#ignore me. i wish it mattered. i wish i was important enough for a chance or at least enough for now. it kills me everyday

[queenofthieves]

/

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

It happens by chance, and while Harry wishes it hadn’t, this will at least clear up any lingering uncertainty for him.

There’s a skirmish between Harry and some friends from the Order and Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and a couple stray curses happen to catch him – one slices shallowly into his upper arm, the other sends him rolling across the ground. The upshot of this is that the left shoulder of Harry’s shirt is now in ribbons and hanging down around his waist, leaving his chest – and soul mark – bare to the world. Including Voldemort.

Who looks like he’s having one doozy of an emotion.

And that basically confirms the dark wizard hadn’t known, but right now Harry’s bleeding sluggishly and wants to go home and have a drink and pass out for at least a few hours, so Voldemort can rage on his own time. Everyone else from his side has already buggered off, so he’s not abandoning anyone if he does the same.

Unfortunately, the blood loss – while not severe – is enough to slow his reaction time, which leads to him apparating himself and the Dark Lord latched onto him to his flat. Not ideal.

There are a tense few moments of staring at the snake man, waiting to see if he’ll attack or start destroying Harry’s home, but when he doesn’t take advantage – when he just stares and frowns and stares some more – Harry decides he’s too tired for this shit.

“You are just impossible to ward out, aren’t you?” he sighs. The curse of being so physically and magically intertwined with the other man. (Well. And at the soul level, too, but he tries not to think of that.)

Voldemort yanks him by his uninjured arm towards the kitchen light that comes on automatically and stares at Harry’s chest, and the elegantly written Tom Marvolo Riddle thereupon.

Harry scowls when the staring drags on. “Oi, could you quit perving on me and piss off already?”

“You were never going to tell me?” Voldemort demands, ignoring Harry’s half-arsed attempt at distraction.

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Why the Hel would I? Either you already knew and it didn’t matter to you, or you didn’t – and I wasn’t about to risk baring my soul to someone who has a history of wanting me dead.” He shrugs. “I’m reckless, not suicidal.”

Voldemort opens his mouth with an angrily indignant look, and Harry looks to the ceiling for patience before pulling out of the other man’s grip and opening his emergency bottle of firewhiskey, hidden in the pantry, because this conversation needs alcohol. He pours two glasses (his to the brim) because he tries to be a good host, even to the bane of his existence. And if Voldemort doesn’t want it, well, it’ll save Harry getting the bottle out again.

All throughout this, Voldemort is ranting at him. Harry tunes most of it out – he’s had to hear enough of the man’s monologues to know he doesn’t need to listen to the preamble; the meat of his diatribe won’t come until a couple minutes in, at least.

After he casts a quick episkey on the cut on his arm, Harry leans against the counter, watching Voldemort pace around his modest kitchen. He takes a long, slow drink, welcoming the fire flowing down his throat and warming his belly. And either the other man is taking even longer than usual to get to the point or Harry’s more exhausted and irritable than he’d thought, because he’s suddenly completely out of patience with this situation.

He cuts in boredly, “It’s not like it changes anything. It doesn’t matter.”

Voldemort is immediately before him, looming and enraged. “It matters to me!”

“Why?”

“I’ve waited decades for you,” he says vehemently, leaning closer in an attempt to physically intimidate or pin Harry in place.

Harry barks a harsh laugh. “You waited for a fantasy. You’ve spent my whole life killing and hurting the people most important to me. Some silly mark doesn’t change that – it doesn’t make it better, it won’t make me love you.” He takes a sip and rasps through the burn. “It won’t change who you are.”

“I never received a mark–”

“And that’s unfortunate. Clearly it affected you. But plenty of people don’t get soul marks and they don’t commit mass murder and incite civil wars.” He gives Voldemort a dismissive look, standing up straight and slipping out from between the dark wizard and the counter. He can almost hear the other man grinding his teeth. 

“You have no idea what it’s like, not having a mark,” Voldemort hisses caustically, face contorted in a furious snarl. “The contempt, the ridicule I had to endure. I was denied one of Magic's basic gifts and they took it as proof they were better than me, those worthless fools.”

It’s difficult to know how he would’ve reacted to not having a mark. His burden has been to have the mark of the worst possible person, and he thinks he’s handled it far better than anyone could’ve expected of him. Having no mark would’ve confirmed that he’s meant to be alone, that there’s no one out there meant just for him, but having Voldemort’s mark as Harry Potter essentially means the same thing.

“Maybe you mutilated your soul too much to deserve a mark,” Harry says in a fit of cruelty. Behind the wrath crackling in the other man’s eyes, he can see the misery bloom. As good as it feels to score a hit against Voldemort, he regrets it even more. And isn’t that the exact reason why this damn war has dragged on for so long?

(Harry pushes that thought away wearily.)

“You had choices, Voldemort, and you made yours,” he says quietly but firmly. “I’m making mine, and it’s that I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“This is not a unilateral decision,” Voldemort says, the frustration in his tone edging close to desperation. “Do my wants mean nothing?”

"Your wants." Harry slams his almost empty glass down on the table; his voice comes out dangerously even. “Alright then. Can you bring my parents back to life? No? How about Cedric, or Sirius, or any of the dozens of others whose lives you’ve cut short?”

Voldemort’s mouth is pinched shut, a thunderous frown on his face.

“Hel, let’s start small. Stop this war, swear to never harm another person and get your followers to do the same. You want me to care about what you want? Start by addressing all of that.”

“You ask this of me and promise nothing in return?” Voldemort says bitterly.

“That’s the bare minimum it would take for me to see you as anything more than a murderous, blood-supremacist monster. And I honestly don’t think you can do it, but feel free to prove me wrong.”

That puts an unsettling gleam in the other man’s eyes. Harry thinks back on what he might’ve said to cause that reaction and feels his stomach drop. Oh bother. He’d challenged Voldemort. Harry knows exactly how he'd react to someone saying that; apparently Voldemort is equally competitive (and motivated by spite – he should’ve guessed that).

“...If I am able to–”

“You won’t–”

“When I fulfill your requirements,” Voldemort arrogantly says, face intense. “You and I will explore our connection, and you will meet with me frequently to do so.”

And now Harry is in a quandary. If Voldemort does what he’s been asked, Harry will have achieved what he’s been fighting for all six years of his adult life; if Voldemort doesn’t, Harry’s no worse off than he was before. And he knows the dark wizard won’t give up his cause simply because his soulmate asked, but if Voldemort does…

“You do realise that your soulmate is me, yeah?” Harry clarifies, unnerved by the shift in the other man's demeanour. “You don’t like me. At all.”

“Nonsense,” Voldemort says, waving off Harry’s really very logical point. “We simply haven’t had a chance to become properly acquainted.”

“...Because you’re always trying to kill me.”

“Details, details.” 

Harry would very much like to strangle the megalomaniac who is still in his apartment. “...Uh-huh. Sure, you become a completely different person and we’ll talk.”

He sometimes forgets that magic occasionally disregards sarcasm. This appears to be one of those times, as the heaviness in the air snaps tight around them, signifying Harry’s flippant “sure” just turned this discussion into a magically binding agreement. Merlin’s pierced nipples. So much for intent over phrasing.

Catching sight of Voldemort’s smug smirk, Harry suddenly feels genuinely homicidal for the first time in his life. Sensing his non-existent welcome is well and truly worn out, Voldemort says, “I look forward to it,” and apparates away. Harry pitches a cushion through the space the dark wizard just occupied. It helps settle his irritation a little.

He drops onto his couch with a deep, bone-tired sigh and tosses back Voldemort’s untouched glass of firewhiskey. 

He wonders if he’ll feel disappointed or relieved when Voldemort realises he’d rather keep trying to subjugate Magical Britain than have Harry as his soulmate.

Three days later, the war ends.

[yaksha-lover]

i’m obsessed with the thought of vil falling for someone who’s ugly. especially if it’s a forced proximity trope. triple points if it’s enemies to lovers!

there’s just something about a guy obsessed with beauty is shown that beauty doesn’t equal to value that melts me

omg i actually was obsessed with this concept a few months ago and i wrote a very short unfinished drabble (set in medieval au) about knight!vil falling for ‘ugly’ knight!reader but i didn’t think anyone would want to read about an ‘ugly’ reader 😭😭

i definitely agree tho the concept is so perfect for vil imo. like the idea of this guy who’s so fixated and obsessed with beauty (especially one who’s potentially been told that much of his worth lies in his looks) who ends up falling for someone very unconventional completely unintentionally. like theres’s a whole internal struggle in him that he doesn’t want to fall in love with this person. they’re an enemy, and unattractive at that.

but then he just can’t help but falling in love with their character; when they give hope to him and represent a goodness that he’d lost. someone who is called ugly and unwanted everyday by the world and manages to keep their head held high even if tears are pouring down their cheeks.

i think that’s a quality he’d admire a lot; kindness even when the world has been unkind. he wants to be good like that too. in a way, you’re like a mirror of the kind of goodness he wants to see in himself. you’re made fun of and put down at every turn and yet you do not let that stop you from being nice. whenever someone mocks vil, he can’t let it go, he can’t let himself be kind because it hurts and that’s the only protection he’s found.

also the idea of consciously thinking someone is unattractive but unconsciously starting to notice their eyes and lips and desire settling in- help-

unfinished drabble under the cut 👉👈 (also its fem reader bc i think medieval gender roles and the idea of ‘ugly’ woman x hot man couple is kind of important to the theme lol - aka this is just jaime x brienne rewritten but anyway-)

Vil truly believed you were ugly when he first met you. He almost never truly meant the term, but in this case, it was appropriate. Most everyone you encountered agreed. He could tell by how you’d stayed stone-faced at his cruel taunts, apparently used to it. Your features were just a bit too extreme, too out of place, too different. He’d used your appearance against you, scratching at every insecurity you’d thought of and probably some you hadn’t. Still, you hadn’t gotten angry as he’d hoped. You didn’t seek to harm him, even when he knew he’d struck a sore spot.

He persevered, but you’d never given in, despite his hopes that you would become blinded enough by anger and pain to give him a chance to escape. He admired you, in a way. It seemed as though life had beaten you down long before he’d come along, but a hardened rock had emerged from the erosion.

Sometimes his words would cut too deep for you to ignore. You never did anything rash, to his dismay, but he could tell they affected you. He didn’t feel bad; why should he? He was your hostage, and you his captor. Even if you were performing your duty, you were getting in the way of his own responsibilities, his life.

Vil was surprised to learn that you were a high-born like himself. Well, not exactly born to a family of his status and wealth, but a high-born nonetheless. He’d realized that he should’ve been addressing you with your Lady title, but you’d fought at soon as he’d tried.

No matter my origin, you know that no man sees me as a lady, Sir Vil.

-

They came, and they cut off his hair. One of them taunted him for being a beautiful husk. So they’d cut a deep gash across his face. Now your outside matches your inside, ‘Sir’, they’d mocked.

Vil had wished they’d cut off his head instead.

Later, after you’d managed to convince them to let you treat his wounds, he’d bemoaned to you.

Now we’re both grotesque, he’d said, a pair of freaks.

You’re not ugly, you just have a scar, you’d replied. You turned away from your task to face him. You’ll never know what it means to be ugly.

Even with his bitter remarks, you treated his wounds all the same. When he was too afraid to face himself in the reflection of the lake, you’d been the one to peel away his bandages and force him to look.

See, you’d said, not a monster, just a man.

He’d wondered if you were an angel at that moment, a saint. Or maybe you were a witch destined to lead him astray. He hadn’t really cared either way.

[fairydustblossom]

losing control {part 5}

azriel x reader

summary: you and azriel have been best friends for decades. giving romance a chance takes some time to figure out.

category: angst, slow-burn, friends-to-lovers (kinda)

word count: 5.7k

warnings: none rly! maybe some jealousy and possessiveness??

notes: AHH!! finally !! i managed to complete my first series, my first piece of fiction! this part was a lot more daunting than i anticipated lol i felt like i was trying to tie a bunch of string together for so long but hopefully i pulled it off,, anyways enjoy! please let me know what you think of it :)<3

{part 1} | {part 2} | {part 3} | {part 4}

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You were in Rhysand’s office waiting for Eris to arrive. It had been two days since your fight with Azriel in the changing rooms. You hadn’t seen him, or heard from him, and you had held yourself back from asking about him. If he didn’t want to see you, then you wouldn’t seek him out. You would not lower yourself to chasing after a male that did not want you. Somehow, you had managed to maintain your composure  enough to keep the rest of your family, apart from Rhys and Cass, oblivious to your inner turmoil. In the eyes of your loved ones, everything was as it should be, but you couldn’t help but miss Azriel with an intensity that was difficult to endure and you weren't sure how much longer you could take it. 

Rhys’ and Cass’ suspicions definitely did not help you feel at ease. Their sly, questioning looks trailed your every more, and it made you feel that it was only a matter of time before they interrogated you. Cassian had already made a few attempts to get you alone, you knew his nosey self couldn’t hold back from wanting to know about the incident  in the changing rooms. You had dodged  his questions so far, but you were starting to feel guilty for avoiding those who care for you. The guilt only added to the anger you were feeling towards Azriel. Anytime you thought of your current situation, disbelief filled you. You couldn’t comprehend how everything had gotten out of hand so quickly. Where had your best friend gone?

You were lost in your thoughts, standing next to Rhys in his office when Autumn's new High Lord winnowed in, appearing directly in front of you. The first thing you noticed was his red hair, then his eyes, traveling up and down your body until they met yours. A smirk came upon his face. 

“The one and only, Y/N. Lovely to see you.” He said with a slight bow. His flirty tone and the smirk etched on his face made you want to roll your eyes. But you didn’t want to disappoint Rhys, you knew he needed the Autumn courts help to achieve his goals with the Night Court, so you were determined to be civil, kind even. “And Rhysand, of course.” he added, as an afterthought.

“Eris.” You simply nodded with a soft smile as a greeting.

He held your gaze until Rhys cleared his throat, “Eris, thank you for coming. My home is your home for the next week. Y/N here will be at your service if you need any help. I’ve already set aside some books that I believe go over some of the most important topics of ruling a court. They are being held at the library if you wish to go over them. For now, you can make yourself comfortable in your chambers for the week. We’ll see you at dinner.” Rhys gave you a grateful look for taking on this responsibility before walking to sit at this desk, to carry on with his work. You understood this was a silent dismissal so you stepped forward, walking past Eris, turning your head slightly to address him.

“Come along Eris, I’ll show you the way” you kept walking, trying to ignore his burning stare as you walked ahead of him.

Outside his bedroom door you faced him, gesturing towards the door. “Alright, here it is. My room is down the hall,” pointing at your door you said, “if you need help with anything, you know where to find me”

Eris raised his eyebrows, grin widening, and stepped closer to you “Are you already inviting me into your bed Y/N?” he asked, lowering his voice so only you could hear. 

You couldn’t help but blush at his response, at what he was insinuating. The playful gleam in his amber eyes and his proximity to you, forcing you back into the wall, made your breath hitch.  Your eyes drifted to the other end of the hall, landing on Azriel’s shut door and you wondered how Azriel would react if he walked in on you and Eris right now. Would he get jealous? Would it bother him enough to talk to you? Part of you wanted nothing more than for Azriel to show up and claim you as his, to show Eris who you really belong to. The thought of this made your stomach turn, the realization that you weren’t truly Azriel’s overwhelming you. 

What you had asked of him ‘I don’t want to be a secret anymore Az’ and his words ‘Then you want more than I can give you’ replayed in your mind. How would Eris know not to flirt with you if you were single in everyone's eyes except yours? You fought the tears that wanted to surface, aware that you very well could be single right now, given that you had not heard from Azriel for days. Maybe this was his way of silently calling it off. The mother knows he would be capable of doing something like that. 

Thinking of Azriel shot a pang of hurt through your heart and you scooted your way around Eris, trying to regain your composure. “I am not inviting you into my bed, Eris. You must have misheard me. I thought foxes were known for excellent hearing”

He let out a laugh at your quip, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, letting you know that it was a genuine laugh. “My apologies then Y/N. I guess I heard what I wanted to hear.” 

Now it was your turn to laugh a little, a mix between a chuckle and a scoff tumbling out of you. You couldn’t help it, his boldness and shameless flirting too funny and slightly endearing not to laugh at. Eris was undeniably a handsome male, and having his attention directed at you felt oddly satisfying, somewhat alleviating the ache in your chest. It’s not that you wanted Eris, nor did you want to flirt back, but it felt good to be openly wanted. You only shook your head in response, tried schooling your features and walked away, once again feeling his gaze trailing your behind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The arrival of the Autumn Court’s High Lord called for a family dinner. Everyone had gathered around the dining room for a proper welcome. Everyone except Azriel. Azriel was still nowhere to be found. No one seemed to question it, but you couldn’t stop wondering where he was at. Still you refused to ask, you didn’t want anyone to notice how much you were worrying. Your eyes wandered around the room and a sense of longing for Azriel’s company filled you. Cassian and Nesta were playing thumb war across from you- you’d had the misfortune of overhearing Cassian challenge Nesta. According to his rules, whoever won, received some oral ‘favors’ from the other after dinner. His words, not yours. Amren and Varian were next to them, giving each other flirty eyes. Rhys and Feyre were at one end of the table, the high lady opting to sit on her husband's lap as they gazed into each other's eyes lovingly, surely holding a conversation through their daemati powers. At the other end of the table, Lucien and Elain were whispering to one another, his thumb stroking her cheek absentmindedly, and on your side of the table Mor was sitting with Emeri’s arm curled around her. You were happy for your family, but the sight of them curled up with their lovers made you feel sick. The chair next to you, where Azriel usually sat, remained empty.

The screech that came from the empty chair startled you out of your thoughts of the Shadowsinger. Eris sat down and scooted his chair forward, simultaneously scooting it closer to you. “Hello again, Y/N.” he said as he leaned in, “So kind of you to save this seat just for me. Now we’ve completed the table of beaus as one looking upon this dinner might call it”

You rolled your eyes, muttering, “I didn’t really save it for you…”, holding back from saying that the seat was Azriel’s.

However, Eris must have picked up on something. Maybe it was the way you quickly looked around to see if you would catch sight of Azriel. Where was he? The question wouldn’t really leave your mind. Or maybe he noticed what you really wanted to say. You weren’t sure how he knew, but he knew enough to bring Azriel up.

“Ahh I see, it was meant for the shadow man wasn’t it? I was starting to wonder where he was at, he’s usually as attached to you as his shadows are to him.” He looked around the table, “Thought I don’t see any other open seats-”

Rhys cut in then, overhearing your conversation, “Azriel will not be joining us tonight.” He gave Eris a pointed look, warning him to not make any unnecessary comments about his spymaster, fully aware of their mutual dislike for one another. 

You quickly looked up at the mention of Azriel, following a sinking sensation in your chest at Rhys' words, you wanted to ask Rhys where Azriel was but suppressed your need to know, aware that Rhys hadn’t elaborated on Azriel’s whereabouts in front of Eris to protect Azriel’s privacy. 

As your eyes wandered around the table once again, you caught Cassian staring at you. He was watching how you would react to the mention of his brother.

The rest of the dinner you tried being as present as possible, however you struggled engaging when all you could feel was the ache in your chest. As soon as dinner ended you stood up and slipped out of the room, headed to your bedroom. You thought you were safe once you reached the hallway but then you felt a hand grasp your forearm, stopping you in your tracks.

Cassian had finally caught you and he was not going to let you go until you gave him an answer. He was filled with worry towards both you and Azriel, he had never seen either of you acting so strange. You sighed and mentally prepared yourself for whatever it was that your  fearsome-self-proclaimed-brother-warrior-general wanted. 

“Y/N, what’s going on? And don’t even try to lie. You’ve been acting weird all week, Rhys has noticed too. You and Azriel both have been weird. I haven’t seen him like this in a long time. What happened the other day?” he asked, genuine concern clouding his hazel eyes.

You ears perked up when he mentioned having seen Azriel, and you ignored the rest of his questions, choosing to focus on that. “You’ve seen Azriel? Where is he?” you asked, deciding to drop the façade, you could ask after your best friend, you would’ve asked before you started seeing each other so why did it matter now?

Cassian narrowed his eyes, fully aware at how you had ignored him, “Not since I walked in you guys arguing, don’t even try to deny- wait, didn’t he tell you he was going on a mission? He left two days ago.” Cassian furrowed his brows, a look of confusion overtaking his features. 

A small gasp left you and your eyes widened. You weren’t expecting him to say that. Azriel never went on a mission without telling you first, without saying goodbye to you. The entire inner circle knew that. Neither one of you ever left without telling the other. 

“No, he didn’t tell me” you whispered, losing the battle against the tears that were starting to line your eyes. You looked away hoping Cassian wouldn’t see them, having him catch you crying twice in a week was just too much. You already felt embarrassed by everything that had happened.

Cassian of course noticed the effect his words had on you and he was filled with even more concern. “Y/N, what’s going on? Did Azriel do something to you?” he asked gently, moving to hug you. 

A wave of protectiveness overcame you, and you pushed yourself out of Cassian's grasp. Even though you were hurt by Azriel’s actions, you felt that you had caused all of this by the way in which you had brought up the status of your relationship. You didn’t want any unsolicited meddling, especially not before you could figure whatever this was with Azriel. You also didn’t want to break Azriel’s trust. If he didn’t want anyone to know about your fling, then you wouldn’t tell anyone. You valued him enough to respect that. You wiped the tear that fell down, “Nothing’s going on Cass”, you replied, turning around and walking away, headed to your room. 

“You can’t expect me to believe that Y/N, you are literally crying.” He exclaimed behind you, with a bewildered look on his face but deciding to drop it for the time being. 

You chose to ignore him and locked yourself up in your room. Finally letting yourself cry at having lost the male you love, because now there was no doubt in your mind that your relationship with Azriel was over. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The rest of the week went about in a similar manner, Eris had proceeded with his unabating flirting, however it hadn’t bothered you as much as you thought it would. You had warmed to him slightly, his presence a welcome distraction from the incessant thoughts of Azriel that consumed you. He also took his research seriously, never diminishing the importance of running a court. You had helped him gather research materials at the library and had guided him through complex laws and regulations implemented in Velaris. The week had dragged but you managed to stay busy. Still no word from Azriel. Cassian’s reveal of Azriel’s whereabouts had sparked a nagging anxiety over Azriel’s safety, but after overhearing Rhys and Cassian talking about Azriel's latest update, you knew he was okay and now a numbness had taken over. You could do nothing but wait. 

The night of the gala, you were going through the motions of getting ready but you felt disconnected from everything around you. You hadn't seen Azriel all week. If it hadn’t been for your duty to Rhys, of being his right hand this week, you wouldn’t have been able  to get out of bed, much less get ready for the gala that was happening tonight. Helping Eris throughout the week had kept you busy enough to not hole yourself up in your room and cry at the loss of your relationship with Azriel. In the time you had shifted from friends to lovers, you had never gone this long without seeing each other, without talking. You were sad, yes, but mostly you were numb. You couldn’t quite wrap your head around how it had all crumbled apart, and an emptiness lived within you. 

You didn’t know when you would see Azriel next, and you wanted nothing more than to talk to him; however, you weren’t sure if he would even want to talk. You supposed this was Azriel’s way of quietly parting ways. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you gathered your frazzled thoughts and squared your shoulders, mustering up the courage to go on with the night. Looking over your reflection, your eyes snagged on the ring Azriel had gifted you. As much as it painted you, it didn’t feel right to wear it when you didn’t feel his. Sliding the ring off you tried not to think about the memory of the day he gave it to you, tried to ignore the bareness in your finger. You ran your hands over your dress, briefly wishing Azriel could see you in it, knowing he would’ve loved it. Dismissing the thought, you gave yourself one last lookover, eyes lingering on your ringless finger before sighing and leaving to escort Eris to the gala.   . 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Azriel had finally come back from his mission, it had taken longer than he had expected and he was filled with regret at not having talked with you before leaving. He was itching to be back in your arms, to feel your lips, to be with you. He felt like a mad man as he landed, ready to beg for forgiveness, to tell you how much he loved you. The longing he had felt while on his mission had given him the clarity to realize he would do anything for you, and if that meant putting aside his fears of openly calling you his then he would do it. He knew you deserved to be worshiped, to have a male that would proudly call you his. He felt like a fool for his reaction to your request and he was prepared to drop to his knees and give you everything you wanted. 

He had stopped by the house to quickly freshen up before hurrying to find you. He knew you would be at the gala, looking as beautiful as ever and he was desperate to lay his eyes on you. His eyes roamed the bodies in the ballroom, shadows dispersing to aid in his search. When he finally saw a glimpse of your smile his heart skipped a beat, he could see you were dancing, your moving body flashing in and out of his line of sight. He darted forward, determined to reach you but when he saw who you were dancing with he stopped in his tracks.  

You were dancing with Eris. Jealousy rose within Azriel in a matter of seconds. He took note of Eris’ hand resting on your lower back too close to your ass to Azriel’s liking, too close to be just a friendly touch. He was pressing you against him, the front of your body flushed against his. Azriel’s heart was racing, the ache that he had gotten used to over the past week enhancing, and he could feel the need to strike at Eris rising within him.

Eris looked up, feeling a pair of eyes on him. When he saw the shadowsinger staring at him with a threatening darkness etched on his face, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. He could feel the anger radiating off the Illyrian spymaster, taking note of the flared wings. Eris’ distaste for the bat made him want to egg him on. Eris had picked up on the fact that there was clearly something going on between you and the shadowsinger and he had taken it upon himself to see how far he could push it before the truth came out. It was his entertainment for the week.  

Eris pulled you in closer to him, his hand sliding down your back ever so slightly, now resting right where your lower back and the curve of your ass meet. Leaning down, his breath fanned your ear as he whispered, quite seductively, “You look absolutely captivating tonight, Y/N. Though I think Autumn colors would suit you even better” 

You couldn’t help the laugh that came out of you, his shameless flirting reminded you of Rhys when he was younger and would flirt with any female that looked his way. Maybe it was a High Lord thing. You weren’t taking it too seriously and you didn’t think Eris meant it in any way other than a playful manner. He liked to jest, you had learned the past week, a side of him many did not understand. “I belong in the Night Court, Eris” you replied.

Azriel watched as Eris leaned down to whisper in your ear, eyes following your every movement. When your head tipped back in laughter at whatever he had said he swore he could feel his heart break. Your hand rested on Eris' shoulder, pointer finger bare. You were not wearing his ring. What did that mean? You never took the ring off. And how were you okay with Eris touching you like this? Azriel felt bile rise up his throat, leaving for the mission while leaving things unresolved now feeling like the gravest mistake he had ever committed.

“I wonder, what has made you so willing to be my friend this past week Y/N? You’re quite pleasant to be around, when you’re not with the shadow man, that is. I noticed you’ve avoided all conversation surrounding the spy. Was it perhaps a lovers tiff?” Eris asked, a devilish smile following suit.

Your eyes widened slightly, how did he know? You didn’t reply immediately, you started to shake your head when he asked, “Do you deny it then?” He raised his eyebrows, lowering his voice even more, lips brushing your ear now.

“Why do you keep asking about him, Eris. Do you feel so threatened? I don’t see how it’s any of your business, given how much you dislike him” You snapped back, regaining some of your composure.

 “Why does it anger you so, dove? I am only commenting on my observations. I’ve see the way you’ve remained quiet when it comes to the shadow singer, and I thought he was your closest confidant.”

“He is my closest confidant, he’s the Spymaster. I report to him”

He chuckled and pulled away slightly, one hand moving up to lift your chin up, the other remaining in the small of your back, pulling you in even tighter,  “So I ask again dear Y/N, do you deny it then?” He leaned closer, you could feel his breath on your lips and you were frozen. Conflicting thoughts of Azriel ran through your mind, while you fixated on Eris, his intense gaze entrancing you. 

And then suddenly Eris was ripped away from you, and all you could see was a flurry of shadows and two flared wings blocking your sight. Azriel.

“Stay away from her, Eris” Azriel snarled, his words dripping with venom. 

Eris let out a chuckle, “Ah, there you are.”

You had to admit the flutter you felt in your chest at his display of jealousy, this was basically what you had wished for that first day in the hallway- but you could feel the people around you starting to stare at the commotion, a chorus of gasps at the assault against the autumn court’s high lord. And you would not let Azriel ruin yours and Rhys’ hard work from the past week to build up a diplomatic friendship with Eris. 

“Azriel,” you reached out for his arm as it was getting ready to grab Eris by the collar, “stop, not here.” you muttered. 

When you touched him your body reacted with warmth and excitement, but your belly dropped when he looked down. The look he gave your hand, at where you were grabbing him, was one of distaste, like he couldn’t bear your touch.

He shook his arm out of your grip, gently, so as not to make even more of a scene and squared his shoulder. His eyes looked down at Eris, snarling down at him one more time before turning to walk out of the ball room, shadows covering him completely. 

You immediately followed him out, trying to bring as little attention to you as possible while still trying to catch up to him. Once outside in the gardens looking out over Velaris you called out to him.

“Azriel! Wait!” You could see he was about to take flight. His winds flapped creating a swirl of wind on the terrace, locks of your hair tumbled out of your updo. It was hard to maintain your balance as you neared Azriel, the power thrumming out of him making it difficult to get near. 

“Az, please” you begged, and finally he turned his head. 

Never in a million years would he have expected to come back to this, to see you with him. In Eris’ arms. He could barely hear through the rush in his ears, he was trying to keep his emotions in check but they were getting the best of him. His wings shook with the power coursing through him, his siphones glowed bright blue, his hands were curled into fists at his sides, every muscle in his body taught with anger, and his shadows swirled around him in a dark storm. He looked every bit terrifying and magnificent in your eyes.

When he met your eyes, the worry in them, the pleading look you were giving him, he felt his breath catch in his throat. He felt that he could barely look at you, he felt so betrayed. The kind of betrayal that would crush him if he didn’t find a way out. 

His deathly stare raised goosebumps along your arms, knees weakening and you fought everything in you not to rush to him and comfort him. You took a shaky breath, “Azriel, I-I don’t know what to say. Where have you been? When did you get here? I-I missed you”

He glared at you, a scoff coming out of him, “Missed me? You have a funny way of showing that Y/N”

It was your turn now to narrow your eyes, how dare he? You were about to speak up when he continued, his anger getting the best of him, breaking the cool indifferent mask he usually displayed.

“I missed you. The entire time I was gone I was worrying about us. Worrying about how you were doing. Worrying about making you feel like shit, but I see you’re doing fine, cozying up to him.” He spat, glaring in the direction you had come from, where Eris was still inside. You could see the anger and the hurt in his eyes. 

“You did make me feel like shit!” You exclaimed, tears lining your eyes as you glared at him. “Azriel you literally disappeared. How was I supposed to even think that you were missing me when you refused to acknowledge me before you left, you left without saying anything, and you didn’t send me ANY sort of message. What was I supposed to think?!?!” Your frustration was getting the best of you, and you were on the verge of yelling. You were sure anyone outside of the ballroom could hear the both of you.

“I needed to gather my thoughts” he muttered

“Well, have you gathered them now?” you snapped at him.

“I-I have, but Y/N, I need you to understand that I only didn’t talk to you because I didn’t know what to say a-and I didn’t want to fuck this up. I am so terrified of losing you, I never thought I could have you and now that I do, or did, fuck I don’t even know, I don’t-didn’t feel worthy of you. Don’t you see? Being with me puts you at risk, every single enemy I have made will want to hurt you. Because of me. And you don’t deserve that. How could I ever live with myself if something happened to you because of me? I can’t bear the thought of putting you in danger.” A franticness had overtaken Azriel, you could see he was spiraling and you wanted nothing more than to pull him out of it. 

Your eyes softened. You understood what he was saying, of course you did. You had felt the same terror take hold of you from time to time, but the love you felt for him overpowered any fears. You only hoped the bond you had built would do the same for him. 

“I just don’t understand” his voice broke now, he could feel his anger slowly dissipating and the hurt in his chest was growing, he could feel himself crumbling “I thought we had promised our hearts to one another” he breathed out, a tear falling out. “I didn’t think I’d see you about to, so willingly let Eris, for mother’s sake, Eris kiss you.” He spat, voice dripping with venom and so much hurt. 

“I thought you were ending things Az! I haven’t seen or heard from you in a week! I didn’t even know you were gone on a mission till days after. You’ve never left without saying goodbye. We’ve never gone this long without talking, or writing, or-or something, all I knew was that you didn’t want me in the way I wanted you. You still haven’t answered my question. TELL ME, what was I supposed to think?!?” You were full on sobbing now, the tears were cascading down your face and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. How had everything gone so wrong?

“You were supposed to think that I would NEVER end what we have. Don’t you see how much this means to me? Don’t you see how much I love you? I would never, Y/N, I would never end us.” Azriel said, all composure gone. You had never seen him this way, breathing heavily, eyes teary.

“You love me?” you whispered, 

“Yes, I love you. You consume me. I never thought I could love like this, I never thought I could find love like this, I never thought I could feel so loved. But you do, you make me feel loved in a way I have never experienced and I would soon rather die than lose you.” The pain in his eyes, his drooped wings, his hands hidden behind his back, all were a testament to the sincerity of his words. “I thought.. I thought I made you feel the same. I thought I was showing you how much I care for you. What you mean to me. But I see now that it was clearly not enough, for you should have no doubt of what I feel for you. Tell me Y/N, do you not feel loved by me? Am I not doing enough?” He looked at you in the eyes as he asked you, a few more tears streaming down his face.

And your resolve broke. You had never seen Azriel cry. You had seen him upset, on the verge of tears even, but never actually seen him cry. And to know you were the cause of that broke something in you and made you run towards him, grabbing your face in his hands. “Azriel. I love you. I love you with everything in me”

His hands came to hold your waist, holding you tight, squeezing you, he needed something to ground him. But you could still see he was holding back, the distrust still simmering in his eyes. You couldn’t stand it, you wanted it gone. You couldn’t bear the thought of causing Azriel any pain. “What were you doing with Eris?” he asked softly, voice barely above a whisper. 

You sighed, holding his head in place so he wouldn’t move it, collecting the tears that fell free with your thumb.  “I-I don’t know. Nothing happened, I didn’t even think he would go in for a kiss. I promise Az. Rhys asked me to help him out this week so I’ve been helping him with court duties. Nothing happened.”

He leaned his forehead against your, and his hands trailed up your body to rest on either side of your face. His eyes were closed, trying with all his might to accept the candor in your voice, trying with all his might to push away the doubts that were trying to overtake his thoughts. 

“But you almost kissed” he said, voice breaking at the end.

“I’m grateful you stopped it, Az. I didn’t want to kiss him, I just froze. I only want to kiss you, always, at all times. No one else.” You implored, praying the mother would help you get through this. To let you and Azriel have the relationship you had both searched for your entire lives. You refused to let this misunderstanding ruin it all.

“I saw you laughing before… it looked like you were enjoying his company”

“I’ll confess I have built somewhat of a friendship with Eris this past week. I was laughing because he said I would look better in autumn colors. I said I belong here. I belong here with you.” 

His eyes darken, eyes locking in on yours with a possessiveness you had only seen in mates. “You’re mine” He growled, his eyes searching for any hint of disagreement. 

At this you furrowed your brows and whispered “How was he supposed to know? How is anyone supposed to know that” You looked down, reminded of why all of this even started in the first place

Azriel sighed, all signs of anger leaving him once again, and lifted your head to look at him “You are right. And I am sorry. I tried coming home to you as fast as I could to tell you that. I’m sorry I was so stubborn before. I don’t want you to think I’m ashamed of you or that this, this beautiful thing we have, is only casual for me. You deserve someone that worships you, that proudly shows you off, and I want to be deserving of you. Please let me try. I will go in there right now and tell everyone that you have my heart, and it will remain forever yours.” He tightened his grip on you. You felt like he was staring into your soul. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry my love, for what I’ve put you through. I fear hurting you and I let my fear blind me to the point I hurt you. I love you, gods, I love you.” His deep voice, rough from the events of the night, pleaded for a second chance. “Give me a chance Y/N to prove to you what you mean to me, and I vow to never stop showing you, if you will give me this chance.”

You could only nod, tired of having waited such long days to feel his lips against yours. At your acceptance Azriel stopped holding back and dipped his head. When your lips met, time ceased to exist. His lips were so soft, so warm, so delicious. You felt alive again, finally back in your lover's arms. Azriel held you with ardor, pouring all the yearning he had felt throughout the past week into the kiss. He was done being shy about his affections for you and he would kiss you, to his heart’s content, for as long as you wanted.

taglist: @acotarxx @fall-myriad @moonlwghts @fictionalmenloversblog @kennedy-brooke @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @rebs2210 @gretavanbobatea @reiincarnatiion @thewarriormoon @hyemishii @thelov3lybookworm @fanboyluvr @alohaangels @lahoete @sstrohma @angelshadowsinger @

[dearmura]

heyyy can i request a riki fic where yall argue and u ignore him but he tries realll hard to make it up to u?? tysmmmm

all that matters

☆ cw. she/her pronouns used to refer to reader

☆ pairings. idol! riki × fem! reader

☆ genre. established relationship, fluff, a little angst (they make up in the end dw), misunderstandings

☆ synopsis. when you refuse to talk to riki after a disagreement, he can't stand it, doing everything in his power to make it up to you

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

you have the reached the voicemail of nishimura riki, please leave a message after the tone *beeeeep*

rolling your eyes, you lock your phone, throwing it across your bed with a humph, curling yourself into a ball as you sulk under your blanket. as per usual, it was late at night, way to late to stay out, and riki was still not home from practice. a few texts sent to the other members suggests that practice ended hours ago, yet, riki stayed much later, like always

you appreciated his hard work, you really did. but was it so wrong to miss one's boyfriend? to want to spend time with him? it sure seemed like it to you, considering his empty promises everyday of coming home early, which he never seemed to fulfill

just as you were about to sulk further, you heard keys just outside your door, jolting you from your thoughts. though you were mad, in the end, you still missed him and couldn't resist greeting him, albeit, ready to scold him

slowly creaking the door open, riki assumed you were asleep by now considering how late it was but was instantly proven wrong when he was greeted to a fuming y/n tapping her foot, arms crossed

he knew he was screwed

"hey, angel~ why are you up so late? you didn't have to wait for me you kn-"

"don't 'angel' me, nishimura. I should be asking you that same question, now shouldn't I?" you interrupt, not giving him the chance to sweet talk his way out of this one

"y/n..." he continued, your name feeling weird as it rolls off his tongue, not being used to calling you anything other then a term of endearment

"I'm sorry, I really really am, but I have a comeback just around the corner and that's my priority right now" he tries. though, judging by your reaction, he assumes his words weren't the best articulated. you scoff

"more important than me? you didn't even bother to answer my calls. and don't even try to say you were busy, nishimura. I know practice ended hours ago" you knew you were being a little immature, but you couldn't think straight, fed up with ignorance

"baby I-" "just leave me alone. it's not like you care enough to prioritize me anyway" you spit bitterly

he tried to approach you but you just pulled away, needing a moment to yourself. in the heat of the moment, you walked away, leaving the boy dumbfounded as he watched your figure slowly reach rather and rather away from him. as you reached your room, you slammed the door, sliding down the wooden frame as tears brimmed in your eyes. you knew you were being dramatic but your mind was too clouded by emotions to even care

finally snapping out of his thoughts, riki quickly followed after you, only to be met with the door to his face. the quiet hitches of your breath from beyond the door made his heart break and mind go into overdrive, absolutely hating himself for being the reason you were in that state. as he tries to reason with you, you only pull away further, needing a moment to collect yourself, leaving him feeling what he could only describe as empty

he couldn't be upset with anyone but himself. he knew he was in the wrong for neglecting your feelings and needs in favor his work. he knew you had every reason under the sun be mad at him right now. but he couldn't deny how much he wanted you in his arms right now, showering you with kisses and being lulled to sleep by your little snores. in respect of your wishes, he painfully parts from the door, a tear slipping down his cheek as he lays on the couch. as you sulk to yourself, you don't even realize your boyfriend just in the other room crying himself to sleep, drowning in guilt and self loathing

✧

the next morning, you wake up with a pounding headache, reminding you of your tears the previous night. with a clearer mind, you reminisce of how dramatic you were being and feel a pang of guilt when you see the boy not sleeping beside you. groggily, you shuffle out of bed and into the kitchen to search for the boy, but he is no where to be seen. the thought of him heading to practice this early saddened you just as it did before

with a heavy sigh, you opened the fridge door, searching for something to eat when the front door opened. at this point, you were fed up with his audacity. the fact that he knew you were upset and didn't even try to reason with you, only continuing to make the same mistake again. not even wanting to bother with him, you storm back into your room before he could reach the kitchen

unbeknownst to you, the boy walked in, a devasting smile on his face as he held a bouquet of flowers in his arms, a DVD of your favorite movie, and your favorite snacks, waking up extra early to head to the store as soon as it opened. as he searched the house, his shoulders dropped when you were no where in sight. knocking at your door, he tries to keep a cheery mood but is slapped in the face when you don't even want to talk to him

at this point, his emotions got the best of him and he couldn't hold back his tears. sliding down the door, he drops down to his knees and sobs, utterly disgusted with himself

just beyond the door, you hear little sniffles and whines. though you were upset, he was still your boyfriend after all. worrily, you open the door and your eyes are met with a slumped riki with tear-stained eyes, disheveled hair, and a tear soaked shirt. looking up, he only sobs more

"I-I'm so *hiccup* sorry, angel. I know I'm a horrible *hiccup* boyfriend. p-please don't break up with *hiccup* me" his voice breaks as he offers you the bouquet of flowers, the DVD and snack bags scattered behind him

seeing his state only brought you to tears. wordlessly, you dropped to your knees with him and embraced him a tight hug. the warmth of his hold you missed oh so much brought you indescribable comfort

"no I'm sorry for pushing you away, my love. and I would never break up with you" you reassure him, feeling his hold tighten around you. face emerging from the crook of your neck, he manages to whisper out

"I'm sorry I was so *sniff* selfish and didn't prioritize y-" "shh shh shh, it's okay baby. I understand. you're with me now, that's all that matters" you massage his scalp, placing little pecks here and there, successfully calming him down

"now let's watch this movie" you reach for the DVD laid behind the boy, giving him a smile

"and I call dibs on the Takis" you state matter of factly, making him giggle, ruffling your hair at your cuteness

"it's all yours, princess"

fin

[lightlycareless]

how would nanami react to y/n getting married to naoya im so curious

Hello anon!!

A very interesting question I know I’ve been ignoring on my main fic by… you know, plot reasons hahahah But I did want to explore this a bit!! And now that I have a chance… here it is 😊 Enjoy!

As usual, warnings: none. Really. Nanami being very blunt.

Happy reading ❤️

Nanami would not take it well at first, for a variety of reasons.

First, it’s unexpected. At least for him it feels that way.

The two were close throughout your years in jujutsu high, but as all things happen, you began to date Naoya and, well, he took much of your attention.

Sure, you kept in contact with Nanami, he was still important for you after all, but it wasn’t the same anymore.

So, when rumors began to circulate that the two were to marry… he couldn’t believe it.

Cue the second reason.

Naoya was very… different. To say the least. Like your complete opposite—and honestly? Everyone at one point thought you dating him was some kind of prank, probably something Satoru created in order to get a rise of whoever allowed it, as usual—and if it was true, it probably wouldn’t last, certainly not with someone as… your boyfriend.

Until the wedding invitation arrives, and this not only cemented the fact that you were still together with Naoya, but that you wanted to take this relationship seriously.

The first thing he does is call you in hopes of getting verbal, actual confirmation from you.

“Yes, I’m marrying Naoya.”  Is what you say, proudly—with an excitement that doesn’t escape Nanami’s attention.

Something that was expected of any bride-to-be. And yet… it hurt him to hear that.

Is it because he thinks you’re making the wrong decision? Well, considering the rumors surrounding the Zen’in, definitely. He may not be well versed in the Jujutsu community, at least when it comes to clans, special techniques and whatnot…

But he’s seen enough to understand the Zen’in might not provide you with a life you deserve, and there’s only so much you (or Naoya) could do before their ways finally caught up to you.

Or worse: Naoya eventually succumbs to his environment, leading him to be the main perpetrator of your miseries, which Nanami has no doubt he already was considering his behavior at school.

However, it’s like none of these things mattered to you, and why would they? By now, after years of being together, you were completely and utterly enamored by him, seen by the way you went on and on about the wedding preparations, how excited you were to go on your honeymoon (which Naoya kept a secret from you) and how you’d like Kento to attend.

And your words, far from reassuring, push him to dive deeper into this… hazy feeling of surrealness, as if everything had been nothing but a jest, perhaps even made up from his own imagination to justify your absence.

But it wasn’t fake. None of it was. And at the culmination of his displeasure, alongside what he considered your delusions towards Naoya, he blurts the most painful words Nanami has ever told you:

“Are you sure this is even the man you want to spend the rest of your life with?”

“Wha—what do you mean? Of course I want to spend the rest of my life with him! I wouldn’t be getting married if that wasn’t the case, you know?” You gasp, undoubtedly a bit offended by his questioning, doing your best to hide your shock.

As if he hadn’t said the one phrase no bride wished to hear just a few weeks away from the great day.

“I just wanted to be sure—the things that are said of his family are no joke.”

…

…

…

“…You knew I was with him. Have been for a long time since school. So… why are you bringing this up now?”

Nanami sighs.

He’s too deep to back off now.

“Because I think you’re making a mistake. Naoya is known for being too irra—”

“I take you won’t be attending, then? Either way, I hope you have a good evening. Thank you for calling me, goodbye.”

And you hung up.

Nanami never considered himself a highly sociable person everyone loved to be around, nor was he interested in becoming one, but even then, he was able to discern he had gravely miscalculated his words, more so when the days following this call, you’d gone radio silent.

And after a long moment of reflection, remembering that regardless of what he thought, this was still your decision to make, and that you’ve already gone through the necessary discussions, expenses, sacrifices, and so on and so forth, to reach to this conclusion. And now, you wished to enjoy your well-deserved celebration.

Alongside your family, and friends…

One of the things he was supposed to be.

But instead of being supportive, he simply dismissed the enthusiastic bride the crudest way one could.

If he really cared so much about it, he should’ve made the effort to tell you before, not when you were a step away from becoming Mrs. Zen’in.

Without time to waste, Nanami decides to make things right by reaching out to you. Not via phone call or text messages, but through (hopefully) meeting up with you at the usual place he knows you’re always there on a Friday afternoon, just before calling it a day, due to their daily special.

A popular boba bar in downtown, conveniently located just a few stops away from his office, which he could easily visit after work.

And luckily, his efforts were not for naught, because he’d find you there, patiently standing by the waiting area as the barista prepared what he assumed you ordered to be your favorite drink, while munching on one of the pastries from the nearby bakery.

By a simple glance Nanami was able to determine you’ve spent the whole day shopping, probably doing some last-minute arrangements for the upcoming wedding, or maybe something for yourself, who knows—not that it mattered much since both statements just made him feel a whole lot worse than he already was.

“Y/N.” Wanting to catch you before it was too late, Kento finally calls you.

And for a moment he thinks to have seen you frown, a look on your face that tells him you didn’t believe someone had called you, perhaps making it up due to the gathering crowd, before deciding to corroborate your ears by turning around and look for the answer—eyes widening when realizing you hadn’t imagined things, and worse, that it came from your slightly estranged friend, whom you didn’t feel like seeing at the moment.

“Oh… hey.” Is all that you manage to muster before looking back down onto your phone, a way to distract yourself from this quickly-made uncomfortable moment, until your drink is ready.

By then, you head over to the counter, thank the barista, before taking your drink and moving to the exit…

“Can we talk, Y/N?” Unless Nanami’s persistence falters you.

Yet, as much as you wished to say no, crumple up your feelings and shove them to the back of your mind so you could peacefully head back home…

He was still a friend, someone you held dear, and ultimately, always regarded his opinions as important.

You sigh.

“… follow me.” Is all that you say before guiding him into a more private area, to the second floor of the café and into a booth, sitting across from one another in rough silence until Nanami begins to speak.

“It didn’t take me long to realize that the things I said to you during that call were wrong.”

“…you still said them.”

“I did. And for that, I’d like to apologize.”

“…is it really that hard to believe I want to marry Naoya?” you ask, looking at him. Kento can see this isn’t the first time you ask this, yet it remains painful every time. “I hoped you, of all people, would trust in my ability to make decisions…”

“I know.”

“I’m tired of defending my feelings for Naoya. Having to find excuses for every single regarding him… I just want—I just want my relationship with him to be accepted. Is it really that… hard?”

“Do you want my honest opinion?”

…

…

You nod.

“I never expected him to marry you—to actually settle down.” Kento begins, you frown.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He sighs.

“I’m talking about him, not you, Y/N.” Nanami explains. “You saw how he was back in jujutsu high, and probably even before that. Not even the teachers liked him, less the students.”

“… well… I’m not going to say he isn’t hard to get along with sometimes, but… he’s a good man. At least, he’s been to me and my family.” You respond, and Nanami finds your words a bit difficult to believe, to say the least, given his own experiences with the man.

But at the same time, he must give credit where credit is due.

While Naoya was less than ideal as a friend and classmate, he appeared to be nothing but an overachiever when it came to being your partner given the way he (embarrassingly) couldn’t keep his hands off you whenever possible.

And if he also accounted for the endless gifts he’d spoil you with when away for the holidays, or because he was back in Kyoto… everyone would easily call him an excellent, attentive partner—at one point, they didn’t even fit in your dorm anymore, making the school put a limit to this, since they weren’t thrilled to be signing thousands of packages from a paramour that couldn’t spend a day not thinking about his girlfriend, or assign you a temporary storage to place them.

Nanami supposes that a relationship is much more than what others perceive, or more likely, it was never about that—in the end, all that should matter is how you feel about him, and how he feels about you.

“Naoya is the one that proposed to me, actually.” You add, the need to defend Naoya’s image prickling the back of your mind. You’re certainly tired of having to do this over and over again, but if it’s needed, then… “…I was willing to wait, I guess. ‘Till he was ready. But truth to be told, I was secretly hoping he’d do it soon.”

Your words appear to have worked their purpose, because Kento initially suspected you had forced the idea out of Naoya; the Zen’in heir just seemed… carefree to even bother with that level of commitment. —But now that you’ve stated the truth, he’s amused.

“How as the proposal?” He follows, and a smile immediately parts your lips, brightening your face in a way he could not dismiss. “It must’ve been nice, then.”

“Very.” You admit, the memory still warms your heart. “Totally unexpected, he first told me we were going on a trip, a small vacation because he wanted to do something different, get distracted from work—and I didn’t see it coming. Nothing at all! Can you believe that? And to believe I always told my sister that I’d know when he’ll do it!” you laugh, Nanami lets out a small chuckle. “Naoya then arranged another proposal, this time with my family—it was really nice of him, but I think it was my father’s doing all along, he must’ve pestered him to it!”

Nanami smiles—he hasn’t gotten the chance to meet your father personally, but whatever he managed to know, it always narrowed down to one thing: protective.

…

Maybe there was nothing to worry about at all.

“I would still like you to go to the wedding.” You eventually say. “If you’d like, of course. I didn’t mean to uninvite you that way, I was just—”

“You don’t need to apologize. I should’ve been more considerate with my words.”

“You were just looking out for me, and I thank you for that.” You respond. “I know how Naoya is… seen by everyone else. Even his own family couldn’t believe that he was getting married! Or that I consciously wanted to, but still… I remained hopeful for that one person that could be happy for me since the very beginning, without me having to give explanations.”

“I’m sorry.”

“… thank you. For everything. And for reaching out for me, I… wouldn’t have liked to get married while upset with my best friend.”

Nanami smiles.

“I wouldn’t dream of ruining your special day.”

“It’s going to be even more special now that you’ll go!” you grin. “There are so many things my family has prepared, from the decorations to the food… I just know you’ll like them all! I just hope Satoru doesn’t find a way to… you know.”

“He’s going?”

“Well, he’s been invited—but I’m not sure if he’s actually attending… Hinata certainly doesn’t want him to, but at the same time, if he doesn’t go, she’s never going to let him forget!”

“That certainly sounds like her. Either way, I’ll do my best to be there—as well as inviting you out to eat, if you allow me, to make up for the sour moment I made you go through.”

“You don’t need to repay me for anything, you know? It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all.” You say, although your growing hunger was pushing you to say otherwise. “I’d love to go, but I am running late for a few more things, this was just a quick stop before I jumped back into the wedding preparations.”

“Any other day that you wish, then.” He adds. “Preferably before your wedding, of course, because I’m not sure I’ll be able to see you again after that.”

Considering Naoya’s… enthusiasm, no one will be able to do so in a long time.

“Don’t be silly…” you fluster, lightly elbowing him before standing up. “Anyways, I have to go now, it was really nice to see you again.”

Nanami stands up soon after you, helping you with your bags as both walk down to the exit and out to the street.

“I’ll let you when I arrive home safely.” You say, taking the bags from his hands, but not before giving him a tight hug. “Thank you so much for everything Nanami~n. I hope we’ll still be able to hang out even after I’m married.”

“Just because you’re getting married doesn’t mean you can call me that.” He teases, you scoff.

“Ahh, I just wanted to try my luck…”

“I will do my best to keep in contact—Now hurry before your boyfriend starts to miss you and bombard your phone.”

“He—He doesn’t do that anymore!” you cry, embarrassed, before laughing and waving him goodbye.

Nanami then watches you walk into the crowd, and once he can’t see you anymore, he finally heads back to the subway and home, all while reflecting on the new stage you’re about to enter in your life, and how he’ll support you through it.

Because above everything else he had experienced (or hadn’t) with Naoya, or the type of relationship he had with him…

He was still your friend.

The person he promised to be for you whenever things got too hard for you to deal with on your own, be a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, or a voice to laugh along with when good things like this happen in your life.

Just as you’d done when he faced adversities of his own, and the future ones he has yet to live, which he knows you’ll be there, every step of the way, to help him out.

Both had vowed to remain by each other’s side through highs and low, whenever the other could…

And your wedding was to be no different.

There you have it 😊 What I think would happen with Nanami regarding your announcement to getting married to Naoya. We’re talking about you and naoya meeting in jujutsu high and your dear husband being an actual human being, still… Naoya, but less that Naoya lol.

Anyways, I can’t wait to write more Nanami stuff hahaha I’m already working on his first-time meeting Naomi!!!!!

As always, thank you so much for this lovely ask!! I hope you have a wonderful weekend, take care, and hope to see you soon!!

[teecupangel]

Based on @wisecloudnightmare’s tags in the Altaïr and Desmond commits identity fraud (on each other) idea:

#this makes me think of that one comic where joonghyuk keeps saying going away kim dokja and then when kim dokha really disappears #he says don't you ever leave again or I'll kill you asfghjkbijgds #ugh but altaïr with 999th joonghyuk's personality would be so fascinating too #the one where his mind is really fragile but he's still a beast to fight with. only kdj can tame him.

(Absolute spoilers to ORV underneath)

I believe you are talking about the 1863rd Yoo Joonghyuk. 999th Yoo Joonghyuk is the best boi who sacrificed his limbs and life so his companions could reach the ending even without him by making a pact with a certain Outer God (which I think would be a fun idea to play with as well).

We’ll focus on 1863rd version for this one and we’ll make it so that Altaïr is regressing over and over again and he has no idea why.

He’s caught in a time loop that starts every time he died (doesn’t matter when, where or how, what matters is he dies) and he doesn’t even have a goal to focus on.

He always regresses to the same point:

The moment he killed an innocent man underneath the Temple Mount, Malik saying the same words again and again.

Nothing worked.

Getting the Apple of Eden during this time did not help.

Saving Kadar did not do anything.

Killing Abbas before he orders the death of his family and friends did not end this cursed life.

His first life was not perfect but it was a fulfilling one.

His later lives?

He could not bear to watch his sons grow and die before him.

He could not bear the thought of that family of his from long ago become just another part of this wretched tragedy.

That’s when the Apple whispers to him of what he must do.

It never did that before.

So he agrees to it as long as the Apple promises to find a way to finally kill him without any chance of returning to that point.

The Apple only says “Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad’s greatest wish will come true in this ‘round’.”

The Apple’s instructions gets Altaïr to kill Al Mualim early on, branding him a traitor and pitting him against his own brothers. This culminates in pretty much a ‘me versus the world’ with Malik being ordered to hunt him down together with Abbas.

During one of the three-way fight between Altaïr, some Assassins and the guards of the city they are in, Desmond appears.

Now…

Desmond survived the Solar Flare but how he did it was hazy. What he does know is that something is terrible wrong with Altaïr because he doesn’t look like the Altaïr in his memories.

This Altaïr is both more savage yet also more tired than Desmond remembered.

There is a resignation in his movements even as he dodged everything. As if he had given up on life but knows he must continue to move forward, ignoring the pain and tiredness of his mortal body.

Desmond doesn’t know about the regressions until the Apple tells him that this is the 1863rd ‘loop’.

Because of this, Desmond tries to help him and Altaïr leans on him because he is an anomaly. He knows of Altaïr’s first life.

He only knows about Altaïr’s first life, reminding him about it when he himself barely remembers it.

Desmond was from the original timeline.

Desmond was the real key to end this, not the Apple.

And so Altaïr started to depend on him.

Protecting Desmond was the most important thing in this entire world because he was Desmond, the key to ending all of this and the first person to ever get pass the darkness that has clouded Altaïr’s mind for so long.

Desmond was important.

Desmond’s words were law.

All he needed was Desmond.

.

.

On the other corner…

The Apple just lets Desmond use it like it was Desmond’s personal Google.

It does, however, give an error every time Desmond asks why he’s been transported to this timeline and the truth about the loops.

Desmond knows that Altaïr is getting a bit… well…. obsessed with him. But it brought life back in his eyes and that was enough for Desmond. He’d deal with the rest as they come up. (famous last words)

.

The twist is the loop is an unintentional byproduct of the Reader and the Heir trying to find clues to how to save the world by checking the other unused timelines that the Calculations had also found and more timelines that the Calculations didn’t catch the first time.

They didn’t know that Altaïr’s constant use of the apple made him the closest being to them and he gets sucked into their research, but didn’t get to the Grey. Instead, he was taking over the consciousness of the Altaïrs in those timelines they’re ‘skimming’.

Time was inconsequential to the Reader and the Heir. It was not to Altaïr.

They only learned about Altaïr around the end of the 1862nd turn.

The Apple? That’s the Heir staying in the Gray and connecting with the Apple to guide Altaïr into bringing the solution into the 1863rd worldline.

Unfortunately, something happened and what he brought was an incomplete solution.

Because Desmond forgot that he was the Reader.

[versegm]

“Sir Kyrielight? A word, if you will.”

It’s not the first time that Morgan has sought the knight out. For some reason she herself can’t really understand, Sir Kyrielight has become something of a soothing presence to her. Spending time with her has turned out to be something quite enjoyable.

Today, however, she is not here for such amusements.

“Of course!” Sir Kyrielight steps aside, to let Morgan come in. “Is anything the matter?”

Morgan steps in- though she does not find herself a seat, as she usually would. This is important. She cannot let herself relax. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

Sir Kyrielight looks at her with confusion, closing the door. “Did you forget something in my room? We can look for it together-”

“I meant my catalyst.”

Sir Kyrielight goes still.

“… What are you talking about?” She does an admirable job keeping her voice even. It’s not enough, though. There’s still a slight tremble in there. She won’t look at Morgan. She looks like she barely even dares to breathe. Sir Kyrielight (has always been) is a terrible liar (she knows) it seems.

“I have been studying the Chaldean summoning system.” It’s fascinating, really. The world is desperate to be saved, which facilitates the process greatly- but even then, summoning Lostbelt servants or extra classes with a regular summon system should not be possible. And before that, the fact that they managed to brute force any summon at all prior to the incineration of humanity is truly praiseworthy. It has been quite interesting to take apart. “And I have noticed that there was an anomaly with my summoning. My spirit origin responded much more strongly than any other servant.”

“Couldn’t it just be that you were really eager to help panhuman history?”

Oh, an attempt at humor. Morgan will give it to her. This is quite amusing. “I am flattered you hold me in such high regards, Sir Kyrielight. But I am not so charitable to wish mercy upon my enemies.”

“And you hold yourself in too low regards, Winter Queen. You are not nearly as much of a witch as you like to pretend to be.”

For some reason, this statement fills Morgan with profound discomfort. Perhaps because she thought Sir Kyrielight smart enough to not believe Morgan any better than she actually is. She opts to ignore it. “Regardless. A catalyst was used to summon me. When I asked my spouse, they said they did not have any such thing on them. As you are the only other person present during summons, I can only conclude that you were the holder of my catalyst.”

“We had just come back from Fairy Britain. And Senpai is a walking catalyst anyway. Surely the dirt we carried back would have been enough to call you forth.”

“Then this would have applied to every servant from Fairy Britain. I am the only one subject to such anomaly.”

“Then maybe-”

“Sir Kyrielight. Please.”

She falls silent. They never talked about this, but Morgan is fairly certain that Sir Kyrielight is aware of her fairy eyes. Perhaps that is why she will not argue any further.

“I am not angry. However, whatever you had that called me forth, it belongs to me. I would like to have it back.”

“You won’t be able to do anything with them. They’re useless.”

They? Is her catalyst in pieces, perhaps? “It matters not. They are rightfully mine. It is up to me to decide whether they are of use to me or not.”

“They are important to me.”

“They are not yours to keep.”

A second tick by. Another.

Slowly, Sir Kyrielight reaches for her collar.

She pulls out a purse, attached around her neck by a loose string. Morgan had never noticed it before. It is most likely intentional. She wonders if her summoning was done on purpose. Probably not; chances are the knight was wearing this at the time completely unaware that Morgan would respond to it.

Sir Kyrielight hands the purse to Morgan. It’s light. Through the fabric, she can feel multiple small items. Based on the previous conversation, Morgan had thought that, perhaps, it could be the shattered remains of her crown. The items are blunt though, not a single sharp edge in sight. She opens the purse, and peers inside it.

The sight is such that Morgan forgets to hide her surprise.

Sir Kyrielight is looking straight at the floor, arms wrapped around herself. “It’s… it’s all that was left.”

Inside the purse, blindingly white under the artificial light, shines several bones.

“… I see.” She finally says. Whatever emotions this sight evoked in her- she shoves it right back into the abyss of her soul, where it belongs. They are irrelevant to the matter at hand. She closes the purse, and hands it back to the knight. “You are correct. I have no use for these. I will allow you to keep them. You have well earned this trophy.”

Sir Kyrielight does not move, however. She stares at Morgan with wide eyes. “… trophy?”

“Proof of your valor. Evidence of my defeat. Call it however you wish. You did kill me once, ineffective as it was. You have earned the right to desecrate my remains as you wish-”

“It’s not a fucking trophy!”

More than the tone, it’s the swear that startles Morgan. Never before has she heard the knight be so vulgar.

“Hate me. Shun me. Think me morbid and insane for hanging onto these. I have hidden things from you, I will not deny it, and any anger you might feel towards me is warranted. But I did not pick these up to- to gloat. I didn’t pick these up to humiliate you, Morgan! Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I liked this? I’ve never wanted to dead! I wanted you to live! I wanted us both to live! But we couldn’t. The world was against us. Our ideals were against us. This wish was doomed from the very beginning. I wanted something to remember you by. I wanted something I could carry with me. I wanted something more than a memory, something more than my grief, for once in my life I wanted something I could actually hold! I know it’s sick, its deranged, I know normal people do not behave like this, and I will accept your blame and your wrath. But do not for a second think I took these because I wanted to hurt you, Tonelico.”

Her face is flushed with anger, hands clenched into fists, and none of these things matter because Morgan’s thoughts got obliterated by a single word.

“How…” for the first time in centuries, Morgan finds herself speechless. “How do you know that name?”

In the span of a few seconds, Sir Kyrielight’s face goes from bright red to sickly white. She takes a step back, pressing her back against the wall.

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. Morgan is a smart woman, and the puzzle is stupidly easy: the only people who know who Tonelico is are those who traveled with her back in the Fairy Calendar. Sir Kyrielight knows that name. There is one specific knight Morgan used to travel with.

Which means-

Which means-

The conclusion is so, so obvious. Morgan is this close to an epiphany- but it’s like running into a brick wall. She should be able to figure this out easily, yet she physically cannot take this leap. This means- this means-

Suddenly, it clicks.

It’s a curse.

It’s a subtle, but powerful thing, weaved with care to ensure that she might never notice it. If not for an evidence so damning, she could have gone her entire life without realizing it. Morgan is cursed. She’s cursed with a permanent blind spot, one very specific fact forever locked away from her.

She turns her attention inward. If it’s a curse, then she can find it. And she does; she finds the spell pulsing right behind her right eye, concealed under five layers of glamour. It’s too intricate for her to take apart so quickly, however. It was very clearly weaved by someone who had mastered magecraft-

Yes. Someone who had mastered magecraft.

This curse was cast by none other than Morgan herself.

Why? Why would she lock away such valuable memories? Why would she bar herself very basic knowledge?

Think. Think. The Fairy calendar was a mistake, a made-up tale crafted by the world to justify a present history. Morgan was the one to force the curtains to raise on the Queen’s Calendar,  to brute force this world into something real. As such, anyone aside of herself who would be acknowledged as both a part of the Fairy and the Queen’s calendar would be erased from history.

Morgan cast that curse on herself. She cast it to ensure that she would not kill the girl in front of her.

“You are-” She has to say it. She has to say it. This was important enough for her wipe away her own memory. She has to say it. She has to say it. “You are-”

Her entire being seizes, heart and body and soul. It can’t let her say it. It won’t let her say it. But she has to. It’s important. It’s important. It’s important. “You are-”

Tonelico’s fingers are tight around her throat, the last wish of a girl she no longer is. But if this girl is a ghost, then Morgan is just as much, dead dead and deader, and now that she is no longer beholden to her land and her duty she has to say it. “You are Fa■r■ ■n■ght G■lah■■.”

The name cuts at her throat on their way out. She cannot hear her own words, the title reduced to sound and sound and sound and pain. A violent cough overtakes her, hunching her over. She slaps a hand over her mouth. Her shoulder tremble under the strain. She peers down at her palm, only to find it covered in blood.

“Stop!” Mash- Sir- Mash- (Mash, Mash, Mash, Mash, it echoes, it vibrates, ripples upon the water mirror, cracks inside the winter palace) rushes to her side, grabbing her by the arms. “Don’t- don’t remember. Please. Please don’t remember me. When Totrot- please. Please don’t hurt yourself for me. I just got you back. Please, I don’t, I can’t lose you again, please,”

A realization, then:

Mash had loved Tonelico.

Of course. Of course. Why else would she carry these polished bones? What could drive someone as virtuous, as upright as Sir Galahad to such extremes? What grief could torment the knight so? Nothing but love with nowhere left to go.

And then, a corollary: Morgan is cursed. Morgan cursed herself. Morgan cursed herself into amnesia to protect this knight.

Inane as it is to consider- Morgan had loved her back.

[greenqueenhightower]

This is mainly an Anti-Viserys rant:

That scene in Aegon’s coronation when the “beast beneath the boards” turns out to be Rhaenys and Meleys (you choose which one to be the beast 👀) and the greens are shocked and paralyzed but Alicent’s mother instinct kicks in and she literally positions herself between the imminent danger and her children, proves that she has the guts to fight this war and she is not a pawn to be moved about by others anymore. What’s more, her motivation is not pure envy or hurt pride but acknowledgment and fear of the danger that her family and children are inevitably in, being “the other” Targaryens.

And then think about how they should have felt, growing up as “the other” party in their father’s love, always feeling second choice compared to their flawless, perfect-in-her-father’s-eyes older sister and heir to the throne Rhaenyra (don’t hate me on this, I love Rhaenyra too), whose faults and shortcomings never seemed wrong to her father. And then Aegon, tries so hard to be the heir that only Alicent sees in him, but “it will never be enough.” Helaena is completely ignored by her father, and that is even more evident in the dinner scene where he doesn’t seem to be even remotely interested in what she is saying about her married life with Aegon. And then Aemond loses an eye and still has to see his father defend Rhaenyra and her sons with the other one. I’m sure he was thinking, “what else should I do for you to notice me, or what else should happen to me for you to show me you care?”

What I’m saying is, all those years of neglect from Viserys and the accumulated hurt that his children feel towards him are very easily turned against Rhaenyra in the end. Viserys did not protect ANY of his children from the consequences of his own careless actions and even if he didn’t take part in the Dance, he is the main instigator of the events to unfold. He made sure Rhaenyra distanced herself from her siblings by being distanced from them himself. He made sure Alicent felt uneasy with the line of succession and the future of her children due to his lack of interest in them. So, Alicent literally took on the role of the SOLE PARENT who had to take care of them, by any means, as best she knew how.

So, yes, Alicent in her complex relationship with Rhaenyra and Viserys does feel resentment because she was second choice, always less important, always suffering alone, always undermined in her role as mother and protector of Viserys’ children. But even more than Alicent her children feel undermined and betrayed by their own father and the girl he loved the most, Rhaenyra. So to those who praise Viserys for loving her, that’s not enough. Being a parent doesn’t mean loving ONE of your children. Being a parent means loving ALL of your children equally and showing them that. This is where Viserys failed, and this is where the succession crisis comes from. If his children felt loved and secure, and Alicent felt that her children would be safe and well cared for, they wouldn’t be feeling the need to claim the throne.

Now, all of Viserys’ family has to fight bitterness and resentment, make one wrong move after another, and raise their defenses against a practically invisible enemy, since they all craved and wanted the same thing all along: his attention and love, a place to belong, his assurance that whomever they were mattered, that they could have their own place in court without having to fit into one-dimensional standards, and that they would always be enough.

I feel like Rhaenys on dragonback in that crucial moment at Aegon's coronation senses that yearning, and even though she has the chance to destroy the greens and make sure her dying cousin gets his wish to see Rhaenyra on the Iron Throne, she knows how it feels to be on “the other” side. She knows how it is to hope for something, to long for approval, to fight for what you think is yours, and I dare say she identifies with the feeling of resentment and betrayal that possesses Alicent and her children more than she lets show. It’s “not her war to begin” but she knows it has already begun. And she sides with the blacks politically. But she damn well knows how the greens feel too.

[rebouks]

Previous | Next

Transcript:

Norma: It’s not uncommon to find yourself on the wrong path in life, Oscar. Try not to beat yourself up too much. Oscar: I could’ve turned back earlier-.. I don’t know why I didn’t. Courtney reckons it was fate. Norma: That’s one way of looking at it.

Oscar: I was in a bad place.. ignoring everything seemed easier at the time, but the more we got involved, the less freedom we had. I figured they’d get bored eventually, y’know? Find someone better suited to the job than a depressed junkie. Norma: Bumping into Kate, that changed things for you?

Oscar: It felt so personal in comparison-.. these were innocent people; people I knew. I couldn’t sit on it. I knew the cops were in on it as well, so I took her to the only person I thought I could trust. Norma: Joslyn.

Oscar: [nods] She helped Kate, but she couldn’t help us, not after being promoted by Spencer. Norma: She tried her best. Oscar: That Agent Key guy was twice as useless as her, he fucking ghosted us.

Norma: Well, I looked into that after Joslyn told me about it. He had a heart attack-.. recovered just fine, but chose to retire early. The importance of your case was most likely lost amongst a mountain of paperwork. Those local departments are horrendously unorganised, bound by red tape; it should’ve landed on our desk.

Oscar: I was pissed that no one seemed interested-.. but I’m stubborn, so I figured I’d write it up myself, take it to the top. I kinda got waylaid though; Del Sol, Courtney got pregnant, I checked myself into rehab.. it’s all a bit of a blur. Norma: Do you know why Wyatt sent Courtney to Del Sol?

Oscar: It turns out they’d met outside all this; maybe he was jealous, suspicious, unhinged.. all three? The weirdest thing is, after all that, he turned around and helped us? I don’t get it. Norma: Really? That’s interesting.

Oscar: For some reason, yeah. He helped us expose Spencer. Norma: Is there any chance he could’ve felt guilty-.. had a change of heart? Oscar: [scoffs] I doubt it, he’s a pretty disturbed guy.

Norma: It’s no wonder, growing up in that environment. Oscar: He doesn’t deserve an excuse. Norma: Now, now.. don’t get all bitter; we never truly know other people’s intentions. We can guess, but still…

Oscar: It’s hard not to be. Norma: I’m sorry that you fell through the cracks, Oscar.. I really am. If you were a CI, or even an undercover agent, you would’ve been pulled out of this situation a long long time ago. The fact that you persevered is admirable.

Oscar: [sighs] I just-.. I wish Courtney hadn’t been dragged into it. Norma: Life’s too short for regret, dust yourself off and move on. Oscar: How can I move on when-…

Norma: We have a name, a place-.. Eugene’s already in Del Sol; it’s only a matter of time, trust me. Oscar: I suppose it’s your job now. Norma: [chuckles] Not one to hand over the reins easily, are you? You and your friends got us this far, we’ll do the rest.

Oscar: [nods] Thanks for being one of the good ones-.. I think? You haven’t been a dick to us, at least. Norma: Aha, the key is to pick your battles. You’re not the real bad guys here. Oscar: Are you, uh-.. we’re not gonna need lawyers once you’ve wrapped up in Del Sol, are we?

Norma: No, there’s no evidence against any of you; some dealings here and there, racketeering, assault-.. whatever else? Some of our agents do much worse, it’s a means to an end… I told Bruno we don’t always do things by the book, and I meant it. Oscar: That’s.. good to know.

Norma: [nods resolutely] Such a remarkable story-.. anyway, I think you’ve given me enough of your time. Oscar: Well.. I didn’t think I’d be saying this, but it was nice meeting you. Norma: Likewise! I’ll be sure to let you know of our progress, okay? In the meantime, you ought to try and give yourself a break.

[ask--eggman]

📩 Dr. Eggman Ask blog 🥚

Attention all!

It is I, Dr. Eggman, the greatest scientific genius and the brilliant, smart and handsome soon to be ruler of this world!

I know you all must be trembling with either excitement or fear, as you should be! An expected and understandable reaction to being undeservingly graced by my glorious presence. Especially because with this blog, you can finally be lucky enough to interact with me and ask me questions!

Ignore any rumors of this all being "propaganda" for the Eggman Empire. You don't need to be convinced to join. It's a no brainer, it doesn't take a genius mind like mine to know that you and the world will be much better under my rule! I simply state facts here. I promise.

Important things to know:

Blog is for adults 18+ only!

I'll treat you like the underlings you are, to teach you of your place beneath me in the future of my empire early. Some say that's rude. The nerve! They're simply the traits a real powerful and confident ruler should have! But of course I'm the only one cut out for it, so I shouldn't expect anyone to understand.

I'll be open about the glorious evil I get up to with my immaculate calculated schemes! Unless you ask for top secret information to use against me and try to stop me... You can't outsmart me, I can tell! And you will fail miserably!

Anyone with a distaste for my methods and hobbies - ignore anything evil you might've seen here. Pay no attention to any mentions of schemes and violence, only believe the posts about how totally brilliant, helpful and beneficial my rule and empire are.

You can expect violence of varying degrees. I'm sure you all know by now that I'm not above crushing my enemies and reveling in their defeat! What? They totally deserve it!

NSFT allowed. I know everyone wishes they could have a chance with me and must be very eager to hear all about it. ;)

All this to say that this blog is not suitable for small children - or big babies.

Feel free to fill out a brief survey after your visit. Your opinions matter to us! Unless you didn't have fun, then we don't care.

More extra notes from a silly little lackey of mine who serves as this blog's moderator below:

---------------------

Games canon source Eggman, every game mainline to spin off, no exclusions. There's a possibility for occasional divergence due to slight inspiration from other official media but with a clear heavy game focus.

He will be canon accurate and nasty, rude, arrogant, condescending, a big jerk and unpleasant reactions and behaviors will be portrayed in an often comedic way. Keep in mind, it doesn't reflect the feelings or beliefs of the author - no hard feelings!

There's a chance not all questions will be answered. It's okay to resend once or twice just in case it wasn't sent. But just because it might take a while to get a response, doesn't always mean we didn't get it or you're not getting one.

I'm an adult and open to NSFT and fet!sh asks, very lax and don't judge. Will be tagged to the best of my ability. Eggman may do a combination of teasing and entertaining, or just be oblivious towards why you're asking, depends. Just be 18+. No minors at all!

Feel free to ask to tag.

[fearlessinger]

Time to address the Halcyon Green-shaped elephant in the room aka let me explain to you why I think it’s canon even though it seems like it should not be aka another installment of Tinfoilhatting With Fsinger

I’m really sorry I could not think of a better title. Hope you’re intrigued enough to follow me in this journey anyway. 

So. The thing is. 

The Halcyon story, taken as it is, does not gel with TOA at all. 

And not because it’s OOC for Apollo to have done what Halcyon says he’s done to him… Although I think it is. I think an argument can and should be made – and has been made by @flightfoot before – that this story, taken as it is, is essentially… incompatible with Apollo’s characterization in every other scrap of the RRverse he appears in. (This story, and also the Harpocrates story, which I won’t examine here because it deserves its own post. For now I’ll just say it’s interesting to note that it’s the two additions to Apollo’s background that Rick invented out of whole cloth that share this peculiarity, and I don’t think it’s by mistake). 

But whether the Halcyon story breaks the internal consistency of Apollo’s characterization or not is a matter of secondary importance in the face of the fact that the Halcyon story breaks the internal consistency of the TOA narrative as a whole. 

Take this excerpt from The Diary Of Luke Castellan:

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

Halcyon shrugged listlessly. The monster spoke for him: “I have lost count. Decades? Because my father is the god of oracles, I was born with the curse of seeing the future. Apollo warned me to keep quiet. He told me I should never share what I saw because it would anger the gods. But many years ago…I simply had to speak. I met a young girl who was destined to die in an accident. I saved her life by telling her the future.”

I tried to focus on the old man, but it was hard not to look at the monster’s mouth—those black lips, the slavering bone-plated jaws.

“I don’t get it…” I forced myself to meet Halcyon’s eyes. “You did something good. Why would that anger the gods?”

“They don’t like mortals meddling with fate,” the leucrota said. “My father cursed me. He forced me to wear these clothes, the skin of Python, who once guarded the Oracle of Delphi, as a reminder that I was not an oracle. He took away my voice and locked me in this mansion, my boyhood home. Then the gods set the leucrotae to guard me. Normally, leucrotae only mimic human speech, but these are linked to my thoughts. They speak for me. They keep me alive as bait, to lure other demigods. It was Apollo’s way of reminding me, forever, that my voice would only lead others to their doom.”

An angry coppery taste filled my mouth. I already knew the gods could be cruel. My deadbeat dad had ignored me for fourteen years. But Halcyon Green’s curse was just plain wrong. It was evil.

Now think back on all the times Apollo compares Nero to Zeus or even Kronos, and all the times he does not include himself too as a term of comparison.

Remember how Apollo equated Nero warning Meg her disobedience would “make him unleash the Beast” to Zeus warning his children to not “get on the wrong side of my lightning bolts”, rightfully recognizing that they are the exact same kind of manipulative abdication to personal responsibility + shifting of the blame onto the injured party that’s a staple of the classic abuser’s playbook? Well, at the same time as he noted that, he was omitting to add that he himself had threatened Halcyon in an almost identical manner, telling his son that to disobey him would “anger the gods”. 

And not only was Apollo omitting that, he was explicitly equating himself to Lu instead. Lu, who, yes, was a cog in the abusive machine that kept Meg trapped, but was so against her own wishes, because she really had no other choice, no better options. Lu, who only ever tried to help Meg survive. Who jumped at the chance to help set Meg free as soon as it was offered to her, even knowing that Meg’s freedom would likely come at the cost of her own life. 

Remember how Apollo mentally tuned out Nero’s villain monologue right in the middle of the ‘Top 100 Times Apollo Has Failed As A Parent’ section, ensuring that we, the readers, would not risk learning about Halcyon even in this manner?

Because Apollo is the narrator of TOA. He’s the one who chooses what to let us know, and what information he wants to withhold from us. 

Bearing this in mind, doesn’t the thought that he’d purposely choose to bury the Halcyon story fill you with rage? It sure has that effect on me! :))) (Yes, those are angry smiles in case you couldn’t tell.)

It’s painfully clear, right from the very beginning of THO, that Apollo’s not oblivious to the nature and mechanics of abuse. Especially abuse perpetrated by parents on their children. He knows exactly what that is and how it works. He calls it by name. He explains it to us and to Meg, repeatedly. He points fingers. At several people. 

Never at himself.

Oh, he easily admits to being a “terrible father”. He expresses regret and apologizes for it multiple times. But the implication, all through the 5 books that make up the TOA series, is that he’s guilty of neglect, not of active abuse. 

And we know, even though Apollo never even tries to defend himself, that the neglect is not really a free choice on his part. He DOES want to be there for his children. But he can’t. He’s not allowed to. The laws of non interference forbid it, and the consequences of disobeying Olympus’s laws… well the whole series is an example of how dire they can be. 

‘Hey, if we don’t get out of this –’

‘None of that talk,’ I chided.

‘Yeah, but I wanted to tell you, I’m glad we had some time together. Like … time time.’

His words warmed me even more than Paul Blofis’s lasagne.

I knew what he meant. While I’d been Lester Papadopoulos, I hadn’t spent much time with Austin, or any of the people I’d stayed with, really, but it had been more than we’d ever spent together when I was a god. [...]

I was tempted to promise we’d do this more often if we survived, but I’d learned that promises are precious. If you’re not absolutely sure you can keep them, you should never make them [...].

So despite how much he wants to – and we know how much he wants to because he tells us, because by the end of the series he’s not hiding it anymore – Apollo can’t promise Austin that they’ll spend more time together, even if they both survive. The uncertainty has nothing to do with the fact that they are currently facing death. Apollo makes it crystal clear.

Right after his triumphant return on Olympus, where he’s welcomed with full honors, he still doesn’t dare state plainly his desire to go back to visit his children and all the mortals who have helped him along the way. “I’ll visit some old friends,” he says, fully knowing how that will be interpreted, and silently accepts Dionysus’ contribution in muddying the waters even further.

I don’t say this to absolve him. It’s right of Apollo to acknowledge that he’s failed his children. That he should have tried more, and harder, to be there for them anyway. That he must try more and harder NOW. And he does. 

But none of the above addresses the Halcyon situation at all. The Halcyon situation is simply not the same. 

The closest the TOA narrative ever gets to forcing Apollo to tackle a comparable sort of issue is when it introduces Trophonius, the only other son of Apollo whom we see harbor any kind of resentment toward his father… but even in Trophonius’ case, Apollo is guilty of inaction, not of taking active, violent action against his son. 

Granted, there’s good reason to suspect that in Trophonius’s time the rules against divine intervention weren’t yet as strict as they are in the modern age, so Apollo does not have that excuse for his inaction there. And Apollo himself admits there was some sort of punitive intent on his part: he felt Trophonius “deserved to face the consequences” of his bad choices. But even considering all this… the Trophonius situation and the Halcyon situation are still light years apart in their substance.

Trophonius used the talent and the opportunities to make it shine that he’d gotten from his father (we can certainly add nepotism to the list of Apollo’s crimes) to fraud and rob his clients, and was left to deal on his own with the fallout of being discovered.

Halcyon was admonished by Apollo to never use the talent he’d inherited, and chose to disregard that admonition to save the life of a little girl. Something which by the way had zero negative consequences that we know of. For this, Apollo personally took it upon himself to actively punish him, by walling him up in his own house and cursing him to become the twisted instrument of death of countless innocent children for the rest of his days. 

The two above things… are not the same. 

One might even say the two above things stand in contradiction one with the other, but again that’s not the argument I’m making right now. My point is Apollo’s regret for refusing to help Trophonius and Agamethus can’t even begin to cover what Apollo did to Halcyon.

There is nothing in the whole of TOA that can be construed as even just… a viable proxy to at the very least obliquely address the Halcyon story, and what it implies about Apollo as a god, as a person, and as a parent.

And no, Apollo’s memory problems aren’t a good enough excuse for sidestepping this reckoning, because

that only works if we assume the Halcyon story is a single isolated incident and not representative of a pattern of behavior on Apollo’s part… which brings us right back to the idea that it’s actually OOC for Apollo to have done what Halcyon says he’s done to him. And

at the end of the series Apollo gets all of his godly brain power back. And what happens then? He condemns one final, definitive time Zeus’s and Nero’s treatment of their children without even so much as hinting that he himself has been guilty of exactly the same behavior in the past. Not even the distant past, but a few decades ago at most! 

Again I ask: doesn’t that fill you with rage? :))

And yet the narrative contract here explicitly requires us to buy into Apollo’s honesty of intentions. No, there is no guarantee that he will manage to keep his promises. There is no guarantee that from now on he will do everything right either. But we are supposed to at least believe that he WANTS to. At the end of the series, Apollo literally asks us to put our faith and trust in him. 

But how can we do that in the face of him choosing to never come clean about the Halcyon thing? 

We can’t.

So. Where am I going with this? Am I arguing that the novella should be expunged from canon after all? 

No, as stated in the title, I am not. There is a very simple way to reconcile the Halcyon novella with the story that is told in TOA, the Apollo that we hear about in the Halcyon novella with the Apollo we got to know in the 5 books that star him as both protagonist and narrator. All we need to do is let ourselves consider the possibility that Halcyon's punishment… was not Apollo's choice. 

Yes, Apollo was the one to enact it, there’s no doubt about that. But he wasn’t the one who came up with it. He wasn’t the one who wanted it.

And the clues are there.

All throughout the series, there is one character who is particularly fearful of prophecies. Who condemned Apollo to his own punishment at the end of HOO by citing as a reason that he'd been too quick to name a new Pythia who could speak the future into existence. Who could plausibly have taken issue with Halcyon’s one single act of interference specifically, because it might not look like it but Halcyon saving that little girl's life is the first domino falling in the long chain that will lead to Luke allying with Kronos, the second Titanomachy, and Olympus' stability being threatened thrice in less than a decade. The character whose personal symbols pop up in key moments of the story: the goat Amalthea, the aegis replica destined to Thalia, his own daughter. 

“Prophecies,” Apollo tells Meg in THO, rather vehemently, “are the catalysts for every important event—every quest or battle, disaster or miracle, birth or death. Prophecies don’t simply foretell the future. They shape it! They allow the future to happen.” 

Zeus takes this to mean that if he can just stop prophecies from being uttered he can prevent any problem from materializing. 

Frank looked at Zeus. ‘Um, sir, Your Majesty, can’t you gods just pop over there with us? You’ve got the chariots and the magic powers and whatnot.’

‘Yes!’ Hazel said. ‘We defeated the giants together in two seconds. Let’s all go –’

‘No,’ Zeus said flatly.

‘No?’ Jason asked. ‘But, Father –’

Zeus’s eyes sparked with power, and Jason realized he’d pushed his dad as far as he could for today … and maybe for the next few centuries.

‘That’s the problem with prophecies,’ Zeus growled. ‘When Apollo allowed the Prophecy of Seven to be spoken, and when Hera took it upon herself to interpret the words, the Fates wove the future in such a way that it had only so many possible outcomes, so many solutions. You seven, the demigods, are destined to defeat Gaia. We, the gods, cannot.’

According to Zeus, prophecies constrain the future. They lock people into a predetermined course of action, a predetermined outcome. They take away people’s ability to choose.

There’s a whole debate to be had on whether Zeus is right or not to think so – and a whole other debate to be had on top of that one on whether Zeus truly believes this is the case or just chooses to delude himself that it is because doing so absolves him of responsibility – but for the moment what matters is that Apollo disagrees with him. 

‘Zeus was already angry with me for appointing that new girl, Rachel Dare, as my Oracle. Zeus seems to think I hastened the war with Gaia by doing so, since Rachel issued the Prophecy of Seven as soon as I blessed her. But prophecy doesn’t work that way! [...]’

Apollo thinks of prophecy as a guide, not a prison. Ultimately, it’s still up to each individual to make their own choices:

“The only other person I’ve ever known to have this, er, firewood problem, back in the old days, was this prince named Meleager. His mom got the same kind of prophecy when he was a baby. But she never even told Meleager about the firewood. She just hid it and let him live his life. He grew up to be kind of a privileged, arrogant brat.”

Hazel held Frank’s hand with both of hers. “Frank could never be like that.”

“I know,” I said. “Anyway, Meleager ended up killing a bunch of his relatives. His mom was horrified. She went and found the piece of firewood and threw it in the fire. Boom. End of story.”

Hazel shuddered. “That’s horrible.”

“The point is, Frank’s family was honest with him. His grandmother told him the story of Juno’s visit. She let him carry his own lifeline. She didn’t try to protect him from the hard truth. That shaped who he is. [...] By burning his own tinder, he kind of…I don’t know, started a new fire with it. He’s in charge of his own destiny now. Well, as much as any of us are.

Apollo really believes in people’s right to make their own choices. He believes in people’s right to take responsibility for those choices too. But to be able to do that, people need to be informed. 

“Die,” I repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Not disappear, not wouldn’t come back, not suffer defeat.”

“Nope. Die. Or more accurately, three letters, starts with D.”

“Not dad, then,” I suggested. “Or dog.”

One fine blond eyebrow crept above the rim of his glasses. “If you seek out the emperor, one of you will dog? No, Apollo, the word was die.”

“Still, that could mean many things. It could mean a trip to the Underworld. It could mean a death such as Leo suffered, where you pop right back to life. It could mean—” 

“Now you’re being evasive,” [...] Jason’s stare was unrelenting. I suspected that in the weeks since his talk with Herophile, he had run every scenario. He was well past the bargaining stage in dealing with this prophecy. He had accepted that death meant death, the way Piper McLean had accepted that Oklahoma meant Oklahoma. I didn’t like that.

“Let’s assume you’re correct,” I said. “You didn’t tell Piper the truth because—?”

“You know what happened to her dad.” [...]

“Yes, but you can’t know how the prophecy will unfold.” [...]

Jason shrugged. “[...] I knew you’d be coming to find me. Herophile said so. If you’d just waited another week—”

“Then what?” I demanded. “You would’ve let us lead you cheerily off to your death? How would that have affected Piper’s peace of mind, once she found out?”

Jason’s ears reddened. It struck me just how young he was—no more than seventeen. [...] Despite all his experiences, was it fair of me to expect him to think logically, and consider everyone else’s feelings with perfect clarity, while pondering his own death? 

I tried to soften my tone. “You don’t want Piper to die. I understand that. She wouldn’t want you to die. But avoiding prophecies never works. And keeping secrets from friends, especially deadly secrets…that really never works. It’ll be our job to face Caligula together, steal that homicidal maniac’s shoes, and get away without any five-letter words that start with D.”

The scar ticked at the corner of Jason’s mouth. “Donut?”

It’s hard to say for sure how big a part did Jason’s resignation play in sealing his fate. This is not the time for that discussion anyway, but I think it’s important to make note of the fact that Apollo really, really did not like it. That Jason’s resignation is in fact what scared Apollo the most. 

I quoted the above passage almost in full because I think it exemplifies and summarizes better than almost anything Apollo’s views on prophecy.

Apollo thinks of prophecy as a beacon in the darkness. It spurs people into action. It lights up their way and pushes them forward, far from the safe stagnancy whose ultimate and truer expression is death (or immortality. But that too is a digression for another time). It doesn’t take away people’s choices: it gives them new ones.

It’s easy to forget, but Apollo is not just the god of prophecy; he is the god of knowledge and truth too. As much as he’s guilty of doing it himself, he does not actually believe in sticking your head in the sand. 

"I warned you," a new voice said. [...]

"You dare come here?" Hades growled. "I should blast you to dust!"

"You cannot," the girl said. "The power of Delphi protects me." [...]

"You've killed the woman I loved!" Hades roared. "Your prophecy brought us to this.'" He loomed over the girl, but she didn't flinch. 

"Zeus ordained the explosion to destroy the children," she said, "because you defied his will. I had nothing to do with it. And I did warn you to hide them sooner." [...]

"Perhaps I cannot bring back Maria. Nor can I bring you to an early death. But your soul is still mortal, and I can curse you."

All through the course of PJO, HOO and TOA we see Apollo’s oracle – his oracles plural, in fact: the Sibyl of Cumae and the Sibyl of Erythrae too in addition to the Pythia – share everything they know punctually and without fail. It’s their job to warn people about the future on Apollo’s behalf, despite the unwarranted backlash they get for it. Apollo himself is heavily implied to be the one who’s sending demigods their convenient prophetic dreams. And who else but Apollo could be the source of Octavian’s confidence that the Sibylline books had survived the fall of Rome, well before Percy, Hazel and Frank met Ella the harpy? 

In TOA, we see Apollo share all that he learns as soon as he learns it, with each and every one of the people he can count on his side. Even when he thinks it will be detrimental, even when he fears their reaction. He still tells them.

The only times we see Apollo be anything less than forthcoming, it’s to cover up the fact that he legitimately does not have the answer. This became extremely clear in TOA, but Percy, who’s much more intuitive than a lot of people give him credit for, had figured it out already in TTC:

"But it's your Oracle," I protested. "Can't you tell us what the prophecy means?" 

Apollo sighed. "You might as well ask an artist to explain his art, or ask a poet to explain his poem. It defeats the purpose. The meaning is only clear through the search." 

"In other words, you don't know."

Apollo checked his watch. "Ah, look at the time! I have to run. [...]"

So, here’s the million dollar question: why would Apollo be opposed to Hal doing the same thing he himself always does? Sharing Knowledge? Giving a little girl a choice, a chance to save herself? 

He wouldn’t. He is not the one who was against it. He is certainly not the one who wanted to see Hal punished for it.

This recontextualizes Halcyon’s words that “Apollo warned me to keep quiet,” because to speak about the future “would anger the gods.” This phrasing is not an indication of Apollo trying to shirk responsibility for the punishment he was threatening his son with. It’s the literal truth. Halcyon putting his powers to good use would anger the gods – not Apollo himself. Gods like Hades who cursed Apollo’s oracle for trying to warn him of imminent danger, or Zeus who stripped Apollo of his immortality for revealing a prophecy “prematurely”. Gods who should very much not be named lest they turn their attention to Apollo and his son.

In this light, I feel it’s pretty illuminating to look back on this line from THO, right out of Apollo’s own mouth:

How could I have been so foolish? Whenever I angered the other gods, those closest to me were struck down.

Of course, Zeus would have been perfectly capable of enacting the punishment himself, much like he'd done with Asclepius, but… with everything we know about Zeus’ parenting and ruling style after TOA… it’s not that hard to imagine he might have wanted to make a point here. It’s not hard to imagine that having to personally deliver the punishment to his own son might have been Apollo’s own punishment for his son’s transgression. 

Remember how many times Apollo likens Zeus to Nero? Wouldn’t it make a scary amount of sense for this to be a “Cassius, I’m rewarding you by letting you cut Luguselwa's hands” move on Zeus’ part?

Apollo, in my generosity, I allow you to give your son the horrible news yourself. 

And of course Apollo would have taken the offer. Of course he’d have accepted to take part in this sick game. What other choice did he have? Defying his father? Declaring war on the king of the gods? Should he have murdered some of Zeus’ favorite servants again? He’d done it for Asclepius, and still had not been able to win him a better deal than forever jail. Which, granted, would still have been a better deal than the one Halcyon got… provided that Apollo could achieve that kind of victory again. 

Something else to consider: Halcyon almost certainly wasn’t Apollo’s only child at the time. And if Apollo had more children, then those children undoubtedly would have become more targets for Zeus’ anger, had their father dared provoke it any further. 

Perhaps Apollo should have taken the risk. Perhaps Apollo chose wrong. But there was no path for him to choose that would not lead to the slaughter of innocents. 

At least, this way, Apollo could see and speak to Hal one last time. This way, he could leave his son with a promise that his punishment would come to an end. 

Because it’s obvious, from Halcyon’s account of his father’s words and actions, that Apollo had foreseen that Luke and Thalia would be the ones to break the curse, and that Hal would be able to escape his misery by dying to save the life of Zeus’ daughter, and therefore had taken care to set up the means for that potential future to be realized. 

The book containing the recipe for greek fire, that Hal was strangely confident they would find on his bookshelves. 

The safe containing the aegis replica, an item befitting Zeus’ progeny, that only a son of Hermes could successfully open, and that Hal remembers Apollo telling him “was sealed since before [Hal] was born”. Who could have done that, and why, if not Apollo so that Thalia could eventually take rightful ownership of it? 

I’d dare suggest, even, that Apollo might have been the one who sent the goat, with the precise intention of luring Thalia and Luke into the trap, knowing that they would make it out thanks to Hal’s sacrifice, with a gift such to ensure that Thalia’s divine father would have no reason to object to the final outcome of Apollo's gamble, and every incentive to overlook how it had been orchestrated. 

But of course Apollo would never tell his son “I had no choice” because WHEN DOES HE EVER. Five books and WE are the only souls he’s actually confessed being an abuse victim to, and even to us he’s given zero details. He never makes excuses for himself. He doesn’t think it matters that he could. He holds himself responsible anyway. 

He believes that he must, because his father never does.

‘I know you think your punishment was harsh, Apollo.’

I did not answer. I tried my best to keep my expression polite and neutral.

‘But you must understand,’ Zeus continued, ‘only you could have overthrown Python. Only you could have freed the Oracles. And you did it, as I expected. The suffering, the pain along the way… regrettable, but necessary [...].’

I had no choice, is Zeus’ constant refrain. I can’t help you, he tells the demigods. “You did not ask for this,” he tells Jason. “I did not want it.” And yet who could have forced the hand of the king of the gods?

He tells his son “I can’t praise you.” He tells him “I can’t give you credit.” He says “someone must take the blame.” He says “it’s the lightning bolt that hurt you.” He says “you must understand. It was necessary. I had no choice.” 

So Apollo refuses to claim the words for himself, even if they are true.

It’s very noble, but also incredibly misguided. It’s the root of all the communication problems he has with his children. The reason why he can’t bring himself to answer Will, and Kayla, and Austin, when they try to tell him that they want him in their lives, not just once or twice, but always, every day. Even they, who know they are loved, have absolutely no idea how much. 

“Maybe Apollo meant we’re going to rescue you,” Thalia said.

Hal typed a new sentence: Or maybe I die today.

“Thank you, Mr. Cheerful,” I said. “I thought you could tell the future. You don’t know what will happen?”

Hal typed: I can’t look. It’s too dangerous. You can see what happened to me last time I tried to use my powers.

“Sure,” I grumbled. “Don’t take the risk. You might mess up this nice life you’ve got here.”

I knew that was mean. But the old man’s cowardice annoyed me. He’d let the gods use him as a punching bag for too long. It was time he fought back, preferably before Thalia and I became the leucrotae’s next meal.

Hal lowered his head. His chest was shaking, and I realized he was crying silently.

When Luke and Thalia meet him at the beginning of the tale, Halcyon is resigned to his fate, and terrified that if he tries to fight it he'll be punished even worse, somehow. He's lost all faith in his father's judgment, and, if he ever had any, in his father's promise of freedom too. He's surrendered to utter despair. He resists Luke's demands that he do something, anything, to help both them and himself. 

Then Luke manages to open the safe, and Hal begins to realize that… maybe… just maybe... there’s a possibility that his father had not lied to him. 

Hal showed us the short novel he’d written: You’re the ones!! You actually got the treasure!! I can’t believe it!! That safe has been sealed since before I was born!! Apollo told me my curse would end when the owner of the treasure claimed it!! If you’re the owner—

He's still terrified. He struggles to let himself dare hope. But eventually he finds the courage to do the right thing once again: use his talent to save the life of these kids who don't deserve to die. 

He reads Thalia's future. 

And then he reads Luke's.

I could feel Hal’s pulse in my fingers—one, two, three.

His eyes flew open. He yanked his hands away and stared at me in terror.

“Okay,” I said. My tongue felt like sandpaper. “I’m guessing you didn’t see anything good.”

It’s in that moment, as he finds himself in the exact same position his father Apollo had once been, seeing the terrible tragedy in this child’s future that he knows, in spite of his best efforts, he won’t be able to avert… It’s in that moment that Hal finally understands. 

Hal picked up his green leather diary. He gestured for me to follow him. We walked to the closet doorway, where Hal took a pen from his jacket and flipped through the book. I saw pages and pages of neat, cramped handwriting. Finally Hal found an empty page and scribbled something.

He handed the book to me.

The note read, Luke, I want you to take this diary. It has my predictions, my notes about the future, my thoughts about where I went wrong. I think it might help you.

I shook my head. “Hal, this is yours. Keep it.”

He took back the book and wrote, You have an important future. Your choices will change the world. You can learn from my mistakes, continue the diary. It might help you with your decisions.

“What decisions?” I asked. “What did you see that scared you so badly?”

His pen hovered over the page for a long time. I think I finally understand why I was cursed, he wrote. Apollo was right. Sometimes the future really is better left a mystery.

“Hal, your father was a jerk. You didn’t deserve—”

Hal tapped the page insistently. 

We are not made privy to Hal’s thought processes in detail. Apollo was right, he writes, and he bristles when Luke tries to protest that notion. He taps the page insistently. What is he trying to communicate? Surely he can’t think that Apollo was right to warn him off of trying to use his gift to save people? 

Especially because… Halcyon is at this very moment once again defying fate to try and save someone. He is at this very moment trying to save Luke from the terrible future he’s seen. 

He knows he doesn’t know enough. He knows he can’t tell Luke what to do. Luke will have to make his own choices. But Hal can make sure those choices will be as informed as possible. Hal wants to give him a chance. He wants to give him hope, something to hang onto when he will be tried. He wants to give Luke what his father had given him. 

Because Hal understands now. Not everything, of course, no. He, and Luke and Thalia too, are still missing the most important pieces of the puzzle. But, clearly, Hal understands enough. Enough to make peace in his heart with his father. Enough to trust that he will get the release his father had promised him in death. Enough to die with a prayer in honor of his father on his lips, quite literally dedicating his heroic sacrifice to him. 

I heard Halcyon Green, shouting a battle cry: “For Apollo!” 

We have no idea what kind of relationship Hal and Apollo had once upon a time. We don’t know what the tone of Hal and Apollo’s last conversation was. Did Apollo allow his heartbreak to show on his face? Did he tell Hal how sorry he was? 

Certainly, he would not have blamed Zeus, and he would not have tried to exculpate himself. Which is why Halcyon still ultimately thinks this was Apollo's decision. 

And yet, something peculiar happens when Hal narrates his conversations with Apollo. "My father warned me," he says, "my father cursed me". But in between those we get "then the gods set the leucrotae to guard me". The gods. There’s that phrasing again. And it does make me wonder... is this how Apollo presented the whole thing to Hal? Are these Apollo’s own words? 

I have to say, I really can see it. This is the will of the gods, Apollo would have said, and just... never specified but NOT MINE. Because he felt that he had no right to Hal’s understanding, let alone Hal’s forgiveness. 

Did Hal pick up on that subconsciously anyway?

We don’t know what kind of relationship Hal and Apollo had once upon a time. We know, because Hal tells us, that Hal had faithfully heeded his father’s warning, until the day he met that little girl, and found that his conscience would not allow him to let her die. We know that in the end Hal forgave his father. That Hal, in his last seconds of life, took comfort in his father’s name.

Why would Hal do such a 180 on Apollo in such a short amount of time? Just based on the realization that Apollo had indeed foreseen all this, and prepared accordingly? Because of what he’d seen when he looked into Luke’s future? It’s a hell of a leap from “Apollo can’t punish me any worse than he already has” to “Apollo was right”, and one that really there’s no way to make logical sense of… unless Hal had just been waiting for an excuse, any excuse, to reconcile himself with the memory of his father. Unless, all this time, Hal had wished nothing more than to be able to believe in his father again.

We don’t know what kind of relationship Hal and Apollo had once upon a time. But Hal’s change of heart, and his behavior leading up to his end, would seem to suggest rather a good one. Not too dissimilar, perhaps, from the one Apollo shares with his kids in the present.

Or perhaps Hal was just scared and desperate as he readied himself to die, and grasping for straws because straws were all he got. For all we know, that’s possible too.

But that is not how Hal appears to Luke in his last moments. 

He met my eyes, and I finally understood what he was planning. “Don’t,” I said. “We can all make it out.” Hal pursed his lips. He wrote, We both know that’s impossible. I can communicate with the leucrotae. I am the logical choice for bait. You and Thalia wait in the closet. I’ll lure the monsters into the bathroom. I’ll buy you a few seconds to reach the exit panel before I set off the explosion. It’s the only way you’ll have time.

“No,” I said.

But his expression was grim and determined. He didn’t look like a cowardly old man anymore. He looked like a demigod, ready to go out fighting.

I couldn’t believe he was offering to sacrifice his life for two kids he’d just met, especially after he’d suffered for so many years. And yet, I didn’t need pen and paper to see what he was thinking. This was his chance at redemption. He would do one last heroic thing, and his curse would end today, just as Apollo had foreseen.

He scribbled something and handed me the diary. The last word read: Promise.

I took a deep breath, and closed the book. “Yeah. I promise.”

In his last moments, Hal is full of dignity and hope. He finally finds the courage to stand up tall and proud of himself again. I feel it would be doing Hal a disservice to assume that, in those last moments, his renewed faith in his father was grounded in delusion rather than truth.

What was he trying to communicate to Luke in their last exchange? What did he think Luke could learn from his diary? What is the promise that he asked Luke to make? We’ll never know. Luke chooses to not tell us. 

Luke chooses to erase Hal’s last words to him from the narrative, and substitute his own. 

I couldn’t shake my grief.

Promise, Halcyon Green had written.

I promise, Hal, I thought. I will learn from your mistakes. If the gods ever treat me that badly, I will fight back.

There’s a lot to be said about the way Halcyon and Luke influence each other in opposite directions. About the way Halcyon’s death and Luke’s death mirror each other. About the way Halcyon’s relationship with Apollo mirrors Luke’s relationship with Hermes. I know @tsarinatorment has excellent thoughts re: this, and not only this, that I hope she will share.

But for now this is already long enough, and so to bring us back to my original point… No, the Halcyon story, taken as it is, does not gel with TOA at all. But once you dig just a little deeper under the surface of it… I’d dare say it becomes impossible to rule it out of canon, because it fits too well within canon. It fills in the narrative blanks left by Apollo, who never tells us the details of Zeus’ abuse, and therefore… never tells us about Hal. 

To tell us about Hal would require Apollo to admit that he had no choice. No good ones at least. It would require Apollo to admit that he’s not at fault. 

But how can he not be at fault? He literally did do this. It was his words that cursed his son. His hands that delivered the instruments of torture.

So Apollo doesn’t talk about Halcyon. But when he calls himself a terrible father, when he berates himself for his failures as a parent, as a person, as a god, you bet he’s holding himself responsible for Halcyon too.

And in this light it’s interesting, I think, to note that despite how Apollo feels re: prophecy there are no known present day children of Apollo who possess the power to look into the future. There’s only Octavian, who is a legacy, and whose gift is implied to have been passed down his family line, and perhaps Georgina, who is in all likelihood a legacy too, possibly even descended from a different branch of Octavian’s family.

We know from Hephaestus that sometimes gods can choose to suppress the transmission of a specific ability to their children. Hephaestus did it with fire, and I don’t think it’s farfetched to imagine Apollo would have chosen to do it with prophecy after Halcyon. Again I know Tsari has given this far more thought than I have, so I pass the metaphorical mic to her.

Finally, I want to talk about how this whole novella is basically a concentrated allegory of TOA, featuring Halcyon as a stand-in for Apollo himself. Forever trapped in his childhood home full of monsters who have stolen and perverted his voice, and that he can never escape because they are inextricably tied to him, and him to them. Punished for the crime of having a functioning moral compass and having chosen to follow it, and after years of death & tragedy that are framed as a direct result of that choice... he has almost completely internalized the idea that he might actually have been in the wrong. He's surrendered. He’s not only accepted the slaughter but has even become complicit in it. He’s become a monster himself.

And then we get Thalia & Luke who are a stand in for all the people Apollo bonds with on his journey, who give him hope again, who reaffirm his conviction that there IS, there HAS TO BE a better way, and reignite his will to fight. After all, he realizes, what does he have left to lose?

I turned my face to the sky. “If you want to punish me, Father, be my guest, but have the courage to hurt me directly, not my mortal companion. BE A MAN!”

To me this novella absolutely reads like a first outline of the TOA series that Rick might have later decided to flesh out and expand upon. The core themes, the central ideas are all in there.

But Halcyon can only find redemption through death. The narrative denies him the chance to survive and do better. He’s only a man, and for him the odds are impossible. He dies thinking that on some level he deserves it – he brought this on himself. He dies still thinking that maybe he was wrong to save that little girl's life.

I wonder if in the first draft of TOA Apollo was meant to die at the end like Halcyon did. In a way he did die, in fact. But he’s a god, and for a god no odds are impossible. So Apollo is reborn through the power that he finally allowed himself to reclaim, because he finally has learned to believe that he was right to want to use it. He was right to want to help people. He was right. He learns the lesson that Halcyon never could. He is afforded the opportunity to keep trying. 

[alexanderlightweight]

I don't have a specific prompt. I'm just in the mood for some angst. Whatever you feel like writing is fine with me!😁

this is for a verse (ritual & souls) because i can't write something angsty and not follow it up and this is sort of but not really major character death? but also it isn't? it's like using ritual death to travel worlds etc

i hope you enjoy and this was angsty enough for you!

-

Magnus stares at Alexander, at the man who was made for him, at the boy his soul aches to love and never will. Alexander is staring at him in horror and grief and his lovely hazel eyes are shimmering with tears. “Magnus—” he whispers, “why did you test him? He told you he would never let us be together.”

“Our father’s do not define us, Alexander.” Magnus reminds him and presses a bloody palm to his boy’s cheek. “I do not bow to my own, why should I bow to yours?”

“You denied your birthright.” Alexander reminds him and his tears leave tracks through the blood across his face. “You didn’t have the power to face my father, we both knew that.”

“But I had to try.” Magnus says, because he couldn’t not try to win and keep Alexander. There is so little that entices Magnus, not in this cruel world where only Camille is left amongst those Magnus once knew and Camille is the one who he wishes had died in anyone else’s stead. There was a boy Magnus almost saved, nearly a hundred years ago, but Magnus was too loathe to open his heart up for the potential of another loss. Whether that child survived his change to vampirism, Magnus isn’t sure.

Alexander was worth the risk, and he is still worth the price Magnus is paying. The knowledge that he has a match, an echo to his own soul, is too much a gift for it to be anything else in a world this dim. Cat and Ragnor always wanted this for him and it’s in their honor and his own obsession that he pursued it.

“You didn’t. You could have waited, Magnus. Until I got strong enough to ignore him. You know he considers me a mere babe no matter what. He refuses to acknowledge that I take after my mother in this way.”

“He fears that it could mean you won’t be immortal.”

“I already know I am.” Alexander cries out, and his lips are pressing to Magnus’ brow. “I knew it the moment our souls connected. A bond as strong as ours can’t form between two souls without an equal chance of living and dying. I’m as immortal as you are, Magnus. In all the ways that count.”

Magnus knows he is as well, it’s why he yearned to hide Alexander away immediately, and take him away from this world that was so cruel, to a different place. It’s why he risked it all for this plan, a way to send his soul from his dying body into another world, where he could create a new and safer life for and with Alexander. A world where Magnus can harvest power carefully until he can face any of the dangers he now runs from.

“Do something for me?” Magnus asks, knowing it’s cruel even as he says it. “Please, Alexander?”

Alexander buckles, knees on either side of Magnus’ hips as he nearly takes them both down. “Anything,” he promises, the sweet boy that he is, and Magnus leans back and presses a small shard of Magnus’ own soul, into Alexander’s palm.

“Come to me, darling. I’ll be waiting for you. Alright?”

Alexander looks at him with pained, grief-filled eyes and Magnus knows he’s asked his boy to make an impossible choice, but he doesn’t regret a single moment of it.

—

Alec shudders as he carefully lets his blood fall into the array. He’s saved this part of the ritual for last, even if it should have been one of the first. He can’t risk anyone or anything in service of his father to scent the royal blood and alert their king before Alec’s ready.

His father needs to arrive at the exact moment the ritual tears Alec apart, but after Alec has made a sacrifice of blood and life to ensure that he will be remade on in the world Magnus waits for him in. His father won’t know that, and that’s the most important thing. The unseelie king has strange powers over dimensions and even Magnus isn’t sure what Alec’s father is capable of.

Alec still isn’t sure what Magnus means, or why any of this was necessary if they could have just hidden and waited but he knows that somewhere, Magnus is waiting for him, and he doesn’t think he can handle the thought of not going to him. There is an aching wound in Alec’s chest where their bond once thrummed, a frayed and writhing mass of agony. Alec thinks that Magnus dying in his arms was his punishment and this slow torture in his chest is a reminder that Magnus is waiting for him.

Alec can’t not go to him.

Alec can’t bear the idea that Magnus is somewhere with this same, hollow ache and Alec doesn’t care what it takes, he’ll do it.

If that means sundering his soul and body apart in the hopes that Magnus will be able to catch him and pull him back to him and together again, then he will.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Content warning: abuse of power, Hero Whumper, Villain Whumpee, Interrogation 

This is a sequel to THIS post. You don’t need to read the previous post to understand this one, but it does give some added context.  Villain had made several mistakes that had led them to their current predicament.

Their first mistake had been attempting to continue their normal life alongside their vigilante activities. It had left them too accessible, too open to scrutiny. Had their colleagues noticed the unexplained bruises and cuts that littered Villain’s skin and made a connection? Had one of their visits to a targeted location as a civilian aligned too closely to their attack as a villain? They didn’t know, and that itself was a problem.

Their second mistake had been thinking that their crimes would be appreciated by the hero community, and thus go largely ignored. They did not see themselves as a hero, nor did they wish to be seen as such. They were a villain, and as a villain, they could get at the mundane evils of the city. Doctors that gouged their patients for every last penny, politicians who took bribes at the cost of the city’s happiness, officers that abused their power over the weak. Heroes weren’t designed to face such problems. Villain thought that the heroes would, if not approve, at least respect having their cause enough to leave them be. Civilian had called that belief naive. Now, Villain wondered if they’d been correct.

Their third mistake was allowing Civilian to get involved. It would’ve been easy to simply disappear, allow Civilian to forget about them and move on. But they didn’t, because they were selfish. They couldn’t stand the thought of leaving Civilian. They’d known them for years, loved them for years, and the thought of never seeing them again felt like a fatal blow. And so Villain had stayed, letting Civilian help them plan their next steps, letting themselves enjoy the comfort of having a loved one near. Letting Civilian continue to be in danger.

That was one mistake Villain would rectify. 

Villain couldn’t help but grunt in pain as their head was slammed into the table. They felt the metal dent under the force, heard their nose crack and break. Once the hand pushing them forward released, Villain pulled their head up and gasped for breath, blood dripping from their nose.

Through blurry eyes, Villain saw Hero come into view. 

“Why are you being so stubborn about this?” Hero’s voice was calm, without even a hint of frustration. They sat down at the opposite end of the table and leaned back in their chair. “I’m offering you a great deal. Just tell me who your accomplice is, and you can be out of prison in only a couple of years.”

Villain sniffed, glaring. “ It’s not very heroic to torture someone for information. If I can’t trust you to act like a hero, how can I trust you to keep your word?” 

“I’m protecting the greater good, who cares if I have some fun in the process? And besides, what does it matter to you? You aren’t going to get a longer sentence for pointing us towards your friends; why not take the chance?” Hero gave them a lazy smirk. “What, is it someone important to you? A parent? Maybe a lover?”

Villain’s blood ran cold. They’d barely spoken a word, and yet it seemed they were leading Hero directly to Civlilian’s doorstep. They couldn’t let that happen. Dread threatened to still Villain’s tongue, but they forced themself to speak calmly. “You’re assuming I have an accomplice at all.”

Hero laughed. “Oh, I’m not assuming.” They stood, making their way over to the cabinet on the far wall. They opened the door and, after a moment of searching, pulled out a long, thin blade. “Final chance to talk before I really start using force.”

Villain glared, disgust clear on their face. “Do your worst,”

Hero only laughed. “I was hoping you’d say that. 

[promptling]

STAR TREK ( 2009 ) change pronouns as needed.

we have visual.

are you seeing this?

there is no help for us out here.

get off this ship.

do you know the location of ________?

where are you from?

do exactly as i say.

just keep breathing, you'll be fine.

i can't do this without you.

hey, are you out of your mind?

is there a problem, officer?

i presume you've prepared new insults for today.

they called you a traitor.

logic offers a serenity humans seldom experience.

come here, let me see you.

there's no need to be anxious.

fine has various applications, fine is unacceptable.

you have surpassed the expectations of your instructors.

it was logical to cultivate multiple options.

it's truly remarkable that you have achieved so much despite your disadvantage.

that's a lot of drinks for one woman.

don't you at least want to know my name before you completely reject one?

this townie isn't bothering you, right?

relax, cupcake.

it was a joke.

you all right?

you can whistle really loud.

i don't need a doctor, damn it, i am a doctor!

i may throw up on you.

one tiny crack in the hull and our blood will boil in 13 seconds.

i got nowhere else to go.

you've been requested on the bridge.

why are you so happy?

i think i love you.

that is so weird.

i'm doing you a favor.

i couldn't just leave you there looking all pathetic.

a little suffering's good for the soul.

i wish i didn't know you.

don't be such an infant.

may i have your attention, please?

how do you feel?

we're flying into a trap!

i think you've had enough attention for today.

i do not believe that you and i are acquainted.

your survival is unlikely.

the complexities of human pranks escape me.

i guess you have to come and get me.

how long do they have?

are you nuts?

we must evacuate.

what do you need?

tell me.

i need everyone to continue performing admirably.

you must have a lot of questions for me.

we have nothing left to discuss.

are you actually suggesting they're from the future?

the logical thing is to be unpredictable.

don't do that.

you gotta be kidding me.

how did you find me?

how do you know my name?

you hate me.

you are not the captain?

it will be easier.

so you do feel.

you could at least act like it was a hard decision.

you realize how unacceptable this is?

you don't eat anything!

how do you think i wound up here?

i do feel guilty about that.

do they still have sandwiches there?

you're coming with us, right?

under no circumstances can he be made aware of my existence.

i am emotionally compromised.

let's get this over with.

a trick i learned from an old friend.

i'm not telling.

i'd rather not take sides.

i will not allow you to lecture me about the merits of emotion.

you feel nothing!

you never loved her.

i am no longer fit for duty.

i like this ship!

thanks for the support.

i sure hope you know what you're doing.

either we're going down, or they are.

what is necessary is never unwise.

i am as conflicted as i once was as a child.

i would cite regulation, but i know you will simply ignore it.

i'll be monitoring your frequency.

i have no comment on the matter.

i'lll cover you.

do you know where it is?

wow, that's weird.

it appears that you have been keeping important information from me.

i knew i should have killed you when i had the chance.

your species is even weaker than i expected.

you can't even speak.

i got your gun.

what are you doing here?

just following orders.

i would rather die in agony than accept assistance from you.

we cannot afford to ignore each other.

do yourself a favor.

put aside logic, do what feels right.

it is my honor to award you with this commendation.

your father would be proud.

i can provide character references.

[ashyyslashy]

Deal: Cobb Vanth x Fem!Reader Pt. 4

Part Three

After an unexpected absence, the sexual and romantic tension between you and Vanth finally comes to a head.

warnings: language, sexual material: p in v sex, oral (f! receiving), improper use of a bacta pod

word count: 3,170

A sense of guilt settled in your stomach. As you eased your way through the passage leading to the Modifier’s workroom, you weren’t completely sure that Vanth would be waiting for you on the other side. It was the longest you’d gone without visiting him. You hated that your life had grown too chaotic for the person whom you most looked forward to seeing. This hecticness was evidenced by the fact that you were even still scantily clad in your work clothes- you’d nicked a client’s oversized coat and draped it over yourself to avoid the embarrassment. 

You could barely bring yourself to crawl, rather unceremoniously, onto the workroom floor.

“Vanth?” you called before you'd even had a chance to scan the room for him.

You immediately saw that the bacta pod was empty for the first time in weeks. Your eyes roved up the Marshal’s unfamiliarly upright body as he stood before it. He was slumped back, arms crossed tightly across his chest. He must have heard you coming in. Everything about his posture appeared deeply guarded. 

“Yeah?” he said gruffly. 

You charged towards him and enveloped him in a hug without thinking twice about it. His scent drifted into your nose: sharp and metallic, distinctly sterile. You caught a slight undertone of a generic aftershave. He stiffened, his arms unfurling to half-heartedly wrap around you. His touch sent chills across your body. 

You pulled back, beaming.

“You’re. . . Wow.”

“Yeah,” he repeated. 

Your smile quickly dropped. It was clear that ignoring the elephant in the room wasn't an option.

“Fuck- Vanth, I know. I’m sorry.”

“How was I supposed to know you were even going to come back?”

His voice was raw with emotion you'd never seen from him before. 

“I know. You didn't,” you acquiesced, your voice breaking.

He shook his head in disbelief. “This last week was the hardest one yet, Eve. And I thought I'd have you to get me through it.” 

“Vanth, I wanted to be there. Please. I can’t be sorry enough.”

“I think I deserve an explanation, then, at the very least,” he replied, his voice wavering. 

You stepped forward, grabbing his hands in yours. He stared down at you apprehensively. 

“Yes. You do.” You let out a sigh. “I had a really big job, with an infamously high-maintenance client. A sort of week-long entertainment venture. It’s an opportunity that I was never going to get again. Best pay I’ve ever been offered the whole time I’ve been in this line of work.” 

You paused, but he remained still. 

“Now that I say it, all of that doesn’t even matter. I wish I hadn't taken it. I promise you. You are much, much more important to me than money. I’m sorry for being so selfish.” You forced the words out, tears welling in your eyes. 

His face softened slightly.

“There’s no way you could have told me this?”

You shook your head profusely.

“I promise you, I had no time. He’s very specific about the schedule and all that shit- you know I would have told you if I could have. Or. . . I hope you believe me when I say I would have.”

He breathed out a long sigh.

“You’re not selfish. You're not indebted to me, and this was a huge opportunity for you. I’m glad you took it. I overreacted.”

“No, no, you didn’t,” you protested. “I told you I’d keep showing up for you, and I didn't. You have a right to be really fucking mad at me.”

You dug your nails into his palms, afraid of letting him go.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I shouldn't have gotten so fixated on you coming to spend time with me. You have a life,” he answered brusquely. “I got in the way of it, because I needed… someone there so badly.”

“Stop,” you said, exasperated. “Stop trying to make it seem like I don’t give a shit about you. If I didn’t care about you, Vanth, I wouldn't have looked back. I would have just shrugged off that whole first night as a weird story.”

“Okay.”

He was silent for a moment, contemplating his next words.

“I just can't shake the idea that you pity me.”

You let out an involuntary groan of frustration, dropping his hands and taking a step back. 

“Pity you? Maker- Why would I have been making eyes at you for weeks if I pitied you? I like you, Vanth.” 

“I’ve never been insecure, never doubted when women said that,” he replied, his voice uncharacteristically soft and unstable. “But I’m having a really hard time imagining what you could have seen in me these past few weeks.”

“You think I’m that shallow?”

“No- I don’t know!” His voice was defeated. “I just feel like I lost a part of my dignity along with everything else.”

The pain etched on his face caused your anger to quickly evaporate. Without a second thought, you moved towards him in a few rapid strides and took his face in your hands. 

“I didn’t know you before, Vanth, but I don’t think you lost a damn thing about yourself.”

He tilted his face closer to you, nestling his nose against yours. You closed your eyes, and you felt his lips tentatively brush against your forehead. They traveled down the side of your face, before sealing your mouth in a feather-light kiss.

“Come on. You can do better than that,” you murmured against his mouth. 

He laughed quietly, shaking his head. But his lips pressed against yours, with force this time. His tongue teased its way in, and you were grasping his hair for support as you kissed him with a wild fervor. He held your waist in an iron grip.

The kiss was sloppy, warm, an exploration in unfamiliar territory. You sensed his hands hovering downward, his gentlemanly instincts preventing him from going any further. You took it upon yourself to rid him of any pretenses, grabbing his hands and moving them to cup your ass. He started slightly in surprise, before eagerly clutching the flesh. 

Soon, you had him backed up against the bacta pod. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he grunted in pain.

“Fuck. I forgot.”

“Nah, you’re okay, doll. I’m just still getting used to it.” 

He hoisted you up higher, trailing kisses down your jawline to your neck. Your hands moved down to his chest, pawing at the fabric covering his sturdy body in an attempt to prompt him to take it off. It clung to the outline of abs. 

“I don’t have anything on underneath,” he murmured, clasping your hand.

“That’s why I want it off,” you whispered.

He seemed suddenly shy, almost ashamed. 

“Here, I’ll go first. Is that alright?” You coaxed. “We don't have to go that far if you don't want to.”

“No, no, I want to. I want to see you,” he breathed.

His eyes traveled hungrily down your body, still cocooned in the coat.

You realized how strangely shy you were around him too. You hadn’t had a meaningful relationship outside of sex in years. The uncomfortably familiar fear crept into your mind: that he was just using you. You weren’t worth anything beyond your body.

“Is everything okay?” he asked softly. You brought yourself to stare directly in his eyes, fogged over by desire; yet his gaze held a distinct adoration. It was a stark contrast to the hungry, lustful expressions that adorned the faces of the men you encountered in your career. 

You slowly breathed out, trying to let the stresses melt away. 

“Yeah, don't worry. I know, the escort being nervous, it's ironic.”

He grabbed your hand and squeezed it tight.

“It's not. Take your time, beautiful.”

Basking in the burst of confidence his words gave you, you rather unceremoniously shrugged off the coat that was swallowing your body.

You immediately felt painfully bare in the glittery, see-through, tasseled number that you'd been squeezed into for several hours. 

His eyes roved up and down your body in an awed appreciation. 

“It’s bad, I know,” you said quickly, breaking the silence.

“Bad? Fuck no. You look amazing,” he replied in a thick, husky voice. 

He approached you, moving closer until he was nearly pressed against you and you could feel his body heat rolling off him in waves. 

“Can I take it off?” he whispered.

You just nodded, feeling intoxicated by his presence as he towered over you.

His hands raked over your body, caressing every curve. Lifting up the bottom, he  exposed the thong that provided little coverage. He moved the string of fabric aside, his finger gently tracing your wetness. 

“How do you get this fuckin’ thing off?” he asked, his hands searching.

“There’s a zipper on the back,” you offered, too far gone to find humor in the situation. You just wanted his hands back on you- immediately.

You felt goosebumps forming across your skin, your hair standing on end as his fingers wandered to the back of your dress, pulling it open at what seemed a painfully slow speed. 

“You’re being too much of a gentleman,” you murmured, the dress dropping to your feet.

He let out a musical laugh, moving to press himself against you. 

“Sure about that?” he breathed into your ear, his fingers hooking around your underwear. He tugged at it teasingly, until he pulled too hard and it snapped in his hands. He looked down in surprise.

“Uh, yeah, the material’s pretty cheap.”

“Or I’m really, really strong.”

“Mhm,” you rebutted. The wind was abruptly knocked out of you as he endeavored to prove his point- you were shoved up against the cold wall, boxed in by his arms.

Just as you were reveling in his display of dominance, he loosened his grip, suddenly descending to his knees. Your heart instantly felt like it was threatening to burst out of your chest. 

He looked up at you, and your stomach tightened as his eyes bore into yours. Him on his knees for you was such a beautiful sight to behold. His lips were swollen and pink from your affections, his hair thoroughly mussed up. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice soft and understanding. “I just assumed it’d been awhile since someone put you first.”

Fuck. Me.

You nodded.

“Come on, I need you to use your words, darlin’.”

You sighed in a combination of arousal and annoyance. “Yes, Vanth.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, trailing kisses up your leg. His mouth whispered against your clit, steady and cautious. He continued to move his lips at a glacial place, appearing to be carefully savoring your taste, but causing you to grow impatient.

“Vanth,” you whined. “Do something, please.”

He drew back, looking up at you with a dazed expression. 

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I just wanna… savor you,” he said softly. You barely had any time to process what he’d said before his lips were back on you and you were overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure. 

“F-Fuck.. Stay right there, please,” you pleaded, squeezing your eyes shut. He expertly worked his tongue through your folds, sending your nerve endings into a frenzy. You unconsciously pawed at his hair, grabbing a handful of it in your fists and pulling him closer to you. You were utterly lost in the sensation he was giving you, your thighs trapping him against you.

“Vanth, I’m gonna-” you moaned out, hardly giving him enough warning before you achieved your high.

He slowly detached himself from your hold, his face slick with the remnants of your arousal as he licked his lips like a hungry predator. 

“I’m sorry,” you panted.

“Huh? What for, doll?”

“For having you in such a vice grip.”

He laughed, shaking his head.  “It was hot, believe me.”

“Come on, get up,” you demanded, grabbing at the fabric covering him. “I don’t know why this is still on.”

“You’re wasting no time,” he mused as he fumbled to free himself from the oppressive item of clothing in question. 

“Of course not.” You descended upon him like a wolf to its prey, your hands running down his torso and stopping eagerly above his waist. His cock sprung free from his waistband, pre-cum leaking from its angry pink tip. You wrapped your hand around it, pumping it up and down.

“Wait, wait, stop,” he cut in after a few moments, desperation painting his expression. “I don’t want to cum just from that.”

You halted the motion, your hand still grasping his appendage. “You’re saying you would cum from just this?”

“Hey, lay off me. I haven’t. . . y’know. In a while.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you’re, like, really backed up?” You slowly moved your hand up and down his cock. 

He shot you an irritated look. “If that’s how you want to put it, yes.”

“And where do you wanna cum then, huh?”

“You on birth control?”

“What do you think, Marshal?” 

He smirked and leaned in to continue, but you put a hand up to stop him. “Uh-uh. I want you to use your words.”

“To say what?” he asked, confusion settling over his features.

“What you just said. Where you want to cum.”

“Oh, so you’re gonna make me spell it out, then, doll? Alright. I’ll bite.”

He stepped back slightly, staring into your eyes with a piercing gaze.

“I want to cum inside you. ”

You mock-scoffed, placing a hand on your heart. “Using me like a cheap whore.”

“I’m sure you’re a very expensive whore, darlin’.” He pressed a swift kiss to your lips before stepping out of his jumpsuit. 

He kicked it aside, standing before you with his naked body on full display. Something about the way he seemed to avoid your gaze and shuffle uncomfortably indicated that he viewed his changed form as a source of shame. 

“You’re perfect,” you breathed. Your eyes surveyed his body, the gaping parts of him that had to be filled in with metal. Pieces of himself he’d never get back. But in front of you, utterly vulnerable, he’d never looked more handsome and completely whole. He was a masterpiece, the product of a clumsy God who’d managed to restore his broken creation to its original greatness. 

“I’m an old man, Eve,” he retorted, breaking your reverie. 

“Oh, shut up. You know I’m only several years younger.” 

“But far more striking than I am,” he said in a low voice, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Come on, let’s go over here. I don’t want to talk anymore, doll.”

He took your hand in his, and as you trailed behind him, you were unwittingly mesmerized by his figure. He stopped in front of the bacta pod, turning as if he could feel your eyes burning into him.

“Well?” He gestured to it.

“You want me to get in?” you asked, surprise and uncertainty creeping into your voice.

“It’s not like we exactly have a bed to work with, do we?” 

He sensed your trepidation as you hesitated to reply, stepping towards you and rubbing his hands up and down your arms.

“It’s not that bad. I would know, trust me.”

“I’m just worried we’ll- I don’t know, break it or something.”

He laughed. “Oh, please. This thing is made to withstand anything. Even fucking, I’d wager.”

“Don’t be so crass,” you teased, flicking him.

He tilted his head. “Didn’t I say I didn’t want to talk anymore?” he repeated, gesturing towards the pod again. 

“Alright, dick,” you muttered, cautiously clambering in. You winced at the sensation of its cold bottom against your bare skin.

“Lay down on your back please, darlin’.” He stood over the pod, his erection staunchly evident. You did as he said wordlessly.

He climbed on top of you, bracing himself on either side of the pod. 

“You ready?” He asked.

You nodded with a murmur of affirmation.

“Nah, darlin’. I thought we used our words here, remember?”

Ugh. Fuck him for turning what you said earlier back on you.

“I’m ready.”

He was motionless, cocking an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For you to fuck me, Marshal.” You placed an irritated emphasis on his title.

“Good girl,” he said softly. You felt heat rising to your face and your heart thumping against your chest as he drew closer to you.

As he lined himself up with your entrance, his eyes bored into yours. He was staring at you so intently, as if you were the only thing in his vision. 

He gently pushed himself inside you, his thrusts agonizingly slow at first as he adjusted to you. You let out a soft moan, relishing the feeling of him filling you up. You wanted more. 

He seemed deeply unsure of himself, but you could see the thinly veiled desire in his expression. 

“Come on, Vanth. Give me all of you. Please,” you encouraged.

Your words were all he needed to finally let go. Your warmth, your body, pressed up to him allowed him to forget the months of pent-up loneliness and self-doubt, if only for now. You pulled yourself closer, wrapping your arms around his neck as you felt his thrusts grow faster and sloppy. You wanted to melt into his strong hold, close any space that kept you apart.

“Mmm- I know, this is embarrassing, but uh-,” he started, his breathing heavy. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum for me, then, Marshal.”

He grasped at you, trying to brace himself on some part of your flesh. You steadied his hand, placing it o n your throat. He squeezed it with abrupt pressure in a passionate fervor, eyes blazing like a wild beast as he left you gasping for air. 

“Fuck- sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“It’s alright,” you breathed, secretly reveling in his complete loss of inhibitions. 

Loosening his grip on your windpipe, he began thrusting harder, faster. You could feel him reaching his climax by the way the hand around your throat went limp, his cock twitching inside you. 

His cum painting your insides, he pulled out of you with a throaty grunt. You whined at the loss of contact, grabbing for him. Your hands touched the smooth metal of his replicated flesh, and he winced away.

“What?” you asked, your stomach dropping. 

“Sorry. It’s not you, darlin’. It’s just still so. . strange. I’ll get used to it.” He placed your hand back on his shoulder. 

He leaned in, planting a kiss on your forehead and then your lips.

“Thank you. That was amazing,” he murmured. Lowering his voice even further, he added, “I think I might be in love with you.”

“I’ve heard that an unfortunate amount of times. Usually right at this exact moment.”

“Is it still unfortunate if I mean it?”

“No. I might love you too. The jury’s still out, though. I need the defendant to buy me a drink first, then I can decide.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like bribery, but deal. Let’s get you cleaned up, doll.”