#this was made with bren in mind

[scorpioriesling]

Heyyy how are you???? Crazy idea what about if xaden had a sister who stayed in aretia, never went to Basgiath, but she still bounded with a dragon (how to train your dragon style) only brennan knows ( brennan X reader) the dragon is son of Tairn and Sgaeyl

A Family Reunion

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Brennan x reader

Warning(s): none

Summary: You'd stayed in Aretia when your brother left for Basgiath -- but, that had been years ago. After falling in love with the capital's general, the impending family reunion was... well, not what you expected. Especially when your brother learns of what you'd been doing the entire time he'd been away.

SR’s Note: This was actually so fun to write, and I'm grateful for the request! It was a nice break from all the smut I've been writing lately, LOL. Between requests and Kinktober prep... well, you get the idea. I hope you enjoy!

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

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"Good morning, my love."

You smiled sleepily as your boyfriend pressed a tander kiss to your lips, your eyelids opening slowly as the early-morning sunlight welcomed you back into consciousness. His brown eyes gazed down at you as he hovered just above you, and your smile faltered a bit when you realized his attire.

"B-Bren... why are you..." You made to sit up in bed, arching your spine and releasing a big yawn. His hands helped guide you into a sitting position, and he knelt beside the bed.

"They're arriving today." He said simply, and your eyes widened.

"They... it's the 12th?" You ask, your mind beginning to race. Sure, you were briefed on the arrival a few weeks ago -- but you must have miscounted the days. Your eyes flickered toward his flight jacket, the "Aseraigh" patch sewn on the right side.

His fingers gently caressed your cheek as he nodded, and you kicked the blankets off in a rush.

"W-Well why didn't you wake me up sooner?" You exclaimed, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. Before you could stand, your boyfriend wedged his way between your knees, placing his palms on the bare skin of your thighs. You sighed, looking down at him impatiently.

"You appear so peaceful when you rest," he offered lightly. His admission had a small smile pulling your lips upward, and he reached in to kiss you again. Slower this time, his mouth molding to yours as though the two were made to be connected.

You slid your fingers over his, giving them a small squeeze before he pulled back from you.

"You know I'd give anything to just stay here with you, all day." The raw emotion in his voice had your heart swelling, and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Me too Bren, me too."

But unfortunately, you had to prepare for your brother's arrival instead.

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The sun sank lower and lower on the horizon, and with each passing minute, your heart raced faster.

There's no use in being nervous -- it's a waste of time.

Azar's voice rang clearly inside of your head, and you instinctively looked toward the cave opening. You half expected to see his blue-black scales glinting in the sun, but he had already retreated further into the covering.

Surely, in preparation.

I'm allowed to be nervous, you replied. I haven't seen my brother in years, let alone been able to explain our... situation.

When Xaden had left for Basgiath, he left more than just his memory behind -- he left you. In a brotherly attempt to protect you, of course. Little had he known, you'd shared more than a last name; you posessed the same courage, grit, and intelligence as your older counterpart.

He also had no knowledge of your ability to bond with a dragon, especially outside of the war college. But, here we are.

You could practically feel Azar's eye roll in your mind.

Give me a break -- you and I, are most certainly not in the same situation.

Very true.

Azar had it hard; his parents surely didn't believe he was alive. Taken as a mere hatchling, Tairn and Sgael lost their only true offspring years ago; they'd adopted Andarna, sure. But if you could guess, they'd believed Azar to be deceased.

Before you could fire back a reply, you turned at the sound of Brennan's voice.

"Right, and the rooms are prepped? All the medical supplies stationed around the campus?"

He spoke with Iseul, the head of the Aretian Guard as they stalked closer to you. His eyes met yours and he smiled, severing his conversation with the general.

"All ready, sir. We have soldiers stationed around the city to assist in the arrival," he explained, and Brennan clapped him on the shoulder.

"Excellent," he responded, nodding as Iseul made his departure. He turned to you, a long breath exhaling from him as he glanced toward the sky.

"Now, we just prepare for their arrival." He muttered. You nodded, stepping into his embrace. He held you close as the two of you watched, simply waiting for the incoming fleet to make themselves seen.

"I'm sure it'll go... great," you attempted to sound hopeful. Brennan chewed on the inside of his cheek, still gazing at the clouds.

"Yeah... like one, big, happy family reunion."

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The reunion was not happy. Nor was it big.

It was nearly eight in the afternoon when the largest of the dragons made an appearance through the coulds; large, dark, and intimidating. It had to be Tairn, surely. Your heart sunk when you glanced to Azar -- he'd temporarily lied outside the cave's opening in an attempt to sun his midnight scales, but upon hearing the chaos of the fleet's arrival, he quickly retreated into the cave mouth once more.

You focused more on clearing the groundspace as many Aretian soldiers and dwellers gathered near the entrance to Riorson House. The large, winged creatures flew lower and lower overhead -- riders appearing on many of their backs.

That was, except the black dragon's.

"Clear the way!" Brennan shouted, waving his hands as his army obeyed. Instantaneously, the ground shook below your feet as dragon after dragon landed in the land's capital.

You instinctively lifted your arms, the wind generated from the massive wingbeats before you pulling a few strands free from your high bun. Chaos ensued around you -- soldier pulled rider after rider from their creatures, many of them injured and in need of medical attention.

Heat blazed beneath your skin, the darkening sky calling to you in a way that you could not suffice right now.

Now is not the time for a lightning storm, Azar.

Again, the eye roll could be felt from a mile away.

Maybe not, but it would make for a dramatic entrance.

You shook your head, wondering if Azar's parents were as insufferable as he was.

Making your way through soldiers and riders rushing by, you halted when a humongous blue dragon landed just before your boyfriend. You watched as he reached toward the rider dismounting, exchanged panic shared between the two.

The taller, darker rider quickly transferred the limp girl he'd been holding in his arms to rest in Brennan's, explaining in a rushed, loud tone that she needed his immediate medical attention.

You stepped closer, bile rising in your throat as you clocked her silver hair. That, along with the dripping, veiny gash to her right side.

His sister.

The bile threatened to make an appearance. The girl looked nearly dead, but the silver hair was enough indication that she was in fact, Violet Sorrengail.

Brennan rushed toward the house, a few soldies and Iseul flanking his sides in an attempt to assist. You debated following him inside, that was before your lungs seized of air as you were pulled into a bone-crushing hug.

You breathed deeply in an attempt to regain oxygen, the smell of smoke and mint infultrating your senses. In your panic, you registered the familiar scent; and instantly relaxed.

Xaden.

"Oh my Gods, Y/N -- I can't tell you how many times I'll thank Malek for not taking you from me, not yet anyway."

He released you, pulling back to stare down at you. You couldn't help the stinging behind your eyes, the immediate rush of emotion almost too much to contain.

"Xaden I..." You pulled him in again, hugging him with intent this time. His hands wrapped around your waist and held the back of your head, as though you were sacred and precious all at the same time. You hated the tears that spilled over, running down your cheeks and dampening his flight jacket.

He loosened his grip, releasing you once more as you wiped at your nose with your own jacket. His brow raised as he took in your appearance, his gaze running quizzically over you.

"Your own jacket, huh?" He questions, and your breath catches in your throat. Shit. You were going to take it off before he arrived.

You chuckled, trying to find an explaination.

"Yeah! I uh... I liked the one that um," you coughed. "General Aseraigh wears, so I asked for one of my own."

His assessing gaze hardened.

"Is that so."

You nodded, your eyes catching on the chaos still ensuing around you.

"And, you seem... well, like you've been busy, here." His gaze flickers to your legs, the noticeable amount of muscle you'd packed onto them while training. You had to -- Brennan ensured you were ready and fit to handle Azar.

You scowled. "What, you expected me to do nothing around here while you've been gone?"

His jaw ticked.

"No, I'm simply noticing the... changes, in you. Since I saw you last."

Your fury burned hotter at his usual, calm tone.

"I've been training, so what?" You threw your hands up. "It's not like I have a dragon-school with dragon-school-teachers to go to."

The punch hit exactly where it should of.

"Oh, so Brennan's been doing it instead?"

Well, maybe not exactly where it should have.

Before you could fire another retort, your brother's attention is snagged on the front entrance to your childhood home. Someone is shouting for him to come, and he lets out a long sigh before departing.

"This conversation is not over."

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Your foot tapped impatiently outside the door.

Brennan had gone in hours ago, and you hadn't seen him since. Not to mention, your brother joining him soon after. With Azar still hidden away, you only had yourself and your thoughts to occupy your time.

Another half an hour longer, and the door creaked open. Your face lit up as Brennan squeezed through, closing it softly behind him. You took his face in your hands, and he immediately melted into you.

"How is she?" You couldn't help but ask. He drew his head up from off your shoulder to look at you, and your brows knit as you take in his exhausted expression.

"She's... well, she'll recover." He offerred, laying his head back down on your shoulder. "She hasn't woken up yet."

Your hands run comfortingly over his back, one tangling in his hair and scratching lightly. He lets out a sound of contentment, his voice muffled against your jacket.

Continuing to whisper your encouraging words, you let your eyes fall shut as well. It'd been a long day, a tiring one at that -- especially for someone like Brennan, who spent a lot of it preparing and mending and doing so much you couldn't even begin to imagine.

The door behind him opened slightly, but you were too lost in the moment to notice. It shut a few minutes after, and you began guiding Brennan to the living room to lie down.

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Your eyes blinked open a few hours later, the early morning dawn peeking through the living room curtains. You stretched out, yawning and looking across the couch.

Brennan wasn't there.

You look around the room quickly, not finding him anywhere. You made to stand, when a soft voice spoke from the shadows across the room.

"I sent him off to bed a few hours ago."

You paused, squinting through the darkness. Shadows lazily floated toward you, tickling below your chin and threading through the ruined mess of a bun on your head.

The quiet stretched on for a few moments, before you opened your mouth to explain.

"I think he may have just fallen asleep out here-"

"You really love him, don't you."

The chilling calm with which he spoke halted your hasty explaination. You leaned back against the couch, wiping a hand down your face. You sighed -- no point in lying now.

"I... yes."

Your brother looked at you in silence, his face a mask of unreadable calm. He breathed deeply, looking down at the floor before speaking again.

"Violet and I... we're..." he struggles to find the words. "I can't lose her."

Your face falls, and you stand to cross the room and sit by your brother. You wrap a comforting arm around his shoulders, the action feeling a lot like the way your mom once did it. He looks sidelong at you, the fear making itself known in his eyes.

"Xaden, I think Violet will be just fine," you say softly. "Brennan... he's good at what he does, and for his sister?" You shrug. "I feel like he'd do anything."

Xaden chuckles, leaning his head on your shoulder.

"You can remind her of that when she wakes up," he says, his tone suggesting that the reunion of the siblings might not go so well. "But, I'd do anything for my sister, too. So, I get it."

You share the quiet calm that follows, sitting beside eachother as a million unspoken words hang in the air between the two of you. It isn't too long before Brennan rushes in, his hair a sleepy mess on his head.

"She's waking up," he says, and Xaden stiffens. He rises with grace, crossing the room in a few small strides. He approaches Brennan and pauses before heading down the hallway, looking first at Brennan and then to you once more.

"You better never, ever do anything stupid to her, Aseraigh."

Brennan puts his hands up in surrender, and watches as his friend continues down the hallway. He looks to you with a raised eyebrow, and you shrug.

"I had to tell him-"

He sighs, taking the seat next to you on the couch and resting his head in your lap. He rubs at his eyes sleepily, another yawn escaping from him before he gazes up at you.

"It's way too early for this shit."

･ﾟ: *✧

Just as your brother predicted, the sibling reunion was... well, less than ideal.

"You really thought that hiding out here, letting your whole family believe you were dead-" her words are sharp as she follows Brennan out the front entrance, walking quickly toward where you and Xaden stood on the front pasture.

"...was the best idea? What the Hell, Brennan!"

Brennan huffed, stopping before the two of you and spinning on his heel to face his sister.

"Yes, Vi, I did. And, you know what? I'm glad I did." He admits, glancing toward you. His sister scoffs, folding her arms over her chest.

"Right, because changing your last name and forging a secret army in a secret, fucking, place, Brennan, is a terrific idea," she punctuates each word. "So glad you did it! Yep. So glad I had to watch our parents mourn you, Mira mourn you," she continues. He only shakes his head.

"This was all coming to a head," he interjects. "Had I not been here, where would you have gone last night? Had I not been here, where would your fellow cadets find refuge? Huh?" He continues. Xaden steps forward, hoping to ease some of the tension.

"It's not all his fault, Vi. I could have-"

"You could have told me the truth, instead of lying your way out of things. As you always do." She glared at him. "I'm not talking to you right now anyway."

Thunder rumbled in the distance, but it was not your doing this time -- though the sensation, the action was so similar to your own. Violet's hard gaze turned to you, and her face softened only an inch.

"You're Y/N, right?"

You nod silently, and she purses her lips.

"Great. I'm glad you at least kept my brother in line -- as much as you could, while he was lying to his family." She threw a withering glare to her brother. "It seems like we're in the same position, of sorts. A brother that lies, and..." she trails off, looking at Xaden. "Whatever, this is. Bottom line is, you lied too."

Your brother's face falls, and your heart hurts only a little. You could understand her frustration, and recognized your brothers usual avoidance of the hard situation by always taking the easy way out.

"Well... if I'm being honest-"

"Oh, some honesty is more than appreciated right now."

You winced as you looked at her, then looking to Brennan who only nodded. Xaden's gaze flickered between the two of you, his anger rising.

"Don't tell me you're..." he trails off. You give him a confused look, immediately after widening your eyes in shock.

"Oh! Oh Gods, no, Xaden. Nothing like that." You reassure. Even with that assurance, your brother glares hard at Brennan.

"No, seriously -- it's not like that. I mean, it's like that, but not like... that." He chuckles nervously, and Violet finally makes the connection.

"Wait -- the two of you are, together?" She whispers. Your gaze drops, and Brennan nods before Violet lets out a sarcastic laugh.

"Oh, my, Gods! This literally just keeps getting better and better." She throws her hands up incredulously, resting her palms atop her head. "Tairn is gonna get a load of this, and Sgael... Gods, I wonder how truthful you are with her." She glares sidelong at Xaden again, who only sighs and rubs a hand over his face.

"Violet, please-"

"Well, speaking of um, Tairn, and Sgael," you announce, and both Xaden and Violet refocus on you at the mention of their dragon's names.

"What about them?" Xaden asks, his tone questioning.

"Well... there's, one more thing I needed to tell you about." You say nervously, backing away slowly toward the opening of the cave. As if on cue, both Tairn and Sgael emerge from the treeline, stalking closer as the group follows you toward the enclosure. You take a deep breath, preparing to tell them -- when suddenly, all of their eyes widen, focusing on something just over your shoulder.

You turn, your face apologetic as you take in the prideful expression before you.

Azar emerges from the cave mouth, chin high, as his scales gleam in the early morning sun.

You only turn at the sound of your brother's voice once more.

"You, Riorson, have some explaining to do."

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

My Tears Ricochet

[mareastrorum]

With each Nein Again episode, I wish more and more that we could have seen how the relationship and pressures from Nott and Molly would have developed in tandem.

Nott’s coping mechanisms for her own hangups are usually projection and an alcohol addiction. She’s quite intelligent; she has so many thoughts at all times, and when her fear ratchets up, she drinks so she can get things done. She doesn’t repress her feelings, but she questions others’ because that’s easier to do than to spiral about her own, and it’s easier to spread the judgment around than to center it entirely on herself. She has a life to go back to, and while she is stuck in circumstances where she doesn’t believe she can simply return, it’s still something she wants.

Molly opts for denial. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t care, and if someone forces him to face something, it doesn’t matter. He’s made up his mind that everything about Lucien is not and should not be something he has to deal with—unless it puts the group in danger. He only put up with Cree at Yasha’s insistence, and he couldn’t exactly cause a fuss in a crime boss’s personal hideout. Molly only told the Nein what he knows so that they could be ready if danger arises. As Taliesin said in a Talks, Molly is a celebration of the ephemeral. However, Molly also strives to exist only in that space. He doesn’t want fame, doesn’t want to be tied to anything, and he insists on having the option to cut and run, as shown with his reaction to the declaration of war in episode 18.

The most obvious example where they could have conflicted is Caleb’s backstory. We know from canon what Nott’s response was: Caleb did something horrible, but it was not his fault, he was a child, and he needs to forgive himself. Caleb pushed back on this for nearly the entire campaign, and whether he forgives himself or not, his perspective eventually shifts to recognizing that Trent Ikithon bears the brunt of the blame. Caleb also witnesses her struggle with the choice to go back to her family and when, and there’s no doubt in my mind that seeing Veth choose to adventure with the Nein impacted Caleb’s choice to destroy the T-dock. Her story was about reconciling elements from her past with her present, and Caleb eventually accepted that he is allowed to have a present life of his own.

We don’t know how Molly would have reacted to Caleb’s backstory, but it’s not a stretch to imagine that he’d say something along the lines of, “Well, that was Bren, and you’re Caleb. Don’t do it again.” And leave it at that. Nevermind that Caleb is Bren, because that would poke at Molly to consider that he and Lucien might be the same. Nevermind that Caleb wanted to do it (which is his primary hangup) because that was then and this is now, because anything otherwise suggests that Lucien might have something to do with why Molly is the way he is. Nevermind that Caleb’s memory was manipulated because that plants the idea that maybe something similar happened to Molly, and the sheer thought is terrifying. Why is Molly so skilled with swords? Why does he know things he doesn’t remember? Does it stop there, or is there more about him that actually comes from Lucien? Molly doesn’t even want to consider that, and he’s going to reject any mentality that even raises the question.

Molly would have been a character that resists Nott’s pressure in the group. He’s already been cruel to her unknowingly, but we don’t know the extent to which he would have done it once she revealed her story in Felderwin. I get the feeling he would have hated the whole arc; Nott has a kid, they’re chasing her kidnapped husband to Xhorhas, and then they’re the heroes of the Dynasty? Oh, that’s almost all his buttons. I have no doubt he’d have stuck with the group, but he’d have been anxious about it the entire way, and that would have added some delicious conflict.

Molly would have been the ongoing “We don’t have to go” voice whenever another PC was going to willingly face their backstory, which would have added more direct conversation for that PC to commit to why they’re doing it. Fjord doesn’t need to claim the last orb, but he felt he was responsible for keeping it safe from Uk’otoa. Beau doesn’t have to face her family, but she wanted to. Caleb could flee Rexxentrum instead of meeting with Trent Ikithon to see the beacon, but he accepted that he cannot run forever. We got some exposition on those regardless, but a character like Molly drags the reasoning to the forefront because he’s going to be sassy about it.

Granted, Molly could have sounded a lot like the annoying kid asking “but why?” after every answer, but Taliesin also played him as a bit of a pushover whenever someone offered up a reason. He didn’t want to deal with Cree at all, but when Yasha said she thought he should deal with it, he stayed instead of running out of the Evening Nip. He didn’t want to investigate the weird sounds in Labenda swamp, but once the group committed to saving the little bird girl, Molly ran into the fight. He didn’t want to get involved with the Scheuster kids beyond giving them some money, but once Fjord insisted on helping fellow orphans, Molly went along with it. One answer to the “why?” would have been enough, and “I felt like it” is good enough for him. He didn’t want to go deeper than that.

Nott served a similar purpose because she pushed back against the others as well. However, unlike Molly, Nott wanted to know the underlying motivation. She pushed Caleb to admit that he had grown to care for the Nein when they stayed at the inn in Shadycreek Run. Her questioning added tension to the arcs for Fjord, Jester, Yasha, and Essek.

So how would they have interacted? I could see Molly either refusing to engage with the conversations if he could avoid them or insisting that people don’t have to answer when Nott keeps asking them. But what happens when they ignore Molly and answer Nott? Would Molly have changed tactics when the other PCs decided they wanted to talk and they wanted to change? Would that have changed his perspective?

Crucially, how would he have reconciled his mentality with Yasha’s seeming betrayal? The PCs hadn’t had the time to recognize that she was under a Geas; it was a theory. Fjord and Beau believed Yasha had turned on them willingly. Jester and Caleb believed it was some kind of charm or control. Sure, Molly would have told Yasha not to chase Obann to begin with, but how can he reconcile “live in the present” with Yasha’s inevitable part in the Angel of Irons cult? He’d be clinging to that theory of mind control for his life, and the Nein went months without confirmation. Would Molly have changed his tune when Caleb insisted on meeting with the captive Volstrucker several times? Would Molly have supported Fjord’s decision to rebuke Uk’otoa when that meant the Nein had less power to rescue Yasha? Would Nott have needled him for trying to save Yasha after he likely needled others for trying to save their loved ones? Man, I’d have loved to see Nott corner Molly the way she had cornered Caleb in episode 27.

“Live in the present” is a lovely mantra—when there isn’t a past you want to return to or a past that’s chasing you. It would have been fascinating to see how that and Molly would have developed alongside Nott.

[elodieunderglass]

Rotating the Horse Boys in my brain and thought: What if they swapped places? IE: Charlie stuck around to do Horse Stuff and Killie fucked off to Be Happy? What would that look like, given that they'd still be who they are?

(The Horse Boys) Oh my GOD your MIND?!

hi. i don't know. how to feel about this.

press keep reading to continue

Charlie, who is personally committed to aging like milk as a carelessly freckly ginger in his own universe, is... a very different-looking person if he remains in the Horse Universe! Spending more time outside has made him all sunbleached and sundamaged, and this AU has put different lines on his face; not all mean, but different.

A core part of Charlie's character is that he isn't naturally an especially nice person; he makes the conscious choice to be kind, but he's a lot colder and more ruthless than Killie, so it's a choice he has to make CONSTANTLY, and would quite like a gold star for, actually! (Does anyone ever NOTICE the MASSIVE EFFORTS that Charlie makes to be a good, kind, patient person?? NO?? DO YOU NOT REALISE IT IS ALL AN ACT? ARGH.)

This Charlie doesn't worry about that at all. This Charlie is a snide, funny, fast-moving little fuck with a clearer physical resemblance to his father Bill, but an equally clear strain of no-fucks-given political-scheming catty little face from his mother Helena. He remains based at the family training yard in County Meath, being an absolute menace, but a massive change from Killie's circumstances is that Charlie domineers the whole family. Some things remain fixed (Bill is still disabled in a riding accident; Ciara still gets divorced) but in general Charlie has shoved, manoeuvred, manipulated and generally girlbossed his parents, siblings, and a significant portion of the extended family under his thumb, despite not being half the jockey Killie was. Then I realised that Charlie would have realised that too, clawed his way through vet school, instantly annexed Colm for his veterinary assistant/lackey, swung round to claim Uncle Bren and Aunty Blaw's loyalty, got the grandfather on side, and just completely cut Bill's legs from under him, leveraging Killie's exile and his status as The Family Vet in a total takeover bid to become head of the family and chief exec of most of the businesses. Why? Is he planning to take over the training yard? Nope! he just wanted to run all of their lives. He rides, but it's all local stuff - point-to-point and local chases - and probably, lacking Killie's sensitivity, goes hunting💀 Remains unmarried and unattached, knows perfectly well that he's bi, but manages to keep his assignations of all genders neatly hidden; all hookups in Dublin one county over; no kids, didn't even date Pippa. Pent-up, bitter, unhappy, mean: but scattering his energy so successfully in controlling 17 uncontrollable people and 2 stressful careers - essentially Patriarching the Dynasty, despite resolutely not fathering another generation for it - that he manages not to notice for DAYS at a time. Half the reason why Charlie made a calculated multidimensional bid for power was that he reckoned if he did ever get a different-gender partner, he'd have the social capital to carry it off, and everyone will have to deal, because this is Charlie's nation now. (The other half is that he's holding space for Killie to come home, ditto.)

But without his sincerity and warmth and joyful heart, he doesn't seem to be attracting the kind of people that Charlie's still-essential Charlieness would want to settle down with... and he remains enough of himself to realise that, if only subconsciously. So his birth family's all better off around him... at the expense of him not having his own spouses and kids :( oh that's so sad. Charlie loves his kids.

i don't know who this twink is omg

I can see Charlie so clearly but this guy... I don't know him. I mean, Killie's a Sunscreen User, but still. If you remove all the jock from Killie, what remains is almost unrecognisable?? This is Cillian Worthington; he's a very different animal, and I don't know that he's happy, and this is a STRANGER. Unsettling.

When Charlie went into Exile in his home universe, he made some fairly brilliant strategic decisions to avoid the usual fates of homeless queer kids, as well as the private investigators his family hired to get him back. He bolted for England and the evil posh Worthington family, alienated by their rotten daughter Helena for being rancid; they're awful and impossible to live with, but Charlie just wanted a landing pad. Consolidating his plans, buying breathing space, and changing his name, Charlie then springboarded into uni, supporting himself with bartending and music. If Killie did the same... the Worthingtons would welcome him out of spite for Helena, and then more genuinely. But he wouldn't have quite the same savviness and independence, and would find them soul-crushing. Regardless, once he adopted their name, they'd put him in uni and pay all his bills, and he would do weirdly well there - as long as he "kept his nose clean." With fewer temptations to bite, Killie would dutifully keep his nose clean indeed. From there - god! He could actually be an academic. Charlie didn't manage it but jesus CHRIST. Killie probably could.

Dr Cillian Worthington, pretending he isn't constantly fighting his demons, not setting foot in the countryside or looking at animals because it will remind him of his Horselessness. He wouldn't be able to deal with the Horselessness, and he would not be able to get enough capital to get any horses at all, and if he can't have them there's no point breaking his heart wanting them. A clean break is better. Put all horsiness into a box and punt it into the sun.

There would be a scene where Killie just snapped and stole a horse and it ALL CAME BACK OUT.

And another scene where they were reunited, and Killie could break Charlie down completely by just saying calmly, "You used to love music."

[theseinfernalangels]

Need You Now - Brennan Sorrengail 🛡️

Synopsis: The thing about surviving near-death experiences is that you’ll always remember them vividly. For you and Brennan, unfortunately, that’s just about every other night.

WARNING for night terror-esque flashbacks and something akin to a panic attack from both characters. Take care of yourselves, lovelies. Unspecified time — probably sometime during Fourth Wing.

A/N: Finally something for our Lieutenant Colonel! Sorry it had to be kinda angsty, but I made a list of ideas for myself and this is just something that I feel like writing right now. I am a Brennan girl 4 lyfe.

Running. Running is all you can do. All you can afford. In this place, with these people, the only way to keep yourself alive is to run.

Blood roars in your ears, runs down your arms, but moves what feels so sluggishly through your veins. It’s not natural. You’re running faster than the wind can blow, but your heart ceases to beat. That shouldn’t be possible. None of this should be possible. You glance down before pausing in your steps entirely.

You cannot feel the blood rushing through your veins, you realize, because all of it is gushing from a gaping, gorey wound in your stomach, the red essence seeping into your flight leathers like a rising tide and drowning your senses.

Your mouth doesn’t move, but you hear a high-pitched shriek ring through your ears followed by a feral roar that echoes throughout your mind.

“Saintly One!”

Falling. All you feel is yourself falling, falling, falling into a pit of inky darkness as your senses are choked and wrung with a coppery, metallic scent.

There’s blood. So much blood. All you can see, smell, taste is –

Your thoughts are cut off by another ear-splitting roar.

“Wake up, Saintly One!”

It’s dark. It is so very dark, but it is not black. It’s wine-red, the color of –

“He needs you now! Awaken!”

He needs you now —

He needs you now —

He needs you now.

 ⋆｡°✩

You jerk awake with a sharp gasp, your lungs heaving and gulping down the air they so desperately need. Sweat drips down your brow, and your trembling hands flit around for something to grab hold of – someone to grab hold of.

Brennan. You need Brennan.

You flip yourself over, searching frantically for the familiar head of russet curls that graces the pillow next to yours every night. Of course, he is right next to you, but he too is twitching restlessly in his sleep.

He needs you now, too.

You watch as Brennan lets out a small whimper of pain and fear – so much unlike the man you’re now used to. That sound can only mean one thing, though: He’s reliving the Battle of Aretia for the thousandth time, up to the moment where he’d gone completely limp and pale as death in your arms.

Your heart races, and you feel tears burning at your waterline, but you’re used to this routine now after so many nights of mutual terror. You suck in a breath, hold it for a moment or two, and then exhale shakily.

“Bren,” you whisper faintly. “Brennan. Wake up.”

The trembling man does not stir, but his quiet whimpers increase to hushed murmurs of nonsense. Your heart twists at the sight. During his waking hours, Brennan is the strongest man you’ve ever seen, both in body and in spirit. He’s an absolute powerhouse, but when he’s at the mercy of his own memory…You feel like you’re watching a child hiding from a thunderstorm.

“Brennan,” you try again, a little louder. You reach a still-shaky hand over to his panicked form; you hesitate for a moment, your hand paused mid-motion above his body. You don’t want to scare him further, but you know after years of this that a simple call of his name most likely won’t work.

You suck in another breath, hold it, exhale, and lightly trace a finger over one of his biceps. “Brennan.”

Immediately, he jolts upright with a sound that sounds like a choked scream and whips towards you, hackles raised and eyes narrowed as if he’s staring in the face of an enemy. You slowly withdraw your hand and keep your gaze level with his stern look, fear clouding the edges of his irises.

“It’s just me,” you whisper, your voice still quivering from the sheer intensity of your own nightmare. “Just another stupid dream again.”

You both stare at each other for a few more moments, your chests heaving in an uncanny rhythm that has almost been perfected with the amount of times this very situation has happened. Brennan blinks a few times, his eyes slightly glazed and unfocused.

“It’s just me,” you coax him, slowly opening your arms to show him that you’re unarmed and safe. “Just me, love. You’re safe, Bren. You’re alive.”

A few more beats pass before his form deflates and he sighs softly, scrubbing a hand over his face. He looks back down at you, still sprawled on the bed, before slowly lowering himself into your arms. His head comes to rest silently right next to yours. You tuck yourself into him and run your thumb up and down his forearm.

“Easy,” you murmur. “Breathe. In four, hold four, out four, remember? You wanna do that with me?”

His eyes struggle to find yours for a second, but he eventually succeeds and nods once. His fingers clumsily clasp yours, and the next ten minutes consist of the two of you tangled in each other, finding your lost breath and grounding the both of you back into reality.

Some time passes before he finally speaks, his voice hoarse from disuse. “C’mere, angel.” He lightly grasps your waist and hoists your body on top of his, wrapping his strong arms around you and tucking your face into his chest. Your ear rests right on top of his heart, which still pounds furiously, but not enough to frighten you. His calloused fingers dip into your hair, running through the strands absentmindedly. It grounds the both of you at once; your weight presses into him, and his fingers rub against your scalp in a way that seems unnecessarily gentle.

It doesn’t take any words between the two of you to know that both of you had the same recurring dreams as usual. Brennan takes a few more seconds to breathe before he speaks again.

“How long were you awake before I woke up?”

Your eyes feel heavy, so you shut them without protest. You focus on his slowed breathing for a second before you respond.

“Maybe a minute or two. Couldn’t tell.”

He swears softly under his breath before you feel yourself moving again, your body sliding against his until your head is by his shoulder. His lips, slightly dry from dehydration, brush against your temple lightly.

“”M sorry, angel,” he soothes you, rubbing little figure-eights into your back. “You alright? No pain?”

When the nightmares first started, you’d sworn to him that you could feel the phantom pain of a knife in your gut where the original wound had been, even though it was Mended not long after you’d received it. Brennan, the sweetheart, would always press his hand to your stomach to show you that there was no wound to heal – no wound at all, save for a jagged scar on your abs.

You make a small sound of disapproval. “No, I…” You falter when you taste something warm and metallic in your mouth, a faint sting throbbing at your mouth. You freeze, eyes snapping wide open. 

Blood. All you can see, smell, taste is –

Your panicked thoughts are cut off once more when Brennan’s hand sweeps under your chin, his fingers brushing against your skin as he lifts you out of the crook of his neck. His amber eyes meet yours again, and then soften once he glances at your mouth.

“Oh, angel,” he sighs, swiping his thumb against your lips. You feel a warm sensation flow through you before the sting ceases. You’d bitten your lip open, you realize; probably sometime during your nightmare, trying to muffle your terrified noises out of pure habit. And your boyfriend, like the good man he was, Mended it for you.

You dab at your mouth lightly, your arm now smeared with a dark, coppery stain. “...Thanks.”

You lay back down; you barely pay any mind to the blood in your mouth as Brennan resumes his previous ministrations to calm your racing heart. The two of you go quiet again. For such a terrifying night, this has honestly been one of the more okay scenarios. You wince as you remember the night a few months ago where Brennan had coaxed you awake, and you responded by punching him in the face.

“It is better to remember the humorous times over the scariest ones,” you hear your dragon, Sciath, rumble softly. “I apologize for rousing you so abruptly, Saintly One.”

You make a little noise in return. “No,” you reply, “I’m glad you did. I’d rather have one of us awake to get the other out, you know?”

You pause. “I’m sorry if I woke you up, Sciath.”

The dragon makes a little motherly tutting noise. “Come now,” she chides. “We’ve gone over this. It is not your fault any more than it is the Restored One’s. I was awake, anyway.”

Brennan’s fingers graze your waist. “Sciath?”

You hum in confirmation. “Yep. Marbh?”

He shakes his head. “Bastard is still asleep. I think he’s used to me by now.”

You laugh softly, grateful for a less-than-frightened moment among all this chaos. “That makes two of us.”

A beat. Four beats. Eight.

Brennan hums and smooths your hair over with a practiced palm. “No talking about it?”         You sigh, dipping your head further into his neck. “Nope.”

You can almost hear him smile. “Got it.”

There’s no use in talking about what went on in both of your minds. The two of you had woken up like this so many times that it became easier to guess what you both were dreaming about, what you relived constantly in your memory.

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to fall back asleep,” you mumble. You feel absolutely exhausted, and you feel sluggish, but there’s no way for you to fall back asleep so easily when all you can see when you close your eyes is red, red, red.

“Me either,” he murmurs, his breath hitting your temple. “You just wanna lay here for a bit, angel? See what’s going on outside later?”

You nod. “I’d like that.”

You’d trade a lot to never have to live like this; to wake up screaming, drenched in sweat, writhing in pain that doesn’t even exist while your boyfriend does the same right next to you.

You would not, however, trade anything for the way he holds you – strong and tight against his chest, heartbeat now strong and steady, his fingers sinking into your hair like it’s second nature – not for the world, and then some.

[crtakespropogandist]

It's buck wild to me that it's so popular to imagine a Bren-who-didn't-break in a romance with Essek, or in a version of the Blumentrio where Astrid is the worst influence.

When Liam said Shadowgast Killing Eve AU, he wasn't talking about Villanelle and Eve parallels, and he definitely wasn't talking about Darth Bren. When Liam explained Caleb's instinct to manipulate Essek, people somehow took said explanation to mean that Bren was specialized in honeypotting/seduction, which, no. Bren the Volstrucker would be way more inclined towards a different kind of heat.

In the "Waldhexe" narrative, which Liam confirmed was analogous to Trent and the Blumentrio, Astrid lost one eye, whereas Eadwulf lost "much of" his brain, and Bren lost his whole heart. Astrid shared a final meal with her parents, whereas Eadwulf gave his a confrontation, and Bren killed his parents without entering the house, no thought spared for the family cat. Astrid defied Trent during the final battle, whereas Eadwulf had to be neutralized, and Bren would have killed Trent in his sleep for not abdicating to him soon enough. Every bit of content screams that Astrid is the best influence on Volstrucker Blumentrio, ambition and all. Without Caleb's new perspective, Astrid's view of the world is the most nuanced, and she is the most open to change.

I know it's not comfortable to imagine one moment capable of consigning Caleb's character to heartlessness, especially when that moment was sprung on him as an abused child. Especially when Astrid and Eadwulf's experience of that moment didn't define their respective capacities for redemption. Especially when Essek, having committed worse sins under less extenuating circumstances, is easily saved.

But the reality of a disordered mind is far from comfortable, and Caleb's struggle, as per Liam's comments, is one I know well. Caleb's OCD is much milder than mine given how he's now plenty functional and happy ohne Drogen (idk German), but one of the hallmarks of the diagnosis places Caleb "Magical Thinking" Widogast amongst the multiple CR PCs who are also puns*.

"I was so sure, until I wasn't." OCD made it impossible for Bren to tolerate that whisper of doubt the way Astrid and Eadwulf could. The implications were universal to Bren, all encompassing. He had to embrace that doubt as valid, or reject it as impossible. His mind failed to do either right then and there, and it broke him. When he was restored, that whisper of doubt was confirmed, and an OCD spiral of rumination entrenched in soon-to-be-Caleb the conviction that he is Bad and he deserves Bad. Nothing he does can ever reflect well on his true self, but cognitive dissonance sure rears its head when he joins the Nein, because Caleb is very smart despite OCD not caring about that.

OCD, like the Sith, only deals in absolutes. Bren the Volstrucker would not be among the jaded-but-resigned, morally grey operatives Astrid and Eadwulf became. Bren, having rejected that whisper of doubt, would rationalize away anything incongruent with the conviction that he is Good and he deserves Good. Nothing he does can ever reflect poorly on his true self, and cognitive dissonance would be kept at bay by well-articulated justifications that seamlessly build off of Trent's core teachings, because Bren is still very smart. Essek isn't still that hot, though. Cricks are enemies, and enemies are disgusting. The OCD, however mild, is stronger than the peen.

*Fjord "Texblade" Stone, Jester "Blue Healer" Lavorre, Ashton "Punk Rock" Greymoore, Fresh "One" Cut "Eyed" Grass "Monster", Imogen "Imagine Tumult" Temult

[jewgirlfriend]

matt mercer i think you laid the groundwork for a very interesting analysis of class struggle in the dwendalian empire. because it would be really interesting to explore the ways the cerberus assembly remains in power through exploitation of the peasant class.

like, the assembly is a political entity founded by and made up entirely of members from the socioeconomic mage class. mages make up the aristocracy, and to be part of the aristocracy one is either born into it, or could potentially buy into it if one has accumulated sufficient wealth; a highly financially endowed merchant from trostenwald or port damali might want to send their children to the notoriously selective soltryce academy as a way to cozy up to the high class mages of the empire. as seen in the real world, the chance at a higher education gets bigger the richer you are. in both scenarios, wealth remains concentrated mostly in the mage class.

an exception to this is obviously caleb, who entered the soltryce academy because of his great magical potential, not because his parents could afford to send him there. his individual case would not be common among academy students because of his poor background. trent ikithon saw this potential in him and took him into his tutelage so he could control him and have another mage who would further the already established aristocrat ikithon's political goals. trent also used the massive wealth gap between him and caleb to strengthen his iron grip on the boy's fragile and impressionable mind. trent's abuse of caleb to serve his own goals is a clear example of the exploitation of the peasant class by the aristocracy.

the soltryce academy is also closely affiliated with the cerberus assembly, with professors such as trent ikithon also holding positions as some of the most politically influencial mages in the empire. this creates a cycle that serves to perpetually restrict and strengthen the mage class. arcane research would necessitate exploitation of the peasant class, as the natural resources needed to fashion magical instruments would have to be extracted from the earth by people who work the land. this exploitation also serves the empire, because arcane research at the time of the second campaign is heavily focused around the use of magic in war and the training of war mages. the assembly works to advance the imperial goals of the dwendalian crown, and as a result enjoy liberties in their research to the point of being unethical. case in point: the volstruckers that we do know of, bren (caleb), astrid, and eadwulf, were experimented on by trent to fashion them into dogs of the state who would use magic to suppress dissention within the empire.

the empire's goals serve the arcane interests of the members of the mage class, and the mage aristocracy work to serve the interests of the dwendalian empire. it would therefore make sense that most if not all mages in wildemount were also nobles or otherwise wealthy.

[wastelcndbby]

closed starter || caleb widogast and astrid becke

please welcome the university’s newest hires!

astrid becke- professor of configuration

caleb would have continued clicking through emails had the very first name not caught his immediate attention. in fact, he read the name twice over just to ensure that his long work day hadn’t effected his brain. a million thoughts ran through his mind, and he was ashamed that many of them erred on the side of negative. you haven’t even spoken to her yet to know her intentions, bren. so that’s what he did.

he was kidding himself, of course. many years had passed since he called astrid a friend, but he knew her. far worse, he knew what she was capable of.

he leaned in her office’s doorway, his arms crossed, almost not believing she was here. “you’ve made quite the space here. it’s very…you.” he noted as he observed the books, the odds and ends that made up astrid becke. “did you place a bet with headmaster dekarios on how long it would take me to notice you were here? or was not telling me just always going to be part of the plan?” he asked, because he always did like to play with fire.

@seccndchances

[hello-eeveev]

Now that Bells Hells know that Caleb is Essek’s partner, this seems like the perfect time to share the lists of things bh knew about Essek, Caleb, and Essek’s partner that I compiled in order to write Above All (and continued to compile afterwards). I focused pretty strictly on what was confirmed explicitly by the text, but there are a few notes outlining what I thought might be reasonable extrapolations for the Bells Hells to make that would lead to them linking Essek and Caleb in their minds. Enjoy!

What Bells Hells Know About Caleb Widogast:

- Chetney, Orym, Imogen, Laudna, and Ashton met him and Beau at the Tishtan Excavation Site

^ c3 names Caleb knows: Laudna, Chetney (wolf form only)

- He wears a deep purple scarf (that info is just for me tho)

- allied with planerider ryn

- friend to the grim verity

- has been following Ludinus for many years with the intent of taking him and his inner circle down

- was part of the team that damaged the shadowfell key

- has been up against other Cerberus Assembly membys

- he used the word dunamis, but they have no clue what that is. they ask, and he gives them a very basic rundown (note to self: compare to Essek’s?)

- Obscure reference to the beacon that aligns with what Essek says in 95, but there’s like, nooooo chance they could put that together. also not a defining characteristic.

- has “someone on the inside [of the assembly]” who had to back away

- seemed to know a lot about the Cerberus Assembly

- admitted thorn in Ludinus’s side for quite some time, to the point that Ludinus uses his first name and wanted to gloat about his victory to him (and Beau) specifically

- metagame knowledge that Beau is with the cobalt soul, thus aligning Caleb with them

- using context clues, they correctly assumed origin is Wildemount, Dwendalian Empire

- Allura is familiar with him. some of his and Beau’s allies have been in contact (Essek???) (probably cobalt soul let’s be real) (but Essek did say he was an ally to the exandrian accord, so it’s not impossible that he has made some contact with allura, whether she knows of Essek or not)

- Zemnian (presumed by accent, usage of “nein” and “ja”)

- Had Jester relay messages via Sending (either doesn’t have sending, doesn’t have it prepared, or no spell slots)

- sent an archivist of the cobalt soul to escort them to Aeor

^ extrapolating backwards: Keyleth said that she would contact someone who had researched in Aeor, and when this person was unavailable, she said they would send an archivist in their stead.

^^ this archivist was Seth Domade, who was announced as “sent by a Widogast.”

^ extrapolating forwards: Seth is revealed to be Essek. Therefore, Essek and Caleb know each other and have both researched Aeor.

- is Essek’s partner :)

What Bells Hells Know About Essek Thelyss’s Partner:

- Zemnian (presumed by “gesundheit. I learned that from my partner as well.”)

- has followed/is following the Cerberus Assembly’s machinations

- told Essek a bit about Predathos, implying that this partner is privy to information that is largely kept hidden away

- kind and smart and so strong (of heart)

- Essek talks to him before bed

^ could we make an extrapolation that Essek wanting to preserve spell slots to talk to his partner implies that this partner does not have access to Sending? It’s a bit of a stretch, and not one I think any of the bells hells would be able to make with their limited knowledge of the mechanics of magic beyond their own capabilities

- was with Essek in Aeor when Essek got wild magicked into a fish

- carried Essek while he was a fish

- is “one hell of a person” (paraphrase of Ashton, confirmed by Essek)

- has a tangled history with the Assembly

- is a man

- a powerful practitioner of the magical arts

- teaches on occasion

- his name is Bren (Essek what do you mean, I’m going to kill you)

- is very intelligent

- would have brought the Bells Hells to Aeor but he was busyyy

- is Caleb Widogast :)

What Bells Hells Know About Essek Thelyss

- sent by Caleb

^ whether or not they were paying attention to that fact is up for debate, but it’s possible, and the information was available to them

- disguised as a Cobalt Soul archivist

- fugitive

- formerly of the Kryn Dynasty

- is the reason Ludinus has access to as much dunamantic knowledge as he does

- reformed in his dubiousness

- first name basis with an assembly member, but doesn’t like the assembly

^ tbf Astrid doesn’t seem to like many members of the assembly either

^ Astrid only cooperated with the interrogation because of Essek’s connection to an old friend

- has been to Aeor, and the genesis ward specifically (we know why)

- defaced a bit of Aeor :)

- used to manage a dynasty outpost in Eiselcross

- turned into a fish in Aeor

- has a tangled history with the Assembly

Side note: Caleb, Allura, and Essek’s explanations of dunamis [50, 76, and 95, respectively] share a lot of similarities in structure and verbiage. And Allura mentioned that she has compatriots more knowledgeable about dunamis and the Dynasty [76], which just makes me fully believe that Allura knows Essek too, not just Caleb.

[walkersbeloved]

with the lights on

cw// brief mentions of previous dubcon

words: 1.6k

Brendan always fucked him on his belly. Their first time he was taken on the rough hardwood floor of some shoddy motel room, his chin pressed against the vinyl while he tried to memorize the pattern of the wood instead of the pain shooting through his body, Brendan’s cock spearing into his unprepared and un-lubed hole.

He didn’t think he’d ever want to fuck Brendan again after that. Or any man for that matter. Not that he’d been planning to. But things never went according to plan, and Brendan Brady was a force he’d never been able to run from, always pulling him in despite his better judgement.

So he let Brendan fuck him again, and again, and again, and well—it turned out sex with Brendan wasn’t all that bad when he wasn’t in an adrenaline induced rage. And it turned out sex was a lot better when Brendan took the time to put a few fingers inside him first.

Every time Simon had been on his front, whether it be on his knees with his face pushed into the mattress, or when Brendan’s chest pressed tight against his chest as he was laid flat. It didn’t matter, and it was just the way Simon liked it. Impersonal. How they both liked it.

But then—

“Turn on your back,” Brendan gruffed. His cock hung heavy between his legs, pushed down with the weight of its size despite how hard he was.

Simon paused from where he lay on his belly. His eyebrows furrowed. “Huh?” he asked, turning his head back to look at Brendan like he’d lost his mind. “What for?”

“‘Cause I wanna see your damn face.” Brendan sounded annoyed when he said it, like he always did when Simon asked too many questions instead of just doing what he was told.

That only confused Simon more. He turned over reluctantly until he was splayed out on his back, Brendan crawling between his legs, too busy looking at Simon’s hole than him.

“Why do you want to see my face?” he asked.

Brendan sighed heavily, giving Simon a look that told him he’d much rather he shut his trap than answer all these questions. “This is how most people have sex, you know.”

“We’re not most people,” Simon argued, and he was thankful that Brendan had tossed his gun onto the dresser before pushing him down on the bed, because he was sure he’d have been shot dead otherwise.

“Do you want me to fuck you or not, Walker? ‘Cause I got other people I can call.”

That made Simon’s stomach twist in a way he didn’t want to think about, a bitter sort of jealousy creeping up his throat like bile, the kind that made him wanna say stupid things like “If you ever think about touching another person I’ll kill the both of you.”

But Simon couldn’t say things like that. So instead he settled on an arrogant quirk of the mouth and a quick joke. “Alright, alright, pushy, pushy—“

Brendan had his thighs wrapped around his waist before he could even finish his sentence, his cock pressing into him with a low groan.

The stretch of it made Simon gasp, the familiar pressure making his toes curl behind Brendan’s back. His hands gripped Brendan’s shoulders instinctively as a moan he couldn’t suppress fell from his mouth. “Bren…”

He’d never been fucked like this, and the angle was—god. His hips were tilted slightly from where Brendan had his legs around his waist, making his cock push deeper inside him than he’d ever felt before.

“Yeah? Is that good?” Brendan asked, his voice dropping into a purr, any trace of annoyance from before leaving him the second he heard Simon’s little moan. “Never had it like this before, huh?”

Simon hated when he talked to him like that. As if he was some inexperienced teenager that needed his hand held. But more than that he hated the way it made his cheeks run hot and his cock pulse between his thighs. Hated how much he fucking loved being talked to like he was stupid.

“Shut up, Brendan,” he panted, finding it hard to argue with him when his cock was pushing into him so deep.

His eyes were clenched shut, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead in the soft lamplight, pink cheeks mixing with the light oranges and yellows. If he had a mirror to see himself, he would’ve thought he was the ugliest thing to walk the earth—but Brendan thought he looked beautiful.

“Keep forgetting what a little virgin you are,” Brendan grunted as he fucked into him slower than usual, almost stumbling over his words when Simon’s hole clenched around him. “Gonna—gonna have to twist you up like a pretzel sometime soon. S’alot of positions you’re missing out on.”

Simon outright moaned at that, an embarrassingly loud sound that echoed off the walls of Brendan’s tiny bedroom. Cheryl’s room was right next to them, her headboard pressed against the same wall theirs was. His cock leaked against his skin.

“Shut up—M’not a virgin,” he panted, all of his usual charm and wit gone. “Stop calling me that.”

Brendan leaned forward so that Simon was bent in the middle at his belly, effectively fucking him into the mattress with the increased force of his hips. “Stop actin’ like one and I will,” his words were teasing, but his tone was surprisingly soft. His hand grabbed at Simon’s chin. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

“No—“ Simon tried to protest. If he looked into Brendan’s eyes now he knew what the other man would see. A lust drunk fool.

“Do it,” Brendan whispered, his free hand pinching Simon’s small nipple hard, pulling a little shriek from his mouth.

Simon’s eyes opened on their own, getting sucked into the depths of Brendan’s piercing blues. They’d never looked each other in the eyes during sex before, Simon wasn’t entirely sure why Brendan wanted this so badly now, because he felt like he was suffocating.

His stare was inescapable, almost as inescapable as the boiling pit of pleasure in his stomach. He wanted to scream.

Simon looked away, his hands digging into the sheets below as Brendan fucked him like his life depended on it.

“I said look at me,” Brendan’s tone was soft, fingers gripping Simon’s chin to turn his head towards him. “I’m not gonna bite.”

Simon almost laughed at that. He had scars all over his body to prove otherwise. But he still looked at him, no matter how much he felt like he was being flayed open. “Brendan, please,” he whimpered.

“What is it?” Brendan asked, cock pressing against Simon’s prostate so good he could barely think.

“I don’t—I don’t know,” he choked out. He’d never felt like this before, as if he was about to burst out of his skin.

Brendan kissed him, slow and soft, his lips unable to muffle the various whines and moans Simon kept releasing. He sounded like a cat in heat, yowling for the nearest mate to put him out of his misery.

He felt so good he thought he might throw up.

“Shh,” Brendan reminded him when they broke apart. “Not so lou—“

Simon let out another wanton noise, ignoring Brendan’s words—he could barely hear him over the sound of his ears ringing. “Feels weird—think m’gonna cum. Brendan—why do I feel so…” he broke off with a whine.

It was agony and bliss all at once, scrambling his brain until his eyes crossed and all at once he was cumming with a punched out noise, white coating his lower belly.

He felt his orgasm all the way in his toes, the sensation hitting him so hard it brought tears to his eyes. He was sure he was screaming and tried desperately not to think about what Cheryl would have to say in the morning.

“Fuck,” Brendan cursed. Simon’s orgasm had caught him off guard, the man’s hole squeezing around him so tight that he saw stars. “Simon—“

Simon wanted to kiss him. “Kiss me, kiss me,” he was begging before he could stop himself, but Brendan didn’t say anything, only pushed their mouths together with a grunt, a messy tangle of tongues and spit.

Brendan came a few seconds later with small rolls of his hips, his mouth never leaving Simon’s as he emptied himself inside him.

“Shit,” Brendan exhaled when he came up for air, “you okay?”

Simon’s ears were still ringing and he was sure he felt enough embarrassment to last him a lifetime. “I’m..yeah,” he coughed. “My uhm—my legs hurt, could you…” he gestured to where Brendan still had him bent in half.

“Sorry,” Brendan mumbled and pulled out of Simon’s with a low hiss, detangling their limbs until he was laying flat on his back again. “You seem kinda out of it. You sure you’re okay?” He’d never seen Simon like this.

“Just never done all that before,” he shrugged, trying to sound like his heart wasn’t about to explode out of his chest, and like this wasn’t the closest thing he’d felt to love since he was seventeen.

Brendan snorted. “S’missonary, Walker. Not exactly inventive, is it?”

Simon blushed, feeling a bit silly. “Yeah. Sorry. Don’t know what came over me.”

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Brendan huffed at him. He brushed his hand through Simon’s messy hair and tried to smile. “You’re getting sensitive on me.”

“Don’t call me sensitive,” Simon protested and Brendan shut him up with another wet kiss on the mouth.

“You wanna keep complain’ or do you wanna get in the shower with me?” Brendan asked, his lips pulling up into a soft smile, like he couldn’t help but beam as he looked down at Simon.

A dramatic puff came from Simon’s lips. “Fine—but you’re washing my hair this time.”

[callsign-rogueone]

allies - b.s.

cadet!Brennan Sorrengail x cadet!reader (part of my Brennan and Duchess series!) ✉: Would you mind telling us how they got each others attention in Basgiath? What made them fall for each other in the first place? words: 801 🏷: no book spoilers and no triggers! just bb bren and duchess meeting in year one at gauntlet training + a little happy moment from threshing day (and some info that will be relevant later in their story hehe). italics are spoken in Tyrrish!

Your foot slips out from underneath you, and there’s no recovering from it -- you’re falling. You manage to grab onto the nearest rope, the rough fibers burning your skin as they slide through your hands. Your descent slows, but you still hit the ground hard enough to wind you. You lie flat on your back for a moment as you attempt to catch your breath, just grateful to be alive.

A familiar face enters your vision; a boy in your wing whose name you can’t remember. He’s cute, his hair falling over his forehead in soft waves as he leans down, light brown eyes watching you with concern. “Are you okay?”

You blink at him, stunned at the sound of the words you’ve only ever heard from your parents. How hard had you hit your head? “You speak the old language.”

He nods in confirmation that you’re not losing your grip on reality. “My father taught me. The ancient languages are a passion of his.” His pronunciation could use some work, but he’s got the vocabulary down. 

He extends an ink-stained hand, and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. 

“How did you know I was Tyrrish? That I spoke the language?”

He blushes, suddenly shy. “I saw you use it to write your notes for Battle Brief. And your hair. I’ve only seen braids like that on portraits of the old queens in history books. It’s beautiful.”

Your cheeks warm at the compliment -- Tyrrish doesn’t have the same parts of speech or grammatical structure as Navarrian, so his use of it, likely referring to your intricate hairstyle, could have very well been him calling you beautiful in your entirety.

“Thank you,…” you hesitate, trying to remember his name — he keeps to himself, and he’s never been a threat to you, so you had never learned it.

“Brennan,” he offers. A good name. Strong. 

You smile at him. “Nice to meet you, Brennan.”

The crisp accent you say his name in stirs something in his chest.

For a moment, everyone else ceases to exist. You’re the only people out here, the only two who can understand this conversation, who are aware of the magnetism between you.

You still can’t look away, both of you locked in place as you commit every detail of the other to memory; the small scar on his chin, the way his eyelashes move as he blinks at you, the light wash of freckles across his nose… the pattern of your braids, the impeccable neatness of the stitches holding your patches to your uniform, the soft curiosity in your eyes…

Something tells you to trust this boy with the soft voice who knows your language and recognized your traditions, who is looking at you like you'd hung the stars in the sky. 

“Allies?” you ask.

“Allies,” he agrees.

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

You whistle across the flight field, and Brennan’s head snaps toward the sound, every muscle in his body relaxing as he spots you.

There’s a massive black dragon behind you, the largest of the group you’d seen at Presentation, the one that had taken interest in you from the start of the term. She stands with the same regal posture as you as she surveys her surroundings, appraising the rest of the freshly bonded cadets and their dragons.

You’re grinning from ear to ear, unable to contain your joy. You want nothing more than to run to Brennan and embrace him, but you keep your feet planted to the ground until you’re told to line up to have your names recorded by the scribe.

“Banriondorcha,” you state to the group of officers. A few pairs of eyebrows raise, including the General’s, but they quickly replace the concern on their faces with flat disinterest.

Professor Kaori is the first to speak, the only one who smiles at you. “I was wondering when she’d finally decide to bond. She has chosen well. I look forward to seeing your signet manifest, cadet. I have no doubt that it will be strong.”

“Thank you.”

Brennan had been ahead of you in the line; he’s already returned to his orange daggertail. They look right together, the afternoon sun bringing out the red in Brennan’s hair to compliment the dragon’s scales.

You stop ten yards away from them and lower your head in deference, not daring to speak to him directly, but it’s clear what you’re saying: you come in peace.

He steps back, allowing you to move toward Brennan.

You’re both freezing, having been wholly unprepared for the chill of the air at 1,000 feet above ground, but there’s warmth between you as you embrace, laughing in relief.

“We did it,” you breathe.

He leans down, resting his forehead against yours, a soft smile on his face. “We did.”

[brenhotapplepies]

Seen some stuff about Astrid being problematic in the same breath as praising Essek. I know media literacy is tough, but let’s examine.

How is Astrid problematic and Essek isn’t? They both are manipulative when it’s called for. Both are capable of lying, killing, and other untold horrors. Both are incredibly powerful.

One has had a lonely by choice and privileged life as the weird but useful son of the head of a Den.

One has had their identity stripped from them in a way that combines the worst of cults and the military. Tortured, experimented on, changed in ways we don’t even know the extent of.

One has had the pressure of his Den, his mother, his father, his brother, his whole community pressing on him his whole life. He stepped up into the air and took the weight as if it was effortless. He focused his life on study because it was the only thing that gave him worth in this society and it was genuinely what he enjoyed, whatever enjoyment was for him then. He had access to materials, books, almost anything.

One has had the pressure of her community, her background, in her face as she tried to beat the odds. The expectations for her were nothing, but she said fuck that. She studied with nothing, clawed her way into the venerated halls of higher magic learning. She does everything for the Empire, for Trent. She wants success for herself, because that is what gets her approval, keeps her safe.

One is in a position of power in his society. He has the ability to pull strings. He doesn’t think about how his actions impact his community or really anything besides himself. Sure maybe he wants to find something to impair the religion in the region, but it feels like even that starts out as a quest to prove himself right. His life is largely his own, despite the derision of some.

One is continuously tortured, tested, forced to PROVE herself. Cut her hair, stomp out any resistance to her mentor through any means necessary. Find some solace in their two peers. Made to kill their family to prove themselves based on a lie. She is conditioned to fight because who else will protect her country in the dirty, dark ways she has to? She is trying to salvage her sacrifices into a purpose. Bren is one of those sacrifices.

One kills indiscriminately if they get in his way. The man the Nein dropped off at the peace talks? I still remember how sad it was as he tried to piece together his broken mind, a mind Essek broke to save himself.

One kills for their country. Follows orders, kills when they find it necessary to protect those who cannot protect themselves. This is what she believes.

One GAVE AWAY a powerful religious artifact to HIS PEOPLE’S ENEMY. The intent was purely selfish curiosity.

One helped protect and study that artifact to PROTECT her country. The intent is curiosity to assist in her job, protect her country.

One finds the strength to allow himself to be loved and have friends after years of solitude. Because he just never was so fully loved. He finds the strength to let the ultimate time travel power and the knowledge that he was right go. To become comfortable with time he has left.

One finds the strength to listen to one of the only real, genuine relationships she’s ever had. Her first love. A reminder of her younger, hopeful self. She changes. She realizes the lies she’s allowed herself to believe. She finds the strength to not kill her torturer just to kill him. She finds the strength to testify. To promise that no other kids will suffer. Justice. To become comfortable with the time she has left.

One is a he.

One is a she/they.

I wonder what the issue is.

These characters are two sides of the same coin. They are both INCREDIBLY WELL THOUGHT OUT characters. They are more than just paramours of Caleb Widogast.

[bendingwind]

I see that we are doing viperquin fic outtakes!

I. uh. wrote a whole other fic for the second draft of All For Me for @thismission (the first draft focused on Ashur buying Tarquin increasingly expensive swords before sparring took place and stalled out at about 750 words - the third draft was the one that ended up posted). Anyway, I redirected to writing sparring fic (as part of Min & Z's Two Cakes Bakery, an ongoing joke between @minrathian and I about our treats and also because I fucking love sparring fic). I wrote this second draft doing sprints and it took a decidedly less smutty, more fluffy direction, which wasn't quite what I was aiming for, so I scrapped it. I do still kinda like it tho, so here it is in all it's unedited glory:

The day started out shit and it would, in all likelihood, end like shit.

Tarquin woke up late, tired from a long night liberating some spare change from the Chantry’s slave tax coffers, and barely had time to scrub his face and ass before scrambling into his clothes and jogging to work. He’d been berated for being late by the nosy stick-up-his-arse who was nominally in charge of the archives, because of course there was a surprise inspection. He’d been scolded for dust that didn’t exist, files that were clearly marked as being legitimately borrowed from the archives and in the possession of his superior officers, and then mocked because his damned tunic was inside-out.

And all that before lunch, which he had missed because some hoity-toity Magister wanted documentation on slave retrievals in Carastes and he wanted them immediately.

He had spent the afternoon slamming around scrolls and stacks of paper and anything else he could get his hands on, but it hadn’t done much to improve his mood. Mostly, he wanted to charge out onto the templar’s training field and demand someone spar with him just like he had in the army, but it had been made clear to him long ago that he in no uncertain terms was no longer welcome there.

Fucking templars. Fucking magisters. Fucking—

He kicked the foot of his desk, which only resulted in a sore toe because his boots were shit, too.

By the time he made his way to the pawn shop for evening training, Tarquin was too livid to consider whether or not he was in the best state of mind to spar with the younger Shadows and make sure they kept in fighting trim.

Tarquin knocked Quillon about enough to bruise his eye, and sent Marisa sprawling. It should have cooled his temper, or at least made him reconsider whether he ought to take a break to cool down, but instead he motioned to Lorelei’s pup, whatever his name was, and took his stance as the kid nervously entered the ring. He had half a foot on Tarquin, easy, and Tarquin wondered if at least he might face an interesting challenge.

“No,” came Ashur’s deep voice, just before Tarquin struck. Both combatants froze as Ashur walked out onto the balcony they’d cleared for sparring.

“Go get dinner,” Ashur ordered the younger Shadows, and they scurried to comply, Bren looking back with a small frown as he did so.

“You’re going too hard,” Ashur chided, though his voice was gentle. “What’s wrong?”

Tarquin snorted with disgust, but straightened out of his combat stance. Then, a thought occurred to him.

“If you’re gonna interrupt, you fight me,” he demanded.

Now that would be a real challenge.

“You’re in no mood to spar with anyone,” Ashur insisted.

“Try me,” Tarquin snarled, and to his surprise, Ashur began to discard his mage knife, outer cloak, hat, and the sharper, spikier bits of his armor.

“Alright,” Ashur said. “No weapons, no magic, don’t aim at the face?”

“Can’t bruise you where anyone might see,” Tarquin agreed sarcastically.

“Just so,” Ashur said mildly, and then he was moving.

Ashur in motion was a delight, in Tarquin’s very unbiased opinion. He moved with the fluid grace of a trained duelist, not the rougher, blocky motions of a soldier. Despite his size he was fast; Tarquin was hard-pressed to dodge the first blow when it came, missing only by a narrow margin. And Ashur kept coming, kept slipping past Tarquin’s guard but not quite hitting as Tarquin ducked and dodged and weaved, occasionally throwing a punch of his own. He made contact twice, and he was feeling pretty damn good about it, until Ashur twisted and wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him down to the ground. The long line of Ashur’s thick body pressed against his side, warm through layers of fabric and leather armor. A pleasant heat pooled at the base of Tarquin’s stomach.

“Fuck,” Tarquin said, nursing a bruised hip and grinning ear to ear.

“Again?” Ashur asked, standing and offering him a hand up. Tarquin took it, tugging himself back to his feet, and they settled into starting stance again. This time it was Tarquin who took the offensive, taking advantage of Ashur’s familiar patterns of movement, the spots where he would have thrown around his magic only it was against the rules. It took a couple of minutes, but he managed to swipe Ashur’s feet out from under him, sending Ashur crashing down onto the thick rugs lining the stone floor.

“Good one,” Ashur said, smiling up at him. This time it was Tarquin’s turn to help Ashur to his feet.

“Again?” Tarquin asked as sweat trickled cooly down his back.

“If you like,” Ashur said.

Tarquin tucked a stray strand of hair back behind his ear and, as another bead of sweat traveled down his spine, slipped off his coarse-spun shirt.

Ashur watched him with wide blue eyes.

“Too fucking hot in here,” Tarquin said, by way of explanation.

“Hm,” Ashur said, and began unbuckling the leather breastplate he wore. Tarquin hoped, hungrily, that Ashur meant to take off his shirt as well. A man had to take what he could get, after all, and shirtless Ashur might make up for just a little of his shit day.

Regrettably, he stripped only to his undershirt before he took up his stance again and Tarquin realized he’d been staring as Ashur undressed. The laces of Ashur’s undershirt had come loose, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of warm golden skin. Tarquin was still fucking staring.

Ashur was on him before Tarquin had time to blink, it felt like, sliding in under his guard to place a hard tap against the side of his rubs.

Tarquin grunted and turned to deflect the blow, then ducked the follow-up Ashur aimed at his shoulder.

“Fucking— shit—” he said, as Ashur did some sort of swoopy thing they never taught in the military, all elegance and precision and fucking beauty.

Left him wide open to a blow to the stomach, though, and Tarquin took advantage of that fact. Ashur grunted and fell to his knees, the air knocked out of him, and Tarquin damn near came from the sight of Ashur staring up at him alone.

His day, at least, was definitely improving.

He was too distracted to catch Ashur turned to sweep his legs out and knock Tarquin flat on his back, but he had only his own damn self to blame for it, he thought as he lay there wheezing and blinking away the stars from his vision.

“Dirty move,” he gasped at last.

“Whatever it takes to win,” Ashur countered, moving to kneel over Tarquin and peer down at him with concern. “Didn’t expect it to work, though. You hit your head?”

“Don’t think so,” Tarquin said. He wanted to reach up and peel the mask away, trace the lines of the face Ashur so rarely let him see, wanted to—

“You sure?” Ashur asked quietly. He summoned a magelight and peered into Tarquin’s eyes, his breath ghosting gently against Tarquin’s lips as the mask fell forward. His hand came to rest on Tarquin’s chest. “You look a little—”

Tarquin’s heart was beating too hard in his chest and a flush, from exertion or attraction or both, was working its way up his chest. Ashur was right there, warm and solid and so, so—

“I’m sure,” Tarquin said, and then he did maybe the stupidest thing he’d ever done in his life: he lifted his head and kissed Ashur, closing his eyes as the fabric of the mask covered them.

“Oh,” Ashur said, pulling away. Tarquin kept his eyes closed—maybe, if he didn’t open them, he would never have to face the awkward rejection and inevitable uneasiness that loomed miserably in his future.

There was a rustle of cloth, the slight scrape of metal against metal, and then—

A hand cupping his jaw, soft lips on his, and—

Tarquin’s eyes flew open, and it was all he could do to keep from jerking away. Ashur’s long lashes took up most of his vision, sweeping down over those sun-burnished cheeks, because Ashur was kissing him. Ashur hadn’t pulled away to explain in stilted words why he wasn’t interested. Ashur hadn’t left him lying there in the middle of the balcony floor, regretting every single second that had brought him to this point. Ashur was kissing him.

Ashur licked along the seam of Tarquin’s lips and Tarquin opened to him without thinking, unable to stop the noise that escaped from deep in his throat as Ashur licked filthily into his mouth and wrapped one of those large, warm hands around the base of his neck, pulling him up and closer.

It was Ashur’s turn to make a hungry little sound as Tarquin twisted in his grip, sitting up so that he could explore Ashur’s mouth from a better angle. Tarquin’s hands came up to rest on Ashur’s hips of their own accord with a grip that would have bruised without the leather of Ashur’s armor.

Tarquin was dizzy from lack of oxygen and the heavy pounding of his heart by the time they pulled apart, Ashur’s head falling to rest cradled in the curve of Tarquin’s neck.

“I’ve wanted to do that for too long,” Ashur said quietly, his lips moving against the bare skin of Tarquin’s clavicle. Tarquin shivered at the sensation, and wondered what it would be like to have those lips pressed elsewhere in hungry exploration.

“Shit,” Tarquin said, because he wasn’t an eloquent man, and he didn’t have words for what he wanted to say. Ashur shifted, something uneasy about the set of his shoulders.

“Tarquin?” he asked, and Tarquin didn’t imagine the thread of worry that laced his words.

“No, I, I mean… you wanted… me?”

Ashur began to pull away, so Tarquin wrapped his arms around him and held him in place, savoring the feel of his muscles through the fabric of his shirt.

“Maker, yes, I wanted you,” Ashur sighed. “I want you. And…?”

“Of course I fucking want you,” Tarquin said into the fuzz that passed for Ashur’s hair. “How could I not?”

Tarquin had never been more glad the baby Shadows had been sent away than he was in that moment.

“And more?” Ashur asked quietly. “Would you… want more than just this?”

Tarquin had a whole host of things he wanted to do to Ashur beyond kissing, an entire repertoire of well-worn fantasies that he visited of a night when he was alone in his shabby, shitty little apartment.

“Yes,” Tarquin said. But then—

“Hey,” Tarquin said hesitantly, loosening his grip on Ashur so that the other man could pull away if he wanted. “It’s not just—you don’t just want to fuck me, do you?”

Tarquin was ruining his own chance at have sex with Ashur and he knew it, and he was a damned fool who would regret this later, but now, in this moment, he suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of a meaningless fuck. Not now. Not with Ashur.

“Do I want…?” Ashur asked, sounding puzzled, and then, “Oh. No, Quin, I don’t just want to have sex with you. I want… everything.”

Tarquin’s eyes fluttered involuntarily closed and something in his chest, a weight he hadn’t even known was there, eased.

“Good,” he said quietly, and pressed a kiss against Ashur’s temple. He liked the feel of Ashur’s soft skin, so he pressed another kiss at the corner of his eye, and then another against his cheekbone, and then another against the faint stubble growing in as the day wore on.

Ashur seemed content to sit there, curled against Tarquin, and all the shitty things that had happened earlier seemed to fall away until there was just this: Ashur, in his arms, against his lips.

They stayed like that for a while, trading slow, lazy kisses as if they had all the time in the world, until at last Tarquin said, “It won’t work, you know.”

“Won’t it?” Ashur asked quietly.

“You’re… you know. I’m nothing, less than nothing, maybe.”

“To me, you’re everything.”

“That’s a nice sentiment, but—”

“Hush,” Ashur said, running a hand soothingly up Tarquin’s bare ribs. “We have all the time in the world to figure out how to make this work. This is worth any hardship to me—do you feel the same?”

Tarquin wanted to grumble about how hardship for the pinnacle of Altus breeding, the Imperial Divine and Grand Enchanter, was not at all the same thing as hardship for a washed-up Soporatus ex-soldier-turned-templar. He wanted to point out that the odds were stacked very strongly against them. He wanted to remind Ashur that Ashur’s stupid family would kill them both before they allowed them to be together, and that was only if the senior clergy didn’t get to either of them first.

Instead he laid a hand over Ashur’s, and said: “Alright.”

Someday, Tarquin was sure, probably sooner rather than later, this dream would come crashing down around them and it would hurt like hell. Until then… until then, he would savor every moment of this that he could.

“I know I said I didn’t just want to sleep with you,” Ashur said, and Tarquin could feel Ashur’s lips curve in a smile against his skin, “but how would you feel about getting dressed again and going somewhere more private?”

Tarquin laughed aloud, surprised and delighted.

“Fuck, yeah,” he said.

And if a few coins exchanged hands while they made their way less-than-subtly out of the shop, well—that was just the nature of things, wasn’t it?

[thearchivistsletterbox]

i was once convinced that i had such intent and control over my writing that i would never add anything unintentionally. like, everything was measured and predicted, even though my writing methodology has always been ‘put the words on the screen as the meaning comes to you in real time.’

but yeah. no unintentional choices, no subconscious motivators.

then i had a long-time-coming, very painful in a stagnated way, official end to my second-longest friendship. i won’t get into details, but it was a very complicated affair, not just the falling out, but the friendship itself. i watched my friend fall apart, ignored her flaws, and stuck around, even when she didn’t.

and during this period (not too long before the end, when she was at her worst, and afterwards), a friend of mine and i got together to write a novel together.

[side note, i fucking love cowriting, it’s such a beautiful and enjoyable experience. if you’ve got a close writing friend and are up for the challenge, you have my encouragement and endorsement.]

the way we decided to make the main character was to have two mcs who would take turns narrating the story chapter-by-chapter. my friend made their character, and even though i’m not sure this story will ever be finished, i love their character and would kill and die for them (bren they don’t know you like i do 😔), i took a step back designing my own. i think there was an understanding that, whoever we made, they would establish a lot of driving feelings and be very emotionally rich characters.

there was a defined difference between the characters. my mc was a recently exiled noble, hellbent on revenge against her father, who’d thrown her out for not fitting his standards of power. my friend’s mc was a farmkid with a loving dad and the powers of an atomic bomb.

one versed in high society, one who lived on the outskirts. one with almost no (“magical”) power to speak of, one with a unique, deadly strain of power. one focused on, and defined by, hatred and revenge, one focused on, and defined by, kindness.

anyway, my characters physical traits came easy. a teenager (as we’d agreed on), blonde hair, white skin, brown eyes. the blonde part is the most important.

let’s switch stories for a bit. one of the much earlier two stories here in the archives, when i first began tumblr, were school rules and on kingston alley. i loved these wips dearly, still do, that’s why they’ve turned into newer projects.

let’s talk about kingston first. one of the main characters, to be exact. a teenage girl, blonde hair, white skin, brown eyes, on the shorter side. seeing the pattern? good, because there’s more to it.

her personality and the personality of that other blonde protagonist have their similarities too. kingston’s mc felt neglected at home because her mother was a hotshot lawyer who actively hated her. she was regarded with caution around her small town due to her angry outbursts and unstable mental state. when she was younger. she snapped at people, got into fights, and all around couldn’t really control her emotions.

the mc of the cowrite is a similar story. snarky, overly confident (compensating for feeling weak), very emotionally blunt due to her upbringing and isn’t really able to focus on being vulnerable, being intensely guarded and only driven by her anger.

i’m summarising here, i could easily write essays upon essays about these girls, and the planned arcs for these two do address their issues, but i hope the point is coming across.

i designed these two completely separately, mind you. one never came into consideration when making the other (to establish the timeline, kingston came first, then school rules, then the cowrite).

now for school rules. i’m gonna dance around the details, because it’s the only wip that’s actively being remade (kingston is to an extent, but it’s not a direct remake, it’s a new wip, so i feel less cagey with it).

there’s one character, who, upon this rewrite, has really cemented herself into the pattern, though she was very close to joining in her first iteration.

do i need to give the list?

blonde hair, white skin, brown eyes.

as for her personality, she was dealing with some oppression in her school (slightly spoilers as to why), and had a reputation for her short temper and explosive moods.

so, over the course of a year or so, i’ve made these three characters independently. consciously, i put parts of myself in, but largely, these traits were seperate from me.

gosh, i wonder who i got those traits from!

my friend used to be very dear to me, even with her behaviours, both externally and towards me. it sucked losing her, and i thought i would never see her again, in any way.

i know now that ingrid, faye, and meredith, were all accidental projections of her, that came to be as i was losing her. we don’t speak anymore, but i still use the characters; i think i understand her better now.

tldr: your life affects your writing in ways you’d never expect and might not know weeks, months, or years after the fact.

[wherethemagichappens]

A fic concept:

Imagine: Essek, whlie walking around a town square in Tal'Dorei during his post campaign 'travels' and overhears an older couple asking around after both a Bren Ermendrud and a Caleb Widogast, a blue eyes, red haired man in his mid 30s (or 40s depending on the time setting). Has anyone seen him? They were supposed to meet here, maybe they missed him? Somebody brushes them off or snaps at them, they've been doing this for several years once a week, then a few times a week, now almost every day... Never mind, then, they'll try again tomorrow.

He, of course immediately messages Caleb to meet him there and he explains what he's seen and heard. Essek leads Caleb to the square the following day, he breaks down. He approaches them the day after, alone at first. The story they tell him is the plan he burned with that research in Aeor.

....the 'plot'...

A different Caleb from a different timeline mada a different choice, but Una and Leofric got displaced into 'our' Caleb's timeline/reality. He made the right choice in Aeor and gets to see his parents again, talk to them, introduce him to his friends and partner, with no way to send them to the intended time line.... He just gets to have this.... (or does he try to 'fix it'? but these people have made lives for themselves here for the past 20+ years...)

Or just, what would some of the conversations look like, getting to know each other again? Meeting the gang... Meeting Essek too, would that be a harder pill to swallow, or did they change over time as well?

(if this tickles anyone's interest at all and you take inspiration from this, please share, I'd love to see/read!)

[mattybraps10]

I Can See You | Brendan Brisson x Hughes!OC

Summary: Brendan and Phoebe reflect on their relationship as Matty joins them at the house, reigniting Brendan's feelings for Phoebe.

Word Count: 1093

By: M

Parts: part one | part two | part four | part five

PART THREE:

Brendan threw the sheets into the washing machine, turning it on and wandering onto the deck to finish his beer. It’d been a while since he’d seen Phoebe, and her presence was overwhelming. 

The door opened and Phoebe sat beside him, looking out onto the water. For Brendan it felt like he’d traveled back in time to before he’d gone to college, before he’d messed up what they’d had between them. 

“You really didn’t have to give up your room for Luke’s friend, I would’ve been fine with him on the couch.” Phoebe said, breaking the comfortable silence.

“I know, I just… I feel like I should protect you. I know you can handle yourself and Matty’s a great guy and all but… I guess I’m jealous? I don’t know.” 

“It’s not your place to be jealous anymore Bren, I mean you lost me.” She said, tucking her hair behind her ear and facing Brendan.

Bren.

Phoebe hadn’t called him that since they’d been together all those years ago, butterflies swarmed in his stomach as he looked into her blue eyes.

“I know Bea, I know.” He sighed, looking down into his almost empty drink, the moment shattered.

She rested her head on his shoulder as he finished his drink. Brendan imagined their lives hadn’t changed, that Phoebe was still his. He wished they were still sneaking around once her brothers were asleep, driving to Walmart and running through the isles at midnight, oblivious to the world around them. He wished he’d kept the photos of them she’d taken on her old camera when she’d been obsessed with documenting every aspect of her life. He wished he’d never left that night, that he’d turned down Michigan and promised to stay with her forever. But he hadn’t, he’d left and here they were. 

Definitely not nothing but also not something. 

An almost, a wish and a memory.

The next morning came, Brendan having slept on Phoebe’s couch as the sheets were in the dryer. He woke up, surrounded by her. Her clothing spread along the floor, perfume wafting through the brightly painted room. When Phoebe was younger she’d taken her paint set to the walls and painted intricate murals of everything and everyone she loved. Brendan wished he could still see where they had hidden their names within a heart, a new mural having taken its place. Intricate vines surrounded a large sunflower, the faintest lines of their names still peaking through. Brendan stood up, walking towards the flower, another reminder of all he’d lost. He slowly traced his finger over the remnants of his name, a smile on his face.

“What are you doing?” Phoebe said, stepping out of the adjoining bathroom in nothing but a towel. 

Brendan turned, startled as he quickly realized her lack of clothing. Despite the pure want clouding Brendan’s mind, he resisted the urge to grab her by the waist and remove the towel. 

“I- uh- well- I was admiring this flower. It wasn’t here before.” He said, a blush radiating up his neck and onto his cheeks.

“Yeah okay Bren, sure. Now turn back around so I can get dressed.” 

He turned around resisting the urge, once again, to see her without her towel. Her beauty hadn’t been lost on him as she’d walked through the door the day before. 

Once Phoebe was dressed, the two of them headed to the kitchen to get coffee and find out the plans for the day. Since Brendan had been in Vegas, he still hadn’t acclimated to the time zone which meant he’d woken up much later than everyone else.

“Good morning sleepyhead.” Jack said as Brendan walked through the door, still clad in pajamas. 

“Here, I made you a coffee, it’s kinda cold now though…” Quinn smiled, handing him the drink.

Brendan had forgotten how great it felt to be around people who truly loved and appreciated him. Don’t get him wrong, he loved his dad, but his dad had been away a lot growing up and the Hughes’ were the closest things he had to a functioning family.

“Where’s Moosey?” Phoebe asked, sitting at a barstool and picking up the tea she’d left earlier in the day. 

“Picking up Matty, he should be back soon though.” Jack replied, taking the seat next to her. 

Just as Brendan finished his coffee, the door opened and Matty bounded down the stairs. 

“Hugheseys, Brissy, I’m hoooome!!” Matty had never been one for shy introductions as he quickly scooped Jack, Quinn, and Brendan into a hug.

“Hey buddy, it’s been a while. How’s Seattle?” Brendan asked, a genuine smile painting his face. 

“It’s been good man, rainy, but good. How ‘bout Vegas?” Matty smiled, genuinely happy to be back at the lake. 

“Good, really hot, but also fun.” Brendan laughed, as he tried to mimic what Matty had said.

“Oh, hey. You must be Phoebe, rude of me not to introduce myself. I’m Matty.” He said, offering a hand to shake as Phoebe wrapped him into a hug.

“No need for pleasantries, if Lukey likes you so do I. How was your flight?” 

Brendan tried not to acknowledge the pang of jealousy he’d felt when Phoebe had so easily offered his friend a hug. She hadn’t hugged him when she’d seen him again, and Luke liked him more than Matty! He knew it wasn’t fair, knew their relationship was different, but it still hurt. 

“It wasn’t that bad actually, I got to watch some movies I wanted to see and catch up on my sleep.” Matty said, a charming smile plastered onto his face.

Brendan frowned.

“Ooh. What movies did you see? I watched Spiderman in the car yesterday. Tobey Maguire, obviously.” Phoebe said, clearly lapping up Matty’s unwavering charm.

“Oh well obviously Maguire was the best Spider-man, but Garfield was the better Peter Parker. And don’t get me started on Holland. His Spider-man had it so easy. As for the movies I watched, I saw the new hockey romance movie, Odd Time Rush, and I also started the Elvis movie but I fell asleep like halfway through.” He smirked, looking at Phoebe.

“Didn’t peg you as a romance guy, but I guess the hockey part makes sense. All work all the time.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“What did you peg me as, huh? You just met me, there’s so much to get to know.” Matty winked, as Phoebe chuckled.

“Alright guys that’s enough. Get a room.” Brendan said, finally having enough of their banter and skulking away to Phoebe’s room.

[dagreninjagurl]

Christmas Shopping

This is gonna be my first Venom fanfic cuz I’m bored and I’m trying new stuff out. And happy holidays to all.

This event takes place after Venom War, AND THIS COULD HAVE HAPPENED IF VENOM WAR HAD A HAPPY ENDING. It’s mainly Dylan Brock and Bren Waters going Christmas shopping until something came up.

———————————————————————————

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to recover from the Venom War. It was so chaotic. I don’t even know where to began with it. But all I know is that we got Dad and Venom back. I never told them this, but I feel so glad for both of them to be home. We don’t have to be on the run anymore. Spider-Man made sure there would be no military units or science company on our asses again.

RING! RING!

I pick up my phone from my bed—near Sleeper who was peacefully napping on the bed. I stare at my phone as I realized Bren was the one who was calling me.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hey, man. You wanna go Christmas shopping with us?” he spoke as Toxin. I heard the wind blowing through the phone. I only assume they were swinging through the city.

“Why? It’s only December 1st.” I said.

“Cuz we’re gonna be out of town next week. Might as well shop and hang out with you,”

“Can you pick me up? I don’t have a ride,”

“Well, I’m already at your door. So be ready,” Bren replied as I soon heard the door bell ring.

DING DONG!

“You’re going with Bren, I assume,” Sleeper calmly said as it stretched in its cat form.

“Yeah. You coming with?” I asked it. In response, Sleeper nodded.

I rush downstairs with Sleeper to see Dad and Venom watching a Christmas movie in the living room. Though, I only see Venom’s head bobbling next to Dad.

“I’m going Christmas shopping with Bren,” I said so that they won’t have to make a scene of worries. A moment later, Venom turned around to see me in my iconic blue sweatshirt.

“If you’re going out like that, at least wear a coat,” Venom scolded as he reached a tendril for my coat that was hooked onto a coat rack near the front door.

“Here,” he insisted.

“Thanks, Venom. Do you guys uh—want anything?” I asked them as I put on the gray coat.

“All we want is for you to have fun before we get a snowstorm. And chocolate of course,” Venom answered.

“Have fun, kiddo!” Dad exclaimed from the couch.

“Okay, see you guys later!” I said before exiting through the door with Sleeper on my shoulder.

As I exited, I saw Bren standing in front of the steps of the door. His expression seemed irritated as he watched me exit the door. He wore a maroon and navy blue jacket that corresponds to Toxin’s form.

“About time, man. I’ve been standing here for five minutes,” he complained as he stared at me as I locked the front door.

“Five minutes isn’t nothing,” I replied.

“Whatever. Anyway, where do you want to go?” Bren asked as I walked down the steps of the town house.

“I don’t know. You have anything in mind?” I questioned as we stood in front of the steps of the town house.

“We were gonna get a gift for Dad. Except, we don’t have clue what to get him,” he responded.

“What about we walk around town and see if we desire for any of the shops,” Sleeper suggested.

A moment later, we began to walk down the aisle of town houses. We live near the metro of the city—close enough to where we can intervene if there’s a crime nearby.

We walked down numerous blocks of stores. However, none of them caught my interest. Except, Bren and Toxin’s attention was focused on such a dogwater store.

We paused in front of a Barnes and Noble.

“How about we look through Barnes and Noble?” Bren suggested as he stared at the sign that spelled out BARNES & NOBLE.

“You actually shop here?” I questioned them.

“Yeah? You don’t?”

“No, man. It’s so dog water,” I responded in annoyance.

“Whatever, man. Let’s just get inside. It’s so cold out here,”

Then, we entered through the open entrance of the dog water store. I don’t know if they have chocolate in here. I could sense Venom really wanting it.

“Does this place sell Chocolate?” I asked Bren as Toxin slowly appeared next to his neck.

“Well there’s a Starbucks in here. There’s a chance they could have chocolate,” Bren answered.

We then walked passed a few aisles to reach Starbucks. There were only a few shelf’s that contained similar items to chocolate. We browsed through some of them. However, there was an inconvenience.

“What the hell? How are they out of chocolate?” Bren exclaimed in a frustrated look.

“You know what, it’s fine. We can always look somewhere else,” I responded.

“But they shouldn’t be out of chocolate. They’re usually in stock!” Toxin replied as he let out a tendril to tap on the display name.

“See? It’s supposed to be all chocolate,” Toxin said. “All of those greedy humans took them al!”

“Calling us greedy, huh?” I commented.

“Like what you said. Let’s look somewhere else,” Bren repeated.

However, as we slowly approached the exit of Starbucks, we heard a little commotion behind us.

“Give us ALL of you money, lady!” a man with a ski mask begged as he held a pistol in front of the cashier.

“YEAH! Just give us the money, and you’ll be free. You don’t want to die, do you?” the accomplish demanded as he held both a pistol and a gray Walmart bag.

Sleeper and I stared at Bren and Toxin, and they stared back. Without any words, and by the family connection we had, we already knew what to do.

“COME ON LADY HURRY—“

“You dare arm an innocent woman?” Toxin questioned as they shifted their arms into a sharp precise blade.

“You all are going to hell,” I sharply criticized in my Codex form. It’s a good thing Venom left a tiny piece of himself within me—in case of an emergency.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” one of the robbers shouted as Sleeper shifted into its regular form—fuming numerous chemicals in the air.

In the end, the two robbers were no big deal. We were only there to intimidate them. They lay flat—unconscious on the checkered floor.

“You will be safe, lady,” Toxin said as they walked across the two unconscious bodies.

“Please call the police immediately,” I requested. “And tell them… we saved you,”

End?…

———————————————————————————

Part 2?

I might create more Venom fanfics in the future.

I’m currently making a small comic and the fic was based off of that. Stay tuned for that!

Happy New Years everyone!