#I still remember the absolute terror I felt in my soul when I was in tears over the 6x1 opening

[houseswife]

how unserious would it be if I made a hilson edit to you’ll be back from hamilton. because on one hand it’s the right level of ridiculous that matches most of their scenes & also encapsulates a certain level of authentic toxicity. on the other hand it’s fucking. from hamilton

#also if I remember correctly. hugh laurie literally is the one who named it? #WILD. #I feel like I should be allowed to… as a treat. #house once freestyle rapped with lin manuel miranda. nothing is too outrageous. #I still remember the absolute terror I felt in my soul when I was in tears over the 6x1 opening #feeling like my heart had been torn to shreds by no surprises playing in the background #and then I saw That Name appear on screen…. #such a juxtaposition of emotion dawg when I tell you I CACKLED through the pain #just thinking about house interacting with him was enough to make me rethink my momentary anguish

[animentality]

Re Gortash’s parents: you ever think about the fact that in all the years since he’s been free of the hells- a couple of decades, likely- he hasn’t killed them? He hasn’t used his connections to ruin their business? Didn’t ask or let slip to Durge that no one would miss them, certainly not any children these poor cobblers might have had? I find it so interesting. For all we know, he’s had contact with them in the interim, maybe hoping against hope that they’d finally see him as worthy of love. And when they never did… well. That’s what the tadpoles were for.

I actually think that he didn't visit them until he had the tadpoles and the absolute plan.

They act as though he just showed up one day, after years of simply being gone, and tadpoled them, and that makes a lot of sense, actually.

Because consider this:

As a kid, your parents are your entire world. They shape literally everything about you, whether you become exactly like them or act out deliberately to be their total opposite.

They shape your world view and how you see men and women and relationships. They teach you how to react to pain, they teach you what pain is, and how to fix it, they teach you patience, they teach you understanding.

Or not.

So my theory is that Gortash never bothered his parents until he got the tadpoles for two reasons.

1) the pain he must've felt after being sold, and after years of being tortured by Raphael, was too great for him to bear revisiting. We know from how he talks to Karlach that he minimizes and condescends and pretends that being enslaved doesn't hurt, isn't a betrayal, isn't an awful thing.

Why do you call it awful? I was enslaved once. I didn't care.

His parents taught him early on, and it was reinforced by a devil who literally bargains with souls, that people are just bargaining chips.

They're tools, to be used and traded and discarded when they're no longer useful.

So why would he go back to his parents, even if it was to ruin their lives?

Because that would be admitting that they hurt him. That would be admitting he needed closure.

A strong man doesn't need to visit his parents and ask why they didn't want him.

And 2)

He is a fucking liar. We know he's a liar.

If he truly didn't care, he wouldn't have tadpoled his parents. He wouldn't be tormenting his mother, by forcing her to pretend that she'd never sell her son to a devil. He wouldn't have erased his father completely.

There is no reason at all to tadpole a couple of fucking cobblers.

But he's holding onto it, and like any megalomaniacal man child with parental issues, he's pushing it down and pretending he doesn't care, when it still hurts.

And that's why I don't think he visited them until he had tadpoles to use on them.

Part of him wouldn't want to re-live his past. Part of him would be terrified of being helpless again.

Of feeling powerless.

Abusive and neglectful parents often fill their children with terror.

Even as adults, abused children still remember that fear. It's settled deep within their guts, and they feel a flicker of it every time a partner raises their voice or a friend screams at them.

Gortash didn't visit his parents because he needed to feel powerful first.

He needed to know he could go back, and not become Enver, that sniveling little boy who used to cry every night in the hells for his mom and dad, who were the only reason he was ever there in the first place.

He needed to be Lord Gortash.

Chosen of Bane.

And...he needed the tadpoles.

He needed to make his parents helpless.

So that he wouldn't feel that way, ever again.

So they say empty platitudes. Truthfully, I don't know if he cares about impressing them anymore.

To me, it's more about...eliminating all traces of Enver Flymm from the world.

Letting that little boy die in the hells...

So in short, anon...no, I don't think he visited them ever.

Not until he had the means to keep them totally helpless.

I also doubt the dark urge ever knew about them, until they tadpoled them, maybe.

Because why would Enver want the dark urge to ever know that there was a time when he was not the Chosen of Bane, the mighty tyrant, the equal of the Child of Murder?

Enver wouldn't just be embarrassed. He'd despise the Dark Urge seeing him that way.

He refuses to look weak or tolerate weakness.

That includes his own.

#enver gortash #baldurs gate 3 #bg3

[arcielee]

To Build a Home

Summary: You are a broken soul and he can recognize it.  Paring: modern Aegon Targaryen x FemaleReader Word Count: 3083 Warnings: Mentions of household abuse, night terrors and coping with anxiety, but then there will be fluff, oh yes indeed.   Author’s Note: Huge shout out to @sirenofavalon​ for this request, it is absolutely brilliant and I just adored it. Thank you!  A huge thank you to @aspen-carter​ and @f4ll-for-you​ for being my beta readers, to Dais especially. You are my muse and I appreciate the ideas you poured into this story, to help me with the outline to create this piece. I cannot thank you enough for you being you. 💜💛 Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.  Taglist (my Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond​ @annikin-im-panicin​​ @watercolorskyy​ @schniiipsel​ @aspen-carter​ @aemondx​ @fan-goddess​

Helaena had the tendency to collect things; some were intolerable, like her entomology infatuation, and others were more manageable. At school, she was a beacon of warmth and acceptance, accumulating friends from every social group and often bringing them home. Some would stay for a while and move on, still friendly with hallway run-ins, but others needed a savior, an escape. 

Those were the ones who stayed, knitted at her side.

You were quiet as a result of growing up in a violent household, where the tempers were an unbridled heat that searched for any release. As a result, your steps were soft, your movements always slow; it was a skilled trepidation as you were unwilling, unwanting of any attention to be brought to you. 

Helaena had always been sweet enough to sit with you during lunch. You remembered when she sat at your side and asked about the book you were reading. Usually, it was a shield, a way to hide in plain sight, but her lilac eyes were kind and you bookmarked your place to talk with her. It continued through the week, she was always entertained with your summary or reviews of whatever book you had, the different genres of fiction that captured your attention, and you thought her bugs were both peculiar and fascinating. 

She invited you to spend the night and you were able to get permission, both a rarity and relief; that Friday, you waited with Helaena and her two older brothers for their mother, who she kindly asked for you to call her Alicent, to come pick you up. 

The ride was wonderful, as anything that took you away from your home was; you bonded with Aemond over a shared love of literature and learned that you and Aegon were in the same grade, though your schedules were off-kiltered as a result of him failing some classes. 

The Targaryen home was large and welcoming. You saw only one family photo and learned their father had died, but he was not grieved like a love lost, but it almost seemed to be an unspoken relief that washed over the household. 

The evening was spent sprawled in the living room, playing video games until dinner was ready; the meal time was spent in a raucous debate over what film would be watched before bed. Though it was good natured, you felt yourself begin to wither under the raised voices when suddenly Aegon announced it would be The Never Ending Story.

“It is a classic,” he said with a finality to end the discussion.

Later that night, Alicent was on the couch with Daeron, another and even younger brother, while the rest were in a nest of blankets and pillows on the living room floor. It was your first real taste of a family setting and you fell asleep with a smile and the subtle ache knowing you inevitably would have to return home. 

–

Aegon was always a light sleeper; there was an inability to shut his brain off. His mind seemed to flit over anything and everything, which he did his best to explain to his father when he was alive, again to his grandfather, and was met with their adamant words that he was just not applying himself. 

He felt at ease, an unfamiliar but welcomed emotion, nestled amongst his siblings and you, the newest addition, each tucked away in a bundle of blankets on the floor. Aegon began to teeter the edge of unconsciousness when he heard it. 

A soft whimper, a quiet cry. 

He shifted to move, careful not to disturb Aemond or Helaena with her cocoon of pillows; he crept to where you were sleeping, or trying too. He saw your brows were knitted and your lips parted with another muted cry, tears catching on your lashes. Aegon was careful with his touch, just his hand to your shoulder and even this caused your eyes to open wide with fear, grabbing his wrist. 

“Hey, it’s just me,” Aegon whispered. “It’s Aegon and you’re staying at our house, remember?” 

You trembled with a visceral fear and it was something he unfortunately recognized; his mind flitted to earlier with the friendly discourse of what movie to watch, then to when his father was alive or whenever their grandfather would visit. Aegon moved to lay next to you and you shifted to curl against his chest; he made soft, soothing sounds that led into a melody, a few bars sung with his low timbre. He started another without you asking and did not stop until you drifted back into a more peaceful sleep. 

He hummed a bit longer, allowing his eyes to take you in with the dim lighting of the room. He watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest, enjoyed the warmth of you pressed against his chest. He also saw the muted purple and green of your jawline, a healing bruise. 

Aegon was careful to pull away and retreated back to his pillows and blankets, still humming the song. 

–

The next day, you woke up to breakfast being prepared, the clatter of pots and pans, the low baritone of Aemond giving commands and Daeron’s higher pitch quipping back, and the musical laughter of Alicent over it all. You shied away to clean up in the guest bathroom, the careful application of makeup to hide what waited at home, before coming back to the hallway and bumping into Helaena. 

Your new friend has the warmest smile, something that glowed from the kindness that seemed to resonate from her. “Hey, I already asked my mother and, if it is okay with your’s, you are welcome to stay with us for the weekend. We can take you to school on Monday.”  

What you did not know was Aegon grabbing his sister, a hushed whisper of his concern when he relayed the nightmare you had, the injury he swore he saw. She listened, nodding her head and telling him, “I assume it was something. I’ll ask mom if she can stay with us for the rest of the weekend.” 

You learned that your family does not miss you, they only mind you when you are home; it was easy enough for you to stay away and it was expressed that you were welcomed to return, weekend after weekend. During the school week, you had lunches with Helaena and sometimes her brothers would stop by, though you would see Aegon checking in more often than Aemond. On Fridays, your bag was already packed and you would wait with Helaena and her brothers for Alicent to come and take you home. 

It was an unspoken gesture that the guest room became yours; Alicent showed you the cleared out drawers and closet space, her sweet smile encouraging you to leave behind a change of clothes or even your school uniform, whatever you would need to feel more at home. You struggled with the words to thank her and she gave you a hug, a way to say no words were needed.

The space intimately becomes your own and you are pleased to realize your wall is shared with Aegon and his room. The years continued, with secondary school nearing its end and with graduation looming, you and Aegon would spend more time together; he would slip into your room for a late night talk, your shared whispers of what was next to come.

You knew you slept better at the Targaryen’s than your own home, but your nightmares would still come with its sickening hold that sunk into your chest, with a fear that paralyzed you and choked your tongue. It was always the same, how you would run and run, without an end in sight, but aware that if you stopped, it would finally be able to sink its hold into you…

You woke up, in the spare bed placed in the spare bedroom that was unspokenly yours. You felt his warm touch, your mind clearing and allowing you to recognize the comfort noises from Aegon and you blushed once you understood you were in his arms, yet again. You trembled still, but it was a mixture of the lingering fear and newfound relief that the nightmare ended; you let out a shaky exhale.

His fingers curled under your chin and you tilted your head back to meet with his eyes. “Hey,” he smiled at you and you felt your blush deepen. 

“H-hey,” you stammered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was awake already.” 

It was something you had noticed, how restless he seemed to be in his own room. You wanted to ask what kept him awake, but instead you say. “Aegon, would you please sing my song?”

He shifted his weight, allowing you to reposition; Aegon laid on his back, his head propped on the pillow and you curled against his chest, like always. 

Helaena was your dear friend, perhaps your best friend, but Aegon was something special. With your frequent stay-overs, you learned that he would always be there when you woke up, wearing his warm smile with a song perched on his tongue; his soothing voice helped ease you back into reality, a sung promise that in this moment you were safe within the walls that held you. 

His songs were uniquely his own, his voice amazing, like a balm for your broken soul. It was what was needed to lull you back to sleep, without the terror when you closed your eyes, but this time, you forced yourself to remain awake. “Does your family know you sing like this?” You whispered into his chest. 

You can feel him shake his head and you peered up to see the tussle of his silver locks. “This is something only for you,” and he smiled, pulling you closer to his chest. 

Aegon smelled rich, but you knew it was a cologne that Alicent picked out and it mixed well with the scent of clean laundry and his own comforting scent. You wrapped your arm around his stomach, nestling into the warmth he always seemed to exude; he tensed at first, then exhaled. “I never recognize what you sing to me,” you continued and it is something of a question. 

“It’s the music that plays in my head,” is his vague answer. He always shied away when you complimented his natural talent, always groaning or blushing whenever you praised his singing. 

“Is the music what keeps you up?” 

He hummed a noncommittal reply, so instead you shyly request him to sing you another song and, as always, he obliges you. You can feel the vibration where your head was laying on his chest, his voice able to bring you back to sleep. 

You always slept soundly at his side. 

–

Graduation comes and you both have enrolled into the same university, but by your own means; Aegon has his trust fund and you, proudly, have your scholarships earned. You shared your concern about finding a place to stay and he was quick to suggest that you roomed with him, since his grandfather was paying for his housing as a means for redemption. 

The Targaryens were always gracious to you and seemed aware of your home life, though you never dared breath a word about it; you should have known he would offer. 

You hesitated; to be his roommate would be effortless, your friendship had grown over the years and his presence allowed you to feel comfortable, made you feel safe. The two of you shared a bond, something his family was aware of but only Helaena would dare tease you; in truth, you cherished the friendship, but you found yourself wanting something more and were too afraid to ask for it. 

Aegon was undeniably handsome, with his bright eyes and his smile that filled the width of his jaw, his mussed silver locks that framed his face. Though he never seemed interested in anyone, the thought lingered with you, he will inevitably get a girlfriend, and then what would you do? 

You swallowed that thought and agreed to it; to celebrate, you purchased him a small, leather bound journal and left it with a note on his bed, in his new room: 

A place where you can store your music and maybe find some sleep.

Together, you both create the apartment into a space that is all your own. Your schedules are listed and you both make sure to recap your days, relishing in each other’s victories. When Aegon came home with a guitar in hand, you glowed with your excitement, the idea of what he would create next. 

His laughter was a sound that filled your chest. “I don’t even know how to play it yet!”

“Yes, but you are talented and brilliant,” you argued, your cheeks rosy from your smile. “So I trust you will be amazing.” 

His talent seemed natural enough and the acoustic sounds complemented his voice in a way that you now craved. Your nightmares were not as frequent, but it seemed to be replaced with an anxiety that had you in a chokehold; it came with the stress of your courses and you pushed yourself to maintain the grades needed that allowed your scholarships. 

Aegon always seemed aware when it began to grab ahold of you and he would be in your door frame, with his guitar in hand. You smiled and moved to your bed, allowing him your seat, and he would show you what he had been learning, his voice able to loosen anxiety’s grip. 

“Aegon,” you sighed one day. “You really should play the next time they do an open mic at the coffee shop. You are so talented.” 

“That is your opinion,” he grinned in return, setting the guitar to lean against your desk. “Maybe if I had a cult following, all who shared your opinion, I could make something with it.” 

“A cult following would be easy enough,” and you meant your tone to be teasing. “Honestly, you can easily get any girl you want, if you actually tried.”

The silence was heavy, almost palpable between the two of you; it was something you had never experienced with him before. It was supposed to be a joke amongst friends, but you wished you could scoop up the words and swallow them. 

He watched you, carefully, his beautiful eyes seemed to trace over your features, but you assumed he did not wish to meet with your stare. You were holding your breath, unsure if you needed to break the silence building or allow him to do it, and it went too long.

Aegon stood up, one hand combed through his silver waves and the other pulled the leather bound journal you gifted him, setting it on the desk. He did not say anything, but instead grabbed the guitar and retreated to his room, leaving your door open. 

You looked at the journal and your eyes trailed to the now empty door frame; you waited for him to come back. He doesn’t and you push from the bed, reaching to pick it up and standing still, debating on what you should do next. 

His handwriting fits him, a cursive hybrid scrawl of letters, as if he struggled to keep with the thoughts that spilled from his mind to the paper. You find every page was nearly filled, front and back, with a poetry pose that flowed; the subject, his words had a theme and the realization had you crimson. 

It was you. 

You fell back to sit on the edge of your bed, thinking and replaying every intimate moment shared, how it transcribed to his written words and how you had been blind to understand the meaning behind his words sung. You classified what you two shared as friendship, frightened to try for something else, especially when it had seemed unattainable before, but now…

The one consistent thing was that Aegon was your peace, he was your comfort personified with his beautiful, bright eyes and the smile that would pluck the strings of your heart with every song he had ready on his lips. You appreciated him and you were scared to ever ask for something more, to push him for something and he would pull away and be lost to you. 

You now held his journal, in his own words you finally understood from his perspective, he was the one carrying feelings that were unreciprocated but he had contentment to be a friend for you and nothing more, if it allowed him to forever be a part of your life. 

Your grip ached your fingers, a renewed passion that burned away the anxiety that hid in the shadows, and you stood up again, your each step determined, but still soft. His door was closed, but you see his light is on and pooled below; your nails gently tapped and you heard his muffled acknowledgement. 

Aegon was laying face down on his bed, his face buried in his pillow but he twisted to face you. His eyes met with yours and he was quick to sit upright, a look of recognition to his features.

He always seemed to be so aware of you.

“Aegon,” you breathed, a smile on your lips and the realization you had no word prepared with your semi-grand entrance. Your eyes looked around his room, an organized mess to his belongings and his scent touching everything. You realized you always allowed him into your space, but never asked to venture into his own. 

He pushed himself from the bed and moved towards you, watchful of your response as he drew closer. 

He was always astutely aware, respectful of your boundaries that you set with your subtle mannerisms. He saw your stance, how your hands were white with the hold on his journal, how your tongue wet your lips as you struggled for the words. “I… need to get you a new journal. This one is nearly full.”

His smile is warm and kind, as always. “I always have inspiration, so I am full of ideas.” 

You hummed. “Could I… I always sleep better with you at my side. Do you mind if I sleep in your bed tonight?”

Aegon looked at you and your heart melted within your chest, unable to collect itself when he closed the distance between you. His hands were careful to cup your jaw, rough from the calluses of guitar strings but still gentle, and he pressed his lips to your own.

#aegon targaryen #modern aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x female reader #modern hotd au #sweet aegon fluff #to build a home

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

In Living Color

Okay, so I've learned that the pic above is actually a stunning piece of digital art by @pompei77-bonny.

Summary: Y/N never knew how much color existed in the world till a green-eyed hunter stumbled into her path.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Implied smut. Kissing. Dean's hands very briefly up a skirt. Dean on a motorcycle. Dean in leather. Dean being an absolute 1950s smoke show! Slight AU!Dean. He's still a hunter, but he's a hunter in the '50s.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 1,436

A/N: So, this challenge by the lovely @impala-dreamer immediately called this scenario to mind.

The amazing Melissa Ethridge song, "I'm the Only One" has always conjured up pure rebellion in my mind. I'm not sure why, maybe it's just the absolute rock goddess purity in Melissa's raspy voice, or the idea in the song of just DESPERATELY needing another person. But it's always made me thing of desperation and rebellion.

Then I combined those ideas with the above picture, 🥵🥵 and just a smidge of the 1950s song, Leader of the Pack. Hence, the story being set in the 50s. (And for those who know it, the ending of this story is different from the ending of that song!) Hope you enjoy! 😊

The beautiful divider below and at the bottom were created by @talesmaniac89

It was a sunshine yellow afternoon in Belmont, Massachusetts, and all around Y/N, the graduating class of 1956 droned on - endlessly discussing the senior prom. Dates, dresses and dancing, it was the same conversation her chorus of followers had been having for the last three months. 

And a week ago, she’d been droning right along with them; trying to choose between the pale blue or the pale pink for her dress, between Brett Silverman and Steven Parks for her date, two boys who were basically the pale blue and pale pink of people. They were both bland and respectable, and both destined to inherit their fathers’ businesses. She couldn’t go wrong with either.

Then, her whole world had flipped upside down and she’d been introduced to the color red. Red in the eyes of the vengeful spirit that had attacked her one evening on her way home from cheerleading practice, red in the slashes the ghost had scratched into her cheek, and a red haze of terror as she opened her mouth to scream and no sound came out.

And then came green.

Green like a jewel, like jade, no like an emerald, like soft moss, like lush fields. Green that lit a fire in her belly and an ache in her heart.

He appeared with a gunshot, banishing the spirit with no more than salt, “but not forever”, he’d warned as he grabbed up her hand and tugged her along after him. The moment flew past in a heartbeat, but she could pull apart every second, turn each tiny memory over in her mind. 

The vision of him appearing through the smoke of the vanishing ghost, the fierceness in his bright green eyes as he scanned her briefly looking for more injuries, the feel of his fingers grasping hers, rough calluses scratching her pampered skin. She remembered running behind him, blindly trusting him; in a world that was quickly crashing down around her ears, his bulky strength was a haven. 

She remembered the smell of leather from his jacket, the spicy scent that hit her when he yanked her against his chest as he hid them around a corner, even the way his hand felt pressed against her lips as he silenced her predicted scream. 

The danger had passed, the ghost screeching into oblivion in a flash of orange and yellow flame.

And she’d been left with green.

He didn’t mean to stay, she didn’t expect him to. He’d explained the impossible situation she’d found herself in, promising that his father had banished the ghost for good by burning its bones far away from the school. 

Then he’d planned to walk away, but something had called him back, made him linger. Something made him confide in her, and something made her trust him enough to tell him things she’d never told another living soul. It made them ignore the call of their lives and spend a handful of idyllic days together, just learning each other. 

Something had connected them from the first moment, and it was something bright and shining that neither of them wanted to let go of, but something they were both terrified was ending.

“My dad’s pissed,” Dean had said the night before, and his green eyes were shadowed with doubt and uncertainty, “he’s waiting for me to meet him tomorrow, I was supposed to be there days ago. My little brother misses me, I need to be there to take care of him.” 

He stepped up to her, pressing her against the brick wall of the high school he’d attended for no more than a couple weeks, the high school that, until a few days earlier, had made up the entirety of her whole world. Now the bricks felt cold compared to the warmth emanating from the boy in front of her.

The boy that had so recently become a man, barely eighteen, the boy who was so rash and impulsive, the boy that made her heart race and her blood pump like no one ever had, the boy that made her rethink her entire life.

“I can’t stay, but…” He raised his big palm to her cheek and lowered his lips to hers briefly, gently, before pulling back. “...but come with me.” 

She actually laughed, and then wanted to cry when she saw the brief flash of hurt cross his features. She pulled him back to kiss away the wound she’d given him. 

“Dean,” she breathed against his lips, “You have no idea how much I want to, but I mean, I can’t, my…my life is here.”

“What life?” Dean asked with a sardonic lift of his brow and Y/N winced at just how close to home that question hit. “Here, is where your father will quickly march you down the aisle, where you’ll be shoved into a mundane life of dishes and diapers, PTA meetings and Tupperware parties.”

He pulled her close again, letting his hands fall to her waist and pushing his knee between her legs, bunching up her belled skirts and crinoline.

“I saved you once, let me save you again - from tedium and predictability. Come with me, ride with me.”

Y/N shook her head. “What about your father? Won’t he be furious that you just hauled someone along with you?”

Dean clenched his jaw, but shrugged. “Too bad. I’ve been my father’s soldier all my life. I deserve something for myself.” His voice dipped low and he nibbled lightly on her earlobe. “And what I want for myself is you.”

Slipping his hands beneath the swishing cotton and tulle of her skirts Dean skimmed his fingers lightly over the damp satin of her panties. And suddenly Y/N’s world was lit up with color as she cried out in surprise and need.

“God, Y/N, I need you so badly.” Dean said, voice muffled against her neck. He kept his hungry mouth and roaming hands on her for a minute more before he broke away from her, putting distance between them and breathing harshly.

“But I’m not gonna be some asshole who just screws you and takes off.” He ran a hand over his face. “So, come with me now, tonight. Let’s figure out our lives out together.”

Y/N felt cold with him stepped away from her and she wished he’d come back. A part of her mind was screaming for her to leap into his arms, but the other part was terrified at all the unknown that lay in that black space between them - and the fear was louder.

So they’d walked away from each other last night, and Y/N knew she would forever remember his crooked smile and the way his teary green eyes made her think of rainy forests..

And now the world around her was dull, like a watercolor painting bleached by the sun, and she didn’t know how to color her world again, but she knew it wasn’t with pale boys and cupcake dresses.

Then suddenly, in the distance, she could hear the dirty brown roar of a motorcycle engine and she jumped up from where she sat on the grass. Fireworks of silver and gold exploded in her mind as Dean skidded to a halt thirty feet away. He sat revving the engine from the parking lot and staring towards her.

She started walking and ended up running. She heard her name being called by the people she used to know, but she never stopped, not until she stood barely a foot from him.

Encased in a black leather jacket and tight black jeans, with thick black boots resting on the rear brake pedal, Dean held out a helmet which Y/N took into her hands; the shiny blue metal was warm from the sun.

He shrugged. “Thought I’d try one more time. I’m stubborn like that.”

His smile was teasing, but there was a hitch in it that made Y/N sure she was doing the right thing as she leapt onto the bike behind him.

“Just don’t let it go to your head that, apparently, I can’t say no to you.”

He turned back to look at her as she clicked the helmet strap under her chin, his grin mischievous and wicked.

“Just wait till we get to the motel tonight, I fully intend to put that trait to good use.”

Y/N laughed breathlessly in anticipation as she wrapped her arms tightly around Dean’s waist as they surged forward. Their future was uncertain, but Y/N was happy to leave black and white behind her and begin to exist in living color.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

@lyarr24

@deans-spinster-witch

@impalaslytherin

@maggiegirl17

@akshi8278

@candy-coated-misery0731

@nt-multi-fandom

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2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only.

@saikosheadcanons

@lgranger67

@carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)

@sunshineandwings86

@kazsrm67

@sexyvixen7

@alexxavicry

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well)

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@awkward-and-indecisive

@maliburenee

@supernatural4life2022

@spn730015

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@kickingitwithkirk

@waywardbaby

@foxyjwls007

@deanwanddamons

@deandreamernp

@deanwithscissors

@myloversgone

@snowlovespie

@leigh70

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@charred-angelwings

@hopefuldreamers-world

@mysherlock221b

@jensensgotyoudean

@stixnstripesworld

@thoughts-and-funnies

@magssteenkamp

@norman1967

@princessmisery666

@eevvvaa

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy

@b-i-t-c-h-i-e

@twirpbunwarrior

@mysweetlittledesire

@waynes-multiverse

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@bernasaurus

@jensenslady79

@courtn92

@avanatural

@ellie-andthemachine

@this-is-me19

@roseblue373

@katbratsupernaturalwhore

@fanfic-n-tabulous

#dean x y/n #dean x reader #50s dean #motorcyle!dean #young!dean #dean angst #dean smut #dean fluff

[tamorisana]

About warmth and mornings

Pairing :Aledolfo

Tw : mentions of trauma but nothing more

Tags :Fluff, just pure soul eating fluff, heart touching one too, They are soo in love your honour, [here should be a tag, nothing triggering but it spoils the fun. if you want its in the end]

Summary :Mornings in base are quiet nowadays.

[———————————————————————————————————————]

It's quiet.

Most mornings here are.

There are many reasons for this. The sun just began raising, so it's too early for recruits to be up and needing their attention. Birds aren't singing for the same reason.

It is a few weeks after Shadow company was hunted and determined. At least to everyman thay could find. It was strange, there were not as much man as Alejandro remembered. But today that is not his focus.

What was his focus, however, is a man laying next to him, snoring peacefully. Alejandro could never have enough of the Rodolfo. Never. Rudy is everything he isn't. Adorable, silent, soft and stiff in the same time. He can go on and on but most importantly...

Most importantly, he is warm. Not furnace hot nor barely warm like some nights in Mexico. He is that perfect temperature when heat is strong but not strong enough to leave burns.

Even through Ale' would love to be burnt by him, leaving at least some kind of mark on his body that shows the world to who belongs his heart, soul and body, he has to get up. To the very least make something for them to eat and coffee.

Yes, coffee is one of priorities. As much as Rudy hates it he desperately in the need of caffeine. It's like air, food and water... sight of beautiful mexican man in his bed—

Alright, he is getting distracted. Caffeine. And tea for his love. He even gonna use that really expensive one. So he slips from Rodolfo's grip, puts on pants, sweater, boots and quickly heads down.

[———————————————————————————————————————]

It's scary how quietly Rudy can walk. Like a cat, a lot could say. He doesn't even notice as other appears behind until there are warm hands around his waist and soft breaths against his shoulders.

Alejandro's greeted with still tired, almost silent "G'morning". Is it a wonderful feeling, being used as a pillow for his angel? Yes, absolutely, it's so warm, secure and cozy. Like home. Is that how home feels, right? God, he loves his partner so much, he loves the joy he never had with Valeria, he loves the way he can be soft and not be questioned if he's alright.

It's their sevenths anniversary tomorrow...or today? What's today? Tenths? He looks up at calendar and sure it is, today is their day. If Alejandro didn't smile before he sure does now. And his cheeks are going to hurt.

It goes not feel real. Just yesterday they were playing catch in the mountains and today he is the happiest man ever, willing to do anything for his love, and he means it.

He is ready to put out the fucking sun if it meant his lover never waking up crying, desperately gasping for air from a fucking nightmare of burning down in that damn house, or during cooking when he needs to light the stove.

Fuck Hassan with his fucking men and terrorism.

"Rudy, i have a question?" He fucking hates the way his voice turns into this mess. Ale' puts down his mug after sipping almost half of it in one go. His arms go on top of the ones around waist.

Today. He is going to ask him today. Yes, it finally felt like a right time for this kind of thing.

[———————————————————————————————————————]

It took Soap three month to see matching rings on their fingers. And another three for everyone. It took longer than they expected to plan their little wedding.

And Alejandro swears, Rodolfo Parra-Vagras is the most beautiful man in the whole world.

[———————————————————————————————————————]

Hidden tag :marriage proposal. happy now that you spoiled the thing to yourself???

End notes :It was supposed to be a 200-300 word thing and well you see what happened. i had a fucking butterflies in my stomach writing this, i hope you enjoyed the thing

#alejandro x rodolfo #alejandro mw2 #rodolfo mw2 #aledolfo #alejandro vargas #alerudy #rodolfo parra #mw2 2022 #cod mwii #cod #i love them so much #there is not enough married Aledolfo 😔😔

[stellareveriey]

My Positive Rambly Thoughts About The Our Wonderland Arc 5 Finale

(Spoilers for OW Arc 5,bad grammar,self-indulgent/personal thoughts -nothing crazy though!-)

Here are my thoughts on the Arc 5 Finale of Our Wonderland and the game as a whole! (This is long and very rambly as I was still processing everything that happened!)

the beginning of the end. I like the group of four’s interaction in the cabin. it was nice. poor iggy though,remembering what happened. gidget too (even though they caused it). gen and orlam remembered things too but were too caught up in arguing with each other lmao. good on gidget for breaking that up.

“don’t I…deserve to be warm?” yes! you absolutely do iggy! unfortunately I had to choose the neutral option since I think my game glitched out my progress and my affection was too low for everyone..(it’s fine I’ll make up for it later!) at least iggy realizes that he needs to focus on himself for once! good!

I can’t lie when the screen went dark and Iggy mentioned being wrapped in something hard,I thought it was because Bucks got him (I was wrong of course).

“good morning starshine! the earth says hello!” lmao I love genzou (/platonic).

I liked the shot of the door opening and everyone’s reaction to it. when I saw the monster I had no clue what it even was at first and denied the idea that it could be bucks out of bewilderment (oh how wrong I was…). “we don’t stay long after that.” yeah I wouldn’t either! genzou leaving his beanie as good luck was cute and bittersweet. not going to lie I was kinda frustrated when Iggy’s friends acted reluctant about Iggy having a weapon (he can’t have self defense?? and then he ended up saving them w/ a necklace anyway!).

the “defeat it” part caught me off guard (like a lot of things in this arc would/pos). the game is very good at creating a sense of dread! and then..there was that monster that I thought was crazy even for wonderland standards. the last way I thought arc 5 bucks would look,the monster design is incredible though and that roar is terrifying! the fight scene was very impressive! it’s cool how it’s so dynamic even just using sprites and effects! also THE OFW REFERENCE?! that’s awesome to see tied in the main game again!

Iggy’s hand being cut off while using the doll to reach bucks genuinely made me gasp (the sketchy artstyle of that scene looks nice though!). the screen going red after that is really effective for conveying pain and terror. the sight of his injured hand is brutal. seeing the flashback of the group as kids and bucks and Hunar being cute gave me the strongest emotional whiplash ever. i felt bad for Bucks getting called a monster by her friends,brothers,and even her husband later down the line. Her going from happy to miserable. Her saying she hates her life and breaking down.

“You’re not a monster,Bucks…So please just come home…” Her seeing Hunar in Iggy and hugging him was beautiful. And then…finding the tree. God. Saydie never deserved any of this. She was a baby. I can’t imagine how Carrot felt while drawing that,seeing it uncensored. That tree is the absolute worst. Iggy being seen as a vessel is so sad. Him getting his soul separated from his body was not something I expected at all.

The “Child Of Nihility” stage is my absolute favorite part of this arc and probably the entire game overall. It’s so bright and peaceful. Child Saydie is adorable. Seeing her reunite Iggy with his (younger) friends and himself was really heartwarming. I adore when a story has the main character talk with the younger version of themself in person. Side note: Child Genzou wishing he could see Iggy again was so sweet. The music starting up already made me emotional since I already recognized the song but the visuals and Saydie’s dialogue made even more so. Iggy breaking the 4th wall and making his own choice was remarkable!

Him cutting down the tree was both tragic and incredible. Seeing the creatures of Wonderland fade away too. Young Iggy’s wish of wanting his friends to be happy forever. Best animatic / cutscene in the whole game!

A younger Iggy seeing his childhood friends again in the forest felt like a fitting way for them to leave Wonderland behind. The Saydie doll speaking back and being kept makes me like she’s not fully gone which is bittersweet to me. This scene and the epilogue makes me think their lives got reset but I could be wrong.

The neutral end epilogue. Bucks and Hunar leaving their own wedding was funny and sweet. Good for them! Also Hunar is pretty in his dress! And the better reactions to things in childhood! Past Iggy apologizing for what he did! Letting Orlam sit with him! Being with Genzou in the hospital! It’s all so great! Everyone’s new futures too! Iggy even having a better connection with his friends and discovering himself! The epilogue even ends with a Our Cinderella tie in! I love it all! Beautiful!

Final thoughts. This arc and game was a emotional rollercoaster in the best way possible! Making me feel sadness,anger,joy,sympathy,and more! Everything is so well executed! Art,music,dialogue,story,all of it! I especially loved the animatic / cutscenes parts! Overall,this was an amazing way to end an amazing game. I’ve loved it since starting it in February 2023 to now :)! Through playing OW,I’ve even gotten my artistic motivation back and have been inspired to get back into storytelling/series making! For that,I thank you,Carrot! I hope to experience more of your work in the future (no pressure! you definitely deserve the break)! Have a great day and year! ❤️ @just-a-carrot

#our wonderland visual novel #our wonderland #stellareveriey post

[magnetarmadda]

A day late, here's my ficlet for @tmaappreciationweek Day 3: Alternate Universe. It's inspired by this tumblr post

Jon's had several centuries now to come to terms with both his immortality and his all-encompassing but unrequited infatuation with one Martin Blackwood. The immortality, you can imagine, was much easier to grasp. When he was a boy, his grandmother had told him tales of the bloodsucking monsters in the hills, and Jon had the misfortune to not properly believe her and be full of unquenchable curiosity. He'd mostly abided by her rules as a child, having had one close call that instead claimed a neighbor, but in adulthood, he had found an excuse to travel into the hills in search of something or other for his village—he can't even remember properly anymore.  Going on a thousand years later, he's still paying for it. He supposes that's why he's madly in love with Martin, a kind of exquisite cosmic torture for his sins. He'll love this man until the end of time and crave a kind of intimacy he cannot have that surpasses the cravings for blood. Chalking most of the negative things in his very long life up to paying for his sins has become so standard that, the moment he recognizes his handwriting in a display case, he immediately wonders if this will finally be the moment he's earned forgiveness for his foolishness as a young man. Jon and Martin had met up for their usual Saturday afternoon excursion, this time revisiting a museum to see a new exhibit on Victorian era letters and documents. Martin had joked as they walked in that he hoped he'd see one of his early poems here, since he'd lost a whole wooden box of them during a move a hundred years ago. They've been wandering slowly through the exhibit, Martin's arm looped through Jon's in the casual way they've developed, and have recognized the handwriting of a few other vampires they've come to know, but so far, none of Martin's poems. Until they come across Jon's handwriting instead. "Jon?" Martin asks, using his free hand to point to it. "That's…that's your—" He trails off, eyes glued to the words on the aged page.  It's a letter Jon thought he'd burned over 150 years ago, and what little color his skin carries now is flushed away as he remembers the agony under which he'd penned it.  He and Martin had spent the day at the World's Fair, much like this day at the museum, and there had been a moment when one of Jon's remarks had been returned by Martin with such affection that Jon had dared to hope. He wrote all of his burning feelings out on the page and determined to give it to Martin on their next meeting. The exact words Martin had said that made Jon hold back the letter have been forgotten now, but Jon remembers the coldness that spread through his limbs as Martin made a remark about the solidity and dependability of their friendship. Jon had never given the letter over. And now, it's here, his own handwriting laying him bare in this very public space. "That's—that's me," Martin is whispering now, getting closer to the display to read the words again, his expression hungry. Then he turns to Jon, eyes wide. "Jon, what…?" Jon takes a deep breath, even as meaningless as oxygen is for his system now, but nothing comes out of his mouth. He tries a few times, opening and closing it, and he scrutinizes Martin's expression as he does so.  He has absolutely no idea what's going on in his friend's mind, and terror takes root in his soul. Is he about to lose his best friend? "All this time, and you've never told me?" Martin finally breaks the silence, stepping close to Jon. "You really felt that way?" Jon nods, a lump in his throat now.  "D-do you…" At least seeing an opening, Jon dives into it headfirst. "I have loved you for hundreds of years," he says softly, taking a step to fill the decreasing gap between them. "How could I not, Martin?" Martin, eyes wide and flashing, smiles brightly back. "You idiot," he says, and then leans down to kiss Jon.

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #tmaappreciationweek #my writing #my fic #vampire!jon #vampire!martin #pining jmart

[missmungoe]

Hot damn. I just read your soulmates AU and I just want to say. I absolutely adore it when you write Shanks trying to gently and sweetly coax Makino into calming down. Into relaxing. It was also one of my favorite parts of the original Siren tale, when they first enter the bar and Shanks tries his darnedest to put her at ease because he isn't trying to hurt her. It's just so comforting to see him like that.

Oh I think you're going to like the next chapter then ;) Have another wee snippet as I edit, because it's been three years<3

He froze in his tracks, her order answered without hesitation, but then he’d already seen it with his haki, a split second before she’d ripped the corkscrew from her belt.

He felt the prick against his throat where the sharpened tip touched her skin, not enough to properly hurt, but pain was pain, and the soul-bond responded accordingly, like it had for as long as he could remember, only this time it wasn't to a nameless figure in his mind, whose gentle hurts had never disrupted the course of his life.

And yet seeing her now, and knowing what she was, Shanks thought she might as well have taken the corkscrew and driven it right through his heart.

Doe-brown eyes held his from across the darkened windmill, her breaths shivering where she held the corkscrew to her slender throat; the same one Shanks had seen her use to open a bottle of wine earlier that evening, but where it hadn’t faltered in her hands then, it shook now, gripped between her trembling fingers. The deadly tip pricked his skin, but it was the conviction in her eyes that bound him, and that kept him from taking another step.

Makino hadn't moved, her back still pressed against the wall of the windmill. It hadn’t been hard to track her down, but then it was a small village, and even if it hadn’t been, his haki would have been enough.

She had a gentle presence; it was one of the first things he’d noticed, walking through the doors of her bar. Still, like water, except when she was upset, where it churned like a whirlpool.

It did so now, all her feelings bared to him, but then Shanks didn’t need his haki to know what she felt, finding them on her face, her beautiful features illuminated by the shaft of moonlight piercing the windmill’s only window, the big brown eyes and the soft mouth that had kept his gaze captive all evening, shaped now with defiance, and fear.

In his whole life, no one had ever looked at him like that. He’d seen pirates and marines turn tail and run at the sight of him, and had known the fear of death in the eyes of his opponents, but nothing like the terror that filled Makino's now, and that he could feel in her whole presence. This was a primal fear, and one that went deeper than simply fear for her safety, or her life.

“I’ll do it,” she breathed, and only the quaver in her voice betrayed her conviction. The silver moon glinted off the sharpened tip of the corkscrew, pressed against the soft underside of her chin. Her bottom lip trembled. “I’ll—”

Her voice broke, terrified tears spilling over her cheeks with her sob, and seeing an opportunity, Shanks seized it.

She started when he appeared in front of her, his cloak rustling where he’d kneeled down, and heard her breath hitching loudly as her fingers seized around the corkscrew, before his fingers covered hers gently, stopping her.

Their eyes met. In the moonlight, they looked bottomless, which only made the depth of her terror more apparent, and the pain that lanced through him this time wasn't from the corkscrew.

He didn’t know how he found his voice, the rough timbre stirring the quiet as Shanks told her, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Makino didn't move, the little hand under his still gripping the wooden handle. She was so small; it felt even more pronounced now than it had with the counter of her bar between them, and with how big he was in comparison, a fact that hadn’t escaped her, from the way she braced against the wall behind her, her knees pulled up protectively between them. He could feel how tense she was, the slender hand under his fairly trembling around the corkscrew.

His thumb pressed gently to her wrist, coaxing her fingers to loosen their grip. Her eyes hadn’t released his, full of terror and defiance, and he heard the sob she stifled with her teeth as he carefully took the corkscrew from her hand, placing it down on the floor, still within reach, although the realisation found him right after—that she couldn’t use it on him without also feeling it herself—and his breath shuddered roughly, but then he was still reeling from the discovery.

He was still kneeling in front of her, their bodies so close he could feel the warmth rising off her skin, her scent filling his nose, and knew he should move, feeling how tense she was, but he could barely think, arrested as much by the bond as the look in her eyes.

“Makino,” he said gently, and saw her flinch—as though she heard more than her name in the speaking, and he felt the bond responding as she did, like the barest pulse in his fingertip. Aware of it now, Shanks didn’t know how he hadn’t realised the truth sooner.

Or maybe he had, recalling her in the bar. The calm he’d felt, being around her, and that he hadn’t been able to put his finger on, his wayfaring soul finding its mooring, after so many years.

“Please,” he said, the rough scrape of his voice stirring the quiet. “I just want to talk.”

He saw the doubt in her eyes, her back braced against the wall and her beautiful features etched with defiance. “I don’t,” Makino said, the tremble in her voice betraying more than fear now, something fiercer in it, sharpening the gentle cadence. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for—” you, she didn’t say, but Shanks felt it like she’d slapped him.

He didn’t know where the feeling came from, after so many years where his soulmate had barely been an afterthought. Now, looking into her eyes, knowing it was her, she was all he could think about, a sudden defensiveness rising in him, leaving his voice guttural. “You’re my—”

“No!” Makino cut him off, like before, only this time she fairly spat the words, “I told you, I am not yours.”

#Shanks x Makino #Red-Haired Shanks #Akagami no Shanks #One Piece Makino #Red-Haired Shanks x Makino #opfanfic #One Piece fanfic #Shanks/Makino #mungoe writes #Soulmate AU #buckle up friends we're going on a trust-winning roadtrip!

[melusine0811]

The Space Between the Stars- ch 24 excerpt

"Aloy remembers that sacred and harrowing day of the storm, back on their island where they had retreated underneath the network of highways. She can clearly see the absolute terror on Seyka’s face as she’d mitigated an intense flashback to the typhoon her people went through, and Seyka herself who felt responsible for not saving enough people. For nearly losing her sister.

Aloy turns towards her, knees now facing each other cross-legged, still leaning on the Sunwing, and she takes her hands in her own, looking into Seyka’s red-rimmed midnight eyes, and she feels such intense remorse that it’s making her feel physically ill. 

She knows she will probably feel worse when she sets things right with Beta, but right now it’s Seyka who is the priority.

Hurting the two people she loves the most in the world at the same time…that ’s like an art form. It has her name written all over it in blood and ash, burning a trail of pain and death everywhere she goes. 

Destruction. 

Her voice wobbles and her hands continue to shake as they grip Seyka’s, and she chokes out the words.

“Seyka, I’m sorry…I should have realized that this would trigger…”

Seyka suddenly shifts and scoots closer, slinging her legs around Aloy’s waist and she places her fingertips on Aloy’s chin, tilting her up so that she’s looking into her soul…into those rings of green fractals that reach infinitely to the heavens.

Seyka draws her in and whispers against her mouth, her hot breath warming Aloy’s lips, “Shh…don’t want to talk about it anymore. Doesn’t matter now…”

And she kisses her gently. The Sunwing squawks and shifts against them, moving its wing so that it is better supporting them leaning on it.

For Aloy, that tug originating beneath her navel yanks her into facing reality. She needs this woman like she needs breath…and she knows Seyka needs her every bit as much. Seyka wraps one arm around her, the other hand framing her face as she kisses her.

The feeling of cold death that had been sliding down Aloy’s spine, along with the debilitating tremors all start to dissipate. The world shifts into color again as though liquid hue is slowly flooding everything like a painting.

It’s just a series of slow, gentle kisses, but to Aloy…every hair on her body responds, just like always. And just like always, she knows that Seyka had forgiven her long before anything had even happened in the first place. 

The world silences around them, up here, high on the perch, and they’re floating on the ocean, facing massive waves together, as Seyka clings to Aloy for dear life, kissing her more deeply.

Aloy feels that sense of home all over again as Seyka pulls back, sliding the tip of her nose along Aloy’s, snagging her mouth with her own at the end.

She’s back there again, under that highway, lightning branching and forking, illuminating Seyka’s bare body as Aloy’s hands had roamed across the planes of her skin.

She stops Seyka.

“No, I mean it. I’m sorry. And I’m going to set things right with Beta too. But with you, I didn’t mean to trigger that…I remember what it was like last time…the day of the storm.”

“Aloy…please. Yeah, that was scary, but don’t forget I told you that was also one of the best days of my life. The morning by that pool…then we sparred with my new spear. Then the storm happened, and you took me away from it, back to safety. You held me and rocked me. And later, it was there that you told me you were in love with me for the first time, there in the grass.”

Seyka pauses.

“That was the day I realized I would spend the rest of my life with you. So stop. Triggers happen everywhere, I know they happen for you too. We just learn to live with them, and focus on more important things…”

She smirks.

“…I believe after that I focused more on getting your clothes off.”

Aloy smiles, joy breaking out on her face, and she kisses her again. It’s not about passion or fire or need. It’s about being home, anywhere she goes with this woman.

#seyloy #aloy x seyka #the space between the stars #horizon fanfiction #horizon forbidden west #horizon burning shores #chapter excerpt

[ticklish-touch]

Decided to post my Backrooms chapter illustrations separately. The links to all the (SFW) chapters can be found here:

I really wanted to push myself not just as a writer, but also as a digital artist for this story.

You can read some rambles about my art process for each illustration below the cut.

Ch 1: For this chapter cover, I wanted to do my best to replicate the eerie, sickly vibe of Level Zero. And that resulted me in really playing around with the lighting and shadows in a way that I hadn't before. I also wanted to give it a bit of wonky perspective and feel a bit like an illusion-house.

Ch 2: Lookit this cheeky fucker. Totally isn't a Tower of Terror employee luring you into a false sense of security. 😁 My initial idea for this illustration was to make it look as if the Manager's cuttlefish head was really morphing & bowing out from within the wallpaper. I tried a couple drafts where I attempted to line up his tentacles and facial patterns with the wallpaper patterns. And idk, it just didn't end up looking as cool as it did in my head. (Also hallelujiah for Clip pattern brushes, they helped me make the trim around the elevator.)

Ch 3: Fun fact: This chapter was originally going to be the second half of my hotel chapter. But I'm glad it became its own thing, cause otherwise it would've robbed me of the chance to draw Rags acting like a supervillain in a construction helmet and flannel 👍

also Clip Studio Assets are a godsend, they prevent me from having to draw out an entire freakin warehouse floorplan. I did color it all myself though.

Ch 4: I remember this drawing taking me longer than I would've liked.Then again I've always struggled to draw somewhat realistic-looking water. The shadow off-shooting below the smaller cube pool into the deeper water was actually a complete accident.

And in case anyone was wanting to see a close-up of Lionfish Rags:

And again, Spike and Drake are temporary names for the sake of this AU setting until I think of actual names (for if and when I ever get around to making a Mer-Nautica AU like I've been wanting to). The silhouettes show how big they were when I first saw them in my dreams:

Ch 5: I had visuals in mind for a group of Wanderers/ Survivors since before I wrote this chapter, and grew even more attached to them as I wrote them. I was originally going to just have them depicted here, but I also couldn't get the stupid image of Rags and his megaphone out of my head and decided it needed to be shared 👌

Ch 6: When I tell yall that it was a struggle to get through drawing this. And not because of genuine art struggles; No, because of the pure Lee Panik that gripped my soul when having to zoom in close on Rags' sadistic unhinged Ler face hhhhhhfdhdfjgkfghl-

This was one of the chapters I was most looking forward to writing. It's still one of my favs in terms of pure unbridled ruthless gang-tickling, the culmination of my pred/prey/chasing fantasies revolving around laughter-hungry monsters, along with some good ol Mad Scientist roleplay.

...Oh and the first official introduction of the final antagonist, there's that too 😛

Ch 7: Yall have no idea the absolute childlike glee I felt when discovering that there's a freaking Bouncehouse/McDonalds Playplace level of the Backrooms. But holy hell, drawing the Toon Monsters was more of a challenge than I thought. There's a surprising amount of finesse in depicting that wacky, slightly-unnerving/uncanny toony charm. (Ballpit brush is best brush, change mymind)

Ch 8: Since this chapter was more or less meant to be a sort of mid-series Climax, a hint of what the battle with the Keymaster would be like, I really wanted to push myself with making this chapter cover truly stand out. It was fun to come up with a full-body design for the Court Jester (based on his Wiki interpretation of course), and it was fun to experiment with the ideas I had in mind for his magic visuals.

Once again, Clip Studio assets are a lifesaver, you can catch me actually attempting to draw a rollercoaster or carousel when I'm six feet under 👌

Ch 9: I was both excited about, and dreading, the chance to play around with various different light colors & sources. I wasn't sure how I was going to make neon blues, purples and magentas work in contrast to Rags' color palette, but I'm very happy with what I came up with.

The Dark Sovereign was also a chance for me to play around with chiaroscuro, an art technique that I've always admired (and actually really liked to do with chalk & pastel back in college). As much as I'm a slut for bright colors, I love stark contrasting black & white.

Ch 10: I went through about three iterations of sketches for this chapter cover. I felt like I just couldn't figure out how to angle the perspective of the treeline in comparison to the Giant. I'm still not even sure if I thoroughly pulled off the proper perspective of the greenhouse in the far distance. But once I added all the pretty, spooky fog effects, I became much happier with it.

Unfortunately I do not have a standalone drawing of Naga!Rags. It will definitely happen one of these days.

Ch 11: For this chapter, I wanted to draw a very cramped, stark, foreboding stretch of environment: Basically, a quintessential scene that one would see in the Backrooms if they were wandering through them alone. This is meant to be a much more down-to-earth chapter than the rest, with an air of melancholy and uncertainty. Turns out it actually lined up quite well with some of my own mental and emotional struggles that I was going through at the time.

Ch 12: For the final hurrah, I really wanted to push myself as a digital artist for this piece. (Though that doesn't mean I was about to draw all those goddamn keys from scratch, lmaoo you can thank Clip Assets for that key ring.) I wanted to try and find a way to make the Keymaster the more imposing figure in the piece, despite the fact that Rags is fully powered-up and closest to the viewer. I'm not sure if I entirely succeeded, since my end solution for making him stand out more was "MOAR GLOWY KEYS!!!"

But it was still fun, and very rewarding to get it completed.

Ch 13: I was very happy to finally get the chance to fully render Kenni for this fic. As much as shading his tendrils still drives me up the wall, it felt nice drawing the good soff boi. And I was happy to give an idea of how his Dream realm looks, with all its pastel clouds and close proximity to the Astral plane.

#backrooms #backrooms fanart #tickling #tickle fic #oc #original character #original characters #monster #monster boy #tickle monster #artoftt

[saltedsolenoid]

sydney what if i threw you in a mirror and showed you your evil self

[Testimony recorded at 11:54 post meridiem]

"Well, I'd like to say that I've always had an interesting relationship with mirrors," the author starts, "it's been a mix of fear and repulsion my whole life, but with a... err- how to put this- terrified respect. Like the kind that you'd give a bishop as you knew he held you in decent standings, scared that one wrong thought and he'd ruin you eternally.

I grew up myself as not religiously superstitious, but instead personally terrified. I let into these sort of compulsions to keep myself from falling off whatever path I thought eight year-old me was on. I refused extra food on Sundays, couldn't hold the screen door open and instead passed through it in one movement in fear of some unknown entity entering the house, and worst of all, had a special agreement with mirrors. Unwritten, unshared, existing purely within myself.

Couldn't make eye contact with my reflection. Couldn't touch it without a chill on my own self. Couldn't use it to encourage sin-- whatever that means. Couldn't speak into the mirror, couldn't allow it to echo back to me. Most importantly, I couldn't let two mirrors reflect into one another.

I heard that last rule from a conversation I was listening in on at school. Without questioning it, I adopted the precept as nothing but absolute truth.

Was it terrifying? Not in the moment. They were ordinary, child-made rules. Almost like a game. That was, I'd say, until I broke one.

As a child, my best quality was definitely my ability to follow rules. Growing up in a cult gives you that much, at least. So, it took almost a year of this "game" to [heh] shatter the glass, wherein I broke a menial rule- I made eye contact.

My eyes are green. Almost scarily so. I inherited it from my mother, I want to say, but I've never seen my father's eyes, so I can't confirm anything. Staring into those sea-green eyes- disregarding the fact I've never seen the sea- I was terrified. Almost frozen, shaking, I couldn't bring myself to move. I could swear I felt something being dragged out of me, forcefully, dripping away from my heart in globs.

But I was a child. I couldn't face the mirror, so I ran away and 'healed,' still with terror in my heart, I didn't tell a soul. I looked away from the plainly framed mirror in the bathroom in the house I lived at every time I passed by.

The largest offender to my mirror's ruleset came when I was a bit older, though. About 10. I felt by then that I'd grown up so much. I had started branching out, making connections. I was at a house... don't remember who it belonged to, but they were... rich. Or at least better-off than I was.

Still young, I got exhausted quickly. I stepped out about 45 minutes, saying I had to use the restroom. I was excused.

A smaller powder-room was positioned on the first floor of the house. Meant for guests, it was intricately designed, organized to maximize space and create theme- I knew this because 10 was around the age I started learning about design.

The centerpiece, though, was easily the vanity sink mirror. It was a dark brown with golden highlights, and in the present I'm unsure whether it was mass-manufactured or a familial artifact. Was I scared of it? A bit. It was much taller than I was at the time, and of course-- a mirror.

I examined the room to the best of my ability. I was observant about these things, making sure nobody was watching. But there was. I saw my own reflection reflecting itself- a mirror mounted above my head.

The penultimate sin was committed.

I stared in the two repeating mirrors, likely in shock. I don't remember much after that... I've always had an issue with amnesia.

But when two mirrors reflect into one another, they become greener and greener, until all you can see is a sea-like reflection of nothing, or what could be hell.

The same green as my eyes."

[End of testimony.]

#derealization #ask to tag #ehe #can i say it. can i say it? this is aluzie core tbh (<- this whole thing was written about Not Aluzie) #yeagh also this is. modified from a true story i'll say #things that i write

[lorata]

OK TIME TO ASK THE *REAL* QUESTIONS: DO YOU? LIKE? LORD OF THE RINGS?

AS IF YOU DIDN'T KNOW

for the uninitiated though yes I first read the books when I was 10, one of my most visceral memories is sitting in the waiting room of the family optometrist and reading the 'drums, drums in the deep' line with absolute mortal terror and then the receptionist calling me in and feeling this utmost immersion-breaking confusion that i was sitting in a pleasantly sterile foyer in a mildly uncomfortable chair and not about to be ripped to pieces by some unknown horror

my bff and i read them together and it changed me, fundamentally, from then on i reread them twice a year until my mid-twenties at least i think (now it's more like once every couple of years)

the movies were a rollercoaster, i saw them in theatres (obviously) and i liked the first one, boromir had me sobbing for hours, but the second one threw me into such a rage (at the time) that i declared i didn't even WANT to see it. what did they do to faramir! the ents didn't even march! they didn't have time for shelob but they could add that weird warg battle?! now with the extended edition i have chilled out but it IS funny that my favourite book is my least favourite of the movies

but then. return of the king. my friend who was in the car with me after the two towers was like hey remember when you said and i couldn't even be mad because it was. i can't even describe what it felt like. it's not even an experience it was a whole-ass paradigm shift. the universe moved. i was shooketh

i sobbed probably for the last hour solid. the second time i took a notebook and scrawled down all my favourite lines in the dark. the third time my sister and i went and we got there early to make sure we had good seats (no online reservations in ye olde 2003) and the previous showing was still going, and the usher walked over to ask why these two teenage girls were sitting on the floor by the closed door sobbing their eyes out. "SAM IS CARRYING FRODO UP THE MOUNTAIN!!!!" we wailed at him, "WE CAN TELL BY THE MUSIC" Minimum Wage Dylan was not paid enough for this and left us alone, assured we were content with this vicarious experience

listen. i reread the books often and i watch the trilogy every year at christmas time. i will never pretend to be a superfan, i haven't read the silmarillion, i always forget the appendix trivia, i am here for my feelings and boy do they deliver. the fellowship owns me heart and soul and i think i would be a poorer person without them

and when it snows i still try to walk on top of the drifts, and for that 0.5 seconds before i break through i feel like legolas, and it's great

#lorata answers #'anonymous'

[sheekeepsmewarm]

Remember the day after you told me “I can’t do this anymore” for the first time? How I laid in bed shaking so hard, tears pouring down my face just repeating “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” over and over as if I had done something so horrible. You started to cry, so worked up because you felt like “him.” You knew I had only had that somatic reaction to the abuse I had faced in the past, and it terrified you to see it first hand. I somehow stopped the trauma response to tend to your sadness, to reassure you that you weren’t like him and that I wasn’t shaking because I was afraid of you like I was afraid of him; I was just afraid of losing you. The shaking came from the same kind of terror, but not the same kind of victim.

I think I was wrong when I reassured you that you weren’t like him. Well, maybe I wasn’t wrong, because you’re not like him. A part of me feels as though you’re worse. I knew he was a monster, but he had beaten me down so bad I felt the torture he inflicted on me was well deserved. You were your own monster, because I didn’t even notice the way you tortured me. I believed you wholeheartedly. I believed every promise you ever made. I invested my heart so fully, with absolutely no fear, because I never believed you’d be a person to hurt me. The shaking you saw was a trauma response to a different type of abuse. But I still sat there convincing you that you didn’t compare.

I’ve spent years recovering from the things he put me through. Parts of me have started to heal. What you put me through, broke everything I had spent the last 9 years putting back together. You said to me the next day “I don’t know how to fix you.” That shattered me, and I kept saying over and over “but I’m not broken!” The truth is, I wasn’t shattered because I felt you looked at me as a bird with a hurt wing. I wasn’t destroyed because I felt like you thought I was someone to “fix.” I kept saying “I’m not broken,” but I never believed those words. You didn’t know how to fix me, but you knew how to break me. You did it every day for 5 months. You broke me down into nothing, and when the time came that you promised to help put me back together, you left. You walked away like it was a hit and run accident and you knew you couldn’t get caught.

I now know I never needed you, the same way I never needed him. The hold you had on me was nothing more than Stockholm syndrome, and now I’m finally free. So here is to all of your broken promises, and how you go to sleep at night convinced you did all you could. I think I know what you meant, when you said you felt “stuck” with her. You are stuck, and you are broken. And I do not know how to fix you when you do not want to fix yourself. However, I have been broken before. I have put my pieces back together. I will do it again, because I know how to fix the pieces you shattered. You, however, will be ready one day. I could have taught you how to mend your emptiness, but now, I hope you learn to do it yourself. I’ll be here when you do, beaming with pride. I’m not sure at this point what you deserve anymore, I just know I deserve to never feel that low again.

My biggest wish is that you get out of your hell in one piece, and into my heaven. As of now, I’ll still look for you in the afterlife. I think your soul will look for me too, and I think it’ll spend the rest of wherever we end up, trying not to fix me, but trying to fix the one reality where it didn’t do it’s job.

I hope you search for me in every sunset. I hope every time you hear one of our songs the thought of what could have been runs through your veins, and you feel ice cold. I hope you remember I could have made you warm. Actually, I don’t hope. I told you I lost that feeling months ago. All I know now is you’ll think of me.

[jeweledstone]

Dream I had last night involving G-E Spamton

(spoiler alert, he’s not a “bad guy” anymore)

Oh boy, here I go dream lore posting again

This dream actually takes place over two separate dreams that had me waking up in between them. The first dream was fairly average, taking place in a universe known as “Prime”, which was apparently smack dab in the middle of Spamton’s empire and considered the “capital” so to speak. Through some strange coincidence, G-E just so happened to be in the same area I was alongside some other higher ups of the multiverse. (I’ve come to call them The Multiversal Council, but idk if that’s their official name or not) I remember he was wearing this red suit similar to what he wore in his Big Shot Era.

Now some of you may be wondering why tf a person so openly megalomaniacal and perhaps even “evil” would be let into The Council. Basically, Spam has been slowly going through a bit of a redemption arc ever since The Web was first created. While he still has control over a large portion of the multiverse, he has stopped trying to expand his territory and instead is focusing more on the needs and welfare of the people he already has power over. Not to mention the whole keeping me safe and (mostly) outta trouble thing he’s been doing since day 1.

The actual action of the dream starts when I have yet another intrusive thought about the universe I’m in being destroyed, which begins manifesting itself due to my reality warping powers. In the past few dreams I’ve had, I was able to successfully stop these kinds of thoughts from becoming real pretty easily, but for some reason it wasn’t working this time, which only made me more distressed. The terror and eventual destruction was luckily stopped by Spam using his own powers (which at this point have become far stronger than mine) to sorta restabilize the universe thus preventing its destruction. I remember waking up worried that he would be mad at me, only for the hypnagogic hallucination I usually have after a dream to be him basically telling me he’s not and that what happened wasn’t my fault. (Thank god lol)

After I fell asleep again was when the second dream happened. In it, I met what I can only describe as a demonic version of Benry from HLVRAI. Basically what his deal was was that he’d give people chances to change or remove something from their life in exchange for their souls. He didn’t tell me about the soul part though until after I asked him to give me a copy of one of my favorite childhood games, Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Sky, that had Chapter 6 of it removed (said chapter was and still is my least favorite part of the game cause of how mean-spirited it was towards the player and their partner). When he asked for me to give up my soul for the modified game I ended up admitting to him that I don’t actually have one.

Now, I don’t know if this was out of pity or because he knew what would happen if he did it, but he ended up giving me the game for free along with giving me half of his own soul (a process that was very painful for both of us (The soul thingy not the game)). Turns out, by now owning Benry’s soul, I had also unwillingly taken on his role of making these deals and stealing souls from other people. Which was an absolutely horrid job btw.

I remember the thing that finally broke me was when this woman forced her daughter to give me her soul so she would pass some important exam she had to take or something. It was then I found Benry again and gave him back his soul-half along with the souls I was given by the people I made deals with, stating it wasn’t worth having if it meant I had to cause other people so much agony.

This is when the “climax” of sorts took place. Turns out, Spamton had been watching this whole incident and basically revealed to me that part of his own power was gained from forcefully taking the souls of the people in the universes he previously conquered pre-redemption and that he now felt extremely guilty for it. The dream ended with him giving up all those souls and sending them back to their rightful owners in a final step torwards full redemption, a process he insisted I didn’t watch since he knew how much it’d hurt me to see him in so much pain. (To have a soul removed from your body feels like getting your heart ripped out of your chest, imagine that times billions, maybe even trillions).

I remember waking up from this dream so stressed out that I was seeing stars in my vision and near the point of a panic attack. When I tried to go back to sleep after calming myself down, I wasn’t able to dream again and just laid in my bed until morning,

Luckily, he was able to survive this event, albeit severely injured and less powerful than he previously was. If I remember correctly he’s recovering right now at a hospital in Prime and should still have enough power to control his empire and The Web once he’s better again.

So yeah, that’s what happened last night. Tbh writing all this down made me realize how much dream related lore I haven’t told y’all yet (a lot of which will be really important for the stories of some other dreams I’ve been meaning to post on here) so I guess I’ll have to do that either later today or tomorrow. Probably tomorrow cause it’s already 7:30 pm where I’m at. But anyway, that’s all I gotta say for now, bye I guess :)

#jewel's dream journal #neo shut the fuck up #unreality #this posts reeks of mental illness omg

[stars-are-just-ghosts]

Everyone says they have the best dog. Everyone is right. But this dog in particular...

This dog saved my daughter. In fact, he saved all of us. I always thought we'd rescued him first. But the truth turned out to be much deeper than that.

When my daughter was six years old, she had severe night terrors for two and a half months straight. It was night after night of uncontrollable fear, screaming, and even lashing out. No one knew what to do. None of us were sleeping. We tried everything we could think of to help her. I felt like an absolute failure of a mom that I couldn't make things better for her. I was heartbroken and angry and lost. Then a little poodle named Smokie came into our lives.

We weren't looking for a dog. We already had one. But he needed our help, and it turns out we needed him even more. The moment he walked in the house, he caught sight of my daughter and it was as though he knew she needed him. He never left her side. He became her shadow and her shield and her best friend overnight. And within a week, the night terrors were gone. My daughter was healing. And I remember sitting on the edge of her bed while crying, Smokie and I looking at each other, just listening to my daughter's quiet sleeping. And I swear, he could feel how grateful I was.

For the rest of his life, this quiet, humble, gentle soul shared his love with us unconditionally. He helped us through loss and anger, through broken hearts and broken bones. He shared in our joy and our closeness and our chicken nuggets. He became the shadow we expected to see everywhere my daughter happened to be, while still managing to get some serious cuddles in with the rest of us.

He watched my daughter grow up, find her strength through severe anxiety, learn her passions, and witness her evolution into a beautiful young woman with an even more beautiful heart. She's now 18 years old, working full time in a job she loves, one where she helps people. And he got to see her find that joy.

But time and life will often remind us of painful truths, especially when we're not ready...

Smokie had a heart murmur, and at fifteen years old, he was diagnosed with cancer. He knew it was time for him to go. He'd done all he could for us... For her. And he had lived with such grace, gentleness, and dignity that it was no surprise he would leave this world the same way. He was ready, and he wanted us to know.

There was not a moment he whimpered, not a second he barked or whined. All he wanted was to be close to the girl he loved, the girl who loved him more than anything else in her world.

And under the shade of an apple tree, wrapped in his favorite blanket, in the arms of his girl, he took his final breaths.

And for the first time in thirteen years, I heard my daughter wail in terror and grief and fear in a way she had not sounded since she was six years old. She held him close and cried beyond crying. I heard the pieces of her heart tear out of her chest, as though she had to make sure he took some piece of herself with him.

Sometimes people wonder what a dog can teach anyone about love.

The picture above this line is now my answer.

I'd like you to look at that picture. Really look.

Losing Smokie was a blow I'm still wrapping my head around. He wasn't just a dog to us. And certainly not to my daughter. He was her best friend, her constant companion, her hero and her comfort and... well, he was her everything. Witnessing her having to say goodbye to a literal piece of herself, a part she'll never get back, shattered my own heart.

I know heartbreak. I've experienced it, I've seen it... That soul-crushing implosion of hurt and pain and piercing anger that takes a person's heart and breaks it down into minuscule pieces that never get put back together quite right. But seeing it in my child?

I don't think I could ever describe how close these two were. It's not a picture that words can paint. The bond they had was otherworldly. The love they had was unshakable. And to lose that? To have to say goodbye to someone who had saved her over and over, who had only ever wanted a full belly and cuddles and warmth in return? To lose her best friend, her constant companion, her safety on four legs?

I would have given anything to take that pain from her. I know I can't protect the kids from these losses. And I've tried to teach them that no matter how hard it is to lose what we love so much, the pain is worth it in the end. Because we get to keep those memories, those little joys, the love that we were gifted. And Smokie gifted his love unconditionally, especially to my girl.

And this picture... this is the other part of his gift.

This was right after we'd gotten back from his last moments. And Abbie was in a state of quiet, numb grief. And those three brothers of hers without thought or question took her in their arms and held on. In silence, in love, with no expectations or demands, no hurry for the pain to end. They held on to her knowing that it couldn't possibly make things better, but they were there in every way. She could yell, she could scream, she could rage and cry and wail. And they would have held on through every moment, to let her feel it, to show her she wasn't alone in it, to give her the sort of love that Smokie had taught to all of them.

From our animals, we have learned compassion and kindness. We have learned to care for those without voices, and to find joy in the smallest of moments. We have learned that pain is more bearable with something or someone to hold on to. We have learned that pain is a part of life, as is loss, as is grief. We have learned that, as impossible as it seems, we have to carry it with us. To live with it inside our bones. And that, eventually, it will be more like a friend than an ache. And we've learned that we get there by feeling every awful moment... with others.

We let those we're closest to love us through the worst of it, we let ourselves be vulnerable and weak while they hold us up. We let them help pick up all those minuscule pieces that our hearts are made up of, and we sit together with it all, putting the parts back a little at a time.

Someday, my daughter will look back at this picture and smile. She'll remember the pain, of course. She'll remember the gravity of that loss pulling her under. But she'll also remember the pull of the people who love her keeping her upright. She'll remember the gift that this moment was. She'll remember that Smokie helped teach all of them how to love like this.

She'll teach that love to others. She'll share it freely, just like they all do.

That's really the greatest part of Smokie's gift. That it never ends.

If you've ever wondered what a dog can teach a person about love, it's in that picture above.

Love changes shape, but it never ends.

And no matter the loss, it is always a gift...

One I couldn't be more grateful for.

(Thank you, Smokie, for saving my little girl. You will always be our hero.)

#loss #goodbye #dog #poodle #hero #grief #family #pets #animals #death #love

[helion-ism]

on manorian

as some of you might know, I’m a sucker for the mate trope and throne of glass is a little more subtle here than acotar. we got rowaelin, obviously carrying that trope on their back. and then there’s lorcan in that illusion telling fake-elide he thinks she might be his mate. this proves to me, like in acotar, mates are not just a fae-thing, but that while lorcan is demi-fae and elide is human, they still have this pull between them that proves they’re more than “just” lovers. now, let me show you why in my little head, manon and dorian are mates as well. not sure if this has ever been confirmed by anyone, but it is real in my head, so here we go

mates are a thing for the witches, too

“The Crochans [...] had adopted the Fae habit of selecting mates — if not a true mating bond, then in spirit.”

manon’s parents were mates and her father refused an arranged marriage to be with his true mate; and I think it‘s really interesting how the mating bond is literally defined by musical terms in the sjm universe, as has been pointed out several times by awesome people in the fandom already, and this is just another example

“A young witch was chosen for him specifically. But he did not love her — not with your mother as his true mate, the song of his soul.”

queen of shadows

while dorian was wearing the collar, manon was the first one to manage to get him out and fight the valg prince inside of him — which is interesting because they had absolutely no emotional connection whatsoever, and so it makes you think, why her?

Every step closer made her unbound hair shimmer like moonlight on water. But the demon began scrambling away as the sun lit up her eyes. Not too close, it said. Do not let the witchling too close. The eyes of the Valg kings —

“Hello, princeling,” she said, her voice bedroom-soft and full of glorious death. “Hello, witchling,” he said. And the words were his own. For a moment he was so stunned that he blinked. He blinked. The demon inside of him recoiled, clawing at the walls of his mind.

manon is so intrigued by dorian that she visits him in the end to check on him — something is pulling her to him and she feels already like something has changed; and he remembers her name — he can‘t remember anything from that time, but she sticks out

He could barely remember what had happened while he’d worn that collar. He’d turned twenty — and had no recollection of it. [...] There was a massive shadow perched atop it. Dorian froze. Not a shadow, but a giant beast, its claws gripping the wall, its wings tucked into its body, shimmering faintly in the glow of the full moon. Shimmering like the white hair of the rider atop it. Even from the distance, he knew she was staring right at him [...]. And through the darkness of his memories, through the pain and despair and terror he’d tried to forget, a name echoed in his head.

She didn’t know why she’d bothered to go; why she’d been curious. But there had been the prince, no collar to be seen around his neck. [...] Changing winds — a changing world. Perhaps a changing Thirteen, too. And herself.

empire of storms

when manon and dorian meet again, instead of killing him, she tells him to flee and something ancient inside of her awakes

Face-to-face, Dorian panted as he stared down at her and breathed, “Hello, witchling.” Some ancient, predatory part of her awoke at the half smile. It sat up, cocking its ears toward him. Not a whiff of fear. Interesting. Manon purred back, “Hello, princeling.”

dorian returns the favor later, saving her impulsively + instinctively and without giving it a special thought

Dorian didn’t feel like mentioning he’d been the one who’d jumped into the water. He’d just ... acted, as Manon had acted when she’d saved him in his tower.

manon tells abraxos to find somewhere safe, and so the wyvern does

His magic felt it before he did. A sense of awareness, of warning and awakening. [...] The wyvern completed its circle, sweeping lower this time, readying to land as near the boat as possible. Not to attack ... but for help.

kingdom of ash

manon and dorian have a deep understanding for each other and can see the other like nobody else can or dares to

“If you find so little value in your existence that it compels you to trust this thing, then by all means, bring her along.” A challenge to look not toward Morath or the spider, but inward. She saw exactly what gnawed on his empty chest, if only because a similar beast gnawed on her own.

He wondered if the Thirteen could ever see it — that hint of self-loathing that sometimes flickered across her face.

Only with her did he not need to explain. Only with her did he not need to be a king, or anything but what he was. Only with her would there be no judgment for what he’d done, who he’d failed, what he might still have to do.

hear me out: as we saw in empire of storms, abraxos has a sense of awareness that tells him what is right and what isn’t when it’s about manon, he brought her to dorian because he knew she’d be safe there. so when he returns from his little mission into the northern fang, and manon is restless, this happens:

It didn’t stop her breath from escaping when Abraxos stiffened, scanning the sky. As if he heard something they couldn’t. And it was the joy that sparked in her mount’s eyes that told her.

mates are equals and dorian hints at wanting to shout it out into the world, to let everybody know they belong together 🥺🥺🥺

She would be his wife, his queen. She was already his equal, his match, his mirror in so many ways. And with their union, the world would know.

in conclusion: manon and dorian are mates and are destined to be together. now, where is the novella?

#manorian #throne of glass #mating bond #mp