#to be fair the question of everyone's age haunts me

[bitchimasnake-sss]

☆ suck-suck-succubus! ── a blue lock fanfiction. // where you come to wreck the blue lock boys but end up ruined instead.

synopsis: ego jinpachi was a crazed man, a man who had raised a team of monsters that devoured everything on field and made their way to national team in just their early twenties. but were these men ready to be the greatest just yet? were they ready to leave behind dirty temptations and sickening thoughts just to be the greatest? good thing he knew just the person to test them. pairing: afab!reader x multiple men [aged up isagi yoichi, rin itoshi, hyoma chigiri, meguru bachira, rensuke kunigami, nagi seishiro, reo mikage.] // every character gets a separate drabble with the same character (reader.) and it's implied that the reader has slept with them all. cw: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. [this means the story contains themes one may not be comfortable with. if you find yourself growing uncomfortable, please click away.] NOT PROOFREAD. WRITTEN DURING A DELUSIONAL PHASE. MDNI. girl don't. nsfw concludes: penetration, doin' it raw, cunnilingus, blowjob, teasing, nicknames, slight bimbofication and teasing, overstimulation, praise, marathon sex. please read it whole or i'll hunt you. pretty please :) m.list [part 02]

"you know what to do." the man nodded once, not even sending a fleeting glance your way as he casually leaned back into his chair, "just try to break them."

"i don't have to try, ego. just say the word and i would have already gotten them wrapped 'round my finger."

"that delusional?" the man enquired and you didn't miss the sharp glint in his eyes behind those rimmed glasses. all you could do was smile, "that confident. but—" your words drawled on, fingers clasping over the mahogany table, "what do i get from this?"

ego jinpachi smiled, and the sight sent shivers down spine. a cheque slid over to your side, a clear sum of one million yen printed neatly for you to claim. you stared at the piece of paper a second too long before dragging your gaze to the crazed man, "you're offering me money to ruin your players?"

"try your best." the man sat up straight, his lanky frame shifting under his usual suit, "ruin them if you can."

you knew ego jinpachi was an eccentric man, and you knew you owed him a favor from years ago. but for him to have called you, and asked you to seduce his own team before they went for championship felt crazy... even by his standards.

"why are you doing this?" you asked, nimble fingers mindlessly pulling the cheque and turning it around in your palm, "they're your team. don't you want them focused before the championship?"

"don't question me."

fair enough. after all, you were getting paid.

★player 01: isagi yoichi! ya think i don't know what i'm doing?

you had heard of the man, seen him on your television screen game after game. flowing, black hair, blue eyes with a crazed look every time he was on the field. isagi yoichi was a beast; an ever-evolving phantom that possibly haunted every footballer's nightmares. on the field, he was ruthless. he was the one to ruin others, and now it was finally his turn. at your hands, at that.

his hair was tousled, head tipped back and rested against the wall as weak pants slipped past his lips. his fingers were tangled into your hair as you kissed his erection, all sloppy from his salty pre and your lipgloss. he pulled his length out just to smear the tip against your lips, groaning at the feeling of you eagerly peeking out your tongue to tease his needy, aching dick.

all it had taken to break his resolve was to call him to your assigned room after everyone had slept, and tell him the thing as it was. no hidden games, no unkept promises. isagi yoichi was smart enough to see through any games, anyways. what was the point?

"so, ego sent you? to test me, probably." he had concluded by the time you had uttered the second sentence. you rolled your eyes, "has blue lock altered your brain chemistry to think of everything as a trap? i jus' wanna fuck, yoichi."

you saw his fist tighten as you let out honeyed syllables of his name, purposefully bunching your already short skirt upwards. even as his eyes swayed, transfixed against your soft, exposed skin, the man's tone stayed ever-so-polite, "i honestly expected better from ego. i didn't think he was a benevolent man."

"who says i am a product of his benevolence?"

"a-ah," and now the footballed panted, his fingers pulling at your roots as you bobbed up and down, taking his length deeper and deeper into your mouth with each mean, little suck.

"shit," he hissed, eyes clenching shut, "jus' like that, baby."

you felt his thighs clench under your touch, the muscle spasming all erratic as his hips bucked into your mouth. as you felt him breath heavily, you peeled yourself off of him with a lewd pop.

looking up at him, all wide-eyes and devilish smiles, yoichi looked down at you with part confusion, part impatience. "i—" his voice trembled, "i was so fuckin' close, why'd you stop?"

you pulled yourself up, cleaning your mouth with your fingers carelessly, "just cause. goodnight, isagi. you can go back to your room."

"wh-what?" the man spluttered, demeanor uncharacteristically disheveled as he took in the sight of you walking away from him, "what?"

"goodnight." you replied without even looking back, ready to cozy up in your bed and go to sleep. there was no reply from his side, and then something flipped.

"what?" his voice rasped, hands coming to close around your wrist to pull you back into himself, "you think i'll just let you walk away?"

the man turned you around, pressing your chest to the wall as your cheek came to squish against the cold, hard wall. a harsh tug had your skirt pulled upwards, has your drenched panties pulled to the side hastily and had him stuffing you full of his cock, "take it."

"sh-yoichi!" you yelped, thighs automatically parting to accommodate his mean, shallow thrusts. something in the air changed. the compliant man, ready to be ruined by you was suddenly a beast, a man who would break you just to build you up again. his voice dragged, a nimble finger coming to spread your puffy folds and toy with the wettened bud, "think you can jus' toy with me? hah," a humorless laugh left him, dick slipping in and out of you faster and faster and faster, "you thought i'll spare you?"

"ngh— y-yoichi," he pressed your face into the wall, using the pressure to drill into you, to find the spots that will undo you. your mouth fell apart, silent screams into the bricked walls as he rasped in your ear, "you just wanted to fuck right?" a harsh snap of his pelvis and you lost your balance, limply held up by his strong arms, "see? aren't i fucking you right now?"

as you stayed silent, too lost in the feeling of his tip brushing against your g-spot and a hurricane building up in your stomach, yoichi pulled your face towards his, meeting your bleary eyes with his crazed ones, "answer me."

"ye-yeah."

"feel good, huh?" his heavy breaths the only coherent sounds, accompanied by the slap of skin over skin and your stupid babbling, "y- hah yoichi, harder."

"huh?" the star player laughed, his agile finger rubbing patterns against your clit as he kept up his inhumane pace, "want more?"

he pinched your throbbing bud and you arched back into him, eyes growing teary, "ah, ngh please 'm gonna cum. mgonna— cum."

you heard the man shuffle behind you, fully expecting him to go overboard. except he didn't. pulling himself out, he left your throbbing, dripping cunt empty.

"what—" you turned around to look at your culprit only for him to slip back inside in one fluid motion, fucking you dumb again. your voice wobbled, your body falling forward and only held up by him, "shit, you feel so g-good, hah oh my god."

and then you were spasming around his dick, eyes clenching shut as he kept fucking into you through your orgasm. your stomach felt heavy, breath uneven and barely lucid as isagi emptied himself within you.

seeing you in front of him — his seed slipping out of you, your face all reddened and sweaty from his administration, beautiful — isagi yoichi was sure he had finally found another addiction, one battling even the likes of his football career and dreams of being a striker.

as he left your body and stepped back, you leaned on the wall, catching your breath. yoichi spoke up again, his words no longer formal and polite like they had started off when he had first came into your room. he was ruthless. "if you wanna get fucked dumb again, let me know."

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 02: rin itoshi! you thought this would work on me?

rin itoshi was nothing if not a fucking hard-ass. he was rude, blunt, downright cruel if you didn't fall into the small circle of people he could tolerate. he was a man with a purpose, a man with tunnel vision, and right now that vision was you bent over his desk, looking back at him with nothing but heady desire.

his strong grip held your wrists behind your back, the other hand toying with your entrance. for the activity he was doing, his voice was awfully bored, "what did you exactly think would happen once you came here?"

you tried speaking, "well—"

"—it was a rhetorical question." the man replied coolly, his eyes against yours in a heavy dance while his fingers teased your drenched cunt, "did you actually think you'd come here, and i'd fall into your little trap? ego has seriously lost his mind if he thinks this is enough to make me lose control."

"that being said," the younger itoshi hummed, finally looking down to see what a mess you were making of his table, dripping down obscenely onto the wood and coating his fingers, "i cannot lie that this is entertaining."

he had you spread out like that for however long, you couldn't even recall. but seeing how his green eyes locked onto you, how his voice slightly lost their edge as he played with you had you feeling like maybe he was losing control.

"rin," you whined, your chest arching further into the wood as you pathetically tried to move, "jus' do something. anything."

"tsk," the man husked, all disappointed as you tried to meaninglessly struggle against his vice-like grip on your wrist, "why? from the looks of it, you look like you're enjoying this a lot."

as if to emphasize, his fingers finally swept past your puffy clit, softly rubbing the nub. you threw your head backwards, a silent moan at the final contact. looking at you entranced, the man finally slipped a finger into your velvety heat, and then another immediately after.

stretching you open on his digits, rin itoshi couldn't lie he could see the appeal in you. the way your body molded to his touches, how you keened into his fleeting touches against your clit, how he almost all but buried himself within your sickly, sweet cunt.

"r-rin," you panted, eyes clenched shut, "f-faster, please."

"hm?" if you didn't know any better, you would have taken his tone as one of annoyance. dripping in boredom, he reminded you all while his digits pumped in and out of you repeatedly, "look me in the eye while you're talking to me."

"ugh," your voice shook as you forced your eyes open. looking at the raven-headed man through a shaky gaze, you tried to repeat the lewd request, "faster... please?"

as you looked back at him; eyes red, lips wobbling and body almost limp except for the jitters that shook you over and over again, rin swallowed hard. faking nonchalance was getting harder.

"let me do you one better." rin itoshi pulled out his fingers — all coated with your essence — and you whined at his action before he teased the stretched-out cunt with the tip of his aching dick, "take it all since you want it so fuckin' bad."

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 03: hyoma chigiri! gentleman in the streets, freak in them sheets!

hyoma chigiri prided himself to be a gentleman. he was always graceful, always so well-manner and proper. he was — what you considered — the easiest prey. you thought you would utter something suggestive, tie your hair and fall to your knees and he would explode right there. oh, how wrong you were.

"tired already?" his hair stuck to his forehead, long tresses half-glued to his sweaty back and half-falling over you as he caged you under him. his lean biceps flexed, his pelvic region coming in fleeting contact with your aching cunt every time he slipped his cock inside you.

you panted, words jumbling at his almost mocking tone, "chigiri plea—"

he cut you off, "please what?"

oh, how dare he act so nonchalant? especially after he had been keeping up the same tantalizing, torturous pace for the past hour. you knew the man had crazy stamina, you had seen his explosive strength as he ran the course of the field in a matter of mere seconds. but those same legs now supported his figure as he pressed your knees to your chest and rammed into you so, so slowly.

"the p-pace," you tried again and he furrowed his brow, looking so pretty hovering over you. he repeated, "what's wrong with the pace?"

"'s so slow." you hoped your weak words would do the trick but hyoma chigiri just looked at you confused, as if you were uttering an alien language. he laughed, "are you saying i'm slow? me?" shaking his head, he disapproved, "that's a bit harsh."

you whined, nails digging into his sculpted back as you tried to physically taint him into changing the pace. the reddish scars against his back ignited something within the man. he hummed, "well, since you've been so patient 'n all, i guess—"

his thrust almost took you by surprise, a gasp stuck in your throat at his sudden intensity. his pelvis met yours in a lewd grind and you keened into his touches, praying to any deity above that he just keeps up this pace.

and boy, did those deities answer.

because now you were gasping, reeling from your second orgasm, as the man above you kept going. a light layer of sheen covered you both, his hair was dripping, and you were sure that one more thrust and your body would rip open.

"c'mon," he insisted, his words now reduced to groans and stuttering moans, "gimme one more."

"no, no, no." you shook your head but a steady hand came to pull your cheeks together, forcing you to meet his eyes. the man rasped, "did i fuckin' ask? i told you i need one more."

the same hand that had been holding your face trailed downwards to toy with your neglected clit while his dick rammed against the same gooey spot within you. the pressure in your stomach rose dangerously, and you squirmed under him, screaming his name.

and then, you erupted. muscles spasming, cunt fluttering so tight around him as you screamed his name. and he came just as intensely within you, painting your insides white with his essence.

as chigiri hyoma finally caught his breath and looked down at you, at your blissful, spent expression, he almost envisioned a future where this was you and him every morning. a future where he woke you up with orgasms and candied words against your lips. ah, too bad ego was the one pulling the strings.

but dammit, was ego good at pulling strings.

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 04: rensuke kunigami! over 'n over again? let's go till infinity, tonight.

rensuke kunigami knew what he wanted in his life. you knew the muscled man as someone who never stopped, never gave up, never for a second ever held back from giving it his all. so, why would he act any different with you?

you had been so sweet to him, anyways. you had waltzed into his room late at night, complimenting his strikes and offering him a massage as a small favour. now, he was returning the favor by folding you in half, ramming in 'n out, in 'n out, in 'n ou—

"—oh my god, rensuke." you gasp, your legs dangling on his muscled shoulders as he used you as a ragdoll.

his untamed hair is now a bit matted, sweat drops cascading down his neck and down his rippling abs and chest. you would follow the path of that drop shamelessly if he hadn't forced you to focus on him and only him.

rensuke kunigami was an usually reserved man. but the way you ruined him was a experiment that needed to be studied. he lost control the second you showed up in those itty-bitty top and short combo to give him a free massage. ofcourse, now he was just repaying the favour.

he didn't care that ego might be behind it, that you were just a mere distraction. more like he couldn't care as you moaned out his name and tried to buck into him, tried to match his erratic thrusts.

he was such a deranged man at your touches, losing all inhibitions and acting on his most dark thoughts because as soon as you got comfortable in one position, as soon as he saw you about to come undone, he would manhandle you and have you another way.

this position was your fourth and you were half-afraid you'd pass out before his stamina ran out. the man panted, "shi-shit, gonna come?"

"yes, please." your legs locked against his broad back, trying to force him into the position and not edge you again. and although, rensuke kunigami was a crazed man, he couldn't lie that he wanted to feel you cum on his dick. ego's scheme be damned.

"c-cum for me," he hissed, pelvis grinding into you with more and more intensity as your eyes rolled back and muscles grew tense under him. he repeated, words coming so hard to his parched throat, "cum for me. cum on me, pretty girl."

"hah shit—" your voice pitched and you saw your vision fade to black, just a violent storm inside your body that calmed down slowly as the man above you finally pulled out and spilled white all over your abdomen.

he panted, gasping for air like he had just played 6 consecutive matches, he picked up the white on his index and pushed it past your wobbling lips, looking as you accepted his taste with a sweet hum.

"fuck, baby. one last time?" he asked. but what was the point of asking as he was already slipping inside you?

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 05: meguru bachira! ah, the monster won't let me stop!

meguru bachira swore he grew up with a monster. not the scary kind, no. his was kind, his was ambitious, his was his only friend growing up. but now, as you laid before him, he realized that the monster was him.

you had grabbed his wrist after dinner, and he had grinned and teased his friends as you dragged him away. he had heard the rumors. isagi, itoshi, kunigami, chigiri — all of them seemed to have gotten a pretty little session from you. and he would be lying if he said he wasn't waiting for his turn.

sure, ego was playing with them. ego wanted to test them. but what ego didn't know was that meguru bachira was a man at your service, ready for whatever.

he had waited for his turn so long, of course, he wanted to make a good impression. maybe that's why your hands were tied to the headboard of his bed, your thighs split open on each side of his face as he lapped at you like a man ravished.

you were so sweet, and he almost grew angry at the idea of all of them having you. but right now, you were pulling at your handcuffs so desperately, you were telling him he was doing so good and that you were gonna come again.

"meg—" you cried out, hips raising in a desperate attempt only for them to be pushed down by his arms. he kept lapping at you, kept fucking you with his tongue, kept staring at your face as it contorted into one of pleasure. you cried again, trying to push him away, "meguru, too much. 's too much."

he stopped, if only for a moment. he raised his head up, looking at your disheveled state. your hair stuck to your body, your eyes crazed the same way he felt he looked chasing after the ball on the field. except, you looked more beautiful than all of his sweaty teammates combined.

you sighed with relief, "stop, megs."

"hm?" he peeked his tongue out, softly licking away at the honeyed residue on his lips, "why?"

"i'm tire— meguru!" your voice climbed several octaves higher as he ignored you and delved right where he had made a mess with your unyielding juices, cum and his spit. you cried out, tried to rattle the bed with your actions.

but those sounds did nothing but make him rut the bed harder. his sweats and bedsheet were nowhere as sweet or plush as your cunt, or your mouth. but right now, it would do. he rutted, pressing his sensitive, wet cock into the fabric like an animal in heat. he wasn't ashamed to admit that he had already came once. and how could he not with your sweet voice just above him?

"m-meguru, baby." you tried to move away, but it was no use as he actively hunt you down with his tongue. he hummed against you, his words a broken mess, "yeah, what?"

"stop, please." the overstimulation was getting too much, it was going straight from your cunt to your head and you swear you were growing dumber as he wrecked you with his sultry muscle.

"no," he stuck his tongue out, teasing your swollen clit with his tip, "the monster said i cannot stop."

and maybe meguru bachira was a sadist cause he swore he came again when you whined and he answered by eating you out even more passionately.

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 06: nagi seishiro! the only kind of hard work i wanna do.

nagi seishiro thought everything was pointless, and so very energy-consuming. he had heard about ego's new scheme, he had seen you waltz around the blue lock facilities and all he wondered was: was all that hardwork with you worth it? yes. it was.

his arms pressed your back to his chest, and you were surprised by the force as he kept you pined against him. his leg snaked against yours and you found it difficult to move. rendered useless. all you could do was lay by your side, held by his arm and with his leg between yours, opening your drenched pussy to his greedy vision.

by now, everyone knew what you were upto. a succubus. a fucking witch that came just to fill their head with filthy thoughts, and wreck their cognitive senses. and now, it was nagi seishiro's turn.

"ah, ah, ah." the man tutted, shaking his head softly and the white tresses softly caressed your neck. he buried his face into your skin, inhaling you and exhaling a soft moan even though it was you getting utterly wrecked.

he knew it would be a lot of hardwork, so, yes, nagi seishiro did cheat. he went ahead and got a vibrator. a small, bullet vibrator that did more than enough work for him.

"s-sei." you cringed at how pathetic you sounded, your own voice drowning under the buzz of the toy, and the man replied against your soft skin, "hm?"

"turn on the higher intensity s-setting." your voice sounded confident, as if you weren't already making a mess on the little, buzzing adult toy even at the second setting. nagi's fingers were drenched, the sheets underneath you probably soiled with your juices.

"oh?" the snowy-haired man repeated your words in his head, "you wan' more?"

you nodded and the man pressed a chaste kiss to your shoulder, muttering, "okay, then."

while you did expected a gradual increase in the vibration, you did not expect the intensity to go up to a 5, and then nagi slipping his erection within you immediately afterwards.

"feels good," the man muttered again, his voice so soft that you had to concentrate just to hear his little quips. nagi's hips pistoned in and out of you, a steady, jagged little rhythm that made sure he bumped against your g-spot drag after drag.

with a particularly harsh stroke, nagi stilled within your heat. his tip kept stationary against your kryptonite, and as he pressed the bullet vibrator to your clit, you felt a fire budding within you.

you thrashed against him but you were quickly reminded he was a professional player because he had a chokehold on your body. not one muscle moved without nagi's permission, and you were effectively all but in his control.

he was your puppeteer and you were the helpless, stupid doll he was playing with. he decided everything. from the pace of his strokes, to the intensity. he stopped as he pleased, and then started again. you almost grew frustrated, "sei, fuck me harder."

well, you should have given him clearer instructions. because now the snow-haired prodigy focused. his hips snapped, skin reddening by hitting against your skin and the tip of the vibrating toy placed perfectly on your swollen nub.

"oh my god," you rasped and nagi took it upon himself to fuck you toll you could not utter a word more. as you spasmed against his cock and he emptied himself within you, nagi seishiro could only ask one thing, "wan' more?"

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

★player 07: reo mikage! etch me to your memory, forever.

reo mikage had all the wealth in the world. he could buy you whole if he wanted, but what was the fun in that? he wanted you to remember him. he wanted you to think of him everytime you touched yourself, everytime those wretched fucking bastards touched you.

"jus' like that," his smooth voice guided you, "go slower."

you focused on the smooth baritone of his voice, on the pretty way the syllables rang out of his mouth. you focused on his sound, because frankly, that was all you could do.

you were blindfolded, sat down on his bed and spread open for him to devour you whole.

even with all the access in the world, reo mikage didn't want anything that didn't make him work hard. so, naturally, he wanted to put on a show. he wanted to feel you follow him. he wanted to remind you who he truly was. even if ego wanted him distracted and in shambled, reo pledged to ruin ego's chess piece entirely.

"now, circle your clit." you did as you were told, pace slow and the actions well-calculated. reo smiled, a self-satisfying little thing as you followed his instructions like a lost puppy, "good girl. continue that, keep goin'."

you shook your head, already worked up with your own fingers against yourself. after being filled and defiled by each of them, just having your own fingers felt rather... bland. but as reo's voice guided you, you couldn't help but follow along.

"go faster," he instructed, his own hand falling on his hot, hard erection, "go as fast as your pathetic fucking fingers can go. yeah," he laughed, looking at how you tried to keep up the pace but faltered just a few moments in.

you felt shivers down his spine as you felt his hot breath on your inner thigh. he was so close, yet he did nothing but chant instructions, "put a finger in, and fuck yourself like it's my dick."

you tried, a helpless whine on your lip as you couldn't exactly fuck yourself as well as they could. "awh?" reo questioned, his breath so close to where you wanted it, "cannot?"

"reo, please." you tried to negotiate, still pumping a finger within yourself, "please jus' do something."

"hah," he player laughed, almost flattered at your whines, "can't. just work for it, pretty girl." he waited a moment, seeing your struggle before uttering out, "now, another finger. go on."

you put one more, and he moaned as he tugged on his own erection, "now fuck yourself open on them."

you threw your head back, finally finding some rhythm within your own digits. but as soon as you felt yourself growing hotter with your own touches, a soft hand caught your wrist and then you felt a soft, foreign kiss on your drooling cunt.

"r-reo?" you asked, taken aback by his tongue lapping at you. reo mikage hummed, his grip still tight on your wrist, "shh, just enjoy."

but there was nothing to enjoy. he stopped, making you realize his absence. "reo?" your voice grew feeble and then, you heard a deeper voice. a familiar voice. a voice that echoed against your ear, "missing me?"

rensuke kunigami?!

"huh?" you replied, confused and then a sharp smell invaded your smell. a characteristic smell. the same perfume rin itoshi always wore. and then, your heightened senses let you know that there were a lot more people in this room than you anticipated.

"told ya, didn't i?" isagi yoichi hummed, "if you ever wanted to get fucked dumb, just call us."

oh my god. what kind of a trap did ego jinpachi throw you in?

a/n: PART TWOO IS NOW UPP!! no, i will not apologize for this shit. it got me out of writers block. no, i don't take criticism. only compliments, thankyou. jokes aside, ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED WITH BLUE LOCK OMGGG. catch me writing for them day 'n night now. also, sorry if i mess up somewhere. uni started and brother, all my energy is gone. hope you like it, love ya hotties 💋💋 m.list [check out my other work mwuah]

[hurricanek8art]

I had to start trying to explain to my mom (strictly a movie/tv fan) why the Jedi are like this at this point in time, and it finally clicked in my head. The perfect way to explain how they're so rigid and strict and have such huge sticks up their butts at this point in time.

The Jedi of this generation are the result of generational trauma.

(Spoilers for episodes 1 and 2 of The Acolyte, Phase One of the High Republic books, and some barebones setting spoilers of Phase Three under the cut. Also a big wall of text because I never know when to shut up 🙃)

So I'm behind on Phase III of the High Republic books (got a few chapters into The Eye of Darkness when it came out, brain farted out on me on reading ability, haven't gotten back to it yet 🙃😖) but I know enough to know that things are really going bad. The Nihil are rampaging, the Nameless are turning people to stone, the Stormwall has cut off like a third of the galaxy from the rest of it. It's a lot! It's really bad! And we see how it's affecting our heroes. Avar and Elzar are reeling without Stellan. Vern's questioning about how the Jedi are responding to this threat throughout Phase I has led her to become a Wayseeker. Padawans like Bell, Burry and Reath have been elevated to Knighthood a lot sooner than any of them expected to be. All of them are incredibly traumatized.

But that's just the Jedi we've seen. The heroes, the big names. Imagine being a nobody at this time. An extra. A child.

Imagine being a youngling in this era. There are literal nightmares hunting you. People are dying right and left, they're being husked and turned to stone or just plain shot/stabbed/whatever. The outposts are being closed down and everyone's being recalled to Coruscant, and that's the ones who've survived so far. They knocked the Starlight Beacon out of the sky, something that was supposed to be impossible. And less than five years ago, this was a golden age of peace, of light and life and great works that were bringing the galaxy together, a united front. That's horrible, that is terrifying.

We as the readers know it's going to work out, because it has to, because this is a prequel. They don't know that. They're just kids, and the world has suddenly turned upside-down, and the galaxy is big and scary and dark.

So everything works out, the day is saved. But these kids, they have to live with this trauma for the rest of their lives.

And when they grow up, and they train Padawans, those Padawans are going to carry the lessons they learned onwards. There is no lesson a Master can teach in this era that isn't going to carry the grief of the Nihil or the Nameless. There is no lesson any Master will ever teach again, from the moment Loden Greatstorm was captured by Marchion Ro all the way to Luke's temple burning to the ground, that won't somehow, in some way, be touched by this. It haunts everyone, everything. Those lessons are passed on, and on, and on.

Yord Fandar is intense about protocal and following the rules and making sure he's the perfect Jedi, because a hundred years ago maverick Elzar Mann played fast and loose with the rules while he was stationed on Valo, and then the Nihil turned the Republic Fair into a bloodbath. Sol is worried about Osha's (so far) inability to put her grief to the side and remain objective in chasing Mae because Imri Cantaros lost control and nearly murdered the Nihil who caused the death of his master during the Great Disaster. Vernestra Rwoh is refusing to charge into this without talking it over with the Council because she remembers what happened when she kept information from them a hundred years ago.

These aren't isolated incidents because they happened to the heroes, every Jedi of that era has some story like this, where the lines blurred in the fog of war and they made or nearly made horrible mistakes out of fear. And now, every Jedi is going to want to rise above that. To not make those mistakes, because that past is past. It's peaceful again. They're better now. But that trauma's lurking under the surface, just like the Sith. The Nihil won't win, but the Order isn't going to, either. Because what the Nihil did changed them, permanently.

The plot of the High Republic books is supposedly unrelated to the show, because it's a hundred years later. But the plot of the High Republic books explains everything about the Jedi in this era of the galaxy. They're carrying the trauma and grief of an entire generation that was brutalized unlike anything the Order had ever seen before.

And the Sith have watched, and waited, as that trauma has become so internalized, so central to what the Jedi are. The Jedi might not even realize that's what's happened to them. But the Sith see it.

And now it's finally time to begin the grand plan.

[goth-pod]

Episode 1 Repost!

Welcome to Goth-Pod! Join host Juda Boone discuss all things Gotham City. Today we dive head first into one of Gotham City's more relevant mysteries: Who is The Batman?

[goth-pod is a fictional in-universe podcast based on the DC comics universe. Juda Boone is an original fictional character, not based on any real person or known comic book character.]

Transcript under the cut

Hello everyone! Welcome to our first episode of the season. If you're new here, hi! Thank you so much for joining us here at Goth-Pod. Unfortunately we are not a gothic-lifestyle podcast, though I do understand the confusion. 

Goth-Pod is a Gotham City based podcast for all discussions of Gotham. The weird and the wild, the rogues and the rakes, the heroes and the heretics. 

You are listening today to your favorite non-binary holy heretic, Juda Boone. Yes that is my real name and yes I did pick it myself, thank you. 

For the first episode of the season I wanted to start us off with something that has been a heavily discussed topic, and therefore something comfortable for our Gotham residents. The age old question, the thing that gets people more up in arms than the moon landing- Who is The Batman?

There's this idea that almost all people have, that heroes have to have a secret identity. Which is fair. We watched things like Cinderella, or the Mask of Zorro all our lives. The idea of changing the outward appearance in order to do something one normally couldn’t.

 If you’re fighting for your life every night against some of the most dangerous people in the world, you don’t want those people to know your home address. So you don a mask, and a new persona and you do what one normally couldn't. 

But the Bat, as most Gothamites know, does not follow the normal rules we see with other heroes. Less of a mask, and more of a.. casing. Not so much a persona, but instead a state of being. 

The Bat is. Weird. That's why we love him. That's why he’s ours. 

But what if that went further? What if Batman wasn’t much of a man at all? Batman, or, The Bat, as I like to call him, is more of a.. Manifestation of Gotham. Or of the justice Gotham needs? An earth-bound spirit that haunts just as strongly as it interferes. 

You know I used to have a belief as a kid, that Monsters would just disappear when light touched them. 

Strangely, I’m not alone in this weird meta-physical belief. I actually adopted it from a good friend here at Goth-Pod. Of course, I don’t speak for everyone at the podcast and definitely not for everyone in Gotham. My uncle still texts me blog posts that try to explain the crack-pot theory that Batman is in fact, world-renowned reporter, Vikki Vale. 

But what do you think? Does the Bat have a face behind the ghostly white eyes and inhuman abilities to cling to the shadows? 

Unrelated, but did you know that Gotham is one of the only cities that has an urban bat population? Something to think about tonight. 

Thank you for joining! If you enjoy this podcast, let us know! We love to hear from our neighbors in Gotham, or if you're listening in from outside our home city. I’m Juda and you’re listening to Goth-Pod. Until next time, stay safe, Gotham.

[babytarttdoodoo]

kind of a rouge prompt idea but “i just told a story at work about my childhood that i thought was really funny but now everyone is super quiet and someone said i’m so sorry” but it’s jamie + the team edition. like he talks about a traumatising James Thing and has no idea how horrifying it is until they’re all like …… wtf

love your writing! <3

Thanks for the prompt (and the lovely compliment)!

I’ll preface this by saying I have next to no knowledge of dentistry and you should not assume any medical assertions made here are correct.

((I also feel like I should add that I finished this one off while more than a little tipsy.))

Enjoy the himbo chaos.

(Prompt Fill Masterpost)

—

“Ay, dios mio, it was terrifying.” Dani put an emphatic hand to his chest. “Earl. He still haunts me.”

“Thought you were over that, bruv.” Isaac frowned up at him from his usual spot on the locker bench.

“On the pitch, yes. But at night…” Dani shook his head mournfully. “I have dreams of being chased in the dark. I know it is him.”

“I used to have dreams like that.” Colin piped up, pausing in tying his laces and looking haunted. “‘Cept it was my nana chasing me, on her mobility scooter.”

A few people sniggered and Isaac clapped Colin’s shoulder. “That’s fucked up.”

“I never remember my dreams,” Sam mused. “But I have always been a very deep sleeper. My father says I was the envy of all other parents when I was a baby.”

“I have only ever had one nightmare.” Richard declared. “All of my beautiful little teeth fell out of my mouth and I was ugly. Who will kiss me if I have no teeth?”

“Who’s losing teeth?” Jamie asked, joining the conversation from the doorway with a furrowed brow.

“We are discussing nightmares,” Jan explained matter-of-factly, then turned back to Richard. “Dreams about losing teeth are commonly attributed to stress.”

Jamie shook his head, still looking confused.

“Nah, don’t get that one, mate. Your dentist can just stick ‘em right back in, can’t they?”

That sparked a round of horrified protests and Jamie flapped his hands like a conductor to quiet the rabble.

“Eh, eh, I’m right!”

“Actually…” Sam held up his phone, open on an NHS webpage. “Jamie is correct.”

The locker room erupted into disgust and outrage while Jamie grinned smugly and tipped his I,COG cap to Sam for the assist.

“Hold on, how did you know that?” Isaac demanded, staring at Jamie like he had two heads. That quietened the team a little as heads swivelled in Jamie’s direction.

“Knocked two of ‘em out when I were, like, 10.” He shrugged and tapped a fingernail against one of his front teeth in demonstration. “Mum’s friend were a dental nurse. Told her to put them in some milk and take me to hospital.”

“You were very lucky.” Sam commented, still scrolling through the information he had found. “A significant gap in your teeth can lead to premature ageing.”

“And what a tragedy that would have been, eh?” Jamie beamed, gesturing to his face. “To think I might have deprived the world of this top tier mug.”

Other players groaned and laughed, a few tossing socks or discarded shirts in Jamie’s direction while he ducked, sniggering.

“How do you know they gave you your real teeth back?” Bumbercatch questioned, with an air that suggested great suspicion of the dentistry profession as a whole.

Jamie considered that. “Fair point,” he conceded. “They feel like mine, though.”

“Wait, how do you even manage to lose two teeth at once?” Colin interjected, muffled by his fingers as he prodded his own mouth in confusion. “I’ve never lost any after my baby teeth.”

“Took a snooker cue to the face.” The team winced as a collective and Jamie nodded sagely. “Were pretty grim. Blood all over the pub floor and everything.”

“You were 10?” Thierry clarified, face scrunched up. “Do kids normally get into bar fights here?”

“Well, yeah, s’pose not.” Jamie shuffled in place, suddenly looking a bit uncomfortable. “Weren’t a fight so much. Dad took me in to watch a match and it all kicked off a bit.”

An uneasy quiet overtook the general hubbub and more than one face went stony at that revelation.

“Mate.” Jeff looked like he’d rather not be the one probing further, but had bitten the bullet anyway. “Your, uh, your dad wasn’t the one with the pool cue, was he?”

“Eh…” Jamie glanced around the room before answering. “Well, yeah. He was. But I’m, like, 90% sure it were an accident.”

Chaos detonated like a bomb.

Isaac and Richard jumped to their feet, one cursing in French, the other demanding to know how long it would take to get to Manchester. Colin seemed to be googling train times.

Dani had taken to rifling through his bag, looking for god knows what, and Thierry was strapping on his mask like it was war paint (he didn’t even need it anymore, he just liked looking scary).

Jan was a terrifyingly silent pillar in the middle of the storm and Sam… Well, Sam looked like he had been gutted.

“OI!” Roy’s bellow commanded immediate silence, players freezing mid-shout. He was framed by the door to the coaches’ office, arms crossed and typical glare set in place. “What the fuck is going on out here?”

“Close ranks!” Jamie all but squeaked, invoking a hallowed, sacred vow from the team to collectively shut the fuck up.

All eyes turned to Issac who, as captain, had the final say.

On balance, he decided it was probably best that their new manager didn’t get arrested for murder before the season even got underway.

“Agreed.” he finally acquiesced and the whole room affirmed their compliance sullenly. It just wasn’t worth the forfeit to cave in under Roy’s (very effective) glare.

“... right then.” Roy finally allowed, still looking at them all suspiciously. “Then get out on the pitch and stop wasting our time.”

Everyone clamoured towards the tunnel, eager to escape the intense atmosphere. All except Jamie, who was still hurriedly pulling on his kit.

He tried not to seize up when Roy sidled over.

“You’ll tell me later.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question and Jamie knew better than to take it as one. He slumped in defeat.

“Yeah. Probably.”

[elliewiltarwyn]

FFXIV Write 2024 | #11: Surrogate

Fifth Umbral Moon, 17th Sun, 03 7AE

I’m frightened for Minfilia in a way I’ve never felt before.

She’s determined - moreso than she’s ever been in front of me. She displayed a spine of steel, refusing to back down no matter the bitter words Thancred—or I—muttered at her. Her resolve managed to impress Emet-Selch himself, though of course he delighted in spelling out the dilemma before us, just to rub in the tragedy of it all.

She’s a teenager - barely Alphinaud and Alisaie’s age. She never had the chance to live her own life; she has ever walked in the shadow of an unfathomable legacy. She’s always borne the weight of being a scion, and she never had a choice in the matter.

Except now she is choosing - to submit. To offer herself to the Minfilia, to let the self she’s never had the chance to express fade away in service of our mission - the mission of the Oracle of Light.

And it kills me, because I know why she’s devalued herself so much. It’s my fault. And Thancred’s, but—we look at this girl named Minfilia and can see naught but the Minfilia we lost. I know she’s not her. And…the very fact that she isn’t her makes me bitter.

That’s not fucking fair to her. It’s unfair to her, to Minfilia, to all the other girls in between that died in her name. And as much as it bothered me, my feelings can’t come into this.

And she needed to know that. I confronted her a few hours after we left the Ocular, found her on the balcony overlooking the Crystarium gates. I told her, in no uncertain terms, that she should not make her decision based on how Thancred and I feel about her.

“I’m not,” she replied firmly, never breaking eye contact. “I’m making my decision based on what’s best for everyone.”

“It’s not best for you.”

“And why would you care?” I’ll never forget how her voice cracked as she said it, how the tears began to well in her eyes. “I figured you’d be overjoyed to have your Minfilia back—”

Not if it means losing you.

She was stunned. I was stunned, and I said the words. But I meant it. Because if she goes along with this, it’s not what I think is best for someone I care about. For both of them.

Because yes, I loved Minfilia, with all my heart, with everything I was.

But I also care about Minfilia - the young one, the girl who never had the chance to be herself - because I’ve seen the little glimpses of herself peeking through the veil, occasionally. I’ve begun to pick up on what she likes, what frightens her, her sweet tooth, what she likes to read in her downtime. I’ve begun to see what kind of person she is within the shadow of Minfilia’s legacy, and…she’s delightful. And Thancred and I are fools for not appreciating her for who she is.

Not as a surrogate for the first of that name whom we loved. Not as a scion to a legacy she never wanted to inherit. Just a young girl - one of the bravest, most resolute, and strongest girls I’ve ever known.

I don’t want her to give herself up - even if it means seeing Minfilia again. And I hope, on some level, Thancred doesn’t want that either.

Because I know she wouldn’t have wanted that.

‘Can I actually convey even a shred of this sentiment to her?’ is a different question. I…think I did my best. I took her hand, looked her in the eye, and told her I wanted her to do what’s best for herself…because under it all, I do care for her.

(I can’t make the mistake of failing to ensure the ones I love know how I feel about them. Never again.)

She…took it well, all things considered. She said she would think about it…and thanked me. But that haunted look was still in her eye when she turned, pulled her hand out of my grasp, and walked away.

There’s still time, at least. I’ll banish that look from her eyes before we reach Nabaath Areng if it’s the last thing I do.

(I should talk to Thancred. Get that message through his thick skull. She’s even more concerned with his feelings than with mine, given how they’ve been together for years…)

[ravencromwell]

Current Shades Of Magic question haunting me: was Maxim Maresh working a deal with the Danes to make something comparable to an Inheritor for Rhy? (And by "working", I mean: he thought he was being real savvy while the Danes lied through their teeth for years and kept the credulous arnesian king on a fish-hook while they figured out how to rip a hole through time and space.)We know Tieren flatly refused to help him make one, and that Makt is highly skilled in binding magic. And Maxim's entire White London dynamic, especially in Darker Shade, never made a bit of fucking sense to me. Take, as exhibit 1: "Holland delivered a letter yesterday," explained the king. "But couldn't stay to collect the response. I told him I would send it back with you. Kell frowned. "All is well, I hope," he said carefully. He rarely knew the contents of the royal messages he carried, but he could usually glean the tone—the correspondences with Grey London had devolved to mere formality, the cities having little in common, while the dialogue with White was constant and involved and left a furrow in the king's brow." In scrupulous fairness, Schwab does give us an explanation for the involved nature of the letters, saying that the Red Crown was haunted by its decision to seal the doors between Red and White; that they wanted to provide magical advice as a kind of recompense and reparations. But we're also provided a very plausible explanation for how Vitari helps Lila move through the worlds, which gets very undermined by Lila as Antari. And living in the midst of the most nakedly imperial power of our modern age, I'm incredulous at best and scoffingly dubious at worst. With some very! rare exceptions, large, prosperous countries give small struggling ones shit either to look good, or because they want something out of the exchange.

Was it being _haunted that made Maxim Maresh send twelve-year-old Kell into the middle of a very violent country? Or was it _knowing by that time that Rhy most likely wouldn't be manifesting any magic. Kell says to Vortalis that this will be the beginning of "re-opening relations". Which makes sense, seeing as Antari are a dying breed, and Arnes hasn't had one for a while and Makt for even longer. It's not Maxim's bad parenting in sending Kell to White so young that has my antennae raising, but the bad diplomacy. Maxim's Kell flaw, after all, is that he sees him more as a political and propaganda tool than a person. And he's letting him go to Makt at twelve? When Kell could die, and a large reason Faro and Vesk are in line right then is because they believe Kell is integral to Arnes strength. I don't believe Maxim Maresh, who had the political cool to immediately think of how Faro and Vesk would react and demand secrecy about Rhy's near-death in Conjuring while everyone else is in knots of grief and he must be pushing down his own feelings with herculean effort decided to resume communications to salve his conscience. It just doesn't fit with the rest of who he is as king.

But, as several people wonder when Tieren chastises Maxim over the Inheritor: what wouldn't a father do for his son? Put his other son in jeopardy, if he thought he could make an attractive enough offer to get a (probably) ruthless king of a ruthless people to make him something? It would certainly line up with what he does throughout the series.

Finally: Maxim is adamant that "The Danes will pay" before he learns they're dead. Except seriously? How, Maxim? You planning to send the Antari who they already used as a pawn back as a one man army? Because no one else is going through.

Maxim Maresh, for all his faults, is too good a soldier to send Kell into that battle. So, either he's just blowing off steam and the threat has no teeth, or the threat has vicious teeth. Because the Crown has been sending the Danes advice: maybe instructions on relatively—to Arnesian thinking—small elemental magics like minor water redirection that have become integral to Makt's irrigation under the Danes, or something else entirely. There are a million little ways the Crown could've been helping; the question is _why. Why, in Darker, did Maxim, a a busy man, concoct a thick response within a day and send his best weapon into a violent place _after _dark when it could have waited till morning. Feels to me like a man hurriedly running after something the Danes are always "close to finishing" and that he wants, very, very much.

[tsururoach]

Danmaca B-Side Minific

Vito x Lerche (vaguely. probably.)

no content warnings apply || 2.1k words

Lerche is a pleasant company on the condition that he not be accompanied by Vito. It is not to say that Vito perhaps does not enjoy being around Lerche. Saying so would be absurd, when often he went on months on end with only the older man to dissect his thoughts. Dear Celestial. He didn’t even think he’d had problems with his few lingering thoughts.

The problem lies within the fact that Lerche felt far too interested in his thoughts– for someone who merely wished to survive day in and out. 

“Vito,” Comes the steady voice he’s long been familiar with, “Have you had enough of dancing around me?” 

“...” Quickly averting his eyes, Vito tries to not look constipated. Because he’s not- At least shouldn’t be. Lerche’s last gambit with an odd looking snake still left him feeling queasy, but not ill. “If anything, I wonder if it even matters to you.”

“Why you wish to live?” Lerche laughs in that curious way of his, “I find that rather important.”

“Years down the line does not count for importance,” Vito pauses before tilting his head, “And that does not seem to be something you can afford down on the Surface.”

Lerche leans back onto the withered tree, lamp light flickering against his weathered skin. That specific look comes over the man- one Vito has seen several times before. One he pretends he didn’t have the name for.

“Landmarks are those that are weathered and worn.” Lerche’s smile turns tighter, “Isn’t it so, even the most astute would only know what stays?” 

Vito muses over that for a second. There is not much fault in that.

“Well, why do you?” Vito replies earnestly. It’s not something grand or terrifying he needs to keep close to his heart. He’d rather not, counted as enough reason to him. Want and will was the way he lived.

Lerche seems mildly taken aback.

To the Vito who followed him around, it was the equivalent of stumbling backwards in shock. Lerche is emotive- all good storytellers were- but the genuinity hidden in that mere gesture sends Vito into an emotional recoil. He’s not sure what to do with the fact that he might be a bit endeared- and not just obligated.

“Me?” Lerche echoes, as if haunted with what thoughts came from that. It’s only fair that he gets cross in the ricochet of his own question- but to Vito’s disappointment Lerche laughs. “Isn’t my age enough? Seeing everyone scour research to reach what I’ve long got.” 

Vito shakes his head, assuming that his question will lead nowhere once more.

“I don’t need a reason, I just don’t feel like dying.” Vito muses over it some more, before he makes a move to sharpen his knife. Cleaning would be a good call too- goop covered and dull from trudging through an unfriendly thrush. All that for an unidentifiable plant he’s sure Lerche will discard two days past. 

To his surprise, Lerche elaborates.

“Instinct and want do not always go hand in hand,” he grieves, “Did you know I had a child?”

Vito very carefully does not react. He doesn’t touch the feelings that come hiding behind the thin layer of curiosity- he’s finally learning more about his companion. 

“Well, I would only know of what you’ve told me.”

“A legacy” Lerche sighs, “A legacy is a treasure one may not often get to have.”

Vito’s not sure if he should point out that his child is very decidedly not there. But as tragedies are on the ark, he has the grace to let Lerche say as he wills.

“As such, I like the idea of a legacy. Not being one- I wouldn’t dare.” Lerche smiles, “Owning a legacy though�� Not that is what that child was.” 

“Then what do you mean?” 

“Well, I’d like to one day tell a legend I see first hand. Change? Destruction of what we know?”

Vito’s stare could only be described as disbelief.

“That’s what it is? Or- well, then what?”

“I lied,” Lerche smoothly adds on, “Perhaps I just want to see all that I can see- you know I’m fond of things like that. My child has long gone on her own path and I have no need to haunt her steps.”

Vito doesn’t believe him. Vito surprisingly doesn’t believe in a lot of things Lerche says. Perhaps it was the trust in what he’s fed is for some greater part of living. Brushing off the implication that Lerche just had a family he’s long separated from Vito can’t help but feel irritation at how easily Lerche marks his words as bullshit.

“Alright.”

Lerche barks out in laughter, “Maybe you’ll be a part of it, Vito. You’d be a brilliant talent to bring into my stories.” 

Vito sighs and shakes his head with exasperation before settling back into the rhythmic grindstone. 

“You won’t get much story from me- or at least more than you already have. If there’s a journey it ends with that terrible escape. I just wanted to live.”

“Is that so?” Lerche taps the binding of his book, “If that’s so, you should’ve just stayed with the Order.”

“...What?” 

“Wasn’t it easier to live up there? You certainly don’t seem pleased with the state of ‘life’ down and around here. The endless faction wars, the greed, sitting ducks that we all are,” Lerche flicks to a page with sketches of the corpse of a Unity Order soldier. One that Vito had to fend off and bury, “All you had to do was submit Show your hackles and your neck. They wouldn’t bite the herd they lead.”

“Just because I miss ignorance does not mean I will simply retreat back into it.”

Vito hadn’t meant to let it sound so harsh. He knows his decisions are impractical, after all he saw Reue fall his way to the top. He’d seen plenty of people go that path. Easy. Safe. Convenient. He can’t help but wonder if they felt nothing of it. That submission.

Or was it truly the thought of yielding to another that plagued him?

“It’s not that much different down here.”

“It is.”

“How so?”

Vito struggles to find the words. Before laughing mirthlessly.

“For one, I like to think that everything I did was of my own will.”

“So it was the idea of choice? Is that it?”

“They didn’t give me a second option, so I had to find it.”

Lerche seemed to think that Vito was hiding something deeper. Perhaps something more inspiring- more meaningful- something worthy to document in that almost eternal book of his.

“If  that is what you consider true,” Lerche relents, ”But besides instinct and beside will, there is something else that is controlling you.”

Vito carefully does not let himself linger on what that implies.

—

“Factions are like sheep,” comes Lerche’s abrupt voice. “Led by the nose until they must meet their use.”

Vito laughs, “Aren’t livestock like those far too valuable for slaughter? Not even your generation would have been familiar with them”

“Words that outlived their time, I fear.” Lerche simply shrugs off, “Perhaps it’s poetic that only people are merely livestock now.”

Vito hesitates as he holds onto Lerche’s bloodstained bag. No sign of wear or struggle as if the owner was attacked. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Lerche try to fight. Patience was a learnt trait and he’s reminded of it constantly when confronting the oddities that cling to that man.

“Is there any particular reason you’re telling me this?”

“You seem bothered.”

Vito wants to bite back with ‘shouldn’t you be as well?’ or ‘It’s natural.’ He could afford pity and grief on the ark- he could not assume that Lerche had the chance to be the same.

“...Weren’t you just talking to them?” Vito tries to grasp some kind of fact to relate back to Lerche, “Wouldn’t you lament the fact they will no longer have their story recorded?”

Lerche smiles very slightly. 

“Oh Vito, I record deaths before I record lives.” 

“What’s the point of recording deaths if you don’t even- If they don’t even live?”

Left with silence, Vito stands up from where Lerche was waiting for him. This time it didn’t look like a simple raid done by another faction- the kills were too brutal. Too careless with equipment that had long been forced into scarcity. They didn’t have the knowledge the ark did, but they developed technology too quickly- in a way the head of the church likely couldn’t agree with.

The itch comes again. Why had they let Lerche live?

“Do not take me for a biased person, my friend.” Lerche nods to the broken crowd by his feet, “But I warned them appropriately.”

“They never had a chance.”

“Indeed. Another late night for you?”

Vito glances at the buildings and then to Lerche. 

“If factions treat people as livestock, what are you?” Vito lets the unspoken ‘we’ run away. He knows that he didn’t want that answer.

“I don’t know.” comes honestly. “But I find that doesn’t matter.”

Vito doesn’t catch himself fast enough, but he catches Lerche just fine. His hands moving faster than his mind- he grabs Lerche’s arm. 

“Lerche.” comes seriously, “What do you want from me?”

Objectively speaking- the answer Vito wished most for was to be a simple mercenary. The trade off of daily necessities being provided in order for putting his neck on the line was simple, but anything that came from this guy couldn’t be. Vito’s done this same routine until his nails stained red and his mind worked on practicing indifference. It’s cruel that the only moment he truly acted on the hesitation was when Lerche felt so distant. 

The world was cruel anyways, so Vito packs aways those feelings.

Lerche meets his eyes calmly. If it had been someone else, that would be a sign of sincerity. Instead, Vito watches as Lerche studies his own face with strong fascination. As if he didn’t feel any real threat at all.

… Not that Vito would do anything anyways.

“I just find you interesting to have around. This old man has the luxury of boredom after all.”

“...”

Lerche turns his body fully as Vito is hit with the hilarity of it all- one who sat through a bloody conflict and one who didn’t. One would think Vito had been there for the massacre judging by the blood on his hands.

Taking a sticky step closer to Vito, Lerche leans into his shoulder. 

“It’s not often you run into someone who values death as much as you do.” Vito feels oddly stifled- unsure what to do with any part of his body. Lerche laughs into his neck- warm air brushing against Vito’s scarred ear. “And I’m not keeping you here, Vito. I’m not your shepherd.” 

Vito’s heart clenches hearing that.

He couldn’t. 

Would he survive? 

He pauses. He’s not entirely sure what to make of that thought that suddenly hit him. Not so gently as a ship hitting shore- but as if a heavy caravan had derailed and knocked into him.

Never before had the air felt so arid. A miracle despite the (bloodied) puddles around them.

“Aren’t you?”

Lerche’s face is hidden from view, but he can feel the way the man’s face shifts against Vito’s stiff body. 

“Now what does that mean?”

Somehow Vito isn’t convinced that Lerche doesn’t know- if anything Lerche knew better than Vito himself. Feeling intense resignation, Vito lowers his head and looks down at Lerche’s shoulder. 

“You’re exhausting.” 

“And yet you stay.” Lerche smiles, “It’s not like I treat you poorly, so does the reason matter?” 

It does. Vito reminds himself.

“Alright,” Vito says.

Perhaps Vito was like a dog. Loyal even when it bites back at him. He still can’t get used to the killing no one calls murder. He can’t stand finding Lerche’s neutrality despite claiming the same for himself. And yet he stays.

Backing away from Lerche in a poor attempt to separate himself with these feelings, he wonders how he’s still falling into the same pitfalls he criticized merely years ago. Nothing changed except the environment. Vito wonders why he’s fine with that.

Lerche is smiling. Looking at him as if he was ready to accept whatever Vito chose- including leaving. There is no choice in that- he knows that he cannot leave and still be himself.

Want and will are different things, Vito acknowledges.

“... I don’t know why I bother.”

Lerche takes that as an affirmation that Vito would be following once more. Turning heel without checking behind him, Lerche heads for their next destination sooner than expected.

“Well, I managed to bargain for some dried meat for you before it happened.” Lerche gestures backwards (presumably to the sack Vito was carrying for him), “Nothing they would bother to confiscate.”

The bag feels heavier than mere food supplies should be.

[curiositymemes]

MISTER MAGIC SENTENCE STARTERS : PART ONE.

taken from the 2023 novel by kiersten white. trigger warnings for unreality, trauma, religion, and cults. feel free to change wording and pronouns and provide context as necessary. do not add to this list.

“oh, i can see it in your eyes.”

“i’ve always known.”

“it’s okay to ask questions. questions are how we get to know the world.”

“safe, he / she / they’d say at the end of the day. safe, instead of good night, or i love you.”

“yes, it’s really me.”

“a lot of people never got closure. including us. especially us.”

“we all worried about you, you know.”

“i can’t believe i finally found you.”

“name, what did you do?”

“you don’t recognize me, do you? well, i’d never forget you, name.”

“what the actual fuck?”

“you’ve been here the whole time?”

“there’s always a spot for you.”

“i feel weirdly compelled to warn you about stranger danger.”

“i don’t remember you, but i know you. that’s enough for me, today.”

“i have so many more questions than i did before.”

“it was amazing, until it wasn’t.”

“we were all just kids.”

“time passed different then.”

“i’d say it’s like no time has passed but really too much has.”

“don’t overthink it. we’re almost there.”

“that’s so creepy. please read them all right now.”

“i changed my mind. i don’t want to hear this.”

“what’s fanfic?”

“sounds like one of those nonsense inspirational facebook posts.”

“this can’t be right.”

“i’m giving it thirty more minutes.”

“stay with us tonight, wherever we end up.”

“again, i ask: what the fuck?”

“it looks like someone put a regular house on a medieval rack and tortured the shit out of it.” / “funhouse mirror version of a house.”

“name said we aren’t staying here, and we all know she’s / he’s / they’re in charge.”

“it’s late and cold and none of you are wearing jackets.”

“is it okay if i spend the night? is there room?”

“did we all collectively dream this?”

“how does everyone remember something that, for all intents and purposes, never existed???”

“WHY DO I FEEL LIKE I MADE THE WHOLE THING UP”

“don’t sit too close. you’ll burn your eyes out, remember?”

“sorry, i’m exhausted. it’s been a long day. long year. long decade.”

“can we figure everything out in the morning?”

“let’s explore. up, or down? down, right? gotta be down. that’s where the bodies always are.”

“your mom- / dad- / parent-voice is powerful.”

“you haven’t changed at all.” / “excuse me, i’m much handsomer.”

“shut up, dork.”

“i can’t remember the last time i saw this many stars.”

“i feel like i’m losing my mind.”

“i just can’t believe you’re here. you’re really here.”

“i felt so guilty that i lost you, i shaped my whole life around the space where you were missing.”

“it was my job to watch out for you.”

“i wasn’t strong enough.”

“is it crazy that i feel closer to you than anyone else in my life?”

“it haunts us. knowing what we had, and that we can never get it back.”

“i never moved on. i never moved on at all.”

“i was only age but that shit has haunted me ever since.”

“if i had to live inside it all these years, so do you.”

“you really don’t remember it?”

“which question do you want me to answer?”

“i can’t remember the last time someone made breakfast for me. that was really nice of you.”

“i need this to work. it’s got to work.”

“i don’t want you to go through this alone. i’ll stick with you, if you’ll have me.”

“there’s something else going on here.”

“hey now, that’s not fair.”

“i guess he / she / they taught me how to survive.”

“they loved me in a way i needed to be loved. they were always there.”

“i don’t know what was real and what was nightmares after.”

“to be fair, no one ever thinks i’m a p.i., which can come in handy.”

“she deserves / he deserves / they deserve so much more.”

“not hidden, just unnoticed.”

“i’d say get a life, but i’m here talking to you about it, so i can’t really criticize.”

“married a kennedy. it was that or a bush, and kennedys throw better parties.”

“i’m trying to think what else i shouldn’t say about myself.”

“don’t worry about it. they won’t be mad at you, and they’ll be mad at me no matter what i say.”

“i figure, why poke a sleeping bear when you can kick it in the balls instead?”

“my rebellious-teen phase was cut short.”

“people think children’s lives are simple, easy, but it’s the opposite. everything that happens around them affects them, and they don’t have the power to affect any of it back.”

“you seem really intense about a show that ended thirty years ago.”

“your hand okay?”

“i’ve never needed anything more in my entire life.”

“look elsewhere, sweetie. trust me. you don’t want anything out there.”

“the desert does have a way of wriggling into your soul.”

“you’re small, and you’re alone, and you don’t matter. and that’s okay.”

“go anywhere else.”

“this doesn’t have to change anything.”

“that’s what i want. change. it’s what i asked for.” 

“we’re not in trouble.”

“i should have given you a better warning.”

“i need to go alone. but don’t leave!” / “i’d never leave you.”

“if the cops come, we can thelma and louise it out of here.”

“name, you didn’t do anything bad. you were just a kid.”

“you can’t make me!”

“well, come in, i guess.”

“i’m afraid it’s not going to be enough.”

“did any of us actually make it out?”

“she / he / they didn’t ask anything of you except approval. maybe she’s / he’s / they’re still asking for that.” 

“you sound like a fucking psycho.”

“you can tell me if i did a good job, if people will like it.”

“we made a deal, so we’re doing what we’re told.”

“keep going. you’re doing great.”

“i did everything i was supposed to, followed all the rules.”

“i’m so sad, all the time, and i don’t know how not to be sad.” 

“i’m the link holding everything together and it’s all just weight. it’s weight, and it never lets up, and no one else ever holds it. no one else even notices it.” 

“i don’t understand how i can be there every moment of every single day and somehow not exist at the same time.”

“i’m not happy, and i don’t know how to be happy.” 

“i want this part to be over.”

“do you have any questions for me?”

“you were getting better.”

“we were doing what was best for you.”

“but you always got your way.” 

“because he’s / she’s / they’re an idiot, that’s why.”

“i was going to be so proud to be your mother / father / parent.” 

“even now, they blame me.”

“did you look for me?”

“i need your phone.”

“we were playing a game of hide-and-seek, but no one was seeking.”

“what do you want to do?”

“i like it better this way. adds character.”

“i thought you couldn’t remember what happened.” / “i didn’t say i didn’t remember. i said it doesn’t make sense.” 

“you’ve been through a lot.”

“i don’t matter.”

“all that matters is figuring out the truth.”

“listen to me: it wasn’t your fault.”

“i’ve always known i did something unforgivable.”

“you still blame yourself.”

“you were my responsibility.” 

“it feels unfinished, doesn’t it?”

“you want to stay?”

“this is a celebration, not a tribunal.”

“she says  / he says  / they say they’ll meet us there in a couple hours.”

“oh, it’s not that bad of a joke.”

“why are you sleeping, lazybones? there’s so much to do.”

[supermacaquecool]

About Tongue-tied.

I find really challenging to write from Miu's pov, partly because of her age but mostly because her personality and interests are very different from mine. I struggle letting characters act out rashly or get carried away by emotion bc I'm usually too much in my own head lol So it's much easier for me to write turbulent inner worlds and sensations than it is to write wild actions. It's for all of this that writing Miu is a challenge, she does not play to my comfort zone as a writer. That said, I'm happy with how she came out in Tongue-tied. I usually lean on using exact wording and phrasings, but I tried to relax the prose to suit Miu

The sky was painted red and orange and purple, all the way to the first hints of black around the edges

This is a sentence I adjusted to become less tight and precise, focusing more on the input of stimuli as it's experienced.

I think I started this one by the middle section, with the idea of Miu eavesdropping on Aoi. Mostly because I thought it was really funny to write Miu getting annoyed at Aoi for asking her about whether she brushed her teeth. "Aoi is like a mother," and so I write her pestering them about their chores covertly through questions. I thought it could be interesting to fill in the gaps of Miu's dynamic with Aoi, since Survive did zero in the motherly qualities playing into the power differential and her desire to be obeyed. Miu, who has been neglected and reacts so badly to Kaito's helicopter parenting and wishes for independence so ardently still needs the emotional and behavioral guidance and for the older kids to look after her and care for her. I find the opposing directions between what she wants and what she needs interesting. So it's a piece mostly on Miu's feelings on Aoi as her second caretaker of sorts. For this reason, I equated Aoi to Kaito in this section:

Aoi sighed, bringing the fun to a halt. "If you're bored before sleeping, you could just say it. There's no need to sneak around."

Miu wanted to say she kind of needed to. She needed to at least be able to talk to Syakomon. Her partner understood this and vouched for her.

"There's nothing to worry about, I'm with her!"

"Yes, but—"

But, well, Aoi was a bit like Kaito about these things. They needed to stay safe.

Making them equal pressences to Miu felt like a good shorthand to establish Miu's mixed feelings about Aoi. It's for this reason that when I worked backwards to write the eavesdropping scene, the one Aoi is talking to is Kaito. This scene is partly inspired by a passage in the "The Haunting of Hill House" where Eleanor sneaks around eavesdropping the conversations all the others are having and confirms her neurosis one way or another. I wanted mine to work in a similar fashion, and it was actually fun to focus on the idea of missing information. I think it might even a bit heavy-handed in the contrasts to Kaito there: where he is loud and aggressive, Aoi mumbles and remains polite. Where Miu understands Kaito's stance crystal clear, she can't parse Aoi's at all. The thing that unites them being their desire to handle Miu with kid gloves 😂 This is something I wanted to make a running theme through the piece, so I tried to make Miu's frustration with Saki run on a similar note: that annoyance others keep things from her and don't talk to her straight (to be perfectly fair, Saki is like that to everyone about this topic 😂 But Miu doesn't have the perspective to see it).

Naturally, Miu's talk to Aoi hammers down on that aspect of her as a child that's being sheltered. I was very pleased with the way I wrote the conversation, having Aoi always be the one in control even if she's not necessarily being domineering. She basically traps Miu into talking to her by telling to sit with her 😂 She tries to do it in a way that still shows regard for Miu, but it's still her imposing her terms lol

Anyway, it was fun to write them running into each other's scripts and getting frustrated lol Aoi feeling bothered by Miu's ghost hunting antics and Miu feeling annoyed at her motherly disposition lol I thought it'd have to be Aoi the one to open the path to swerve the conversation into something more open and sincere, not only bc Miu is younger but because she's been struggling with this issue for far longer with Kaito and her solution has been to sneak out and have things her way where her brother can't see her lol So it really needed to be Aoi the one to bridge the gap, even if she's still doing it ever so carefully as to not to upset the balance lol Labramon was a fun aid to write in the behavior and dynamic Aoi wants to enforce lol

I'm pleased with having been able to pepper Miu's penchant for the supernatural with her idea Saki was a psychic and her excuses to Aoi lol If I were to write her again, I'd hope to be able to integrate this aspect much more intrinsically to her pov (this is what I was struggling with).

That interaction with Minoru was the cutest bridge between scenes I've written lol I do think that while Minoru is still in that position of trying to look after her as someone who's older, he's the one who comes the closest to meeting her on her own terms even in that brief passage lol I'm quite satisfied by how comfortable and relaxed their dynamic comes across.

Overall, I was pretty satisfied with this one and I thought I was able to cover what I wanted. I'd like to improve on Miu's voice as their dynamic still fascinates me, specially since Miu does grow quite attached to Aoi and trusts her to take care of her.

[touch-my-noodles]

(Julie’s back! it’s kinda been a minute hasn’t it?) What was the last thing you cooked? Does life need to have a purpose or can you just live, purposeless? Why is it called a building if it’s already built?

Spaghetti! With frozen meatballs 😬 and garlic bread. Fun fact I cannot spell at all. And spell check wasn't any help. I had to google Spaghetti.

I'm not sure how to answer that. I think everyone has a purpose. Even if they don't realize it. Even if they are a bad person. They probably will make a difference in someone's life, maybe good, maybe not. And the cycle continues. It's kind of like this story I heard. Something like this. There were twins who had an alcoholic father. One twin became an alcoholic like their father. The other one never drank and became very successful. When asked why they turned out the way they did, they both said "I watched my father". Like me, I was raised around cigarettes, and I have never smoked.

Ah the age old question. Like why do we drive on the parkway and park on a driveway. I asked my husband this and he said "because it's a building its not a built". He's so wise 😂 to be fair he's recovering from a head injury. I tried to explain but it is built. It's not in the process of building its done. None of that makes sense. Now it's going to haunt me in my dreams.

Also, sorry for all the late answers. I have to be in the right headspace to answer. Does that make sense?

[someguynamedzoom]

Valhalla in Vogue (Short Story)

(CW: Violence, Death, Religion, Suicide)

I believe myself to be a good, God-loving American like anybody else. I pray, I follow the rules, and I respect dueling. As everyone knows, only those who are brave and honorable are permitted into Heaven. And of course, the most respectable way to go is to be courteously slain over a disagreement. Indeed, formal combat is God’s favorite, and any other method shall burn you in Hell. A fate unlikely for an American, as we have no such cowards. If someone here were to not die by another’s hands, then they must’ve never been American in the first place. Although… Something happened to make me question some things. Allow me to tell a story.

I had just turned eighteen, the appropriate age for combat, along with a few of my peers. We believed our shared births to be a wonderful miracle and decided to throw a combined celebration. After all it wasn’t only a day for us, but also for those old school-issued Makarovs finally leaving the classroom to relive their forgotten battles. So, our grade met at a popular bar that neglected identification. Because of that, the following evening was quite merry and the refreshments influenced us greatly. Joey, who was obsessed with the classics, only allowed the speakers to blare Billy Joel and Tim, who declared himself a clown, had an amusing lip-syncing for Movin’ Out. These lives of the party were juxtaposed by my lonesome nursing of a bottle. Though I did enjoy watching them, opposed to another individual.

            I locked eyes with a classmate named Bruce, who seemed apathetic toward the event. I didn’t know much about the fellow, other than him being another church-going American. And I’m sure he knew little regarding me, yet that did not decrease his heavy gaze. Followed by the formation of an odd grin. It took me a moment to understand what he was implying until I met with the notion that was probably in the back of all our minds. He wanted to duel me. Now, I had no reason to but once I was reminded that I was now allowed, I found the same urge to participate in God’s plan. I returned his leer and he approached.

            The beat of my heart intensified with each step he took. The excitement to finally use my skill caused me to feel up my holstered gun. However, a sudden thought brought an unfamiliar sentiment. What if I were to lose the duel and die? The question made me tense and cease all movement. I don’t know why; death is a common result so there was no need for adverse reactions. Despite that, I was frozen. Forced to watch Bruce come with a widening smile. I apologized to God for whatever I did, pleading to cease this punishment. Because the look in Bruce’s eyes haunted me, I worried that I wasn’t even going to be challenged before shot dead. Then he came.

            An oblivious man poorly timed a collision with Bruce. While he teetered, Bruce shouted at him to watch his path. A fair reaction, as half his vision was covered by the collar of his coat along with the brim of his hat. The outfit was unique, making the man appear as a battler of an old America. A time of expanding west, when bloodshed was a means rather than the meaning. In that sense, the man’s attire was offensive, like he was parodying the ghosts God had banished from America. Upon realizing what the man was wearing, Bruce began a disgusted rant. That made me feel ashamed since my curse ended once Bruce’s attention went to someone else. The man who dredged up shameful history was disinterested in the scolding but remained to take it. Then, the grin returned to Bruce’s face. In a mocking tone, he said another reason to consider the man’s clothes is how it may motivate someone to duel. To punctuate the threat, Bruce referred to the man by his caricature. He called him a cowboy.

            Finally, the man– The cowboy turned to Bruce. His duster swung in the air, grabbing the attention of a few bystanders. He then told Bruce that he should be clear when making a challenge and dubbed him a kid. The description flustered Bruce, understandably as this night was meant to toast our maturity. It warranted a complaint that could not be delivered for the room was hushed by the cowboy taking out his weapon: A black handgun with a long barrel and wooden grips. It was an older piece, though better kept than our Russian leftovers. Another notable trait was the make, denouncing any semblance for self-defense. The gun’s aura screamed to kill and kill alone.

            Usually, drawing a weapon, especially one as dramatic as this, would result in everyone else doing the same. No unrighteous murder would be tolerated by God’s favorite children. However, while he gained the whole room’s perception, no one else produced their firearm. Any dark intention was dissuaded by the cowboy pointing the barrel at himself. Additionally, any concern of him performing the most craven sin, suicide, was eliminated by his monologue. He informed us that his gun was a Thompson/Center Contender, a break-action hunting pistol made to only hold a single bullet at a time. This was confirmed by exposing the gun’s empty chamber. He continued by showing us his belt adorned in ammunition, their and the gun’s required caliber being .40-70. The cowboy admitted to the power possibly being overkill for a duel, but then commented on how often guns are in general. Finally, he explained his policy of never loading his gun before drawing and how he would only shoot it once. An audacious claim that elicited murmur from the crowd and sweat from Bruce.

            Despite his nerves, Bruce clarified he still wanted to duel and kept that way even when the cowboy said they would draw in ten seconds. The abrupt decision silenced the room, and we viewed them with the respect properly given to duelers. The lengthy sixth of a minute passed and ended with a bang. Bruce’s gun flew across the bar with the cause smoking in the cowboy’s hand. True to the word, the cowboy only loaded after the time and did so in a blur. The amazing feat and Bruce’s loss by disarming called our applause. Although, our cheers were not as loud compared to if Bruce was granted the glory of death, something that upset him verily. Knowing this, the cowboy claimed he fumbled his shot. Bruce was about to confront him again before an older gentleman came over and enlightened Bruce. He told Bruce that he just dueled Harold Grace of The One Round, a walking legend who has dropped fighters far more experienced than us students. After that, Bruce dropped the matter.

            The birthday ceremony resumed, now with everyone aware of Grace in the room. The off-putting attitude he held made most avoid him. Yet I, already feeling unlike myself, was attracted to the table he sat at. I inquired what he was doing there that night, and he begrudgingly told me that he intended to meet a woman– To duel, he established as if there could be any other reason. They both arranged to meet here, unaware of the ongoing party which caused him to regret his choice. I know his hint of disdain should’ve forced my leave, but I became persistent to stay. After seeing him handle that gun without hesitation, I believed he may hold a cure for my mental affliction. I explained what I just experienced with Bruce and asked if he had any tips for gunslinging. He gave me a once-over and declined by leaving the table.

            I was disheartened for sure, but my goal lasted. I considered how if the man himself wouldn’t give me advice, then maybe his rumors would. This idea led me to the bartender who I knew had gossip as all good bartenders do. They pondered and told me the little that they knew. Grace adopted his policy of loading late early on and established himself with the One Round moniker. Although, he never explained why he did it. Sure, it’s impressive. But any sensible type can see how dangerous and absurd the fighting style is. The bartender then told me of a duel a few months prior. He was challenged by Prawn of The Swift, who was aptly named with a record-breaking draw time. Grace accepted, supposedly he always did, and they held it on a public street famous as a go-to impromptu arena. They waited for Grace’s preferred ten seconds before they both fired. When time, Prawn moved inhumanly to get the first shot off with his Beretta. It was an attack that should’ve went straight between Grace’s eyes. But while he drew, Grace went down on one knee and loaded his pistol while leaning back. It was indeed a position cruel for the posture, but it allowed Grace to steal Prawn’s intent including his life and the bridge of his nose.

            I told the bartender how remarkable I found the story and let my tone prove it genuine. The bartender didn’t need any reassurance since they enjoyed the story themselves. Grace on the other hand wasn’t as convinced so he asked me if I meant it. I told him I did and paused briefly before letting out a yipe in shock of his sudden materialization. He didn’t react to my noise, thankfully, as he was too busy brooding over how to treat his newly acquired fan. He seemed upset, oddly enough, that someone would hold him in such high regard. I couldn’t see as to why since he was a prime example of how God’s warriors should be. Though he was ridiculously insistent on the clarification of my wanting to be a gunslinger. And even after I confirmed this, he seemed unable to conjure up any solution for me. Like he had a reason to hold back on educating me. Tragically, I didn’t get the chance to learn why.

            Our conversation was interrupted by a man that I recognized as the one who convinced Bruce to leave. He said he had witnessed a fight from Grace’s youth and wished to be given a clarification. Grace didn’t respond but remained to hear the man give his tale. In the setting, Grace was a student proven by the school labeled semi-automatic he used instead of the Contender. While he was out and about one day, some of his peers showed with their own guns drawn. What issue they had; the man didn’t know. But he was there to witness Grace’s defense of unloading precise shots with a flurry. The man described the scene like a story from myth and I was entranced from hearing another exploit by The One Round. Then he came to the conclusion. After Grace had felled his foes, he supposedly dropped down and wept. This is what the man wanted to ask about. He, and now I, wondered why Grace would cry over someone’s death, let alone the deaths of his enemies. Grace did not answer. He simply left the counter and I curiously followed suit.

            We traveled across the room. I didn’t probe him about the story, but I did ask where he was going. With a flat emotion he said that he realized it was time. Before I could ask for what, I was reminded of his purpose when he stopped to stand in front of a woman. She had just entered the building, standing tall and surveying the environment with a stern expression. People took note of the sheathed side-sword buckled to her regal jacket and sent around gossip fitting for the eccentric. She was identified to be Ann of The Blade, a swordswoman obsessed with dueling the skilled. This one confirmed to be at her request while she greeted Grace courteously. As the reason for her visit spread, the onlookers became eager to see someone fight with a sword. The tool was irregular with the current score for gunpowder beating steel. Yet her ability with it was proven long ago and to see it against another unusual choice was unquestionably intriguing.

            After introductions, the two strutted to the center of the room. While walking, Ann asked if Grace would kindly not use the handicap he had given everyone else. Grace politely refused and said it was for himself. She seemed dissatisfied with that answer. Grace figured she would’ve understood, carrying an unconventional weapon herself. Ann stated that it was for character. Grace then offered to justify himself by asking her to see his policy as the same while not revealing if it actually was. Ann was silent to that, ending the conversation. The two took their positions and hovered their hands above their arms.

            The tension summoned was a far cry to what we witnessed with Bruce. Opposing each other were two genuine professionals. Killers who made their own names and vanished the disbelief for their equipment. A blade slashing before a gun fired. An unloaded weapon that still assured triumph. We were in awe while watching and shaken at the end of ten seconds. It was quick, untraceable. Ann’s blade pierced Grace and extended out of his back. Grace reacted by giving his signature single shot into her chest. The force of the blast sent them apart. Ann’s firm grasp of her sword pulled it from Grace to leave a hole in his heart. He clumsily stumbled backward, accidentally seating himself in a chair. Ann slammed into the bar which she then leaned on to prevent herself from falling. A red stream ran down her jacket while the exit wound gaped her back. Nonetheless, she was breathing and compared to Grace’s limp body it appeared that she would live.

            The crowd erupted. In the name of God, a victor had been chosen. The party gathered around Ann who seemed more concerned with her gunshot than her glory. While I watched her be praised for her skill and honor, I couldn’t bring myself to join them. Ann impressed me, of course, but I was still saddened that Grace would now be unable to help me. While brainstorming for a new solution, I went over to his body. I knew I could no longer gain anything but figured that I should at least get an early start on paying my respects. However, my plan was cancelled by his voice. Grace was not dead, but dying, and in his final moments he was speaking to himself. The way he spoke was happy, as expected of a dying man. Yet what he said was strange. He was glad that people were applauding his death. This made me curious enough to ignore the common reaction to finding a corpse still alive and I told him they weren’t applauding just that. I corrected him that Ann’s win was also a part of it. He noticed me and asked what point that changed. I wasn’t sure what he meant and got to say nothing while he then stood with a vigor unfitting for his condition. As he did so, the chair he was on scratched against the floor causing a few celebrators to turn and see him. They then got the rest to look at him while he reclaimed the gun he dropped in the fight. We were confused as to why Grace was still here and not yet in Heaven but knew it would be rude to interrupt the final actions of the warrior. With his gun returned, he replaced the spent round in his gun with a fresh bullet from his belt. After doing so, he pointed the weapon at me, returning me to the unusual sorrow Bruce had introduced. I couldn’t fathom what I did to bring out Grace’s hostility, but then realized by his smile that he wasn’t upset with me. He did not shoot me, nor did he want to. Harold Grace just wanted to ensure that I paid attention to the advice he finally came up with:

            “Kid, live a little.”

            He then placed the gun against his temple and pulled the trigger.

No one speaks of The One Round anymore. His last act tarnished any memory of him. Yet, why? Why does what he said still stick with me and what does it mean? How come I, unlike everyone else, am unable to forget him? Why do I still fear the possibility of dying? Why am I different? I shall continue to ask God for answers, but in case someone who listened has one, please share.

[unxpctedlygreat]

the question of miklan's age haunts me

[goodboylupin]

Limited Seating

For (my) @goodboylupin's Candy Hearts Challenge. My candy heart prompt was SIT ON ME. The prompting period is open until Valentines Day, so get one while you can! Thanks to @kattlupin for the beta help! Also available on ao3

Remus Lupin felt tired.

(Like that was new.)

It was September 1, and normally that was one of his favourite days on the calendar, circled in red and marked with gold stars, but this year had the inconvenient timing of the full moon falling two nights prior to the train ride that would take him to his fifth year at Hogwarts.

This wasn’t the first time the full moon coincided with the start of the year, but this was the first time it happened that he couldn’t spend the whole train ride recuperating with a nice nap.

Remus Lupin was honoured that Professor Dumbledore had chosen him to be the Gryffindor boys’ prefect for his year. Really. Truly. He was honoured. And deeply grateful for the opportunity! He would do his best to live up to the shiny badge now pinned to his chest, to keep the lower years safe and in line (even if he would inevitably feel like a hypocrite for telling them to go back to bed as if he hadn’t spent his nights mapping out every haunted hall and abandoned classroom of the castle when he was their age). He would be unbiased and kind but fair. And he would also be very grumpy that Head Girl, Carol Duffy, had kept the prefects for two hours to play icebreaker games and listen to her long meandering instructional speech liberally peppered with anecdotes and platitude and helpful hints — only for one of her fellow seventh years Drusilla Farley (Slytherin, Pisces, favourite sweet was fudge flies) to inform them at the end that a copy of the speech would be handed out alongside their schedules, meaning that they had all been taking notes for nothing. The Ravenclaw boy beside Remus (Tommy Taylor, fifth year, had a cat named Winston, though Remus knew all that without the ice breakers) had snapped his quill in frustration.

But at last, he was free, and so Remus hopped carriages and strolled down the corridor to the last compartment on the Hogwarts express, the one the Marauders had staked as their own their very first year, and the one Peter arrived early to claim every train ride as if the force of James and Sirius’ personalities wouldn’t be enough to protect their territory. He would have to go back to the prefects’ carriage to grab his trunk when it was time to change, but Remus would always feel safest going to sleep in the company of his friends, with the quiet murmurs of their jokes and laughter to lull him to sleep and welcome him back to waking.

He stopped short outside the frosted glass door partitioning the compartment, however, at the sound of a distinctly female shriek.

The screaming didn’t really alarm him. It didn’t sound fearful, it just sounded — and Remus thought this in the least mean way possible — a grating laugh, but hearing a girl in their compartment gave him pause. How could anyone possibly take over their territory? Everyone knew the space belonged to James Potter and Sirius Black, other than first years. And yes, Peter wasn’t the best at standing up for himself, but surely he could fend off a gaggle of eleven year olds? No, there was no question about it. even if these hypothetical children somehow impossibly overcame him physically and got his wand away, Peter fought dirty when the situation called for it. James still had bite marks in his arm from when he’d tried to steal Peter’s sweet-laden care package and play keep-away with it.

Cautiously, silently, Remus slid the door open.

There was indeed a gaggle of girls inside, but they were all familiar-looking enough for Remus to assume they were also fifth years, and they were all surrounding the boys he expected to find inside.

Really, Remus should have expected the gaggle of girls too.

He hadn’t gotten to spend as much time on Platform Nine and Three Quarters reuniting with his best mates as he would have liked, because he had arrived a bit later than usual on account of the post-moon exhaustion and he had rushed to make sure he got a good spot in the prefects’ carriage (ultimately unnecessary since Duffy had assigned seats, which was quite nice, really, so Remus would probably appreciate her much more as a Head Girl when he wasn’t tired and grumpy) but the brief moments he had with the Marauders had been long enough to notice the summer had been very good to them.

James had spent his vacation at his family’s estate in India, and the time running amok in the blazing sun that bore down between monsoon deluges had left him wiry but undeniably muscular and with a warm, even tan that made his white smile stand out even more. He had written Remus that he would be getting glasses, but Remus was still surprised at how unsurprised he’d felt seeing them on his face, like they’d always belonged there. Only James could get circular metal frames and not look the least bit swotty in them.

Peter had grown taller — not tall, mind you, but taller — and the lemon juice he’d confided in Remus to mixing into his shampoo had done its job, bringing his dishwater blonde to a more golden colour. What’s more, he seemed to have conquered the spottiness that had plagued his complexion for the last two years.

And then there was Sirius. It was embarrassing to say, even in the privacy of his own mind, but Remus had lost his breath when he first caught sight of Sirius now towering above the crowds, silky black hair down to his shoulders and confident as ever. He’d been surreptitiously admiring the new broadness of his friend’s chest when he’d been pulled against it for a hug, and his knees had honestly gone weak at the new strength in his embrace. (Remus couldn’t wait for an opportunity to squeeze Sirius’s biceps. Where did an aristocrat whose mother thought it unbecoming for her children to lift a finger get arms like that?)

Sirius had always been a handsome boy. Remus remembered thinking the first time he ever saw Sirius’s face that he looked like he belonged in a painting. But now… Sirius looked like he belonged in a magazine. And not a dirty magazine per se, but a magazine that Remus would use for dirty things nonetheless.

So of course their compartment was filled to the brim with girls hoping to gain the affections of a Marauder. So filled to the brim that there was no space for him.

Remus was tired, and grumpy, and sore all over, and honestly a little wee smidgen bit hurt that his friends didn’t save a place for him, but he did his best to wear a good humoured smile. “Well,” he drawled out, catching their attention and putting on a jokey tone. “I see how it is. Little old Lupin has to step out for a bit so you invite every beautiful girl on the train to sit with you and forget all about him.”

“Moony!” All three Marauders yelled in jubilation. They leapt from their seats and moved out into the corridor to hug him again like they hadn’t done so on the platform. James, the fastest, got there first and lifted Remus clear off his feet, twisting side to side and swinging him around like a ragdoll before putting him down just as abruptly. He was quickly followed by Peter, who thankfully made no attempt to lift him, though he too had the strength to do it easily, if not the height. Finally came Sirius, and this time Remus had the foresight to lock his knees for the moment so he didn’t swoon too hard, though it was a close thing when he felt Sirius’s nose skim along his hair.

“Now what’s this nonsense about us forgetting you?” Sirius demanded. He pulled back just far enough to cup the nape of Remus’s neck with one large hand and stare at him with an intense, smouldering gaze. “We could never.”

“We thought you would have to spend the whole ride with the prefects,” Peter chimed in. “We would have kept a spot empty for you otherwise!”

“They let us out early for good behaviour,” Remus said.

“And now we’ll make a spot for you,” James assured. He turned to face the benches and balled his fists to his hips, surveying the occupants and likely realizing, as Remus had when he first looked, that there were already more people squeezed into the seats than was reasonable or comfortable. “We might have to ask some people to leave…” he muttered to himself, stroking his chin with thumb and forefinger.

Remus was struck by two horrifying realizations in quick succession: the first, that James was pretending he had a beard, and possibly intended to try growing one for real, now that puberty had kicked in and he theoretically could; the second, more pressing concern was that James had an analytical glint to his eyes.

Remus loved his friends with his entire soul. His heart knew them to be some of the finest men to have ever walked the earth. His mind, however, was aware that they could, at times, be arseholes. James looking at a limited number of spots in a compartment and a group of girls of varying attractiveness, trying to decide who should be allowed to stay? He was about to do something very arseholey.

“No!” Remus cut in. “I can find a quiet place to take a nap, James, it’s fine.”

“Absolutely not!” James responded. “If you go, we all go.”

“We can’t go!” Peter protested. “This is our spot! I don’t wake up at 5 AM every year just for us to leave our spot!”

“Which is why it would be much better if we just—”

“James,” Remus whispered lowly, grabbing his wrist and looking him in the eye. “You cannot single out anyone here to kick them out. It would be cruel.”

James’ nose scrunched up in confusion, his mouth turned down in disagreement. In his mind, Remus knew, it was just a matter of practicality, because James Potter was not the sort of person who would ever be given the boot.

“You can just sit on me, Moons,” Sirius offered.

Remus stopped short. “What?”

“Yeah. They’ll all be wanting to go somewhere with more leg room before long. Til then just sit on my lap.” Sirius nodded decisively, like that was that. He then slid the door open again and strolled back into the compartment, so it would seem that was that. Sirius took a seat and slapped the top of his thighs, staring at Remus expectantly.

Actually, it seemed everyone was staring at him, expectantly or otherwise.

Seeing no other option, Remus perched himself gingerly onto Sirius’s knees. He was sitting on his best friend’s lap. His handsome best friend’s lap. His handsome best friend who he was crushing on’s lap.

Immediately, Sirius’s arms wound around his waist like the vines of a Devil’s Snare and yanked him closer. Remus let out a short yelp, trying not to seem too eager to melt into the warmth of the broad, muscular chest pressed to his back.

“You look great, by the way,” Sirius murmured into the nape of his neck. “Summer treated you well.” He then turned his head to resume whatever conversation he’d been having before Remus came in, perfectly casual as if this were all a completely normal occurrence.

Remus huffed out a long breath. He was not going to get a wink of sleep this train ride.

[randomnameless]

Yep, it's especially that conversation lol

Religion shouldn't have any sort of political authority. Fodlan games are wildly inconsistent with how much CoS has, but any at all is bad, and I'd want any leader not to embrace them having too much power, esp Dimitri because it must suck to feel like he's obligated to another institution regardless of how good/bad it is.

It's always the issue isn't it lol?

The game wants us to believe the CoS is a sekrit shadow government puppeting everyone to whom every leader should answer to, when what we see is pretty much the opposite.

It'd suck for Dimitri to have to help the CoS because he would feel indebted/obligated to help, but at the end of the day, in the 3 Nopes situation, we have someone asking for help, and the Kingdom is the only one who provides it.

I think Dimitri's the ONLY leader with a balanced outlook on the church. He acknowledges and sees first-hand the good it does, doesn't use Rhea as a scapegoat bc he fails to grasp nuance, understands how necessary it is (right now) for the mental wellbeing of his people, but also believes it could use some reform. That seems pretty fair. Because the writing is so unfair towards the Church, then it comes across way, way worse and harsher than it would if Rhea/the CoS got supports or their own route like SS.

Yep, given the writing, both in this game and, imo, in FE16 - even in SS that parrots the "Church needs reforms" without going into what are those reforms or why it needs any - Dimitri is the most nuanced Lord about the Church, and doesn't exclusively blame them for... well, things both games tell us but we never see, instead he notices what is on-screen (i'll never forget the shitstorm the fandom had over his line to Claude about the Abyss lol) and has to acknowledge the CoS.

BUT, I don't think it's a big mystery how Dimitri would react to questioning a Caspar or a Nadar who are openly bloodthirsty and for shallow reasons. He'd go and fight and kill them and feel a whole lot less bad about it. Even when he understands the enemy enough to know how badly he'll come across from their perspective, he still gives the command to attack if he thinks it's in Faerghus' best interest.

Fun fact, in this game, the conversations he can have in Zahras (the optional chapters if you didn't kill byleth!) can be triggered in every route.

AKA, the conversation is the same with Claude in GW, and the same with Supreme Leader in SB! It's ridiculous, I know.

Manuela is from the Empire. For me, it's as simple as that. All her family and friends are there.

Mmh,

Manu is also very pious, had a good opinion on her colleagues and hates bloodshed - in FE16 she hates how her nursery is turned into a morgue - so imo it doesn't really makes sense for her to join the imperialists who suddenly tell her she now has to believe Pope Varley - whose teachings, while never revealed to us, are pretty much the opposite of what Rhea followed.

Granted, in AM if she is unrecruited, she's an assassin working for the Empire so, and we know she cares about her Mittelfrank friends, so... idk.

When I read people saying that Byleth is so effective because they're a new element, it made a lot of sense to me - especially for the Blue Lions because so many of them are haunted by their pasts.

Yep, it ultimately came to make sense to me too lol

Granted, with the Nopes versions of the BL gang, aka a Felix who is now Duke Fraldarius and understands there are more important things to do to help the Kingdom and his people and friends than call Dimitri a boar and leave him alone, or Sylvain who cut off his womanising ways and rants about crests this and crests that, instead working with his father and advises the King - they seem closer to him and able to reach him, maybe not as fast, as Byleth did - as you pointed out, AG Dimitri can maybe become, later on, AM!Dimitri. Imo, AG made me realise how artificial and forced the "Dimitri and his friends don't talk to each other" felt in the first part of AM - but the circumstances were pretty different.

In a way, I think AG!Dimitri can be better compared to CF!Dimitri given how the events are sort of similar - who also seems to have a positive relationship with his friends, even if he only appears in one chapter.

That's 2/2 for Dimitri being the one lord that doesn't make a big fuss about the self-insert's powers.

Meanwhile, in SB -

Azure Gleam Ch 11

Spoilers below for AG Ch 11.

STORY

RODRIGUE is back. You have no idea how happy I am that he got more screen time (and is now playable!)

Ashe's not happy that some nobles kept their titles after turning coat, but they can't afford the chaos changing things would create right now, but they plan to in the future.

I am living for the Big Dad energy Rodrigue always has.

Do we get to kill Caspar's Dad? Please let me kill Caspar's dad.

Felix asking the right questions - asking if they can trust Claude. Annette doesn't trust Claude. Ingrid neither, but doesn't think he's as bad as Annette and Felix.

Gustave and the Knights of Serios are keeping the Alliance in check.

Once again, people asking if Dimitri can kill his step-sister. But Dimitri's like, guys, I killed Rufus. I can handle it.

Ohh, a letter from Patricia? If it doesn't have new info, why bring it up? Something disturbing. Confirmation she was always bad.

Yep, she helped plot Duscur. I mean, we all guessed she was an awful human being, so now we know.

Like, I don't blame Patricia for missing Edelgard or whatever, but setting your child step-son to get butchered alongside tons of other innocent people is straight-up evil.

Dimitri's worried about Shez, and she's opening up to him. It's pretty sweet. It's also so sweet how much they trust Shez even if she doesn't trust herself.

Honestly, Dimitri and Shez are so cute, as friends or more, it doesn't matter, they have a great relationship.

Shez would rather die than kill her friends 😭 We won't let that happen (it better not happen)

MAP/SIDE BATTLES

Seteth said he trusts me 😭😭😭

Rodrigue got to say two things this time, which means he made up for lost time last chapter.

Ok guys, Shamir just went up in my books. She said as a mercenary she'll get hired to kill anyone, but prefers killing bad guys, like the Empire. I love it. She hasn't said anything like this in GW or SB.

SHEZ & RODRIGUE B

LAMO, omg, I love Shez.

So it starts with Rodrigue taking Shez very seriously as Shez talks about how the war may be over by next winter because she . . . wants to have a snowball fight, like all the Kingdom kids got to do.

It's actually kind of sweet, seeing Shez want to just play and have fun with the Blue Lions.

Rodrigue, of course, love the idea.

And takes snowball fighting too seriously, talking strategy. Of a snowball fight. OMG I love this. I love him.

He'd do full-out battle with Lambert and go with kids.

Rodrigue lost, lamo.

So Lambert would rush into battle alone, and Shez thinks like father like son with Dimitri.

I also love how Rodrigue thinks Gautier is cowardly for laying and ambush for Lambert, but is totally fine with his own sneaking and waiting to strike.

It ended with them getting cussed out by Ingrid's dad for not taking the mountain seriously.

Shez can invite Rodrigue to join in.

Oh, man, I wish I got to see this fight. I can only imagine Felix when he realizes Rodrigue is involved and thinking it's dumb for taking it seriously, then taking it seriously. Ingrid being an absolute tyrant ordering people to follow her strategies. Dimitri scared he'll knock someone's teeth out. Mercedes being absolutely savage. And so on...

DIMITRI & YURI C

Excited for this.

Yuri's told a "funny knight" who's really strong is helping everyone out who sometimes sounds sheltered and obtuse and sometimes not. Yep. It's Dimitri.

Yuri's not happy seeing Dimitri in dangerous allies. Worried about him. But Dimitri wants to learn how the commoners live so he can help them rule better.

OMG, Yuri's like "you don't have an heir," worried about the civil war that will happen if Dimitri dies.

Yuri is determined for Dimitri to live a long and happy life because the people of Faerghus like Dimitri and Yuri likes the commonfolk of Faerghus.

Also love how Yuri points out that if war breaks out, nobles will die, but commoners get slaughtered. Wish he'd tell Edelgard that.

Haha, he says to bring Dedue at least.

OMG, I love Dimitri. He then just asks Yuri to be his bodyguard.

And Dimitri won't ask Dedue because he knows Dedue will just forbid Dimitri from coming, like a nanny, lol.

Yuri's entertained that Dimitri asked him to be a bodyguard.

SYLVAIN & DEDUE B

Dedue is impressed with Sylvain for interacting with a woman like a normal person lamo.

"Don't expect praise for merely doing your job." I love Dedue. That's savage af.

Sylvain was motivated to mature by Felix and Dimitri. He said they're both like brothers, which is why he wouldn't get left behind. I love this group.

Oof, Dedue "had" a sister. And now we're getting to learn about her. 😭 She liked flower crowns and was determined when she set her mind to it.

Dedue wants Sylvain to visit Duscur after the war, to visit her grave together 😭

SYLVAIN & FELIX A

Felix got into a fight with soldiers . . . . because they were making fun of Sylvain.

Felix called it the "worst decision in his life." Of course. Felix being Felix.

Felix didn't tell Sylvain because he was worried about Sylvain hearing the details about what people said about him.

I love the idea of Felix getting into a fist-fight with people insulting Sylvain lamo.

Sylvain thinks he deserves his bad reputation because of who he used to be. Felix challenged why Sylvain didn't change sooner. Sylvain has no defense lol.

Felix is ok with people making fun of Sylvain, but only certain people lamo.

Felix is blushing after saying something nice lol. Now he's pissed at Sylvain. And insulting him. Very typical Felix.

Sylvain says he's 7% more cunning than Felix lamo.

This one did go more into ship bait. I was surprised how un-shippy their C was, but I'm sure Sylvix fans loved this one.

DIMITRI & MERCEDES A

They're traveling to a village together. It's the one Mercedes used to live in. Dimitri likes how calm it is.

Mercie called Dimitri her friend 😭😭

Dimitri claims he's a king's knight lol. He catches himself. Also village woman finds Dimitri handsome. She has taste.

Mercedes and Dimitri talk about how open minded the church is and give credit to the overall teachings (lamo, eat shit, Claude)

Mercedes is grateful to Dimitri to taking in the Central Church because it helped the village out. It's why she brought him there, so he could see the good that comes from protecting the church.

Mercedes plans to show him around the town and introduce Dimitri to her mother and the priest.

Dimitri's nervous lol. Hahaha, Mercie says she'll tell him he's someone "very important" which flusters him lamo.

She made him laugh and smile.

This support was adorable. (and feels like it couldn't possibly be the same writers as SB and GW lamo)

MERCEDES & DEDUE B

Sad they only get one support. Their Houses one was amazing.

Mercedes is teaching cooking. The little girl gets scared of Dedue when he arrives to fetch Mercie.

Poor Dedue frightens children and animals :(

Mercie says lots of the kids are orphans, so they're scared, and that Dedue looks intimidating. She has a plan to make him not look as scary.

I KNEW IT! He's handing out flower crowns. I was going to say it was something with flowers.

Now all the kids love Dedue. Good. He's the sweetest man in Fodlan.

Dedue teaches them how to make the crowns.

Dedue is happy with Mercedes, but Mercie says it was Dedue's kindness who won them over. Of course they both give each other credit.

They both have such strong mom and dad energy.

SHEZ & ANNETTE A

Annette's up late working on music lol. Shez thinks the notes look like bugs lol.

Annette won't sing it though :( Her songs are legendary.

She wants a song that makes people feel happy when they sing it. Very Annette.

She heard the song Shez passed around getting sung by a dying mercenary, who died happy though because they appreciated the song. It made Annette appreciate the song more.

She is such a sweetie.

It's sweet to have a whole support revolve around Annette realizing her songs make people happy and help people. She'd love that.

OMG, I love Annette. Her new song is about a feast, then they go to get more ingredients, and then get into a death battle with a bear. Truly a child of Faerghus.

RAPHAEL & FELIX C

Raphael is drooling over Felix's food, so he gives it to Raphael, and Felix offers to go buy more.

Felix thinks he hears thunder, but it's just Raphael's stomach.

Felix is being nice, lol, insisting Raphael eat some of his food.

But now he's annoyed that Raphael called him a "meat buddy" or a bit. Felix likes the idea of hunting that Raphael suggested.

Raphael is so nice not even Felix can manage to get mad at him.

SYLVAIN & IGNATZ C

Sylvain feels bad because he interrupted Ignatz painting. He wanted Ignatz to look at a painting he brought home.

Sylvain knows painting styles (he knows it's not a common Faerghus style). But ofc Sylvain is interested in how pretty the woman in the painting is lamo.

He's curious about the woman's identity, but it doesn't seem in a fuck boy way, but a curiosity over a favorite piece of art way.

That Sylvain is into art just made him even cooler.

Religious art often has their symbols in the art (and Flayn's is fish lamo, good).

As a major art fan, I love this support adding little tid bits about Fodlan art.

Lamo, Sylvain studied art to impress ladies at first, but now he actually likes it.

SETETH & YURI C

Yuri chatted with a scholar, wanting to learn about the 10 elites because he didn't get a good education.

It's a support to explain how crests came to be and their powers

Yuri trusts Seteth with his crest secrets (partly because he knows Seteth already knows, and partly bc Yuri has taste)

Seteth encourages Yuri to cherish his crest and the power it brings

So is Yuri the son of an elite or something?

FLAYN & SHEZ B

Flayn thinks Shez looks good because she's dirty and that suites her lol. I love Flayn.

Flayn is wearing perfume. Seteth probably doesn't know lamo.

Flayn talks about how perfumes coming in trend shows that even in dark times, it's not all consuming. Very Flayn of her.

We're going trend shopping. She doesn't get to shop often.

Flayn is straight-up making shit up, lamo. She invented that Shez wanted to shop to raise Shez's spirits, not hers.

It's this more -uh - questionable side of Flayn that keeps her from being a one-note, overly sweet character. I love it.

CATHERINE & SHEZ C

Count Charon asks Catherine for more soldiers, but only Dimitri or Rhea could give that order.

Shez didn't know Catherine's family. She stays vague about it when Shez asks about her past.

Catherine, unsurprisingly, says she'd fight for Rhea if had to choose between her or her family.

Catherine asks why Shez is here. Oh, I can pick too - for friends, money, or to fight Byleth. Def picking friends. I think that suits AG Shez best.

Catherine looks happy with that answer.

Oh, I like that, live in a way that makes your past self proud.

ASHE & FELIX B

Their only support.

Oh, Felix is confronting Ashe about how he's a knight working for Dimitri. Should've known it would be about this.

Ashe defends Felix when he calls Dimitri a boar and tiresome lol.

Ashe says Dimitri does his job for him, omg, Dimitri, stop (but that's he's getting better).

Felix is like - you have to steal your job back from him!!! Use force if you have too - I love this, lamo

Dimitri promoted a lot of commoners to be knights, and there were some minor misunderstandings at first, but now no one cares

Felix asks Ashe if he's a noble or commoner, and Ashe is like kinda both actually, which is true

Awww, Dedue comes to Ashe's aids when he needs it (and Dimitri, but Ashe mentioned Dedue too)

And now Ashe is singing Dedue's praises, and ofc Felix insults Dedue, saying that blind loyalty will get him killed

And omg hahaha, Ashe is like that's sweet Felix, that you care about us, I always knew

I love how almost no one takes Felix's tsun seriously. They're all like "aww, look, he's chewing my old slipper!" energy

Ashe putting Felix in his place round 2, I love this. Ashe and Felix is always gold

Felix is like, it's just because more work for me if something happens to you!

Then he's finally nice, telling Ashe he does a good job

ANNETTE & SYLVAIN B

Their only support

This time it's Sylvain who catches Annette singing. Annette seems relieved rather than embarrassed.

Sylvain thinks her song is creepy (covers that, saying creative) and that only Annette could make it (affectionate - maybe)

Why is Annette always singing about swamp beasties?

Sylvain wants a song about something cute instead, so Annette naturally jumps to huge bears lamo

We need an Annette Bernedetta support about finding creepy stuff cute

Annette doesn't seem upset with criticism

Also, this is the second time Sylvain talks to Annette like a person and doesn't really flirt with her, more like siblings vibes it's cute

Annette's next song is even creepier lamo But Sylvain likes it anyways

DIMITRI/RODRIGUE/SYLVAIN PARALOGUE

This one is easy since all 3 are leveled up. I want to do other ones, but I may wait to save some cash lol.

They're up north, so Sreng? Yep.

So they're preparing for a Sreng raid.

So a hostage that grew up in Faerghus is now leading the raid. And Margrave Gautier treated him well even though he felt bitter about Sreng killing his wife. So Miklain's mother?

And now the Sreng hostage is using Fodlan knowledge against them.

Haha, Sylvain was going off about being lazy forgetting his dad was right there lol.

It's cool seeing papa Gautier and Rodrigue together.

The Sreng commander really came across like a dick. Rubbing in Miklain's death, not caring about all the men he got killed.

So did Claude do this in AG too? Incite Sreng? They guess Cornelia and someone from Adrestia too, which could be the case in AG.

Gautier takes credit for the fall. Sylvain got through to the guy apparently.

Dimitri's just happy they share a language now. He would know how important that is since he learned the language of Duscur.

I'm glad they fight over land. It's way more interesting and realistic than whatever the hell they did with Almyra.

Aww, Sylvain is dedicated to reaching peace with Sreng. Of course his dad is harder edged because they killed his wife.

Sylvain being so bent on peace and diplomacy just makes the people who claim he makes sense in CF make even less sense.

I had Shez believe in Sylvain, because AG!Shez is nice Shez.

Sylvain and Dimitri both hate resorting to violence and using warfare first. Both want to avoid it at all cost. I like the future of these two both being important in Faerghus.

Oh, cool, talk between Rodrigue and Matthais. I love the little stories we get of all of them. They were trouble makers lamo. They snuck out the night of the festivities.

Lambert wanted peace with Sreng and Duscur. Dimitri's half-way there, and he and Sylvain are working on the other half.

Gautier now agrees with Sylvain, Lambert, and Dimitri and a pathway to peace.

Aww, Rodrigue advised that he apologize to Sylvain, and he's going too.

Oh, I got the lance of ruin! Cool. Sylvain has his weapon now.

FINAL BATTLE

Not Dimitri being more understanding of the Empire nobles who''ll follow any leader that promises them more land than Edelgard does him and the other Blue Lions

He's thinking from the other's perspective, how it looks to them, not what it actually is - Claude and Edelgard could never

Shez is like, no need to feel guilty, hell yes

Felix is worried about Dimitri, in his very Felix way, meanwhile Dedue is like "we trust you"

I love so much that the importance of his friends' support is stressed so much more in AG.

Oh, I get Constance and Linhardt this battle. Cool.

Felix got lectured by Rodrigue lamo, he wanted to break ranks to chase after Monica

Lamo, Manuela's defeat quote is that she won't die single. Ngl, glad she just retreated.

It's really something that the Blue Lions show way more sympathy towards their enemy than the other routes do. They're the only ones that feel guilty for "invading." When the others are invading.

Glad they're bringing up that if they don't do this, Adrestia will not stop until Faerghus is destroyed.

Rodrigue has such a nice voice.

Felix got angry with Rodrigue when he said all the blame for invading will fall on Dimitri, but then Rodrigue said it's up to Felix to support him through it. This really is Dimilix the route, lamo.

Felix is like, duh.

Why is Shez talking to Rodrigue while it's late. I'm getting flashbacks. He died last time this happened.

They're both worried about Dimitri. And it's cannon that Dimitri falls asleep at his desk. Sooo much fanart of that lol.

Apparently Lambert did the same. Like father, like son.

Lambert had a shorter temper than Dimitri, but are very similar. Unlike Rodrigue and Felix. I get to disagree with Rodrigue there, so I will. Because I think they're more alike than they both think.

Ok guys, we finally got it. Why Felix is miserable outside of AM. He can't live without a great purpose pushing him forward. And in SS, VW, and CF he finds no great purpose, unlike in AM where working with Dimitri towards his version of the future does work.

When Lambert died, Rodrigue struggled to find another reason for being. So he devoted himself to his promise to Lambert, to make sure he sets his won back on his proper path is he loses his way.

Shez feels like Dimitri's been helping her, but she's helping Dimitri too. Like what Rodrigue is doing.

Rodrigue says he's only Dimitri's retainer, that's so false. But he says Shez is in a unique spot since she's a friend first, then he's her leader. Which makes me happy.

More teasing about Shez's origins.

Rodrigue says though that Shez's background or powers aren't what's important, it's about who Shez is as a person. I love so much how the Blue Lions keep repeating this idea, that it's not Byleth's or Shez's power. It's their worth as a person that matters.

Arval just called Rodrigue a wonderful human being. Based.

xxxx

[disturbedbydesign]

A Night At The Museum

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Length: 4K

Summary: Your job as a museum tour guide was growing tiresome until a mysterious stranger showed up to claim what was his.

Warnings: Dubcon (slight mind control), Violence (mild), Light Bondage, Explicit Sex (oral, vaginal). 18+ only, no minors.

_____________________________________________________________

Your last tour of the day was about to start and all you could think about was getting off work and meeting up with your sister for drinks. You had always dreamed of one day working at the British Museum, but having been a tour guide there for the past year—doing the same thing, so many times a day, every single day—you found yourself growing tired of it and anxious to move on. Much as you loved art history (you did go to school for it, after all), you had grown thoroughly bored with your job. You wanted some excitement in your life. You needed it.

When you first started, you had been one of the museum’s most enthusiastic guides, always trying to engage all the members of your groups and fielding even the strangest of questions with grace and ease. These days, you were just going through the motions, especially for tours this late in the day. Over the course of the year, you had become adept at instantly identifying the one or two people in any given group who actually cared about the subject matter, and you found it simpler to focus on them and ignore everyone else.

As you performed your perfunctory scan of the last group of the day, you saw the usual suspects: a group of unruly children with intentionally oblivious parents; a travel group of obnoxious middle-aged Americans; an older gentleman, alone, who looked like he could be a professor of some sort (he was the one to pay attention to); and a young couple, clearly on one of their first few dates, who would have eyes only for each other.

And then you saw him.

You were immediately taken aback, struck by the fact that, for the first time in a long time, you couldn’t get a read on someone. The man was tall—really tall—with long, black hair slicked back. His skin was almost inhumanly pale and smooth, like he was sculpted of the same marble as the statues surrounding you. Despite the summer heat, the mysterious man wore a black suit and tie, a white dress shirt, and a long black coat with a scarf. He carried an ornately crafted cane, which seemed more an accessory than a walking aid. Compared to the rest of your tour group, he seemed a man out of time.

And then you saw his eyes—his impossibly green eyes. You could see them from across the room, almost glowing and staring at you, unblinking. your breath caught in your throat and all of a sudden you felt very, very cold.

As the hour-long tour progressed, you went through your practiced speeches about each artifact, moving across the room in the pre-established order and fielding questions here and there. As anticipated, the older gentleman was very engaged in the tour and asked intelligent questions, which you happily answered. Also unsurprisingly, one of the loudest Americans (probably trying to impress his friends) kept asking questions that he thought would make him sound smart and cultured but which, in reality, had the opposite effect. After one particularly ridiculous question, you had to turn your head away, pretending to be thinking about the answer but really trying not to laugh. That’s when you got caught in the emerald stare of the mysterious man with the cane.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off of you the entire tour—hadn’t so much as glanced at any of the art that he was ostensibly there to see—and up until then you had done your best to avoid meeting his gaze. Something about him absolutely terrified you, although you couldn’t pinpoint what exactly you were frightened of. He was standing completely still at the back of the group, but he was so tall that he towered over everyone and you could see his face as clear as if he were right in front of you.

His piercing eyes were locked onto you; they moved where you moved. His gaze was intense and menacing, but it was more than that: you could physically feel his eyes on you, penetrating you all over, making you feel naked. You wanted to look away but you felt like some strange power was holding your eyes onto to his. You stood dumbfounded and locked in a silent stare with the dark-haired stranger until the loud American spoke up, demanding an answer to his previous inquiry. You had never in your life been so happy to answer a stupid question.

You managed to make it through the rest of the tour without meeting eyes with the man with the cane, although there wasn’t one second that went by when you didn’t feel his presence in the room. You even went so far as to forgo asking if anyone had any final questions at the end that they wanted to stay after and discuss with you. You ducked out of the exhibit hall as fast as you could, feeling the man’s gaze boring into your backside as you exited the room, and headed for the staff room to gather your things. You didn’t notice until you got to the employee lounge that you had been holding your breath the whole time.

The museum was officially closed for the day, and as you left the staff area you couldn’t help but notice that the usual security guards posted around the building were nowhere to be found. In fact, there was no one around at all. The main lights were dimmed and the place was impossibly silent; the only sound you could hear was the echo of your own footsteps as you quickly made your way across the building to the exit. You were rounding a darkened corner when you felt an ice-cold hand reach around from behind and clamp over your mouth.

“Don’t be afraid,” hissed a smooth voice in the darkness. “You’re going to like what comes next.”

Before you could think to cry out, you were spun around and face to face with the dark-haired man. He wore the devil’s grin as he leaned down to you, his face barely an inch from your own. One hand still clamped firmly across your mouth, he brought his cane up with the other and traced a gentle line down from your temple to your chin. He let the tip rest under your jaw, pressing in on your throat just a little too hard. He put his lips to your ear and whispered, “Come with me, my pet.”

In one swift motion, he swung you up and over his shoulder and held you there with one arm, the other arm brandishing the cane, which clicked rhythmically against the marble floor, keeping time with his long strides. You were still dazed and breathless from the force of the cane’s tip on your throat and before you knew it, you found yourself in some dark recess of the museum basement, on the floor of a room you hadn’t even known existed. It was filled with strange artifacts the likes of which you had never seen in your extensive studies. There were no lights on but the room was bathed in an eerie shade of blue, which seemed to emanate from the relics themselves. You managed to mumble out a few words.

“Where am I?”

You saw the cane flip once in his hand as he strode toward you and then felt only searing pain as it came crashing across the side of your face.

“Did I say you could speak?” he asked.

You brought your hand to your cheek where he’d struck you, expecting to feel a bloodied gash, but when you took your hand away and looked there was nothing. The blow had left no physical mark, only an icy hot streak of pain. He reached down and traced the line of his blow with a long delicate finger, and suddenly the pain was gone and replaced with a pleasurable tingle.

“As you see, I can inflict both pain and pleasure,” he said, his voice like honey. “What happens next is entirely up to you.”

You should have been terrified, screaming, looking for some outlet or escape, but you found yourself completely paralyzed by his gaze. Going against every survival instinct screaming inside of you, you dared speak again.

“Please… please just tell me who you are and what you want.”

You closed your eyes and braced yourself for another blow but it did not come. You glanced up to see him looking at you inquisitively from the corner of the room, resting his long, lean frame on the tip of his cane.

“You are a bold one, I see. Deserving of my punishment, yes, but also worthy of the pleasure I can give you. I am going to ask you three questions and you are going to answer them honestly. If you lie, I will know, and you will suffer for it. Now tell me, do I frighten you?”

“Yes.”

“Do I excite you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to leave? And before you answer this last and most important question, know this: If you say yes, I will let you go. I will not harm you. I will not follow you. You will never see me again. But you will also never know who I am or what I am here for, the memory of this night will haunt your dreams forever, and no one will ever believe your story. Within a week, you will go mad wondering whether I was a dream or reality.”

In one seamless motion, he crossed the room and yanked you to your feet by your shoulders, holding you an inch from his face, which seemed to glow with its own light.

“Now answer the question. Do you want to leave?”

The final answer flew from your lips before you even knew what you were saying. “No,” you whispered, and he eased his harsh grip on your shoulders, a sly smile spreading across his lips.

You stared at him, motionless and feeling almost paralyzed as you waited for permission to speak.

“Well,” he began, “I suppose it’s only fair that I offer you the same courtesy you have allowed me, so you may ask me three questions and I will answer them honestly. Choose your words carefully, because you get only three.”

He released his grip on you and returned to the corner, watching you and waiting.

“Who… who are you?” you stammered.

“Ah, a good question and excellently phrased. Had you asked just my name, that is all you would have received. But who I am is much more complicated.”

He sauntered toward you and lifted his cane, pointing it in a sweeping circle around the room.

“You see these things here? I am not so different—I was just another stolen relic from another world, locked away until someone might have use of me. But I have broken free of my shackles, and I have come to claim what is mine. You as who I am? I am a God. I am your God.”

You should have thought him completely mad, but you believed him. For whatever reason, you believed him.

“What do you want?” you asked.

He shook his head and chuckled low. “That’s far too vague a question, my pet, for I want many things. I could tell you simply that I want a glass of water, and I would not be lying. But since you are such an exquisite creature and so well behaved, I will answer the question you meant to ask, which is what is my purpose here.”

Something was happening to you, something strange and terrifying and wonderful. You were mesmerized by the way he spoke and the way his long, cold fingers brushed your cheek when he had called you exquisite. You hung on his every word and could not take your eyes off of him.

“I am Loki of Asgard and I have come to reclaim what was stolen from me. This room holds all that I need to take my rightful place as your master and overlord—to claim humanity as my own and rule the people of Earth as your king.”

You searched your racing mind for the words needed to get the answer you so desperately wanted, but your brain would not cooperate.

“One last question, my pet. And don’t keep me waiting.”

Finally, the words come to you in the correct order. “Why have you chosen me?”

Loki smiled lasciviously down at you. “I could tell just by looking at you that you crave subjugation,” he said, his voice smooth and so deep you felt it everywhere. “You were made to be ruled, and you will be the first to kneel for me.”

In a flash he was on you, grabbing your hair hard and pulling you into a deep kiss. His lips felt ice cold but his breath was hot and moist as his tongue twined around yours. You raised your hands to run them through his hair when he abruptly pulled back and caught you by the wrists. He spun you around and bound your arms behind your back with his scarf, pushing you to your knees once he had secured you.

“I told you to kneel,” he growled.

He was behind you and you could hear his ragged breathing, the rustling of clothes, and the soft thump of fabric hitting the floor. When he spun you back around, he was completely naked and you drank in the sight of his pale skin and lean, powerful body. His cock was enormous and rock hard.

“Pleasure me, my pet. I know this is what you crave.”

He grabbed you by the hair and shoved the whole length of his shaft down your throat repeatedly, fucking your face until you almost passed out for lack of air. When you thought you could take no more, he yanked you off of him, tilting your head back and looking down at you with glowing green eyes.

“Very good, my pet. Now slower. Worship it as you will worship me.”

He grabbed the base of his cock, holding it at an angle above your face and willing you to lick it. You complied, running your tongue slowly from the base to the tip, feeling his blood throbbing in the veins that ran the length of his massive shaft; the blood was hot but the flesh was icy cold—a very strange sensation, but one that fascinated you. He let out a series of short, carnal grunts as you swirled the tip of your tongue around his head. You took just the tip into your mouth and began to massage it gently with your lips as he ran his hand lightly up and down his shaft. You could taste his leaking juices as you tongued the slit, and the taste of him was like nothing you’d ever experienced before—it was delicious, addictive even, and it made you insatiable and impossibly wet. You moaned onto his cock as you let it drip down your throat, sending vibrations of pleasure running through his entire godly frame and causing him to groan in ecstasy.

Before you knew it, you were on your feet and your wrists were freed from the scarf that bound them. Holding the scarf between gritted teeth, he ripped your blouse open and straight off your body. He cupped and squeezed your breasts in his icy hands, and your already hard nipples became almost unbearably erect against the lace fabric of your bra. He unclasped it and let it fall to the floor next to you as he yanked your skirt down around your ankles. One hand cradled the back of your neck and he let the other trace a line in between your breasts and down your stomach. When he reached the top of your thong, just above your mound, he stopped.

Your breath caught in your throat and you looked at him. He took the scarf from between his teeth.

“Turn around,” Loki commanded.

You did as you were told and he brought the scarf around your head, blindfolding you. You felt his strong arms lift you up and moments later you were bent over a cold metal table, facedown and arms over your head, gripping the steel. You felt his breath on your pebbled skin as he ripped your thong off your body with his teeth, and he pushed your legs wider apart with his knee as he traced down the length of your spine with two fingers. When he found your entrance, you were already soaked for him—an almost unnatural level of wetness that you’d never felt before in your entire life—and he plunged two long fingers deep inside you without ceremony. You cried out your pleasure as he moved them furiously in and out of you before he slowed and found your sweet spot with his middle finger, working it violently until he started to feel your walls tighten around him and your cries faded to jagged breaths. He stopped just before you found release and you whined loudly.

“You are ready,” he said—telling you not asking you. “Now we shall see where your loyalty lies.”

You were left wanting and stranded on the verge, and the absence of sight heightened all your other senses. Every inch of your body was buzzing and the sound of your own heart beating was deafening in the silent room. That’s when you heard the rhythmic clicking of the cane moving slowly toward you and then stop.

“Who is your God?” Loki asked, his voice cold and commanding.

“You,” you wailed. “You are my God.”

He brought the cane down across your bare ass with all the power of Asgard and you screamed out in delicious agony.

“I said, WHO IS YOUR GOD?”

You tried to answer but your mind could not form words. He brought the cane down on you again, three hard lashes in quick succession, and you made a noise that sounded inhuman in your own ears.

“I’ll ask you one more time: who is your God and your King?”

The sensations coursing through your body threatened to put you over the edge of consciousness, but somehow you managed to yell out to him through the haze of pain and pleasure.

“LOKI! Loki of Asgard is my God and my King!”

He laughed maniacally and you could hear the clatter of the cane dropping to the floor. You felt his magic fingers trace a line across the searing flesh of your ass and the white-hot agony turned instantly to a pleasure unlike any you had ever known. You almost achieved release just from his touch. He untied the blindfold and he rolled you over on your back, pulling you up to face him. His eyes seemed warmer as he leaned in and grazed your ear with his lips as he spoke.

“You have proven your loyalty to me, my pet. I know that you will worship me as I deserve. Now you will be rewarded.”

He stood between your legs and cupped your face in his hands as he kissed you slowly and deeply, more passionately than he had before. For the first time, when you went to touch him, he didn’t try to stop you. At last, your hands found his long black hair and you grabbed fistfuls of it as you pulled him down on top of you, the tip of his cock teasing your opening as you devoured each other. He pulled his face away and buried it in between your breasts as he massaged them, taking one nipple in his mouth and nibbling it lightly as he rubbed the other between two fingers. Every flick of his finger or tongue on your body dragged a sound out of you that you didn’t know you could make. You untangled one hand from his hair and found his massive cock, gripping it firmly and stroking it up and down as you rubbed it against your clit.

“Fuck me, my King. I beg you. Take me any way you want me.”

He lifted his mouth from your breast. “Not so fast, my pet. I must taste you first.”

He pulled you down to the edge of the table and threw your legs over his shoulders as he settled between your legs. He licked you slowly up and down a few times before latching onto your clit, holding your hips firm as he swirled the tip of his tongue around and around, faster and faster until you started to cry out and buck against him. He brought a hand down from your hip and teased your slick folds with one long finger as he continued to work your clit with his tongue and his lips. He brought another finger to your entrance, sliding the two fingers together from the top of your folds to the bottom, and when he plunged both fingers inside you, you came so hard you nearly fainted. His touch was godly, and you knew then he had ruined you for all mortal men.

You had barely recovered from your climax when he sat you up and took you all at once, shoving his cock inside you to the hilt, filling you with ice and fire. He grunted like an animal with each forceful thrust and you screamed with pleasure as you clawed at his back. Your hands found his muscular ass and you gripped it tightly as you screamed his name, keeping time with his rhythm.

“Loki… Loki… My God… My King...”

You brought your arms up around his neck as he lifted you off the table, his strong hands gripping your ass as he walked you over to the side of the room. You clung to him with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist and your arms at his neck as he fucked you senseless against the cold basement wall. The light of the otherworldly artifacts tinted his skin an inhuman shade of blue; it was beautiful, he was beautiful. He quickened his pace and then stopped, remaining motionless with the full length of him still throbbing inside of you.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispered. “Such a good little pet. I think maybe I’ll keep you.”

He walked you back over to the table and laid himself down on it so that you were straddling him. You moved up and down on his cock slowly, almost teasingly, wanting to feel every inch of him inside of you. As you rocked up and down, he brought his cold thumb to your clit, circling it while you rode him and bringing you close to the edge again. He began to buck underneath you as you fucked him and you knew he was close, too. You leaned in and grabbed the hair at the back of his head as you continued to slam yourself onto on him.

The words fell from your lips—“Fill me with your God seed, my King, I want every last drop you have”—and even as you said them, you had no idea where they came from, almost as if they were planted there and forced from you.

That had Loki’s eyes rolling back in his head and he moaned deep as he sat up, grabbing your hips as you rocked back and forth on his lap. He tightened his grip on you and quickened his pace, pounding into you hard and fast. As the muscles of your tight walls rippled with pleasure and you cried out your reverence in his ear, Loki found his release. He held your squirming body tight against him, your muscles shaking uncontrollably as he came roaring into you. You felt his warmth spread inside of you—such a contrast to the chill of his flesh—and you stayed locked in his embrace, completely limp with exhaustion.

“Thank you, my King,” you whispered, and Loki brought his fingers to your face.

The last thing you remember is two cool fingertips pressed to your temple. When you awoke, you were naked and alone in the basement room. The artifacts that had filled the room were now gone and there was no sign of Loki but for a pile of clothing next to you on the table—new clothes to replace the ones he had destroyed in his lust—and a handwritten note that said only “Fit for a Queen.” You put them on, wondering if he would ever be back for you. You were nothing now without your king. You knew you were made to be ruled.

[fandomlovingfreak]

Glacial Passion (12/?)

Regulus Black/Reader

Rating: E for everyone

Trigger Warning: Arranged Marriage, angst, mentions of child abuse (abuse in general), talk of children/pregnancy

Word Count: 1398

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link

Summary: Glacial, cold, icy… all words that described Regulus Black’s grey eyes. Was there truly no emotion behind those eyes, or did a caring man exist beneath? Could she defrost those glacial eyes?

Disclaimer: Regulus Black (Walburga Black, Orion Black, and Sirius Black) is a character from Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. Reader or y/n is not owned by Rowling. This work has not been created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

Notes: Shorter chapter (usually I hit 1900-2300 words) but I think this sets up a lot so hopefully, you all love it very much:) Also WARNING: No real proof reading WE DIE LIKE MEN! aha

Enjoy

"How long do you think you'll be staying here?" Sirius asks. Regulus had gone out to fetch something for breakfast when Sirius had asked, using the whole 'you didn't invite me to your wedding' to get his way.

"I'm not entirely sure. Regulus wants to get a house, but he's rather picky about what type of house is acceptable. I am not as picky as my husband." 

For the past two weeks, we've looked at homes across the surrounding areas. I had liked a few, but Regulus hadn't been as impressed by the things that I had. Where I saw a cozy cottage, Regulus saw a tiny dump of a house in most situations. 

Reasoning with him did nothing for Regulus. While I promised we would make a small house feel large with a little love and renovation, Regulus countered that there wasn't enough room to live properly. He wanted a space for an office, a dining room, and at least three bedrooms for whatever reason. And it wasn't like we couldn't afford it; it just seemed silly to have so much space for the two of us only!

The reason for turning down the third house, not surprisingly, was because of lack of space.

"How could we live in a one-bedroom flat?" Regulus had complained as we walked out of the house showing.

"We only need one bedroom." I had argued back, "who are we housing beside ourselves?"

Regulus's face had colored at my questioning, and he had refused to elaborate on his thoughts and why he was so pink over a simple question.

I smile now over the little memory as I sip my morning tea.

"Earth to (y/n)," Sirius is waving his hand in front of my face, bringing me out of my memories. 

"Yes, sorry. What did you say?"

"Wasn't saying anything really important, just asking about what kind of houses you've looked at."

I shrug, "The normal kind, I suppose. I personally want something on the smaller side. But it has to have personality, you know? After living in Grimmauld Place, I want to live somewhere with natural light and-- and a garden."

"I hear you. Mother was never one for interior decorating."

"Honestly, Sirius. It's more than that. Your mother haunts the house."

Sirius chuckles, "she followed you around a lot?"

"I would find her twenty steps behind me and always felt the need to talk to her to be polite... She never shut up about heirs. Ever!"

Sirius leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head, "sounds like mother."

I sit for a moment in silence before cautiously asking, "Were you ever in a similar situation with your parents?"

"Was I ever-- engaged or pressured the way you and Regulus have been?"

"Yes. I was just wondering since you-- well, you know." I wonder if I am being too intrusive.

The older man shrugs, "I was never formally engaged, but it was drilled into my head from a very young age what it meant to be the heir."

"I assumed as much," I say, taking a sip of my tea, "What exactly did your parents say to you about-- about heirs? I want to know why Regulus is so adamantly against children." This certainly is overstepping some sort of line, but maybe Sirius has some inside information I should know.

"Well, what has Regulus said to you?"

"He... well, he has shared some of the things that your mother did when the two of you were younger."

"The hexing and such, I assume?"

I nod, feeling the normal burst of anger that usually accompanied Regulus speaking about his time growing up in Grimmauld Place.

Sirius looks contemplatively at me for a moment before leaning forwards, "Regulus has always been the better son. He has always obeyed our parents, while I've been a little more-- rebellious. I think maybe it has something to do with that. You know how our mother pressures... She has done the same for both Regulus and me for the same reasons."

"I thought as much... You know, I'm not as interested in what your parents want or expect any longer. Just as I've given up the interests of my own parents, I want these things now for myself and Regulus."

Sirius nods, "I think his reasons are good in his head. We didn't have a normal childhood, and our parents were the furthest thing from a healthy example of parenting. I'm sure you're aware that Walburga has let us feel unlovable, and Regulus has particularly held onto the sentiment. If I were to diagnose his reason for disobeying our parents, it's because he doesn't want anyone else to feel unloved."

I feel tears at the corner of my eyes. That's exactly what it was. Regulus felt no one could love him because of the neglect from his parents. I can't believe I didn't see what was right in front of me this entire time.

"I've been so selfish-- Sirius, how could I..." The words can't find their way into the open. 

"No, you were put in a situation you didn't ask to be. Regulus's trauma isn't yours to hold. I love my little brother, but you must know you're doing so much for him. You have nothing to feel guilty about, (y/n)."

I reach my hand out to hold his, "Thank you, Sirius-- I feel as if I've found some semblance of family between Regulus and you."

Sirius grins squeezes my fingers, "I'm glad that you feel that way. And when the time does come, I know that Regulus will be a much better father than he expects himself to be. Of course, you two are much too young to be concerning yourselves over babies." His smile widens, "not that I'm not entirely excited to have nieces and nephews."

I hide my face behind my large mug, "I suppose you are right. If I were, to be honest, I was pushing for it because everything in life already was so miserable."

"Understandable," Sirius looks me again in his inquisitive manner, "Walburga didn't do anything to you, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"She didn't do any unforgivable curses or hexes?"

I look at him in shock, "no! I-- I'm sure she would know I would go to my parents if that were the case. We are not on good terms, but they wouldn't stand for that behavior from her."

"Good. I just wanted to make sure. I wouldn't put it past my mother to be abusive towards Regulus's wife. She isn't one to be challenged. Well, at least she believes she isn't."

Chuckling, I set down my mug, "Thank you--" I'm interrupted by the slamming of the front door. Turning towards the door, I ask, "What on Earth was that?"

Sirius shrugs, "I-- I'm not sure."

***

I open Sirius's door quietly, excited to tell (y/n) about the home I found. I think it's the perfect compromise for the two of us. It's got three bedrooms, a space for an office, and a fantastic dining room with a view of the garden. Perfect for the future, we've begun to plan together.

I creep towards the sound of Sirius and (y/n) talking in the kitchen. I see her, still dressed in her pajamas, sipping her morning tea. Two sugars and a hint of cream were the way she took it. I'd memorized her order while on our Honeymoon. I found I could remember those small things about (y/n) as I got to know her. Perhaps it was because I wanted to know her at the level where I knew how she liked her tea or what color she liked to wear when she was in a happy mood. What song was her favorite...

I'm about to step into the kitchen when I see her hand in his. My blood seems to drain from my body-- no, freeze in my veins as I watch the scene in front of me. Sirius is grinning so wide at my wife. And my wife doesn't seem to care that her hand is in my brothers.

I turn back around without another word, out the door, and back into the morning sunshine. The weather hardly matches the clouds and ice I'm feeling at the moment.

How stupid am I? Of course, she would choose Sirius. In the end, everyone chose Sirius.