortunate simply to have been allowed what fleeting but precious time I had with my darling wife, and been able to look back on our time together with fondness, even if not without grief… instead of having her memory, the very essence of who she was, tainted by the darkness that I allowed to twist and corrupt me into someone she could never have recognized, much less loved…even had I accomplished my goal…”

❌

“… And yet, I fled as far from the truth as I possibly could, instead hurtling farther and farther down an ever-darkening path, driven by nothing more than desperation and delusion––both of which were welcomed with open arms for the very fact that they were more pleasant than my reality… And oh! but that is where the next of my regrets begins, is it not? My regret over reviving the game of duel monsters would be greater were it not for what happiness and good has come of it in turn… what I did to your grandfather, however, and to Kaiba and his little brother… what you have suffered, Yuugi… Those are all regrets I consider at once and altogether beneath one: I only regret that I did not possess the strength of heart necessary to balance such power. Power without heart gives birth to tragedy, and I think it would be more than fair to say that I am the scarred and shattered father of multitudes.”

[flowerwept]

@unmeiha said: ❛ you already know how this will end. ❜

Who knew subverting the collective will of a people would feel so...freeing? The souls within Zodiark’s heart cried in anguish, their divinity snuffed out beneath Fandaniel’s fingertips like a candle, soul’s mouths likely still twisted into the open O of a mouthless scream. He cannot see it but he can feel it, the pleasure in their pain: better than nothingness, or so they say. Across his many lives, Amon has discovered this promise is nothing more than a bad joke. His answer to the question. Congratulations Hermes, man whom I once was.

Zodiark would be bound no more by hearts straining towards perfection. Amon knew: salvation beyond the stars did not exist. This moon / this ark / this prison / the final bastion of hope. Fandaniel would crush it beneath his heel. Like a bug.

‘you already know how this will end!”  Koharu’s voice rises above the clamoring of souls within his mind. Fandaniel / Amon / Zodiark / he’s always loved changing his name / turns to face the Warrior. His monstrous form towers over her. Were it not for that pinprick of Light shining so strongly within her, he would not be able to see her at all.

And Light always triumphs over Dark. Fandaniel has read enough plays to know that’s how the story goes. Zodiark will fall. You already know how this will end.

Somewhere within Zodiark, Fandaniel smiles, the primal’s large arms spreading out to his side / welcome death, my eldest of friends / it has been a long time since i’ve seen you / and hopefully i shall never see you again / for your embrace is a joyless one. Xande was right. Dust to dust. Only this time there wouldn’t be a world to return to. Should Koharu play her part well. Godhood has ever been weak in the presence of mankind.

Kill Zodiark. Kill me. And let me take you with me. It’s almost a plea.  “OH, I’M COUNTING ON IT.”

[zackcrazyvalentine]

I ONLY SENT YOU SIMPING AND BRAINROT SCENARIOS TILL NOW SO HERE I COME WITH AN ANGSTY ONE

what if ever since mc came into twisted wonderland they’ve been slowly absorbing magic ? like their body started to adapt themselves to the logic of these worlds and its just accumulate inside of them

so they’re absorbing magic but the problem is they also absorbs the blot and since they don’t have anything to clear it it just stays stagnant .

life goes on grim’s overblot is over , but then mc fainted .

well i mean who wouldn’t be tired after such battle ? multiple persons have been injured so that isn’t really that worrying right ?

well mc isn’t waking up

one day , one week , and still no sign of mc waking up .

everyone is desperate for them to wake up but nothing works . none of the potions crewel and vil worked , sam’s friends on the other side don’t have any solution , and no matter how many dark spells lilia knows it surely doesn’t help him in any ways. heck crowley even put aside his pride and asked help from rsa’s headmaster

but one day they did wake up , but something wrong . their once bright eyes were replaced by lifeless orbs , as if all the light had been sucked from them .

grim has never so guilty in his life but tried to look on the brighter side of things ! he tell them about how ace and deuce are still as stupid as ever , how riddle went off on floyd again or the way epel mocks vil behind his back when his lessons are too harsh !

but even as he looks so happy , he can’t help but feel this immense void in his heart

“hey henchmen ... when are you coming back ?”

they don’t respond when you talk to them , when you touch them , they just stare into the void .

Anon..... oh, anon..... WHY MUST YOU DO THIS TO MY HEART ?!?!?! 😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

I can tolerate and soak up that good angst of the boys feeling guilty for something that happened to MC......BUT GRIM?!?!?! MY HEART, DID YOU HEAR IT SHATTER?!?!?! 😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

THIS IS ANGST SO MUCH ANGST

[Anon's explanation about MC's state]

-- -- --

MC is like doll now, only breathing and staring into the void. Sometimes, they follow a request or order given by someone.

Heartslabyul's tea parties aren't as merry as they used to be. MC just sits there, staring at their cup, occasionally taking sips when Riddle suggests them to try the warm drink. Ace and Deuce can't even crack a smile in the Prefect's presence, not when they're a hollow husk of their sassy self. Cater and Trey feel uncomfortable crossing stares with MC, they rarely look up from their cup or slice of tart. Deuce, more often than not, finds himself crying at night after the parties

Riddle is trying his best every night, searching through his mother's old books back home for a possible remedy... The pages are wrinkled from the many tears he's shed while reading, heart aching for their friend.

--

Ruggie feels his chores heavier than ever. It's because MC is no longer coming to lend a hand as they used to. The bags under his eyes became more prominent with how late he stays up, looking up at the ceiling as he keeps mourning for MC's lost soul.

Jack is seen more often in his wolf form, howling at the moon... Anything to shed his tears and scream his sorrow out in a less noticeable way. He often struts over to MC while they're sitting outside Ramshackle, and pushes his furry head into their lap and hands, wishing HOPING to one day feel their delicate hands pet him again.

Everyone can see how Leona secludes himself to his room, people have begun comparing him to Idia.... But, unlike what they think, he's not sleeping. On the contrary, he's staying awake, tearing through many books from his homeland about occult magic and resurrection. After all, only someone with enough money would be able to buy such forbidden knowledge.

He won't let his herbivore live on like this, not if his country knows a way to bring them back.

--

Azul could feel himself thread the edge of insanity. Would it kill him to go through a second overblot? ....would that be better than living on without MC's company?

He will search far and wide through all of Wonderland's oceans and lakes, lagoons and swamps, for a Unique Magic holder than can revert back the blot... or time.... He will give his everything away in a contract to have such magic as his

Jade and Floyd can see the deep cracks in Azul, he's turning into an unfit leader.... It would be best for them to take his role

But they don't want to, for their hearts are cracked like his

Floyd is easier to go on rampages, and Jade is so indifferent to the word outside of his hobbies. If it weren't for their collective love for MC, Floyd would have tried hurting them to see if that wakes MC up.

They never felt so empty and unamused

--

Kalim's heart physical aches whenever he sees Grim and MC. He's tried, tried all he could

Singing, dancing, playing music, throwing million parties, hugging them, whispering how much he loves them right on their ear... but nothing

He may not be the smartest, but the white haired boy is perseverant and eager to learn: he spends his days in the alchemy room along with Vil and Crewel, researching the poison that is a magician's blot

Jamil never felt so useless, mind clouded with many "if only" scenarios that make him blame himself for MC's situation

If only he hadn't overblotted, if only he hadn't sent them flying off to the ends of the earth, if only he had noticed the poison clinging to their soul sooner.... If only....

Why didn't he realize the blot developing in their body? It was only natural, after spending so much time in Twisted Wonderland without any buffer for the magical energy on this place

If only he could take their place...

--

Vil never left the alchemy room or Pomefiore's underground laboratory. He spent every day researching how to revert MC's ailments

He only ever left the labs to go into Ramshackle and help the Prefect prepare for the day. Whenever he got to putting on their makeup, Vil can't help but cry at how hollow and dull they look, when they used to be such a warm and radiant soul

Rook was on the same boat, taking his science club duties more serious than ever. He would search in every single ecosystem for any plant, mushroom, hunt down any animal, organ that was needed for even the slightest help for MC

And Epel.... All he could do was scream and punch his pillow, cursing fate and how sick the world is. What did an innocent, magicless person from another world do to deserve this?!

He will often go sit besides MC and carve apples for them, of their favorite flower, their zodiac sign, their favorite animal, and those carvings they loved most of his

...but the fruits will always rot, just like their once beautiful soul

--

Idia, who was already barely seen outside, hides deeper in his room

The internet is a place full of information, knowledge... Forbidden knowledge

The shut-in and his little brother are always monitoring EVERY SINGLE portal on the internet, be it on the surface or deep DEEP down in the depths

But what tortures him the most.... Is his very own room This is the place he mad many memories with MC in, every corner of his room echoes with their laughter and gentle voice Like a ghost haunting him from now until forever

Ortho is left to wonder how fickle a human's soul is, their body so fragile But was this really in their fate? Or was it an unexpected outcome not even destiny could foretell?

"I miss you... I want to play more. Wake up soon, [Name][Surname]-san" A strange wavering in his voice was heard, followed by a knot in his throat.

--

Diasomia dorm is always under a storm cloud, green lightning striking the ground surrounding it

Fae have magic beyond a simple human's comprehension, even more so dark fae There MUST be someone in Valley of Thorns that will heed the Prince's call for aid

"The story of old..." Malleus muttered one night, snapping even the sleep-prone knight into attention. "Calls... for True Love's kiss, after the princess was cursed."

Lilia can feel his heart ache for the young dragon. "These are very different situations, Malleus." Yet the bat utters no words

Sebek understands what his precious Lord is getting to. "I shall ask Grim to leave the door open tomorrow night."

Silver nodded along his fellow guard, "If there is anything we can procure, do not hesitate on asking for it, Malleus-sama"

Vanrouge sighed, "It doesn't hurt to try." "Steady heart, goal clear in mind. Do not waver in your actions, my Prince, hesitation never helps when working with curses."

The disheveled royal finally straightened up, eyes red and puffy from how long he's cried and how little he sleeps. "Sebek, go to Ramshackle. We must try it out... now"

--

Grim dealt with the worst blow

It unsettled him to live with such a different MC. Even the Ghosts were unsettled and hurting from what happened to their friend.

"But I will keep sleeping on your chest, ye hear?! As long as I keep hearing your heartbeat, I will guide you back with my warmth and my blue flames! Just.... just make sure to follow my path, yes?"

"[Name]... we miss you so much... don't leave yet, not yet, not like this..."

"Follow my flames, like I always followed your light... Please?"

-- -- --

My heart was shattered right as I was all happy and giggly about Disney savvy MC stuff.... B O Y, WAS I NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT

SO NOW YOU COME SUFFER WITH ME

[saphirered]

We've all seen fics where Caleb's SO dies and gets resurrected, and we seen Caleb accidentally hurting his SO, but what about Caleb accidentially killing his SO? Maybe Reader got burned by one of his fire attacks? The revival's successful, but damn, the angst.

Angst was requested and angst you shall receive. I hope this is to your liking. 😘

Trigger warning for death and grief themes.

Caleb sits on his knees, head bowed, whispering pleas in Zemnian to the gods, the world, to you, your cold hand encased between his own, occasionally pressing a kiss to it in the hopes you’d just wake up. But you’re not going to wake up. Not in the way you would in the morning when you’ve had a particularly late night and Caleb has to drag you out of bed, you being stubborn or pretending to still be asleep so you maybe could convince him to join you for a little more. Not in the way after you got knocked out in a fight, when you sit up and rub your eyes with a grunt like usual. Nothing within his capabilities will wake you up.

So here Caleb sits, begging for it to be a nightmare, some sick and twisted tricks played on his mind but there’s no denying this is real and this is the truth. You’re dead. You’re dead and it’s his fault. You ended up as collateral damage in his reckless attempt to kill the creature. You got stuck in the crossfire of that. He hadn’t realised you were doing so bad already, you even sent him a wink right before when he asked if you were okay. Why did you? Why didn’t you just tell him you weren’t? Why did you lie? Not lie, omitted the truth.

He knew exactly why you did it but that doesn’t make it any easier. You’d known the other’s weren’t doing great and barely holding on already. You were severely outmatched and couldn’t get away from the creature. Not without it chasing after you and running you in an even more perilous situation. Anything Caleb could do would affect anyone close to the creature. With Yasha having dragged Beau out of the fray you were the only one left to hold it at bay while the clerics worked on patching them up, Fjord and Veth offering them cover. You were the final line of defence. At the end of the day you had to keep the clerics alive.

Caleb took a calculated risk. A fireball to send the creature dropping into the ruined depths of Aeor. He had tried to keep you out of the range but wouldn’t have been able to strike the creature without putting you at risk. The spell worked and the creature got hit with full force. It was your attack right before the fireball struck that had send it stumbling, then with the blast, it lost its footing and stumbled off the edge.

But you too, dropped. and when you did, the creature’s tail lashed out, grabbing onto your body, dragging you with it. The creature had hit the platform below in its fall and the impact had made it release you, saving you from the full drop. Caleb had rushed to the edge, fear, pain, anger and guilt riddling his mind thinking he had truly lost you but there you were, bloodied, bruised, broken and burned. Because of him. All because of him. How could he have been so stupid and reckless. When he brought your body back to the others, he wasn’t quick enough. You’d already faded into the cold embrace of the Raven Queen and the clerics had expended their last resources.

So that leaves Caleb here, sitting at your side a day after you died, body preserved by the graces of Caduceus and the Wildmother. The clerics set up their ritual, working around him and you as the others help where they can. Beau and Veth had tried to console him, tell him it wasn’t his fault and if he hadn’t they might all have been dead right now. He appreciates his friends trying but it’s of no use. He already made up his mind and it’s not going to change anything. You died because of him. He murdered you and how is that any different than his actions in the past? How does that make him any different than the lives he’s taken in the clutches of his former mentor? Is there truly no redemption for him? You’d slap him for even thinking that way.

“Mr. Caleb? Why don’t you try talking to them? Persuasion has worked in the past to coax someone back.” Caduceus places a hand on the wizard’s shoulder but it barely registers. Yet the firbolg knows they did not fall upon deaf ears when the whispers stop for just a moment.

“I-. I do not think they’d want to hear from their murderer.” Speaking the words make them so much more painful. By the looks of it, Beau is ready to unleash in a degrading rant about how wrong Caleb is, breaking him apart only build him back up but she’s held at bay by Yasha. This is not the time and place. Caduceus doesn’t claim to know what Caleb’s going through, nor may he be the brightest mind here but he understands and can empathise.

“I know no matter what I say it won’t change your feelings so instead I will offer you this. You owe it to them to try. Not for what happened here but for the countless times they’ve been there for you, have had your back, and for the unconditional love they’ve given you. You owe them to try.” The wizard looks up over his shoulder to the firbolg, pain in his eyes, and the trails of silent tears that have long since run out. Caduceus is right. He owes it to you to save you and right now it is within his power to try. If he doesn’t, if he fails he’ll have condemned you to this fate. If he succeeds with this part, he’ll be able to look into your eyes again. You may never forgive him but he hopes to see you smile, hear your voice even if just once more.

Caleb nods looking back at you, bringing your limp fingers up to his lips and pressing them against your knuckles. He takes in a deep breath and tries to find the right words as Caduceus steps back. What are the right words? He cannot afford to fuck this up. He cannot afford to fail. He must succeed. He must.

“I know I might be the last person you want to hear right now. I want you to know I’m sorry-“ Caleb’s voice cracks as he feels the eyes of the others on him. He brushes some of your hair away from your forehead, running his thumb across your cheek.

“I don’t-uh. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I can do this. You’re always here for me during difficult times. You’d put your hand on my cheek and tell me ‘If anyone can do it it’s you, Caleb Widogast. You could move mountains if you set your will to it. Now stop being stubborn before I slap some sense in you.’ but now you’re not here to tell me that. You’ve shown me there’s a world beyond the walls I put up, that there is a light at the end of that tunnel, but now I cannot help but feel the world has grown dull, the walls are caving in, and that light is fading.”

“I have no right, no right to ask you this, but I need you to save my world one more time. So please, I beg of you. Do not leave me to brave this world without you.” The weight of his heart heavy on his conscious. Caleb feels a pressure causing a ringing in his ears. He’s so focussed on you, he cannot take his eyes off you. Not even when the others do their part in the ritual. He realises this pressure is coming from the effects of the spell to bring you back. He holds his breath, not daring to take in oxygen if only to savour the moment, hoping it will not pass, that for just a little longer he can hold on to the hope you’re coming back instead of having that hope crushed by a potential failure.

The pressure fades but nothing happens. Nothing changes. It’s silent as everyone waits for something, anything to happen. That moment alone feels like an eternity of suspense. Caleb finds himself whispering prayers and pleas in Zemnian again, your hand clasped between his own as he squeezes his eyes shut tightly to live through the memories of you, preserve them for the rest of his life just in case because he refuses to forget even a single one of them. He’s so consumed in his own mind he doesn’t notice warmth returning to your fingers. He doesn’t notice your chest beginning to rise and fall. Caleb’s pleas continue.

“Would you mind translating that? I think my brain got a bit scrambled.” Caleb freezes and his eyes open. Your eyes are closed but your brow is furrowed. Furrowed in discomfort. Not sleeping and not void of your usual expressions. Colour has returned to your limbs and face and no longer dulled. Caleb falls silent in disbelief, frozen in place and mind blank.

“Caleb?” You speak his name, peaking through one eye to see the wizard in his disheveled state. You sit up, grunting in pain. Apparently being brought back from the dead isn’t kind on your physical form, not even mentioning the exhaustion weighing on your mind. You could sleep for a couple of hours… or days… or weeks… You could do with a break really. All of you could. You nudge Caleb’s head up by his chin allowing your fingers to slide onto his cheek.

“Blink twice if you need me to get Beauregard to slap you back into reality.” You muster a smile as you brush your thumb over his cheekbone. Caleb doesn’t understand how you’re not recoiling in disgust or lashing back in anger. He doesn’t understand how you can look at him with love and kindness.

“I’m so sorry. Please-“ Caleb goes off in a spur of apologies, begging for your forgiveness.

“Caleb, I love you but you really need to stop. This is a problem for another day.”

“You died. I killed you. How can you even look at me like you do?”

“So what? I died. I’m here now. I got better. Now preferably I’d like to not die again, some things are beyond our control. And if you need some kind of reassurance; Veth killed Cad that one time and he doesn’t hate her.” Veth yells a ‘hey’ in defence while you earn a chuckle from the firbolg. You know Caleb isn’t just going to take your word for it and you’re also not going to make anyone buy you’re totally okay with just dying and being brought back to life because you’re not but you also know that you can’t blame Caleb for being a factor in what happened when you yourself were aware of the risks of the situation you were in. You made your own bet and it didn’t pay off but all your friends are still alive and well, Caleb’s still alive and well and that alone makes it worth the risk you took.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” Caleb breathes as he pulls you into his arms with a gentleness as if you’re made of porcelain, or will fade out of existence if he holds on too tightly.

“I think I have a pretty good estimate but we can compare notes later if you’d prefer.” You pull back enough to look at Caleb’s face, brush aside some of the red strands and softly place your lips on his. It’s not a heated kiss but one filled with emotion and a desperation no less. Neither of you thought you’d get to be in each other’s arms again but here you are despite everything. Maybe your work here isn’t done yet. You still got some asses to kick.

[targaryenimagines]

Tempering the Storm

Daenerys Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 2,164

Summary:

Notes: For @alphawolfworld— I hope you enjoy it. I decided to make my own little spin on it, which I hope you enjoy.

The harsh winds of the North whip at your face as you step from the rowdy Great Hall. Your eyes watering slightly because of it. Pulling your cloak tighter to your body you begin to make your trek back towards your room. Thick plumes of your breath being the only thing that accompanied you on your journey. 

You could still hear the faint sound of laughter and drunken shouts. Something that brings a small smile to your lips. Even if you couldn’t stand to be around the drunkards that inhabited the Great Hall, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth that they were able to be so happy. That they were able to find something to be so carefree about. You just hoped that they didn’t end up regretting it in the morning. 

With a smile, you hunker down against another strong surge of wind as you cross the courtyard. Your body canting to the side as you tried to right yourself. Alas, your body wasn’t used to the conditions that you had put it in. Something that you quickly discovered as your foot hit a patch of ice underneath the snow and your entire world flipped upside-down. The breath leaving your lungs in a whoosh of air as your back made contact with the cold stone of the ground. Thankfully it was slightly cushioned by the snow that made up the entirety of the North. 

Groaning, you flop your head down-- not having the energy to rise from the ground. Trying with all your might to ignore the cool liquid seeping into your clothes. Your eyes slip shut on their own accord as you imagine that you were simply resting against the warm sands of Meereen. The sound of crashing waves taking the place of howling wind. The harsh bite of the weather giving way to the gentle touch of the sun. When your eyes open once more you could feel the way your mood drops when you’re not met with the crystalline blue sky of Essos. A sight that you never knew you would miss so much. What I would do for this snow to become sand.

The soft sound of laughter pulls you out of your thoughts. Craning your neck, you had to squint through the thickening barrage of snow to see the figure approaching you. Even though as it drew closer and closer you could make out the familiar silhouette of Sansa Stark. A woman that you had grown rather fond of during your time in the North. You watch as she stops next to you with a gentle smile curling her lips. The blue of her eyes standing out against the stark fairness of her skin. Familiar waves of auburn being kept in a simple braid. Her soft voice filled with both amusement and concern. 

“Are you doing alright? I can’t imagine that you’re comfortable laying on the ground like that.”

You allow your own smile to appear as you looked up towards her. “I am doing quite alright down here. Why don’t you join me?” 

Her nose wrinkles at the offer. Her blue gaze tracing the lines of your clearly soaked cloak with a disgruntled air. “I would much rather stay where I am.” She turns her head towards the Great Hall-- a slight frown furrowing her brow. As if she was piecing together a puzzle that didn’t make much sense to her. After a moment her gaze meets yours once more. “Where is Lady Daenerys? Should she not be out here with you also?” 

A surprised look blossoms on your face at the question. Your own frown appearing as you mull over the words. The familiar warmth spreading through your chest as you thought about your dragon-- your Daenerys. But it quickly turns sour when memories of recent events come to the surface within your mind. Seemingly sensing your mood change, Sansa glances at the snow-covered ground with a pointed glare before she gingerly sits. Her back ramrod straight as she tried to ignore the feeling of it melting underneath her. 

Offering Sansa a weak smile, you begin to speak. “Dany has a lot on her plate right now. With the impending battle with the Night King and Cersei being a constant threat in the background.” You pause as a small sigh escapes your mouth. “It’s enough to make anyone feel pressured.”

“Has she been neglecting you?” Sansa seemed enraged by the thought. 

“No.” You shake your head at the mere thought of Daenerys doing so. “I just don’t see her as much I used to, but I know she tries her best to make time for me.”

Blue eyes darken at the thought. An expression flashing across her face that you couldn’t quite decipher. “I see.”

A silence settles over the two of you-- only the howling of the wind and far-off laughter permeating it. Opening your mouth, you try to figure out what you could possibly say to Sansa to soothe the situation. Even though you weren’t exactly sure what situation you were in. However, before you could, Sansa turns to you with a slight smile. Her expression much clearer than it had been a moment prior. 

“Why don’t we start heading towards your chamber? I think a change of clothing and wine between friends is more appealing than sitting out here. Don’t you agree?” 

Not knowing what to truly say, you simply nod. 

And with more energy than you were expecting, Sansa springs to her feet and holds out her hands towards you. Her normally closed off eyes sparkling with affection. 

“Then let’s go.” 

---------

“Did Jon truly do such a thing?” You ask in an incredulous tone. Not believing that the silent brooding man could ever do something like that. 

Sansa lets out an airy laugh. “I promise you it’s all true. Jon and Robb got into such mischief together.” A sad look flashes across her eyes before she can hide it. “I miss those days.”

Setting down your goblet of wine, you gently take Sansa’s hand in your own gentle grip. A look of complete understanding washing over your face. “I can understand that, but do you know who can also understand that. Better than anyone I have ever met?” 

She shakes her head in response, but there was the same look in her eyes from before. 

“Daenerys.” You frown at the small scoff that Sansa lets out in response. “I’m serious Sansa. Daenerys knows better than anyone how it feels to long for days long passed. To wish for a different future than the course you have been put on.” 

Sansa lowers her head-- her voice dropping to a low whisper. “You seem to old the Dragon Queen in high-esteem.” 

“I love her, Sansa,” you whisper back. “She has saved me more times than I can count. Has been there for me when I didn’t even know I needed someone. She has never given up on me. Has never faltered in her devotion for me. And I will never do so either.” 

An almost pained look appears on Sansa’s face at the clear conviction within your tone. It was a look that you suddenly understood. For it was a look you had seen many times before. A look that many potential-suitors held when they finally understood your complete devotion to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. 

Sighing softly, you offer Sansa an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”

She offers a weak smile in return. “Not as sorry as I am.”

Tightening your hold on her hand, you pull Sansa into a warm hug. Wrapping your arms securely around her as she buries her face into the crook of your neck. A silent understanding passing between the two of you in that moment. That everything was going to be okay in the end. 

The sound of your chamber door causes you both to jump away from one another. Your eyes widening at the slim figure standing at the threshold of the room. A furious violet gaze meeting your shocked one. 

Standing you take a slight step forward. “Daenerys?” 

You pause when her gaze seemingly freezes you in place. Her eyes turning to the woman behind you. A harsh look taking over her features at the sight. 

“What in the Seven Hells is she doing here?” 

With widening eyes, you begin to speak-- desperately wanting to salvage the situation. “Sansa and I met earlier in the courtyard, and after a brief discussion we decided to convene in my chambers for some wine.” You gesture behind you towards the goblets. “And after another brief discussion I decided it best that I should hug her farewell.”

Daenerys’s eyes narrow. “Then why is she still here if you were simply hugging her farewell?” 

You flounder for an answer. Your brain seemingly short-circuiting as you tried to speak. Luckily, a soft voice speaks up behind you.

“I was just leaving.” You wince internally at the sharp quality to Sansa’s tone, but you smile gratefully towards her as she passes you. Thankful that she was able to speak when you couldn’t.

Pausing for a brief moment beside you, Sansa murmurs. “I shall see you tomorrow.” She shoots Daenerys a thinly-veiled glare. “I hope you sleep well.” 

With that she exits the room. The banging of the door being the only sound in the room for some time. Taking a chance, you glance towards Daenerys’s still figure. Only to find that she was still staring at you with an expression you couldn’t decipher. 

You take a small step towards her. Your expression open and honest. “Dany, I promise what you saw isn’t what you think it was. I was simply offering her a hug as a friend. Nothing more.”

Her mouth twists down in a frown. “I am well aware of your intentions, my love.” She turns from you and moves towards the window. Her expression pensive as she takes in the sights just beyond the glass. “It’s hers that I am vexed with.” 

You frown. “What do you mean, Dany?” 

She turns to you with a slight smile curling her lips. The first she had offered you since entering the room. “Oh you must realize how she stares at you, my love. Must realize how she speaks towards you without a care of who overhears.” She turns her gaze back towards the outside world. “Her gaze is filled with that of longing. A deep-rooted longing for something that she can never have. The type of longing that keeps one awake at night. Her words simply highlighting the fact. For they show no inkling of self-perservation as she tries to take something that is already someone elses.” Sighing, Daenerys moves towards the bed where she gingerly sits down. “So, no, it’s not you I am worried about, my darling.” 

Clearly seeing the anguish within Daenerys’s violet gaze, you move to sit beside her. Taking her still gloved hands in your own. Your eyes pleading with her to listen to you. 

“Dany,” you mumur with a soft look on your face. Your hand coming up to caress her cheek. “There is no other person that I could ever see myself with. No other person that I could ever see myself loving as much as I love you.” You dip your head as your next admission comes out. “I am aware of Sansa’s feelings towards me. Even though I had no knowledge of it when I entered this room with her. She has since become aware of my complete devotion towards you. Something that will never change.” 

Daenerys’s eyes flash with various emotions. Though you could tell clear as day that her insecurities were eating away at her. 

“Truly?” She asks with a small tilt of her head. “Even when my plans have to take me away from you for long periods of time? When I can’t spend time with you like I used to?” 

You smile. “Even then. For I know that you will be just as miserable as I am. That we will both be wishing for the day that we can be in each others arms once more.” You bring your lips to hers in a small, chastised kiss. “I am yours, Daenerys. For now and forever.”

Daenerys smiles back at you. Her violet eyes sparkling with warmth and affection. “And I am yours, my love.” She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls your body flush against hers. Her mouth ghosting across your cheek towards your ear. Her warm breath fluttering against the shell of your ear. “I just hope you realize that the next time Sansa Stark tries anything I won’t be so forgiving.”

Chuckling, you turn your head and press your lips against hers. Relishing the feeling of having her in your arms. Any other thought leaving your mind as your hold her tightly to you. 

For there would never be anyone else you would ever need.

Not as long as you had her.

[doppel-drop-distance]

Doppel Spotlight: Giovanna

Surprise~!

I know, I know, about time, right? The hypothetical Soul Gem has broken, and the Doppel Spotlights are back from the dead! Er…temporarily, anyway. I can’t say for certain how many more of these I’m up to doing just yet. It’s a bit too early for me to make any big estimates or guarantees. But! This Doppel analysis has sat here unfinished for quite some time now! And you all have shown such lovely support that I couldn’t help but be excited looking at all this old material again. So as a gift to you all, let’s finally analyze the Doppel of our main protagonist, Iroha Tamaki!

This analysis will contain spoilers for all of Magia Record’s first arc! This does include anime-specific content, as I will be discussing certain scenes from Episodes 5 and 7! You have been warned!

Let’s dive in, shall we?

GIOVANNA

Doppel of Silence

Feature: Cuckoo

“The master of this emotion is aware of how pitiful her Doppel is and refuses to look at it. This Doppel wordlessly wraps around and strangles anything it doesn't want to hear as it continues its search for something to fill the hole in its heart. While it should be calling for someone, it is cowardly and afraid of acknowledging the reality it has concealed, and so it remains, silently covering its ears.”

It's been a while, so how about we start things off with a little refresher?

Both Giovanna and Campanella’s names are direct references to Night on the Galactic Railroad, a Japanese novel written by Kenji Miyazawa. In the story, a shy boy named Giovanni travels on a star-bound train with his close friend, Campanella. To keep things brief, I’ll leave most of the general plot details out. However, if you’d like a lengthier summary, I suggest reading the summary I provided in the previous Doppel Spotlight, which is linked here.

I should also mention I actually located an English-translated copy of Night on the Galactic Railroad! As a result, I can quote the story directly, although I cannot guarantee the accuracy of the translations or my own interpretations. Please keep that in mind as you read!

The opening scene of the novel establishes early on that Giovanni is a reserved, self-conscious boy. In class, he is certain he knows the answer to the teacher’s question. However, when called on, he doubts himself and stays silent, bringing upon the jeers of his classmates. Campanella, who also raised his hand for the question, willingly chooses not to answer, despite also knowing, in order to show some sympathy for the flustered Giovanni.

This opening scene is likely what is referenced in Giovanna’s nature as the Doppel of silence. Giovanni stays silent out of self-doubt, and as a result believes himself to be pathetic. Iroha also silences herself in her own way, being very passive, self-conscious, and reserved at the beginning of her story. And, true to that comparison, her Doppel’s reflections of insecurity make her feel pitiful, to the point where she refuses to look at it.

Giovanni’s character can also be representative of Iroha’s inner loneliness. With his mother sickly and his father out of the house, Giovanni is too occupied with taking jobs and caring for his family to have time to talk. More often, he is bullied by his peers. The only exception is with Campanella, who doesn’t bully him, and even sympathizes with him. As Giovanni and Campanella travel on the Galactic Railroad, Giovanni’s loneliness is at its clearest. Campanella begins talking to Kaoru, another passenger on the train, and Giovanni becomes morose with jealousy. See this quote here:

“Is there really nobody who will stick with me to the edges of the universe and beyond? Campanella just sits there jabbering away with that little girl, and it hurts me more than anybody knows.”

Iroha is also incredibly lonely, deep down. She lives on her own, with parents away on business trips. The anime implies she doesn’t have a lot of friends either, with her classmates talking behind her back instead. Worst of all, her sister, who she values more than anyone else, is completely absent, Iroha being the only one that remembers that she exists. Such relationships sound awfully lonely, don’t they? It’s only through her bond with Yachiyo and the rest of Mikazuki Villa that Iroha grows into her own, letting her optimism, warmth, and confidence shine through.

Giovanna’s connections to Giovanni tie her quite close to Campanella, Yachiyo’s Doppel. And, well, Yachiyo is certainly not the kind and sympathetic Campanella at first meet. Her first encounter with Iroha is cold, brutally honest, and fully intent on keeping Iroha out at any cost. We learn later on that this attitude is a wall Yachiyo puts up to protect people – that she believes the people that get close to her die, and that she still struggles with the guilt of her past. Yet, it is Iroha who shows sympathy to Yachiyo, breaking down that wall between them. For example, let’s take a look at Chapter Six. After a trip to the Memory Museum Uwasa, Yachiyo has been reminded of the death in her life and is reflexively closing herself off again to keep Iroha safe. Iroha once shriveled up in response to Yachiyo’s intimidating rejection, but now, as her friend, she isn’t having it. She says this:

“You saying there’s nothing you can do to help Tsuruno and the others… It makes me feel sad…Lonely…We fought together all this time…But more than that, I’m angry. I’m angry with you, Yachiyo...”

“I’m your friend, Yachiyo. And as your friend, I’m going to take out that Uwasa, all on my own! I’m going to be the one to protect you. I’ll smash this made-up idea you have of me sacrificing myself for you!”

Just as Giovanni interprets his journey with Campanella as a sign to stay diligent in life, Iroha’s friendship with Yachiyo allows her to steady her own resolve and fight adamantly. Their namesake connection is a sign of their bond, and their newfound devotion to fight together and protect each other.

To wrap up this Galactic Railroad talk, have you noticed that in many of the anime’s early episodes, Iroha is riding on a train? In fact, it is on a train that Iroha is whisked away to Zenobia’s Barrier in Kamihama, where she meets Yachiyo for the first time. Perhaps a stretch, but a fun little detail regardless.

Anyway, there’s far more to Giovanna than story connections! Giovanna’s silent nature reflects a lot of Iroha’s character struggles: mainly, her feelings of denial, and her inclination towards self-sacrifice.

“This Doppel wordlessly wraps around and strangles anything it doesn't want to hear as it continues its search for something to fill the hole in its heart. While it should be calling for someone, it is cowardly and afraid of acknowledging the reality it has concealed, and so it remains, silently covering its ears.”

When you think of someone “strangling anything it doesn’t want to hear”, concealing their own reality and being afraid of acknowledging it...well, that sounds a lot like someone who doesn’t want to accept the truth.

Iroha shows quite a bit of denial in her search for Ui. The odds are stacked against her for a lot of Arc 1. She finds little to no clues wherever she searches, and the Ui she encounters from the Uwasa of the Commoner’s Horse is only a fake. Iroha is certain that Touka and Nemu, Ui’s closest friends, will remember Ui. But, they do not, and only ridicule Iroha for her seemingly impossible set of memories. Throughout Chapter Ten she is belittled for sticking to her goals. She’s ensured on all fronts that Touka and Nemu aren’t believing her, and that there’s nothing she can do to change their minds. But, no matter how many times Iroha is told by the world that she’s believing in a lie, she never lets her belief go.

“I’m still going. No matter what you say. I’m bringing Ui back with me…She’s the whole reason I came back to Kamihama.”

This stubborn determination, when twisted by the corrupt perception of a Witch, is far more like paranoid desire: an aching, fearful need to find whatever is missing in her heart and get rid of whatever threatens it.

Following this, let’s talk about Giovanna’s feature: a cuckoo. Cuckoos are solitary birds, shy and secretive, and best known for their calls. Yet, Giovanna’s beak is tied up with cloth. She cannot call for anyone. Her journey to find Ui is painted as one of futility: Giovanna searches and searches for the one she’s longed for, but in the end, is too afraid to call out to her.

Here’s a fun detail, by the way:

In Episode 5, when Iroha summons her Doppel for the first time, Giovanna actually does not have bandages around her beak (which is why she’s able to let out that high-pitched shriek):

In future appearances, however, Giovanna does have the bandages around her beak.

Come to think of it, Giovanna looks rather... different in her first appearance, doesn’t she? Not only is her beak not bandaged, but her colors are a lot redder and more decayed, her cloak is worn and full of holes, and the crown around her head is gone. This may just be a stylistic choice for Iroha’s first Doppel, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s a sign for something else. Maybe that Giovanna is angry with the Commoner’s Horse Uwasa for projecting an illusion of Ui? Giovanna does fight a lot more aggressively here than in any other appearance, after all - she wraps the Uwasa up and drills into it with her beak. Meanwhile, in her second appearance, she only attacks an Uwasa with her bandages.

Giovanna’s unwillingness to call for others actually brings up an interesting facet of Iroha’s character: her sacrificial devotion. The reason that Iroha unleashes her Doppel in Episode 5 is because she neglects her own needs in favor of others. She believes that she must be strong on her own to find Ui, a thought reflected by her own Doppel’s words in Episode 7:

“Stronger…If you don’t become strong, you won’t be able to find anything! Cover your ears! Shut those eyes! Silence determines fate!”

When Iroha fails to find Ui within the Uwasa of the Commoner’s Horse, she is filled with despair. Ui was right before her eyes, proving the beliefs that even she may have begun to doubt. Yet, in that same instant she recognizes the Ui she sees is nothing but an illusion the Uwasa projected for her. So close, and yet so far. When Iroha begins to succumb to her despair, she even mentions that it might’ve been from the shock of not seeing Ui.

With all of these feelings, all of this disappointment and despair, who does Iroha use her only Grief Seed on? Yachiyo, of course. At this point in the story, Iroha wants to be friends with Yachiyo, but they are not seen as equals. She is not comfortable enough to open up to Yachiyo about her feelings, and neither is Yachiyo with her own. Yet, Iroha still sacrifices herself to keep Yachiyo from falling to despair. And by staying silent about her own woes, Iroha falls to her despair for the first time, summoning her Doppel.

Let’s keep this topic in mind and focus on something I haven’t addressed before: the Magia Archive artbook! There are some production notes in here that provide insights on the meaning and symbolism behind a Doppel. Unfortunately, I don’t know Japanese, but I did find a translation of Giovanna’s section, courtesy of @greenyvertekins. Here is a small piece from it that I would like to highlight:

“The motif is a bird flute and a saint with a rabbit-like appearance.”

The theme of a “saint” struck me as a little odd, at first. I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to get that idea from her design. But, it did lead me to a unique little find, which is probably a stretch, but maybe kind of cool anyway?

(credit to Silvermoon424 on Reddit for the scan!)

It’s a bit harder to see in the official art, but that crown circling Giovanna’s head – to me, it sort of looks like a crown of thorns. A crown of thorns is a very striking sign of self-sacrifice.

And sure, this is the stretchiest stretch that ever stretched, but those drop-like patterns on Giovanna’s body are red, and kind of look like drops of blood, right? Beads of blood that have also been associated with the crown of thorns, r-right? Right…?

Phew…I’ve been going on for a while, haven’t I? Is this…is this longer than the first one? I don’t even know anymore…Let’s silently wrap this up with one more, fun little stretch on my part.

Both cuckoos and bunnies, which are elements of Giovanna’s design, are symbolically representative of spring. Spring is cherry blossom season in Japan, and the Eternal Sakura Uwasa lives near a cherry blossom tree only said to bloom when Touka, Nemu, Ui and Iroha are united again. At the end of the event Cherry Blossom Dreams, the Eternal Sakura even remarks that “spring can finally begin” because they are all together. So, if you squint really hard, maaaaybe the springtime connections here are representative of Iroha, Touka, Nemu, and Ui’s union under the cherry blossom tree. But probably not. I’m just having some fun.

And, that’s it! That’s all I’ve got for Giovanna! Wow! That sure was something!

I hope you all enjoyed my silly little analysis! I know some of these connections are a bit loose, but I like drawing whatever parallels I can with what understanding I have, haha. It was great to write one of these again and share it with you all!

If you have any of your own thoughts, additions, or corrections, do send them along! I would love to hear other interpretations!

[genshin-impacted]

campfire stories // Childe x Reader (sfw)

Word Count: 2.3k 

Notes: gender neutral reader, reader pov, (implied mutual pining), takes place in 1.2, hints to Childe’s Story Quest, but no direct spoilers, a LOT of bantering

an indulgent fic combo w/ character analysis of Childe and the reader’s inner turmoil in regards to their (developing) feelings for him

Summary: You walk on this tightrope, balancing the tension that exists on being on opposite sides and the comfort that comes with easy conversation and undemanding company. So you let yourself worry about Childe. How could you not when you look at Childe and see someone with an easy attitude, carefree laughter despite his guarded eyes? 

For when you talk to him, you are reminded of home-- for better or for worse.

Here is the accompaniment/sequel fic: Letters to Home!

As a wanted person, there were few places you could safely invite yourself into. It is strange being received in such a manner when you were so welcomed back in Mondstadt, but you understand why, as a foreigner, you would pose the most threat to Liyue considering the recent death of the geo archon. 

(The fact you keep getting dragged into political turmoil is concerning, to say the least, though you have a feeling your path is going to continue to be full of trouble. 

You try not thinking of brown tousled hair and blue eyes and fail. Childe is, after all, the epitome of trouble.)

Luckily, you are used to camping out in the wilderness. Despite Paimon’s whines, she is also at ease surrounded by nature, with easy access to food and fresh air. Though both of you still wish you were able to sleep in an actual bed as you did at Wangshuu Inn, considering how close to the harbor you actually were.

When the moon fully rises above the two of you, Paimon is fast asleep within the tent while you tend to the flickering embers of the campfire, basking in the silence that solitude brings you. Though your moments to be alone are soon interrupted when you hear the crunching of grass underneath the footsteps of another, and you turn, alert, to see who approaches.

"Oh, what a surprise,” Childe says, coming down from the darkness of the hills. You can hear as much as you can see the amusement on his visage that you have become accustomed to seeing often. “Fancy meeting you here.”

"It really isn’t,” you reply back dryly, looking at the measly tent, the small campfire, and two logs that you placed in front of them as temporary seats. You try to not be embarrassed as Childe looks around with too much care. “You got something to say about my lovely campsite?” You ask, knowing full well you played into his hands when he laughs and waves a flippant hand. You roll your eyes, a small smile lifting your lips as you watch him patter around your set-up, only for you to notice a gash on his wrist-- maroon in color. And once you see that, you begin to notice other wounds scattered along his body like red paint splashes on a grey canvas.

He’s hurt, you think, and worry bubbles in your chest before you can tell yourself it’s a bad idea. 

You shouldn’t be concerned, knowing who he is and who he works for. The last time you met up with a Fatui Harbinger (other than Childe, that is), she almost killed you and Paimon after stealing something that didn’t belong to her. You think you’re allowed to associate the Fatui with cold smiles and brutal actions. 

But Childe is different. You find yourself relaxing in his presence before you remember who you’re talking to, but you wish you didn’t have to put your guard up for unsavory ulterior motives in the first place. It’s not as if you don’t see how Childe’s amiable smile can so easily turn icy or that his proclivity for violence is something dangerous in and of itself, but you wish these things were something you didn’t have to worry about.

There is a constant strain in your friendship, if you can call it that-- for no matter how many times you banter easily in a way that has you almost forgetting you’re on opposite sides, you remember Venti, and the suspicion wedges itself in between the two of you. You walk on this tightrope, balancing the tension that exists on being on opposite sides and the comfort that comes with easy conversation and undemanding company. 

So you let yourself worry about Childe. How could you not when you look at Childe and see someone with an easy attitude, carefree laughter despite his guarded eyes? 

(You never thought you would ever be involved with someone in such a complicated and convoluted way, but you can't help but crave the way you and Childe clash so casually, reminiscent of your friends back in your world.

You talk to him and are reminded of home, for better or for worse.

And if you think his smile is charming or that his eyes remind you of the ocean, you try not to.)

“Hey,” you start, gesturing toward him nonchalantly, “why are you so beat up?” 

Childe chuckles, rubbing the back of his head, and you can see dried blood sticking to the tips of his hair. "Stumbled into a few ruin guards," he tells you, and you immediately translate that to ‘I picked a fight with them.’ As if knowing your train of thought, he quickly changes the subject. “You know, it shouldn’t be that bad trying to find an inn to take you in.” He grins, despite the look you threw at him. “You could just… provide the owners with extra incentive to let you under their roof.”

“Does it look like I’m made of money to you?” You retort, “Also, I can’t believe you’re trying to brush off the fact that you willingly walked into the ruins to fight them.”

Despite your snappy tone, Childe only laughs, and you can't help but be pleased that the conversation between the two of you is quick and smooth-- natural. “You know me so well already,” he says. “Have you been paying a little extra attention to me lately?” 

“Can't help it," you reply sarcastically, "you're a walking disaster, can't keep my eyes off of you." You smile when he laughs. “Anyway, come over here,” you say, rummaging through your backpack to find the medical tape. “You look like you’re one flesh wound away from dying.” 

You savor the moment of silence as Childe blinks at you in confusion. 

“...ah, are you going to dress my wounds? Worried for me, are you? How kind of you.” You can hear the teasing tone in his voice, but it is gentler in a way you did not anticipate. He looks at you with a softened gaze, and you can feel your face warm for reasons other than the campfire, so you roughly pat the log next to you, ignoring his grin. 

“No, this is actually my diabolical plan to end you once and for all,” you tell him, waiting as he takes off his top to bear his back to you. 

He glances back and you must have been too slow to train your expression to a more neutral one because he winks at you. “Be gentle, alright?”

"I'm going to be the opposite just because you said that," you say, snickering as you sweep off the caked blood where the scratches have healed over. You think briefly that joking aside, it was strange that Childe would trust you to not stab him in the back, but it passes as soon as it comes when you finally see how many scars he actually has littered all over his body. 

“Admiring my battle scars? Shall I let you take a look at every one of them?” You hear him say, and you bluster in silence as he laughs. “No need for ointment,” Childe says, when he hears you twist open an herbal soother. “I’ll be fine.” 

Without warning, you slather a healthy amount of antibiotic cream onto his wounds. He yelps at the coldness of the balm, and you can’t help the laugh that bursts from your lips when he turns to you with a pout. 

It's ridiculous to think that this man whose lower lip was protruding because of your mischievous administration was the 11th Harbinger, but you're starting to think part of the appeal is because this side of him is so unexpected to see. 

“I never said that I'd be gentle,” you reply teasingly with a fondness that so easily comes through. (You think Diluc would disapprove of how trusting you seem to be, and how Amber would have a heart attack knowing how much you hang around Childe-- but neither of them are here with you, and you are not in Mondstadt.) You find yourself sweeping your fingers over his wounds more lightly, and if he notices that your hands are more gentle, only a momentary glance behind him is telling. 

He hums. “Hm, I hope you don’t treat every patient you meet like this,” he says with a lilt of playfulness. 

“Of course not.” The campfire flickers in the corner of your eyes, comfortably keeping you warm as you press your hand onto his shoulder to wrap it with gauze. “You’re a special case,” you remark dryly. “Aren’t you glad?”

“You really know how to make a guy feel warm inside,” Childe tells you, and you can hear rather than see the smile on his face. 

For once, the two of you sit in silence. It’s a rare occasion, and you start to think that perhaps the two of you fill in the quiet with witty retorts in order to avoid the looming tension between the two of you. But with the soft flicker of fire and the gentle rise and fall of Childe’s shoulders with his breathing, you find yourself more comfortable in his presence than you’ve ever been. 

You wish you could stay like this forever, and so you set out to make it so.

You tell him what you have wanted to be if you had not come to Teyvat and become an adventurer. You avoid the more personal feelings that come with it, the yearning to go back home, how lost you felt when you were alone, and tell him briefly about who you are beyond what he knows of you as Mondstadt’s Honorary Knight. 

Childe listens to you without interruption, but you know his attention is on you from the way his shoulder shakes in laughter when you tell him about the antics your friends got into or the way he shifts when you talk about your dad.

“Do you miss your family?” He asks you suddenly when you take a brief pause to tie the tape around his shoulder.

“Yes,” you reply honestly. “I try not to, but I get homesick a lot.” You pause, your hand feeling the warmth that emanates from his skin. “You?" You try, "Do you get homesick?”

“If I give myself a moment to think about my family, I do,” he tells you, just as honestly. “I haven’t been back to Snezhnaya in, hm, quite some time, I think.” 

You trace your finger along the middle of his back where a long, white gash of scar tissue lay, and Childe does not even flinch. “Do your family know you’re Fatui?” You ask quietly, and you see your hand leave his back when he leans forward, away from your touch, to pull his shirt over his head.

Before you can open your mouth to apologize, he glances back at you and gives you a smile that makes your heart clench. “Not the young ones.”

“Oh.”

Childe laughs, and you feel your face warm again at the lack of tact in your response. “I’m kind of a ‘bad guy,’ as you already know. I’d rather have my youngest sibling still think of the world of me for as long as I can, you know?” He slips his hands through his grey jacket, continuing almost superfluously, “Defend their childhood dreams and what not.”

Instead of a response, you hum, glancing down at the red scarf that still lay pooled on the grass. You reach out for it the same time he does, and you look up to see eyes dark and blue as the ocean deep.

“Do you think I should quit?” He asks you abruptly, or so it seems to you, as you tug the scarf instinctively. You look into his eyes, wondering why they reminded you of the abyss.

The campfire ambers flicker at the corner of your eyes.

You falter when you think you should have not; isn’t the answer clear to you? Haven’t you thought Childe was better off without the Fatui? But something about the way Childe told you about his family, about his given role as defender of childhood dreams makes you think that there is more than what he has shown you. 

The fire seems unbearably hot now, but you think it might have something to do with the fact your body is close enough to Childe’s to feel how warm he is (and you wonder why you even took note of that). 

“Does it really matter what I think?” You ask instead, lifting a hand to pinch at his cheek, feeling yourself smile when he lets you do it with only a tiny wince. “Whether you quit or not-- isn’t that up to whether you think what you’re doing is still worth it?” You let go of his cheek and scarf, grinning up at him as he rubs his cheek and stares at you thoughtfully.

“Ah, well…” Childe responds after a moment of silence where you could only hear the crackling of the wood. He pulls his scarf across his shoulder and smiles at you. “Who knows?”

You roll your eyes. “What do you mean ‘who knows’? Didn’t you ask me because you care about what I think of you?” You gasp dramatically. “Childe… am I… a special case?” 

Much to your surprise, you watch as Childe’s expression morphs into something akin to embarrassment. “Ah, well, you know,” he stammers, “you’re certainly the only Honorary Knight that I know of.”

“If you really think I’m dumb enough to believe that--”

“I never said that!”

The two of you banter until the stars are high and the moon moves across the sky. You continue to share stories with him, eagerly stretching out the time where the two of you are not Fatui and Honorary Knight. Childe carefully listens to you, learning more of where you came from and the circumstances that brought you here. In return, he shares stories about his family, about his viewpoint on battles and of snow. (“You and your obsession with blood,” you retort, and he only laughs, inching closer, but never touching you, underneath the blanket you swept over the two of you for warmth when the fire dies out.) 

If your relationship with him changes that night, you cannot tell. But sometimes you think his glances linger on you longer when the two of you pass by, and you wonder if he wants to share more campfire stories, knowing how much it brings you closer to each other-- no matter how much the two of you pretend that it isn’t the case. 

[kodzumie-archived]

please can u spare a couple of mikan hcs w an s/o who adores her?? please my crops are dying,,, tysm

❝ADORATION❞

Synopsis; Mikan with an s/o that adores her.

Featuring; Mikan Tsumiki x GN! Reader

Warning(s); None! Just fluff with best girl, Mikan.

Kodzumie’s Note; Your crops shall live for another day! I always, always, always will spare writing for Mikan. Ahh, thank you so much for requesting for her! I hope you’ve had a great day today. Take care, anon! <3

➤ MIKAN TSUMIKI

⤷ To say she was astounded is an understatement. Mikan is truly unable to fathom how you someone like you could like her. Much less, adore her.

⤷ But, from the bottom of her heart, she appreciates it and cherishes every ounce of your affections entirely. And she attempts to reciprocate it in full, but it’s hard to compete with your overwhelming conveyance.

⤷ Showering her in metaphoric seas of compliments, it’s never a challenge to fluster the tenuous nurse. Her delicate, pallid features brushed upon with roseate as she attempts to withhold her composure. But your ministrations are too much for her poor, little heart to handle.

⤷ For every time you’ve made a momentary stop at the nurse’s office between classes, she swears her heart melts with every moment she sees you. Some breaks, you walk into the office with a rose twirled between your thumb and index finger, holding it out before you towards the bearer of your heart.

⤷ Of course, Mikan will deny taking the flower at first, claiming that it’d be much better given to someone else rather than her. But you silence her upon clasping your hands above her own, ever-so gently placing the florescent blossom between her fingers. Truly, it mesmerizes her the sheer dedication you’ve shown to someone as meek as her.

⤷ Some days, you stop by the office with a piece of paper between your hands; a drawing. Presenting it to your girlfriend with an eager grin upon your face, you explain that it was, in fact, a drawing of her.

⤷ Instantaneously, she begins to compliment your drawing, regardless of your skill level. She’s genuinely enamored that someone would take the time out of their day to draw her, of all people.

⤷ But her questions are answered with your rambles; your rambling about her. It’s strange. Foreign, even. It’s an entirely new situation for her to be put in as she listens to you gush about all that you admire about her. Vividly describing that the enchanting flecks of stardust within her eyes were simply too beautiful not to draw.

⤷ From your words alone, Mikan’s heart resonated within her chest as she attempted to muster coherent sentences, but the shock was still fresh within her mind. You thought she was beautiful. And, by your very own words; “No drawing or photo could ever capture your beauty, Mikan.”

⤷ And yet she’s surprised to say that-that isn’t even the best of them. You’ve surpassed her expectations and have smothered her in a love she’d deemed foreign; care she could only describe as exotic.

⤷ The days in which you’d stop by the nurse’s office with empty hands were her favorite; that day, you’d brought nothing. Only yourself to greet her presence, and yet, you still manage to engulf her in your adorations with a tidal wave of pure passion.

⤷ Those days, you’d draw her in close. The smile settling upon your lips was once she hoped to be blessed to see for years to come, a gentle smile reserved solely for her eyes as you cradle her face within your hands. Your touch was delicate; holding Mikan’s face as though she were glass, ready to shatter. And sometimes she truly believed that under your intense love, she’d crumble.

⤷ And that’s what she’d adored about you; the way you’d overwhelmingly underwhelm your affections so that she could handle them. You understood that sometimes the abundance of affection was hard to handle, flustering her to the brink of a mental breakdown as she processes the―unfortunately―foreign compassion.

⤷ Thus, you envelop her lips within yours, pulling her in for a serene, fleeting kiss. Within that moment, time had slowed. The seconds ticking in subtle reverse as she savors the sensation of your lips atop her own, occasionally parting to overlap once more.

⤷ And yet, even as you leave, the love that frolics within your eyes doesn’t cease. In fact, it intensifies. The glow of adoration emitting from your hues as your lips part from hers is a hypnotic sight for her, nearly forcing her within a  trance as she swallows in the affection within your gaze alone.

⤷ So it surprises her that your affection never seems to cease; an eternal flame of your desire burning solely for her. An ember in which she promises she’s undeserving of, yet you cling onto the belief—the truth she’s been hindered blind to—that she is deserving of this love. She is worthy of affection.

⤷ Even as you take her out to the café she’d subtly informed you of, hoping to visit it one day, she’s perplexed as to why you’d bother keeping in mind such an unimportant detail. Furthermore, why would you take her to the place she’d claim she’d been hoping to see?

⤷ But as you take her hand within hers—gently—allowing her to let go if she wishes, you inform her thay you wanted to see her reaction. To be able to witness her excitement from a front-row perspective, and bask in your girlfriend’s excitement over the pastries.

⤷ Mikan attempted to insist that a date spent on her would be a mere waste, but you’d opened the door for her with a grin before she could protest. Bowing your head in caricature to formality, giggling as your girlfriend hesitantly entered, following after her.

⤷ Amidst the comforting atmosphere, baristas calling out names of customers per order and the lofi beat droning within the background of the clatter, the café had been comforting. Mikan’s tender, lavender hues inspecting the confinements of the shop with the faintest of smiles.

⤷ Resting your chin within your hand, you gaze upon her features. All of which illuminated by the hanging lights of the establishment, accentuating her regal locks as she twirls a strand around her index finger. Her gaze fixed upon the doodles of the chalkboard announcing today’s special.

⤷ She appeared at ease; delight engulfing her within the confinements of the café. And with your eyes trained upon her contentment, you couldn’t help but bask in her ripples of joy that’d passed upon you in wishful washes; a wish to capture this moment forever.

⤷ So that’s exactly what you do. Retrieving your phone from the compartments of your bookbag, you swipe left of your lock screen, opening the camera app.

⤷ And without a moment of the ethreality to waste, you raise your phone and snap a picture; capturing wht you deemed as the essence of true beauty. Yet upon the shuttering of a camera, Mikan swiftly directs her head towards you, a somewhat panicked expression upon her fragile features. You almost feel bad for startling her, however, the photo within your phone album is the sight of a lifetime.

⤷ With furrowed brows, Mikan questions what you’d taken a picture of. To which she hadn’t expected you to flip your screen towards her, displaying the photograph before her very eyes.

⤷ It was her. Sitting across the table with a far-off gaze upon the front counter, within her hands resides her own phone as a faint smile laces her lips. Her free hand twisting her hair between her fingertips as she seems so peaceful; at last, she’s at ease. It was a picture of your girlfriend—Mikan—amidst her most serene of moments.

⤷ At first, she’s silent. Simply gazing upon your screen as though she were attempted to decipher whether or not she was encaged within a dream; a vividly torturous dream in which she’d been fooled with the illusory affection you’d always provided her.

⤷ But that silence morphs into mumbles; questioning. It’s a repetitive and Pavlovian reaction from your lover, yet you never seem to alter your answer to her inquiry; why had you taken a picture of her?

⤷ Because why would your answer change? If there was one thing you’ll leave this world with a true belief in, it’s that your girlfriend is an enchanting individual. Her heart a garden of kind blossoms for those in need; eyes painted with stardust as the underlying euphoria within her orbs rivaled every constellation; the brush of her fingertips upon yours eliciting a jolt through your heart. In every way imaginable, Mikan was utterly celestial.

⤷ So, with your head held high, you reply with such confidence it’s as though the words that escape your lips are from the heart—in which they are—spoken only to her. “Because you’re beautiful, of course.”

⤷ And it’s words like these that Mikan has noticed you’d chant. Time and time, again, you insist that she’s one-of-a-kind; a treasure truly unforgettable.

⤷ With such frevor, you douse yourself in the mantra of her worth, promising her value is beyond that of what she’s been deluded to. It’s your persistence—your unwavering sense of veracity—that pushes Mikan to believe that perhaps she’s beyond that of a disposable being.

⤷ She’s pushed to believe that perhaps there’s a mutual gratification within your love; she’s not the only one who’d fawned upon the possibility of being wanted, especially by someone of the likes of you. She’s pushed to believe that perhaps the love you’d withheld for her was true.

⤷ A bond—in its entirety—as genuine as the feeling of your hand atop hers within that very moment. Clasping your hands atop hers, you cradle the limb with such an overwhelming amount of care, Mikan couldn’t fight against the quiver of her lips as you tenderly gazed within her eyes.

⤷ Your voice subtle as it barely resonated within the encompass of the café, yet ever-so assertive. Without a fraction of hesitation—gaze unwavering from her own—you allow the Pavlovian words to escape from your lips. Yet, unlike every other moment you’d voiced them, for once, they’re processed.

⤷ Months spent in denial of your fragility towards her; your contrasting tending to her needs; indulging in her wants; smothering her in endless conpliments; lovingly longing gazes cast upon her. After months of having spent within the confines of doubt, it seems that the shackles had finally been broken.

⤷ In that very moment, within the café you’d took the liberty to remember in order to appease to her personal interests, you’d confessed once more; “I love you.” And it’s a confession finally processed by your lavender-eyed lover; a confession finally processed after months of denying the veracity of your love.

⤷ And as you cradled her hands within your own, the ever-lasting love laced within your eyes as they meet hers, she reciprocates your affections at long-last as the words that doused her lips interlocked with the tears cascading from her eyes. “I love you too.”

[northofdespair]

You know @obiwanobi , it really didn’t take much to tempt me lol. 

Part two of this post! And uh, well, it got significantly spicier than the previous part now that our favorite Togruta apprentice has vacated the scene.

This one is for @crvdematter , who really started the whole thing months ago, and I feel terrible for forgetting to mention you in the last post! Really, it’s a miracle that I’m coming out from under my nice, cozy rock to give you E-rated Obikin of all things, so hopefully it’ll make up for my grievous omission! Thanks for sparking this into existence!

SPICE under the cut. 😘

Enjoy? 😨🥰

~*~

This is not the first time that Obi-Wan has kissed him while he has a split lip, and Anakin is sure that it won’t be the last.

The pain is a constant, throbbing reminder of their earlier tangle, even as his Master sucks it gently in apology, but Force, Anakin never wants him to stop. He lifts a hand to squeeze Obi-Wan’s wrist where his face is framed by gentle, bloodied hands, then settles his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck with a shuddery sigh.

Obi-Wan’s tongue slides into his mouth and he lets out a guttural moan of approval at the sensation. It spurs his Master on just the way he knew it would, and Obi-Wan leans forward into his space to pin him against the wall. The weight grounds him, steadies him, and he breathes in the comforting scent of Obi-Wan between kisses. Force, even covered in sweat and blood, Anakin loves the spice-and-tea scent of him.

There was a time that Obi-Wan had left one of his robes in his quarters on the Resolute. His Master never noticed the missing garment, prone as he is to dropping the damn things in every corner of the galaxy, and Anakin decidedly did not tell him. It was a lonely month in space, far away from Obi-Wan and even Ahsoka, and if he wrapped that cloak around his shoulders at every sleep shift he got? Well. No one had to know.

The increased proximity lends itself to intimacy, and they both moan quietly into each other’s mouths as their growing erections press together for the first time that night.

The first time in too long, really, and Anakin feels giddy with the promise that this is theirs. That they can have this, and it doesn’t have to stay in the darkness of the Coruscanti underworld. Obi-Wan wants him, loves him, and this night won’t end in longing glances when they think the other isn’t looking, nor will they have to part.

Obi-Wan breaks the kiss to bite and kiss along Anakin’s jaw, sliding his fingers back into Anakin’s hair, and oh, Anakin could give himself up to the Force with how good those fingers feel tightening against his scalp. He gasps instead, rolling his hips forward to seek out more friction. In a rather uncharacteristic move, Obi-Wan lets him. He even grinds against him in return as he sucks on the tender skin behind his jaw, and Anakin whimpers into the open air at the allowance.

The indulgence doesn’t last long, however, before Obi-Wan nips at his earlobe and murmurs,

“Shall we take this back to the Temple then, dear one?” his voice rasps with lust, and Anakin gives a full-body shudder at the feel of it in his ear before he shakes his head.

“No. Not- ah- not now,” he swallows as Obi-Wan presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat with a speculative hum.

“No?” he comes back up to purr low in Anakin’s ear, “Why would that be? Do you want to stay where you can cry out for me? Where no one but I knows the sound of your voice? Or is it that you cannot wait that long?” Obi-Wan punctuates his last words with a hand squeezing over Anakin’s erection in his trousers, and Anakin pants out his breath at the pressure.

“Please, Master. Both, just- fuck me here, please,” he begs, tightening his hold around Obi-Wan’s neck.

His Master presses a long, firm kiss to Anakin’s lips before breaking it to look into Anakin’s eyes with his own intense, crystal blue stare. The sight of him, pupils blown and cheeks flushed in the dim, blue light of some far-off neon, makes Anakin’s stomach flip.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it; the way Obi-Wan stares at him with such desire plainly written on his face. He’d never quite been able to decipher it completely, the way Obi-Wan looked at him, but now he thinks he knows.

It was love, always love, and before there was a strange wistfulness that he never understood until tonight. There is no wistfulness to his gaze now. Now there is only heat and desire, amplifying the love he now readily identifies. It’s enough to make him dizzy, especially when his Master rasps, “Since you asked nicely,” and drops to his knees.

Anakin leans heavily against the wall for support as Obi-Wan wastes no time in tugging his trousers and undergarments down to his feet, taking his erection in hand and meeting his eyes as he presses a kiss to the flushed head. Anakin bites his lip, no longer noticing the sting as he watches Obi-Wan reach into his own trouser pocket with another hand to produce a packet of bacta.

Obi-Wan flicks his tongue against the slit, drawing out a surprised little moan from Anakin’s throat, before pausing to coat his fingers in bacta. Soon he’s rubbing cool circles at Anakin’s entrance, and Anakin gasps at the feeling, grinding back almost involuntarily to coax them in.

Obi-Wan stares up at him with something like wonder on his face and shakes his head slowly.

“The things you do to me,” he whispers, and leans forward to press a kiss to the side of Anakin’s cock.

“You’re one to talk,” Anakin’s breathless rebuttal breaks off in a broken moan as Obi-Wan takes him into his mouth and breaches him at the same time.

He clutches at the back of Obi-Wan’s tunic as lightning-hot arousal shoots down his spine.

It’s funny- all this time, between their fights and sex in back alleys just like this one, they’ve been sort of ignoring the fact that it’s happened at all when they get back to the surface. Obi-Wan was right; what happened here, stayed here, no matter how much Anakin longed for that to change. But all of this time, they’ve been learning each other’s pleasure. What makes the other throw their head back or bite down in desperation.

And so he is no match for the tongue that swirls with a knowing twist, the second finger that eventually adds to the first as he opens for his Master, and the deep, rumbling moan of Obi-Wan’s voice around him.

“Master. Master I’m- hhahhh- I’m going to cum if you-“ Obi-Wan curls his fingers at that moment, and he cuts off with a whimper, clenching his fist in Obi-Wan’s tunic and gritting his teeth against the crashing wave of arousal that follows.

His Master pulls off of his cock with a wet pop and looks up at him speculatively, adding a third finger and watching intently as Anakin groans from deep in his chest.

“Do you want to come now, darling?” he asks, squeezing at Anakin’s thigh to catch his attention.

Anakin tries to clear his head enough to think. He- he could come now, and he knows that Obi-Wan would fuck him just the same, but...

“No. No, I- with you, Master. Please.”

Obi-Wan smiles up at him, stretching the wounds that decorate his own face after his night of fighting, and kisses his thigh.

“All right, love.”

Anakin sighs through his nose at the simple, gentle response, and lets his head fall back against the wall as he closes his eyes and attempts to calm down a bit. Obi-Wan’s fingers have all but stilled in him, occasionally moving slow enough that the quiet tide of pleasure he feels isn’t enough to push him back to the receding edge.

It’s a testament to how well Obi-Wan knows him, how much he can read his expressions and his countenance in the Force, that the moment he feels like he can keep going, his Master spreads the three fingers and curls them once again to brush against his prostate. He inhales sharply through his nose and clenches his mechno-hand against the wall behind him at the sparks of pleasure that crackle through him.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Obi-Wan’s voice falls, deep and gravelly from his mouth.

“Yes, Master,” he whispers.

“Good.”

Obi-Wan presses one more kiss to his thigh before removing his fingers with a wet squelch and rising slowly to his feet. Anakin clenches around nothing, swallowing a whine as Obi-Wan caresses his skin on the way up. This time, it is he that draws Obi-Wan into a kiss with a hand around the back of his neck. His Master willingly goes, quickly taking the control that Anakin so readily gives.

In battle, he does not mind control. He might even go so far as to say that he thrives on it.

On missions and even in teaching, he will gladly lead.  

But oh, in this.

In this, he wants nothing more than the way Obi-Wan dominates him with his tongue.

In this, he wants nothing more than Obi-Wan’s weight, pinning him to the wall, caging him in, grounding him.

In this, he relinquishes all control to his Master, until he cannot think beyond the violent pleasure that flows like magma through his veins.

The biting kiss does not last long before Obi-Wan breaks it with a low growl, dipping down to grab the backs of Anakin’s thighs and hoist him up against the wall. Anakin lets out an undignified squeak and scrabbles for purchase on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, wrapping his legs around his Master’s waist.

Obi-Wan chuckles. “All right?”

Anakin huffs indignantly. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, he feels Obi-Wan’s hand shift, and suddenly the head of his cock is nudging at Anakin’s entrance. He hadn’t seen Obi-Wan slick his own cock, or even push down his own trousers, but he’s certainly not going to complain. His voice gives way to a high-pitched whine, pleading wordlessly for Obi-Wan to just-

“Ahhhh-“

Obi-Wan’s cock finally sinks into him, all at once, and Anakin keens.

Force, he could come from the stretch alone. If Obi-Wan didn’t appear to need a moment himself, he might have. But Obi-Wan simply pants into his neck for a stretch of time as Anakin does the same into his ginger, sweat-damp hair, and it both calms and stirs up the sea of need between them in one fell stroke.

When Anakin is seconds away from begging Obi-Wan to move, he lets out a cry instead as Obi-Wan growls and pulls out slightly before snapping his hips forward. The pace he sets to begin is slow for what feels like only a moment–though it is surely longer–as their pleasure quickly builds.

Obi-Wan mouths at his neck as Anakin gasps with every thrust, clinging desperately to Obi-Wan’s back. He feels Obi-Wan shift him in his arms and wonders idly if he’s too heavy after Obi-Wan’s already strenuous evening, but all thought is immediately erased as Obi-Wan finds what he was looking for and Anakin sees stars.

“Master,” he moans breathlessly, and Obi-Wan groans.

“Force, you’re perfect. You take me so well, darling. So good,” the words melt into Anakin’s veins, and he moans from deep within his chest as Obi-Wan nips at his throat. “Can you come from this, darling?”

“Yes. Yes, Obi-Wan, Master, yes, just don’t stop- ah- don’t stop, please-“

His words devolve into incoherent babbling into Obi-Wan’s ear as their pace quickens, and the sound of skin on skin echoes in the empty alleyway.  

“Come on then, love,” Obi-Wan’s voice is rougher now than it has been tonight, and Anakin knows by some thoughtless instinct that he’s close as well. “I’ve got you. Come for me, Anakin. Love you, dearest. I love you.”

And that, with one more thrust against his prostate, is enough. Anakin throws his head back against the wall and comes so hard he sees white. A deep, punched-out noise rises from his chest and his nails sink into Obi-Wan’s tunic. His mechno-hand scrabbles so hard he’ll probably leave marks, awash as he is in the tempestuous wave of pleasure.

He is distantly aware as Obi-Wan thrusts rapidly a few more times, fucking him through the crest of his orgasm before he comes with a snarl of Anakin’s name and a bite to the juncture of his neck. Anakin gasps at the pleasure-pain of teeth set into his flesh and shakes with aftershocks as Obi-Wan pulses inside him.

They come down slowly, breathing together as Obi-Wan mindlessly kisses at the bite and Anakin strokes his Master’s hair. A few long, peaceful moments pass this way, simply holding each other and pressing lax kisses into each other’s skin and hair before their position grows to be too much.

Obi-Wan slides out of Anakin, setting an apologetic kiss to Anakin’s cheek at the hiss of discomfort it draws forth. He sets him gently to the ground and steadies him with hands at his waist when Anakin’s legs shake at the reestablished equilibrium. Anakin bows his head for a moment to collect himself, and when looks up he finds Obi-Wan watching him with a soft smile on his face.

His eyes twinkle in the low light, and Anakin’s breath hitches quietly. The communication that passes between them then is too marvelous, too complex for words. Just by staring into his Master’s eyes, Anakin knows that Obi-Wan understands all the words he can’t bring himself to speak into the night air.

Softly, in the back of his mind, he feels the stirring of a familiar pathway. He sucks in a quiet, surprised breath as he realizes at once just what it is. He hasn’t travelled that road for a long, long time, but he knows the well-worn path of their training bond better than life itself.

Obi-Wan searches his eyes even as he strokes over the quiet remnants of the bond, and Anakin knows the question that lies behind the icy blue of his Master’s gaze. And just as he knows the question, he knows the answer. He reaches for his own side of their bond and brushes away the cobwebs, pushes aside the vines, and then-

A rush of consciousness, not his own, floods into his very being, overwhelming and all-consuming as a sandstorm. He hadn’t really known what he was missing, hadn’t let himself miss it, but oh. Obi-Wan’s Force signature dances with his own and fills the dark places of his mind with beautiful light.

It’s overwhelming, awe-strikingly powerful, and the rightness of it fills a part of his soul that he didn’t know he was missing.

He gasps brokenly, tears welling up and spilling over his eyes before he can stop them, and Obi-Wan laughs wetly. Anakin can feel his joy in the Force, as physically as the hand that comes up to wipe his tears away.

Hello, dearest, Obi-Wan’s voice echoes brilliantly in his mind. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Anakin can only nod through the tears, completely overwhelmed by the resurgence of their bond. He had thought he’d never feel this again. The fact that it was Obi-Wan who initiated their re-connection is almost surreal.

Force, they have so much to talk about, but for the moment, Anakin simply shuts his eyes and breathes.

Patient as ever, Obi-Wan holds him quietly until he is sure that Anakin can stand on his own before setting about putting them to rights. Anakin had all but forgotten that they are standing in an abandoned alley, half-naked with cum drying on the front of his tunic and dripping down his leg. He winces at the realization, shifting uncomfortably as Obi-Wan pulls up his own trousers and produces a cloth from his pocket. He wipes Anakin down gently before lifting his trousers and handing him the cloak he’d dropped when Obi-Wan first kissed him.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

The bond somehow feels so fragile, so new, that he’s afraid he might shatter it if he deigns to speak through it. Obi-Wan casts him a gentle, knowing look, and kisses his cheek.

“You’re welcome,” he smiles.

Like a picture coming back into focus, Anakin suddenly notices the wounds that litter Obi-Wan’s face and dip down into his tunic.

“Master,” his voice comes out as a pained breath.

Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows in question, then winces as it pulls on a nasty-looking bruise. Their bond colors a sheepish pink, and Anakin tries not to reel from the sensation of the extra feedback.

“Ah. Yes, that.”

“What happened? You never let them touch your face,” he reaches forward to brush his fingertips lightly over the deepest bruise.

“Yes, well, that Devaronian was tougher than he looked. You landed a hit or two as well, I daresay.”

Anakin grimaces. “Sorry.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head with a fond chuckle.

“You should see the other guy,” he winks.

Anakin huffs a laugh and shakes his head in return, and when Obi-Wan smiles at him? He knows then and there that no matter how fragile their bond may feel, no matter what happens next, they’re going to be okay.

[hibiscusangel15]

Phantasma

Okay, so I saw an interesting, angsty post by @cruelfeline​ that wondered if Hordak could feel himself hurting Entrapta when Horde Prime possessed his body. The initial idea then kinda wrapped into a vague idea I had about the Horde clone hive mind, so here’s this lol.

Summary: Hordak's body was not his own. It had always belonged to Horde Prime since the moment he'd been created.

Or, a look into the clone hive mind when Horde Prime possessed Hordak in Heart, Part 2.

Rating: Teen and Up

*Also crossposted to AO3 and FFN!

If you like my fic, please consider buying me a coffee!

Despite everything he'd been taught, he knew Horde Prime did not know all. He did not see all.

A blasphemous thought to hold, and yet, if Prime himself did not see it—did not know it by now—then what else could he not foresee? What else did he not know?

The clone had cradled other blasphemies once, too. A life outside of the hive mind. An army he dared to call his own. A name.

Memories of a time long past. A time where in his darkest heart of hearts, he had dared to wish that Prime would never find him.

And now time had caught up to him. Now the woman at the very center of his blasphemous thoughts was on her knees jeering at Horde Prime.

He clutched the crystal he'd scavenged the other day in his hand. It was the catalyst, the first spark of defiance. A treasure that he might call his own.

The hive mind was filled to the brim with love for Prime. None dared to question his rule, and so none ever suspected this single clone's treachery.

Not until he hesitated to silence the little rebel before him.

Thoughts that were not his own trawled along the edge of his mind.

What are you waiting for, brother?

Destroy her.

Millions of thoughts grasped intangibly around him, as if his brothers wished to take the cannon from his arm themselves. Ghost hands crept along his scalp, over his face, his chest, urging him to get it over with.

She is not worthy of basking in Prime's light.  Dispose of her already.

Not worthy of his light. They were right about one thing, at least.

Entrapta was a light all her own. She outshone everyone, even Prime himself.

Go on, brother.

Hurry before you anger Prime, brother.

Do it now, brother.

Brother!

He turned his cannon onto Horde Prime and opened fire with a cry. 

“I am not your brother.”

Confusion and outrage blistered in the hive mind. The ghost feeling of hundreds of hands, once so reassuring, relinquished its awful hold over him.

"You made me in your image, but I am more than that!"

The clone carried Horde Prime by the jaw, dangling him over the edge of an endless precipice. "I gave myself a name. I made a life of my own! I made...."

He looked back at Entrapta. The woman who mocked Horde Prime to his face. The woman who coordinated a strategic counterattack against the chipped Etherians. The woman who snuck into his sanctum and dared to call his imperfections beautiful.

"A friend."

Yet another blasphemy before Prime's light. But could friendship truly be blasphemy? Could love?

If it was, he'd rather be a sinner than exalted by a god.

“I am Hordak, and I defy your will!”

His fingers went slack, and Horde Prime was no more.

It was over. Entrapta was safe.

Right as he turned to free her, everything vanished. The ship was gone. Entrapta was gone. There was nothing but a pure white void all around him. Hundreds of hushed voices echoed through the very air of this space.

Hordak whirled around. The noise ceased.

A large screen gleamed before him. It showed the image of where he’d been standing not too long ago. He walked to it, swiping a curious hand down the screen as if it would open for him. Its texture was like that of hot gelatin. No residue came off on his hand, but he wiped the unpleasant feeling off on his leg anyway.

He heard Entrapta laugh and say something. The sound rippled around the space, distorting and warping until it became unrecognizable noise.

And then his brother’s laugh rang so distinct and clear, Hordak had to clap his hands over his ears.

No.

“Ah, little brother. So it’s true. You have been thoroughly corrupted.”

A dark mass writhed behind him. Green lights hovered in the space where its eyes should be. Four very familiar eyes burned with rage and scorn.

Horde Prime. Horde Prime had seized control of his body.

“So be it!”

The mass rushed at him, through him to the screen.

His breath caught when the screen moved towards Entrapta. On her face was an expression he’d never seen. No matter how many times he’d growled at her or snapped at her to leave him be, she never seemed threatened by him. Never feared him.

Her look of abject terror etched itself into his mind, and he slammed a fist against the screen.

“No! Entrapta! Get away!” he yelled.

Horde Prime tugged her off her feet by her hair. Her scream tore something within him. He was hurting her.

Hordak could feel each individual strand thrashing against his own hand, trying to pry his grip open. Her hair was being too gentle with him. Too subdued. She was strong enough to push him, if necessary. His defect would make it all too easy. So why couldn’t she do it?

“You have forced my hand. I will unleash the Heart, and so we shall die in cleansing flame together!” Prime’s voice echoed around him.

He could feel his mouth twist up into a wicked grin, feel as his own hand tightened its grip around Entrapta’s long hair.

It was so soft. Softer than he ever thought anything could be. He wished he could have told her that. But his mouth was no longer his own. Nor were his hands, his own mind.

Everything belonged to Prime. Everything was Prime.

“Entrapta!”

Hordak threw himself against the screen, ramming into it over and over again. It did not waver.

“Little brother.”

The voice came from behind him.

He whirled back, teeth bared in a snarl. “You…. You were supposed to die!”

“And you forget your place!” The shadow pulsated like living smoke. “You have committed the ultimate blasphemy. Given yourself a name. Dared to live as if you are your own creature! But you are nothing. One of thousands of clones that all bear the image of Prime! Without me, you would not exist!”

Hordak screamed as he lunged at the shadow of Horde Prime. His singular vision was his downfall. He did not realize it hovered right above a glowing green pit.

His feet caught the edge in the nick of time, and he sucked in a stunned breath when he saw what laid below.

Countless thousands of clones were embedded into the walls of the circular pit. Many were mere half-bodies jutting out like weeds. They all raised their hands up, worshipping the dark mass far above them. Their ruler. Their brother. The all-knowing, all-powerful Prime.

It took Hordak a second to realize that they were all decrying his very existence. They called him worthless. Defective. Unworthy. Forsaken.

Hordak tried to take a step back, only to find he could not move. Several pale hands sprouted from the ground to restrain his legs. They would not let him go no matter how hard he hit or scratched at them. Such was the resolve of a clone-brother’s devotion to Prime.

“Oh, little brother. Do you honestly think you could ever be equal to my own power? All because you came to care for some insignificant creature who pitied you? I would never let myself become so weak.”

The green lights of its eyes narrowed at him.

Hordak dared to glare right back. “Let Entrapta go! She has not done anything to deserve this!”

“On the contrary, brother. I have read your thoughts. I understand in intimate detail how much you have let her affect you. How far she has led you astray from my light. For that, she must be made an example of.”

“No!”

He strained against the many hands stacking over each other to hold him down, struggling desperately to reach the screen. “Entrapta!”

“Do you know why you could never hope to match my power, brother?”

The other clones’ cries ceased. All was silent and white save for the floating shadow enveloping itself around his wrists.

It leaned close to his ear, as if to impart some final secret. “It is because you would not be able to bear the weight of the hive mind.”

Prime pulled him forward. The bodiless hands let him go.

Hordak fell into the pit.

The clones immediately went into a frenzy, clawing and tearing and dragging him down, down and away from the pure light above. The shared thoughts of his brothers he'd heard before was a mere drop in an ocean of suffering. Now all their prayers, feelings, everything they were bore down on him. It was like no gravity he’d ever felt before.

For every clone he managed to fend off, more came to tug him into the fold. And even through all this, he could hear Entrapta crying for him. Feel as her hair squirmed in his own hand. Prime would torture him in every possible way before the end. They would die here together, and the last thing he would ever hear would be his only friend in the universe crying his name.

“Entrapta!” he screamed, reaching a hand up to the edge of the pit.

And then, the hands were gone. The clones vanished. A gentle presence guided Hordak to the top, placing him far from the pit. When he looked back, it slowly closed in on itself.

“Hordak.”

That voice. She-Ra.

The screen showed the edge of a cliff. He no longer felt Entrapta’s hair wriggling against his palm. Instead, there was the brush of grass, a warm breeze on his cheek.

Something glowed just beyond the crest of the cliff. It rose higher and higher until Hordak caught sight of She-Ra. A First Ones glyph shone on her chest, radiating power.

Prime's shadow hovered before the screen, flickering like a spark that refused to light. “Though all is reduced to rubble, Prime shall rise again. So it has been, and so it always shall be.”

Hordak knew it was futile. He felt that familiar ache in his shoulders, in his legs. His defect. Horde Prime had not anticipated inhabiting a broken body.

Even so, he no longer had any other body to return to. The hive mind had closed off. All was silent again.

Ah, Hordak realized, shutting his eyes, resigned. This body belongs to Horde Prime now. She-Ra will kill me to assure her victory.

“No! I will not fall!” Prime sputtered above him in a panic. “The hive mind will open to me! I am their ruler! Their god!”

“You are nothing more than a coward looking to escape your fate. Rejoice, brother. For you and I will both die in cleansing flame together, is that not so?” Hordak said wearily.

He did not wish to die. Not now. Not until he knew Entrapta was safe.

But this was his fate. To ensure the peace of the universe, Horde Prime needed to die.

“No, you’re wrong,” She-Ra said. “It’s time for you to go.”

He pressed his forehead against the screen and shut his eyes. He was ready.

Her hands cupped his face. Warmth emitted from her palms, steady and hopeful.

Hordak’s eyes snapped open. Suddenly, he could read her thoughts, and he knew she did not aim to destroy them both.

Prime's shadow spasmed against an unseen force ripping it away. It tried to grasp onto something, anything. It even reached out to Hordak with a smoking claw, so despondent in its desperation.

Hordak merely watched the mass purge from his body back into the nothingness from which it came.

                                                   *   *   *

The scenery changed in a flash of light. He stood in an empty field. Little more than grass and sharp crystals abound the place.

It did not look familiar to him. It seemed Horde Prime had yet to conquer this strange planet. Another dead end. His faulty portal had transported him somewhere even further away from Prime’s light.

The portal itself crackled and sparked. It was unstable. The communication device he brought with him did not even emit a trackable signal.

He threw the device to the ground in his frustration. It shattered into several pieces along the dirt.

A sharp cry pierced the air. He stood up straighter, startled.

There, lying bundled on top of a rock, was a baby.

Hordak squinted and caught sight of a woman running in the distance. The mother? Had she abandoned her child here?

The bundle squirmed, hands outstretched, searching.

He glanced back at the woman’s silhouette. For a moment, she stopped. Perhaps she would come to collect her child. Perhaps it had been a mistake.

Then the silhouette took off and vanished into the woods ahead.

Hordak turned back to the portal. He’d reconfigure the coordinates again and then—

The baby’s cries grew louder. He paused.

He stomped over to where the baby laid. It shifted in its blankets. Were it not for his quick reflexes, it would’ve wiggled its way off the rock.

He held it to his chest and stared. The child stared back. Its cries settled into small whimpers then silence.

“You have been abandoned,” he said, a pang in his chest. “Your creator did not want you.”

Of course he knew that the child would not understand him. It was not a guarantee that it even knew his language.

The baby settled in his arms, pressing its small cheek to his thumb. He could not leave this child here. Not after its own mother left it to die.

“Lord Hordak!” Shadow Weaver’s voice called out through the portal.

The portal’s frame warped. Sprinting towards it would be his only chance. He clutched the child tighter in his hands and ran.

                                                   *   *   *

Hordak gasped and found himself face-to-face with that same child. She regarded him with such kindness in her eyes that it brought that ghost pang back.

“I remember you,” he whispered. Her smile told him that she remembered him, too.

She-Ra helped him stand. No sooner than that, something small tackled him in a twirl of purple pigtails.

"Hordak!"

A laugh burst from his chest when he realized who it was. Entrapta was here. She was safe and alive and so warm. He could not ask for a better future.

“I’m so glad you’re here! Oh, we have so much to talk about!” she said and hugged him once more. “I missed you!”

Hordak smiled back at her. “I’ve missed you, too, Entrapta.”

Her hair reached up to caress his face. It was only then his smile fell.

He'd hurt her. It was not by his own will, but even so.

How could she stand to be near him after that? How could she trust he would not do so again?

The rest of her hair split off and wrapped gently around his hands. Not a single strand fought against him. Her hair willingly weaved around his open palms, his fingers.

"Stay with me. Please?"

Hordak shuddered. This felt too much like forgiveness. He was not worthy of it.

"Always," he whispered.

Without warning, Entrapta shot up and pressed her lips against his. The longer she ran her thumb up and down his jaw, the more scrambled his thoughts became.

Her eyes gleamed with pride when she pulled away. “You’re free now. You can be whoever you wanna be, Hordak.”

“I…. Yes.”

It was the best he could manage.

Entrapta laughed and pressed her forehead to his. He leaned into the touch. It was nice, knowing how soft a touch could really be. Knowing how much love could flow through a simple gesture.

Eventually, she wrapped her arms around his to lead him down the hill. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” she repeated. He could not help himself from laughing once more.

He made it back to her. Prime was gone. He was free, and he made it back to her.

Entrapta peered up at him with a smile. He returned it easily. 

Hordak knew then what he would do with this newfound freedom. He would spend it by Entrapta’s side. For as much as time would allow, he would spend it all with her.

A careful hand ran through her hair. He did not yet have the words to express how sorry he was for hurting her. How he should have fought harder against Prime's control.

He wanted to say so much to her. As soon as he started to speak, however, a strand of her hair pressed itself against his mouth. A gentle admonishment, one that was met with an amused smile.

Her hair curled itself around his fingers, guiding them down to cup her face. Hordak brushed away the small tears spilling down. It was not enough to repair all the damage he’d done. She must have known that.

Entrapta never cared about such matters. She never spoke about recompense, nor did she seem to desire it.

She seemed happy just to stay here like this, smiling at him even through her tears.

The warm breeze stirred leaves and stray bits of grass all around them. The planet was alive and thriving once more.

He took a deep breath in.

Entrapta was by his side. The sun felt good on his face.

He was Hordak, and he was finally free to live by his own will.

A/N: This was legit the fastest I’ve ever written something. I was struck by a sudden burst of inspiration, and I guess that’s where it all led.

Please let me know if anyone's in-character or not. I'm very new to writing for this fandom.

[tipsydipsydo]

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: 18+

Genre: Angst; Fluff; Smut

AU: Historical/Middle Age! AU

Warnings: arranged + forced marriage; gender roles according to the period; sexual themes + sexual language; Praising; Body-Worship; Nipple Play; Fingering; First experience of an orgasm; Loss of virginity (unprotected Sex)

Summary: You're getting married tomorrow and you want to say goodbye to your mare. There you met the stable boy Taehyung for the last time, who's your best friend and childhood crush at the same time. You will experience a stormy night full of love and passion and you'll give the biggest proof of love to him...

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With a thumping heart you peep around the corner, but the cold hallway with high stone walls lies quietly in front of you, only a few candles in their stands lit up the long corridor. The servants must have finally retired to their own rooms and even the last noises in the courtyard has fallen silent. It must be close to midnight, but you couldn't sneak away earlier. The danger of being caught has been too big. But now you grab the  thin skirt of your white night gown and lift it a little bit up, so that you could walk as silently as possible along the corridor, across the courtyard to the horse stable. Light-footed you quickly put one foot in front of the other, the bright Full Moon guides you with its light the way to the stable. Quietly you open the small side door and slip in, where you’re greeted the familiar smell of horse, hay and leather. 

Here, too, the torches were extinguished late. Just thinking about what a momentous day tomorrow will be will make you sick and silent tears run down your cheeks. Tomorrow you will be your wedding with a man who was already over thirty years old when you were born and whom you didn't even really know. He was here once two months ago so that you two could „get acquainted" with each other. Theobald, as he is called, has a bald head, an ugly potbelly and with every, almost frightening smirk you could get a glimpse of yellow teeth. At your first meeting, he had already patterned you with such a disgustingly lustful look that a cold shudder ran down your back and still makes you nauseous at the thought of it. 

Your eyes are slowly getting used to the darkness, fortunately some Moonlight falls through the small ventilation hatches, so you can reach the last Box without tripping over something. Securely you open the door and gently push the butt of my beloved Grey Mare Estrilda to the side. Curiously, she lifts her big, noble head and turns a little to you. As if she knows what will happen to you tomorrow, she tenderly presses her head against your chest. Until now you had only cried quietly for yourself, but now, you bury your face in her soft, long mane and let your feelings run free. Why didn't your mother, when you were born, take action against being promised to such an old man? 

But every time you asked her, she just shrugged with her shoulders helplessly and murmured softly,"that's just how it is, Y/N. I wanted to talk to your father, but he only saw the opportunity in finally reconciling two hostile Empires. With this marriage. You have to believe me, dear. I was hoping for something different for you. That you will be happier than I am. That you can live your life more in more freedom." 

You have always been different, your curiosity, your stubbornness and your self-confidence do not correspond to the expectations one has of a daughter of the noble family. You love horses and riding, you can't do anything with jewelry, dresses out of expensive silk and velvet or perfumes. You loved to ride in the big hunt at least once a year and go hunting with your falcon Alan. You are not interested in the easy, comfortable life as the wife of a nobleman. You would much rather have helped once in the kitchen and learned how to cook a meal. But this was strictly forbidden to you, after all you are not a maid! Your wish is simply to be allowed to be as you want it to be. You do not care whether it is appropriate for a woman of your rank or not. 

Your body slowly calms down from the convulsion and one last time you take the smell of your beloved mare deep into your lungs. Because she will stay here while you return to his estate with your new husband. That would become your new home. Although the wedding party will be celebrated here... but you will spend our wedding night with him on his castle. Then you will be trapped in the clutches of a sadistic, cruel and heartless ruler. You have heard some whisperings and rumors from the other Kingdom. The thought lies like a bitter, putrid taste on your tongue and your stomach twists at the thought that you have to show yourself naked to this disgusting man. You would rather burn at the stake as a wicked whore than surrender your virginity to him. 

Suddenly, you hear the clatter of a fallen bucket and a dull cursing behind you, which is why you‘re startled and push yourself out of instinct into the darkest corner of the horse box. In vain, because the shadowy figure steps closer and opens the box door. Your heart beats fast, who is that and would he betray you for wandering around in the stable at night? But your anxious heart romptly calms down as you look into the soft and gentle face of Taehyung, the stable boy. 

"Y/N? What are you doing here, wouldn't you have to sleep since a long time? After all, tomorrow is your wedding.", the last sentence spit Taehyung literally out. A relieved smile comes to your lips when you see your only and best friend. "Taehyung...", you murmur and fall into his arms, trying your best to suppress a sob. His  muscular arms are wrapping themself around you, holding you and run tenderly his fingers through your hair. 

The first time you met was on your eleventh birthday when you received Estrilda as a birthday present and he was assigned to look after the welfare of your horse. At that time he had already been fifteen, and now, nine years later, he has matured into a handsome twenty-Four year old man. He is the only one who ever understood you and even offered to run away with him when you found out about your marriage. But you would be looked for all over the country and everything would be more like a deadly skewer, which is why you sadly but thankfully refused. Above all, you do not want to expose your beloved mother to the cruel anger of your father, he would blame her if one morning you could no longer be found. It is inevitable that you must marry this disgusting, sadistic devil, whether you like it or not. But one thing you will decide for yourself...

Taehyung's masculine smell of sweat and horse calms you down more than ever and you snuggle up sobbing at his chest, steeled muscles from the daily hard work. You let your feelings run free and enjoys the gentle caresses he gives you. He is even more against the wedding than you and you have already guessed the reason for a long time. He develops feelings for you, which would go beyond your normal friendship-relationship. This assumption triggers a gentle flutter in your stomach and you wish you could be even closer to him than you already are. You both knew it, but you have never really said it out loud. For this fact requires no words. You’re in love with each other. 

It was clear from the beginning that this fragile love has no future, and yet it feels so right, even though it is completely wrong. But he gives you the affection and attention that even your own mother could never give to you. Tonight, you want to give something to Taehyung that would belong to himcompletely alone. Nobody could ever steal it from him, this gift is irreplaceable.

It would be your virginity. If you have to marry such a cruel man, you want to give your innocence to someone who has proved to be worthy enough. Taehyung is worthy for it. 

You detach yourself a little from his chest and look up into those beautiful dark brown eyes in which you‘re threaten to drown every time. Your fingers glide up to his strong neck, through his soft, black curls and tug on them gently until he moans softly. 

“Tae... From tomorrow we will not see each other again. We only have this night left. I have already given you my heart, it will remain yours forever. But tonight I want to give you something else... My virginity shall be yours.”, you breathe softly against his lips. 

Taehyung startles and looks down at you in disbelief. "B-But Y/N...I-I could never accept something like this! Such a thing like your virginity belongs to Theo-", he rambles overwhelmed and want to turn your opinion against that idea,but you just press your lips almost violently onto his.

"No. It should never belong to Theobald. If I already have to make the marriage covenant with him, then I want to be able to decide by whom my virginity will be token!", you reply to your lover and bite him hard into the lower lip. 

He is still visibly surprised, but now your passion reaches him too and he respond with the same desire to your kiss. Your tongues find each other and starts a wild catching game. Heat rises in your bodies, reaches every pore of your body and makes this unknown feeling of pleasure pulsate through your veins. You long for Taehyung's love, one last time you want to feel his affection before you go to hell tomorrow. At least once you want to see heaven before you are banished to hell for the Rest of your life. The breath of your loved one becomes faster, he is panting, this kiss alone pushes you both in such a tremendous passion, which you have kept so forcibly hidden from each other otherwise. 

"L-Let‘s go to the hayloft...", Taehyung murmurs at your neck in a deep, hoarse voice. You nod breathlessly, you are completely overwhelmed by the feelings that a simple kiss can trigger in you if you just love someone with your whole heart. Securely, you climb one by one the narrow wooden ladder up to the hayloft and you two throw tightly wrapped up into the hay. Your lips can hardly keep away from each other. The desire and longing for Taehyung increases every moment.

"Please...", you whisper in a whimpering voice, your body feels like it's on fire and this unknown longing for union drags you into a swirl. But Taehyung wants to get to know you and your breathtaking body, trying to memorize as much as possible. He never wants to forget how you look, feel, smell and taste. The cords of your nightgown are opened unnoticed by him, suddenly you just feel the scratchy hay under you and his loving hands on your skin. 

"Beautiful.... So beautiful...", he mutters again and again under his breath. His eyes wanders over your exposed body,  blown out eyes lingering on your breasts. Taehyung admired you silently since you’ve met for the first time, you always took his breath with your beauty away. Especially the last few years he realized what kind of effect you have on him, how you’ve grown up from the little wild princess to a confident young Lady. How his own and your Body has changed of the years and with it, how his maybe not so innocent desires awakened in him. 

You are gorgeous, he can’t even describe your majestic body in words properly, you leave him speechless. You look better than in his sinfully fantasies he has at night, tossing his sweaty and needy Self around in Bed, trying to prevent those indecent thoughts about his own best friend. Well, his love of his life. He shouldn’t think that way about the princess, is he insane or something?! Still, he couldn’t reject his feelings for you, neither you could. 

You both will end up in hell, you’re doing so sinful things right now but why they’re feeling so good? Why is it a sin to have such desires, to have the need to feel so close to each other, why are you sinning when you feel so much love, desire and pleasure that you couldn’t bear it anymore? You couldn’t understand and you would never.

„My royal highness, m-may I ask if you allow me to touch your Breasts?”, stutter Taehyung out, gulping hard and biting his lower lip in desperation. He knows he would hurt you somehow through fusion of your bodies but alone the thought of it hurts him right in his heart. Taehyung doesn’t wants to be the one who’s hurting you, he wants that you’ll keep this night as good as possible in your memory. 

„O-Oh my god, Taehyung... d-don’t call me that, please just call me by my Name. ...and please, oh please touch me, I want to feel your Hands all over my Body!”, you pant out whimpering, arching your spine to encourage Taehyung in his actions. 

A deep, longing moans leaves his lips, finally touching and kissing every conceivable part of your body. For the first time and probably also for the last time in your life, you will learn what this true love is. Something of which so many Minnesingers always sing about. It feels so indescribably good that the tears are just running down your cheeks, you can’t hold them anymore, you feel too good, too loved. Only this night you want to see heaven before you have to burn in hell as a deflowered whore until the end of your life. But this one time is worthy for you to sin. A lustful moan escapes your lips as his lips enclose one of your nipples and caress them tenderly with his tongue. 

Countless whispers and pleads are falling from your slightly parted lips, you’re chanting his name like a mantra. Every noise that comes from your tongue let Taehyung‘s need to pleasure you even more grow. Almost helpless, as if you’re drowning, you grab Tae‘s strong Biceps and look up to him. Your eyes are sparkling from the tears which ran down your cheeks, the unconditional love in them is crushing Taehyung‘s Soul. 

"Oh Y/N, I love you so much... I don’t know how to express them so they would portray the pure feelings I have for you in my chest, in my soul. Please let me show you something else...", he wispers into your ear, nibbling tenderly on your earlobe. 

His other hand glides through the valley of your breasts, over your stomach down your sweet and hot center. You whine softly, you’re a little flustered, nobody touched you down there in such a way before. Almost automatically your thighs want to close again, just Taehyung’s gentle and caressing hand keep you from doing so. 

"Shhh, my precious Angel, don’t be ashamed... you’re gorgeous and so beautiful, you can’t imagine how bad I want you. You smell so delicious, you’re driving me insane! Would you like to continue or should I stop? I will do whatever you want, just tell me..", murmurs Taehyung’s low voice, you can clearly hear the tremble of arousal in it. After you took a few deep breaths to calm your oversensitive nerves, you’re spreading slowly your thighs for him. 

Taehyung‘s eyes are fixated on your face, watching patiently your facial reactions for any discomfort. Now, his hand is coming to life again and moves forward until it disappeared between your legs. His fingertips moves incredibly gentle over your soft pussy lips, slowly parting them and let his fingers soak in your lust juice. They run up and down, teasing your clit and preparing your entrance for his length. 

Waves of Lust electrify your whole Body, every fiber and nerve is pumped full of sexual desire and you’re gasping for air. You’ve never felt that way before, you have no clue what kind of sweet spot that is but you want Taehyung to touch it over and over again. 

Why does sinning feels so incredible good? You’re fallen for the devils work, you love sinning when it feels that amazing. 

"Please, please, please... Taehyung, do that again, it feels so good-", you sob out, holding on his broad shoulders as if your life depends on him. Honestly, it does. 

"Yeah? Does that feel good, my Princess? Do you want more?", rasps your beloved Taehyung. His fingers speeds up, flicking your cute little pearl with his thumb in a rapid pace now. His middle and ringfinger is pounding into your tight, pulsating channel and is stretching you open. His movement creates lewd squelching noises which makes you a little blush. The coil of lust in your abdomen grows unstoppable, you don’t know to handle this unfamiliar feeling. Your Body is shaking, whimpers and choked out whines filling the hay loft. You don’t understand what is happening, just pure unfiltered need and desire clouded your mind and you can’t think straight anymore. 

"Oh my- Oh my god, Tae... I-I am... I don’t know what is happening-"

"I know Baby, everything is okay, just let yourself go... I‘m here, I will catch you when you’re falling apart..."

It just needs a few more strokes of his thumb on your oversensitive clit until the ball of pleasure bursts open and fills every pore of your body with pure ecstasy. You can’t hold your tears of pleasure back anymore, the small and so precious diamonds are rolling out of the corner of your eye until Taehyung’s Lips are catching them. 

"Baby... are you alright? Did it felt good?", he asks quietly and rubs soothingly over the top of your thighs. Avoiding your center on purpose, he doesn’t want to overstimulate you even further.

"T-Tae... that- that felt so good... h-how did you do that? I-I can’t hold my tears back, I am sorry!" A weak sob leaves your lips and you bury your face into Taehyung’s chest. He caress you gently, whispering sweet nothings and praises into your ear, worshipping you to the fullest. Promising you to show you how you can make yourself feeling that good, teaching you how you can make love to yourself. 

After you came down from your high, you gently grab the soft baby hair in his nape and move his face towards you. 

"Taehyung, I want to feel you as close as possible, I want to merge with you, I want to make love to you- ...I want you.", you whisper and hold his face in your hands, looking him deep into his eyes. 

"Oh, I will... I will serve you with everything you wants,my Dear. Please lay down and spread those beautiful legs for me again...", he answers and smile softly at you. The sweet love names he picked for you makes your stomach flutter und the blush on your cheeks is darkening. Taehyung gives you a last sweet smile full of love before your lips meet again and he pushes into you. 

A short, stabbing pain flares through your body, but that was all. He holds still into you until you give him the permission to move. At first, it was a slow and gentle rhythm but your sweet moans and whimpers encourage him to go faster and in the end he looses all his control over his suppressed sexual needs. Making love to you in the most passionate way possible. 

He shows you the heaven on earth and love takes on a whole new meaning for you. You trust him unconditionally and he shows you that you are equal. You are an equal woman, an equal person for him. He loves and respects you. All this is the most beautiful thing you have ever experienced in your life. You have given him your virginity and he has given you a son with these wonderful brown eyes and dark curls. 

"Mother, why do you always cry when you see me? I didn't do anything today... ", asks your little six-year-old son and looked at you questioningly with those chocolate brown eyes that bring you to tears every time.

"You look so much like your father. Your real father."you say quietly.

"Did he hurt you, Mommy?", he asks with big fearfully eyes and you quickly shake your head. 

"No, not at all! H-He had been the only man who had ever really loved me...“ 

„...the only one to whom my heart will forever belong."will you bring barely audible over your lips. 

[codename-adler]

Hey! Hi, so I have seen that you ship Kevin and Aaron very much. Now, I read your 9th part of the foxes + onesies series and well now I'm craving more Kevaaron. I love them so much, but I have the hardest time finding good fics for them. So could you recommend me some of your favorite Kevaaron fics? (you can give however many you want, but no more than 10, cause I know you are going to give good recs and if I start reading one, I won't be able to stop until I finish all of them.)

Well hi!!!

I read (and publish) all my fics on ao3, so I hope this won’t be a problem! Also, most of these Kevaaron fics, if I remember well without the tags, are rated Mature or Explicit, so I’ll try to diverse my recs a bit but if these are too much for you (or any of you) please don’t hesitate to ask again for more sfw/G-rated fics, and I shall answer your call! And, I’ll only suggest completed fics, because I’d hate to leave you hanging.

The only fic I will recommend that is not on ao3 is the first one. 

Kevaaron Fic Recs

Twilight & Daytime - @ukamushu_the_bibliophile on Instagram

This. This fic. I have followed the chapters since day one. It is now complete. What was even better than this fic is the friendship I’ve been blessed to form with its writer, Kammy. She is an amazing woman and a wonderful writer who gave each character of our beloved series a new and unique twist, and much more depth. Kevin and Aaron are lucky to have her writing them, and we are lucky to have her for reading her sweet, heartfelt and honest story. This fic is an emotional journey, but a welcomed one. I urge you all to read her story and encourage her and show her some love!

(44 parts, completed, TW at the beginning of each posted chapter)

* Summary to be added once I get it from Kammy *

coming loose - dhedy on ao3 

I mean... I think we all started there... 

(13 chapters, 26,300 words, completed, G)

“  “What are you doing?” Aaron heard the door shut and closed his eyes. Even his eyelids were sticky. “It’s hot,” he said, the effort of peeling the words from his lips lingering in the form of sweat dripping down his face. “I was asking Andrew.” From somewhere near his feet, Andrew said, “It’s extremely hot.” - it's hot, and the twins are disgruntled, and aaron can't stop hoping for things he can't have. “ 

twin high maintenance machines - thisnightsrevels on ao3

This is slowburn af but god is it good.

(1 chapter, 17,500 words, completed, G)

“ Healing was never going to be easy, but maybe together they could find a way

Kevin and Aaron have grown sick of living under Andrews thumb, and slowly they're coming to realise that there are better things to live for beyond the bottle he shoves in their hand. “

The Thing About Andrew - aristotlethecat on ao3

This shit gets heavy but... so worth it.

(11 chapters, 10,300 words, completed, M + TW + Explicit)

“  Kevin is ignoring Andrew after canon events because of the choking thing and he finds solace in late night talks with the more sane of the two twins who has also suffered at his brother's hands. “

all of the things (that i’m not) - vertigo on ao3

Oh boy, this? This is a heartwrenching AU, slowburn-y and angsty and. ugh.

(5 chapters, 47,500 words, completed, M + TW + Explicit)

“  It took three swats of his racquet (heavy, short in length, shallow net depth, one parallel red mark on the middle of the body) to break Kevin's hand and spirit. “

or; Kevin never really heals from his hand injury, never goes to PSU, moves to Cleveland to co-coach its Exy team that just happens to have Aaron as one of its backliner...

Honey, You’re Familiar - OfficialStarsandGutters on ao3 

I don’t have words for this. A comfort fic of mine for sure.

(1 chapter, 18,300 words, completed, M + TW + Explicit)

“ Kevin is so warm, and solid, and bright. He is Enjolras, Achilles; the blazing hero, self righteous and certain, and Aaron is just a lost companion stumbling in his wake, grateful to be in his presence.

When the fuck did he become a Kevin Day fanboy? Because fuck that. “

I Wanna Make You Move - sheerpoetry on ao3

It’s NOT just smut, okay? It’s not. There are feelings.

(6 chapters, 9,600 words, completed, M + TW + Explicit)

“ Kevin is drunk. Aaron is drunk. Andrew is oblivious.

(Kevin hits the dance floor after hitting the bottle. He finds Aaron, who actually doesn't mind his company.)

[Then neither of them wants to let it go and it's a journey for everyone.] “

Only Fools - Moth2Flame on ao3

Oh this is dark. But it gets better. Promise.

(1 chapter, 12,400 words, completed, M + TW + Explicit)

“ Aaron was just going along, minding his own business, content in his life and then... feelings.

Unwanted ones. Bad ones. Ones he shouldn't be having and ones he definitely shouldn't be having about Kevin fucking Day.

The thing is, Aaron's not particulary good when it comes to feelings.

In fact, he could almost give Andrew a run for his money when it comes to being self-destructive in his stubborn determination to deny them

Set post-canon, and AKA: Aaron is an angry prickly cactus and Kevin just wants to hug him (but with angst) “

(don’t matter what) people say - psychOmidget (cominupforair) on ao3

We all need therapy, especially Kevin and Aaron. 

( 1 chapter, 8,000 words, completed, M + TW)

“ Aaron knew he was bi.

He had long come to terms with it, but he believed that he could pretend he was straight as long as he kept dating girls.

But then Kevin happened. That’s where Aaron’s carefully constructed world really started crumbling. With him and Kevin kissing on his bed, legs tangled and hands roaming each other’s bodies. “

And so I’ll stop there, even if I got more suggestions... You know where to find me if your life lacks some Kevaaron again!

[ohnotoomanyfandoms]

Let's talk about those two chapters!!!!!

You ask, we deliver! Let’s talk about my theories from the two preview chapters of Chain of Iron, shall we? So many thoughts, I’ll have to be brief with each one. Feel free to ask questions on anything I don’t mention or clarifications on points I do touch. 

1. Belial. Who is he possessing? James would be so obvious it’s cheap. The fun plot twist would be Lucie, who complained in Chain of Gold that she’s also Belial’s granddaughter. It would go in perfect irony with Lucie’s line to Grace “I don’t want to do evil things” while she runs around being possessed by a Greater Demon killing innocent mundanes (and probably Shadowhunters too) in London. However, as marvelous as this sounds, it appears Belial is possessing a male body (unless it’s just written to mislead us). In that case, my next best guess (and something I DO NOT want happening) would be Matthew. He isn’t a descendant of Belial’s, but he is magically linked to James via the parabatai rune and bond, so that could be a loophole. What made me think that? At the Devil’s Tavern, Matthew wishes James gone for a second, and James ends up in the shadow realm, Belial’s realm, for the first time in four months.

2. There is something FISHY going on with Hypatia and the Helle Ruelle celebrating Lilith. Well, not really that. What stinks is that Cassandra would feel the need to explain Lilith’s history with the angels to us again and that Cordelia would spend another entire paragraph going over the ceremony performed when Shadowhunter babies are born. We know this already. She’s saying it for our benefit and for a reason. Are the warlocks hiding a Shadowhunter baby? Or alternatively, WHO DIDN’T GET THE CEREMONY? This could also be the answer to our previous question, because we know that “unbaptized” babies can be possessed by demons (like Jace after his rebirth in TMI) so it could solve the mystery of Belial’s possession without needing a blood relation. Or... WILL LILIHT MAKE AN APPEARANCE IN COI/COT?

3. Cordelia will go see Wayland the Smith in this book. When? Well, when Cortana starts burning her, of course. She’ll try to find answers everywhere, consulting books, Jem, even friendly warlocks perhaps, but eventually she’ll have to ask that faerie to take her to Wayland, Cortana’s legendary maker, and make a deal. NEVER PROMISE ANYTHING TO FAERIES, DAISY! That will be a mess. 

4. I think the Gracelet doesn’t work in the shadow realm, which confirms that Belial didn’t cast the spell on the bracelet, because surely his magic would work in his own kindgom? James was thinking of the wedding in the tone he would under the effect of the Gracelet, and in the shadow realm he suddenly has a rather romantic view of Cordelia, like an avenging angel or “a goddess captured in a painting: Liberty or Victory leading the people.” Something to keep an eye on.

5. As we know, Grace and Christopher are supposed to get married, according to the misleading family tree. We don’t know if that will end up happening, but I suppose this is how they could grow closer: we know Lucie has been asking Kit for ingredients for their spells. When Lucie inevitably pulls away from the agreement with Grace because she doesn’t yet want to do full-on necromancy (good call, I hope she sticks by it but I doubt she will), Grace will need to ask Christopher directly - she can’t risk being seen at the Shadow Market, given her mother’s history, so he’s her best option. 

6. Filomena di Angelo will be the name of the Italian Shadowhunter, I’m 99.9999999% sure at this point. Am I happy? No. Speaking as an Italian myself, Cassie couldn’t have picked a worse name. (Yes, it makes me smile that she and Rick Riordan exchange character names, but this name still doesn’t sound right or fitting. Happy to elaborate more in another post if you’re interested!)

7. As I’ve said before, to the delight of our Jordelia hearts, James has no intention whatsoever of cheating on Daisy or breaking his promise to her by seeing Grace. Unfortunately, he won’t be able to help it because Grace’s spell will compel him to go see her at one point. Sad angst and a loss of trust will ensue. UNLESS the magic of the MARRIAGE RUNES is stronger than the Gracelet and can counteract it. That would be dope. But that would also mean a win for us, and it’s only the second book... 

8. The Lucie/Jesse content was too on the nose. it’s only the first two chapters and it’s 1903, stop flirting, goddammit. Apart from that, Lucie is being too reckless. She’ll get in trouble soon.

9. Matthew is going to behave with Cordelia. He would and will never put her in a compromising position or one where she would have to choose between him and James. The “”””kiss”””” was accidental, Cassie said as much in a Tumblr answer. I love their friendship, it’s one of my favorites. But trust me, it’s not going to go anywhere beyond that. Matthew may wish, but he will never act. He likes pursuing loves that are “hopeless”, it’s said as much in the text. 

10. ANNA WAS TOTALLY FLIRTING WITH CORDELIA ON THE EVE OF HER WEDDING TO ANNA’S COUSIN, SCANDALOUS

11. Thomas and Alastair will finally speak at the wedding. Not make up yet, but have a conversation. I just hope Charles doesn’t magically come back from Paris to make an appearance.

12. THE NEXT CHAPTER WE READ WILL BE THE JORDELIA WEDDING (!!!) and all the adults will be there so we’ll see all our TID darlings as well. I am prepared to bet anything that Brother Zachariah will officiate the wedding. I cannot wait.

13. What the fùck was up with the reverse mermaid???????????

Need more analysis or clarifications on some points? Want help believing in Mucie and keeping your faith in Jordelia? WE’VE GOT YOU. Send me all your questions. I would prefer non-anonymous ones, so I can notify you!