#and was like well why not combine them...........

[morphodae]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · ღ HSR Men Becoming Parents (part I) ღ · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · ✦ I used a randomized wheel to select some characters on parent/baby head-canons. I will do the rest in other parts, and I also plan on including the HSR women as parents too! ≫ Note: some children of these characters are biological and some are adopted! :) ✦ CW: some related story spoilers for characters, non-graphic mentions of labor and delivery, pregnancy, fluff, mentions of angst but not much

✦ Characters: Aventurine, Boothill, Gallagher, Jiaoqiu x Reader (separate)

≫"Aventurine" - Kakavasha • ♧ • ☆———☆ • ♧ •  You aren't sure why you were nervous to tell him in the first place. He takes the news shockingly well; with a bright, wide smile and a tight hug. But there's no mistaking the tremble in his hands as he envelops you, the worry that furrows between his brows at night when he thinks to his own family, his clan, and their fate. So when that fateful day arrives and you go into labor, it nearly kills him to be kept out of the room with you. "There's issues happening, sir. She's lost a lot of blood and still is, but we are doing everything we can to ensure baby and mother survive this."

Hours pass, minutes, eternity. The mocking ticking of the clock does little to lessen the incessant pacing Aventurine does with his leg as he sits, gets up to pace, then sits some more. Every possible scenario runs through his mind; none of them are positive. He can't help but think back to his cursed luck, to the fate that befell his family and now - you. His child. His flesh and blood and his hope for the future... would he even be awarded that chance? Or would "luck" take you away from him, too? Nearly stumbling over himself, a nurse comes to get him; her eyes dark, exhausted, and her face forlorn as a tired smile stretches gently across her face. "They are both stable now. Would you like to see your little boy, Mr. Aventurine?" ≫ Boothill ━━✥◈✥━━ "Well fudge me! Ain't no way it actually worked!" He spins you around in his strong cybernetic arms; ecstasy doesn't even do his own emotions justice in this very moment. The two of you looked at galactic doctors in passing, some promising the idea of conception as long as Boothill had some genetic makeup left on his person. Which he did: his head and his hair. Still, the two of you didn't put much stock into it but figured you might as well both try. If not, neither of you had any issue being childless or even adopting an orphan from one of the many war planets. Boothill, for as curt and reckless as he could be, always admired your enormous heart for children and animals who had no home, and no one to take care of them. So, when the news of that so-called galactic genius of a doctor managed to successfully combine both your and Boothill's genes to create a baby, it isn't several minutes before Boothill lets your feet touch the ground. Even so, throughout your pregnancy, he still doesn't let your feet touch the ground. Call it dedication to you, his spouse, but also call it a fear of losing his family again. Months pass by quicker than expected and Boothill always managed to talk with the growing life inside you every night, telling stories of the sister they could've had, how proud he was of them already, how much of a fighter they were gonna be when they managed to kick you a little too hard.

And so, when time passes by in another blur, Boothill's eyes are glazed over as he stares down at the tiniest little bundle swaddled in his arms. Tiny tufts of hair that resemble his fill her small head, eyes thar resembles yours. She looks up at him, at her daddy, and one stray arm lands square on his face until her hand squeezes at his nose. Boothill is speechless for once; glad his little girl is strong and healthy and reaching out for his face - the one part of his body he can still feel touch. He swears on every part of his being: it's not just you he has to keep safe anymore, but his new chance at being a father.

≫ Gallagher ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The enigma known as "Gallagher" has always perplexed you. Even when the two of you met; just who or what was he? A person? A former person? Or an amalgamation of dreams? He proves you wrong one day when he decides to travel with you to a worn-torn world for your work. As a nurse, you usually went by yourself, but for whatever reason, Gallagher decided to tag along. "It'll be nice to stretch these old legs and get out to new sights," he said. That was before the two of you were stumped: staring slack-jawed at the little boy who had smuggled himself onto your ship. He is a Halovian child; small wings flapping nervously out of shame as he peers at the two of you behind some shipping crates. Sighing, you reach down to his level, outstretching your hand and hoping that your demeanor will allow the child to feel safe with you. To your and Gallagher's surprise, the little Halovian rushes to you in a desperate hug, a familiar sound of sniffles and a dampness near the collar of your shirt. "Please! I have nowhere to go! I'm so, so, so sorry to have snuck on to your ship!" the boy sniffles, voice muffled by the fabric he buried his face into by your neck, "please don't leave me! I p-promise I'll be useful!"

'Useful'... a word Gallagher could resonate with, one that hit a little harder than most when he slowly began approaching the boy in your arms. Something changed in his demeanor then, large, scarred hand deciding to ruffle the boy's hair until the Halovian sniffled and peered up at him. "No need to cry, kid. We'll take you with us, alright?" Gallagher glances to you for approval and you send him a kind smile and nod. The young boy grips on harder to your shirt, thanking you profusely as you carry him off somewhere safe until you can go through the proper channels to adopt him.

≫ Jiaoqiu —————❖————— "Why?"

"Why?" "How could I ever be upset with you...? The only part of me that's upset is you thinking I wouldn't want you after this news." He wraps his arms around you, contented smile on his face. "If this is what you want then, yes, of course it'll be hard, but I'm willing to experience this with you." Your hormones are raging as you hug him back, fear slowly dissipating as the guilt for letting yourself fall pregnant when Jiaoqiu's eyesight and wounds were still healing. "I never thought an old fox like me could be a dad, heh," he mumbles, holding you just a little closer, "but I think I could get used to it... the word: 'Papa'."

Despite one of senses severely impaired, Jiaoqiu is still just as much of a mother-hen as always; ensuring you are taken care of, properly nourished, and resting when you need to. He uses the excuse each day that he "needs to check your progress" on the growth of your belly, but knowing he has little to no experience with pregnancy as a healer, it's quite obvious he's lying just to feel your tummy and bond with his little kit. Jiaoqiu will use text-to-speech books on pregnancy and parenting frequently, telling you all about the progress and changes your body is going through. And, for the record, he takes any mood swings and changes quite well; the reason is quite simple, too. He never thought he'd ever have the luxury of settling down with a family of his own and so, he cherishes every single moment of the process: good and bad. When you go into labor, he's immediately at your side. His Foxian blood can practically sense it. His instincts take the better of him and he refuses to leave your side for even a single moment; wrapping his tail protectively around you and nuzzling his face close to yours with a flurry of kisses and encouraging words. His hand certainly hurts when you squeeze it, but he doesn't mind. He also doesn't mind if you feel the need to scream; in fact, he encourages you to let it out if it hurts. Feeling the tears on your face and hearing the agony in your voice as you try to stifle your cries hurts him more than you know. But, oh... when the first cries of his beautiful child is brought into the world, he feels that familiar lump of emotion forming in his throat, his chest constricting. When you describe what she looks like, describes just how much she resembles him, Jiaoqiu breaks down. He apologizes quickly and tries to compose himself. But it doesn't last long when he's allowed to hold his daughter with your guidance.

When her tiny hands wrap around his finger, he knows... he knows that he's finally reached a point where his centuries of healing others has finally begun to mend his broken heart back together.

© morphodae (please do not insert any of my works into artificial intelligence programs or repost my works on any site)

[celestialspritz]

Why Sims 2 has been so broken the last ten years

This is down to my own research, and I'm not saying it is the one and only reason why the game is so broken these days, but I have some points worth mentioning.

So, you're bored one day. You remember this game you had so much fun playing a few years ago, or maybe as a child. It's The Sims 2!

The game has a few issues than from when you last remembered playing, so you search on google for some fixes for the tiny resolution, and among the countless posts you may find, you may find this:

Or this:

(to the creators and players mentioned here this isn't me making a dig at you, i'm just pointing out some cc that could affect the game from working properly. your stuff is all beautiful :D)

Lesya's game is gorgeous!!! Oh, how can I get it to look like that?

So you, with a clean, vanilla (ugly) game you decide to download a few mods she listed, such as:

Skylines by GCKP (you can get optimised ones by me here)

Skies by Lowedeus (you can get optimised ones by me here)

Trees by Criquette (you can get optimised ones here)

No More Blurriness by Voeille (you can get optimised snow only here)

Cool! And then you notice some cheats than can give the game that open-world, interactive feel. Even better!

And you shove them into your folder and you boot up the game. Everything's going great!

Until...

You search hundreds of posts looking for the fix. Some recommend 3rd-party tools, but they seem to make the problem worse. You reinstall, finding you only wasted your time. Something has to be causing this, but you'd never guess it'd be the mods everybody swore by.

Well, in fact, it is. Partly.

I've struggled with pink flashing since 2019, when I reinstalled Sims 2 after I got a decent computer for once. I did everything above, searched for fixes, found Lesya's blog which was my primary inspiration. It was through Lesya's guide that I was able to make my game look pretty!

These mods, which are a staple in the modding community, are beautiful indeed... but what if I told you that the reason they're so beautiful, is because they're high-quality. With textures soaring up to 4k, when, hang on--

In 2004, 4k resolution was... probably unheard of. With the leading monitor size being 1024x768, what would be the point of using such huge textures on an engine that was designed for monitors of at least this size? Would you be able to see the detail of 4k on a monitor of that size? Definitely not.

The max visiting sims, okay, a little hit or miss. If your sims are all wearing high poly alpha CC, then it's a problem. If not, good luck.

Then comes the cheats I mentioned. The lot skirt cheat expands the view distance a significant amount. With the mergenhoodflora cheat, that displays more trees. Combining the two, what do you get?

A massive view distance, blinded by trees.

With skies and skylines with large textures up to 4k, and trees with textures up to 2k, The Sims 2 will collapse. It's like forcing an old man with health conditions to do 20 situps, again and again.

It'll overexert him, by the very least. And you're overexerting the game by cramming custom content that is not optimised for the engine TS2 was built on.

So please, next time you encounter the pink soup, please check your CC folders, and research changes and cheats before you put them into your game. You will enjoy the game much more if you do this, and won't encounter this problem so often.

Don't use Graphics Rules Maker

Instead, opt for a maxis original Graphics Rules uploaded here by Veronavillequiltingbee. It's essentially a rewrite of an old tutorial I made a long time ago.

Once you download the file from VVQB, open DXDIAG by pressing WinKey+R and typing 'dxdiag'.

This value I've underlined is what you need to put after seti textureMemory. Open the sgr file and do CTRL-F and input seti textureMemory.

Add the value from DXDIAG and then save it.

You can use GRM for adding your GPU to the game, but I do not recommend it for anything but that.

Optimising the game... inside the game

*shoves GRM off the table*

We're going to go into TS2 in-game settings for this one.

These settings are optimal if you play CC-heavy households. It will ease the load on your game to make space for the heavy CC you have in your current household. You can tweak these when you want to take photos outside, but for playing I recommend them all to be off - especially at community lots as there are lots of sims there.

I never see anybody talking about Object Hiding.

Object Hiding hides objects from floors that aren't in view. If you're playing downstairs, objects upstairs won't be rendered, thus minimising the load on your game.

I have reflections and smooth edges off because I use ReShade.

Snow on Ground is optional. Sometimes snow can cause pink flashing, I believe it's due to texture replacements that are huge in size too, Voeille's is 2k. I've linked a resized one above.

This post will be updated with later findings. I hope you all found it informative :]

[momotonescreaming]

All the things I would do

Rating: M | WC: 5.5k | Evan Buckley/Tommy Kinard Relationship Study, Kissing, Mild Smut [Read on AO3]

Buck loved having sex in the loft. He loved having sex with Tommy in the loft.

The way he could drag Tommy upstairs by his hand, fingers entwined, no walls or doors in the way to slow them down. The way he could fall backwards onto his mattress, sending Tommy tumbling on top of him with a playful tug of his hand, falling into place easily. Large thighs bracketing his hips, keeping him pinned, held in place — not that Buck wants to leave when Tommy has him like that.

Hand curling around Tommy’s waist, around his neck, pulling him even closer as Buck smiles into a kiss. His boyfriend (boyfriend!) falling into it naturally, almost entirely in sync. Letting himself be pulled, pinning Buck where he wants him. Bracing himself on the mattress to kiss and kiss and kiss Buck.

Buck’s had sex in the loft before, it’s a fact, logically he knows that it’s technically no different than when he was with Ali or Taylor or Natalia. That Buck and Taylor would hurry upstairs with the same desire and rush to have sex that he and Tommy do.

But it feels different. More. Better. Unlike anything else he’s experienced before.

Like he’s a giddy teenager experiencing dating for the first time combined with the freedom and experience of an adult. Maybe it’s just better with Tommy.

Tommy, who was better than Buck could have possibly dreamed.

Who took his whole world and flipped it upside down. Opened his eyes. He was free and he was Tommy’s. He had a boyfriend who was cool with this being his first relationship with a man (once he had gotten over the initial hurdle and panic, which, fair, Buck felt terrible about it too) because they both knew he was in this with Tommy. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure of what he was ready for — he told Tommy as much — but he meant it when he said he was ready for something with Tommy. He liked Tommy, he wanted to be around him, he wanted to explore what dating this incredible man meant.

This incredible man who was cool with whatever pace Buck wanted or needed to set — whether he wanted to slow down or speed up. Buck wanted to explore it all with Tommy.

Who’s always checking in, making sure Buck’s alright, and it never feels condescending. Partly because Buck actually really appreciates a partner doing that for him, showing that they care and don’t want to pressure him into something he’s maybe not ready for just yet. But also partly because he now knows that Tommy needs it as well. To be the partner he never had when he first came out. Not to say that he doesn’t listen to Buck when he says yes, he’s sure. He wants this. He’s ready. Because Tommy listens when he talks, really listens, and takes him at his word when he says he wants more, they can progress.

So they were taking it at Buck’s pace, and Buck couldn’t be happier. So was Tommy, if what he was telling Buck was any indication. The way he looked at him. And why wouldn’t it be. Tommy kept looking at him with happy, crinkly smiles that took over his whole face. With soft, tender gazes that made Buck feel like he was about to melt on the spot.

When Buck said that all he wanted to do was make out like teenagers, groping on his couch with no intention of going any further — Tommy said of course. And he was a very willing participant. Letting Buck explore his lips, his tongue, the way that he kissed him. Kissing him back. Feeling Tommy’s 5 o’clock shadow against his chin, stubble scratching against stubble. Resisting the urge to lick a hot, wet line in the cleft of Tommy’s chin. Muscled shoulders underneath his grasping hands. Sighing and moaning into Tommy’s mouth at every little reminder about just how masculine Tommy is. And just how into it Buck is. A part of Buck wonders why it took him so long to realise that this was something he was into.

Sharp cheekbones and a jaw so chiselled it was like he was made from marble. Short hair and muscles bigger than his. Buck finds himself moaning the first time he gets pinned underneath his boyfriend and realises that if anything, he’s the smaller one in the relationship. They’re the same height, both muscled, but Tommy’s just slightly broader, with a thick chest and biceps as big as his head. He kind of wants to bite him about it.

It feels easy with Tommy, natural, but not like he’s just falling into it with him like when Buck was in his other relationships. Less like he’s being whisked away in someone else’s current and more like he’s going with the flow. Together. He was choosing Tommy and Tommy was choosing him back. It was an easy decision to make. Like he was talking about with Eddie — they just clicked.

He wants to explore everything with him.

Tommy sent him his first ever dick pic, and it was kind of insane how good it was. Blew his fucking mind. He felt like a teenager again with how horny it made him. He remembers it vividly, Buck lounging on his brand new couch, flipping through channels for something to watch, texting Tommy. His boyfriend recently back from shift in his own house and starting to unwind. Took a shower to clean off the day, got changed, and so Buck flirted a little. Maybe asked for a picture. He felt all giddy and little ridiculous as he did it, excitement bubbling up in his chest as Tommy actually sent a photo back.

Reclined into his mattress, one arm resting above his head, gently flexing. Hair all tousled and curling at the nape of his neck where it was still damp from his shower. He was shirtless, because of course he was, camera angled to show off the full expanse of his torso. Showing off his abs, his scar, his pecs, that Buck definitely wanted to bite. Tommy knows what he’s doing, all casual and cool and Buck really can’t get enough of it. He also kind of wanted to make it the lockscreen on his phone, if he wasn’t sure Eddie and Hen and the rest of the 118 would tease him for it as soon as they caught sight of it.

So, biting lip, Buck sent a photo back. Tried to pose in such a way that was flirty, fun and sexy without him looking like a total fuckboy. Although, Buck thought — Tommy would probably like it if he flexed his bicep or lifted his shirt to show off his abs. Posed like a frat boy, just a little. Because he knows that Tommy’s into him. Doesn’t have to worry about sending a photo that’s too much too fast.

It was exciting, exchanging those photos that got sexier and sexier with each click. Buck unbuttoning his shirt, his jeans. While Tommy tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants. Shucking his pants down his thighs as Tommy sent a photo of him palming himself through the thin fabric of his grey sweats, dick tenting the fabric. And fuck, what Buck wouldn’t give to see that in person. He’d seen people online talk about hot guys in grey sweats before, not thinking much about it, but he gets it now. Slowly starting to forget about angles and flexing his muscles, trying to take the best possible photo for Tommy and focusing on just how fucking hot he felt. Pulse racing, breath coming heavier, excitement running through him. How he wanted to show Tommy just how much he was effecting him.

He was sexting a guy. His boyfriend, even. It was fucking exciting. Invigorating.

And then Buck got his first ever dick pic, and he shamelessly jacked off to thoughts of Tommy in the middle of his living room couch. Didn’t even make it upstairs. Didn’t even think about the possibility of anyone barging into his apartment. Was so caught up in the sight of Tommy — all of him, and damn there was a lot— in the thought of what his dick might feel like in his hands, heavy and warm and velvety skin. What sounds Tommy would be making — moaning like he did in the hospital lobby, gasping and grunting as he got off to thoughts of Buck.

Shirt falling off his shoulders, unbuttoned and baring his naked chest. Pinned on only from the couch underneath him, fabric wrinkling. He didn’t care. Jeans stretched around his thighs, straining as he adjusted himself. Underwear pulled down just enough to expose himself, tucked under his cock, fabric damp with precome. He sent Tommy a photo of that too.

Things progressed easily from there. Buck was all in, no hesitation.

It was like that photo finally broke through the final wall of nerves sitting in Buck’s head — the one of Tommy fisting his hard cock, pretty and pink and leaking, just for Buck. Head thrown back on his bed, exposing the long lines of his neck. That while he was in this, and knew Tommy was hot, had been shamelessly jerking off to thoughts of Tommy — the reality of seeing a cock like that had him a little nervous. It was first. Having a photo made it easier, Buck thought afterwards, breaking through the anxiety of a first time and the what ifs swimming around in Buck’s head.

Tommy was hot. Buck was horny. And he had nothing to be worried about. The heat and the lust and the want rushed through Buck and swept all the anxiety away like a wave.

He wanted phone sex and to come in his pants dry humping with Tommy on the couch. Wanted to drag Tommy into the shower together and get his hands on him. Maybe drop to his knees and ask Tommy to teach him how to suck cock.

And Tommy was there every step of the way.

Dirty talking on the other side of the phone, voice deep and smooth and sending a shiver down Buck’s spine. Relationship still so new but Tommy still somehow knowing exactly what to say to make him groan. To feel the heat pooling inside him as Tommy tells him exactly how he’s going to take him apart. To tell Tommy how good he is at this, how perfect. Tell him about all the things he does to Buck — his racing heart, his stuttering words, wanton moaning into the phone.

Ready and willing to rut against Buck like a teenager, sloppily making out in the living room of Tommy’s house. Never once complaining about the denim of his jeans straining against him as they fuck fully clothed. Pinning Buck to his couch, sinking into the cushions, grinding their clothed cocks together. One hand in Tommy’s hair, mussing up his curls; the other raking down his back. Grasping at fabric, feeling the heat of him, the shifting lines of his muscles. Creeping lower to grab at his ass and swallowing Tommy’s moan as he does so. Writhing and rutting against each other until they came in their pants, and Buck was kind of obsessed of the feeling of Tommy pulsing against him, hot and sticky. It was so hot, they’ll definitely be doing that again if Buck has anything to say about it.

Not to say that’s all their relationship is — sex.

Buck finally got to go on that go karting date — at that track out in the desert he’d been talking about — where he had a lot of fun discovering that Tommy was very good at it, actually. Made sense, since he was very much a car guy. It was kind of a perfect date. Out in the sun, clear skies, doing something exciting with Tommy. Racing around the track, calling out and teasing everytime they passed each other. They made a day of it, going for a drive, Buck holding Tommy’s hand over the Jeep’s gear stick. His boyfriend’s large, calloused hand entwined with his, warm and comforting. He felt lighter on the way home, that now achingly familiar giddy-happiness sitting in his chest like honey. Buck drove home with a grin on his face, hand resting on Tommy’s thigh.

There were other dates of course, where they tried a mini golfing place down by the beach and quickly discovered that they were both sort of terrible at it. Spending hours walking through the park together, just talking and enjoying the fact that he was allowed to hold Tommy’s hand. They re-did their dinner date and actually made it to the movie, sneaking glances at each other in the dark of the theatre.

Tommy was taking him on hikes — at some local trails he frequented, where they were surrounded by nothing but nature and the cloudless sky. In a muscle tee with the sleeves cut off, and his familiar blue gym shorts, Tommy led them up the trail with a grin on his face and a backpack strapped to his back. Water bottle, bug spray, sunscreen, emergency first aid kit. It was nice to date someone who got it, another first responder, someone who was just as prepared as he was. The sun beat down on them as they hiked the trail, sun warming his skin until he felt like liquid gold. Talking about everything and nothing, about calls and documentaries Buck had watched. About what work Tommy was doing on his car and a little more about Harbour Station.

His muscles were warm and he was sweaty by the time they finished the trail, Tommy much the same as he drove them both back to Buck’s loft. Safe to say he was distracted on the ride home. He was sun warmed and sated, watching a bead of sweat drip Tommy’s neck as he sighed into the cool air of the Jeep’s AC. Licking his lips, trying very hard not to think about leaning over the centre console and licking it up. Feeling the saltiness on his tongue, the warmth of Tommy’s skin radiating out, the way his breath would hitch.

But Buck really doesn’t want to risk a car accident and have to call 911 — they’ll never hear the end of it. So he lets Tommy drive, watching him navigate the roads of LA with ease. One hand on the wheel, and the other burning hot as it rests on Buck’s thigh. And then, he invites Tommy back up to his loft with a flirty gaze and a coy tilt to his head. He really doesn’t want this date to end. Buck thinks he could spend hours with Tommy and never grow sick of it, never feel the itch that he needs space.

Tommy agrees.

So Buck spent the elevator ride up to his loft bouncing on the balls of his feet, biting his lip and trying to keep his hands to himself. He won’t be able to restrain himself otherwise, and he really doesn’t want to piss off his neighbours. Tommy gives him a knowing glance out of the corner of his eye, gaze raking over Buck’s body. That familiar smirk on his face. He doesn’t feel objectified, like Tommy’s just in it for his body, he feels wanted. Desired.

It feels like the beginning of something.

Sex might not be the only thing their relationship is — but it is an important part. Hell, Buck was a self proclaimed sex addict for a time. It took a lot of reflection, and a lot of talking through it in therapy, but Buck was now comfortable with the fact that him desiring sex, desiring that intimacy — isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Having a high sex drive isn’t a bad thing. There’s nothing wrong with needing that connection to another person. Unabashed and unashamed. And he wanted that with Tommy.

Buck wanted that connection, that closeness. He wanted to explore sex, explore his bisexuality — with Tommy. Whether it was hard and fast, hot and steamy, or slow and exploring. He wanted it all.

So as soon as they shut the front door to Buck’s loft behind them — they were on each other. Reaching for each other in tandem. Hands grasping at waists and sweaty shirts, Tommy throwing his backpack onto the floor and kissing Buck as soon as he’s free of it. Buck pulling Tommy towards him by his waist, wrinkling the fabric of his sweaty shirt — sending them slamming into the door behind him with the force of it.

He smiles into Tommy’s mouth as his boyfriend brings an arm up to brace himself on the door — using the leverage to slow their descent into the door, just slightly. His heart jumps as he realises what Tommy did — trying to stop Buck from slamming his head into the door — taking care of him, even now. Even still.

Buck slides his hands up Tommy’s shirt, feeling the heat of his skin pressing into the palms of his hands. Burning hot, it’s not enough. Skating along the hardened muscle, the sweat pooling on his lower back. He wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer, closer.

Closing his eyes as Tommy kisses him back. Leaving his arm braced on the door above them, bracketing Buck in, the other burning a hole in his side. All he can smell is sweat and salt and Tommy. There’s nowhere he’d rather be. Kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him. Prying Tommy’s mouth open with his tongue, wet and hot. Dripping spit down his chin as he sucks on his tongue.

Tommy groans into his mouth, a low rumble, and he can feel every shake of it where their chests press together. Sticking together with sweat. If Buck was less horny, he’d maybe think about how gross they both were, sticky from hours in the sun. But he is, and Tommy is so fucking hot like this. Sweaty and gross and masculine. He grips the fabric of his shirt, and uses the leverage to pull Tommy’s hips into his. Thin fabric of their gym shorts leaving nothing to the imagination. Feeling every inch of him, the thick hard line of his cock.

Then it’s Buck’s turn to moan unabashedly as Tommy starts to gently rut against him. Mouth dropping to his neck as Buck tilts his gaze towards the roof of the loft. Eyes fluttering open, gasping for air, letting his gasps and moans filter out into the open air.

A giggle escapes him. They’re still pressed to his front door.

Tommy slows, pressing wet kisses down his neck. Along the curve and lines of his jaw. Taking his time with each one, deep but not enough to leave marks. Buck finds himself pushing up Tommy’s shirt, exposing his bare chest as he ruts against him.

“Tommy,” he moans, the word shuddering as he exhales, and there must be something in his voice because Tommy pauses. Pulls away from Buck’s neck, leaving behind a hot wet mark that cools in the open air. Buck would pout at the loss of contact if they weren’t pressed together as close as they are.

Tilting his head, raising an eyebrow in that way he does, Tommy looks at him. Mouth twitching up at the corners. He can see how spit-slick and pink they are. He really wants to kiss him again. “Evan.”

“Why’d you stop?” Buck says, smiling. Panting through the words, heat of his skin cooling in the summer air. Running his hands up Tommy’s sides, along the lines and curves of his muscles. Dipping lower, enjoying every inch of their clothed cocks pressing together. Tilting his head to catch Tommy’s gaze, eyes shining. He still feels all giddy and bubbly inside. The heat and desire boiling up with this undercurrent of sheer joy. “I thought we had something good going.”

“We do.” Tommy says simply, smoothly, smiling softly back at Buck as if he has no idea what he’s doing to him. Bringing his hand down from the door above them, dropping to cradle Buck’s face. Hold his haw in his hand, thumb running in gentle circles. Calloused thumb scratching against his stubble. It’s a good sound. “But I was just wondering if we’d be more comfortable in that big fancy shower of yours. There’s room for two, isn’t there?”

“There is now,” Buck says giddily, the smooth tone of Tommy’s voice washing over him, rolling through him. Sending a shiver down his spine, straight to his thickening cock. He’s sure Tommy can feel it. Good. He loves it when Tommy puts the moves on him, and loves being able to show him exactly how much.

He grabs Tommy’s hand, laughing giddily as he pulls them both into the bathroom. Tommy’s chucking behind him, fingers entwined with his. Kicking the door behind them, slamming shut, but neither flinch at the sound.

Tugging gently on their entwined hands, Tommy pulls Buck back into his orbit, reaching out with his other hand to rest on his hip. Steadying them. Bodies pressed together, still warm and sweaty, but the red-hot urgency is cooling.

Buck can go at Tommy’s pace, too. It’s nice, when Tommy lets himself set the lead like this, when he knows it’s something Buck’s into and comfortable with. He bites his bottom lip, plush and pink, drawing Tommy’s eyes down as he gently brings their hips together again. Not moving, not writhing and grinding like he wants to, just pressing the lengths of them together. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” Tommy says back, voice just on the edge of teasing. Buck kind of really wants to keep kissing him. So he does. Eyes fluttering shut as he brings their lips together again, hand resting on the back of Tommy’s head, tangling through his sweat-damp curls. He moans into Tommy’s mouth, deepening the kiss, when Tommy pulls back.

Buck chases his lips with his, almost subconsciously, already so caught up in the feeling of Tommy’s kisses. He’s sort of addicted already, ever since that fateful day in the middle of the loft. What can he say, Tommy’s a good kisser. Good enough to flip his whole world on his head. Open his eyes. Tommy chuckles gently at Buck chasing his lips, gently rubbing his thumb in circles at Buck’s waist.

“Wanna get the shower going for us, baby?” Tommy says, voice deepening as his eyes lock with Buck’s. Squeezing their entwined hands as he takes a step back, increasing the space in between them. Hands anchoring them together, even still, and Buck appreciates it. His heart jumps in his chest as he squeezes back.

“Oh yeah?” Buck flirts, eyes shining as he looks over at Tommy, shining under the overhead lights of the bathroom. “And what are you gonna do?”

“Well I don’t know about you,” Tommy teases, releasing Buck’s hand and smiling. A coy little tilt to his mouth, shining eyes. “But I figured I’d start here.”

And then he’s locking eyes with Buck, gaze darkening, as he reaches an arm behind his head to grip at his shirt and pull it over his head. Buck watches the shifting his muscles as he rolls out his shoulders, the grin on Tommy’s face as he shakes out his hair. As he puts on a little show knowing that Buck is watching.

Trailing down the length of his body, his pecs — shining with sweat, his abs, the trail of hair that dips below his shorts. Buck licks his lips, smirking back at his boyfriend.

“You sure I can’t just stay right here?” Buck teases with a tilt of his head. Angles his body, flexes his restless hands. “Keep watch. Make sure you don’t hurt yourself. I-I’m a firefighter, you know?”

Tommy huffs out a laugh, face crinkling up in that now achingly familiar way as he throws his damp shirt to the ground. Neither of them watch to see where it lands. “I’ll be fine. You can look all you want later.”

“You promise?” Buck flirts, deepening his voice and eyes darkening as he roams his gaze over Tommy’s naked torso.

"I promise," he says, smirking back over at his boyfriend. Teasing. Flirting. Just the way Buck likes.

"I'm gonna hold you to to that," Buck teases back, delaying the inevitable moment where he rips his gaze away from Tommy. From his now exposed chest, the sweaty tanned planes of his skin. Exposed and tempting. He bites his lip, eyes wandering over Tommy one last time. Drinks in the sight of him, the feel of his gaze locked with his.

He eventually gives in and turns to the shower. Opens the door and turns the water on, fidgeting with the controls. Trying to find the sweet pot between too hot and too cold.

Tommy, Buck was learning, was almost always cold. Always wearing an undershirt, or had a jacket thrown over his outfit. Always had a throw blanket draped over the back of his couch, or pulled over his legs. Thrived in the hot summer sun, and loved his showers scorching hot.

Buck was fine with the cold. If anything, the LA sun was an adjustment for him. Was walking around in shirts when everyone else was donning long sleeves. Layers. Found there was nothing wrong with a cool refreshing shower.

Hence, the need to find the sweet spot between not too hot, and not too cold. Logically Buck knew as soon as they were both in the shower together their attention would be drawn away from as something as simple as temperature. Towards sweat and skin and the heat of their bodies pressed together. But he couldn't help but try. Try and make it good for Tommy, for himself, for the both of them together. Find the sweet spot that worked for the both of them.

He wanted to make it work.

Logically he knows that it’s just a shower, that they’ll be distracted soon anyway, but he can’t help but want to make it good for Tommy. Make the water a little hotter than normal, just for him. Show Tommy that he wants to take care of him too, that he’s learning things about Tommy and he wants to keep learning.

There’s a rustle of clothes behind him, a squeak of shoes against tiled floors, barely audible over the sound of the now running shower. Buck bites his lip, barely holding back a grin, as he dutifully continues adjusting the water. Arm reaching in, feeling the water run over his hand. Wet and heating up quickly.

He’s barely focusing on the water. Letting the rush of water splashing against tile wash over him like white noise, absently adjusting the temperature and pressure of the water as he focuses on the sounds behind him. Of Tommy toeing off his shoes and peeling off his socks, placing them in a pile by the door. In that way Buck is noticing he almost always does. His stomach swoops at the thought — that Tommy’s been around enough for Buck to start to notice more of his habits.

Then Buck swears he hears the sound of Tommy’s gym shorts hitting the floor, and he can’t hold back the sharp inhale of air. Warm and cloying with steam, holding in his lungs.

Buck makes himself keep looking at the shower.

Hair at the back of his neck standing on end, goosebumps rolling down his arm as he feels Tommy’s presence behind him. Sweaty, naked, so fucking hot — and Buck’s not looking at him. The unspoken rule that they’ve created, when Tommy took the lead and told him to turn around. Start the shower.

Heat pooling low in his gut, that familiar itch burning underneath his skin, Buck’s in the middle of giving in and turning around anyway when he feels it. His hands on his waist, thick and calloused and burning into his side through the thin fabric of his shirt. Breath hitching as he feels the sheer presence of Tommy behind him.

Tilting his head to try and get a look at his boyfriend behind him, holding in place as Tommy slowly presses closer to him. He catches a glimpse of him smirking, face crinkling up in that way it does, before Tommy squeezes his waist and closes the distance between them.

Buck gasps as he feels Tommy press up behind him, all hard muscles and sweaty skin. Calloused hands holding him tight as Tommy’s cock presses up against his ass. One hand still braced in the shower, feeling the rush of water; the other reaching backwards to try and get a hold of any part of Tommy. To press him even closer, to feel his skin burning into his.

Now that he has this, now that he knows this about himself, Buck really doesn’t know how he didn’t realise this earlier. His attraction to men, and masculinity, and the way it made him feel. Broad shoulders and hands larger than his. Hard muscles and hairy bodies.

But a part of him actually really likes that Tommy was the one who helped him realise. That he’s not just attracted to men, he’s attracted to Tommy. He likes Tommy’s broad shoulders and mechanics hands. His muscles and the snail trail that leads down his abdomen. He likes his short hair and 5 o’clock shadow. He likes the way Tommy makes him feel. He likes the way Tommy shows up for him. To dinner, and to the café, and to hopefully many more.

He really likes the way Tommy is now kissing down his throat, leaving wet marks in his wake. Hands still on his waist, body pressed against him, enveloping his. Buck groans, tilts his head to give Tommy more room, and starts to rut backwards.

“I can’t help but feel,” Buck gasps, as Tommy nips at his skin and quickly soothes the mark with his tongue. “That I’m overdressed.”

“Oh you are, are you?” Tommy murmurs into his skin, and he can feel the sounds vibrating through them, rumbling his chest. “I can fix that.”

And the his hands are dipping lower, skating along his sides before pushing up the hem of his shirt. Achingly slow at first, skin on skin contact sending a shiver down Buck’s spine. Calloused hands sending out sparks. That itch under his skin building again, rising and burning with each inch of skin Tommy touches.

His boyfriend laughs behind him, calls him impatient, before kissing his neck again. And then they’re stripping him down, faster now, hands on waists and chests and grasping at fabric. Tommy pulling off his shirt and Buck kicks off his shoes, not caring where they land. He thinks he absently hears them thump on the wall before Tommy gets his hands on his shorts and all of a sudden Buck is very distracted.

He absently thinks how hot it would be if Tommy just ripped his shorts right off his body, as he grips onto the shower while Tommy slides his shorts and his underwear down his legs in one fell swoop. Hands gripping the waistbands, fingers curled under the elastic, pressed into his bare skin.

As soon as he’s free he grabs Tommy’s wrist and pulls, sending the two of them tumbling into the shower. Water burning hot, soothing worn out muscles and sweaty skin. Tommy dutifully following behind, closing the door behind him.

They instantly forget about the water. Focusing on sweat and skin and soap and their two bodies pressing together. Water soaked kisses where their spit mixes with the spray of the shower. Slick bodies moving in tandem, and yet rooted to the spot.

Tommy’s planting his feet and bracing an arm on the wall behind Buck. He’s making sure they don’t slip, that Buck’s safe in his arms. And if anything, that’s what drives Buck to determination. To grasp their cocks in one hand, to want to make Tommy gasp and moan and grunt as he comes apart.

He loves the noises Tommy makes. Cataloguing them in his head, making note of what he can do to pull a noise out of Tommy. Figuring out what he likes and what he loves. The exploration, the figuring things out has always been a favourite part of sex for Buck. He’s a good fuck, he knows this, but it’s the exploring what his partners like and wants is what really drives him. It’s not enough to be a good fuck in general, he wants to be a good fuck to them.

To Tommy.

He wants to be good for Tommy. To hear him groan and moan Buck’s name. To hear him say perfect, and right there, just like that, and you’re so good to me Evan.

There’s going to be a lot of soft, tender sex in their future, Buck knows this for certain. Doesn’t even have to ask. Tommy will pick him up and carry him upstairs like he weighs nothing, gently lowering him down onto his bed, gaze soft and loving. They’re going to fuck face to face, so Buck can hold Tommy’s hand and they can kiss each other senseless. Slow and sensual, the two of them sinking into the moment as they sink into each other. Kissing all the words that are too soon to say into each other’s mouths.

Buck can’t fucking wait.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

*takes upside-down book from Fellow, flips in right-side-up, and hands it back to him* :)

In this interaction, I make a reference to the reading scene between Belle and the Beast. While those two characters are romantically involved, it’s not meant to be the case between Fellow and the reader here.

So tell me, do you wanna go?

“I-I knew that!l Fellow insisted, swiveling away to shield his (now right-side up) book from you. “I was just testing you to see if you knew!”

You nodded patiently—understandingly. “Uh-uh.” You paused, an idea forming at the tips of your lips. “Hey, why don’t you read the story to me? I kinda want to know what it’s about since you’re so into it.”

The bravado in Fellow’s face instantly drained. Too late to back down, too humiliating if he confessed. He released a stuttering reply.

“Uh… alright.”

Fellow flipped open to the first page of the book. He squinted desperately at the unfamiliar lines of twisting words, as if trying to manifest an answer with his eyeballs.

“Hmmmm…” He grunted, straining with effort. “Mmmm…”

A few awkward minutes passed like this, with Fellow attempting—and failing—to decipher the story. At last, he clapped the book shut and slowly lifted his gaze to meet yours. His ears flattened, reminding you of a misbehaving dog prepared for a scolding.

“I… I can’t,” he admitted bashfully. “I can’t do it.”

Before you could say anything, Fellow quickly added, “I learned! … A little.” He ran a finger down the thick body of pages. “It’s just that it’s so… long.”

“Oh, is that it?” You chuckled, leaning over and tapping the cover. “Well, here. I’ll help you.”

With one hand, you eased the book back open. Back to the beginning. You indicated the first line and offered an encouraging smile.

“Let’s start at this spot, okay?”

Fellow hesitated, but his mouth ran anyway, betraying him. “Okay.”

He glimpsed the opening line. T, followed by a W and an O. A strange combination, so rarely spotted in the wild. Fellow tried to connect them in his mind, cramming sounds beside one another and on his tongue.

“T-Tuoh…”

“Two,” you gently corrected him. “Like the number.”

“Two…” The next word, he recognized—so long as he broke it up into smaller pieces. Confidence slowly returned to his voice. “House… holds. Two households…”

“That’s right. Very good! You’re a very fast learner.”

“R-Really?!”

Fellow leapt at the praise. Warmth sang in his chest. It was a feeling foreign to him—the hand on his back, the smile and the support fed to him.

“Hmph, of course I am! Fellow Honest-sama is a man of many talents,” he gloated, puffing up like a peacock. “Watch this, I’ll clear this entire story today!!”

“Ahahah, I look forward to it.”

[never2tired4u]

Hey!! I hope you're doing well! I just read your post about the dateables reacting to MC back in human form, and I really loved it! Your writing was great and I loved how their personalities were on point!! I saw your asks were open and wanted to ask if you'd like to write a bit of a domestic fluff with the dateables reacting to MC cooking/teaching them how to cook human food! (especially Solomon bc he's the worst at it lol) Thank you and please write more in the future, you're amazing 💗

— 🦇

Note: Thank you so much 🦇 anon! Also I love this idea, unfortunately i actually didn't know what to do with it :( but tried my best and sorry for not replying soon. Been busy with life in general… Came back to NB yesterday only to get a message from Luke saying he was being chased by Devildom tomatoes lol

You are amazing too and I will try to write more in the future <3

OBEY ME! Dateables x Reader

Characters: 《°•[ Solomon , Simeon , Diavolo , Barbatos...]•°》

Summary: 《°•[ Cooking with them!]•°》

Warnings: 《°•[ Fluff, Solomon wanting to cook.]•°》

With Solomon, cooking isn’t easy. He is a free spirit, curious, and itching to try different combinations with a smile on his face, be it potions or spells, or cooking. Thankfully, he is powerful enough to fix those failed experiments and let it be a learning experience for him, except when he is tasked (himself) to cook. He tries, fails, and just accepts it as perfection, never learning his lesson, never improving. You don’t have the heart to tell him to not join you in the kitchen since he seems to genuinely love cooking for people, however, sometimes he really tests your patience.

Like right now, as he tries, once again, to add some sort of weird ingredient to the pot. Something that DEFINITELY doesn't belong in a human dish…Or any realm's dish for that matter.

“Oh, you caught me.”

“Put that down.” you warned him with a stern voice, Solomon just smiled while slowly lowering the thing, “Not in the pot!” you yelled, barely managing to stop him before he added his ‘touch’ to the meal, “Solomon, what did we talk about?”

Solomon frowned, “I know, it just…” sighing as he glanced at the book, reading the instructions again, “The recipe seems so boring.”

“It’s a soup recipe.”

He dramatically sighed again and stepped back, putting the “ingredient” he was going to add back into his pocket, making you wonder what it even was. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by him wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and resting his cheek on your shoulder, “Sorry, I promise I won't try to add any DemonFlower Eyeball into it.”

“Just don't add anything!”

“Okay okay,” he laughs, “Only human stuff, got it.”

A smile formed on your lips after hearing his voice next to your ear, a gentle and calm tone. Ready to do anything you requested from him. For now.

After all, even though Solomon is a free spirit, his love for you makes him come back down to earth. If it is you who tells him to follow the recipe, then he will. And surprisingly enough, he isn’t a bad cook once he stops his ways of…adding things.

He fetches you some ingredients then stands next to you, waiting for your instructions (since you sadly don't trust him much to do anything on his own). You finished rather quickly and ready the bowls. Both of you sit on the table and Solomon takes his first sip, “And here I thought I was the teacher in our relationship. It seems I have a lot to learn from you too.” he says as a genuine smile graces his lips.

“Hm? Why do you say that?”

“This tastes delicious.”

“It's a simple dish.” you say, a little confused by his low tone, and the far away look in his eyes.

“It's been forever since I've eaten any human world food,” his smile never leaves his face, “It may be a simple dish but that is what makes it so special. Thank you for the food.”

Simeon is someone who enjoys cooking, not as much as Luke perhaps, but he is still okay at it. For him, trying new recipes every now and then, helping Luke around is something of a routine at this point. Cooking in general has always been a job he needed to do, until his view changed quickly when you decided to enter the kitchen with him. The angel then quickly realized that cooking can also be fun and engaging too.

If you are around that is.

Tonight, you had a craving for some human world food. Luke asked to try some too so you decided to get to work and Simeon offered to help.

“So, where do we start?-” he is suddenly stopped by your arms wrapping around him and completely stops moving for a moment, however he gently hugs you back.

“Simeon?” you ask in confusion, “What are you doing?”

Simeon slightly pulls back, only to realize you were just tying the apron around him, “Oh.” he smiles gently, while mentally hitting himself on the head and pulls back, “I thought you wanted a hug.”

“Maybe later, now let's get to work!”

Simeon is out of his usual attire and wearing something more comfortable instead, with an apron tied to his waist thanks to you.

He listens to what you want to make and what he can do. (Un)fortunately he usually finishes his work pretty fast and then tries to take over yours to help which you refuse. Giving him another, much more simple task and while he does that Simeon often starts to ramble.

“...Would it be rude of me to say that I like how human ingredients are so normal?”

“Compared to what?”

“Anything from Devildom really...” Simeon can't help but look guilty, it feels like he is insulting the whole Devildom himself, a place most of his friends consider a home, but he can't help it, “At least these don't try to attack us.”

“Oh, that's true,” you almost let out a chuckle at how nervous Simeon seems as he chops tomatoes, probably imagining them starting a fight, “What about Celestia?”

“Celestia? Well, hm…” his hands pause for a moment as he gets lost in thought, “They are…Okay? Though, some of them are…Too much.”

You aren't really sure what Simeon means by ‘Too much.’ but decide not to ask about it as he seems annoyed. A memory of an energetic cucumber crossed his mind, perhaps?

“I'm glad you like our normal and boring tomatoes then.”

Simeon laughs nervously, “Yeah, I like it, especially since they don't grow legs and run around.” he turns to you with a smile, “So, we can just focus on making the food and enjoy talking like this.”

Even after the food was finished and the three of you sat down to enjoy the food Simeon can't help but ask you to teach him more human world recipes, “Luke enjoyed it.” he says. Hoping you don't notice how he just wants to spend time with you.

“You want me to make a human world dish?”

“No.” you shake your head, “We are going to make it together, Barbatos.”

Barbatos smiles, when people come to him they always have requests. For example, Beelzebub. The young devil always says he wants to eat his cooking, or use the big kitchen at the palace for a new dish. No one ever came to him and asked to cook together since it was usually his job alone to do, he is a butler after all.

“Alright. However, I don't know the dish you want to make, so…” he can't help but chuckle a little as he bows his head, “Please treat me kindly.”

His words are a complete lie though, Barbatos may not know how the recipe goes but he can tell what needs to be added. He is a great cook, and so graceful while he does the work. He is pretty quick too so the food is almost done already.

“Hmm…” after taking a small sip from the pot you can't help but think that something is missing, it tastes good but it could be better you think, so you turn to your helper, as he likes to call himself, “Barbatos, what do you think of this?”

He casually takes the spoon you hold for him and hums, “It's great, but how about adding some bay leaf?”

“...Bay leaf? We have that?”

“I do, I sometimes use it.” he walks up to a random cabinet and pulls out a jar, “It goes well in foods that need to be cooked for a long period of time. You just need to take it out after it's done.”

“Huh. So, you use human world ingredients in your cooking?”

“Only when you are around,” you watch as Barbatos adds two leaves into the pot, “It's amusing to see your reaction when you eat what I cook for you.”

“That's why they taste so familiar!?”

Barbatos innocently smiles at you, “Don't forget to stir, dear. Or would you like me to take over?”

“Barbatos, don't tell me you actually have been making me human food that looks like Devildom food.”

“I thought the familiar taste would make you happy.”

“...That's kind. Thank you.” you smile, but then squint your eyes at him, “You sure there's nothing else…?”

Barbatos doesn't say anything as he starts cleaning around the kitchen, picking up the things you've used and no longer need.

Of course there's another reason why he secretly cooks human dishes for you. It's so you can visit him, compliment him and ask for him. It's a selfish reason. However, for someone like him it's not surprising. He is a demon, and when it comes to your time and attention, he selfishly wants it all.

You are asking the prince, the future ruler of Devildom to cook with you, a human dish? And he agrees with a laugh? If anyone heard this, they would be thinking the Devildom is coming to an end. His butler however, can't help but think Diavolo agreed without hesitation only because it's you and only because it's a way to escape from his duties. Considering the prince has never touched an utensil in his life, it is weird to see that he seems so confident.

His confidence, however, quickly shaders as he accidentally pushes on the tomato too much while trying to chop it and makes a mess. Covering your aprons and walls with tomato seeds and juices.

He turns to you and smiles, “Have I ever told you that you look good in red?”

You scoff but can't help as a smile grows on your face, “Yes, usually when I'm in a red outfit, not when in a red mess.”

“Small details.” he laughs, but a sigh leaves him as he looks down at the chopping board, “I didn't think they would be so soft and delicate.”

“Don't blame the tomatoes.” when he turns his sad eyes towards you, you wave your hands around quickly, a feeling of guilt settling in, “Don't blame yourself either, accidents happen in kitchens! We can still use it.”

“That's great! Then I'll continue with the cutting,” he says, smiling again, “I'll be more careful from now onl.”

Diavolo may not have a lot of experience in the kitchen, no matter which realm the food is from, but he still finds his own failures fun. Laughing when he accidentally drops the salt shaker in the pan or when he almost burns himself. As a prince he never had mishaps in the kitchen before.

It's new, it's entertaining.

“Thank you for helping me.” you can't help but look at the bandages around his fingers, “Even though it was kind of a disaster.”

Diavolo laughs as he searches for the plates,”No no, thank you! This was a lot of fun. And we get to taste the fruit of our labor too!” he finally finds the right cabinet, “And I'm always happy to learn about the things you enjoy, like this dish.”

He might still have a lot of papers to read and sign but every once in a while he goes into the kitchen to cook the recipe he learned from you. He is extra careful while making it if he is making it for you but is more care free if it's only for himself. He also eats it when he misses you when you are unable to visit him, the same human world dish brings comfort to him as he imagines it bringing comfort to you.

Ⓒ2024

[seyaryminamoto]

My latest completed commission may have been a bit ambitious... because I went wild with it. But I certainly relished in doing so :') Combining my favorite ship with my favorite-ever Disney movie is, uh... a dangerous concoction :'D

The commissioner specifically requested for Azula as Mulan, Sokka as Shang, and Xin Long (my OC dragon from Gladiator) as Mushu. The rest of the cast was up to me to choose, and I pretty much went wild rewatching this movie and picking out some of my favorite moments to recreate them in my style, with these characters. I came up with a lot of correlating characters between both ATLA and 1998's Mulan, but I couldn't hope to draw EVERYTHING, unfortunately. Still, if you want my reasoning for the cast correlation... check out the Read More! Beyond that, feel free to reach out to me if you'd like to commission me, or if you want to join my Patreon!

The Herbalist as Mulan's grandmother might feel arbitrary but she honestly felt like the ATLA elderly lady with the most similar personality to Grandma Fa. Fickle, with a unique connection with a seemingly perfectly ordinary animal, old and sassy? Figured it fit! So for once, the Herbalist is Azula's grandma! xD strange notion, I know, Azulon/Herbalist is not a ship I ever thought I'd accidentally put out in the world but there have been wilder ships than that in this fandom...

Momo became Cri-Kee, I wasn't 100% sold on it but when I considered that Avatar features soooo many hybrid animals... I figured he could be a hybrid cricket-lemur. Weird, I know, but eh? Better than nothing xD

Aang as Chien-Po was a no-brainer. He's the only character I settled on instantly, never even considered anyone else for the role. Their personalities line up really well, and Chien-Po's tendency to be OP and resolve things that are outside of other people's reach sounded like he was prime Avatar material! So, while their dietary preferences are an obvious difference between them, I decided to go for it nonetheless considering all their other similarities!

Kino (another Gladiator OC) is Ling, and he actually did give me a ton of trouble to choose. I considered many characters for the role right up until I realized that Kino's personality actually lines up fairly well with Ling's, down to being a class clown type (who ABSOLUTELY would have cut gym class!) and breaking out in song about the hypothetical woman he'd like to fight for? Yeeeeah that's right up his alley xD but there's another reason why I picked Kino...

... And that is my likely unexpected choice for Yao:

ZUKO.

ZUKO IS YAO.

YES.

I'M NOT EVEN SORRY.

(For the uninitiated, Aang, Zuko and Kino are best friends in Gladiator, very often together, and they make a really good team, so that's the extra reason why Kino became the obvious choice for Ling aside from having really similar personalities, definitely closer personalities than, say, Jet, for instance.)

People have likened Zuko to Shang a LOT since ATLA aired. This is the main reason why I'm even making this huge note! I suspect it's primarily because of the aesthetic, let's be real here, and because he becomes Aang's teacher, but people have exaggerated Zuko's alleged similarities with Shang, or taken them out of proportion, in many ways. I actually remember an AMV ages ago with "Be a Man" and it was Zuko "training the Gaang"?? It... didn't feel right to me. Obviously, someone might rebuff with "well, how does Sokka make MORE sense than that, though?" And believe it or not, I have arguments for that... (when do I not...?)

Not only is this what the commissioner specifically requested (and it obviously lines up with the ship we love!), but let's examine the actual reasons why Sokka as Shang adds up:

Sokka actually had to train a bunch of toddlers who weren't paying any attention to him. You know. Kind of how Shang had to train the unruly soldiers who weren't getting anything right. Sokka has a positive relationship with his dad (Zuko, ofc, does not). Shang also has a positive relationship with his dad! And not only this, but there's a military component to both relationships, specifically with Shang wanting to follow on his father's footsteps and aid him in the war... so much like someone else I know, who jumped at every opportunity to rejoin his father in the war, even wishing to join him as a child until Hakoda tasked him with protecting their Tribe instead (kinda like Shang is tasked with training soldiers rather than joining a battlefield).

And the final cherry-on-top that I'd loooove to hear Zuko fans try to argue against... is sexism :') didn't Sokka get characterized as a sexist guy for four episodes, which made people decide that this was his main character trait even if it went away that quickly? Um, yes, that happened. Shang literally sings the memorable song that's a crazy ode to masculinity, including the rather sexist line of "did they send me daughters when I asked for sons". Shang outright abandons Mulan once they discover that she was a woman all along (while, admittedly, choosing to abandon her rather than KILL HER, which as we saw from Chi-Fu, he was NOT supposed to spare her!)...

So, is this REALLY what Zuko fans, who willfully believe their boy is a feminist king (... why? beats me...) are trying to compare their unproblematic blorbo to? :'D Me? I have no problem linking Sokka with Shang due to Sokka's beginnings and due to the fact that both Shang and Sokka have similar growth when it comes to accepting femininity is as valid as masculinity, and as they both learn to respect women as fighters and potential heroes! (I simply do not believe Sokka's ENTIRE tenure in ATLA was about that, though, and that's what I continue to clash with the fandom over...) So... all this is why I've reasoned that Sokka is a VERY solid choice for Shang, in fact, better than Zuko could hope to be.

... but this isn't all.

Maybe some might accept my arguments for Sokka-Shang. And then, they might ask:

WHY ZUKO AS YAO, THO??

... And the truth is it took me long to see it, myself, but HOLY SHIT, DOES IT FIT!

What is the primary thing we remember about Yao in Mulan? This guy is constantly itching for a fight, to prove himself, surely riddled with insecurities that he exteriorizes through overcompensation of masculinity. He's funny as fuck, but he's taking himself 100% seriously as a manly man all the time, and he's always ready for violence. But there's one more thing...

He treats Mulan as his RIVAL.

And more often than not? SHE SCREWS HIM OVER. Intentionally or not.

What does that sound like? Why, yes, it sounds a LOT like Azula and Zuko's sibling relationship!

The fact that Yao is a temperamental dude who lashes out easily at things (oh, something he has in common with Zuko!), that he specifically resents Mulan (in this case, Azula, just as Zuko does!) and is either constantly looking to defeat her and prove his superiority over her (... wait, just as Zuko with Azula??), that he has a black eye perpetually across the movie, and it's his LEFT EYE (just as Zuko's scar is on his left eye! :'D), that he's friends with a pacifist he has basically nothing in common with, personality-wise (just like Zuko and Aang!), and that he pretty much has a REDEMPTION ARC in which he goes from a bitter, asshole rival to Mulan to treating her as a friend and ally, to the point where he was disappointed to leave her behind and THEN joined her at once when she says she has a plan? :') I have always been critical of Zuko's redemption arc, goes without saying. But if ANY of these characters redeemed himself in any significant way, it certainly seems to be Yao to me, and with people gushing NON-STOP about Zuko's redemption? Why, he ought to be the character who goes from bitter rival to loyal friend, right?

So. I'm not even sorry. Zuko is Yao. And I'd dare say that he should be flattered by the comparison, even, because Yao ends up being cool as FUCK!

I don't really talk about this much nowadays, but Mulan was my favorite Disney movie growing up, it ABSOLUTELY had a formative influence on me as a little girl, and Mulan was my favorite female character for a looooong time. Thus, any excuse to rewatch this movie makes me happy as heck. With the wisdom of age I know, of course, that it's not perfect, it's not what China wants, it's not the most thoughtful depiction of Chinese culture or the most faithful adaptation of Mulan's poem (... but I'd also dare bring up that the 2009 Chinese adaptation ISN'T all that faithful either...), but it has a kind of magic in it, a solid storytelling flow, so many memorable moments one after the next, that I could hardly choose which scenes to depict... Disney has never again seen the storytelling heights it reached with Mulan in 1998. I don't even care if that's a controversial opinion in any way... this is their best animated feature for me, and nobody can change my mind.

So... depicting Azula, my beloved, in all these scenarios as this character I adored and idolized as a child, was so damn fulfilling for me. While some might think that, personality-wise, these two ladies don't have much in common, the fact that Mulan is sent to a matchmaker who basically tells her she looks good but is going to be the worst wife ever...? Our girl Azula, with all those insecurities about being unloveable and a monster, probably would relate big time to that.

Mulan is also an INTELLIGENT soldier rather than a brawny one, which is how she starts to make progress in the army, it's how she manages to overcome the huns with that avalanche... and Azula's primary difference with most other antagonists in ATLA is that she's smart as fuck. She is very strong, no doubt, but a LOT of that strength comes from her intelligence, from assessing situations in unique ways, from planning and strategizing. The way Mulan finds the most unexpected solutions that still pay off reminds me a lot of how Azula achieves unexpected feats through rather unorthodox means, capable of taking over a city with basically no bloodshed while her nation has spent 100 years trying and failing to do so through major army incursions and who knows how much senseless violence. Obviously, I'm not saying what Azula did is GOOD and it's kind of dumb that we always have to point that out... I'm merely comparing the magnitude of the feats, and the fact that they both come from ladies who use strategy and intelligence to achieve their goals rather than muscle and physical power.

And while anyone would rage at me for the comparison between Fa Zhou (her dad) and Ozai, the truth is the dynamic between them CAN be compared, if loosely: Mulan literally goes to war to keep her father safe. Azula goes to war under her father's orders. Hell, she makes herself BAIT in the Eclipse to make sure the Gaang won't get to her dad?? While it's very much possible to say that both characters have different personalities and attitudes in life... I'd also bring up that their contexts are evidently completely different. I wouldn't say for certain that Azula, had she been raised outside a Royal Family, would be EXACTLY like Mulan... but they might have more similar traits than one might expect. Ultimately, though... I love them both. And this opportunity to swap their places was pretty much a dream come true!

Alright, that was plenty of rambling xD ultimately, I had a blast doing this commission, as I'm sure is obvious by now. So! If anyone wants to commission me, feel free to check out my prices right here and hit me up if you're interested!

[goingbuggy]

Is there a possibility you would talk about how buggy lacks any deep relationships in his life? I know he has his crew and they do like him but it’s never what he had with shanks. And his relationship with Alvida and Galdino feels completely business based. Why? I like HC it’s different but yeah. We saw CG reactions. Betrayal by galdino is definitely something I didn’t expect THIS FAST. And I know they can’t fight them but his crew maybe has some a little worry? But not so much…

Buggy purposefully surrounds himself with like-minded individuals who are a dangerous combination of ambitious and unscrupulous. Galdino and Alvida are good (albeit inconsistent) allies, but they're certainly not good friends. When Buggy suited their needs (Alvida wanting to track down Luffy, Galdino wanting to make it out of Impel Down alive) they aided in his journey, but when he stopped being favorable, they stopped being in his corner. I've made a tweet on my thoughts about Cross Guild's B-listers which I think sums it up pretty well: this is the environment he cultivated for himself.

Even his longtime crewmates, Mohji and Cabaji, stand by as he gets tortured. Why? Because if they're not self-serving manipulators like Alvida and Galdino, then they're cowards, through and through. It's the exact same reason no one came to rescue him at Impel Down, despite their self-proclaimed love for their captain. They recognize internal power structures and do not challenge them.

But this makes sense to me. Buggy's rejection of Shanks -- someone Oda has established as a true, honest friend -- sent him down a different path. He has no real friends anymore because he embraced betrayal. He chose not to live the way he wanted out of fear and insecurity, and as a result, his inner circle reflects the hollow shell of the real man he always wanted to be.

[celestialtarot11]

Moon in the 12h in combination with esoteric astrology

Hi friends! I really hope you enjoy this deep dive into understanding the 12th house a bit more and the moon placement. I compare both traditional & esoteric astrology—which is the reading of the soul. Do enjoy, leave feedback & comments to help this blog! Also because I’m curious to hear your thoughts always. I am only doing research and sharing it!

The moon in esoteric astrology is regarded as the past, our visceral self, aka “the soul.” Known in traditional astrology the moon holds powerful ties to our past, ancestors and trauma. The moon is so much more than our everyday emotions. So how does this play into natives with the 12th house?

That is why it is important to understand the moon in an esoteric sense, alongside traditional astrology. The moon is regarded as “vulcan,” another term. The moon describes the kind of life we had in a previous life, imprinting on our current one. With this being the case, it represents our ego as well in a lot of ways.

Our ties to our past (both in our previous life, and past also meaning current trauma in this lifetime) can control us. If you choose to believe your past life is imprinting on your current, you can understand how the need to heal from the sabotage we did to ourselves is part of the “ego.” Ego in this sense has barely much to do with pride—its our visceral trauma responses.

And you can also understand how our current trauma in this lifetime can result in the need to protect ourselves and hide behind narratives and perspectives that do not help us (the ego).

Having moon in the 12th house can point to a previous lifetime, or your past trauma(if you don’t believe in past lives) where you experienced isolation and loneliness in the face of trauma. It’s the loneliness that contributes to trauma in the first place—whereas if you had a community it would’ve been managed completely different.

Moon in the 12th house can point to addiction to self sabotage, self harm, toxicity in relationships. Tolerating more than needed, ex: abuse. The native can feel alive in these hurtful conditions because it’s the one thing that makes them feel. But this can spiral unhealthily really fast.

When the native first approaches healing or peace—they can deem it as “boring,” because their nervous system has never been in this state before.

To get a closer look, in esoteric astrology, the NN can describe what kind of consciousness is playing out over your lifetimes or if you prefer it: this lifetime. What you are meant to learn, know, and evolve into with the wisdom you gather about yourself.

The SN in esoteric astrology describes our “past lifetime” “previous life” that is imprinting on our current. Or if you prefer it: your trauma currently needing healing.

For example a NN in Taurus, SN in Scorpio native: their trauma/past lifetime could have included multiple losses, and grief. Losing a parent due to abandonment, experiencing separation of the parents or being neglected. Or all of it. It’s very likely the native experienced eating issues as a way to have control over their life, i.e. hurting themselves brings a sense of “control,” even though it is considered unhealthy.

SN in Scorpio could have also made the native experience exclusion in their community. Their peers could have disliked them from a young age, and the native struggled to find their community. Once again—replaying that loneliness they experienced.

NN in Taurus teaches the native that part of their peace comes from going within and validating their emotions from what they experienced. To experience control by releasing control over external factors. To not just survive off of physical means, but to create an emotionally stable environment to thrive.

The moon is also considered a death stage esoterically, meaning this isn’t about fertility, nor is it about ripening seeds, or manifesting. This is about ending cycles of addiction, pain and suffering.

The only thing coming next after the moon, systemically is the earth where the healing begins, metaphorically speaking. Where the native feels stability internally to begin planting seeds and maintaining them.

If I were to tie this into 12h moon placements—it’s that you need to plant your seeds. You need to materialize your hopes and dreams and not victimize yourself through past patterns. You need to do more than survive, and allow yourself to thrive. To become so safe enough that you root yourself in new communities and feel worthy enough to explore earth. And that means starting with yourself.

I suppose that’s why a lot of 12th house moons have a “scorpionic” vibe. It’s because they carry the moons death energy, aka the “vulcan.” The moon esoterically is death after all, and so many natives have experienced constant endings and beginnings with this placement. They have seen so many dimensions to life—too much for it to be simple.

The 12th house itself

In esoteric astrology, the 12th house is regarded as the “bondage” to the “ego.” If you really our earlier explanation, the ego is our trauma and formed response to keep us safe.

This house rules over ignorance of our trauma, the inability to receive help, only feeding into the loop of self sabotage.

In traditional astrology views the 12th house as “hidden,” or “secretive.” Esoteric astrology acknowledges it differently—they see it as a vessel into the underworld. A gateway. A vast network of telepathy within the natives community.

They acknowledge this as not necessarily hidden, but the native taking a deep dive into mass consciousness that exists in front our eyes.

Therefore, it’s not really a secret if you pay attention.

Then, the native is able to access that “hidden knowledge,” and turn it into public knowledge. Although many of the times this is considered taboo knowledge since the native can know things other people consider, “heavy,” “dark,” or “disturbing.” Even though, the native knows having critical complex thoughts is necessary.

It is necessary to think critically, according to the native given their complex life experiences. The native actually has a lot of “hidden” resources at their disposal in this lifetime and can use it to their will. Manifestation, universal laws, spiritual insight, etc whatever you call it.

Some may fixate on the 12th house as the ego driven house—again, fear, trauma and loss. Whilst this is absolutely true of the natives, esoteric astrology adds another meaning. It also means resurrection of the soul of the native. The purest form and light. Alchemy of the ego.

Hope ya’ll enjoyed! I really appreciate ya’ll being here and taking the time to read. Your feedback is appreciated.

Extra

Paid readings

[just-a-ghost00]

No contact : what the heck is going on?

Pick one or several of the following emojis to find out about your reading content. This reading is going to be a bit unusual because the deck I am using is actually a game for children. A card represents a word or an idea. There is just the image. No words, no numbers. So based on the image combinations you get, I will try to channel the messages meant for you to hear.

1 📣 2 🎰 3💥 4💫

Group 1 📣

The person you were thinking of may have put a hold on the connection to take care of themselves. They are currently traveling or they intend to. They need to recharge their batteries. This person has been giving a lot of their time and efforts to make other people happy. They are exhausted. They wish to rest and indulge in some leisure time. They wish they could stop being a door mat for everyone to walk on. They feel like they can’t express their true self. They are tired of pretending like everything is fine. They feel like they can’t afford rest. When it comes to you and the connection, this person gets cold feet. They don’t know what to do or where to go. What is going on around them takes so much space in their life that they don’t have much energy left to spend with you. To them you are like that pot of jelly or that warm chocolate bowl : so sweet and tempting, so vital. You bring them comfort and a sense of home but at the same time they are scared of what that means. They are running out of gas. They may be Dre pressed or going through a burn out. Hence the lack of communication. They are trying to get back on track by stepping away for a time. They don’t want you to see that side of them.

Group 2 🎰

The person you were thinking of could be an artist and/or enjoys partying. This person could have recently been on a trip. The reason why there is no contact at the moment is because they are either sick and/or injured. If not, this person needed to heal something or someone. With the chick and the trumpet player, I get the message of someone being a bit vulnerable but wanting to show no weakness and appear stronger. The chick also reminds me of communicating. Because birds always chirp, this makes me think of throat chakra. With the hospital, I get the idea of someone have throat ache or issues related to their voice. They may have needed to take time off to undergo a surgery or to get a medical appointment. With the car and the horse, I get the idea of someone being restless. Wanting to get away from this situation quickly and get back to business. I also get the energy of someone being reckless. Maybe this person got injured practicing a physical activity. The combination of the matching game, the guitar and the necklace, I get the message of someone wanting to connect the dots and get closer to what is meaningful to them. Music is precious to this person and so are you. If they can’t communicate with you properly, this person will use music to convey their feelings.

Group 3 💥

Seeing the butter card I immediately thought of BTS lmao Once again there are music references in a reading. Also, either one or both of you may be French, wants to go to or has been in France. To be honest with you, there is a lot of chemistry and sexual tension going on. This person is refraining from contacting you in an attempt to resist temptation. That ain’t working well lmao Cause they are running in circles and really wanting to jump on the first occasion they get to interact with you. You might invite this person for your birthday or they are waiting for your birthday to surprise you with something. The combination of the cherries and the lace gives me really sensual vibes. They may want to get closer to you and the way they do it may be a bit rough 😂 With the firefighter and the lit birthday cake, I feel like they wish they weren’t so attracted to you. They wish they could extinguish whatever is going on because it eats them alive. The last card on the bottom right makes me think that you or this person could be working with children or wants children. This person is attracted to your soft side and your childlike personality which may be something you have in common. The fox makes me think that they are prying on you frequently. Even if they don’t talk to you, they closely watch you.

Group 4💫

The person you are thinking of lives at a distance from you. This person is afraid of falling in love and being intimate with you. A part of them wants to make a move but another would rather safely hide away. They wish that they were more courageous and that this connection would be more fruitful. They are aware of your needs for communication and more substance. If they could, they would run straight to you. But there are annoying flies surrounding the connection. Meaning, people are getting in the way, buzzing in their ear about what they should or shouldn’t do, about what they think of you. This person misses you. They think of you. They know your plate is missing on the table. They feel empty without you around. But in order to see clearly and cut the noise, they had to get away. This person needs to isolate in order to determine what their needs are and listen to their own voice instead of the constant buzzing and chirping of others. They need to determine in this cacophony of opinions, what is essential to them. Only then can they make a move.

[slytherinspired]

Yet - A Remus Lupin Imagine (smut)

Following the same story and universe as Tell Me About series! Here I am... 10 years later?

Remus stood before the counter, his hands trembling with a desperation he struggled to suppress. His clothes, worn and faded, hung loosely on his frame. His voice, when it came, was loud yet strained, as if it had been dragged from a place of deep frustration. The clerk in front of him sat behind a towering mahogany desk, her fingers moving in swift, precise gestures, as though casting spells without a wand. Her face was pale and angular, softened only by the shadow of dim candlelight that flickered along the Ministry’s endless corridors. The clerk was dressed in the neat, sober attire of Ministry officials, a crisp grey uniform with silver buttons that reflected the cold, bureaucratic glow of the room. Her brown hair was pinned back tightly, not a strand out of place, except for a thin streak of white that curled at her temple. 

“You don’t understand!” he shouted. The words felt twisted, as if they fought to balance on the edge between civility and rage. The witch behind the counter flinched but remained still, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk. She had no more to offer him than the faint apology etched into her expression. “I need to work.” 

He needed the money. That need pulsed in the room like a living thing, thickening the air between them. But all she could offer was silence, her eyes downcast, her hands empty. Papers floated softly to her from unseen corners, filing themselves with barely a flick of her wrist. Behind her desk, a charmed quill wrote furiously on a long parchment, recording the day’s tasks with an efficiency that bordered on eerie. 

“Like I told you –” she said, “Mr Collins needs help with his books, but I don’t have anything else right now for you.” 

Remus shook his head. “Mr Collins won’t work with me. You know it.” 

There it was—unspoken but palpable. The reason why each request was met with hesitance, each job prospect slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. He didn’t need to say it aloud anymore; the label had been burned into his very being. Werewolf. In the wizarding world, it was more than a condition—it was a curse. Few wanted to hire a werewolf. The fear lingered in every interaction, no matter how mundane. The Ministry had their own discreet policies on “dangerous creatures”.  

“I am sorry, Mr Lupin.” Her voice was smooth and low, tinged with the practiced indifference of someone who had seen many come and go from the Ministry’s endless halls. Her brown eyes showed nothing but disinterest. “Just come back next week.” 

“I’m here every week,” he sighed, “asking you for work, and each time it is the same. Why don’t you send me an owl if there’s something in the meantime? It would spare me from having to come here and bother you.” 

The witch raised her eyebrows and smiled mockingly. “Oh? And to what address should I send it?” 

She knew too well he didn’t have an address. He lived in his damn car – had been living in it for months now. The Ministry’s endless red tape, combined with the stigma of his condition, had shut every door before him. Each job interview, each opportunity, crumbled the moment his lycanthropy was mentioned or even hinted at. It was as if the wizarding world had no place for him outside the fringes of society. 

He turned away without bothering to say goodbye. There was nothing for him there. 

Finding work in the Muggle world had proven just as impossible. At first, it seemed like an escape—no one in the Muggle realm knew about werewolves, and the Ministry couldn’t interfere as easily. But even there, he couldn’t outrun his condition. Each month, as the full moon approached, he would feel the familiar dread tightening in his chest. He couldn’t just call in sick for three days without raising suspicion, and disappearing every month had quickly made him unreliable. Employers grew wary, questioning the strange absences. He had been let go from more jobs than he cared to remember, dismissed for being "untrustworthy" or "inconsistent." 

Remus had been careful with the modest inheritance his parents had left him, stretching every Galleon to make it last. For a time, it allowed him to rent a small flat near Diagon Alley, a place where he could be somewhat connected to the magical world. But even that fragile stability crumbled after two years, when Mrs. Daisy, his elderly neighbour, had complained to the landlord, claiming she didn’t feel safe living next door to a werewolf. No one had said it outright, but the eviction notice came soon after. 

Afterward, he managed to find a tiny studio in London, outside the magical community, but the rent required sterling pounds, not Galleons, and even without his affliction, finding work in the Muggle world have proved nearly impossible without the proper credentials. He had no Muggle schooling, no tangible proof of any experience, and no one was willing to take a risk on a man with an incomplete story. For a brief spell, he worked at a small café, washing dishes in the back, but his frequent absences around the full moon quickly made him expendable. “It’s just not working out,” his manager had said, barely meeting his eyes as he handed over the final pay check. 

After that, it had been a string of odd jobs—cleaning homes, scrubbing cars, whatever he could find that didn’t require questions or paperwork. But even those jobs dried up after a few months, the repeated absences stacking up like a curse he couldn’t escape. It didn’t matter how hard he worked or how much he tried to hide his condition; sooner or later, the same pattern emerged. He’d disappear for a few days, recover in secret, and by the time he returned, the whispers had already started. They always ended the same way: with him packing his few belongings and moving on to the next temporary refuge, the shadows of his secret following him wherever he went. 

But then, happier days came. And he embraced them as much as he could.  

Mr. Collins had been one of the rare few to take a chance on Remus, inviting him into his home with little fuss or prying questions. The old wizard had an impressive collection of books and papers in desperate need of organization, and Remus had relished the work. The house itself felt like a sanctuary—a sprawling estate tucked away from the bustling wizarding world, with its heart being the grand library that stretched wall to wall with ancient tomes and fragile manuscripts. For six peaceful months, Remus had lived there, surrounded by books, his evenings filled with the quiet companionship of Mr. Collins. They would often sit by the fire, sipping tea or scotch depending on the mood, talking about the wizard’s past adventures and far-flung travels. Remus had almost allowed himself to believe that he had found a place where his affliction didn’t matter. 

Everything changed overnight. 

The trouble had started with a routine trip to the Ministry to pick up his Wolfsbane Potion. With the full moon only days away, Remus needed it to maintain control during his transformation. But that day, there had been none. The Ministry’s supplies had run dry, and in a rising panic, Remus went to every apothecary in Diagon Alley, pleading for them to brew it for him. The answer was always the same—there was no Wolfsbane to be had, not until a delayed shipment of rare herbs arrived. Desperation clawed at him as the full moon loomed closer. 

When the night finally came, Remus did the only thing he could—he locked himself in the cellar beneath the guest house on Mr. Collins’ estate, far away from the main house and anyone who could be harmed. He chained himself tightly, trying to prepare for the agonizing transformation. But without the Wolfsbane, Remus knew that the wolf was savage, uncontrollable. As the change tore through his body, so too did the creature’s instincts, stronger than any chain he had prepared. The bonds snapped, and the beast roamed the grounds, its hunger and rage unleashed. The wolf howled to the moon, its cries cutting through the still night air as it hunted the estate, searching for prey. 

Mr. Collins’ housekeeper had been outside that night, restless and unable to sleep. She had been wandering through the gardens when the wolf appeared, a massive shadow with glowing eyes. In a split second, it lunged. Only the quick intervention of Mr. Collins, who had been awakened by the howling, had saved her. He subdued the wolf before it could do any real damage, but the incident left its mark. 

The next morning, Remus awoke in human form, bruised, aching, and filled with dread. He didn’t need to hear Mr. Collins' words to know what was coming. When he entered the kitchen, his pay was already waiting for him on the counter, along with a leather trunk packed with his few belongings. On top of the trunk rested a book from Mr. Collins' private collection—Remus's favourite, one he had admired during his long nights in the library. The wizard had even engraved the trunk with Remus’s initials, a final gesture of parting kindness. 

Beside it, a note in Mr. Collins’ elegant script read simply: Thank you for your service. 

It was over. Whatever peace he had found there was gone, lost in a single night. 

When Remus came back to London, the weight of his situation bore down on him like a suffocating fog. He needed a place to live, but the few Galleons he had saved were barely enough to cover the cost of a small studio, let alone food and the Wolfsbane Potion that he relied on every month. He ran the calculations over and over in his head—if he paid for rent, he’d only have enough to survive for a couple of months before everything dried up. 

That was when he met a young wizard at the Leaky Cauldron, selling an old, battered car for next to nothing. The decision had been easy. The car was cheaper than rent, and living in it meant he could stretch his money long enough to eat and scrape by while searching for work. So, Remus took it, and for two months now, the car had become his home—an old, rusting shelter parked in the backstreets of Muggle London. But work never came. Not for someone like him. 

Each Friday became a routine of survival. Remus would head to the Leaky Cauldron, where the kindly innkeeper allowed him to sit down with a free bowl of soup and a cup of tea. Sometimes, if the inn wasn’t fully booked, he was even allowed to use one of the rooms to take a hot shower, a luxury he was rarely afforded. Those brief moments of warmth and comfort were fleeting, but he clung to them like a lifeline. 

After his shower, he’d walk back to the Ministry, heading straight to the Wizarding Work Bureau, where hope flickered and died week after week. Every Friday, he found himself standing before the same brown-haired clerk. And every Friday, her reply was the same: nothing new, no work available. The expression on her face was always tired, indifferent. Remus couldn’t blame her—his situation was just another file in a growing stack. Another life falling through the cracks. 

He’d leave the bureau and step into the great hall of the Ministry, watching witches and wizards bustling about their business, oblivious to the fact that his world was crumbling. He wondered sometimes if he could even blame them. After all, his affliction was real, dangerous, and he understood their fear. But understanding didn’t make it easier to live with. He had grown thinner, his clothes hung loosely on his frame, and his face had become gaunt, his eyes shadowed by dark circles that deepened with each restless night spent in the backseat of his car. At just 28, streaks of grey had already woven through his hair, and he looked older than his years—like the ghost of the man he had once been. 

He was about to leave the Ministry, ready to disappear into the crowded streets once more, when something stopped him. A glimpse of black hair. For a moment, he thought he was imagining it—his tired mind playing tricks on him—but then he saw her again.  

Eliana. 

It all came rushing back to him in an instant, as if the past had never let him go. Eliana had arrived at Hogwarts during their sixth year, transferring from an old, distinguished town in Italy. Her beauty had been striking—impossible to ignore—and it wasn’t long before she caught the attention of everyone. Sirius, however, had despised her from the moment he noticed the colour of her tie. Ellie and her younger sister had been sorted into Slytherin. But Remus had seen the look in his friend's eyes, the disdain that masked something deeper.  

It wasn’t just the house she’d been placed in; it was the undeniable pull she had over him. She was one of the most captivating girls Remus had ever laid eyes on, and though Sirius never admitted it, Remus knew he felt the same. They had fought constantly—Sirius and Eliana—bickering in the halls, trading insults in class, to the point where even the professors made a point of keeping them apart. 

But everything shifted that summer. Sirius had run away from his family, severing ties with the House of Black once and for all. When they returned to Hogwarts for their final year, something about him had changed. Remus noticed how Sirius’s silver eyes lingered on Ellie now, no longer filled with resentment, but something softer. By Christmas, they were holding hands, sitting together at meals, whispering in quiet corners. They were inseparable, and it wasn’t long before everyone was talking about how perfect they were for each other—two rebels who had found solace in each other’s arms. 

Everyone agreed they were made for each other—everyone except Eliana’s family. Her parents couldn’t accept that their eldest daughter, heir to an old and revered lineage, was in love with the disowned son of one of the most infamous wizarding families. The Blacks may have been prestigious, but Sirius’s rebellion had tarnished their name in the eyes of the pure-blood elite. Yet, despite the tension, Eliana stood by him. She had promised that one day, she would confront her family, make them understand. But that day never came. 

Everything fell apart. Darkness had crept into Sirius’s world, and when Remus told Eliana what he had done, to Peter and James – and Lily, the crimes he’d committed, she refused to believe it. She couldn’t. They fought—terribly, violently—words flung at each other like curses. A month later, she disappeared. Without a word, she left, and no one knew where she had gone. Remus had tried to reach her, sending letters to her parents, even tracking down her younger sister, begging for answers. But there had been no replies, just silence. A year later, he found out her family had sold their house in London. Ellie had vanished from his life, as though she had never existed at all. 

She left the Ministry, and Remus followed, keeping his distance, too afraid to call out, too afraid to shatter the fragile image of her that had lingered in his mind for years. What if she wasn’t the same? What if the Eliana he remembered—the one who had disappeared so suddenly—was gone, replaced by someone colder, more distant? Her hurried steps echoed in the quiet streets until she reached the door of the Leaky Cauldron. Remus watched from the shadows as she slipped inside. He hesitated for a moment, then followed. 

She made her way to the bar, her movements quick and deliberate. He stayed back, watching, listening, his heart hammering in his chest. He heard her voice, unmistakable even after all these years. 

“Fire whiskey, please.” 

That voice—it sent a shiver through him. It was hers, no doubt about it. He could have recognized it anywhere. 

He stood at a distance, watching as she downed the glass in one swift gulp, her fingers gripping the empty glass as if trying to hold on to something far more elusive. 

“One more,” she said, her voice steady, but there was an edge to it—something raw and unguarded. 

The bartender frowned but obliged, pouring another glass. She tossed it back just as quickly. 

“In fact,” Eliana said, placing a piece of gold on the counter, “just give me the whole bottle.” 

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Careful with that,” he warned. “It’s strong.” 

She scoffed. “Strong is exactly what I need right now.” 

She grabbed the bottle and turned—only to find herself face-to-face with Remus. Their eyes locked. For a moment, the world seemed to stop, suspended in the charged space between them. The bottle slipped from her grasp, but before it could hit the floor, Remus caught it with a quick flick of his hand. 

“Careful with that,” he echoed the bartender's words, offering her a small, shy smile as he handed the bottle back to her. 

Eliana stood there, stunned, her expression unreadable. She blinked, seemingly unsure of what to say, then turned back to the bar, grabbing an empty glass. After a long pause, she took a deep breath and finally spoke. 

“Shall we... sit?” she asked quietly. 

Remus frowned, feeling a twinge of disappointment. He hadn’t expected her to rush into his arms, not after everything, but he hadn’t expected her to be so... indifferent. They found a quiet, dimly lit corner, away from the crowd, and sat down. The air between them felt thick, like an unspoken question hanging there, unanswered. 

“I didn’t know you were in London,” Remus said, breaking the silence. His voice was softer than he intended, as if he feared that if he didn’t speak, she might vanish again. 

“You weren’t supposed to know,” she replied, pouring the fire whiskey into two glasses and sliding one toward him. 

He took it, feeling the warmth of the liquid as he sipped, the heat spreading through his chest. “How long have you been here?” he asked. 

“I arrived yesterday,” she said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

Remus frowned. “Do you come to London often?” 

Her eyes stayed fixed on her drink. “First time in five years,” she muttered. “I wasn’t supposed to ever come back.” 

That, he had guessed.  

“So, why are you here?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the years between them. 

She took another sip, her gaze distant. “It’s Clara’s birthday. I came to visit her.” 

“Clara’s in London?” Remus was genuinely surprised. Eliana’s younger sister had left the city around the same time she did. 

“She’s been here for two years now,” Eliana replied, finally looking up at him. “She studied healing in America, but she got an opportunity to be a resident at St. Mungo’s.” 

Remus felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t known. He’d never seen Clara in all this time, never even heard whispers of her name. 

“Usually, she comes back to Italy for her birthday, but this year she’s on call, so I thought I’d surprise her,” Eliana continued, her voice quieter now, as if the weight of everything was pressing down on her. 

“And you?” Remus asked, his voice low. “You’re in Italy now?” 

She nodded, but there was no warmth in the gesture. He had thought she had returned to her family after leaving London, but he didn’t know where nor did he have the means to search for her. Over time, he had accepted that she was gone, that she didn’t want to be found. 

“I looked for you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The first year. I wrote to your parents. They sold the house, and I couldn’t find where you had gone. I wanted to write, but—” 

Eliana reached out, her hand resting on his. The touch was sudden, unexpected, and he nearly flinched from the warmth of it. He hadn’t felt her touch in years. 

She used to be so kind to him. They’d study together when Sirius was too tired to care. They’d spend whole nights in the library, preparing for the next test. Often, they’d compare their answers and have burst of laughs. And when she had guessed his condition, she never pulled back, on the contrary, she used to help him and the boys prepare for the full moon. She took care of him after, bringing him hot chocolate the following mornings after a transformation.  

“I left for a reason, Remus,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of something final, something unspoken. “I didn’t want to be found.” 

“Why?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly. 

She looked away, her fingers slipping from his hand as quickly as they had touched it. Remus could see the hurt in her eyes, the grief she had carried for so long. She had been mourning—Sirius, their future, everything she had lost—but was it enough to leave without a word? Was the pain of losing Sirius worth abandoning everything else? 

She didn’t answer the question burning on his lips, but she took his hand, her touch soft, hesitant. “I never meant to hurt you,” she whispered. 

He knew she had been angry—angry with him for not believing in Sirius’s innocence, for standing against her when she had tried so hard to defend the man she loved. Their last conversation had been bitter, sharp words exchanged like hexes. She had called him a horrible friend, accused him of betraying Sirius’s memory, of believing that his best friend could be capable of murder and treachery. And he, in his grief, had thrown her words back at her, refusing to believe that she could still defend the man who had killed Peter, who had betrayed James and Lily’s trust. Who had made his own godson an orphan.  

Remus shook his head, squeezing her hand gently. “I didn’t mean to either.” 

She laughed softly, but it was a sad, hollow sound. She pulled her hand away, running her fingers nervously through her dark hair. “I didn’t plan on seeing you again,” she admitted. “I wasn’t supposed to be here.” 

“You must have known I wasn’t far...” he replied quietly, studying her face, trying to read the thoughts behind her guarded expression. 

She shrugged, her lips curving into a faint, almost wistful smile. “To be honest, Remus, I thought you’d have left London by now. You never liked it here.” 

She was right, of course. He had always craved the quiet solitude of the countryside, the peace it offered compared to the chaos of city life. But circumstances had tied him to this place. “I don’t really have a choice at the moment.” 

Eliana’s gaze flickered with curiosity, but she didn’t push. She could see the weariness in his face, the gauntness in his frame, and he didn’t want to burden her with the details of his life. Not after all this time. 

“So,” he said, changing the subject as he poured them another round of fire whiskey, “what are you doing now, back home?” 

She hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her words. “I’m a barrister,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady. 

Of course she was, Remus thought. She had always had a fierce sense of justice, always fighting for the underdog. It seemed fitting. She studied him with a small, knowing smile. “It suits me, don’t you think?” 

She had not been able to fight for Sirius.  

Remus smiled back, but there was something faint about it, as if he couldn’t quite summon the warmth he used to feel. “And are you happy?” he asked, his eyes falling to her left hand, where he had noticed the glint of a ring earlier. 

Eliana glanced down at the ring, as if surprised to see it there herself. “Yes,” she answered softly. “I am.” 

“He’s a lucky man,” Remus said, his tone genuine, though there was a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. 

Her expression faltered for just a moment, her gaze clouding over with something unreadable. 

They talked for what felt like hours, dancing around the past, avoiding the name that hung between them like a shadow. They didn’t dare speak of Sirius, both too afraid that the mention of him would reignite the pain and bitterness that had driven them apart all those years ago. Eliana tried, more than once, to ask about Remus—how he was really doing—but it was clear she already knew. She could see the struggle etched into his skin. 

At one point, she offered to order dinner, but Remus refused, his pride too strong to accept her charity, especially from her. He could feel her pity, and he hated it. The night wore on, and eventually, Ellie glanced out the window, watching as the sky darkened and snow began to fall, dusting the streets in a soft, silent white. 

“I should go,” she said, standing up reluctantly.  

Remus rose with her. “Let me walk you outside,” he offered. 

She shook her head. “There’s no need.” 

But Remus reached for her hand, and she let him take it. His eyes locked onto hers, his voice low and serious. “If this is the last time I see you, Ellie, at least let me walk with you. I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye last time.” 

She hesitated, then nodded. 

Outside, the air was crisp, the snowflakes catching the glow of the Christmas lights strung along the street. The festive scene felt oddly out of place, the cheerful lights at odds with the heaviness between them. Eliana walked beside him in silence for a while, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. 

“Are you living far from here?” she asked, glancing sideways at him. “I’m just around the corner. Maybe we could walk together?” 

“I’m fine,” Remus said, offering her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

She stopped, then, looking up at him with concern. Before he could protest, she stepped into his arms, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. He rested his chin on the top of her head, breathing in the faint scent of her perfume, a familiar comfort from a time long past. 

“I can’t shake the feeling that you’re not,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Her green eyes shimmered with tears, and for a moment, Remus felt something in him break. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he said lightly, scoffing to cover the ache in his chest. He pointed to the old red car parked just a few feet away. “I’ve got all I need.” 

Eliana pulled away from him, frowning as she walked up to the car, her brow furrowed. “Is this... yours?” 

“Not bad, eh?” Remus said with a laugh, trying to brush it off. 

But it was absurd. She came from a world of wealth and privilege, and here he was, trying to play off the fact that he was living out of a beat-up car. 

“Well, it’s got style, I’ll give you that,” she said with a soft smile, but then her expression shifted. She peered through the windows of the car, her face growing serious. 

“Remus,” she asked, her voice quiet, “are you... living in your car?” 

He sighed, tilting his head back to look at the sky. “It’s just temporary,” he said, the words feeling hollow even as he spoke them. 

Eliana stepped closer, her hand finding his once again. Her face was filled with concern, the same look she used to give him at Hogwarts, whenever she worried for his well-being. 

All those years, always worrying about him. 

And here she was, still doing it. 

She wore the same worried look when Sirius would show too much affection towards her in front of him. She always glanced at Remus, a quick look to make sure he was alright. And every time, he ignored it—ignored that pitiful gaze he despised so much. 

“Let me show you something,” she said, her voice soft but firm. 

She took his hand, and together they walked through the blurry, illuminated streets. The night felt strange, the lights of the city glowing brighter than usual, casting everything in an almost dreamlike haze. They stopped in front of an old Victorian building, its weathered brickwork speaking of better days. Without a word, Eliana opened the front door, and Remus stepped in, his heart heavy but his feet following her without hesitation. 

The entrance led through a narrow, dimly lit hallway with a winding staircase, where the sounds of distant conversations echoed faintly from above. Inside, the flat was modest but charming. Tall sash windows framed the streets below, and the living room, with its classic crown mouldings, felt warm despite the unused fireplace. Wooden floorboards creaked beneath her feet. 

“Clara’s rented this place when she came back to London,” Eliana said as she flicked on the lights with a casual wave of her hand. “But she moved in with her partner six months ago, so now she just uses it as storage. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s comfortable.” 

“It’s nice,” Remus murmured, still standing in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets. 

Ellie frowned and gestured for him to come in properly. “Please, make yourself at home.” 

Remus cleared his throat and stepped further inside, still cautious, as if he were afraid he might knock something over or leave a mark where he didn’t belong. Eliana removed her black cloak, revealing an all-black outfit underneath. The simplicity made her seem almost otherworldly in the soft light. 

“There’s a small living room here, the kitchen’s just over there,” she said, pointing to a tiny space to her right. “An office through that door, and a decent-sized bedroom next to it. The bathroom’s at the end of the hall.” 

As she spoke, Remus couldn’t help but wonder why she was describing all this to him. This was the kind of flat he couldn’t even dream of renting. He wasn’t sure why she had brought him here—until he felt something cold press into his hand. Looking down, he saw a key. 

“What—” 

“Clara’s moving to France in a couple of months,” Eliana explained, cutting him off before he could protest. “There’s still two years left on the lease, and it’s a nightmare finding someone reliable to sublet. The owner’s a witch who only rents to people like us. It would be a waste to leave it empty when I know you could use it.” 

Remus shook his head, immediately trying to hand the key back to her. “I can’t accept this. It’s a kind offer, but—” 

“But what?” she interrupted; her tone sharp but not unkind. “It’s almost winter, Remus. You can’t live in your car. I won’t allow it.” 

He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping before he could stop it. “You haven’t cared where I’ve lived for the last five years. Why now?” 

The words sounded harsher than he had intended, but he couldn’t take them back. 

Eliana didn’t flinch. She didn’t even seem angry, just... resigned. “I understand why you’d feel that way,” she said softly. “I know I’ve hurt you, but believe me, Remus, I didn’t want to leave you behind like that. It wasn’t just my choice.” 

“Then why did you?” His voice was low, but the question cut through the space between them like a knife. 

She sighed, running a hand through her long hair. “I was angry. Angry that you could believe such awful things about him.” She didn’t dare speak his name. “I needed you to fight with me, to at least give him a chance, to hear his side of the story. And when you didn’t... I felt like I was losing everything. You didn’t just turn your back on him—you left me alone too.” 

Remus closed his eyes for a moment, trying to stave off the familiar sting of guilt. It was the same argument they’d had all those years ago, and yet here it was again, haunting them both. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the friend you needed. I’m sorry I abandoned you.” He held out the key again, offering it back. “But I can’t accept this, Ellie. I don’t need your pity.” 

She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Pity?” she echoed. “Is that really what you think this is?” 

What else could it be? 

“You’ve always tried to protect me,” Remus said quietly, his voice strained. “Even back at Hogwarts. I know you knew... how I felt.” 

He hesitated, but there was no need to finish. She knew. She had always known how he felt—how much he wished she didn’t love Sirius the way she did. And how much he wished Sirius didn’t love her back just as fiercely. They were soulmates, and it had always crushed him, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

“This isn’t pity, Remus,” she said, sitting down on the couch, her fingers pressing into her temples as though she could push away the weight of the conversation. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “It’s care. It’s love. I can’t stand the idea of you being homeless, living in your car. I had no idea things were this bad.” 

Remus sighed, his exhaustion overwhelming him. He sat down too, sinking into the cushions beside her, his body heavy with the burden of everything left unsaid. 

“Has it been this way since I left?” she asked, her gaze fixed on him. 

He shook his head, not wanting her to carry the full weight of his struggles. But he didn’t have the strength to lie, either. The truth was somewhere in between, and as they sat in the quiet flat, the years of pain and silence between them felt heavier than ever. 

“It was fine for a while,” he began, hesitating. “But being what I am… you know. People fear me. They’re right to.” 

Eliana edged closer, her expression softening as she reached for his hand. “No one should fear you.” 

Remus gave a hollow laugh. “I’m a monster, Ellie. Quite literally.” 

Her hand moved to his chin, gently turning his face toward hers. “Look at me,” she said firmly. “You are not a monster. You’re the kindest, most thoughtful person I’ve ever known.” 

“Kindness doesn’t matter much when I turn into a wild animal every full moon,” he muttered, eyes drifting to the window. “Even with wolfsbane, I’m just a shadow of myself, too drained to do anything but exist.” 

His gaze traced the night sky, as if searching for answers in the stars. “It’s coming again… two days from now. I’m already worn out. Everything hurts.” 

Eliana’s voice broke as she whispered, “I’m so sorry.” A tear slipped down her cheek. 

“It is what it is,” Remus replied, standing slowly and moving toward the door. 

“Stay,” she called after him, her voice trembling. 

He paused, eyes closing against the weight of her plea. 

“Please, Remus,” she said again, stepping closer. “Let this be your home, just for a while. Let me give you a chance to rest, to not worry about where you’ll sleep tomorrow.” 

His heart clenched painfully. He turned to her, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “There’s only one thing I want, Ellie,” he whispered. “Don’t leave. I can’t be alone anymore. I need a friend.” 

He broke down, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. Eliana was at his side in an instant, pulling him into a tight embrace. 

“I can’t stay, Remus,” she said softly. 

He looked down, his heart sinking further. He knew she had a life elsewhere, with someone waiting for her. Someone she loved. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice hollow. 

Ellie gave a nervous laugh. “I didn’t want to see you again,” she admitted, her gaze locking with his. “I was terrified of this moment…” 

“Am I that frightening?” he tried to joke, though his heart wasn’t in it. 

She traced the scar on his face with a gentle touch. “Not at all,” she whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss on his cheek. “You’re everything but.” 

Her hand lingered on his skin, their faces now inches apart. Remus felt the pull, the uncontrollable urge rising within him, the wildness that came with the moon. But he fought it, grounding himself in the moment. 

When she kissed his other cheek, the rawness of it nearly undid him. Her breath warmed his neck, and before he could stop himself, he leaned into her, eyes closed against the flood of desire. 

“Ellie…” he murmured, his control slipping. 

“This is the last time we’ll see each other,” she whispered against his skin. “Don’t ruin it.” 

Her hands found his bare skin, fingers tracing the edge of his shirt, moving lower. His mind spun. He felt as though he were betraying the memory of his lost brother, but the weight of her closeness, the tenderness he had craved for so long, was too much to resist. If pity was all she had to offer, then maybe… maybe it was enough. 

The memory of one past night haunted him—one of those memories that never faded, no matter how much time passed. It was their last year at Hogwarts. The entire school had descended on Hogsmeade for one last wild celebration, all the houses mingling, no divisions, no rivalries—just freedom and exhilaration. Remus had felt it too, for a while, but exhaustion caught up with him before the night was over. He decided to return to the dorms early, slipping away unnoticed, or so he thought. 

He hadn’t realized that Sirius and Ellie weren’t with the rest of the group when he made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower. He had planned to take a long bath and go to bed, hoping to escape the noise and chaos that usually drained him. 

But when he opened the dormitory door, something stopped him cold. 

There, pinned against the wall, was Eliana. Sirius was with her, moving against her, his breath heavy. Her hands had been tangled in his hair, her back arching into him as if seeking more. Remus had frozen. Sirius’s trousers were bunched around his ankles, his shirt barely covering his body, and Ellie—her clothes had been dishevelled, exposing enough for Remus to know what was happening. 

He had been wanting to turn around, to give them their privacy, but something held him in place. Ellie’s eyes met his. For a heartbeat, he was sure she saw him. Her lips parted, and for that brief moment, he swore there was something more than surprise in her gaze. Was it… desire? For him? 

No, he had imagined it. 

Shaken, he had flown back to the common room, trying to focus on a book, anything to erase the scene from his mind. Half an hour later, Sirius and Ellie had reappeared, laughing as though nothing had happened. Sirius joked about Remus turning in early, while Ellie said nothing, avoiding his gaze completely. He had never brought it up. He convinced himself it was a trick of the light, a figment of his imagination. Surely, she hadn’t seen him at all. 

And now, with a broken heart and trembling hands, he gave in.  

She was kissing him, and as he pressed his body against hers, he couldn’t help but recall that night—couldn’t help but recreate the image of her against the wall, except this time, it was him pinning her there. His breath came ragged in her ear, and he fought to keep control. He had imagined this for so long—what she might taste like, how her body would feel wrapped around him. 

Ellie unbuckled his belt, her hands steady, as his trousers fell to the floor. When she pulled off her shirt, revealing herself to him, he couldn’t breathe. She was perfect. More perfect than he had ever dared to imagine. 

For so long, he had envied Sirius, envied him for knowing her in ways Remus never would. But now, with her in front of him, he felt a shame deeper than anything he had known. 

But the desire, the wildness in him, wouldn’t be silenced. He bent to kiss her skin—her lips, her neck, her collarbone—his breath hot and uncontrolled. He wasn’t a man anymore. He was something primal, something desperate. Ellie tilted her head back, and he slid his mouth lower, removing the last barrier of clothing between them. 

When his lips found the warmth between her legs, her quiet moan broke the silence, sending a shiver down his spine. She grabbed his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue moved between her folds, tasting her. She moaned again, her fingers gripping him tighter, and for a moment, he forgot everything. Forgot who he was, forgot who she was. All that mattered was the taste of her, the feel of her skin under his tongue. 

He could stay like this forever, he thought. But the ache between his own legs, the pressure building inside him, refused to be ignored. He stood, lifting her in his arms, carrying her to the couch. Ellie’s legs parted without hesitation, inviting him in. He saw that same look in her eyes—the one he had seen all those years ago. Perhaps, he hadn’t been imagining it after all. 

His breath hitched as he nudged at her entrance, and when he pushed into her, they both let out a gasp—surprise and pleasure all at once. He moved slowly at first, trying to remind himself to be gentle, to be soft. But he couldn’t hold back. Not with her. He wanted to feel her completely, to lose himself in her warmth. 

Her moans grew louder as he quickened his pace, the sound of his body moving against hers driving him to the edge. She arched beneath him, her breasts rising and falling with each thrust, and he was lost—growling low in his throat, forgetting everything but this moment, this need. 

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her, harder now, his humanity slipping away. And then, he felt her tighten around him, her body trembling with the release he had been chasing.  

With her eyes closed, he wondered for a moment if she was thinking of somebody else, of him or the man that awaited her back home. 

But Ellie whispered his name in a breathless gasp, and it was all he needed. He followed her over the edge, spilling into her with a moan, his body shaking from the force of it. 

For a moment, the world stood still. 

As the last waves of pleasure faded, Remus pulled away, his mind reeling. What had he done? His heart pounded in his chest, guilt flooding him as he ran a trembling hand over his face. He wasn’t meant for this—not with her. Not with Ellie. Not with the woman who had once belonged with his best friend. 

Eliana leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, her voice soft and broken. “I would have loved you so much, Remus… if I hadn’t loved him.” 

“I know,” he whispered, his chest tight. 

Her words hit him harder than he expected, words he had longed to hear but never allowed himself to hope for. He had known, from the moment they met, that she would always belong to Sirius and Sirius to her. But to hear her say it—it tore him apart. 

“In another life, maybe,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. 

He let out a bitter chuckle. “Maybe.” 

“I wanted this,” she said, her voice trembling. “I hope you did too.” 

He looked at her, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She was beautiful, even in her sadness. But it wasn’t him she loved. It never would be. 

“I wish it had been you,” she whispered, her voice cracking.  

“But it’s him,” he replied.  

“It’s always going to be him,” she whispered with a trembling voice. 

He nodded, understanding in the pit of his stomach. “I get it.” 

Ellie touched his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. You deserve to be loved, Remus, if only you could see yourself the way I see you.” 

Remus closed his eyes, fighting back the tears. It was selfish to want more from her, to ask her to stay. He knew that now. He’d never have her fully, but this—this was something. Wasn’t it better than nothing? 

“One day, you’ll meet someone,” she said softly. “Someone who will love you completely, without fear or hesitation. Please, don’t push them away when you do.” 

He let out a hollow laugh, the same words James had told him countless times. It had never felt true, and it didn’t now. No one would accept him, not as he was. But he nodded, if only to make her stop crying. 

Ellie kissed him once more, her lips lingering for a moment longer than before. “I don’t think our paths will cross again,” she whispered, tears spilling down her face. “It’s better this way.” 

Remus shook his head, his heart aching. His eyes pleaded with her. “This is goodbye, then,” he said, his voice breaking. 

She nodded. “This is goodbye.” 

Defeated, Remus rested his head against the cushion, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. The weight of exhaustion settled over him like a thick blanket. He felt her arms around him, warm and familiar, offering a fleeting comfort. Ellie’s embrace tightened gently, and she pressed a soft kiss against his cheek, lingering just long enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath on his skin. 

For a moment, the world seemed to quiet, and he let himself sink into that small, stolen tenderness—something he knew would soon slip away. 

“I’m sorry you lost the love of your life,” he said, the words catching in his throat. 

Remus quietly surrendered to the sleep that had been tugging at him for too long, its embrace pulling him deeper into a long-overdue rest. As the weight of consciousness slipped away, he felt himself sinking, drifting into the quiet abyss where exhaustion finally gave way to peace. 

When Remus woke the next morning, soft sunlight filtered through the window, casting a golden glow across the room. The duvet from the bedroom had been gently draped over him, a small gesture of care left in the silence. The apartment was still, empty. 

Ellie was gone. 

Rising slowly, he walked to the kitchen, where a folded note lay beside an envelope. His chest tightened as he opened it, reading the words in her familiar handwriting: 

“You’re sorry I’ve lost the love of my life, Remus. But I’m sorry you haven’t met yours.” 

He hesitated before opening the envelope. Inside, the key to the flat rested, cold and waiting. Etched into its surface was a single word: "Yet." 

[merwgue]

Cassian and Mor’s relationship is one of the more baffling dynamics in the ACOTAR series. The emotional and psychological complexity, combined with their outright failure to establish boundaries, creates a toxic cycle that affects not only them but those around them, especially Nesta and Azriel. Let’s break down the layers of dysfunction and toxicity in their relationship:

Cassian’s Conflicting Feelings for Mor

1. Cassian’s Obsession with Mor: Despite claiming to see Mor as a "sister," Cassian’s actions contradict this on multiple levels. He constantly defers to her, listens to her, and essentially worships her, giving her power over him that goes beyond a normal sibling-like relationship. This level of deference to Mor is particularly troubling when you consider his supposed bond with Nesta.

The Issue with Nesta: In 800 pages of A Court of Silver Flames, Cassian doesn’t tell Nesta that he ever had feelings for Mor or that there was a confusing dynamic there. Hiding this from Nesta, who’s supposed to be his mate, creates a deep foundation of dishonesty. If Cassian really saw Nesta as his equal and mate, why wouldn’t he be more forthcoming about his past with Mor? It’s a massive breach of trust.

2. Not Defending His Mate: When Mor suggested that Nesta be sent to Hewn City, a place she knows is hell for women, Cassian just agrees with her. The fact that he doesn’t defend Nesta, his mate, from such a terrible fate says a lot about his priorities and loyalty. If he truly cared for Nesta, he would have stood up for her against Mor, but instead, he goes along with Mor’s suggestion. This is not just a minor oversight; it speaks to his lack of respect and protection for Nesta, the woman he’s supposed to be bonded to.

Mor’s Manipulative Behavior

1. Using Cassian to Deter Azriel: Mor’s sexuality is complex, and while it’s understandable that she doesn’t want to hurt Azriel with the truth of her bisexuality, her continued use of Cassian as a shield is incredibly damaging.

Leading Azriel On: Mor knows full well that Azriel has feelings for her, yet she doesn’t put a stop to it. Instead, she uses Cassian as a way to keep Azriel at bay without having to address the real issue. This is manipulative and shows a lack of emotional maturity on Mor’s part. By leading Azriel on, she’s effectively psychologically torturing him, allowing him to believe there’s hope when she knows there isn’t.

2. Impact on Friendships: Mor’s behavior has ruined the dynamic between Azriel and Cassian. By constantly using Cassian to divert Azriel’s attention, she’s driving a wedge between the two friends. Azriel is left heartbroken and confused, while Cassian is complicit in the manipulation. The emotional toll this takes on all of them is enormous, and it’s a huge part of why this relationship dynamic is so toxic.

The Destructive Power Dynamic

1. Mor’s Control Over Cassian: Mor’s influence over Cassian is clear—he constantly defers to her, even over his mate, and prioritizes her feelings and opinions. This gives Mor an uncomfortable amount of control over Cassian’s actions, even when it’s to the detriment of his relationship with Nesta. This imbalance in power leads to further dysfunction, where Cassian is torn between loyalty to Mor and his bond with Nesta.

2. Lack of Boundaries: The fact that there are no clear boundaries between Mor and Cassian’s relationship is what makes it so volatile. Mor continues to use Cassian when it suits her, and Cassian is unable (or unwilling) to set boundaries that would protect his relationship with Nesta or his friendship with Azriel. Without these boundaries, the entire inner circle becomes entangled in a toxic web of unspoken feelings and unresolved tensions.

Emotional Fallout

Nesta’s Marginalization: Cassian’s inability to prioritize Nesta over Mor, or even stand up for her, marginalizes Nesta in the worst way. She’s left feeling unsupported and dismissed, while Mor continues to hold an elevated status in Cassian’s life. This is not the foundation of a healthy mate bond.

Azriel’s Pain: Mor’s manipulation of Azriel is nothing short of emotional torture. Azriel is left in limbo, constantly yearning for something that will never happen, and instead of addressing the issue head-on, Mor keeps him at arm’s length, leaving him emotionally fractured.

---

Conclusion: A Relationship Built on Dysfunction

Cassian and Mor’s relationship is rife with manipulation, dishonesty, and a lack of boundaries, creating an environment that’s toxic for everyone involved. Cassian’s failure to defend Nesta, coupled with Mor’s manipulation of both Cassian and Azriel, has created a destructive cycle that harms everyone around them. Rather than being a relationship built on trust or loyalty, it’s one marked by emotional confusion, power imbalances, and psychological damage. This dynamic ultimately undermines Cassian’s supposed bond with Nesta and Mor’s friendships, creating an ever-present cloud of dysfunction within the inner circle.

Ty @litnerdwrites for letting me use your post as inspo❤️❤️❤️

[lovelyatomicpeace]

The silence between us

Plot: Steve and y/n have been friends all their lives, separated during adolescence. Thanks to what happens in '83 the two will be able to meet again and build a stronger friendship than before. One day y/n proposes to Steve to go to the beach together, he will accept, but what will happen during this week? and especially once they return to Hawkins will the two have the opportunity to understand what happened between them or something horrible is going to happen?

Good morning guys, today a part came out that I was particularly fond of and I hope I managed to tell it to the fullest... as always let me know if you liked it by leaving a comment ❤️

Sixth and Last Night (part 3)

Steve POV

I squinted against the strong light of the beach club. y/n was standing next to me, wearing tight light-blue pants and a crisp white blouse: the fabric danced along her curves, teasing the edges of her sun-kissed skin whose rays were caught by her hair. God, there was too much space between us.

"Let's get something to drink," she suggested, her eyes shining with mischief. "I need something strong to relax me."

"Well, lead the way" I said; the bartender greeted us with a confident smile, immediately captivated by y/n "What can I get you, beautiful?"

"A vodka tonic, please. And will he take...?" He turned to me, playfully raising an eyebrow "Surprise me," I said, in turn raising an eyebrow, which earned me a complicit smile from him. "All right, let's see if you really live up to the reputation of 'party animal," he said in a tone of voice that combined defiance and mockery.

"There you go!" The bartender set our drinks down on the counter shortly after, with the glasses catching the disco lights from above. Y/n lifted his own, sparkling with anticipation. "To the last night of our adventure!"

"To good memories," I toasted, watching his face light up with joy. I took a sip, the coolness of the cocktail bringing relief to the warmth that enveloped me. We drifted back into the chaos.I watched her, half amused, half anxious, as I sipped my drink, hoping it would help quench the inexplicable desire simmering inside me. We made our way through groups of people dancing, "Come on!" he shouted over the cacophony, grabbing my hand, his grip surprisingly firm. The moment was electric. When our hands joined, the world melted away. I could feel the warmth radiating from her, and for a split second, all the boundaries we had drawn faded into the background: y/n pulled me closer to the crowd, her laughter infectious, and I couldn't help but join her, our movements synchronized as if orchestrated by an invisible force. Waves of music swept over us, and we closed our eyes, losing ourselves in the rhythm.

"I could get used to this," I shouted over the pounding beat, in an attempt to convey something deeper than just the excitement of the party, "Me too! We need to do this more often when we get home!" he replied. Something in her tone sounded wistful; I wanted to seize that fleeting moment, to tell her that I would always be there, ready to say yes to adventures with her. How could we remain just friends when the line between friendship and something more was thinning? In that moment, I forgot everything: the walls we had built, the unspoken words that lingered in the depths of our friendship, all trapped in the cloud of despair that emanated from us. We were two stars in orbit around each other, not quite colliding but in an ever-approaching dance. I made her laugh, a musical sound that made my chest flood with warmth.

Just as the people around us lost themselves in passionate kisses and heated embraces, the idea of us enveloped only by the dance floor came closer. y/n's body brushed against mine, an electric moment when I felt time hold my breath. Why couldn't we break this barrier? Why was it so complicated?

I was overwhelmed by the sensations: all I wanted was to reach out toward her again, pull her closer, infinitely closer....

but the sound of thunder interrupted me, drawing our attention to the sky where dark clouds had gathered. "Looks like the party's coming to an end," said y/n, with the corners of his mouth turned downward in disappointment. That's when the first drop of rain fell, barely perceptible against the wave of sound around us: the clouds unleashed their grip and the downpour swept over the party, forcing the outsiders to disperse.

"Hey, let's go! We can find shelter along the catwalk." A wave of determination swept over me. As we ran, the rain fell hard, harder now, and all I could think about was that undeniable bond we had almost overcome: we huddled under the fronds of a palm tree, but it was a fragile barrier against the fury of nature. I focused my attention on her: her hair, tousled by the breeze, now framed her face, wet but radiant, rain dripped from her eyelashes onto her cheeks, and I could see the way her dress clung to her skin, transparent and revealing enough to make my heart flutter.

"Steve!" she shouted, her voice barely audible above the storm. I could barely hear my heart beating, louder than the thunder that surrounded us. "What do we do?", I grabbed her shoulders, pulling her closer, trying to protect her from the cold and wind. "Let's go back to the motel,"... but before we could go, an uncontrollable impulse assailed me. I felt as if the world had narrowed to us, just to that moment. Without thinking, I moved closer, capturing his lips with mine in an impromptu kiss that felt like an explosion of emotions. It was violent and unrestrained. My hands entwined in her hair, pulling her closer, as if I were trying to fuse our bodies into one. Water cascaded around us, the world beyond our messy intimacy lost in the storm. Her lips were soft, hesitant for only a moment before she melted into me, returning the kiss with an urgency that made my head spin. His body pressed against mine was intoxicating: each brush of skin sent electrifying impulses through my veins.

I could taste the rain and salt on his lips, a chaotic mixture not unlike the storm raging around us. We were outlaws, fugitives from the world summoned in a reckless moment, our heartbeats synchronized in time with the thunder above us.

I turned away, breathless, and peered into her eyes: deep furrows reflecting surprise and something akin to despair. For those brief seconds, the storm ceased to exist: Time seemed to stand still as I pulled away, her eyes wide and surprised, as if I had stolen a piece of the storm itself. My heart was pounding, not from fear, but from euphoria, the kind of euphoria that made the boundaries of my reality fuzzy and bent.

She stood there, motionless for a blink more, confusion engulfing me completely. Had I frightened her? Had I ruined everything? My heart sank, the chaos around me suddenly all too real, the storm now echoing inside my soul, "y/n?" I asked softly, my voice cutting through the flood like an invocation. "Are you okay? I'm sorry," I stammered, the gravity of our kiss hitting me all at once. His silence lingered as the rain continued to pour down. And then the most unexpected thing happened. Without another word, he moved closer, his trembling hands found my shoulders as he leaned down, his lips meeting mine again.

~~~~~~~~~

In the motel room, the air was thick with desire. I closed the door behind us, the soft sound of the latch clicking into place amplifying the silence that hovered between us. The atmosphere changed; tension electrified the air, making each breath heavier with possibility.

I turned to her and searched her eyes for something, a recognition of the whirlwind that had swept over us. "Y/N..." I dared to take a step forward, my voice barely a whisper.

"Steve," she replied, in a low tone, as if unsure where this path would take us. But in that instant, it didn't matter. My heart was loud enough to cover the sounds of the storm outside, heartbeats mingling in a shared rhythm that promised something new and intense. As I reached out to tuck a wet strand of hair behind her ear, I realized that that night was not just about the storm outside; it was about the storm we were igniting inside each other, two souls drawn together by an unexpected spark, wrapped in the tension of the unknown.

Our hands began to explore our bodies, discovering each other in the way only people who have longed in silence can do. I could feel her heart beating fast, in tune with mine, a rhythm of excitement and raw need. The air was charged, heavy with unexpressed desires, each touch sending sparks dancing through my veins. She hesitated when I brushed her waist with my fingers, but there was an invitation in her eyes that made my pulse quicken. In that room, in the midst of the storm, we became more than just friends. We were explorers, navigating the wild territory of newly found love, passion intertwined with uncertainty. As we held each other, the night transformed; we embraced the wonderful chaos together.

I moved closer, feeling his warmth draw me in like gravity. "Are we really doing this?" I murmured, my voice barely audible. The question hung between us, flickering like a candle flame. She nodded slowly, her breathing stopped slightly, and I felt a fierce need to protect that fragile moment, to honor the intensity of what we were about to share. "You are so beautiful," I murmured, in a low, rough voice. Y/n's cheeks blushed with a hint of shyness, but she met his gaze with fiery determination. She knew what she wanted and would not let the opportunity pass her by. She moved a step closer, bridging the distance between them, and whispered, "Show me how much you want me."

My hands began to tremble slightly as I unbuttoned her blouse, which slipped off, revealing the delicate lace of her bra. Quietly, never taking my eyes off hers, I did the same and dropped it to the floor. Her breasts were leaking out, a perfect handful, I was hesitant to touch them but y/n took my hand and rested it on one of them and that's when I felt the weight and warmth of them. I kissed her neck, my tongue dancing on the sensitive skin, making her gasp.

Her hands reached for her belt and, with trembling fingers, unfastened it, The sound of her zipper echoed in the room, y/n took a moment to appreciate the sight of her, the muscles in her abdomen rippling as she moved, her chest heaving with each breath. I moved closer, pressing my body against hers: my hands slid over her hips, gripping her firmly as she lay on the bed, the coolness of the sheets contrasting with the warmth of our bodies, causing us to shiver.

I kissed her deeply, her tongue exploring my mouth as her hands roamed my body, leaving a trail of fire. Her hands found their way to my boxers, sliding them down. I groaned, letting my eyes roll back in pleasure.

With a swift move, y/n stood over me, and eagerly wrapped her legs around my waist. She felt his tip at her entrance and gasped, her eyes opening to meet his. He paused for a moment to look at her, savoring the look of pure lust on her face. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he thrust into her, filling her completely. The sensation was overwhelming, and she moaned my name as he began to move. His rhythm was perfect, each thrust hitting just the right spot, sending waves of pleasure through her body. She tightened her grip on my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin as she went along with movements and her hips rose to meet me.

The room was filled with the sounds of our lovemaking: the slap of skin against skin, our mingled gasps and moans, the rustle of the sheets beneath them: as I increased the pace, she felt the pressure inside her grow, a delicious tension begging to be released with her body shaking from the force. I watched her and my arousal reached new heights as I felt her tighten around me. With one last, powerful thrust, she peaked, her body convulsing as I filled her with my release. We stood there, panting, hearts beating in unison, lost in the aftermath of shared ecstasy.The world around us vanished, leaving only the sound of our labored breaths. My hands clung to her hips, my fingers dug into her soft flesh as I pushed deeper into her,y/n, out of pleasure, she threw her head back, her long hair falling over her shoulders and onto her back, and the sensation of wetting myself against her was driving me crazy, and I knew I couldn't hold on much longer.

With one last, desperate cry, Y/n shattered, her body reaching orgasm. And I followed her, our bodies locked in an embrace that seemed to defy gravity. We clutched each other, hearts beating wildly against their chests, as the world around blurred into a haze of pleasure and need. For a brief, perfect, instant there were no interruptions, there was nothing but the two of us, lost in passion. But reality had a way of intruding, and as the aftershocks of our orgasms subsided, we became aware of our surroundings again. The room was silent, the only sound being that of our panting breaths and the thunder outside.

We lay there for a while, our bodies embraced, and finally the weight of unspoken words settled over us again like a shroud and I realized that I could not ignore the elephant in the room forever. I pulled out of her gently, rolling onto my side and resting on one elbow. I shook a strand of hair from her face with a serious expression. "We need to talk." Y/n nodded, her eyes seeking mine.

"I know," she whispered, her voice a little rough from screaming. "But not now. Not yet": for now we had this moment, this perfect slice of time when it was just the two of us, our bodies and hearts entwined in a symphony of passion. And that was enough for the moment.

We stayed there, wrapped in each other's arms, with silence speaking louder than any words. The weight of what we had done hung between us, a silent promise of something more to come, a pact sealed in sweat and passion: for the moment we were content to bask in the glow of their illicit encounter, with minds racing with thoughts of what was to come, hearts beating in sync like a secret rhythm that only they could hear.

We had crossed a line and there was no turning back...

[nelithic]

　𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚 ,　𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 　/　drabble ₊

"if imitation is required, then so be it. nil's safety is all that concerns me."

we would never be human, my brother and i. we could never hope to pass. even as i said these words to the divine dragon, i recognized that it was concession only. we needed somewhere to stay, a place to rest our weary forms, and regain our strength to continue on. i would make any placations and reassurances necessary to ensure this, so long as we needed it, and leave them behind when it was no longer of use. such simple falsehoods were common, a quotidian tool to dull the fangs of the prowling and jealous until another day. they would still come, of course. just as we would still depart.

　　　　——— ⟢　

we would never come close to human, my twin and i. their faces made this clear. the divine dragon was hopeful and naive, and believed baselessly in our ability to make ourselves at home because, they assured us, they had been able to do the same.

on many occasions, i said to them: "that success is owed in part to your nature as a divine dragon. you underestimate the strength of a systematic distrust."

always, they would reply that my ' systematic distrust ' could only be dismantled by time and visibility, that given enough show of good intent, the others would have no choice but to accept us. i expressed that nil and i were not here to give shows of our intent, nor was it vital to us to earn the humans' trust. we had no interest in becoming the ' good ' fell dragons for others to praise.

always, they frowned. and i was unable to tell if my words had disappointed or saddened them.

　　　　——— ⟢　

"so, why the lance?"

a curious voice broke through the haze of sweat, exertion, and the punishing summer heat. i looked down to my bruised hands, to chastened palms rough and raw from the abrasion of wood, and planted the training weapon point-down in the ground between us to rest. it was as much an acknowledgement of their question as it was a wordless statement to come no closer, and in this single gesture simultaneously provided answer.

"i thought you said you wouldn't fit in."

"i have not."

and this was not untrue. seasons had passed, and nil and i had still not found a more remote, more willing sanctuary. and the faces had not changed. still we undertook tasks together and together only, at times with the divine one for company and otherwise a solemn and happy pair. for though there were those in the army who may stomach us one or the other, both at a time set them ill at ease. i did not fault them, for it did likewise for me. and i would not let nil alone, whose blood was too gentle still to wield steel against soft humanity should they strike first.

"my brother has made some progress with his axe. with a spear, i possess another means with which to protect him."

"ah," the divine one said, as though this was expected, though there appeared to me a distinct hope that there was more to be revealed. i sensed a certain expectation — that it had been a natural decision to complement the preferences of those around me: my brother's hatchets; the divine dragon's sword.

but i would disappoint. the consideration had never occurred to me; only that, of the options available, the spear proved most versatile. to slash, to pierce, to strike bluntly, close or at distance; to be thrown, and lighter weight than an axe.

and above all, to keep the enemy at bay, and nil behind me.

i turned the human weapon on the divine one now to demonstrate this. their startled blue eyes shone wide beneath the sun. "facing your sword will assist me in improving quickly. three seconds and i will attack."

　　　　——— ⟢　

we could never have been human, my other half and i. after all, the humans had all taken their leave, what few remained of them, splintered and swept away like shards of glass.

and now it was quieter than it had ever been — in gradlon or amid the army camps.

regardless of what we intended, we had become the ' good ' fell dragons in the end. some of their faces had eventually changed because of this; others had not. i wondered whether seeing this had satisfied the divine one, had made them believe we had indeed managed to fit in with time and visibility; i had never had the chance to ask. regarding the fresh grave now, the spotless stone, the clean engraving, i felt that so long as this may have perhaps been true, my own intentions ceased to matter. and the praise and judgment of others ceased to matter.

my hands were once again bruised, raw from battle though the old callouses had long faded, and i tried to summon the memory of them again through vision too clear to be appropriate. i willed my eyes to weep, and it did not come. i gave that to nil instead, asked him to weep for both of us.

the spear drove point-down in the grass between the two of us once more, beside the pedestal's simple tomb, as though the iron sought the one who rested beneath it like a compass needle.

i could not reach. my hands could not reach. my tears could not reach.

yet with this lance, i may . . .

. . .

　 【　nel has mastered halberdier　】

　

　┃┃┃　

▀▀ 　BOTANICAL HEADCANONS　₊　|　abatina : is there anything in life your muse has changed their mind about over time ( due to becoming more educated on the topic , certain experiences , etc .) , or that they would change their mind about under certain circumstances ?　|　asked by @heriteur

[sysig]

Those wacky skeletons ♥ (Patreon)

[justl-12]

i think Lemiel/Lumiere's underrated

[aleksanderscult]

Was Aleksander power-hungry or wanted power to use it for the protection of his people?

This question is one of the most hotly debatable in this fandom and I decided to clear this out not by analyzing his words through the POV of other characters (who don't believe him and therefore the reader finds him a liar) but through his own perspective in "Rule of Wolves".

So let's take an objective look inside his own thoughts and find out.

His very first thoughts were how could he reclaim his powers, describing the whole experience as somewhat painful and confusing to him. His second were about Alina.

And these are his third ones. He explains how utterly worthless Nikolai and Zoya are to save Ravka. How immature and weak. Aleksander finds himself to be the only one able for this task. His powers, experience and general abilities are testament to that.

But note how he calls Ravka "his country". From the carved woods decorating his bedroom to his knowledge of "every pebble and branch" of it, this country is special to him. He loves it, feels a connection to it and wants to protect it.

(You just can't call the Darkling "unpatriotic")

He displays bitterness for his loss and Ravka's new state just verifies to him that his plans would only prevent this decaying fate.

Yuri: "Sankta Alina who gave her life for Ravka"

Aleksander: "Am I a joke to you?"

And indeed is he?

Aleksander displays a very strong resentment for the lack of recognition he has gained. His statement: "I gave my life for Ravka" probably doesn't only allude to his death from Alina's hands but also his total commitment in the protection of the Grisha and Ravka that lasted for centuries. He gave his life away by pushing his personal happiness and well-being aside and wholly dedicating his life and skills to a selfless goal. He wasted years, allies, soldiers, endured otkazat'sya Kings that rule him, a bitter mother and his own immortality only for others to hurriedly erase any memory of him once he's gone.

So it seems that his desire to be seen only stems from his long-awaited and secret wish for his actions to be recognized.

Based on the last screenshot, he views his actions as justified not because of a "power-hungry nature" but out of his efforts to help others. Whether these actions are justified or not depends on the reader.

I believe this is one of the most concrete evidence that Aleksander truly cared about the Grisha.

He felt intense anger for those who were ignorant and apathetic towards the Grisha's fate and he himself cared about who was gonna sit the Ravkan throne.

No matter how much humanity he shed as the years passed, it seems that he didn't shed all of it by the time of these books.

Apparently Aleksander had two main goals in this book:

- To protect his people and country as he always strived to do.

- For others to finally give him some credit and have their acknowledgment that yes, he has done something for this country all these years.

In order to help the Grisha and change their fates he needed to be in a position of strength, hence his desire to take the throne. He views himself as a fatherly figure towards his people. A protector and guardian.

But he also wants to become a Saint and king. For people to look up to him. So many Saints had done less than half in comparison to Aleksander and they still won people's love. Now it's his turn and he thinks he deserves it.

I'm adding a short parenthesis here.

His concern didn't only extent to the Grisha but to his blind, otkazat'sya followers as well.

He cared about what would happen in the battlefield and seemed ready to create nichevo'ya to protect them. Merzost is extremely painful but this "selfish" villain is ready to use it to protect his naive but innocent army.

A hundred of years ago Aleksander refused the King's gold as payment for his services. Instead he opted to plead for the construction of a palace. A home and haven for all the Grisha that were hiding out of fear from the persecution against them.

He saw his chance and took it to make the lives of his people a little better.

So this whole "the Darkling created the Fold out of his desire for power" was bullshit after all.

He wanted power but only to use it to end the wars. Ironically, the result of it (aka. the Fold) only aggravated the problem.

And the Darkling's dream never came entirely true. He gave them a home but never a safe life. Ravka was almost always at war, Grisha were never accepted, the Ravkan kings never paid much attention to the Grisha's problems regarding their role in society which placed them almost at the bottom of the food chain.

All these things worried Aleksander and pushed him to action both when he created the Fold and when he started the Civil War.

The Darkling has a very different mentality than those who don't have the burden of immortality on their shoulders.

Aleksander uses time as an advantage and has a remarkable patience. He bides his time and strikes when he sees the opportunity, leaving other people to die since they're only just a part of a whole. He probably thinks: "Well, I'll meet plenty more new otkazat'sya in the future so why should I be concerned for this bunch here?"

But the bleak future of the Grisha make him stop and think. They're the only reason why he stays and fight and why he proclaimed Zoya a Saint.

So it's obvious that Aleksander only used power for the benefit of his people and country.

- When king Yevgeni offered him a handsome reward, Aleksander turned it down and chose to appeal for a better future for the rest of the Grisha.

- When the wars didn't stop coming and Grisha were again getting killed, he tried to use merzost to augment his powers and put a stop to it.

- When he tried to use the Fold as a weapon with Alina at his side, he did it to place Ravka in a stronger position in comparison to his enemies.

- He viewed Nikolai and Zoya dangerous to the rest of the country.

- He was concerned of what would happen to the Grisha if Demidov became king.

- He was determined to save Ravka and lead it as their king and protector.

- Even though he thought of leaving, he stayed out of concern for the Grisha (again).

Contrary to the people who say that the Darkling began selfless but by the time of these books became selfish, it seems that he never lost his selflessness. He still kept thinking about others and his last moments he was unrepentant for his crimes since he did them for others not for himself. It's true that he had pride and an ego but rightfully so. No one else was as powerful or as capable as him to make a change and, honestly, no one else made a decent effort but him.

He also displayed a strong bitterness for the fact that others were so quick to forget him and his actions. He felt wronged that after all he had done, none wanted to acknowledge his own part in the protection of Ravka. He wanted to be seen and appreciated. His anger and indignation came from a place of injustice as he saw it. Whatever he did was labeled as wrong and people only feared him, never feeling gratefulness or love towards him. The Darkling wanted others to give him his due for what he went through, did and tried to do. Recognition after so many years of feeling invisible and hated.

It was something that even his enemies admitted about him:

The strongest evidence of his yearning to shield his country is how he willingly gave his life for it at the end. He would be tortured forever but at least his people wouldn't forget him and he would have fulfilled his desired role as a protector of his country.