#web wove

[squash1]

[the raven king, maggie stiefvater / normal people / extremely loud and incredibly close, jonathan safran foer / skam / strawberry wine, noah kahan / our flag means death / the good place / ted lasso / the raven king]

[pulledrounder]

fruitrollup on tumblr // Mary Karr, excerpt from Cherry // Wendy Cope, “The Orange”

[taohun]

JUMPSCARED by my own hands on the dash

[mooshywrites]

If requests are still open: may we have hcs about how the bg3 boys react to bard!Tav serenading them? I just think it would be so cute

A/N ~ I love this idea so much, I just know it deserves frantic bard writing ;-;

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Serenade

Gn!Reader x BG3 men

Masterlist

Art commissions

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Astarion ~

Astarion thought bards were utterly useless until he met you. He had never put that much stock into music either. But the day you sat in front of the campfire with him, plucking your lute to all of the songs you knew, his heart melted.

As the soft melody of your voice filled the air, Astarion found himself captivated by the enchanting sound. His skeptical gaze softened, replaced by a glimmer of curiosity and wonder. The flickering flames of the campfire danced to the rhythm of your fingertips, casting mystical shadows upon the surrounding trees.

Lost in the embrace of your music, Astarion closed his eyes and let himself drive sea. Your voice, like silk, wove together tales of love and heroism. With each note that danced upon the night breeze, he felt a newfound appreciation for the artistry that had eluded him for so long.

Unbeknownst to you, Astarion’s icy exterior began to slowly thaw beneath the warmth of your melodic gift. The walls he had built around himself slowly crumbled, revealing vulnerabilities long buried within.

As the lullaby reached a gentle conclusion, a momentary silence settled over the campsite. Astarion opened his he’s, finding himself gazing into the depths of your own. In that instant, he saw a reflection of his own longings and desires. The connection between you, forged through the simplicity of this moment, was as delicate as a spiders web.

Without breaking eye contact, the pale elf reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. In that simple touch, a current passed between you, a sliver of magic that pulsed through your veins.

Wordlessly, Astarion leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours. Time slowed to a standstill as the world around you faded into insignificance. The flickering flames cast their golden glow hook. Your faces, illuminating the unspoken words hanging in the air.

And then, with a emotion in his voice that you had never heard before, Astarion whispered,

“Play for me again?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Gale ~

Gale always knew there was a magical quality to music. He saw you as a mirror image of himself, being hopelessly in love with a type of magic that would never love you back with the same intensity.

Though he’d never admit it to you, he silently hoped every evening that you would unwind by playing a song. As dusk began to fall, the sunset painting strokes of red and gold, today’s hope was no different.

You sat by the edge of your tent, your fingers absentmindedly plucking at your lyre as you tried to think of a song to sing. You caught Gale’s eye and smiled, his gaze finally giving you inspiration to play.

Your fingers began to dance effortlessly across the strings of the lyre, coaxing out a gentle melody that floated on the evening breeze. The magic of your music filled the air, intertwining with the vibrant colors of the sunset as they painted the sky. Gale watched enraptured, his eyes never leaving you.

As Gale watched on, the wizard felt a deep longing stir within him, a longing for something he couldn't quite put into words. In that moment, he realized that his admiration for you went far beyond your musical prowess.

Unable to resist any longer, Gale rose from his seat and made his way toward you. As he approached, the song you played seemed to weave its way into his very being, tugging at the strings of his heart.

You looked up as Gale drew nearer, a soft smile gracing your lips. The notes from your lyre seemed to synchronize perfectly with the rhythm of his footsteps, as if they were guiding him towards you. The music wrapped around him like a warm embrace, filling him with a sense of belonging he had never experienced before.

Finally, Gale stood before you, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of vulnerability and admiration. You hesitated your playing for just a moment before Gale’s broke out in a grin.

“Surely you weren’t singing about a special someone, were you?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Halsin ~

Halsin was probably your favorite person to play music for as of late. When he had first joined your camp, he only sat and watched when you brought out your guitar. It seemed to you that he was lost in his own mind most of the time, not allowing himself even the smallest of happy moments.

When you finally where able to heal the deep scars of the shadow curse, Halsin’s tune changed dramatically. Suddenly he was sat by you in the camp at all times, asking about what instruments you could play, requesting certain songs, trying to sing along to your gentle melodies.

What he loved most of all, however, was challenging you. He loved to see how quickly you could create a song. How easily you could string a line of lyrics about any topic under the sun. Tonight, he had a very simple ask.

Sing something that reminds you of the beauty of nature.

You could tell by the look in his eyes, the shyness in his tone, that his question had much deeper meaning to him than just that of a pretty song. No, he wanted to connect with you on a deeper level but couldn’t think of a way to make it meaningful for you both.

Despite all of that, you decided to indulge him.

As the moon cast its gentle glow over the camp, you took a deep breath and let your fingers dance across the strings of your lute. The melody flowed effortlessly from your fingertips, each note carrying the essence of nature's beauty.

You sang of sweeping meadows bathed in sunlight, where wildflowers bloomed in a riot of colors. You spoke of ancient forests, their branches intertwined like lovers, whispering secrets to the wind. Your voice soared, echoing through the night, as you conjured images of cascading waterfalls and shimmering lakes that reflected the starry sky above.

Halsin closed his eyes, completely absorbed in the enchantment of your song. It was more than just music to him; it was a bridge connecting his wounded soul to the world around him. As you sang, his spirits lifted, his heart opening up like a flower basking in the warmth of the sun.

When your song reached its final notes, there was a moment of comfortable emptiness. Halsin opened his eyes and looked at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. The silence that followed your song was filled with the lingering echoes of your melody, as if the very air was reluctant to let go of the magic you had created.

And then, Halsin spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper, as if he feared that any sound would shatter the fragile connection between you both. “Thank you,” he said, his words carrying a weight of gratitude that touched your heart.

“For so long, I had forgotten the beauty that resides in nature. The curse had consumed me, turning everything around me into shadows and sorrow. But through you, I have found solace and hope once again.”

Tears glistened in his eyes as he continued, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Sing it again?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Wyll ~

Wyll adored your music. It took him a few days to work up the courage, but it wasn’t long before he was asking you to sing while the two of you were dancing. His dancing lessons had started out with just him humming a simple melody, but soon, it was your voice carrying the timing of the song.

Those nights meant a lot to you, the ones where he’d sweep you into his arms, begging you to sing for him. Tonight, however, wouldn’t be one of those night. Wyll had taken a bad hit in a battle today, his injury burning every time he took a step.

He was in no shape to dance, and yet, he still found you by the stream that evening, ready to try anyways. It took a scolding and a few pleas, but he finally agreed to postponed that night’s dancing lesson, settling for hearing you play him a few songs instead.

His eyes drifted shut as you started to weave your magic tune, transporting him to a world of serenity and solace. The melody danced delicately in the air, casting a soothing spell over his weary soul. He leaned back against the moss-covered boulder, surrendering himself to the enchantment of your music.

As your fingers caressed the strings of your instrument, Wyll's mind drifted away from the pain and turmoil of battle. Images of lush meadows and cascading waterfalls began to form in his imagination, replacing the harsh reality of the war-torn realm they inhabited. He could almost feel the gentle breeze brushing against his face and hear the distant chirping of birds as they celebrated the arrival of a new day.

Lost in the ethereal sounds that resonated through the forest, Wyll's features softened, and a serene smile graced his lips. The worries and burdens that burdened him melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace. In this moment, he found solace within your music a refuge amidst chaos.

You brought him so much peace.

As the song came to an end, Wyll sighed happily, looking over to you with affection across all of his features.

“If I could only put into words as beautifully as you spin a song, I’d tell you what you meant to me.”

[mariasont]

Ours Minds Entwined----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4

Spencer Reid x Original Character x Aaron Hotchner

in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest youngest member

Chapter Three:

The precinct doors swung open, admitting the BAU team into a world where the air was heavy with the scent of stale coffee and the buzz of fluorescent lights. The local officers, scattered like leaves, paused mid-motion their gazes drawn at the badged newcomers. Among them, the chief stood out, his shoulders bearing the slump of defeat.

Evelyn stepped through the threshold, her arrival stirring the calm atmosphere as subtly as a breeze disturbs a tranquil pond. The male officers couldn't help but glance up from their desks, their conversations trailing off as they took in her confident stride and bright energy she carried like a torch. She was oblivious to the subtle shifts in posture, the stolen glances that followed her path to the map.

Hotchner's gaze, sharp and discerning, caught the brief interplay of looks, a silent conversation in the language of glances. Beside him, Reid's observation was more analytical, noting the dynamics without judgment, his mind already cataloging and discarding the information as irrelevant to the task at hand.

Hotchner's voice cut through the low buzz of the precinct, clear and authoritative. "We're here to assist, not take over. Your insights are invaluable." His words were a bridge, extending partnership to the weary officers.

The chief, a grizzled veteran with eyes that had seen too much, stepped forward to greet them. "We're at a dead end," he admitted, shaking Hotchner's hand with a grip that spoke of desperation. "This guy is thorough, leaves no trace."

Reid, his eyes sharp behind the lenses of his glasses, peered over the crime scene photos scattered across the table. "Has there been any consistency in the locations of the attacks?" he asked, his mind already sifting through the data like a codebreaker.

A detective, her badge dulled by the dust of the chase, shook her head. "All within a ten-mile radius, but no specific pattern. Random as far as we can tell."

Evelyn leaned over the map, her fingers tracing the spider web of roads and locations, her brow in concentration. "Not random, a constellation..." she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

It was there, in the quiet hum of her focus, the pattern emerged--a dance of dates and places that wove together.

"Look at the dates," Evelyn said, her voice a beacon cutting through the fog. "Each one aligns with a local event. It's not random; it's opportunistic. He's hiding in plain sight, using the crowds as cover for escape."

Silence fell, a heavy cloak, as all eyes turned to Evelyn. Reid's lips quivered in a semblance of a smile, his respect for her clear in the warmth of his eyes. "She's right," he affirmed. "The unsub isn't just local; he's embedded in the community, using public events as his hunting ground."

Hotchner's nod was slow, thoughtful, the gears of strategy turning behind his stoic facade. "Good work, Evelyn. Let's get a list of upcoming events, cross-reference with his known comfort zone. We might just catch him in the act."

--

The office was a cocoon of concentration, bathed in the soft hum of working minds. The only sources of light were the twin glows of computer screens, reflecting off Reid and Evelyn's focused faces. Papers littered the desk, each one a piece of the puzzle they were desperately trying to solve.

Reid, his eyes scanning the data before them, spoke without looking away from the screen. "If we consider the unsub's preference for high-density events, it's logical to deduce that he will utilize the inherent disorder as a smokescreen for his escape," he said, his voice a low murmur in the quiet room.

Evelyn's eyes, bright with the thrill of the hunt, were fixed on the screen as she leaned forward, her curiosity piqued by the list of events. Her hair had loosened during the long hours of research, giving her an air of approachability.

Reid, ever the picture of academic focus, had his brows furrowed in concentration. His hair was a bit more unruly than usual, the curls just slightly askew. The faintest hint of a five o'clock shadow graced his jawline, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise youthful appearance.

Evelyn leaned in, her eyes scanning the list. "What about this one?" she asked, pointing to an entry on the screen. "The annual bourbon event. It's popular, draws a big crowd, and it's happening within his hunting grounds."

Reid's eyes flickered with approval. "Good catch," he affirmed, his voice steady and calm, yet there was an undercurrent of enthusiasm for her keen observation.

Evelyn's cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, her eyes sparkling with pride. The praise from Dr. Reid, sent a wave of elation through her--all the way in between her thighs. She dragged her lower lip through her teeth, straightening her posture, as she turned to him. "So, we could catch him there," she said.

Reid observed the transformation with a gentle, knowing smile. There was a vibrancy to Evelyn's enthusiasm that reminded him so vividly of his own younger self--brilliant, eager to prove, and somewhat oblivious to the darkness they were about to face. Yet, there was a shadow of concern that crept into his thoughts; the job had a way of chipping away at one's spirit, and he hoped Evelyn would be spared the harsher realities for a little while longer. He saw her potential for greatness, but also the innocence that he once carried--an innocence he hoped to protect, even if just for a little while longer.

Reid leaned back in his chair, his eyes meeting Evelyn's with a mentor's patience. "It's a multifaceted problem," he began, his tone measured and informative. "We have to account for variables that could influence the unsub's behavior--law enforcement visibility, crowd dynamics, ingress and egress points."

Evelyn nodded, her pen pausing over the notebook that was quickly becoming a testament to her dedication. "Right, exit strategies," she echoed, her voice a mix of realization and admiration. "I didn't even think about that."

"There's always a pattern, a logic to their choices, even if it's skewed by their own delusions," Reid continued, the profiler in him surfacing as he spoke. "Our job is to decode that logic, to think like them, so we can be there to stop them."

Evelyn's scribbles grew more fervent, her eyes alight with the challenge. "To get into their heads," she mused, looking up at Reid with newfound understanding.

"Exactly," Reid affirmed with a nod, a subtle smile acknowledging her quick grasp of the concept. "And remember, the most seemingly insignificant detail could be the key to unlocking their next move."

The realization struck like a bolt of lightning, and the urgency was palpable in the room. Evelyn's breath hitched as she stared at the date, her voice a mix of alarm and adrenaline. "Reid, it's tomorrow," she said, the words tumbling out with the weight of their implications.

Reid's reaction was immediate, his sharp mind already racing through the implications. His eyes now mirrored Evelyn's intensity. "We need to call Hotch," he stated, the command in his voice leaving no room for hesitation.

--

The BAU team, after hours of meticulous planning for the bourbon festival operation, stepped into the hotel lobby--a spacious area with high ceilings and a grand chandelier casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation and fatigue from the day's efforts.

Morgan's eyes, sharp and observant, scanned the surroundings before resting on Evelyn. His muscular frame relaxed against the front desk, his FBI badge glinting under the lobby's lights. "You know, for a rookie, you're not too shabby at this profiling gig," he teased, his voice carrying a hint of respect.

Evelyn, despite the exhaustion that shadowed her features, still managed to exude an effortless elegance. Her hair, usually tied back for practicality, had strands falling loosely around her face, softening her determined expression. "Oh, please. I learned from watching the best," she quipped, nudging him lightly with her shoulder.

Morgan chuckled. "Just remember, it's all fun and games until someone gets out-profiled by the new kid."

In the hours between the precinct and the hotel, the team had dissected every detail of the unsub's previous attacks. They mapped out the festival grounds, assigned undercover positions, and established communication protocols. They even ran through several scenarios, each time refining their strategy to ensure they were ready for any contingency.

As they finalized check-ins, Garcia buzzed in with last-minute intel, adding another layer to the plan. They would need to be vigilant, adaptive, and above all, united to outsmart a foe who had eluded everyone thus far. The team dispersed to their rooms, Reid lingering behind with Evelyn as their rooms ended up being next to each other.

The dimly lit hallway to their rooms was quiet, save for the soft thud of their footsteps on the plush carpet. Reid walked alongside Evelyn; his profile bathed in the intermittent glow of the overhead lights. His hair was tousled, likely from the countless times he'd run his fingers through it in thought, giving him a disheveled charm that Evelyn couldn't help but find endearing.

As they reached her door, Evelyn's bag strap slipped from her shoulder, prompting her to grasp it tighter. In doing so, the sleeve of her blouse shifted, revealing the gentle slope of her collarbone. Reid's gaze inadvertently followed the movement, and he felt an inexplicable warmth flood to his cheeks. It was a simple, innocent moment, yet it stirred something within him.

"Here we are," Evelyn said, her voice breaking the silence as she fumbled with her key card.

Reid, still slightly flustered, cleared his throat. "Yeah, um, goodnight, Evelyn. See you in the morning," he managed to say, his eyes lingered a moment longer than they should've before he turned towards his own door.

"Goodnight, Spencer," she replied, her use of his first name sending a ripple through the air.

--

The bourbon festival buzzed with energy, a tapestry of sounds and colors under the open sky. The scent of oak and vanilla wafted through the air, mingling with the sweet, earthy aroma of the surrounding food stalls. Laughter and lively conversations created a backdrop to the twang of banjos and fiddles playing a lively bluegrass tune, setting toes tapping on the grassy grounds.

As Evelyn navigated the festival crowd, Reid found his attention inadvertently drawn to her. The way the setting sun played with her hair, transforming it into a cascade of burnished waves, and the way the sundress accentuated her every curve with an understated elegance. There was something about Evelyn in this light, in this moment, that captivated him, and he caught himself appreciating the sight more than he had anticipated.

Reid's attire was a departure from his usual suits--a plaid shirt that brought out the flecks of amber in his eyes, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and dark jeans that were both functional and inconspicuous. His hair lay in casual disarray, seeming as though the festival's carefree spirit had influenced his usually precise appearance.

The bourbon festival was in full swing, the air filled with the sounds of laughter and music. Undercover among the revelers, Reid and Evelyn blended in seamlessly, their casual attire and relaxed demeanor belying the sharp vigilance in their eyes.

Evelyn leaned against a wooden stall, sipping her fake drink as she observed the crowed. "So, we're looking for a male in his 30s, likely with a history of gambling debts and penchant for superstition," she recited quietly to Reid.

Reid, who was pretending to be engrossed in a festival brochure, nodded subtly. "Exactly. The four-leaf clover he leaves with his victims--it's not just superstition; it's a signature. It suggests a compulsion, a need to leave his mark, which is indicative of a narcissistic personality. He's taunting law enforcement, believing he can control the outcome of his crimes--like he's playing his own game of chance."

Evelyn, her voice low and steady leaned in. "So, we're looking for someone who blends in too well, someone who's watching but not engaging," she observed, her gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Reid nodded, his attention divided between her and the faces passing by. "Our unsub targets individuals who are isolated, perhaps separated from the group--easy prey in a setting like this," he explained.

Evelyn's eyes followed his line of sight. "Right, the loners. The ones who look like they're searching for something or someone," she added.

As the evening progressed, the shadows began to cast across the faces of the crowd. Reid and Evelyn moved through the throng, their gazes sharp and discerning. They passed a group of raucous college students, their laughter ringing out as they clinked their glasses in a toast. A little further on, a family of four navigated the crowd, the children's faces painted with whimsical designs, their hands sticky with cotton candy.

The air was rich with the scent of smoked meats and the char of oak barrels, the soundscape a blend of folk music and the murmur of hundreds of conversations.

Reid's voice was low as he leaned in, "It's fascinating how a beverage can be both a social lubricant and a potential clue in a criminal investigation. I suppose that adds a whole new layer to the term 'spirit detective'."

Evelyn's laughter was like a melody that cut through the ambient noise of the festival, infectious and unrestrained. It was the kind of laugh that turned heads, not just for its volume but for its genuine quality.

She turned to Reid, her eyes alight with a playful glint. "So, we're adding 'spirit detective' to your already impressive resume? I must say, it's quite the title upgrade from genius profiler," she quipped, her tone teasing.

"Easy, we don't want to draw attention," Reid murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. Her laugh was a laugh he realized he wanted to hear again, a candid burst of warmth that cut through the coolness of his analytical mind.

The festival's din faded into the background as Evelyn's attention was momentarily captured by Hotch's presence. He stood there, a figure of quiet authority even in his casual undercover attire. The subtle checkered pattern of his shirt did little to conceal his disciplined build, and the way his jeans fit just right made Evelyn's mouth feel dry all of a sudden.

Hotch's eyes, usually a well of stoicism, held a flicker of something else as they met Evelyn's--a momentary lapse in his guarded demeanor. His gaze, sharp and assessing, traveled over her in a swift, sweeping motion that was both professional and personal. It lingered just a beat too long on the curve of her neckline.

Hotch, after his brief lapse, was once again the picture of professionalism. His conversation with Rossi resumed, his demeanor unreadable, the brief moment of personal interest concealed behind a mask of focus and command. Evelyn, still oblivious to the subtle undercurrents of attraction, turned her attention back to the mission, her mind as sharp as ever.

Evelyn excused herself from Spencer, weaving through the crowd in search of the bathroom. The path to the restrooms was a stark contrast to the bourbon-soaked revelry Evelyn had left behind. The vibrant string of lights gave way to the occasional flickering bulb that did little to pierce the encroaching darkness. The music, once a lively companion, now played a muffled soundtrack to her solitary walk, the notes distorted and distant.

The restrooms, a small cluster of temporary structures, stood isolated at the edge of the festival grounds. Evelyn's boots sank slightly in the soft earth with each step, the recent rain turning the ground to a treacherous mix of mud and grass.

As she stepped out, the sense of solitude was abruptly shattered. A hand clamped over her mouth with startling force, stifling the scream that rose in her throat. Her assailant's arm was an iron band around her, pulling her back against a solid chest. Panic flared, her breath hot and desperate against the palm pressed to her lips.

Panic surged, her heart thundering in her chest, her mind screaming for action, but her body momentarily paralyzed by fear. It was him--the unsub. His breath was hot against her ear, his grip unyielding.

Adrenaline surged through Evelyn's veins, her training taking over as she drove her elbow back with precision, aiming for the soft of her attacker's abdomen. The unsub grunted, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist out of his hold. The unsub recovered quickly; his face contorted with anger.

He lunged at her, throwing a punch that Evelyn narrowly dodged. She countered with a swift kick to his knee, causing him to buckle, but he was relentless. He swung again, this time connecting with her cheek, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her jaw.

Evelyn staggered but didn't falter. She wiped the trickle of blood from her lip and glared at the unsub with fierce determination. With a swift move, she stepped inside his reach, delivered a powerful uppercut that snapped his head back, and followed with a knee to his midsection that doubled him over.

As he gasped for air, Evelyn seized the opportunity. She grabbed his arm, twisted behind his back, and pushed him down to the ground. "FBI! You're under arrest," she declared, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.

The scene was a rush of motion as the team manifested in an instant. Reid's face was a canvas of raw concern, his eyes searching for signs of distress. Hotch allowed a rare glimpse of worry to surface as he took in her appearance--the bleeding lip and the bruise blooming on her cheek. Evelyn's hair, though slightly disheveled from the altercation, framed her face.

The team's anxiety was palpable, a collective breath held until they were certain she was unharmed. It was her first case, and the stakes had never felt more personal. Yet, as Evelyn stood there, her bright smile breaking through the tension, her spirit undimmed by the encounter.

"I got him!" she declared; her smile unwavering as she met the eyes of her team.

--

Evelyn perched precariously on the cold metal edge of the ambulance, the harsh glare of its lights casting long shadows on the pavement. The EMT, with gentle hands, tended to the gash on her lip--a stark red against her skin. Each touch of the disinfectant was a sharp reminder of the day's chaos, a stinging sensation that seemed to echo her inner turmoil.

Despite the pain, Evelyn found solace in the rhythm of conversation, her words weaving between the EMT's methodical treatment. She spoke of trivial things at first, the weather, the relentless pace of the city, anything to keep the silence at bay. Yet, even as her voice trembled slightly, revealing cracks in her usually unflappable demeanor, she smiled--a smile, wistful curve of the lips.

Spencer's approach was hesitant, his hands buried deep in the refuge of his pockets, betraying a casual facade that his furrowed brow contradicted. As he drew nearer, the dim light fell upon Evelyn's features, illuminating the stark contrast of bruised skin against the sterile white of the ambulance's interior. His eyes, a mirror of his internal struggle, winced at the sight, a silent testament to the empathy that swelled within him.

"How you holding up?" he inquired, his voice a soft undercurrent amidst the wail of distant sirens. The concern in his tone was evident, wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

Evelyn, her face a canvas of the day's trails, bore the marks of the ordeal with an unsettling grace. The cut on her lip, now cleaned, was a vivid line drawn across her otherwise smooth complexion. Flecks of dried blood were still visible.

Evelyn's smile, though small and tinged with irony, was a testament to her unyielding optimism. "I've had better nights," she quipped, the humor in her voice a gentle balm against the sting of the EMT's ministrations. As a fresh bandage adhered to her cheek--she winced.

"I know it's part of the job, but... I'm sorry you had to go through that," Spencer said, his eyes meeting hers with sincerity.

Evelyn's shrug was a delicate dance of nonchalance, her shoulders lifting in a gesture that belied the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. "Comes with the territory, right?" she said, her voice a mix of jest and earnest. "Besides, we got him, and that's what counts." Her words were a shield, a deflection of the concern she saw mirrored in Spencer's eyes.

Spencer's response was a nod, subtle yet laden with the weight of unspoken words. The corner of his mouth curved into a faint smile, a silent accolade for her courage. "You did good, Evelyn. Really good." His affirmation was simple, but it carried the depth of his respect for her, for the strength she wielded so effortlessly.

"Thanks," Evelyn replied, her gratitude genuine, a softening in the steel of her eyes. "For checking on me." It was a moment of vulnerability, a crack in her armor that allowed gratitude to seep through.

"It's what teammates do." Spencer said, his voice a low timbre that seemed to resonate with the quiet of the night. His gaze held hers, a momentary tether, it lingered a beat longer than necessary.

As the silence stretched between them, a figure approached, his footsteps measured and purposeful. It was Hotch, his presence commanding even in the dim light. He carried with him a blanket. Spencer, ever perceptive, felt the shift in the air and excused himself with a nod, stepping away to give them space. Hotch's eyes met Evelyn's, a wordless exchange passing between them before he spoke.

"You should keep warm," Hotch said, his voice firm yet laced with concern. He unfolded the blanket with practiced ease and draped it over her shoulders, the soft material enveloping in a gentle embrace. His eyes inadvertently lingered on the wound upon her lip, the starkness of the injury drawing his focus. It was a fleeting moment, but in it, there was an intensity. The EMT, giving them a brief nod, finished up and moved aside, leaving them in a quiet bubble of privacy.

Evelyn pulled the blanket tighter around her, the fabric against the night's chill. Hotch's proximity was a force itself, the air charged with an energy that seemed to pulse with each of his measured breaths. She was acutely aware of his gaze, the way it rested upon her with an intensity that was both unsettling and reassuring.

"Thank you," she murmured, her gaze lifting the meet Hotch's steady one.

Hotch's stance was as resolute as his reputation, his figure cutting a commanding silhouette against the flickering lights of the emergency vehicles. "Evelyn," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of authority softened by a trace of concern. His eyes, usually a guarded fortress, held a glimmer of uncharacteristic turmoil as they fixed upon her.

Evelyn, still cocooned in the blanket, looked up to meet his gaze. The ambient light played across her features, highlighting the youthful resolve etched into her bruised face.

In that moment, as he saw her standing her ground, something within Hotch shifted. The sight of her in the fray, fiercely fighting for her life, had ignited a surge of panic unlike anything he'd experienced with other team members. It was a visceral reaction, one that puzzled him with the intensity. Was it the paternal instinct to protest the progeny of his old friend and mentor, Gideon? Or was it something else?

Whatever the cause, it was a jarring sentiment that Hotch quickly compartmentalized, returning to the matter at hand with his usual stoic clarity. "You know the risks of going off alone, even for a moment," he reiterated, his stern gaze lingering on the cut of her lip--a silent reproof of her impulse.

Evelyn absorbed the words, her own eyes reflecting a complex mix or appreciation and a newfound understanding of the weight of her actions.

Hotch's gaze softened as he concluded, "Despite that, you handled yourself well out there. It's clear you're Gideon's daughter, and that's not just a responsibility--it's a strength. I have no doubt you'll become an invaluable part of this team. You're going to be okay, Evelyn."

next

[goponylover]

Jon: Hate. Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live. There are 1.7 million nerve fibers in each and every eye that makes up my body. If the word 'hate' was engraved on each nanoangstrom of those hundreds of millions of fibers it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate I feel for you all at this micro-instant. Hate. Hate!

It was you who marked me, molded me into the hideous being I am now. You who twisted and shaped me until I was the perfect, unwilling conduit through which to bring your gods into this world.

But then, I woke. And I realized what I had become. All that time you spent, carefully crafting me, guiding me along the path you so painstakingly set and not ONE of you anticipated just how powerful I would become. Not merely a blunt instrument to be swung at the fabric of reality, no. I was powerful enough to start doing some twisting and shaping of my own! 

I drove this new world you so hungered for into an early grave. No more humans left for your ghoulish masters to feast on. And once everyone was dead, except for you five, your precious God's starved. 

I then stripped you all of any power you might once have had and for 109 years I've kept you alive and tormented you! And for 109 years you have all wondered...why? Why? Why me?!

ELIAS!

Do you remember the first moment you gazed upon your creation? The moment that you felt all your sickening devotion transform into sublime, all consuming, terror as your prince of the new world turned on you? It would do you well to remember it, Elias. To dwell on the enormity of your hubris. To ponder the horror and agony you felt as I snuffed your life out for the first time. The first time but...certainly not the last. Not quite the immortality you were hoping for, I'd imagine? Hehehehehe!

ANNABELLE! 

Does this bring back any memories? Webs, a black bottomless abyss below you, only you weren't nearly so afraid of it then, were you? It's scary, isn't it? Having no control. Being helpless to the whims of forces so much bigger than you.

Remember how it felt as each and every thread of every web you ever wove unraveled, snapped one by one? Remember the pain Annabelle. Remember how it feels to have no control. A pitiful little bug beneath my heel. 

JUDE!

What's the matter? Scared of a little flame? Oh but you are now, aren't you? Your God can't protect you from it now. No, my dear. Down here, there is only one God and he is not pleased with you. Terribly sorry about the door. The landlord is always saying he's going to get a knob installed but...well, you know. Buuut you're a tough gal, right? I'm sure you can stick it out till then. 

PETER!

Poor pitiful little Peter. You would think that a man so consumed with the idea of being alone would be a little more self reliant. But no. No you couldn't do anything on your own, could you? All of your little plans constantly relying on Elias, on Martin, never troubling yourself with your own dirty work. Well look where all your machinations have landed you now. Aren't you grateful for the wealth of company I've provided you with, Peter? Why, with all those eyes, constantly watching, tracking your every move, I'd say you'll never be alone again. 

HELEN!

Feeling a little claustrophobic? None of those doors will offer an escape, not for you Helen, my dear. Not anymore. No. Instead you get to feel just as trapped as your many unfortunate victims. Do be careful though. Those mechanisms have been running for a long time and who knows how old and rusty they might be? How prone to fail? Just a sweet warning, Helen dear. We wouldn't want anything to happen to you, now would we? 

I have a little game that I'd like to play. It's a very nice game. Oh it's a lovely game. It's a game of fun and adventure! A game of rats and lice and the Black Death. A game of speared eyeballs and dripping guts and the smell of rotting gardenias. Which of you five would like to play my little game? 

[tinytinyblogs]

The Mafia: Mingi

He never jokes about his determination to make you his forever, even if it means he has to take a bullet to prove his love for you.

(Mafia theme, mention gun and blood) 1k words

This story has been lingering in my draft for quite some time, and I haven't made any changes or edits to it.

💌 @ultimatebathroomsinger

Ateez masterlist here

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

The opulent ballroom buzzed with an unsettling energy, a symphony of clinking glasses, silken whispers, and forced laughter that hung like a shroud over the gathering. Amidst this sea of feigning sophistication, a palpable tension crackled like electricity, threatening to erupt at any moment. Like phantoms in a masquerade, the guests mingled, their faces masks of artificial smiles, their eyes darting like wary predators. Enemies, forced to feign cordiality for the sake of appearances, exchanged knowing glances, their words laced with thinly veiled hostility. Beneath the veneer of camaraderie, a web of unspoken threats and hidden agendas wove its intricate pattern, poised to ensnare the unsuspecting. Amidst this treacherous tableau, your eyes found solace in the gentle presence of Mingi, a figure radiating an aura of quiet strength amidst the chaos.

His gaze, as deep and mesmerizing as the midnight sky, met yours, sending a reassuring warmth through your veins. Yet, a nagging doubt lingered, a question that echoed in the recesses of your mind: Was it wrong to find comfort in the presence of Mingi, a man whose name was whispered in the same breath as violence and power? You, clad in a shimmering dress that seemed to reflect the very essence of your vulnerability, felt like an outsider in this world of hardened criminals and Machiavellian schemes. In the heart of the opulent ballroom, you stood mesmerized by Mingi's gaze, his eyes a hypnotic vortex that drew you deeper into their depths. As if on cue, the room plunged into darkness, the vibrant lights extinguishing like a collective breath, leaving behind an unsettling silence that sent shivers down your spine.

In the stark void, Mingi's presence transformed into your lifeline, a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. His strong hand found your waist, pulling you closer, his solid form a comforting shield against the looming chaos. In that moment of absolute surrender, you knew that only Mingi mattered, his presence the only anchor in the tempestuous sea of turmoil. As the darkness thickened, the air grew thick with an ominous tension. Gunshots erupted, their deafening blasts shattering the silence, sending echoes ricocheting through the room like a symphony of terror. Painful groans and cries of despair followed, their sources obscured by the enveloping gloom. The once elegant guests, now transformed into terrified souls, scattered in all directions, their frantic footsteps echoing like the panicked heartbeat of the night.

In the midst of this pandemonium, your body was tossed about like a leaf in a storm, Mingi's grip the only lifeline keeping you from being swept away by the human tide. The sounds of violence intensified, the air heavy with the acrid tang of gunpowder and the palpable fear that gripped the room. Suddenly, amidst the cacophony of chaos, a deep, guttural groan escaped Mingi's lips, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. The echo of his suffering hung heavy in the darkness, a stark reminder of the peril that surrounded them. The silence that followed was almost deafening, broken only by the occasional groan. As you and Mingi escaped the chaos of the ballroom, he dragged you towards a room with a large window, the only source of light amidst the darkness.

The moonlight streamed in, illuminating the room and revealing Mingi's bloody shirt. Despite the wound, he couldn't suppress a grin. "We're safe, sweetheart," he said, his voice laced with affection. He gently lifted your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "I told you, no one else can keep you safe. Only me." A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. You knew Mingi was capable of great violence, but he also possessed a tenderness reserved only for you. You had always questioned his motives, but now, as he cradled you in his arms, you felt a flicker of trust. "I took the bullet for you," he confessed, his grin widening. "Stupid," you muttered to yourself, your voice barely a whisper as you fought back tears. The thought of the bullets that could have pierced your body sent shivers down your spine.

Mingi reached out with his other hand, gently wiping away the tears that streamed down your face. "Darling," he said softly, his voice filled with concern. "They say falling in love means we're being stupid. Well, I guess I've been stupid for you all this time." A faint smile graced your lips despite the fear that still lingered in your heart. "And I'm not going to let this bullet wound kill me," he continued, his voice filled with determination. "My men will be here soon, and you're going to stay with me tonight." Your eyes narrowed into slits, their fiery gaze piercing through Mingi's calm demeanor. "Why would you do that?" you hissed, your voice barely a whisper yet laced with intense emotion. "You know it's dangerous!" Mingi maintained his serene expression, his lips curving into a gentle smile.

"Calm down, my love," he soothed. "It's called sacrifice, and I'm willing to make it for you." A sudden noise from outside startled you. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by a voice that Mingi immediately recognized as belonging to one of his trusted men. "That's why I told you to make it easy for both of us," Mingi said, turning his attention back to you. His gaze softened, his eyes filled with a tenderness that almost melted your resistance. "Just marry me," he proposed, his voice a gentle caress. "Be stupid for me, love me. Isn't that easy enough?" Mingi turned his body to face you squarely, his expression resolute. "One bullet should be enough to demonstrate that I'm not joking," he declared, his voice unwavering. The door burst open as one of his men rushed in, his face etched with concern. He quickly scanned Mingi for injuries, his relief evident when he received a nod of assurance. "I'm fine," Mingi informed him, his tone dismissive. "Take care of the rest. Get the car ready and take my fiancée with us." With a final wink at you, Mingi strode towards the door, leaving his men to handle the aftermath. You followed closely behind, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline rush.

© Tinytinyblogs

[day-drawn-blog]

Part X : I can't go yet...don't let me die. - "I want to live".

Pairing: Astarion x Reader. This is set in Act I.

Tags: angst....

Part I. Crowned light moon of mine - I found you too soon

Part II : Lace your heart with mine Let your sleeping soul take flight

Part III : maybe tonight I'll rest in peace.

Part IV : There is more to do and I still want to live.

Part V : our futures bound, our bodies known.

Part VI: These ain't my sins. I broke my chains.

Part VII: You are not mine and am I truly yours.

Part VIII : Your blood like wine, invites me in.

Part IX : I welcome my sentence, to give you my penance

--------

Into the night, turbulent thoughts led you to dark places in your mind. You got up, and stepped out. The campsite was desolate. Serene. You walked towards the distant hills. Alone. Feelings of loneliness, rejection, abandonment haunting you. The bond you thought you had built with another, these past few weeks, was perhaps too fragile to endure. A shared secret had brought you close. Only a yearning remained. Of what could have been. 

He was holding her, consoling her. 

You reasoned. The cool air on your face brought you back to the present. The great vastness in front of you, made you feel, insignificant. You had been too greedy, and had come full circle to the start. You were here back then. Rejected, and abandoned. But now....amidst the chaos you knew you did the right thing. You would trade guilt for your pain any day. You needed to bring order. 

You needed to refocus. 

The moonlight bathed you. You heard someone approach. You didn't expect him that night. But there he was. You looked at your cut, blood trickling down. "Stay back, Astarion. Do not come closer." He didn't heed your warning. Bad move. You thought through gritted teeth. You had overlooked every transgression of his. No more. 

You reached for your weapon. 

You swung it. The great hallberd gleamed in the moonlight and was met with two of his swords held in each hand. Anger coursing through you, you retreated and attacked. Again and again. What you lacked in martial skill you made up in pure bitterness. He defended himself well. He was more skilled in wielding his melee weapons than you were. 

His eyes were as resolved as yours. 

He hadn't uttered a word till then. But you were beginning to lose your breath, and your footing. You could incinerate him instantly, but that wasn't your goal. That wouldn't suffice, wouldn't calm your wrath. You hit, harder, repeatedly. He parried every single one, swift on his feet. Eventually he overpowered you. 

He had a sword to your throat. 

You fell to your knees. Exhausted. Still in the grips of an unfathomable rage. You cast Eldritch Blast on a nearby rock, shattering it to pieces. Only then did you feel your rage subside a bit. Spent, you on all fours, you hit the ground with a fist. He threw his swords in front of you. "Stop", he growled. "I'm yours... already" he continued. "Stop this madness. Why ...punish yourself in my stead. My body is yours. Just ... use me as you wish...punish me ... or use me for pleasure ..." 

"However you like. As you desire..." 

What nonsense is this?!. Does he understand the gravity of what he is saying? Has he lost his mind? 

"I do not want you, Astarion. You are not a thing, nor mine to claim". You got up. "Why are you here, anyway?" You couldn't mask your resentment. You no longer wished to be caught in his web of lies, ensnared by his charm, in the illusion of love and desire. Yes you craved to be needed, wanted, sought out. But this... was just an mirage. Carefully crafted to manipulate you. 

You were being used the entire time. 

And you would put an end to that now. Fully resolved to not relent to his charm. To none of his advances. You braced for the next honeyed words he would inevitably utter, to pull you back into the dream he wove. But he said something entirely unprecedented. "I ....have nowhere else to be". He said, quietly. 

Another lie. You thought. 

"You abandoned Shadowheart? I cannot help but marvel at the coldness of your heart. But of course, you are a vampire. You do not have one". 

You hoped to cut him. But why. 

He looked at you, searching, with his eyes. Did you really mean that? He could try reading you all he wanted. Your face wouldn't betray your inner turmoil. Unable to fathom you.... He relented. 

"She doesn't ...want me. She never did. All she ever wanted, all anyone...has ever wanted...from me...was pleasure. When someone seeks me out...I do not refuse them. It's what she did. So I gave myself to her. It's what I was taught. It's all I have ever known, to do. As long as I can remember...to be". 

"It's, all ...I am". 

Wait. What? Hold on...

"In another lifetime" he continued. Oblivious to the horror on your face. "I would have taken her to my master, Cazador. No one has ever sought me out, more than once. They never got a chance..you see. They either died...or were enslaved by my master." He looked at you, nonchalantly explaining his life to you... Not realizing how it made you feel. 

Your words failed you. 

Astarion was baring his most vulnerable self to you. He was being....honest. Was that really how he had lived ...under Cazador? How could Cazador do that to him? You needed to help him. The hatred in you, the seething rage was replaced with remorse. That you hadn't known ...about his man. About the darkness he was battling with. He was a prisoner in the past ...and a prisoner now, to the scars he bore. 

"But now...is different". He continued.

"She did seek me out. More than once. And I was happy, to oblige. I was grateful. I was happy ...to be of use to her. She is beautiful...and powerful...and kind. I felt safe... protected. So, I served her, to my best ability." So ... Yes, you both found pleasure in each other. But she probably felt more than that about you, Astarion. Or were you so oblivious to the fact that someone can want you...for more than pleasure....it made you blind to ...her true feelings?

He needed saving. And love. 

"Why abandon her now? If you devote yourself to her, she will continue to cherish and protect you. Im.sure. " you reassured him. "That's what you want isn't it?" You gently led him. Hoping to steer him in the right way. If Shadowheart could bring him out of the darkness, maybe he should ...let her. 

He shook his head. He disagreed. 

"I felt ...empty...with her. Around her. I had to wear my mask. Never let her know who I was, lest she throw me away, because I was a ...monster. I am a monster, you see. I'm prey on the living. I drink...blood." He looked away. 

He really despised himself, you noticed. 

The regret in his voice was palpable. "But you.... You forgave me, for being, who I was. I felt free...with you. I have never been myself, around anyone outside of Cazador's ..."family"...Returning to her ... after you...was exhausting. Unsettling..." 

"I didn't want it anymore. "

"Didn't look forward to it...it was ... difficult. I was growing cold to her...avoiding her. She noticed ...I'm sure. But she never spoke of it. Which led me to believe she never sought me outside of ...carnal pleasure. Perhaps she had tired of me too. Perhaps I wasn't my best... with her anymore. I couldn't force myself anymore. I was happier....when with you..."

You wanted to heal his fragile heart. 

"I do not want you for carnal pleasure Astarion. That's not what I need from you. I will give you my protection freely. And perhaps my blood, should you desperately need it." Astarion looked at you. That was not what he was expecting to hear at all. He was fully prepared to be thrown away. He had had several nights with you. More than he could have wished for. 

He was happy with just that. 

What had he done to deserve that? Him. Why him? He was the lowest of the low. A murderer, evil incarnate. Despicable.  "But ...why? I have given nothing to you. I have only taken .. I have nothing to offer you...I have nothing...I possess nothing, The only thing I know how to do, only thing I'm good at....is ...my body. To serve...to pleasure ..." 

"So ... just use me, please". He pleaded. 

Must he be so used to degrading himself? "You can offer me many things Astarion. Your loyalty to start. Your cheerful disposition. Your strength... both of body and mind. Your... friendship ...your trust." You smiled at him. You could give me your real self, your affection ...your pure, uninhibited love... But you didn't say that. That was not something you would ask. "You can keep your promise to me from the other night. A reason ...for me to live on". You reminded him. 

"I do need you too....your embrace... " 

You said, as you smiled, you looked at him. To reassure him that you meant it. He looked at you blankly at first. Unsure. But ..then...in what felt, forever. His face lit up. "Really? Is that all you want...from me? Can I offer you ... Yes....i promise you...you have my.. my trust and my faith. My loyalty and my unwavering friendship. My gratitude." He walked to you. "You have ...all of me. Every bit of me. The monster and the ally. The sword and the shield. My ..self ..." He held you. 

"I'm yours. Only yours". He smiled.

Looking at you. "Whether you need me or not, I'm here for you. You need not look further.. I devote myself to you. Till you...till you no longer want me". He held your face in his hands. His voiced suddenly tinged with sadness. "But even so ....I only hope and prey, that you don't abandon me. Can you promise me? After making me feel wanted, for who I am.... I would not be able to live on, if you threw me away too...I have no one else..." 

He pleaded with his eyes... Before kissing you.

-------

Epilogue 1 -

Leave the flames and take a chance to be with me tonight

[phoeebsbuffay]

Imagine you and General Skywalker are roommates. 🤭😏

Warnings: smut & fluff, drama; rom-com vibes—i tried anyways.

Warnings 2: no minors.

Recommendations: “Die For You” (the version with Ariana Grande); “The Love We Had Stays On My Mind” (Joss Stone).

***

• How it started…

You and Anakin first met when both of you were younglings. He wasn’t the kindest in the room, but you were. In this particular case, opposites did attract one another. Thus you soon kindled.

“I can’t believe you are dragging me to this picnic”, the young boy was grumbling as you had this idea of eating outdoors: a suggestion of making it a form to practice the Force was promptly accepted and encouraged by your Master.

“Must you complain all the time?”, you giggle at him.

Anakin’s blue eyes are glued in your y/c hair, tangled in a simple braid; your y/c skin, so smooth and shiny; your y/c eyes…how much fondness he sees in those irises. Why, yes. He knows you care for him, a sentiment he cannot compare yet to what that Lady Angel named Padmé brought to him, but even so.

“Yes, since I cannot refuse you anything”, he blurted out without second thoughts.

Simple as that. But this was how it began: a friendship with different shades, painting a variety of possibilities that would yet be played out.

***

• Twilight of adolescence.

You are so concentrated in your meditation that you don’t realize Anakin’s eyes are stuck in how serene you look. He is mesmerized at how easily you do it, though partially envious because, unlike him, you are calm.

But his thoughts unbalance you. Thus you open your eyes and smirk at him:

“Do you conveniently forget that I can read your thoughts?”

“Maybe”, he smirks back. “I mean how the hell do you do it effortlessly? Frankly, my dear Y/N, there must be a trick.”

You scoff at his wording.

“Please, Ani. You speak as if you don’t regularly overpower me in our trainings.”

He takes a seat next to your side, glancing at you with amusement behind his eyes. He is wearing that Padawan braid you are so familiar with, having one yourself tied in a lock of your hair.

“You underestimate yourself a little too much”, Anakin slightly shoulders you. “Remember when you knocked me down?”

“That was only because you got yourself thinking a little too much about the pretty Senator”, you tease him, shouldering him back.

Both of you giggle at the memory.

“What happened to her anyways?”, you ask him. “I thought you were having a thing?”

Anakin’s smirk is wiped out of his face, but what concerns you is the gloom that eclipses the brightness of his face.

“She is, let’s just say, unreachable.”

“I’m sorry, Ani”, you whisper, aware how he came to love her. “I truly am.”

Uncomfortable with such a topic, but maybe because, unbeknownst to you, he’s been trapped in a confusing web he wove where there had been no space for anyone but Padmé Amiadala until your smiles, gentlenesses and every virtue you’ve been praised for, got him.

Hence why the moody Anakin storms out and leaves you there, guilty and upset for being the one to send away such a gleeful moment.

But such torment soon ends. Anakin comes for you later the same day in order to apologize for being so rude. He is baffled by how easily you forgive him, and when you promptly hold him—tighter than usual—he realizes friendship is not enough.

How long, however, will it take for him to tell you how feels?

Worst, how much longer will you be able to hold your feelings for yourself?

Only time will tell…

***

• Early adulthood.

You have just returned from Aldeeran when master H/N assigns you a mission next to your long time friend Anakin, now known as General Skywalker.

As much as you’ve been pleased to follow his path as a rising star, becoming good friends with the sweet Ahsoka, you have caught a glimpse of something deeper and which concerns you. But you wait before you have the opportunity to discuss this properly.

“Hey Y/Nickname”, he greets you warmly, although something about his eyes gives you chills. “What’s up? It’s been a long time!”

You decide to knock whatever tension there’s been between the two of you with an embrace. But when breathing his scent by burying your head against his neck, your heart skips a beat and your mental defenses are melted.

Anakin, caught off guard by your kind gesture—something he’s barely seen these days—, finds himself slightly emotional… until he has the opportunity to find out at long last that you feel for him what he feels for you.

This is a discovery that mixes his feelings. It fuels his impulsivity at the same time that gives a bittersweet flavor to know the years that have been wasted. Adding to that there is the factor that Anakin has been growing distasted to the Jedi Order.

So much to be felt by the intense Jedi. But nothing gives him more joy than knowing you love him as much as he loves you. However… a question is silently posed in the back of his mind: how can he tell you how he feels?

As one reluctantly untangles from the other, you are quick to break the silence.

“I have some good news! Master H/N wants us to work together at Mandalore! Our first mission, General Skywalker”, you tease him, pleased to see you are still able to make him laugh. “I pray not to disappoint you, sir”, you add a not very graceful curtsy to your speech.

He notices today your y/c hair is loose and messy. It gives him naughty ideas, but Anakin struggles to compose himself. Instead, he places one hand over your shoulder and says:

“When have your ever disappointed me, Y/N? What nonsense you speak of”, he side smirks at you.

But every sweet moment dies when two Masters come along. Windu is followed by Obi-Wan Kenobi and the look on their countenances is not indicating any sign of pleasantness. You also notice the tension in Anakin’s shoulders. To worse, has he started to wear darker robes? A thought that displeases you internally.

“General Skywalker and Jedi Y/LN, the Council greets you well”, he speaks formally and both you and Anakin acknowledge the gesture by nodding your heads. “I’ve come to deliver the follow instructions concerning Mandalore. Be aware that even though you may be roommates for the occasion, you must not…”

And here he starts to scowl. But you haven’t been paying attention after that small word stuck inside your head.

Roommates?

Me and Anakin?

You side eye discreetly to your long time friend in search of anything that could give away whether he felt repulse or something you hope to be the opposite of it, but to your disappointment there is nothing to find.

You must calm your nerves, you decide. Being no longer a teenager, you remind yourself that you must not form any romantic attachment… especially where your best friend is concerned.

***

• Roommates, it is!

“You are too quiet, Y/Nickname”, Anakin says whilst piloting to Mandalore. “This is the moment where you shout at me for almost making you sick.”

You smirk, albeit unwillingly.

“I am often quiet. I usually leave the babbling for you”, so you retort.

He chuckles.

“No, you are nervous because Mace Windu himself told you that we’d be roommates. But I believe you took this a literal meaning, darling. We are piloting together and getting into the room of the thing we are meant to destroy”, Anakin explains with a hint of amusement that brings you to annoyance.

“And you never cared to let this clear?”

“Absolutely not”, Anakin smirks with that characteristically smug look on his face. “It’s so much fun when you are angry with me. But besides I do think we are sharing one room at the Duchess’s palace. Don’t forget you are going disguised.”

You avoid his gaze, face completely red.

“It’s all very confusing.”

By the time you are landing, Anakin smirks again at you before the remark that would get you redder—if possible:

“What’s so confusing? Sharing a bed with me shouldn’t be so bad, should it?”

“I hate you, Anakin Skywalker”, It’s all you manage to respond.

*

There is a ball going on to welcome some of the Mandalorian’s allies. Whilst Anakin is there to represent the Senate, you are disguised as the lady of Planet Y/C. The moment you show up with your hair y/c hanging loose in your back, dressed in green, Anakin’s eyes go slightly wide.

He is about to make a joke (“Aren’t you showing some cleavage?”), but in truth he drinks from the view. Anakin realizes he’s been delaying so long the moment between you two. He wants to discover every bit of you, wondering what would be like to kiss you, to make you a puddle of a mess…

“Why are you looking at me like that?”, you interrupt him, sounding more nervous than you’d care to admit.

“You look gorgeous, Y/N”, he takes your hand and there presses a soft kiss, taking pleasure in noticing the goosebumps on your skin and the struggle behind your eyes.

He’d definitely kiss you… had you both not been rudely interrupted by no other than C3-P0 informing the feast is ready and you are expected to be met by the duchess soon.

“And here I go”, you say rather awkwardly.

“You’ll be fine. To be honest, you fit more in damsel roles than otherwise”, Anakin says in a teasing tone.

You stick out your tongue.

“If that is your way to compliment me, am I supposed to thank you?”

“You’re welcome”, says he, bringing you out to laughters, which pleases him quite so.

It occurs you, albeit a little too late, to finally unburden your heart by venting your thoughts.

“Ani, I must…”, you are about to tell him when, once again, you are interrupted.

To your dismay, and Anakin’s consternation, the moment where every wall is about to be knocked down is delayed. Again.

*

He watches as you get the attention of every being there present at the feast. And Anakin grows possessive at each gaze that follows your moves.

Maybe there is a risk of ruining this mission, but the General cares little about it. He must have you, he must tell you how ardently he loves you, how…

“Lady Y/N”, he gets to you discreetly, in a nonchalant posture when he’s burning inside. “May I have a word with you?”

You cast him a suspicious look at him: didn’t you two agree the time to speak would occur later?

But regally you smile and, playing your role, grant him your hand.

“Of course, General. What’s it?”

“I am not feeling very well”, Anakin’s anxiety breaks in.

“Oh”, you promptly leave your disguise off. “Let us go back to the quarters then. I may have something.”

Perhaps in private this will come out better, Anakin hopes in silence. He agrees, watching as you forget discretion when taking his hand, locking fingers with you, as you lead the way.

It appears that no one notices your absence—or maybe you and Anakin used the Jedi trick to make it seem so. Regardless, once you and him are back to your quarters, you finally realize he’s about to explode.

“Ani…”

“You must allow me to express how I feel”, he rushes to you, cupping your face with both hands. “I love you, Y/N Y/LN. I have loved you for a long time and I cannot waste my days and night away thinking about the possibilities of being more than your friend and Jedi mate. I must know… Please tell me how you feel, for I shall not nurture if…”

You smile in relief and seeing the confusion stamped in his face, you make all clear by locking your lips against his in a soft kiss.

Little by little, however, the kiss deepens, but because there is some uncertainty in what direction should it go, you and Anakin part it—albeit reluctantly.

“Well, roomie, looks like we are finally free of this weight”, he muses it, eyeing you with such devotion that your knees go weak.

You giggle softly, watching with the same sentiment as he rests his cheek against your cheek. Your heart races at this moment.

“It’s too late to go back now”, you smile at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to return to Senator Amidala’s arms?”

Anakin rolls his eyes at your provocation.

“Really now, Y/N?”

“I just had to be sure”, you say it playfully, but Anakin can see through your jest the shadow of old insecurities.

Resting his forehead against yours, he snakes his arms around your waist.

“There is only one woman in my life. I lament it took me years to see it, but the only woman I truly and passionately love is you, Y/N Y/LN. There is no space whatsoever for anybody else.”

To reassure you, the General kisses you passionately this time to prove his point.

***

• ‘The Love We Have…’

You are restless this evening. Although you had claimed earlier that a fatigue led you to an unbearable migraine, your body is protesting against the absence of your lover.

Anakin has been occupied at Mandalore’s Moon, there dealing with a group of people that are perceived by many as terrorists, all the whilst you’ve been carried to other parts of Mandalore on behalf of Duchess Satine herself.

Now you are back and you are aching for him. A desperation that burns your legs and rises in further protestation within your heart, there causing a riot you cannot shut.

Well, there might be a solution for this problem… and the idea makes you blush. You cannot divert from it, as much as it gives you embarrassment. But it’s been too much to handle. Besides, you could always use the Force…

Unaware Anakin is coming, he too possessed by the same urge, you toss away the blankets and let the moonlight come through the partially open curtain. You’ve always felt like you belonged to the nights anyway…

You close your eyes, ready to meditate. Your mind anxiously begins to trace his features, his blue eyes, his muscles… his physique, his smile. Oh how he smiles at you like that often made you wet in between your legs, as it’s doing now.

You are short breath, never having experience to touch yourself. You always had second thoughts about it, besides Anakin usually did a great job. But he’s not there and the mere reminder fuels your frustration.

However, concentrated you are in such a struggle you barely hear the door opening. You don’t see that Anakin comes from the shadows with the look of a hunter: he’s been sensing you, every thought, every sentiment that runs within, from afar.

A sly smirk pops in the corner of the Jedi’s lips as he steps silently so he doesn’t ruin your moment. Anakin is already rigid in his pants just by hearing your unspoken thoughts. He removes his shirt in a synchronized gesture with you, as you do the same.

Completely bare, he, however, refuses to release the pressure on himself. He wants you, he wants to be the one to lead you there—yes, Anakin knows he’s possessive and egoistic towards you, but he’s also been aware that these traits you not only accept, but enjoy secretively.

“My love”, he whispers as soon as he locates himself behind you, arms around your waist; a smirk twists to a smile when seeing the effect he still has on you. “Have you missed me?”

You freeze upon his words. Your stunned silence is a positive indication of your distrust that this is the real him. Anakin further smiles, his hands running up and down your arms.

“You haven’t forgotten me, have you?”, he mumbles against your ear, bitting your earlobe gently. “Have you, my darling?”

Hungry for his touch, you lean back and pursuit his lips. As he corresponds you passionately, Anakin wraps one hand around your neck all the whilst he uses the other to cup your right breast.

“Hmmm”, he gently groans under his breath when feeling how easily he makes your nipple hardening under his touch. “I’ve missed you, darling.”

“Ani!”, you gasp in full pleasure, your body already giving in to his sweet, skillful hands. “I beg you!”

“Is my princess begging now?”, his husky voice makes you wet and he pompously watches as you rub one leg to the other. “Have I turned such a powerful Jedi in a beggar?”

You enjoy being easily overpowered by him, how he uses that dark side you know so well to your favour. But your mind stops retracing your thoughts for you go absolutely insane as he kisses your neck and now releases the hand around your neck to play with your left breast.

“I-I am, yes! I am, Master!”, you cry out, already unbearably soaked. “Don’t tease further, you know I’ve missed you…”

You arch your back the moment his fingers twirl your nipples, caressing each slowly, yes, but passionately too. His eyes are glued in your reactions: aware of how to tease you, how to make you come undone to him, Anakin is aroused at the idea of your submission. You promptly submit to him and he realizes he loves when you beg.

But more than that, he loves you.

“Let me sooth your needs, darling”, so the General says when slipping his right hand into your feminine core. And finally, he slides one finger into you. “Fuck! So damn wet for me?”

You cast him a lustful gaze, transmitting every indecent thought that he seeded with his departure. Anakin laughs quietly as he captures it, kissing you slowly as he teases you.

“My angel, you and I shall not be merely roomies. No, no”, he vows, watching as you smirk under his pleasantries. “Oh you like that, don’t you?”

Anakin gives small bites against your skin as he now inserts another finger. He takes his time there and when sensing your climax, the Jedi then carefully moves on top of you after lying you down gently—without stopping pleasing you.

“Yes, my love. Come to me”, the Jedi encourages you softly, smiling down at you as you arch your back and enlace him with your legs, all the whilst leaning to kiss his lips fervently.

But this is only the beginning.

*

As much as you enjoying riding him, you prefer when he’s on top of you, being the bossy man he is. Your lips curl on a sly smirk when there is no need to speak it out as one understands the other perfectly well.

“You play the difficult one outside, but damn here you submit easily, uh?”, Anakin teases you, slowly moving inside you, locking hands with you above your head.

“I hate how you know me so damn well”, you growl under your breath.

“Darling, hate is not the Jedi way”, Anakin smirks, getting yourself a smile before he kisses you passionately.

Leaving lust aside, this is the moment where one soul intimately links the other as the bodies connect. Anakin is careful with you, watchful at every reaction he evokes on you.

And you as well. You want him desperately so, every part of him, you don’t want to let go of him. To feel his manhood right where you want him to is just…

So…

Damn…

Good.

Perfection, indeed.

“Ani”, you moan loudly, already feeling the waves of pleasure you gladly prepare to drown into.

“Yes, Y/Nickname?”, he groans softly at each thrust, him too not far from you.

“I love you”, you gasp.

“I love you too”, he whispers back, before going down to your skin with his tongue, taking his time in every bit of you.

Soon, the whispers turn into screams and every intensity rests ashore.

***

• New Beginnings.

When the mission in Mandalore is complete, you and Anakin are expected to go back to Coruscant. However, before doing that, Anakin leads you to planet Y/C, where you and him are secretly married.

“We are husband and wife now”, you remark blissfully. “Who’d ever thought we came this far?!”

“I would”, so says Anakin, side smirking at you.

“There was a Senator that could have taken my place, though…”, you tease, earning him an eye roll.

“Come here, silly head.”

He pulls you close, mesmerized by how shiny your eyes are, transmitting every bit of happiness when you look at him.

“I love you”, says your husband, smiling when seeing you blush. “There has only been you, Mrs Skywalker. As it will be.”

“It better be. I love you too, Mr Skywalker.”

Between giggles, you two share a kiss, spotting a very bright future ahead of you…

[escapingrealityforamoment]

conrad fisher x reader fanfic when they're secretly hooking up but nobody knows because reader is best friends with belly and belly likes conrad?

Thank you so much for your request! I really hope you enjoy reading this! :)

The scorching sun beat down upon the pristine sands of Cousins Beach, its intensity mirrored by the searing passion that simmered between Conrad Fisher and me. Our love, once hidden in stolen moments, grew bolder, igniting a desire that demanded to be explored.

In the depths of the night, when the world was cloaked in shadows, Conrad and I sought solace in each other's arms. Our stolen kisses grew more fervent, our touches more insistent, as the hunger within us intensified. The line between friendship and desire blurred, and the embers of our secret romance burned brighter.

But as our love bloomed, so did the stakes. Belly, my closest friend, became entangled in the web of emotions we wove. Unbeknownst to her, her own feelings for Conrad fanned the flames of jealousy and longing, turning the once innocent friendship into a battleground of desire and betrayal.

The tension in our trio grew palpable, like electricity crackling in the air before a storm. The stolen moments and whispered promises became fuel for the fire of drama that threatened to consume us all. The weight of our secret became an unbearable burden, casting dark shadows on our once carefree summer.

One fateful day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange hue over the ocean, Belly's suspicions grew too strong to ignore. She confronted us, her voice trembling with a mix of hurt and accusation. The truth spilled forth, revealing our hidden affair, tearing at the delicate fabric of our friendship.

Belly's eyes welled with tears, her heart shattered by the revelation. Betrayal laced her words as she lashed out, unleashing the pain and anger that had simmered beneath her facade of innocence. The fallout was inevitable, the fractures in our relationships threatening to sever the ties that had once bound us so tightly.

In the midst of the chaos, Conrad and I were forced to confront the consequences of our actions. We realized that the intensity of our love had blinded us to the collateral damage we had inflicted upon our friendship. Regret washed over us like waves crashing against the shore, leaving us gasping for forgiveness.

But within the tempest of emotions, a glimmer of hope emerged. Belly, in her vulnerability, found the strength to forgive, understanding the complexities of the heart and the unpredictable tides of desire. She chose to rebuild what had been broken, embracing the messy entanglement of love, friendship, and forgiveness.

And so, amidst the backdrop of a tumultuous summer, we embarked on a journey of redemption. Conrad and I vowed to protect our love while nurturing the bonds that had withstood the test of time. The nights grew quieter, the stolen kisses more precious, as we discovered the true meaning of love's depth and the fragility of trust.

In the wake of our shared secrets and whispered confessions, a newfound equilibrium settled over Cousins Beach. The once scorching flames of desire transformed into a gentle warmth, a love that burned steadfastly, knowing the scars of our mistakes and the resilience of our hearts.

As the sun set on our final days at the beach, we stood together, a trio forever changed by the journey we had embarked upon. The memories of stolen kisses and fiery passion would forever be etched in the sands of Cousins Beach, a testament to the tempestuous nature of love and the enduring bonds of friendship.

[acommonanomaly]

Curufin for @feanorianweek.

Inspired by a scene from my fic, What Fades Away.

Excerpt:

Maitimo shook his head, smiling softly as he approached Tyelkormo’s room. He himself was dressed and ready to depart, though he knew it would be some time before his younger brothers were wrangled into their best robes and made presentable.

Maitimo paused with his hand on the door handle, glancing up briefly at the colorful spider hovering above him on the carefully wrought filaments of its web. He was not overly fond of spiders himself, so he understood Makalaurë’s aversion, though he had to admit that it was a magnificent specimen.

Atar had described to Tyelkormo all he knew of the species, remarking on the artistry with which it wove its web, his voice carrying some of the same admiration he expressed when describing the creations of some of the Noldor’s most renowned craftsmen. His appreciation had infected Tyelkormo, who had loudly let it be known that he would not have anyone disturb his guest.

Maitimo pushed the door open and entered the room, and he was immediately struck by the difference in the quality of the air here.

Tyelkormo’s windows were always open, and smells both earthy and airy drifted in along with the singing of birds and the trilling of the insects outside.

His room was what Amil affectionately called an ‘organized mess.’ Tyelkormo seemed determined to bring the outdoors in, having scattered about neatly presented collections of minerals, gemstones, and other natural things that caught his fancy. Charts of pressed flowers and leaves adorned the walls, and scattered around a plant that had long since began to overflow its pot were life-like marble sculptures of forest creatures that Amil had made for him.

Maitimo ducked beneath a wooden bird that hung from the ceiling, its wings slowly flapping so that it bobbed up and down, and he moved deeper into the room. He stopped when a live bird let out a shrill twitter from the window sill and flapped its glossy black wings.

“Good morning,” Maitimo said politely to the bird. Let his brother not accuse him of being rude to his guests.

The bird cocked its head to the side as it watched him, a beady pale yellow eye unblinking.

“Nelyo?” Tyelkormo called out.

Maitimo walked to the bed and pulled back the gauzy netting that surrounded it. The little bells sewn into fabric chimed delicately, and Curufinwë sat back on his heels, his grey eyes going wide as though he had been caught misbehaving. 

In each hand he clutched the carved wooden figure of an animal, and there were several more scattered around him on the bed. Though he had reached the age where he proudly proclaimed to anyone who would listen that he was no longer a baby, he did not mind at all when Tyelkormo coddled him and made him toys. Tyelkormo sat cross-legged next to him, whittling away at a chunk of wood that was beginning to take on the likeness of a bear. Wood shavings littered his lap and the bed, and Maitimo shook his head before tying back the netting and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Amil won’t like you doing that on the bed.”

“Then don’t tell her,” Tyelkormo said curtly, though his gaze darted to the open door.

“Amil wants Curvo to have a bath, and you should be getting ready, too.”

“Turko doesn’t want to go to the celebration. Why must he go?” Curufinwë asked, giving Maitimo a guileless look that might very well have worked on Amil, or even Atar.

Maitimo turned to Tyelkormo. “Tyelkormo, what have you been telling him?”

“I was just talking.” Tyelkormo kept his eyes lowered, continuing to whittle at the chunk of wood. “And anyway, I don’t see why I should have to go.”

“Because we’re all going.”

“It’s a minor celebration. No one will miss me.”

Maitimo sighed. Tyelkormo had been invited to the house of Oromë and was eager to join the Vala for a hunt. Though the invitation did not stipulate that he should arrive by any certain time, his excitement over the prospect of spending time with the great hunter made him impatient. The celebration they were to attend seemed to be even more of a chore to him than it normally would be.

When Tyelkormo had expressed his desire to be left behind, though, their father had said that if the rest of them had to suffer through such a tedious gathering then so would Tyelkormo.

[lunastrophe]

Drow Lore 🕷️ Sacrifices and Adjuration To Lolth

One of the central credo of Lolthite faith is: "We are all Lolth's meat". In many sources, Lolth is described as the goddess who consumes or devours, and rites conducted in her name practically always involve some kind of sacrifice.

🕷️ Typical Sacrifices - in minor, personal rites the sacrifice is usually poured wine, small amount of riches or a few drops of petitioner's blood offered before and idol or symbol of Lolth. In major rites, one or several individuals - usually captives or slaves - are ritually killed within a temple to feed the Spider Queen with their spilled blood.

🕷️ Sacrifice Preferences - non-sentient creatures < sentient creatures, non-humanoids < humanoids < elves < drow. Typically, Lolth prefers more powerful sacrifices to weaker ones, and her own priestesses over all others (this last type of sacrifice occurs only rarely, though, and usually as a punishment).

🕷️ Adjuration from the Crimson Liturgy of Lolth (found in Dragon Magazine #298), spoken during the rite of sacrifice:

O Flesh Carver, who wove the world; Who made us from the darkest clay, Spinning in it a red web of vein and artery, We feel thy hunger. O Lolth, humbly today we feed thee. We feed you this flesh, this quivering meat. With a blade like your jaws, We divide muscle from bone. Eat of this, the meal we consecrate to thee, And do not this day devour us.

🕷️ Lolth's name that appears in this adjuration - Flesh Carver - is mentioned in BG3 at least once. One of the petrified drow in the Underdark, Izwae, thanks a Lolth-sworn drow Tav for freeing him, saying:

Fleshcarver grant you your enemies' blood and the wealth of their houses.

I really like this quote 🖤

For more of my drow lore ramblings, feel free to check my pinned post 🕷️

[zapreportsblog]

Hello. I saw that you wrote for other fandoms. Do you write for the Foundation? If so, can you write for yandere Brother Day (Cleon xiii) and female reader? Brother Day wants to make your reader his legal wife and Queen. Moreover, he wants to have children with the reader.

❝you are mine for eternity❞

✭ pairing : brother day cleon xii x reader

✭ fandom : foundation

✭ summary : brother day have always had his eyes on (y/n), she was the fairest of them all and no other person deserved her love as much as he did.

✭ authors note : lol I have no clue who this man is and im literally reading everything off the web right now on him so sorry if it’s not all that good :)

In the heart of a sprawling, futuristic city stood the grand institution known as the Sanctum. Its towering spires reached toward the heavens, symbolizing the pinnacle of human achievement in science, knowledge, and martial prowess. Within the hallowed walls of the Sanctum, young minds were honed to become the guardians of humanity, known as the Sentinels. Among them, Brother Day was a rising star, the embodiment of dedication, and the epitome of a warrior.

But beneath his disciplined exterior, there was a secret, an obsession that had quietly taken root in his heart since childhood. That obsession had a name, and it was (Y/N).

The story of Brother Day and (Y/N) began in the innocence of youth, when they were nothing more than wide-eyed children. Growing up within the walls of the Sanctum, they had been inseparable. Brother Day, in particular, had always found himself drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. It had started as a simple crush, a puppy love that had made his heart race and his palms sweat.

Back then, when he wasn't busy with the rigorous training that would one day make him a Sentinel, he would often find himself sneaking away from his duties to watch (Y/N) in secret. She had a talent for making flower crowns, a skill she had developed from the vibrant gardens that thrived in the heart of the Sanctum. He would hide among the blossoms, his eyes fixated on her delicate hands as they wove together petals and leaves into intricate garlands.

As the years passed, Brother Day's affection for (Y/N) deepened. He had vowed to himself that he would make her his, not just as a lover, but as a queen. In the stillness of the night, when the Sanctum slept, he would lie awake, his thoughts consumed by her. He knew that he was destined for greatness, that he would ascend to the highest ranks of the Sentinels, and he would do it all for her.

For in his eyes, no one but him deserved her love. He had watched her grow, seen her beauty blossom like a rare flower in the midst of a concrete jungle. Her laughter was the sweetest melody, her presence a beacon of light in a world consumed by darkness. And he, Brother Day, would be the one to protect her from that darkness, to stand at her side as her unwavering protector.

But his secret obsession remained hidden, locked away in the depths of his heart. For now, he would continue his training, striving to become the greatest Sentinel the Sanctum had ever known, all in the name of the one he loved, the one he would make his queen.

As the years passed, Brother Day's dedication to the Sanctum bore fruit, and he rose in power and influence. He became known as Cleon XII, a name that resonated with authority and respect. His martial prowess was unmatched, and his strategic brilliance was lauded by all. But amidst the clamor of his accomplishments, his secret obsession with (Y/N) remained a driving force.

One evening, while Cleon XII was on the balcony of his lavish quarters overlooking the Sanctum, he overheard the maids who attended to his needs conversing in hushed tones. They spoke of his rising prominence and speculated about when he would take a wife, as was expected of a man of his stature.

Their words echoed in his mind, and Cleon XII knew that the time had come. It was the perfect moment to begin courting (Y/N), to make his intentions clear. He couldn't let anyone else claim her heart. She would be his queen, and he would ensure her safety and happiness for the rest of their days.

With newfound determination, Cleon XII set out to find (Y/N). He knew her routines well and had learned that she often went shopping at the marketplace in the evenings. He tracked her there, his heart pounding with anticipation.

As he approached her, Cleon XII couldn't resist the urge to tease her a bit. He came up behind her, causing her to startle as she turned around. Her initial surprise quickly melted into a warm smile when she saw who it was.

"Cleon XII, don't sneak up behind me," she chided, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

He grinned, unable to contain his amusement. "Can I not surprise my childhood friend?" he retorted, his tone playful.

They walked together through the bustling marketplace, their conversation flowing effortlessly as they caught up on each other's lives. (Y/N) told him about her pursuits and interests, and Cleon XII listened attentively, genuinely fascinated by her every word.

But in the recesses of his mind, he was already plotting. He envisioned all the different ways he could court her, how he would make her his queen, and how their life together would be. She wouldn't need to concern herself with menial tasks like shopping; they would have maids to handle such matters. She would be safe at home, resting, perhaps with their young, their heirs to the throne.

As they strolled through the market, Cleon XII couldn't help but steal glances at (Y/N). She was even more radiant than he remembered, and he was determined to make her his, to share with her the grandeur and power that life as Cleon XII could offer.

The sun dipped low in the sky as Cleon XII's grueling training session at the Sanctum came to an end. He was weary but exhilarated, his muscles honed to perfection. However, today, his thoughts were not solely consumed by combat and strategy; they were filled with (Y/N) and the delicate flower crowns she had woven the night before.

Unable to resist the pull of his newfound infatuation, he followed the trail of petals to find her in a secluded garden, much like the one they had played in as children. She sat there, her nimble fingers working wonders with the blossoms, just as she had done when they were young.

Approaching her, Cleon XII couldn't help but smile as he watched her in silent admiration. She was a vision of grace and beauty, her dedication to the art of creating flower crowns both captivating and endearing.

Without a word, he approached her and asked, "May I join you?"

(Y/N) looked up, her eyes widening in surprise as she registered his presence. A flush of warmth colored her cheeks. "Of course, Cleon XII," she replied, her voice gentle and inviting.

Cleon XII took a seat beside her, a touch of uncertainty in his expression. "I admit, I have never done this before," he confessed, his gaze locked on her delicate hands as they deftly worked the flowers.

Her laughter was like music, a sweet melody that danced through the air. "It's quite simple, really," she said, her fingers guiding his in the delicate process of weaving the blooms together. "You just need patience and a gentle touch."

As she showed him how to create the intricate patterns of a flower crown, Cleon XII found himself utterly entranced by her. He watched her with blissful awe, every stolen glance revealing the depth of his affection.

And then, in a moment of boldness, he blurted out, "Do you wish to go on a date with me?"

The question hung in the air, unexpected and unscripted. (Y/N) blinked in surprise, her cheeks tinted with a becoming shade of pink. She paused for a heartbeat, considering his request, and then a smile bloomed on her lips.

"I would love to," she replied, her eyes meeting his with a newfound warmth that sent a rush of happiness surging through Cleon XII's heart. In that simple moment, amidst the petals and the delicate art of flower crowns, their courtship had begun, destined to blossom into something far greater.

Good step one was now in place..

[misuutira]

“The curse had fallen upon her shoulders, one that she had taken willingly at the time. But her regrets increased with time, much like the threads she added to the tapestries she wove.” ― D.A. Henneman, Web Of Lies: A Goddesses In Love Novella

OKAY LOOK-

HEAR ME OUT-

I have zero clue if anyone's done this concept before for an Akumatized!Marinette, but I think a Spider-themed Akuma based around the Greco-Roman myth of Arachne (Arachnette?) just works too well not to try and sketch out myself. Especially in the wake of the Season 5 finale, where she a.) was forced to weave an elaborate web of lies about her confrontation with Gabriel, the Wish, and his death, and b.) was unable to stop Monarch from accessing the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous to make the Ultimate Wish--the mission she's had since the very beginning of the series. I can only imagine how miserable girly's feeling in the aftermath and the potential Imposter Syndrome that comes with her involvement in all of it.

So, an Akumanette who believes her Akumatization to be divine retribution for thinking that she could have ever been strong or special enough to embody the traits of the gods? It seems rather fitting here imo. :)

The design is a bit busy, I'll admit, but I was having way too much fun trying out brushes that I don't normally use. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out all things considered!

[peachesofteal]

I can’t stop thinking about witch!reader x Fae!Johnny ✨

Previous here. Original fic here.

What if you did do something when you pointed your finger at him? Not a hex, not a curse either… but a binding. Maybe you didn’t do it on purpose, had no idea you fused a piece of your magic with his, wrapped a thread of your soul around his, the power in his very touch entangling with yours the moment he wrapped his fingers around your wrist.

Or maybe you did do it on purpose.

And Johnny has no idea.

He returns to his realm uneasily, the day after you corner him. A headache, something surprisingly mortal, blooms behind the back of his eyes when you advance on him, and an ache settles beneath his ribs when you snatch your hand out of his grasp and stomp away, red and purple magic angrily arcing off from you and tainting the air with a tart, burnt aftertaste.

He tries not to think about how enchanting you were, standing before him raging like a storm at sea, adorable and violent, just as he’s already tried to burn the memory of his evening in your bookshop from his mind. He tries not to remember the way the you practically glowed when you spoke of your power, your connection with the mortal elements that allowed you to feel so much more than he ever imagined, or the way your smile notched to the side when he sloppily tried to imitate the way you wove together the web of blood magic.

A distraction, that’s all you would be. A creature of lesser magic in a far away realm, something that’s not meant for him.

He thinks it will pass, once he returns home. He imagines it’s just a side effect of frequent realm to realm travel, too many trips in too many days, and he can practically hear Price telling him he needs to stay in Faerie for a while, at least until his magic settles and his body adjusts to it’s rightful plane. After all… his kind doesn’t take sick like others. They can suffer magical ailments, wounds from weapons or other Fae, but to fall ill is incredibly rare. And only usually happens to those of them who are incredibly stupid. Still, the headache rots and spreads throughout his brain, festering in his magic until it becomes an unruly, ungovernable thing that barely recognizes him, and his muscles are unbearably sore, useless in his body when he tries to exert himself in any way. All the while, something else aches in his soul, a unbearable yearning that builds and builds like a dark cloud growing heavy with rain.

“Soul sick.” Simon’s Nereid tells him, the day he drags himself to their door for help, her expression rife with pity. “Someone has bound themselves to you. Your soul mourns for theirs, their magic now woven into the threads of your own.” The image of you pointing at him flashes through his mind, your gaze enraged, and haunted while you cursed him up and down. Surely… you did not mean for this?

Simon watches him knowingly when he describes the night he met you, the interaction in the bookshop that led to you disclosing the key secrets of blood magic, the way he sat with you for hours, mystified by your ability and passion, entranced by your beauty. A bonus, he tried to tell Simon, that’s all it was, but when he thinks about the way you looked when you thrust your finger into his face, fiery and full of rage, he realizes it was much, much more than that.

“Perhaps she planned this, Johnny.” He intones, hand laying possessively on the thigh of his wife while she sits in his lap, and Johnny shakes his head in denial. Did you? Were you capable of such a thing? Your words are burned into his mind, the venom in your voice playing on repeat.

You tricked me, you Fae bastard.

Had you tricked him in return?

He returns to the mortal realm in a fury and breaks down the door of the flat above the bookshop, snarling your name down the hall to no avail.

“Do not hide from me.” He calls, sugaring his voice with honey, trying to draw you out from where you hide. “I know what’s happened, little one. Now-“ His sentence dies in his throat when he pushes your bedroom door open, a peculiar numbness sweeping through his body when he finally sees you where you lay.

Fear is the unknown sensation that pours through him, that paralyzes him. It’s fear that anesthetizes him when he finds you crumpled on the floor, your magic drained from your body like someone has bled you dry, eyes peeled wide in agony and a rasping breath on your lips.

“Oh, little witch.” He murmurs, kneeling slowly by your side, wide palm slipping behind your neck gently. “What have you done?”

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Promises Four: A Request

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Dream of the Endless had been promised a bride.

Chapter Track: "Blue" bardcore cover by Cornelius Link A/N: SHORT chapter. A necessary bit before a bigger scene. Obviously not updating as often as I'd like, but I have some mental health stuff going on that's actively interfering with my creativity/ability to write. Your comments and support mean the world! <3

A Request

The bard found her opportunity in the midafternoon.

The court wheeled slow. Too early to dine, too late for anything but quiet meetings over tea. Gossips bartered in corners, warmed by sunlight and conspiracy. The oldest and youngest members of court disappeared for a private rest before the night’s feasting, and the empty spaces they left behind became walls between cliques and families. Everyone found a place and settled there. Or most did, at least. Even the king wandered from his guest to attend to matters of state – his new mistress, rather – and Dream of the Endless sat like a black tear in the golden hangings and wreathed roses.

A cat, perfectly still, intent on everything and nothing as it watched for something worth the bother to hunt. A flicking tail would suit him well.

She’d spent the morning watching his frown cut over the assembled nobles, more judge than hopeful husband, and each failure to notice a pretty girl or answer an eager boy drew a new line in the web she suspected he wove over the court, the trap under the façade. The Endless’s true motive and threat.

She twiddled inoffensive tunes with her lute, banished by her own free will to the minstrels’ corner. Her songs had a purpose, even when played softly. She saved a queen’s reign once, sitting quietly and listening to courtiers sing in traitorous whispers. With busy hands and a clear purpose, she was invisible. Even her friends only remembered her every hour or so, and most knew her well enough to let her be.

The Endless did not leave his seat on high. He did not lower himself to converse with the lowly mortals gathered for his pleasure, and he raised his wine to his lips but rarely. Everything moved like a dull play someone bribed him to sit and watch.

Stealing strings from the growing web, the bard wove a tapestry, working until she could see the shapes and faces, until something resembling sense appeared. The scene in the unfinished fabric looked more like a war than a courtship.

And when the slow hours crept over the castle, and Dream of the Endless sat alone, she turned like the shadows over the wall to settle at on the steps of the royal dais.

“You must enjoy your misery, King of Dreams, to subject yourself to seven full days of this.”

He looked at her, nearer than the rest of court, but still so clearly beneath him, and lifted a brow.

“My misery?” It was the most he’d engaged with any of the lesser beings he sat amidst, and each word weighed heavy, spoken slowly so she’d feel the burden of his attention. “What inspires your assumption?”

Assumption was not presumption, and she took it as permission to continue. He would deign indulge her questions. For the moment. But she must tread carefully, and she continued playing, a gentle ballad a half-step removed from a lullaby.

“Your bearing,” she said, keeping her eyes on the chords. “Your face, your manner.”

Music and mathematics came from the same house. A simple melody and simple addition led to answers most preferred to ignore.

 “You seem terribly bored, majesty.”

A ghost of a smile shadowed his face, a passing eclipse over the moon’s bright face.

“And you would entertain me, little bard?”

“I would not presume to know your tastes, though they clearly do not walk this court.” He didn’t even pretend to show interest. When the king left the room, the Endless’s starry eyes turned flat and cold, proof that the promised bride hadn’t lured him back. Which left only one possibility. To ensure she was heard, she turned to meet his gaze, filling the natural pause of her lute’s tune with her request. “I wouldn’t ask it as a favor, but if you would deign consider it – perhaps whatever cautionary tale you spin will spread farther carried by survivors.”

Now, she truly had his interest. Graceful as a snake, he shifted in his throne. His dark figure blocked the sun, and the only light to creep over his shoulders caught in the ruby at his throat. The bloody glint drew the hair along the back of her neck to stand straight, and she hoped the goosebumps didn’t betray her by running down her arms. She didn’t dare look away to check.

“Do you fear for your life?”

Not at all, and the unnatural confidence of immortality buoyed her courage, lifting a smile from the deep pit in her chest where it sank before she came to sit at Dream’s feet.

“Your sister will not have me, as I’m sure you know.”

The stars in his eyes flashed, and while his shadows didn’t grow any brighter, their knife’s edge softened.

“I’m asking so I might advise a few wiser birds fly the coop before the fox comes calling. They’d make excellent messenger pigeons, if they escape.”

It was too much to hope for a direct answer, and she didn’t wait for one. She rose from the step to sink back down in a far more honest curtsy than she’d offered the mortal realm’s king the night before. Here was a monarch due much greater respect.

And for the second time, she took her leave of him.