#does it form a pattern. and how is it weighed

[fjordfolk]

and in the spirit of the topic of the day, talking about a subject with great confidence doesn't make anyone an authority or even mean they're particularly knowledgeable. some people just sound really confident, or they don't know enough to know what they don't know. saying shit isn't proof of anything. show don't tell type of deal

[narnian-neverlander]

Jason Todd, in all his 6’ 1’’ and 220 lbs glory, who likes to throw his weight around - quite literally, to your absolute dismay.

Jason Todd, who will put things on shelves just outta your reach, simply so he can offer to get them down for you, gentleman that he is, with a smug grin on his face - but only if you ask nicely, of course.

Jason Todd, who, completely out of the blue, will decide to use you as a support, like he’s just casually leaning against a wall, and not his significant other who barely manages to stay upright; arms crossed over his broad chest as he asks if something’s the matter in a chipper tone, while you struggle not to go down.

Jason Todd, who will just flop himself down on top of you when you’re curled up on the bed or couch, big arms locking around you to keep you trapped, no matter how many times you complain that his dumb ass is squishing you. You swear he makes himself heavier on purpose when he does this, but of course you can’t prove that.

Jason Todd, who uses his height and weight to be a menace and pester you from time to time, cause he thinks you’re adorable when you’re annoyed.

And then there’s the times when it isn’t about the teasing.

The times when a mission went south and he couldn’t safe someone. When he got hurt beyond just the regular bruises and cuts you’ve come to expect after almost every patrol. When a spat with his family turned into something more bitter and vile. When the damn heater in your old apartment is out yet again and the cold from Gotham’s freezing winters comes creeping in through the cracks.

The times when he’s reminded of your childhood: curled up with you under newspapers in some back alley, old soggy cardboard beneath you both, trying to keep some semblance of warmth, knuckles raw and scabbed from his last fight and stomach so empty it stings almost as bad the cold.

During those times, there’s no snarky comments or mischievous glint in his green eyes, just slumped shoulders and a shadow over his handsome face and everything about him screams defeat and weariness. It’s in the way he doesn’t actually drop himself on purpose, but instead collapses on top of you more than anything else, an invisible weight weighing heavily on him. In the way his arms come around you, tighter than usual, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise as he hides his face in the crook of your neck.

Somehow, oddly, sadly enough, those moments are easier to handle than his teasing. Because some things never change: after everything you’ve both been through, after all the time that’s passed, he still needs you as much as you need him. And it’s oh so obvious in the way he clings to you in those moments, it makes your heart ache and swell all at once, and it’s like you barely feel his weight on top of you and his nails digging into your skin.

And it never takes much, never takes long; some whispered, hushed assurances and quiet declarations of love, coupled with lazy patterns drawn into his back, and then his grip loosens, calloused fingers gently smoothing over forming crescent indents in apology, shuffling about until he shifts most of his weight off you, but never fully letting go, mumbling thanks into your skin, interspersed by little kisses scattered everywhere he can reach without moving.

Jason Todd, who sometimes genuinely forgets he’s no longer that small, scrawny, malnourished boy struggling to survive and simply wants - needs - to be as close as possible to his favorite person, his safe haven, his home.

[theskywithin]

TONIGHT- Lunar Eclipse in Virgo Horoscope - Rising Sign Edition

♈ Aries Rising

You’ve pushed yourself past the point of exhaustion before, convincing yourself that if you just kept moving, you would outrun your own restlessness. But this eclipse in your 6th house wants you to confront the way you treat your body, your routines, your mental patterns.

Have you been moving with purpose, or just moving to feel less lost? Have your daily habits been nourishing you, or draining the life from you? Virgo demands precision, not perfection, a fine-tuning of how you live, how you show up for yourself, and how you honor your limits.

Your body is speaking louder than your mind tonight. Are you listening?

Release: Overworking as a distraction. The guilt of resting. The belief that you must always be in motion to be worthy. Reclaim: Your rhythm. Your right to slow down. The power of intentional action, rather than constant movement.

♉ Taurus Rising

You’ve spent so long protecting your heart, building walls of practicality, setting unspoken conditions for love and joy. This eclipse in your 5th house shakes that foundation, making you question: Are you truly allowing yourself to love and create freely, or only within safe parameters?

Virgo’s meticulous gaze picks apart your expectations of happiness, the unconscious rules you’ve placed on pleasure. Love does not always arrive in a form that is familiar. Joy is not something to be micromanaged. This is a call to soften, to risk, to let yourself feel fully, even when it terrifies you.

Your heart is aching for something real, something messy, something alive. Let it in.

Release: The need to control love. The fear of vulnerability. The belief that joy must be earned. Reclaim: The freedom to love boldly. Your right to create without judgment. The rawness of feeling without fear.

♊ Gemini Rising

There are ghosts in your walls, the kind you don’t see but feel, the kind that whisper in the quiet moments between thoughts. This eclipse in your 4th house is a reckoning with the past, with the foundations you’ve built your sense of safety upon.

Are you carrying burdens that were never yours to hold? Are you still bound to stories of who you were supposed to be? This is a moment of deep, ancestral clearing. Not all roots deserve to keep you tethered.

It is time to release what weighs you down, to let go of inherited pain, to build a sense of home that belongs entirely to you.

Release: Unfinished grief. The need to carry family burdens. The belief that you must stay small to stay safe. Reclaim: Your space. Your right to redefine home. The power of severing ties that no longer serve your growth.

♋ Cancer Rising

Your words have been calculated, careful, or perhaps withheld entirely. This eclipse in your 3rd house is a force of truth, shaking the foundation of how you think, how you communicate, and what you’ve left unsaid.

There are conversations you’ve avoided, emotions you’ve swallowed, but silence is no longer a refuge. Tonight, your mind is restless, your voice aching to be heard. What have you been too afraid to say? What stories need to be rewritten?

Let the words spill. They will set you free.

Release: The fear of speaking your truth. The weight of unspoken words. The need for external validation. Reclaim: Your voice. The power of honesty. The ability to communicate from a place of self-trust.

♌ Leo Rising

Your worth has been measured in currency, whether literal or metaphorical. This eclipse in your 2nd house asks: Have you been attaching your value to what you produce, what you own, what others see in you?

Something must fall away, an outdated belief, a financial cycle, a way of defining yourself by external means. You are enough without the proof, without the excess, without the validation. Let the world take what it must, what remains is your truth.

Release: The belief that security must come from outside of you. The fear of loss. The idea that worth is transactional. Reclaim: Your inner stability. The freedom to exist without proving yourself. A new definition of abundance.

♍ Virgo Rising

You are standing at a crossroads with yourself. This 1st house eclipse is a mirror, a confrontation, an undoing. You’ve tried to perfect yourself, to mold your identity into something refined, careful, right. But who are you outside of the expectations, the labels, the curated version of yourself?

Something in you has reached its limit. A mask must slip. A piece of your identity must be reclaimed, even if it disrupts the balance you’ve worked so hard to maintain. Let it break. Let yourself breathe.

Release: The version of yourself that exists for others. The need for constant self-improvement. The fear of imperfection. Reclaim: Your raw authenticity. The courage to exist unapologetically. The power of being without fixing.

♎ Libra Rising

This eclipse pulls you inward, deep into the caverns of your subconscious. The 12th house is where endings happen in silence, where past versions of you dissolve, where hidden truths rise to the surface when you least expect them.

There is something here you’ve been avoiding, a grief, a habit, a self-sabotaging cycle that lingers beneath your awareness. The distractions that once numbed you may no longer work. You can’t outrun your own shadow; this eclipse is proof of that.

But what if facing the darkness is the only way through? What if surrendering to it is the key to your freedom?

Release: The need to suppress pain. The fear of solitude. The patterns that keep you asleep to yourself. Reclaim: Your intuition. The strength found in stillness. The clarity that comes when you stop resisting.

♏ Scorpio Rising

You once had a vision for yourself, a clear path, a defined goal. But what happens when that vision no longer fits? When the future you imagined feels foreign, when the communities you once felt aligned with no longer feel like home?

This eclipse in your 11th house brings a reckoning to your dreams, your hopes, your sense of belonging. Some people and places cannot follow you where you’re going. Some aspirations were built on an old version of you.

Let go of the timelines, the rigid expectations. Let the unknown shape itself without interference. Your purpose is evolving—make space for it to unfold.

Release: Outdated dreams. Friendships that no longer nourish you. The pressure to follow a predetermined path. Reclaim: The courage to embrace uncertainty. A future that feels authentic. The freedom to change direction.

♐ Sagittarius Rising

Your world is shifting under the weight of something bigger than you. The 10th house rules career, reputation, legacy, and this eclipse shakes the structures you’ve built. Are you truly aligned with your path, or have you been walking it out of obligation?

There may be a career ending, a redirection, or a deep realization about what success actually means to you. You are shedding a role that no longer fits, yet clinging to it will only prolong the inevitable.

This eclipse asks: Who are you beyond the title? Beyond the expectations? When all else fades, what remains?

Release: The fear of professional failure. The belief that your worth is tied to external achievement. Reclaim: A path that excites you. A career that aligns with your soul. The right to redefine success.

♑ Capricorn Rising

Your beliefs are being tested. This 9th house eclipse exposes the cracks in your philosophies, ideals, and the way you make sense of the world. Some truths you once held close now feel distant, irrelevant. The places, people, and perspectives that once felt like home may no longer resonate.

Are you resisting growth because it feels like a betrayal of your past? Or are you brave enough to step into a wider, wilder understanding of yourself?

A door is opening. It leads somewhere unfamiliar, maybe even uncomfortable. But staying where you are would be the real loss.

Release: Outdated belief systems. Fear of leaving your comfort zone. The need for certainty. Reclaim: The courage to seek new wisdom. The freedom to change your mind. A sense of purpose beyond what you’ve known.

♒ Aquarius Rising

The 8th house is where things end and begin again. This eclipse drags you into the depths of your own transformation, forcing you to release something that no longer serves you, a fear, an attachment, a version of yourself that existed only in survival mode.

There is something unfinished here, something you’ve avoided grieving. But grief is not just for loss, it is also for the parts of yourself you are ready to outgrow. Let the past decompose. You are not meant to stay in the decay, you are meant to rise from it.

Release: Emotional baggage. Toxic attachments. The belief that transformation must be painful. Reclaim: Your power. A sense of inner renewal. The ability to let go without guilt.

♓ Pisces Rising

Love is a mirror, and right now, you can’t look away. This eclipse in your 7th house brings stark clarity to your relationships, where they thrive, where they suffocate, where they ask for more than you can give.

A dynamic is shifting, perhaps through endings, revelations, or deeper levels of intimacy. How have you been showing up in love? How have you been holding yourself back? Virgo demands honesty, and this eclipse is showing you the places where you have settled, over-sacrificed, or built walls too high for anyone to climb.

The reflection may be uncomfortable, but within it lies the truth: you deserve the kind of love that nourishes, not depletes.

Release: Relationship patterns that drain you. The fear of being seen fully. The need to overcompromise. Reclaim: Love that meets you where you are. The power to set boundaries. A connection built on truth, not illusion.

[fanaticsnail]

Oh to wear killers and kids shirts🙈🙂‍↕️

Killer:

His blue shirt is so soft to the touch, each time you wear it, you feel each fiber of the cotton fabric slide against your skin and provide comfort in his absence. You drown in it, the stretching from his broad chest thinning out the material where his pectorals had weighed it down. The Jolly Roger is hand embroidered, from the fire-breathing commander, Heat, who's steady hand and flaming breath ironed on the insignia and surrounded it with soft cross-stitches.

If he catches you in it, while he's actively searching for it, he will offer you a deep, playfully mourning sigh and shake his head. He is going to enjoy taking it back from you someday, but for now? He enjoys seeing his partner swimming in his colours. It makes him proud to see you in it.

On the rare circumstances you opt to wear his patterned, black and white button-up, there's something about seeing you in it that makes him exceptionally feral. That's his 'nice' clothes. His 'pretty' clothes. How dare you look so good in it.

There is no rhyme or reason for how hastily he would not-so-carefully remove each of those buttons. Paying no attention to your cocky smile, as soon as he flings the material from your shoulders, his mask flies off and it's replaced by his lips.

Mouthing at your bare skin, leaving his purple hue of lip-paint littering your body in ovular marks, he can't control himself. Never wear this shirt, unless you want to unleash the side of Killer that reveals the name he was christened with. He is called 'Killer' for a reason.

Kid:

While Captain Kid does not often wear shirts, he finds the sleeveless tanks that he uses to work in his smithy often missing. Walking in on you sleeping in it, looking so peaceful and tranquil beneath the weighty fibers, he can't help but have a smirk split up his painted lips.

Careful not to disturb you, he would use his right hand to unclasp his furr lined cloak and drape it over your slumbering form and surround you with his comforting scent while you slept. The cloak retains his warmth remarkably well, aiding in coaxing you in to a deeper slumber. His smirk would soften to a smile reserved only for you, expressing all love and adoration that comes with being his partner.

Either that, or he'll yell a quick, "Oi! Take that damn top off right now! I need it!" which immediate snaps you up from your sleep. Your shocked expression would make him chuckle, your eyes rounded in fright and lips parting in shock. In lieu of tearing it off you and placing it immediately on himself, he would stomp over to you with heavy foot falls and plonk himself beside you.

"You look very cute, kitten. Ain't no doubt about that," he'd chuckle, stooping down and butting his scarred forehead against yours, "But I'm gonna need it back. Can't get iron filings on my chest again. That shit hurts."

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane

[twst-drabbles]

A choice!

I love the pet au Silver/caretaker cuteness, what does it look like in sanctuary au?

Or

How do the Dia Boys act around silver in the sanctuary au after all the drama?

Diasomnia 5

Summary: You witness a few precious moments between the now grown familiars and Silver.

(Originally was going to choose just Silver but ideas come in and eventually this Silver focused piece ended up becoming like this. Sooo here you go!!)

Lilia, lately, has been touching Silver's face. Hold it just to squish his cheeks like he was still a cherubic child, poking and pinching the wrinkles that formed between his brows over the years, and just patting it whenever his hands could reach, clean or not.

"You grew older," you heard him say only once, during a moment you know you weren't meant to intrude upon, "you have more wrinkles than me now."

It was almost impossible to take him seriously when Lilia's in that small bat form of his, but his words weighed all that same, even if you weren't the the recipient of them.

"I'm not that old," there was humor in Silver's tone in comparison to Lilia's rather quiet self, "I still have many years left to spend."

You're very sure that Lilia knows you've heard, otherwise why would he start squeezing your own face whenever the two of you would pass by each other.

Sebek was of a different variety, as he always is. For one, you couldn't have missed his interactions with Silver even if you tried. He could be quiet, but whenever Sebek experiences anything emotionally complicated, he'd clam up, then explode. It's a continuous pattern, even when he's training with Silver.

Such a moment happened when Sebek managed to knock Silver's practice sword out of his hands. You were setting water on the tree stump near them when Sebek clenched his jaw and furrowed his brow. By this point, he'd usually be glowing, gloating, or correcting any perceived wrongs he spotted. Fast learner, that Sebek.

…but no, instead, Sebek's face turned sour, frustrated.

"…your grip weakened," Sebek managed to push past his clenched jaw, "how long as it been like this?"

Silver looked to you, as if you had any say in this. You just nodded, just in case.

"For a while, now, actually," Silver stretched out his hands, and you looked away from the ring finger that refuses to rise all the way with the rest of them. "I was… impatient, for a time. So much so that I tore something in my hand, and it hasn't been the same since. I can still train with you, though. It doesn't bring me pain. Though, I suppose I'm not as fluid as I was before."

When you heard Sebek take a deep breath in, you knew to cover your ears and simply walk away. All you heard was "Humans like you should take better care--!" before you went to the kitchen. You'll make a little snack for you, Silver and Sebek to munch on. Sebek will grumble about not letting him help you make them, but he'll inhale them all the same.

And Malleus was… well you can't quite say he's being himself. You can't say that about any of the others either. Malleus has always had an odd grasp of time, mind wandering off for hours at a time as he wanders about.

He and Silver are similar in that way, you've noticed, hours slipping right through their fingers even though they never mean to, especially when they don't want to.

"Your spells have gotten worse," Malleus said suddenly, just as you were about to drift off into a nap, "They're more frequent, and last longer now. I can't begin to imagine how much this must frighten you."

Silver's awake now, it seems. You can hear him shuffling on the grass behind you. You didn't get up. You kept your eyes closed and let Malleus's shade you from the sun.

"…I don't fear it as much as I used to. If anything, I worry about all the time I've lost. It's worrying, and frustrating." Silver gave a breathy laugh, keeping quiet probably because he thought you were still sleeping. "I wouldn't worry about me. It doesn't look like it, but I am getting better. It's only been two hours, compared to the previous six."

Mm-hmm. He's improved so much that you two have been talking about him moving back home. Of course, you'll always keep his bedroom clean anytime he wants to come over again. You like his company.

"Is that so?" You heard an extra weight settle around you. You took a peek and saw a long, black-scaled dragon tail loosely circling around both you and Silver. "Then, I should endeavor to help, both you and myself, if only not to waste the time I have left."

…it's fine to let yourself sleep just a little bit, right? Just a small nap, and afterwards you'll get up and take a walk around.

[doublequaterpounder]

Hey yo potentially triggering discussion of EDs in conjunction with feedism

So yeah some posted an anonymous comment on one of my posts asking if feedism is just another form of ED and the answer is complex but short answer is NO

This kink while wonderful and i wouldn’t change it for anything has in the past had a negative impact on my EDs. when i was skinny i was in such a shame spiral with societal desires to be thin but also being really attracted to fatness and deep down wanting to be fat. this period of my life where i was really fit was real bad for my ED and my desire to be fat really affected that. in the long run letting myself get fat and enjoy myself and enjoy food has been a super healing process in recovery from my ED

but here comes the turn side of that. when i started trying to get fat on purpose i think with my previous disposition of body image i got another ED. i don’t think this form of ED has an offical title or even clinically offical but im convinced im not alone in this. when i first plumping up on purpose i became obsessed to an extent where it’d be considered disordered i was weighing myself multiple times a day and being disappointed the number wasn’t going up. i was eating as much as i could making myself super uncomfortable even chugging water so the number on the scale would move up and when i would wake up the next morning with the number being lower i would beat myself up over it a return to the cycle.

this is a super unhealthy way to approach this but cause i was so repressed with my feelings and restricting myself that when i decide to get fat and it wasn’t happening at the speed i wanted it too i got into patterns mirroring that of an ED, idk if this does have a name it’s different to a BED but just obsessive over every details of whatever makes the scale go up.

THIS DOESNT HAVE TO BE THE ONLY WAY TO GAIN WEIGHT OR ENGAGE IN FEEDISM

so for me when i first started in feedism with myself yeah it did amalgamate in the form of an ED but i learnt how to cope and exist in this kink in a healthy way for my lil brain but feedism is not an ED but i do think there needs to be more education and research into feedism induced EDs and there are other ways to gain than stuffing everyday and making yourself uncomfy and beating yourself up over scales and numbers.

currently i’ve been making sure i’ve been eating three (hearty) meals a day snacks making an effort to eat good but not going too overboard. i’ve gotten better about weighing myself and setting realistic expectations with gaining i still have a lil voice in the back of my head that’s disappointed when the number isn’t what i want but it’s a lot less loud

talking about weight gain and feedism outside of horny hours has been extremely healing as well. people don’t say gym goers have an ED but just like most things people can go overboard so there is a way to fatten yourself in good ways

sorry for the long one it’s a bit more serious and stuff but i hope this helps anyone who has struggled with this or is struggling currently and has decided gaining weight isn’t for them because of similar experiences i just wanna let yall know there are ways you can do it and there is another side and it’s pretty fat over here :)

[forteafy]

Hi! Would you like to write one for Charles, where the reader is going through some difficult time (struggling with mental health, work or "big life decisions", up to you) and he's being very supportive and understanding, offering help as well? ❤️

♡ Life Changes [0.8K]

Charles has always been the epitome of ‘boyfriend material,’ so when it comes to helping you out in any capacity, he is there.

He notices all your patterns; when your quiet, the personality he loves oh-so-much is changed into another. He’d do anything to get his girl back. 

So, one evening, he returns from Maranello, craving to see you after an entire week of not sleeping in the same bed. 

His plan is sorted; he’d stop by at your place, pick you up and take you out for dinner. Maybe takeaway, if you guys got…distracted.  

And yet…he can sense something is off the moment he steps into your apartment with the spare key you had given him weeks ago.

You don’t come running to the door to greet him with his hug and pepper sweet kisses across his face. You don’t come to the door, full stop. 

He knows you’re in, though. There’s sound coming from the television, some show you’d watched a hundred times; background sound whilst you sat crouched in the living room, papers scattered around you, tears rolling down your cheeks. 

Charles’ heart doesn’t break. It shatters. 

He’s in front of you in an instant, holding your head between his hands, his thumb running across your cheek to remove the tears. 

‘Bébé…hey, hey. Come on. I’m here.’ 

If you’re unable to say anything, he simply pulls you into his chest. His hoodie is soft, it smells of him. You’re unable to hold back the tears now, having been trying to hold it together for so, so long. 

‘I don’t know what to do.’ Your voice sounds so…broken. Charles loves it when you laugh, when you ramble about your favourite things. This…this isn’t you. 

Charles knows what to do. 

Once the tears have subsided, he picks you up, you clinging to him like a koala. 

He carries you into his bedroom, seeing the bed hadn’t been made, dirty laundry everywhere, your room ankle deep in stress. 

Silently, he packs an overnight bag for yourself; Charles has been to your apartment enough to know where everything is. He packs some comfortable clothing, your favourite stuffy, wash things and makeup. 

Then, he reaches out his hand, taking yours in his own and guiding you out of the apartment. 

‘Out of sight, out of mind, yes?’ He confirms with you, locking your front door leading you back to his car. He curses at the forgotten flowers, clumsily leaning over and passing them to you. 

Charles has a new game plan; he books the two of you into a hotel for the evening, bundles you up into one of his hoodies and orders your favourite takeaway. 

He can see how…tired you are. He wants to take that away from you.

Once you’ve eaten, you cuddle into his chest. If you don’t want to say anything, he’ll let you simmer in silence. Otherwise, he’ll let you cry into his chest, sob about everything weighing you down, how you didn’t know what to do next. 

Once it’s out of your system, he brushes your hair out for you, helps you with your skincare and tucks you into his side, hoping you’ll sleep through the next day.

The next morning, his plan springs into action.

Charles books you your favourite form of self-care, whether it be having a manicure, a massage, maybe a hair treatment. He kisses your forehead and sends you on his way. 

Whilst your relaxing, he’s hired a cleaner cleaning out your apartment. Clothing being washed, bed being changed, study things being put away neatly, ready for you to organise when you’re ready.

The last thing he does, is buy a mini whiteboard. We’ll come back to this later. 

He comes to pick you up from your appointment, complimenting you. The smile is slowly returning to your face, looking more and more like his girl again. 

When you get back to your apartment, your heart melts. Charles has a soft smile on his face, seeing the relief of all the tasks you’d neglected completed.

“We’re gonna have a fresh start. We’re gonna get through this together.’

Remember the whiteboard?

Together, you make a game plan. Charles lets your mind wander and ramble freely, making a note each time there’s a significant point about a step you’d like to take. 

You pinpoint each step, and on that whiteboard is a game plan; how you’re going to solve the issue, take your next steps. 

And now there’s a plan? Something to…follow? 

You feel so much more relieved. 

Charles pulls you into his chest, cuddling you so, so tightly, murmuring how proud he is of you for getting through this.

In reality? He’s proud of you every single day. 

☽ [If you have a headcanon/drabble idea, thought or request, feel free to send it here!] ☾

[richiegreasuh]

Bound by Silver

Ethan was precision personified. In the sprawling, hyper-competitive world of Argent Dynamics, his meticulous strategies and razor-sharp calculations made him indispensable. But lately, the thrill of success had dulled. Victory after victory left him hollow, his achievements weighed down by a nagging emptiness he couldn’t name. He lived in grayscale, his days bleeding together in monotony.

Then Roxas arrived.

From the moment Roxas stepped into the boardroom, he commanded the space like a storm contained in a man. His fiery red hair, striking against his sharp features, and his golden eyes, practically glowing, unsettled and intrigued Ethan. There was something magnetic about him—a gravity that Ethan couldn’t resist. Roxas was hired as a consultant to breathe life into the company’s leadership. But for Ethan, his presence did something deeper: it awakened a longing he hadn’t realized was there.

“You’re sharp, Ethan,” Roxas told him after a particularly intense debate, leaning in just enough to make his presence palpable. “But precision without purpose is wasted. You could be so much more if you stopped thinking like a machine.”

The words lingered, threading themselves into Ethan’s thoughts. That night, as Ethan sat alone in his office, Roxas appeared, holding a bundle of shimmering silver fabric.

“Try this,” Roxas said, handing him what looked like a jersey. The material was unlike anything Ethan had seen. It shimmered under the fluorescent lights, almost alive, catching every glimmer and refracting it in hypnotic patterns.

“What is it?” Ethan asked, his voice low, unsure.

“A key,” Roxas replied simply. “To something greater.”

Ethan didn’t put the jersey on right away. He left it draped over the back of his chair, but its presence was impossible to ignore. The silver seemed to catch his eye no matter where he looked, the faint shimmer drawing his attention like a whisper in the back of his mind. Even when he wasn’t looking at it, he could feel it—calling, urging, seducing.

The next morning, he gave in.

Ethan slipped the jersey over his head, and the moment the silver fabric touched his skin, his breath caught. The material was impossibly soft, clinging to his body in a way that felt intimate, almost possessive. A warmth spread through him, starting at his chest and radiating outward, enveloping him in a cocoon of sensation. It was electric, thrilling, and deeply sensual, as though the silver itself was alive, caressing him, binding him.

As he stood in front of the mirror, Ethan barely recognized the man staring back at him. The jersey hugged his form perfectly, its metallic sheen accentuating every line of his body. He looked... sharper, more defined, as if the silver had drawn out the essence of who he was and polished it to perfection.

But it wasn’t just his reflection that changed. The warmth from the jersey began to seep deeper, into his mind. Thoughts of silver started creeping in—its shine, its purity, its power. He found himself fixating on the way the light played across the jersey’s surface, mesmerized by its endless shimmer. The more he looked, the more he felt... connected, as if the silver wasn’t just clothing but a part of him, an extension of his very being.

That day, Ethan wore the jersey under his suit, the silver fabric hidden but ever-present. He could feel it against his skin, a constant reminder of its embrace. In meetings, he was sharper than ever, his thoughts cutting through the noise with laser-like precision. But more than that, he felt... alive. The dull monotony that had plagued him was gone, replaced by a vibrant energy he couldn’t explain.

Roxas noticed.

“You wore it,” Roxas said that evening, finding Ethan in the office once again. His tone was approving, almost predatory. “How does it feel?”

Ethan hesitated, the words catching in his throat. How could he describe the way the silver made him feel? Alive? Powerful? Desired?

“Like it’s a part of me,” he finally said.

Roxas smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. “Good. That’s the first step.”

Over the next week, Roxas pushed Ethan further. He began introducing him to the philosophy of the Silver Collective, speaking of unity, power, and purpose. But the words weren’t just words—they were laced with an intoxicating rhythm that seeped into Ethan’s mind, making it impossible to resist. Roxas’ voice became a silver thread, weaving itself into Ethan’s thoughts, binding him closer to the collective.

“The silver isn’t just fabric,” Roxas explained one night, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light of the office. “It’s a mindset. A way of being. When you wear it, you’re not just yourself—you’re part of something greater. The collective. The silver binds us, shapes us, perfects us.”

Ethan found himself nodding, the words sinking into him like a soothing balm. He began wearing the jersey more often, letting its warmth and shimmer consume him. The more he wore it, the more he thought in silver. He started seeing it everywhere—in the shine of a colleague’s watch, the glint of sunlight on a glass building, the faint metallic sheen of his own reflection. The world itself seemed to transform, taking on a silver hue that filled him with an inexplicable sense of belonging.

The final step came one evening when Roxas invited Ethan to a private meeting. The room was dark, save for a single spotlight that illuminated a silver podium. On it rested a gleaming silver tie.

“This,” Roxas said, picking up the tie and holding it out to Ethan, “is your true transformation. The jersey awakened you, but this will bind you to the collective.”

Ethan took the tie, his hands trembling. The fabric felt cool and smooth, like liquid metal. As he draped it around his neck, the warmth returned, but this time it was overwhelming, consuming him completely. His vision blurred, and when it cleared, the world had changed. Everything shimmered with a silver glow, vibrant and alive.

In that moment, Ethan understood. The silver wasn’t just clothing or a symbol—it was a way of life. A purpose. A family.

He turned to Roxas, his eyes now reflecting the silver sheen of the tie. “I see it now,” he said, his voice steady and certain. “The silver. The collective.”

Roxas smiled, stepping closer. “Welcome, Ethan. You’re one of us now.”

As Ethan stood there, bathed in silver light, he felt a profound sense of unity. The hollow ache that had once consumed him was gone, replaced by a deep, unshakable purpose. He wasn’t just Ethan Cross, corporate strategist. He was Ethan of the Silver Collective, bound by silver, part of something greater.

And he had never felt more alive.

[avoidantrecovery]

my thoughts on rejection sensitivity, fawning, criticism and how i want to get better about them

these are just some notes/me thinking aloud/me writing notes to myself and putting things into perspective/connecting some dots. maybe others can relate.

✦ abandonment/rejection based trauma leads to... ✦ needing to be accepted and liked by any- and everyone (fawning) to restore safety/ensure feeling safe which leads to... ✦ due to being stuck in trauma response/having a trauma rewired brain: strong sensitivity and fear of any kind of rejection or criticism, which leads to... ✦ responsibility for your emotions and self-perceptions are outsourced (for the lack of a better word) to (random) third persons (who are not even aware of this). which leads to... ✦ difficulty to interact and communicate with people without crushing hypervigilance, anxiety, numbing, strong emotional reactions... leads to... ✦ random third parties and their reaction to us (be it via facial expressions, tone, conversation, action or inaction, etc...) now makes or breaks our emotional state ✦ a positive reaction gives us (if we're lucky) positive emotions (dopamine, safety, elation) a negative reaction however leads to the exact opposite -> we are at the whims of random people ✦ inevitable negative feedback then leads to severe negative emotions including anxiety, shame, self-devaluing and self-abuse ✦ this becomes a cycle of wanting others to reflect that "we are good" back to us in places where it's not relevant and will lead to negative feedback and rejection, isolating and then doing it all over again.

what to do instead?

✸ realize that this is a cycle that is happening and why (trauma) ✸ be mindful and have self-compassion for your past (fawning) behaviour to avoid shame and self-hate (you were stuck in a trauma response, not doing it on purpose) ✸ realize that minute reactions of all people doesn't have to matter to you. this is something you have to practise day in day out, because your brain is stuck in this mode. ✸ it's fucked up that we often have to deal with people who are outright hostile and having a negative reaction to that is normal and healthy. however, everyone who has ever felt the overwhelming crushing sensation of rejection sensitivity knows there is a difference between that and "a healthy negative reaction". ✸ we shouldn't have to internalize and emotionally tattoo every minute thing someone else says or does to us, esp. if they are hostile ✸ it shouldn't control us for the rest of the day, week, month or even longer ✸ there is nothing we can do to control others behaviour (even by prostrating and fawning to the max), it is not even our responsibility, but we can try to better manage and process our own emotions to ensure we are not constantly dysregulated. ✸ use "the levels method" to sort to what degree someone's feedback matters to you ✸ realize that you will probably fall back into old behaviour patterns because "nerves that fire together, wire together". meaning it is through repetition that we form new habits and it's by reducing "firing" old behaviour patterns that we are able to eventually let them go.

the levels method

✸ level 1: random strangers on the street: 0.5/5 ✸ level 2: random people you see daily (neighbors, barista, etc...): 1/5 ✸ level 3: work/school people 2/5 (only professional/educational stuff matters, do not take things personal or internalize professional critic as personal critic, i know this is hard and often unfair) ✸level 4: acquaintances and friends: 3/5 ✸ level 5: family and good friends: 4/5 ✸ level 6: your own selected loved ones 5/5

☞ i just came up with this little method that i will try to use to weigh my emotions and how seriously i have to take people's reactions to me. again, it's not easy and it's something that has to be practised to get right. however, the idea is to get away from processing the random reaction of a stranger, or even of a co-worker or client, with the same intensity and seriousness of selected loved one whose feedback i obviously care about a lot.

what if i don't have loved ones?

✸ this is one thing that has been bothering me ✸ i think for some people the "outsourcing" of emotions onto other people and that whole cycle, is intensified by not having any selected loved ones due to isolation etc... ✸ it's likely that you will, perhaps without being aware of it, begin to look for emotional feedback (to feel safe due to trauma brain) from people who fall within level 1-level 3 or 4. ✸ people need social contact and if there is nobody else around we might look to have our emotional needs met by people who aren't even aware or responsible for that ✸ i am currently in this situation and all i can do for now, until i do find new selected loved ones, is to be aware when i do it and steer away from it when it happens. ✸ if you are in contact with family or friends, this can be a better outlet as random strangers or classmates/co-workers

(not medical advice, just thinking out loud)

[lliraels]

so I’m thinking about the trials.

they seem to be doing that classic quest narrative trope of “giving the character not what they think they want, but what they need”. or otherwise giving the character what they want, but in an unexpected way.

additionally, the characters seem to be learning their lessons (gaining their prizes) during the course of the trials themselves. it’s the journey, not what’s at the end of it. this makes me think there will be no further prize at the end of the road (except maybe a coven-wide prize?)

or maybe it’s more than the journey - it’s the coven (the friends we made along the way) who actually support each other to overcome the trials and claim their prize

the other theme is - X thinks they want power, but what they actually need is knowledge

but how do the trials look through this lens? and what does this suggest for the upcoming trial(s) - billy’s and/or rio’s?

my ranting under the cut. could be completely obvious and not insightful at all but hey i have to organise my thoughts

jen:

- appeared to overcome a mental/traumatic (rather than actually magickal) block to regain her powers

- her problem wasn’t being bound magickally - it was her lack of confidence

- she wanted power, but what she actually needed was self-knowledge

- the trial (and the coven - particuarly agatha’s pep talk) pushed jen to apply her knowledge and regain faith in her abilities

- i think we will come back to jen once more, to see her fully embrace her potential

alice:

- she thought she wanted to find her mother (or, the audience and other characters did)

- but what she actually needed was to break the curse and overcome her grief and confusion associated with her mother’s death (generational trauma yknow the deal)

- the coven (band) but particularly agatha helped alice to break the curse (it was agatha who pushed alice to confront her memories of and love from her mother, sing like a witch)

- i’m still not convinced that alice is perma-dead, but if she is - breaking the curse and making peace with her mother’s death was the point, and she achieved that

- alice’s trial doesn’t fit as well within the power/knowledge dichotomy. you could argue that alice thought she wanted to bring her mother back (power) but what she actually needed was to accept her mother’s sacrifice and come to terms with her own loss (knowledge?) idk

agatha:

- i still find this trial strange, too short and oddly edited. even with extra scenes, though, i think the core of this trial would remain the same - it is an interesting one that almost seems to break the pattern

- agatha thinks she wants her power back

- but what she actually needs is… to confront the effect of her power on herself and others? to confront her early trauma from the discovery of those powers, her mother and her original coven?

- i suspect that what agatha really needs is a coven itself - and to find her place/value within a coven

- in this trial, she hurt and alienated her coven, by killing one member of it. she chose her own survival over alice

- killing alice was questionably intentional, but i think agatha has at least the capacity to learn how to control her power.

- agatha doesn’t need power. she needs knowledge (about how to control her power).

- OR she needs another form of knowledge - to reach a state of acceptance re her powers, to fully come to terms with her destructive abilities

- agatha helped jen and alice to overcome their trials. nobody helped agatha to overcome hers. alice protected agatha, but this just gave her power - when what she actually needs is knowledge

- this same dilemma will return at the end to test her again, in a similar way (weighing her own survival against someone else she cares about) and perhaps this time her coven will help her and she will make a different choice

- the entire road is agatha’s trial, so i’m not too mad about this one weird ep. her trial is only half-done so far

lillia:

- lillia thought she wanted a return to the glory days, to be a real witch again (power)

- what lillia actually needed was to confront the power she already had, to embrace her sight, to be grateful and proud of the life she’s lived. another form of self-knowledge

- the coven didn’t directly help lillia to overcome her trial (no pep talks from agatha, who was just being kind of annoying godblessher)

- but the coven existing, and needing lillia… the empathy and understanding that lillia received from jen… the familiarity and solidarity between them… pushed lillia to understand that the trial was all about her, her own life and her own abilities

- an aside to say god im obsessed with this episode, i was smiling ear to ear after finishing it. i love lillia!!!!

SO, as of ep 7, im pretty confident that the trials:

- give the witch their prize (the journey, not the destination)

- give the witch what they need, not what they think they want

- are about granting knowledge, particularly self-knowledge (NOT power) (…although there is a question mark over alice, perhaps)

what does this mean for the upcoming trial(s)? billy’s and rio’s, depending on whether either or both of them are considered part of the coven. personally i think they both are. they’re all on lillia’s coven tarot card

billy:

- we thought he wanted power (as he told agatha in ep 2)

- billy thought he wanted to find his brother (power? not really, this is knowledge. but is it the knowledge that billy really needs?)

- i think billy voiced his quest in ep 7: am i billy or am i william? (self-knowledge)

- billy - the youngest, ostensibly the most naive - is actually the only member of the coven to correctly identify his own quest. good for him

rio:

- what does death want? what does death need? arguably, nothing. arguably, everything.

- does she want agatha (because she’s a survivor, because she hid from her, because rio loves her, because rio hates her, because rio wants her little serial killer back)?

- does she want billy (for cheating death, breaking the rules?)

- does she want all of them, one by one, body by body?

- if she wants her bodies, that’s power. but what does she need? is death all-knowing? does death know herself?

- maybe she needs to confront her own nature, and how this has impacted her relationship with agatha

- i literally don’t know but i want to see this play out so badly, i really hope rio gets her own trial.

anyway if anyone else has any thoughts to add to this, or if ive missed anything, pls let me know!

[sio-writes]

Sacrifice Chapter 10

<Chapter 9

<<Chapter 1

Tags: NSFW - PIV sex

Given Aurelius' size, I'd assumed Dachaigh would've provided a bigger tub, but she's not only made it smaller, it's now free-standing and in the middle of the room. Gone is the wooden tub where I could think or plan or cry, replaced by a large stone basin made of white stone.

"Ugly," I murmur under my breath as I frown. I'm temporarily caught out by my own callousness, my ungrateful impression of what possibly took a great deal of energy and magic to make.

Behind me, Aurelius chuckles to himself. "Dachaigh, why did you shrink the bath?"

One of the shutters on the window shuts suddenly, making me jump but making Aurelius laugh. "Aha! I knew it. She says it's meant to be snug."

I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling. "Snug?"

"Comfortably arranged," he starts, resting his large hands on my shoulders. He bends down and warm air ghosts over my cheek as he says, "Closer together."

I shrug him off, feeling indignant. "I know what 'snug' means. I'm not that uneducated."

"You're not uneducated at all, dearest, you simply know things differently."

Know things differently, huh. I hadn't thought of my knowledge as useful, I'd just been keeping a habit that I'd had since childhood. Aurelius even sounded impressed. Does he think I'm smart?

Dachaigh also added a large window of colored glass on the far wall in a pattern of shapes, the light from outside making it dance over the smooth white tub. As I walk closer I make out the image of a flower, a rose I think. The change in tub makes sense, now.

"I believe she's sending us hints," Aurelius says.

A pang of guilt makes my skin go cold, but I press it down as I begin to unlace the side of my dress. I must push past this guilt, but I'm not sure how he wants me to react. I take too long to respond and it causes him to sigh heavily, and the guilt weighing on my shoulders tropes in weight.

Aurelius gets in the tub as I undress. He's only adorned by the shadows that usually surround him to make whatever form of clothing he feels like wearing that day. He rolls his shoulders to dismiss the shadows, and they creep across the floor to join the patch of shade in the far corner of the room, a sight I've never seen, but thinking on it, makes perfect sense.

Aurelius looks strange without the cloak of shadows on his frame. His body is tall and strong and his limbs are long, not unnaturally so, but enough to make one turn their head should they catch a glimpse. I see a fluffy wolf-like tail that swishes when he tests the water. That's new.

He's still made of the shadows, but in the light coming through the colored glass, he absorbs it all, a void of nothing in the center of the room. His stance and the slant of his shoulders speak of the strength I've seen before. The vision sends a shiver up my spine, first the cold shock of fear, then the warm caress of arousal behind it.

The tub is clearly too small for him. When he sits, he's barely covered up to his chest.

In a handful of minutes all my clothes are on the floor, and then I'm very ungracefully stepping into the heated water. Any minor embarrassment aside, it's lovely to recline into Aurelius' warmth, to smile at his legs breaching the waterline.

The water smells of chamomile, and the feel of it is slick like oil's been added. It's the perfect temperature, a word I learned the other day, and I groan outright as I'm submerged up to my neck. It's relaxing. The quiet feels like a blanket, a safe haven from the world outside.

He waits until I'm comfortably submerged, then laces his fingers over my belly and rests his head on top of mine. My belly is full of knots, and I search for a reason to make noise.

"Does Dachaigh, um…Watch us all the time?"

Aurelius thinks before answering, "She is aware of what goes on, but doesn't have eyes to see."

"She hears us?"

"In a way. Is that not to your liking?"

"It's…It's like being watched by my grandmother, and I certainly don't want her watching us fuck."

He hums, thoughtful. "It's more akin to your grandmother standing in another room-- yes, I'll stop," he ends with a laugh at the glare I throw over my shoulder. "Are our plans for intimacy dropped, then?"

I pull my wet hair over one shoulder and run my hands over it. Out with it, already. "You…still want to? Even after I used it against you?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

I do my best to explain it to him, from my planning to the seduction and eventually chickening out when we started to argue. He doesn't interrupt or correct anything, only drags his thumbs over my skin in encouragement anytime I pause or lose my words. When I'm done, he shifts in the water to pull me closer, then he sighs heavily.

"You speak as if I've never manipulated you through sex either."

I turn to him with a quizzical look, and he reaches up with one hand to rub the back of his neck. "That time after the market, when I forced you, it was for my benefit only."

Oh, I hadn't thought that he felt guilty for that. I hadn't thought he could feel guilt at all, and truth be told I'd enjoyed it, hadn't thought once that he'd forced me into anything. Then again, he listened to me when I tried to run, and he's listening to me now. Shortly after that incident he'd hid away and avoided me-- was it because he felt guilty? Was he doing the same thing that I've been doing this whole time?

I snort, the stupidity of our situation suddenly turning funny in my mind. I can't help the laughter that slips through my lips, turning into a full-on fit in a matter of moments.

"I don't think this is very funny," Aurelius says, his tone offended, but I can't stop as more and more pieces of his strange behavior suddenly make sense. The hiding away, the long trips, the random things he'd find for me. My hand goes to the locket at my throat, to the beautiful ruby in the center. Had he stolen this from a human woman for me? I'm warming up to the idea that he did. "You thought you raped me so you gave me a necklace?"

He huffs indignantly. "It's more than mere decoration, the chain is made of iron to protect you."

"Aurelius…" And I turn my body fully, and see that there's an imprint of marks on his shadowy skin where I was laying against him. I'd been hurting him without realizing it-- something I've probably been doing for a while, what we've been doing to each other.

But he gave me the means to protect myself, even if it was from himself. It's touching, in that odd, familiar, Aurelius-like way.

I sigh as I unclasp the necklace and toss it so it lands on top of my clothes and not on Dachaigh. In the time it takes me to do so, I notice the marks on Aurelius beginning to fade. At least I can free my mind of hurting him, now.

I turn within his arms and splash water all over the floor, yet the tub remains full and heated. The smooth stone digs into my knees as I brace them on the inside of Aurelius' legs.

Smoothing my hand over his head, tracing a line of silver, I smile down at him. "We're not very good at this, are we?"

He chuckles as his hands rest lightly on my hips. "No, we're not." He pulls me in closer, nuzzling my side with his snout. "You know I want to be better. Can I ask you to be better, too?"

My smile widens. "I think I can do that. But we need to be spending more time together."

"Like today?"

"Like today," I say, bending forward to kiss the top of his head. "I'd like more of today."

"I know something we're good at," he continues, one hand moving to cup my ass. His meaning is clear and a shock of affection moves through me. He still wants me.

He reaches down between us to cup my cunt in one large hand. A single finger runs between my folds, and I bite my lower lip at the sensuality behind it.

"Is this okay?" he asks quietly. I swear he sounds unsure.

"Yes," I say immediately, and he adds another finger to slowly drag up the center of me to my clit. I brace a hand on his shoulder as his other hand gently massages the swell of my ass. I let out a small noise of pleasure as he explores with his fingers, gently at first then firmer the more I respond to it. There's no hurry to it, no pattern, like he's feeling just to wring responses from me.

Arousal drips down through my pelvis, spreading over my body. I'm done keeping things to myself, it's only ever gotten me in trouble, so I moan aloud as I see fit. I grip Aurelius' shoulders with both hands, moving my hips in opposition to his hands to get the most of the pleasure he's offering. I watch his member grow to full hardness and bob in the water between us.

I open easily to his fingers, two to start, thrusting with lazy confidence inside me. My breath catches on a sensitive spot, and he chuckles.

"I've missed you, dearest," he says, voice low.

I've missed this too. A few weeks without and I turned into a snapping mess. I press a kiss to his snout and bring my hand up to the opposite side. "I'm here now, I'm here."

He groans in my ear and his hips thrust up uselessly. It's quick work to prep myself before I sink down onto his waiting cock. It's still just barely too big, and I feel the stretch before I'm fully seated and welcome it like an old friend. The connection is back, I feel it behind my chest. It's a comforting feeling.

Aurelius allows me a few moments to adjust to his size, cupping hot water and spilling it over my shoulders so I don't catch a chill. It's sweet, the attention he gives me.

I start slowly, so we won't splash too much water over the floor. The texture over the top of his shaft moves deliciously against my insides the same way his fingers did. I'm happy to keep this pace until I come, but Aurelius has other ideas. He grabs me roughly by the hips and forces me up and down on his cock, each downstroke pushing the air from my lungs. Water splashes over the sides of the tub and lands on the floor, yet the level stays the same within.

I love feeling used, like the only reason he keeps me around is a warm ching to bury himself into. Images pop up in my mind like bubbles, fantasies of being fucked so throughly I can't walk for a week.

Aurelius grips me tighter. The small bruising points of pain add to the heat in my hips, and in nearly no time at all my pleasure is brought to a peak and I'm coming. My nails dig into his shoulders as every muscle clenches up in ecstacy and I release a moan. He's quick to follow, moving my body over his until he seizes up and he's wrapping his arms over my back.

The water sloshes around us, spilling onto the floor, slowly settling into stillness the longer we take to catch our breaths. We remain there, suspended as we collect ourselves. He slips out of me, allowing me to lean forward and tuck my head into the crook of his neck.

He smooths a hand over my head. "Thank you," he murmurs.

"Of course," I reply sleepily.

I find stability, both in my body and in my mind. I belong here, with Aurelius holding me.

"I have a lesson for you today," he says, brushing a lock of my hair over my ear.

My mind goes to the first place it can think of, and I snort. "A sex lesson?"

He hums, sounding thoughtful. "No, but I'll think on that for a later outing. No, I have a magic lesson in mind. You're going to learn how to grow."

**

Aurelius leads me through a maze of doors and rooms until Dachaigh eventually spits us out into a greenhouse-- another word I picked up, a place just for growing plants. It's a large circular room, the walls and ceiling are all glass to let as much sunlight and warmth in as possible. I feel like I'm standing inside a hollow diamond that's filled to bursting with plants. I'm glad to see we're right-side up in this room, I'm not sure what I'd do if we were tilted sideways again.

I see many of the plants we'd once spotted on our walk through the forest to get here. The memory of being led away so easily by those fae, almost to my death, has me stepping closer to Aurelius without meaning to. He did come and rescue me, back then. I saw that horrifying form when I tried to leave, but not a glimpse of it since. He was angry, that much is clear, but I've seen him angry before too, and he didn't change forms then. I have every reason to fear him, he could crush me like a bug, but I don't. I don't think I ever have, truly.

"Don't worry," he says, breaking my thoughts. "This is an easy lesson, something I know you can already do."

My nose wrinkles. "How do you know?"

The fucker looks down at me, and I swear he's smug. There's no way to know his exact expressions, but I'm starting to pick up on his aura-- how he feels, at least. I can read the shifting stars in his eyes like I would read my mother's scrawl: carefully and with much patience.

He shifts to that human-sized form with the rabbit skull and takes my hand, leading me to a table lining the wall, and leaving the pile of goop that was his previous form on the floor.

He's set out several clay pots the size of a bucket, one next to the other, all filled to the brim with dark dirt.

"You're going to grow these," he says, sweeping his free arm over them.

He writes a rune in the dirty of the pot, and waves his hands over it. Not a moment later, a sprout bursts from the ground, growing quickly into a small tomato plant with two small green starter bulbs. I notice that one of the main branches of Aurelius' antlers has fallen away.

I look at the two empty pots. "What am I to give up this time? My eyebrows?"

"No," he says, amused. "Magic isn't so direct. The trade is something of value to the caster, not the other way around."

I frown. I have the dress that Aurelius met me in, but that's the only item I have remaining of my life in the human realm. It's folded and resting in a corner of the library. I suppose I could offer the dress on me now, although that would leave me without clothing for the day, as my other dresses are drying from the wash. I can't imagine Aurelius complaining about that particular detail, but I don't want to be wandering around naked for the better part of the day.

It's fiddling with the button on my sleeve that strikes me with the idea, and I hold up my arm to show him the shiny thing. "I sewed this on myself, took a total of five minutes. I'm very proud of myself for doing so. Is that enough?"

Aurelius considers it for a moment before leaning forward to inspect the button. It's made of brass and stamped with a seal of mysterious meaning, something he'd brought me in one of the many baskets he left by my bedside. "It should be sufficient. Here."

With the snip of one of his claws the button snaps off and I place it on the table. From his vest he produces a small square of paper folded several times and hands it to me. Inside he's drawn a list of runes, some I've seen before, others not.

He's says, "That's every known symbol for using magic that you'll need to memorize."

There must be at least a baker's dozen of them that he's written down, all with short descriptions on the type of magic it produces. Some look identical, others so complex I can barely make out a symbol at all, they look like smudges of ink.

I look up from the page, a grimace slowly stretching my lips, and Aurelius laughs.

"You don't need them memorized now, but some spells are based on timing and the whole ritual can be undone if you wait too long, so it's best to have them all prepared."

"Ah," I say, only half understanding what he means. I'm sure he'll explain the rest in time, he's good at offering information when it's not about himself.

He continues, "To cast, write the rune, and set an intent: what you want from the magic. This spell only requires one, but more complex spells will need multiple runes, and if even one is incorrect, nothing will take."

My mind wanders back to our first meeting. "Will I learn to write them in the air like you did?"

"Perhaps, but that requires a high level of control. For now, focus on this rune here-- draw it in the soil of each pot. Good. The rune will channel the magic that's already in the world through you, and you're helping guide it to the seed."

I turn back to the pot of dirt and frown at it. Concentrate. Imagine.

It's hot in this greenhouse, and sweat rolls down my temple as I stare at the dirt with no changes.

Aurelius repeats, "Imagine it growing. Put your energy into the seed."

I imagine the seed, in the ground, with magic flowing around it like water. The seed breaks open, sending roots below and a stem above, growing, growing, through the dirt. I feel a sensation like water over my skin, cool and fresh, starting at my feet and running through my veins and into the seed.

My eyes pop open. In the center of the first pot sits a tiny green stem with two equally tiny leaves. I jump at least half my height in the air and shriek, "Yes! Yes, I did it!"

It looks good, it looks healthy, and I did it all myself!

"Excellent," Aurelius says, squeezing my shoulder. "Now the other two."

It's not his words that take the wind from my sails, but I feel a wave of tiredness sink into my bones. I sway a bit, and have to grab the table for balance.

Aurelius rests a gentle hand on my lower back that I gratefully lean against. "Casting magic also takes energy."

I snort. "You don't say." I sweep my eyes over the table. The button from my sleeve has rusted over and is starting to crack. I reach out to touch it, and it crumbles like sand under my fingers. "Woah."

Aurelius presses his hand into my back in encouragement. "That's part of the exchange. Once more."

He swipes another button from the same sleeve, and sets it on the table. This time is harder, more sweat collects on my face and I feel it rolling down my back as I try to repeat the same image in my mind.

It's as if thousands of seconds pass in a moment, and the small plant pushes through the dirt just like the first.

"Yes!" I exclaim, throwing my arms in the air. But I'm hit by another wave of exhaustion that has me heaving breath like I just ran a race.

Aurelius examines the two plants, humming his approval at each of them. A burst of pride goes through me at each, and again when he says, "Very good, you're a quick study."

"What else can I do?"

"Today? Nothing, you're done for now."

I stick my lower lip out in a pout, and Aurelius laughs.

>> Chapter 11

[darklinaforever]

When the antis say that Rhaenyra's dialogue about her and Daemon being part of a whole means that they are actually not in love and just want what the other has (or Rhaenyra only want be Daemon), makes me laugh softly.

As I've said before in a better post than this, it's one of the most cliché romance tropes in existence. Aspiring to have what the loved one has, more precisely that part of the loved one that we would like to have (or even which we sometimes completely lack) and which means that in the end there is completeness between the two beings. through their union.

Together they give each other what they have always wanted and what they need.

More precisely, it is a cliché of romance that we find among couples generally coded as soul mates, which is what Daemon & Rhaenyra are.

Reylo also closely follows this pattern, even if we are not told directly.

Rey for example, longs for a family, to be linked to a name, to have a real defined place in the history where she is, and does not understand how Kylo Ren / Ben Solo can leave them behind, while Kylo Ren / Ben Solo aspires to this anonymity that Rey has (at least until episode 9 ruins everything...) because being the last of a great lineage as much as the Jedi side that Sith weighs on him and he wants to leave the past behind him, and in the end their union, if it had had a logical outcome would have resolved all that.

Rey being with Kylo Ren/Ben Solo would have finally had the family she wanted by starting it with him, and Kylo Ren / Ben Solo would have had her desire to see the past die fulfilled in the form of the union he would have had with Rey who would have established a balance in the force and a renewal of the Jedi order in surely a grayer and different form from the one we always knew and which was frankly rotten.

What I'm trying to say is that once again the majority of people who criticize Daemyra and Rhaenyra's response from the angle of proof that it is not a romantic union or that they do not like it more today... well they must not really know the trope and its codes.

[muwitch]

The Tower, Judgement and The Moon for Luc!!

tyyyyyyyyyyyyyy <3 these awesome asks again. God I was sitting head in hands with this, forgive my fuckin' fumbling with words I beg.

Also answered The Moon here!

The Tower: How does Rook respond to an unexpected catastrophe? 

Luc tends to rationalize it. 

There’s a PTSD sort of dread in him ever since his mother was assassinated, of ground slipping from under his feet, of being lost, of the world losing the sense of safeness. It was a catastrophe of his own with no direct control of it or the consequence, reliving it must be avoided at all costs.

As a direct result he has to force himself to make sense of some sort in his mind, so he can approach it from a fixing or acting perspective, because nothing probably breaks him as much as helplessness. If he takes it at face value, if he allows his emotions to get the better of him, it’ll be catastrophic.

It is catastrophic still, but in a different sort of way, of course.

He is incredibly stubborn and his mind immediately takes action as a form of self-preservation/defense mechanism, and it is a sort of evasion tactic that both makes him extremely fit for his job in Veilguard and doesn't allow him to properly process his grief or other complicated emotions. Which can result in a worse response in some situations he actually has no control over. Action is by default a sort of agency in the face of force of nature, action procures results (bad or good), and as long as he is not dead, that’s (probably) good. He should keep going. Trying. Doing something.

Usually he splits one big catastrophe into dozens of little ones, the ones that take away the scale, that thus look manageable, and he takes those tasks as Varric suggests - one step at a time. 

They share that with Neve actually, just to different degrees, where she actually takes time and stops and reflects, because her nature is to stop, ask questions and retrospect. Where Lucius usually accelerates and stuffs that time he should take off to the brim with action. Just as he does after Minrathous gets blighted. (He’s also guilt fueled and believes actions speak louder than words in general, but that’s just another question to tackle which will be answered below)

Often his rationalisation of events comes with detachment and  partial abandonment of humanity, acknowledgement, in a crude way, of some losses that already happened as a fact. Which is not always bad, and it ties to my answer here about his past.

There’s of course a point where his avoidant behaviour and familiar patterns don’t work - there always is the lowest point - when he exhausts himself to the brink and all the action and attempts to grasp the situation fail him. Then he overflows. I wouldn’t say a dam, I would say thunder. In a way it thrashes, rages and wanes, inevitably, against mountains that remain immovable. The way Luc would empty himself of all that he desperately pushed back and avoided is like a rage of wounded animal gnawing on himself.

Judgement: How does Rook approach difficult decisions? How do they cope with the consequences of those choices?

As I mentioned earlier it’s rationalisation. And justification. There should be people to make those uncomfortable decisions, and sometimes, much to everyone’s dismay, it’s up to him. 

There’s a certain level of resignation to be a scrapegoat sometimes, there’s a lingering sense he’s entitled to decide other times.

Some decisions allow him to actually weigh things out and choose lesser evil. Some don’t and Luc has to turn to his gut for that. I think in a way the game itself lays a good ground to watch how those decisions form in progression. Some come right off the bat and the consequences are horrific - as in the whole prologue of the game. Some later, but decision making once Veilguard is formed comes constantly and in a way I feel after Minrathous Luc numbs to them a lot. He takes initiative as well as blame and everything is kind of easier because of already crushing guilt. It doesn’t truly matter until the very end of the game what comes of him in the end, until that indifference and ability to push backfire.

I can’t say he doesn’t learn, quite the contrary (when seen in progression), but he stumbles a lot on the way. He believes for the longest time that he can endure. That if he operates and takes an important leap of faith himself it won’t hit others. 

As for coping…Oh lord.

I really liked the dialogue that was happening after Weisshaupt about the weight of decision making, where Luc resigns that he’s fine with whatever history makes of him, as long as there are people to judge, it means things haven’t been for naught. It's both, as I mentioned, exitus acta probat to an end, and a resignation he comes to after what happened to Minrathous. (Oh, Minrathous, we’re really in it now, I'm gonna use you as an example everywhere).

In reality he copes quite badly. The guilt that guy is capable of feeling is all-consuming, eating him alive and his only coping modus is action and exhaustion to the point of numbness to avoid facing it. Does it help? No. Does it backfire? Absolutely. Do I believe he would marinate in Regret Prison if not to a point external help? More likely than you think.

(Come on. This guy IS The Hanged Man.)

He’s also very good at lying to himself and others aka adopting the role that is expected of him, simultaneously masking his own need of help with coping by jokes and solving everyone else’s problems. I guess Lucius coping is type of an Ouroboros if you will: he does make himself cope because it is a difficult decision he must make, a sacrifice, and by making those decision he forces this “coping” of his upon himself as a punishment and doesn’t really allow room for mindful retrospection and living though emotions that come with the consequences of his actions.

[shroudcryptid]

It’s to another day in darkness that the Ascian awakens. A day, they call it, for all that no sun shines in the rift between worlds. No wind rustles leaves, no morning mist sweeping over the grass, nor dew to feel upon the soles of their feet. 

The chunk of crystal that the unsundered chose as their lair floats through the void, endlessly. There is naught for it to come across, naught to come across it in return- save for the handful of souls that, slowly, are forgetting what it was like to feel alive. 

The Ascian that once called themself a Warrior of Light does not wish to forget. Does not wish to forget the days they truly lived, waking up around campfires, surrounded by the slowly waking forms of those they loved. 

Lacking flesh as they are, the bindings upon their soul are bared to any with the sense to see. In the winding hallways of the Ascian’s retreat, it is as much a badge of their identity as their mask is. An intricate black, wrought with details beyond that of the true generic black mask. 

The mask of Azem. Azem, the betrayer. Azem, the penitant. 

As they trudge through the halls, seeing other shades flinch from their path or stop and stare, they wonder what the previous Azem had thought while leaving. Whether it had felt like setting down a weight, and breaking free into the great open world. 

They get as far as imagining the previous Azem bursting free out of a great set of doors, out of a great, collumned, *silent* hall and into a vibrant and alive woodland, before one of the bindings coiled around them flickers to life and burns.

Quietly, they sag against the corridor wall, and shove the thought away, out of reach. Eventually, when naught but the in and out of their chest remains in their mind, the binding quiets. They drag themselves upright, to trudge onwards once more. 

.

The room given to them is the same as it’s been for the past decade. Draped in dark finery, suitable for one of the Convocation itself. Those who forged the God that saved the world deserve nothing less, for all that the sundered men have forgotten them. 

The Ascian known as Azem does not know how much the Convocation chambers may differ from what once was. What they do know is that if they spend too long in the silence of theirs, they start seeing their dead friends in the corner of their eyes. 

Growling under their breath, they roughly strip the blankets from their fine bed, throw them over their shoulder, and stalk off down the hallway in search of the Thirteenth’s living quarters. 

“You will see them again.” Elidibus says, absently, petting their back as he reads. “You will. Tis all the more reason to let yourself trust in our work.” 

They groan, softly, against the cloth of his neck, having nosed in carefully around the spikes. “....What if they hate me. What I did last week....” Muffled as it is, their voice goes even softer. “I keep thinking of it. Warm, and how it burst in my hand... Don’t want them to see me like that....”

“Do not fear.” Elidibus says, calmly, so confidently that they would believe him if he said the sun on the source had turned blue. “You have done no more than was needed, to see them again. The wrongness of this world stains us all. But...” He looks down from the book, at the messy hair tickling his chin, at the chest and arms wrapped in a hug around his own unmoving form. “If these memories weigh too heavily upon you, I can help. Is that what you would like?” 

Quietly, the head shakes. 

“As you wish.” His clawed glove continues its soft, soothing motion upon their trembling back. “You know that you have only to ask.” 

.

It’s a while before they put the pieces together, and another while before they find the voice to say it aloud. When finally they do, it’s a statement, not a question, and they’re curled upon an ornately patterned couch, watching that white robe at his desk. Hooded, even here, in only their presence. 

They’ve seen various sundered among the convocation remove their masks. Seen the faces that they remember having in their shard’s last life. 

“It’s nice. That you don’t measure me against... Azem.” Subtle as the movements of his aetheric form are, the Once-Warrior knows his attention has snapped to them. That you don’t find me lacking.” 

They watch him. Watch him clearly weigh denial of what they both know they know, versus the vulnerability of letting down his pretenses for the first time in years upon years and reaching back to them.

“It is... only fair. To return that what which you cannot help, damaged as you are.” 

Their eyebrows raise, letting the jab hang in the air, before- “Emet-Selch’s words don’t look any better in your mouth, than in his. You don’t see me saying crap like that.”

“Yes, it is known that you still sympathize with the sundered.” 

They hiss, roll over on the couch to face its back, and pull a pillow over their head. That it hides their despondently flattened, unhyur-like ears is a bonus to not have to look at their friend, in all his brittle rigidity and gnarled vulnerabilities. Maybe the other them would have known what to say. Maybe they would have been better with words, or in general. But the person they are is just…  Tired.  

Hours later, when they wake from the nap that their flesh allows them, there’s the softness of a blanket around them, keeping them warm. 

.

During a meeting one time, Lahabrea proposes sending Azem on a dangerous mission. It would not be certain loss of their current shard, but, well, others and their skill sets would be far better suited to the situation. Unfortunately, those others are currently all occupied with their own tasks.

Azem isn’t surprised that Elidibus immediately objects. What does take them aback is that Emet-Selch stands in yelling protest at the same moment. 

.

“No.” Elidibus says, matter of fact. “I know that I knew you. And in this.... How funny it is, to not be alone.” A pause, and from behind that sharp red mask, his voice goes uncharacteristically soft. “It is... hard to contemplate. But I am the distilled essence of what I what was, all of me rendered down until all that remained was necessary for my duty. And you are the stubborn embers of a soul so bright, that even shattering and death could not put you out...”

The one that was once a Warrior of Light looks away, arms crossing in unease. They do not reply to Elidibus’s claims. It’s been so, so long since they didn’t feel lost in the darkness. And... They can’t help but feel he was kinder, once. More perceptive, more trustworthy. Distilled.... Was not the word they would have used. 

“It is alright that you have doubts.” He says, smiling at them. “But the convocation is together again. After thousands upon thousands of years, our circle is complete, and Hydaelyn grows weak. We’ll bring them all back, every single one, and we can be happy again. You can be happy again. Perhaps we can even take those chains off.” 

The Ascian known as Azem does not say what they thought. Those very chains would not let them.

[misc-obeyme]

i would read the barbatos essay ‼️

Anon, you have made my entire day lol. I'm always worried about answering asks with lengthy posts because I can really ramble on and on. But since you asked for the Barbatos essay, well...

Buckle up 'cause this turned out quite long! I'm putting it under a cut just so people don't have to scroll.

There's only one section of spoilers, which I indicate so you can skip it if you like!

Here it is, my Why I Love Barbatos essay:

Okay, first we have his design and the color scheme. That teal is just so pretty. And the way his hair has that one streak of brighter teal? Perfection. I very much think Barb would look amazing with long hair, too.

The way his uniform is altered to look more like a butler. The way he's always wearing those white gloves. When he actually does take off the gloves?? Though I do wish they had given him a casual outfit, they kinda do this with all the side characters - all of them are missing at least one outfit that the bros have. BUT it's funny to think that Barb just wears his uniform all the time instead AND sometimes he does take off the jacket when he's about to get into something. Such as in the Dust-Fighting Demon SSR and the Face Paint Charm SSR.

And then there's his human world outfit?! It's perfect for him. Elegant and unique and just visually interesting. And if iirc it's like a tea merchant outfit? I mean. Of course it is.

Demon form? Perfection. THAT TAIL. I wanna touch it so bad. And his horns are just so different from everybody else's. They're so unique. And the outfit? It's like butler uniform but upgraded. The patterns and the colors and the frills that come out of the wrists I just love it so much.

Needless to say, I very much love Barbatos's design. Visually he's just so pretty and I think that is part of what initially drew me to him. But in the end, what it really comes down to for me is personality, too.

I think there are a couple of things about Barbatos that I really love that just made him become my absolute favorite.

He's not instantly in love with MC. People have talked about this before. It takes basically all four seasons for Barbatos to say or do anything that indicates he might have feelings for MC. A lot of his more romantic interactions happen in his Devilgrams and the events, which are outside of the main story line. (A Party Just For Two UR card is one of my all time faves when it comes to romance with Barb and most of it happens in the kitchen lol.)

The thing about this that was always interesting to me was that he didn't act like he was NOT interested or that he disliked MC or anything. In fact, he always seemed to be curiously intrigued by MC. While most of the other characters usually develop a kind of crush on MC before they're just straight up in love with them, Barb is just kind of like, oh you are interesting. But that's it until much later in the story. And even THEN we don't get a straight confession out of him.

I have always been a fan of the slow burn. The little moments that just steadily increase the character's feelings, the build up, the anticipation... it's so good.

And then there's just how mysterious he is in general. We know very little about him. In the beginning I was like okay so who is this guy? He's just a butler? I don't get it. And yeah, he's a butler, but then you find out he's also got time powers and portal powers and suddenly he's a lot more than just a butler.

NB spoilers here for his Tea Time With You UR+ Devilgram:

The story in this Devilgram really hints to there being so much more about WHY Barbatos is Diavolo's butler. He talks a lot about atonement and how something he did had a profound impact on both Diavolo and Solomon. He won't tell us what it was because he's not ready to reveal it, which is not surprising, but also indicates that it still weighs on him pretty heavily. At least it does in the NB timeline. To me, this added a whole new layer to his air of mystery. We don't know why he stays as Diavolo's butler except that he says he likes it and that's what he wants to do. But there is clearly another piece to that involving some self imposed penalty for whatever he did.

End spoilers.

And even though there's a lot we don't know about him and especially his past (which to be fair, there are probably a billion years of past there so we'll never know all of it lol), he just has this comforting way about him. Once he accepts someone as sort of being in his charge, he takes care of them without being overbearing. He sort of does this thing where he gives each person in his life as much as they need from him.

Diavolo is the obvious example and he needs the most from Barb. So Barbatos does a lot for him and Dia is always his priority. But then we've also got characters like Luke and Solomon. With Luke, Barbatos is always ready to teach him how to bake or give him advice when he asks for it. But he also doesn't smother him or anything. He knows that Luke has Simeon and Solomon that help him, too. And with Solomon, Barbatos only really helps him when Solomon asks. In the OG, it's pretty clear that by that point, Solomon is incredibly independent. He doesn't need a lot of attention from Barbatos anymore, so Barb just lets him do his thing for the most part. But if Solomon does need him, Barbatos has no problem helping. (I am assuming, of course, that the only time that Sol forced Barb to do something he didn't want to do was in the labyrinth in NB.)

And I think this tendency to care for people extends to MC as well, but he knows that MC has everyone else looking out for them, too. So he's willing to sort of stay in the background, but you know that he's paying attention to MC. He will sometimes ask MC to come help him with something in daily chats or he'll invite them over for tea and he always says something about being happy to see them.

Another thing I love about his personality is his tendency to be subtly teasing. He's always so super formal and restrained that sometimes it's hard to tell when he's teasing because he does it the way he does everything else. But we all know that one demon sticker he sometimes uses, the one that's covering its mouth 'cause it's laughing slyly. Yeah, that one. It's kind of similar to the way he always smiles even when he's angry. He never breaks his butler persona, but those who know him can tell when he's being playful and when he's actually angry. (Unless he's really angry, which we have seen in the way he interacts with Solomon in Nightbringer.)

And then there are his interests. He loves tea, as we know, and he likes to cook and to bake. For me personally, these are big reasons why I love him, too. I drink both coffee and tea, but when it comes to tea I'm really picky. I only drink loose leaf tea that I buy by the ounce and I know about the different kinds and what my favorites are and how to make them correctly. I sometimes cold brew loose leaf tea to make iced tea and I have a very particular way of making it. So like... I get all that, you know? I think I would love to experience the way Barbatos makes tea. I also enjoy cooking and baking, but I don't get to do it very often. However, I absolutely have a sweet tooth. So again, I'm just imagining tea parties with Barbatos in the garden with some tasty dessert he made and that sounds like absolute heaven to me lol.

He's also just a little less boisterous than most of the other characters. He's calm and collected. I have some anxiety issues and I'm an introvert, but I just get the feeling that spending time with him would be so nice and relaxing. There's just something about him that makes me feel peaceful and contented.

And all of that is why I'm in love with Barbatos.

If he turns out to be Nightbringer, I don't know how I'll feel about it. I'm just hoping they don't change his character too much because I love him just as he is now.

[xmaudx]

The Phoenix Burns

Chapter 3:

The first light of dawn crept through the heavy curtains of Y/N’s room, casting a soft, golden glow over the stone walls. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts swirling with the events of the previous night. The unsettling encounter on the balcony still weighed on her mind however today was important—a day of diplomacy, and she needed to be at her best.

With a sigh, she rose from the bed and began preparing for the meeting. Her fingers moved carefully as she dressed in a churuthar. The yellow-green cloth was embroidered with intricate gold patterns, reminiscent of sun that symbolized her people. Over the tunic, she draped a rich, silk shawl—deep maroon with golden paisley designs, a nod to her ancestors who once wore similar garments in the ancient lands of her tribe. It was one of the very few dresses Queen Mitsuki still had of her mum from the visits between the two kingdoms. The ensemble was completed with a pair of gold bangles that jingled softly as she moved, and a small bindi, a traditional mark on her forehead, symbolizing her connection to her tribe’s spiritual roots. Humming her mothers lullaby as she got ready she'd move over to the mirror checking for any creases before adjusting her shawl.

A knock to her door however quickly shut her up. Y/N turned, half expecting it to be a servant, but when she opened the door, she was met with the sight of Ochako Uraraka. The witch smiled warmly, her brown eyes bright and welcoming.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Ochako greeted her, her voice light and cheerful. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, but I was asked to escort you to the meeting room. King Enji is expecting everyone soon.”

Y/N smiled in return, though the tightness in her chest didn’t ease. “Good morning, Ochako. You’re not disturbing me at all. I was just about to head there myself.”

Ochako’s smile widened, and she stepped aside to let Y/N exit the room. “Great! Shall we go together?”

As they walked through the castle’s grand halls, Ochako kept the conversation light, chatting about the beauty of the Hellfire Kingdom and how she’d spent her morning. Y/N listened, nodding at the right moments, but her mind was elsewhere. Despite Ochako’s kindness, there was a small, gnawing feeling in her gut that made it hard to fully relax around her. It wasn’t jealousy—at least, that’s what Y/N told herself—but something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

After a lull in the conversation, Ochako shifted the topic, her tone a bit more serious. “I’ve heard so much about the Dragonblood Tribe. It must be incredible to be part of such a powerful lineage. But I imagine it also comes with its share of burdens, doesn’t it?”

Y/N’s steps faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. “It does. There’s a lot of history, a lot of expectations for kats of course as well. But it’s also... fulfilling, knowing that I’m part of something bigger than myself. I have a family there, makes it easier to deal with everything”

Ochako’s eyes softened as she glanced at Y/N. “It must be hard, though especially after everything that’s happened to you... after what your tribe went through.”

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat but nodded in response. “It’s not easy, I guess there are some nights harder then others. But my amma wouldn't have wanted me to let my past haunt my present.” Her voice wavered, the uneasy topic felt strange to talk to with Uraraka.

Ochako was silent for a moment, her gaze thoughtful as they continued walking. Then, just as they were about to reach the grand doors leading to the meeting hall, Ochako spoke again, her voice quieter, almost hesitant. “Do you feel guilty for what you did? Or maybe...what you didn't do?”

Y/N stopped in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat. The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. She looked at Ochako, trying to decipher the meaning behind her words, but the witch’s expression remained unreadable.

“I—” Y/N began, but the words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t sure how to respond, wasn’t even sure what Ochako was really asking. Guilty? For surviving? For not being able to save her tribe? For not doing more? She was young when it had happened but the trauma of it still haunted her in her sleep. The sight of children's dead bodies plaguing the land. Her mother's last gentle kiss to her forehead before pushing her small boat down the river sea. The screams and cries of women,children and men.

Before she could find an answer, the doors to the meeting room were opened by the guards, and Ochako gave her wide small, as if nothing had happened. “We should go in. The king is waiting.”

Y/N swallowed hard and nodded, pushing the question aside as she stepped into the room. But Ochako’s words lingered in her mind, gnawing at her as she took her seat at the table. The sense of unease that had been growing inside her only deepened, making it harder to focus on the task at hand.

As she settled into her chair, she forced herself to push aside the emotions swirling within her. There would be time to dwell on them later—now, she needed to be strong, to represent her tribe and stand her ground in the face of whatever challenges lay ahead.

Across the table, Katsuki’s crimson eyes met hers for a brief moment, and she felt a flicker of warmth, a reminder that she wasn’t alone in this. Whatever happened, they were in this together.

“Finally decided to join us, huh?” Katsuki said, his tone light but with an edge of impatience.

Y/N grinned as she took her seat across from him. “Aww did ya miss me kats?”

The blonde boy would click his tongue however a faint smile painted his face. Ochako settled into the seat beside Katsuki, her hand moving to squeeze his own, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice the ease with which she did so, as if she belonged by his side.

As the others resumed their conversation, Y/N focused on the topic at hand. Katsuki and Izuku were discussing recent reports of suspicious activity in Alkora Forest, a dense and mysterious woodland on the outskirts of the Hellfire Kingdom. It was a place shrouded in legend and fear, said to be home to ancient and powerful forces that few dared to disturb.

“I’m telling you, there’s something off about this,” Izuku said, his voice low and serious. “The patterns are too deliberate. Whoever—or whatever—is behind it is planning something big.”

Katsuki crossed his arms, his expression thoughtful. “Youstill think it’s that bastard All for One?”

Izuku hesitated, his green eyes flickering with uncertainty. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but... it’s possible. The signs are there. But if it is All for One, then that means One for All—”

“—might still be alive,” Katsuki finished for him, his voice grim. “But that doesn’t make any sense. One for All was supposed to have died in the Battle of Kraken.”

Y/N’s ears perked up at the mention of the legendary battle. It had been one of the most significant events in the history of the realm—King Enji’s predecessor, One for All, had faced off against the devil king All for One in a cataclysmic struggle that had left the kingdom in ruins. Both kings had been presumed dead, their bodies never found, but the impact of their battle had shaped the future of the Hellfire Kingdom forever.

Kirishima, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. “If All for One is back, then we’re in deep trouble. That guy’s no joke.”

Prince Shoto nodded, his voice calm but firm. “We need to investigate this further. If there’s even a chance that All for One is behind the disturbances in Alkora Forest, we can’t afford to ignore it.”

Tenya Iida, ever the diligent knight, added, “The safety of the kingdom must come first. We should prepare a team to investigate immediately.”

As the conversation continued, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the tension in the room. Everyone was on edge, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on them. She glanced at Katsuki, who was deep in thought, his usual fiery demeanor tempered by the seriousness of the discussion.

Before they could delve further into their plans, the doors to the meeting room opened once more, and King Enji Todoroki entered, flanked by his trusted hand, Hawks. The room fell silent as the king took his place at the head of the table, his presence commanding and imposing.

King Enji was a tall man, his fiery red hair a stark contrast to the cool demeanor he exuded. His sharp eyes scanned the room, lingering for a moment on Y/N before moving on. His expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of something in his gaze—something that made Y/N uneasy.

“Let’s get to business,” King Enji said, his voice low and authoritative. “We have much to discuss.”

As the meeting began, the discussion shifted to the main topic at hand: the trade relations between the Hellfire Kingdom and the Dragonblood Tribe. The recent changes in the political landscape had led to tensions between the two realms, and it was clear that the king was eager to assert his dominance.

Katsuki spoke confidently, outlining the terms of the proposed trade agreement. Y/N listened carefully, ready to chime in when needed. She knew this was an important moment—not just for her tribe, but for her as well. She had to prove herself, to show that she was more than just a survivor of her tribe’s massacre.

King Enji listened in silence, his expression giving nothing away. But when he finally spoke, his words were laced with an undercurrent of malice.

“You speak well, young Bakugou,” the king said, his tone almost patronizing. “But I wonder... is this truly the best your tribe can offer? After all, the Dragonbloods are not what they once were with a female leader ruling them.”

Y/N felt a surge of anger at his words, but she kept her composure. “Our tribe is still strong, Your Majesty regardless of what gender rules over. "

King Enji’s gaze shifted to her, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of disdain in his eyes. “Ah, yes. The last of the Malabar Tribe. It’s impressive, truly, that you’ve managed to survive. But one has to wonder... how relevant are you, really, in matters of the kingdom?”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her hands clenched into fists under the table. The king’s casual dismissal was sharp, his disdain for her clear. She could sense everyone's focus shift towards her. She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm, to not let his words get under her skin. Bakugou watched, his hand moving to grip his sword as he glanced over to Kirishima, a mutual understanding of how to act should this conversation turn violent.

King Enji leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Your tribe,” he continued, his tone dripping with condescension, “has always been a relic of the past. A small, insignificant group clinging to ancient traditions that have no place in the modern world. You’ve survived, yes, but survival is not the same as thriving. You’re little more than a curiosity—a footnote in history.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her expression calm, refusing to rise to the bait. “The Malabar Tribe has endured for centuries, Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice steady. “Our traditions are not mere relics; they are the foundation of our strength. We have preserved our knowledge, our culture, through generations and as the last survivor I will continue to practice our beliefs. It is not for you to decide what is significant and what is not.”

King Enji’s eyes narrowed, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Strength? How quaint. What good was your strength when it came to surviving. No one but you survived. Your men were left dead. Your women and children, your mother. Rumours had it her head was severed from her body and spiked on the gates of your tribe. So your strength is not as relevant as you claim it to be."

Y/N felt the final thread of her patience snap. The calm façade she had maintained throughout the conversation shattered as she stood up, her eyes blazing with a quiet fury. Her voice was low, but each word was filled with resolve. “You may see us as weak, Your Majesty, but you are gravely mistaken. The Malabar Tribe has endured more than you can imagine, and we will continue to endure long after you are gone. You speak of progress, but what you fail to understand is that true strength comes from knowing who you are and where you come from. That is something my people have never forgotten, and we never will.”

King Enji opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say another word, Y/N’s hand lashed out, striking him across the face with a force that silenced the entire room. The sound of the slap echoed through the chamber, and for a moment, everyone froze, their eyes wide with shock.

Y/N stood there, her hand still trembling from the impact, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. She couldn’t believe what she had just done, but she refused to back down now. She met King Enji’s stunned gaze with a look of fierce determination, her voice unwavering.

“You may be the king of this land,” she said coldly, “but that does not give you the right to belittle my people. We have survived worse than your insults, and we will continue to survive, no matter what you or anyone else thinks.”

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving the stunned silence behind her.