#??????????!!!!!! this was supposed to end in a different place and then

[thunderboltfire]

That's probably because if I'm right the painting doesn't show the coronation itself! The title is Queen Jadwiga's Oath, and it probably refers to the very specific oath she was forced to make in response to the accusations that she hasn't been faithful to her husband.

This issue stems from the fact she was actually bethrothed to a different man before - Wilhelm Habsburg, who was much closer to her age, and whom she knew since they were both children. It was rather obvious that she preferred to be married to him instead of much older Lithuanian duke (and if it wasn't clear enough, according to chronicler Jan Długosz she initially broke out of house arrest by breaking the door down with an axe). She only agreed to marry Jagiełło because she was very pious, and the possibility of the christianisation of Lithuania managed to convince her. Besides, there was no way to convince the nobles to agree for a Habsburg to sit on the Polish throne. From a perspective of time, it was a politically sound decision to turn towards Lithuania that spared Poland from becoming a sphere of direct Habsburg influence and ruled out further dynastic problems that could come with it, but nonetheless, for it to happen, Jadwiga had to sacrifice her personal interest on the altar of the reason of state.

The fact that Wilhelm Habsburg was present in the area at the time sparked controversy - also the fact that their bethrotal was theoretically a marriage on behalf of their families (sponsalia de futuro), that was supposed to be renewed by them and consummated when they were of age, sparked rumours of Jadwiga's unfaithfulness to Jagiełło and even accusations of bigamy. This led her to officially swear that she was never, and never was to be unfaithful to put an end to the rumours - that's the moment which is on the painting, and that's probably why the reactions in the background are so mixed.

Jadwiga is a fascinating historical figure - she was a peaceful monarch, but she didn't shy from war, when needed. She probably wasn't a decision maker for long (since in the beginning of her reign she was underage, and later she ruled alongside her husband), but she's remembered for her philantropy, piety and the legends praise her mercy and wisdom. She's donated her royal insignia to Cracow's university, which is why it's named Jagiellonian until this day. Unfortunately, she died rather young (she was 26 years old, ostheopathy says she could be 28-30 years old), from childbirth complications. Based on her skeleton, she was a tall woman (more than 170cm tall), with a rectangular face. I've heard some historians speculate that her skeleton bearing some typically male characteristics, like narrow and long pelvis and strong jaw might be an indication of her being intersex, which could be the cause of her problems with conception and childbirth, but I don't think there's been any research that would offer the definitive proof of it.

In any way, while (especially 19th century) iconography and historiography showcases her as a mild, almost angelic personality, I think her actions, both as a ruler and as a queen, show significant resolve and intelligence, with her trials to diplomatically resolve the conflicts with the Teutonic order, balancing between admitting her rights to Hungarian crown and maintaining positive relations with her brother-in-law, donations to education and establishment of hospitals.

She's one of the most loved monarchs in our history, and I think she earned it.

Also I love the fact that her much later, neogothic tombstone placed a dog under her feet as a symbol of loyalty. The tombstone is decorative, as she's actually buried in her favourite place of prayer - under so-called 'black crucifix' in the side aisle of the cathedral. She's also been canonised as a saint of Catholic church.

HISTORY MEME | 1/10 moments: Jadwiga is Crowned King of Poland.

The coronation ceremony that took place in the Wawel Cathedral in Krakow on 16 October 1384 was truly a splendid event: Polish nobles spared no expenses and the grandeur of the coronation impressed everyone present. But the historical significance was even greater. For one thing, the young girl who was being crowned (only 11 years old at the time) was to go down in history as one of Poland’s greatest and most beloved Monarchs. And for another, the aforementioned lady was crowned not as Queen of Poland (as would be expected considering her gender) but as King.

There is no humorous tale of a mix-up: the decision was made for quite practical reasons. Polish law was very specific that the ruler had to be King – but it did not state the King had to be a male. And so instead of re-writing the law and to emphasise the fact Jadwiga was a ruler in her own right, it was decided she should be crowned as Hedvig Rex Poloniæ (Hedwig, King of Poland) and not Hedvig Regina Poloniæ (Hedwig, Queen of Poland).

[d-z20]

The Agent Next Door part 3 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agent Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: When a ghost from Rio's past resurfaces, the safe haven you’ve built together is threatened. As danger edges closer, your bond deepens in unexpected ways, testing your trust and strength in each other. Amidst fear and uncertainty, you discover just how far both of you are willing to go to protect what matters most.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, angst, smut, fluff ending, fingering (R recv), oral (Rio recv), praise kink, slight power bottom Rio

Words: 4.2k

A/N: The angsty third (and final?) part as promised

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2 | Master List

Under Her Protection

You’re sprawled out on Rio’s couch, nestled comfortably against her side as the TV plays in the background. It’s the kind of night you’ve both come to love—no plans, no rush, just the two of you together, half-watching some crime drama. You can feel the steady rise and fall of her chest as you rest your head there, her arm slung casually around your shoulders, fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm.

It’s a rare, peaceful moment, one that you’ve started to cherish more and more. You glance up at her; she looks different like this—softer. The usual tension in her jaw has melted away; her sharp features relaxed in a way you rarely get to see. You smile to yourself, the sight of her at ease filling you with a quiet kind of joy. She’s not just the composed, authoritative FBI agent you first met. Here, she’s Rio—your Rio—and you could watch her like this forever.

You press a kiss to her jaw, feeling her smile against your lips.

“Enjoying the show?” she asks, her voice teasing. You know she couldn’t care less about what’s on the screen, but it’s a running joke between the two of you—mocking the exaggerated, overly dramatic FBI agents depicted on TV.

“Oh, absolutely,” you drawl, playing along. “I just love how accurate it all is. Clearly, every case is solved in a day, and all agents wear heels and leather jackets.”

Rio chuckles, pulling you closer. “It’s ridiculous,” she snorts. “Half of this would get thrown out in court in a heartbeat. And don’t even get me started on the ‘enhance the grainy footage’ bullshit.”

You grin, enjoying the rare, playful side of her. “I bet you’d never pull a stunt like that. The great Agent Vidal would never dream of cutting corners.”

She raises an eyebrow, her smirk sharp. “Oh, you’d be surprised what I’ve pulled off. Sometimes rules are more like... guidelines.”

You laugh, leaning into her, and she squeezes your shoulder lightly. For a moment, everything feels easy—peaceful.

Then her phone buzzes, cutting through the quiet. She lets out a small sigh and picks it up, her expression immediately shifting as she reads the message. The shift is so sudden it makes your stomach drop. Without a word, she gets up and walks to the window, peering through the blinds like she’s expecting to see something—or someone—out there.

“Rio?” You ask cautiously, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer right away, her shoulders visibly tense. Finally, she lets the blinds fall back into place and turns to you, her expression grim. “That was work,” she says, her voice low and controlled. “Someone I put away years ago just got released on parole. He... wasn’t supposed to get out this soon.”

You frown, confused. “Why is that a problem? Didn’t he serve his time?”

Her jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think she won’t answer. Then she sighs, running a hand through her hair. “The last time I saw him, he threatened to ruin my life,” she says quietly. “He’s dangerous. And vindictive. If he finds out where I live... who you are... how much I lov—.”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, but she doesn’t have to. The implications hang heavy in the air. You swallow hard, suddenly very aware of the weight of her job and the risks that come with it.

“Hey,” you say softly, standing and moving to her side. “I’m sure it’s fine. He probably doesn’t even know you’re here.”

Her eyes meet yours, and for the first time since you met her, you see real fear there. “Maybe. But I can’t take that chance.” She pauses, her hand brushing your arm. “I want you to stay here. At least until I figure out what’s going on.”

The seriousness in her tone leaves no room for argument, and you nod. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

You settle back onto the couch together, but the atmosphere has shifted now, an unspoken tension lingering in the room. Rio keeps her phone close, her other arm wrapped protectively around you, her eyes flicking back to the window every so often.

You try to focus on the TV show, but your thoughts keep drifting. It’s unsettling, this shadow of a threat hanging over the two of you, and you can tell Rio feels it too. Her grip on you tightens every time she hears a noise from outside, her thumb rubbing circles against your arm as if she’s trying to soothe both of you.

Eventually, you turn your head to look up at her. “You know, I don’t need a TV show when I’ve got my own personal action hero right here.”

Rio snorts, shaking her head. “Is that what I am now?”

“Yep,” you say, grinning up at her. “Neighbour, fashion critic, and now... bodyguard.”

She rolls her eyes but leans down to press a kiss to your lips, soft and lingering. “Just stay close, okay?”

You nod, your heart fluttering at the protectiveness in her voice. “I’m not going anywhere, Rio.”

Relief flashes across her face, but it’s fleeting. She takes your hand, leading you to her bedroom without another word. The silence between you is heavy but not uncomfortable—it’s charged, humming with unspoken worry and a need for closeness.

When you get to the bed, her hands are on you immediately, tugging you close. There’s a new intensity to her touch, her fingers gripping your hips firmly, almost possessively. She kisses you hard, like she’s trying to stake her claim, her mouth moving with an urgency you’ve never felt from her before.

“Rio—” you start, but she cuts you off with another kiss, her hands sliding under your shirt, nails raking up your skin. Her lips move to your neck, sucking and biting hard enough to leave marks that you know will last. It’s not just passion—it’s something deeper, rawer. Like she needs to prove to herself that you’re here, that you’re hers.

You let her take the lead, your own hands roaming her body, trying to reassure her in your own way. But she’s relentless, her mouth trailing lower, her teeth grazing your collarbone. She pushes you back onto the bed, her weight settling over you as she pins your wrists above your head.

Her gaze is dark, her eyes searching yours. “I need to know you’re safe,” she murmurs, her voice rough. “I need to feel it.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, and it’s the truth.

Her grip on your wrists tightens briefly before she leans down, kissing you again, slower this time but no less intense. 

The night is a blur of heated touches and whispered reassurances, her possessiveness never crossing the line into discomfort. Instead, it leaves you breathless, the depth of her need for you pulling you even closer.

When you finally fall asleep, tangled in her arms, the weight of her protectiveness wraps around you like a shield. Even as your mind drifts, you know this is only the beginning of whatever storm is coming. But with her by your side, you’re ready to face it.

—

You’ve been staying at Rio’s apartment for a week now, and every night, her hold on you seems to grow tighter. Even in her sleep, her arms remain locked around you, as though her subconscious refuses to let you out of her grasp. It’s a level of protectiveness you’re not used to, but you can’t deny how safe it makes you feel.

The days are a strange mix of normalcy and subtle unease. You run errands, cook together, and share quiet moments on her couch. But in the back of your mind, there’s always a faint sense of being watched. You’ve chalked it up to paranoia—Rio’s warning had a way of sticking with you, and you tell yourself you’re just imagining things.

Still, it’s hard to ignore the nagging feeling when you start seeing the same person more than once. A tall figure with a hood pulled low over their face, lingering at the edge of your vision. You’ve seen them on the street, at the corner store, and now again as you leave the grocery shop, arms full of bags. You glance over your shoulder, your pulse quickening as you catch sight of them just a few steps behind.

You quicken your pace, gripping the bags tightly. Your heart pounds in your chest as you cut across the street and head for the apartment building. You take a chance and glance back again. They’re still following.

By the time you reach Rio’s apartment door, your hands are shaking so badly you almost drop your keys. You fumble with the lock, finally getting the door open and slamming it shut behind you. You lock it, bolting the deadlock for good measure.

You text Rio immediately: I think I was followed. Just got back. Door locked.

The response comes quickly. Stay put. Don’t answer the door for anyone. I’m coming back now.

You breathe out, trying to calm yourself, but as you read her words, a new sound sends a chill down your spine. A faint rattle at the door.

Your stomach drops, and you freeze, staring at the door as the sound grows louder. It’s not your imagination. Someone’s trying the handle. Your mind races, and you grab the closest thing within reach—a table lamp. It’s not exactly a weapon, but it’ll have to do. Your grip tightens on the lamp’s base as the rattling stops, replaced by a loud bang.

The door crashes open, splintering the frame, and the hooded figure steps inside. They’re taller than you thought, their broad frame filling the doorway as they pause, scanning the room. You take a shaky step back, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Well, well,” he says, his voice dripping with malice. “Look who’s made themselves right at home. You must be the little pet she’s been keeping around.” 

Your mind races, and you instinctively take a step back, trying to put the kitchen island between you and him. “Who the hell are you?” you demand. 

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “You don’t know me, but Rio does. She’s the reason I spent the last ten years rotting away in a cell. Thought I’d pay her back by taking something she cares about.”

He lunges at you with a knife, and you barely manage to swing the lamp, hitting him across the face. He staggers back, but only for a moment, then charges at you again. You fight back, kicking and screaming, but he’s strong—stronger than you expected. He pins you against the wall, one hand around your throat. 

“That’s right, scream for her,” he growls. “Let’s see if she gets here in time.” 

You’re gasping for air, your vision blurring, when suddenly, the already broken door is rammed open again, falling off its hinges from the force of the action. 

Rio barges in, her gun drawn, her expression a mixture of fury and fear. “Let them go,” she says, her voice deadly calm, the kind that promises retribution. 

The man tightens his grip on you, pulling you in front of him as a shield. “Shoot me, and you’ll hit them,” he taunts. 

Rio’s eyes meet yours, and you can see the raw, helpless anger there. You’ve never seen her look so terrified.

The man tightens his grip on you, and your vision starts to black. Your pulse pounds in your ears, the lack of air making your limbs feel heavy. Rio stands frozen in the doorway, her gun unwavering, her eyes locked on the man holding you.

“Let them go,” Rio repeats, her voice low and seething with barely restrained fury.

The man smirks, his grip loosening just enough for you to gasp for air. “You really think you’ve got the upper hand here, bitch? You’re so predictable—always running to play the hero.”

Rio doesn’t flinch. “This is the last chance I’ll give you. Let. Them. Go. Now.”

He sneers, then suddenly shoves you away with all his strength. You stumble, hitting the edge of the kitchen counter hard before crumpling to the floor, pain flaring in your side. Rio’s shout of your name echoes through the room, but you can barely focus as you clutch at your ribs, trying to steady your breathing.

The distraction is all Rio needs. She lunges at him before he can turn back to her, knocking the knife from his hand as they crash to the floor. The struggle is brutal—a chaotic blur of punches and grunts as Rio fights with a ferocity you’ve never seen before.

He manages to pin her briefly, his hands going for her throat, but Rio uses the momentum to roll them over, her knee pressing into his chest. She grabs the cuff of his wrist and twists him onto his stomach, forcing him to let out a pained shout as she pins his arm behind his back.

“You should’ve let them go,” she growls, forcing his face against the floor. He thrashes beneath her, but her grip is unrelenting, her strength fuelled by sheer fury.

She pulls her cuffs from her belt, snapping them onto his wrists with a finality that fills the room. She grabs his hair and yanks his head up, knee still pressing into his back. “And now you’re going to pay,” she says coldly before smashing his face into the ground, breaking his nose, and knocking him unconscious.

Her eyes flick to you, her expression softening with worry. “Are you okay?”

Before you can answer, Rio pulls out her phone, calling for backup. Her voice is calm and clipped as she gives the necessary details, but her free hand remains clenched at her side, still shaking from the adrenaline.

When the call ends, she crouches next to you, her hands ghosting over your body, careful not to touch the areas where you’re clearly in pain. “Hey, let me see,” she murmurs, her tone gentle now. “Where are you hurt?”

You wince as you shift, trying to sit up. “Just... my side. Think I hit the counter pretty hard.”

Her jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think she might explode all over again—but she just exhales, brushing a hand over your hair. “Backup’s on the way. He’s not going anywhere. I promise you’re safe now.”

You nod weakly, and she leans closer, her forehead briefly touching yours. The tension in her body doesn’t ease until the distant wail of sirens signals that help has arrived. Even then, her focus stays on you, her protective presence a shield between you and the man who dared to threaten what she holds most dear.

With the chaos finally under control and the intruder hauled away in handcuffs, Rio keeps a steady arm around you as she guides you back across the hall to your apartment. You can still feel the tremors in your hands, the echo of fear and adrenaline in your veins, but her presence is grounding.

As the door closes behind you, she doesn’t let go. Instead, she leads you to the couch, sitting beside you with her arm securely around your shoulders. “You okay?” she asks softly, her fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

You nod, leaning into her touch. “Yeah. Just... processing.”

A flicker of guilt crosses Rio’s face. “I never should’ve left you alone.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you reply, reaching up to squeeze her hand. “And you came back in time. That’s what matters.”

She exhales heavily, her arms tightening around you protectively. For a while, neither of you speak, the silence broken only by the rhythmic sound of her breathing. Then she shifts, her thumb brushing against your knuckles. “I mean it, though—I’m not letting you out of my sight for a while.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. The truth is, you don’t mind the idea of her staying close.

As the evening wears on, you begin to feel a sense of normalcy returning. Wrapped in her arms, you finally let your guard down, the weight of the day melting away. You tilt your head up to meet her gaze, your heart skipping as you notice the way she’s looking at you—soft yet intent.

“You’re staring,” you tease, your voice quiet.

“Can’t help it,” she murmurs, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re kind of hard to look away from.”

Your cheeks flush, but before you can respond, her lips capture yours in a kiss that’s slow and deliberate, like she’s savouring every moment. You respond eagerly, your fingers tangling in her hair as she shifts to deepen the kiss.

Somehow, the two of you end up lying on the couch, her body pressing against yours as your hands roam freely, exploring the familiar territory with renewed fervour. She pulls away just long enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against yours. “Bedroom?” she whispers, her voice husky.

You nod, your heart racing as she helps you to your feet. The walk to the bedroom is brief, but each step feels charged with anticipation. 

You guide her to the bed, her hand sliding into yours as you both move with an unspoken understanding. She lets you press her down gently so she’s sitting on the mattress, her signature smirk tugging at her lips. “So, this is how it’s going to be tonight?” she teases, her voice low, challenging but still laced with warmth. Her eyes glint with curiosity, though you can sense she’s enjoying this shift in control. “Guess I can let you take the lead. Just this once.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, leaning down to press a playful kiss to her lips. “Call it a thank you for saving me. Hero perks, right?” You reply, your voice just as teasing.

Her chuckle rumbles low in her throat as her hands settle lightly on your hips, grounding you. “You’ve got an interesting way of saying thanks,” she murmurs, tilting her head to expose her neck—an invitation and a challenge all at once. “But I’m not complaining.”

You take her challenge with a grin, leaning down to press your lips to her neck, your kisses starting soft but quickly growing more heated. You find the spot just below her ear where her skin is most sensitive, and when she lets out a low, pleased hum, you focus your attention there. Your tongue darts out, followed by a sharp nip of your teeth, before you suck on her skin, leaving a mark to match the ones she gave you just nights ago.

She tilts her head back with a soft gasp, her fingers tightening their grip on your hips. “You’re getting good at that,” she murmurs, her tone teasing but breathless. Her words spur you on, and you trail more kisses down her neck, each one deliberate, each one claiming her in your own way.

As your lips continue their path, your hands slide over her body, unbuttoning her shirt and tugging it off. Your eyes roam her, taking in every inch of her toned body and the way her muscles flex under your touch.

“Enjoying the view?” she teases, arching a brow, but there’s a flush on her cheeks that betrays her confidence.

“Absolutely,” you reply without hesitation, earning a quiet laugh from her.

Your hands move to the waistband of her pants, your fingers brushing against her skin as you pull them down, leaving her bare before you. You grab her hips, pulling her into you so she’s perched on the edge of the bed, your legs pushing her knees further apart. Her dark eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of anticipation and challenge, and you can’t help but feel a surge of affection and desire for her all at once.

“You look good like this,” you say softly, your hands trailing up her thighs as you kneel between them.

Rio leans back on her palms, her smirk widening. “Show me just how grateful you are, sweetheart.”

Looking directly into Rio’s eyes, you drag your tongue through her wetness. 

“That’s it,” she breathes, her voice huskier now. Her nails coming to dig lightly into your shoulder as her body shifts beneath you. 

Hooking your arms under her legs, you push your face further into Rio, tongue pressing firmer against her clit and she rolls her hips at the sensation. Your tongue swirls over and around her bundle of nerves, eliciting more praise. “You’re so good at this, sweetheart,” she says, her tone uncharacteristically tender.

The praise makes your stomach flip, and you press your thighs together, feeling your arousal soak your underwear.

You notice the subtle change in her demeanour, her usual teasing grin replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. Her hands grip you tightly, but there’s a gentleness to her touch you hadn’t expected. “I don’t give up control often. But with you... it feels right.” Her voice falters slightly, and the admission makes your heart ache with tenderness.

As her orgasm builds, she finally lets go entirely, her usual defences falling away. Her head tilts back, her breathy praises and quiet gasps filling the space. After she reaches her peak, she pulls you up to her, her arms wrapping around you tightly as if grounding herself. “You’re incredible,” she whispers into your ear, her lips brushing against your temple as she catches her breath. “But don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

Her smirk returns, this time sharper, more determined. Before you can respond, she drags you down on to the bed, flipping you gently onto your back. Her strength is firm but careful, her lips curling in amusement at your surprised expression. “Your turn,” she murmurs, her voice low and promising. She begins to trail kisses down your body, her actions deliberate and knowing. “Let me show you how grateful I am,” she adds, her grin growing as your body arches beneath her touch.

With that, she strips you, her soft hands feeling all over your body. When her fingers trail up your thigh, she lets out a soft chuckle at the feeling of your arousal dripping. “Seems like someone enjoyed the praise.” 

You whimper as her fingers press lightly against your clit.

“You made me feel so good, baby.” Her middle finger slides lower. “Such a clever girl.” She teases your entrance. “You know exactly how I like it.” She pushes her finger in.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” you moan as it curls inside you. “More.”

Rio slides another finger in, biting her lip and groaning at how easily you take it. "Oh, darling, you’re taking me so well,” she praises, starting to pump her fingers in and out. She adds a third, and you feel the familiar tightening in your stomach. She picks up the pace, fucking all of the tension from the night out of you both. “You look so good like this,” she coos.

Arching into her touch, head pushing into the mattress, you keen, “Oh fuck. Rio, you’re going to make me cum.”

“That’s it, sweetheart; you’re doing so well, cum for me,” she whispers against your skin, kissing your neck.

Your mouth falls open, a breathless cry escaping as your orgasm overtakes you. The tension that had been building within you shatters, a wave of heat and pleasure coursing through your body. You arch into her, every nerve alight, the sensation so overwhelming that it renders you momentarily weightless. A strangled gasp follows, your voice raw and unrestrained, her name slipping from your lips like a plea and a prayer all at once.

—

Later, as the two of you lay tangled in the sheets, Rio’s arms wrap tightly around you, holding you, refusing to let go. The tension of the night seems to fade, replaced by a sense of closeness you hadn’t fully realised until now. She presses a kiss to the top of your head, her fingers tracing absent patterns along your back.

“You know,” she begins softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t usually do this—let people in, I mean. I don’t let myself feel this way.” She hesitates, her grip on you tightening slightly. “But with you... I can’t imagine not having you here.”

Your chest tightens at her words, and you tilt your head to meet her gaze. The raw vulnerability in her eyes makes your heart ache. “Rio...” you begin, your voice trembling slightly as your hand brushes against her cheek. “I love you.”

Her lips part in surprise, and then her smile grows, soft and genuine in a way you rarely see. “Took you long enough to say it,” she teases, though her voice is thick with emotion. She leans down, brushing her lips against yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender. When she pulls back, her eyes lock with yours. “I love you too, you know.”

You crack a small smile. “So, I guess you’re gonna be the one crashing at my place now, huh? Seeing as it’s your door that got kicked in this time,” you say, breaking the tender moment.

Rio blinks at you, then lets out a soft laugh. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you reply, grinning now.

[harrywavycurly]

Loving a Killer: Tuesdays are for Dancing

Masterlist: Here

Pairing: Killer!Harry x wife!reader

Tag List: @umadirectioner

CW: Language, mentions of ways to harm someone, mentions of weapons, mentions of drugs (it’s a pain medication that Harry doesn’t know about), threats, and as always Harry and Mitch kill people for a living in this series.

A/N: I had to come up with a way to introduce y’all to Niall and this just seemed to fit? It’s dramatic but in a fun-ish way or at least in a fun way for this series.

Summary: Mitch gets a call while him and Harry are at work and it leads so some dramatic events that let us get introduced to your nosey cubical mate that is the one and only Niall Horan✨

“I say we use the zip ties on his ankles.” Harry suggests as he places a hand on his hip while running his free one through his hair as he stands in front of a fold out table littered with different objects he packed with him for this evening’s job. “Makes it easier to move him to the trunk if his ankles are tied together and the zip ties haven’t let us down before unlike the-”

“I get it okay? Rope only works in the movies but how was I supposed to know that?” Mitch says in an attempt to defend his choice of wanting to use rope on a man’s hands and feet a few jobs ago, but it ended up being a massive issue because the rope kept coming undone as they moved the body from the living room to the car and then to the woods to be disposed of.

“It could’ve worked if you knew how to properly tie a knot.” Harry states as he reaches for the bundle of zip ties while Mitch just rolls his eyes as he walks over to the man lying on his back in the middle of the basement.

“Let me guess-” Harry turns to look over his shoulder as Mitch bends down and grabs the knife from next to the man’s wrist, placing it in his open duffle bag near the table. “You know how to tie a perfect knot?” He questions making Harry just shrug as he looks back at the table so he can count out four zip ties, deciding it’s best to do the wrists as well just to be safe.

“I mean I’ve been known to be able to tie a decent knot or at least one someone can’t wiggle their way out of.” Mitch doesn’t miss the slight suggestive tone to Harry’s voice as he talks or the small smirk that tugs at his lips when he turns to hand him two zip ties so he can get started on tying the man’s wrists together while Harry works on his ankles.

“Really? She’s into being-” Before Harry can even shoot him a warning glare to watch what comes out of his mouth next, Mitch’s brows are pinching together as he moves the zip ties to one hand so he can reach into his back pocket of his jeans for his phone. “Uh hello?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he begins to zip tie the man’s ankles while keeping a watchful eye on his bestfriend who in all the years he’s been working with him can count on three fingers the times he’s ever answered the phone while on a job.

“Yes-yeah he’s with me.” Mitch gives Harry a quick glance making Harry get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What? Uh-uhm okay yeah yeah we will uh-yeah be right there uh huh-bye.” Harry is already done with the man’s ankles and standing up by the time Mitch is hanging up and sliding his phone back into his jeans.

“What happened?” Mitch runs a hand over his face with his free hand before he looks at Harry who is packing his backpack up, preparing to leave the moment Mitch explains what the phone call was about because he can just tell whatever it was about isn’t good.

“That was Niall-”

“Niall? As in my wife’s coworker Niall?”

“Uh yeah so apparently she goes to-”

“To dance lessons on Tuesdays? Yeah because that’s the night we work late and she doesn’t like to be home alone at night that much. Now what the fuck happened? Why did he call you?”

“Well if you would just let me talk I would happily tell you.” Harry sends Mitch a glare as he shoves the last of his stuff into his backpack but Mitch just ignores him as he quickly finishes zip tying the man’s wrists together.

“Niall went with her tonight because he was bored and I guess something happened and he thinks her toe is broken? But she’s okay and-and Harry dude where are you going? I drove us here you asshole!” Mitch shouts as he scrambles to get to his feet and grab his duffle bag before Harry is at the top of the stairs that lead to the kitchen of the man’s house.

The thing is Mitch knows Harry well enough to know he will absolutely leave him here if he doesn’t make it to the car fast enough so Mitch skips every other step and barley makes it into the passenger seat before Harry is putting the car into reserve and heading towards where he already knows you’re at. Harry doesn’t bother looking at how fast he’s going or how quickly the lights change from yellow to red as he runs through them. The only thing running through his mind is getting to you as fast as he can because until his eyes land on you and he sees for himself just how badly you’re hurt or hopefully how not hurt you really are, he can’t focus on much else.

“Traffic laws are still in effect by the way and I’m pretty sure you’ve already broken three of them.” Mitch reminds his friend who he knows is just in a panicked and probably slightly angry state of mind over the fact you got hurt and he wasn’t there to stop it from happening or make you feel better the moment it happened.

“Yeah well coming from someone who just stabbed a man not even two hours ago I think traffic laws are the least of our worries.” Harry argues with a casual tone that makes Mitch just let out a chuckle as he shakes his head.

“You just always have to be right don’t you?” This gets a small smile out of Harry as he briefly looks over at Mitch with a shrug.

“So…Niall has your number?” Mitch lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes making Harry grin because he can see the tiniest hint of a smile wanting to form on his face, he knew the two of them hit it off when they met a few weeks ago at the festival but he hadn’t heard much else about it because well Mitch isn’t one to share details about his personal life unless Harry really pushes for them.

Mitch knows Harry is only asking about Niall as a way to distract himself so his mind won’t wonder off to the darkest corners and start imagining the worst possible scenarios the two of them could be headed towards even though the only injury either of them know you might have is a broken toe. So Mitch decides that he’ll be nice, he will let Harry in on some bits of information regarding the Irish brunette man he was forced to meet at an event he only agreed to go to because of the promise of cookies and the chance to indulge in carving into something for fun and not for work, Mitch has always enjoyed a good pumpkin carving contest. But he also isn’t going to give this information up easily, so he thinks of something Harry can do for him in exchange for it.

“I’ll tell you about it if you actually stop at the next red light.” Mitch offers causing Harry to let out a huff as he reluctantly lets off the gas just a bit, his way of silently agreeing to the terms his bestfriend gave him making Mitch loosen the death like grip he has on the passenger side door handle.

Niall is a ball of nerves as he looks at the door of the bar waiting for it to burst open and to see your husband walk through it, he chews on his bottom lip as he looks down at his phone and sees it’s been five minutes since he’s called Mitch so he knows that’s probably way too soon for Harry to arrive considering both of them were at work when he called. He wouldn’t feel so nervous if the last few times he saw Harry he was just a little more friendly because the thing Niall doesn’t understand is how someone who works with computers and is a certified tech nerd can be so terrifying but that’s exactly what Harry is to Niall, terrifying. He knows the moment Mitch and Harry walk through the door he is going to be getting some hard glares and probably a nasty comment or two so he’s just trying to prepare himself the best he can.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t a good color I just said it’s unusual that’s all.” Niall’s head shoots up at the sound of Mitch’s voice as his eyes land on the door just in time to see Mitch walk through it with Harry following close behind him.

Now Niall has seen Harry before, he’s met him three or four times in casual settings and once at an office party but he’s never seen him look quite like this. The sleeves of his all black button up are rolled up to his elbows letting him get an eyeful of the tattoos that decorate his forearms and hands, it’s tucked into well fitting black trousers that are held up with a thin black belt while his hair is pushed back and his usual glasses are gone making Niall assume he has contacts in. It’s as if his attire just adds another layer of his already intimidating personality making Niall swallow down his nerves as Harry’s eyes finally land on him.

“Where is she?” Niall feels his eyes go wide at how harsh and deep Harry’s voice is as he walks towards where he’s standing near the end of the bar. He opens his mouth to say something but it’s as if all of a sudden Niall doesn’t knows how to form actual words so he just kind of stands there opening and closing his mouth for a moment making Harry’s jaw clench as his eyes narrow in one of the harshest glares Niall has ever been on the receiving end of.

“She’s in my office.” Harry’s glare softens as he looks away from Niall and towards Jeff who is standing behind the bar cleaning some glasses.

“Thanks.” Harry calls over his shoulder as he rushes past Niall and towards the back office of the bar and that’s when Niall lets out a deep sigh as he turns to rest his hands on the top of the bar finally feeling like he can somewhat breathe now that Harry is out of the room.

“Don’t take it personally he’s like that with everyone.” Mitch explains as he comes up to stand next to Niall so he can place a reassuring hand on his back.

“Is he always so-so intense?” Mitch just shrugs as Niall turns his head to look at him with a raised brow. “Nice to see you again by the way. This isn’t exactly how I imagined it going but I’ll take what I can get.” Niall jokes or at least tries to as an attempt to lighten the mood and he thinks it’s worked when he hears a soft chuckle come from Mitch’s mouth.

“Harry just really loves his wife that’s all.” Mitch explains as he looks around Niall and signals Jeff who just gives him a nod and a smile before turning around to start making Mitch’s usual drink. Niall just rolls his eyes as he turns his body so he’s now facing Mitch with his elbow on the bar and his hands clasped together in front of him.

“Oh come on the man looked like he wanted to kill-”

“What the fuck did you give her?” Harry’s voice is loud and full of anger that’s directed towards the man standing in front of Mitch as he comes barreling out of Jeff’s office. Niall doesn’t have time to do anything before Harry has a fistful of his shirt and is shoving his back into the bar with one hand while his other hand slams down onto the top of the bar allowing him to lean over Niall as he speaks. “You have five seconds to tell me why my wife is in that office acting loopy and dazed out of her fucking mind.” Mitch doesn’t even flinch at how harsh Harry’s tone is as his grip on Niall’s shirt tightens, Mitch just places a hand on Harry’s shoulder which he instantly shrugs off making Mitch roll his eyes.

“Harry you’ve got to-”

“Tell me to calm down and I swear I’ll break his nose right now.” Harry threatens as he quickly turns to give Mitch a look that makes the long haired man let out a sigh as he runs a hand through his hair. “You now have three seconds.” He states as his attention goes back to Niall who is trying his hardest not to freak out at the fact he just heard Harry casually mention breaking his nose.

“She uhm said she-she was in pain so I gave her something to make her feel better that’s all.” Niall explains the best he can with how he’s bent over the bar.

“You don’t know me very well Niall but you should know that I hate to repeat myself.” Niall closes his eyes after Harry’s statement half expecting to feel a blow to his face giving him the broken nose he heard him mention just a moment before. “So just know I’m only going to ask you one more time.” Niall slowly opens his eyes as Harry’s grip on his shirt loosens but only slightly. “What did you give her?” Mitch looks at Niall over Harry’s shoulder and raises an eyebrow at him and that’s when Niall realizes he might’ve made a mistake.

“I gave her a pain pill I had saved over from my knee surgery that I just keep around for emergencies.” Harry quirks a brow at Niall’s admission as his eyes momentarily glance down to his knees and Mitch knows he’s storing that information for later just incase he needs to use it against the man he still has in his harsh grip. “I just wanted her to feel better I’m sorry.” He blurts out making Harry let out a scoff as he gives Niall a shove as he releases his hold on his shirt.

“Oh well she’s feeling wonderful Niall so wonderful she can’t tell even me what actually hurts or what happened.” Harry says with a dark chuckle as he runs a hand through his hair while he turns to take a step away from Niall. “All she knows is that she feels nice and floaty.” He says as he glares at Niall over his shoulder, Niall stands up and fixes his shirt with a sigh as he glances towards the office door he knows you’re currently behind.

“I’m sorry-” Niall’s apology is cut off by Harry just ignoring him as he heads back towards the office, Mitch just gives Niall a sympathetic look as he follows behind.

“I know he seems like a massive jackass and for the most part he is but maybe if you go back there,” Jeff’s voice causes Niall to spin around and face the bar as he places a shot of whiskey down in front of him, Niall follows Jeff’s head tilt in the direction of his office. “You’ll see him in a different light.” He finishes explaining as Niall reaches down for the shot glass.

“I’d rather not get my ass kicked but thanks.” Niall answers before downing the shot and handing the empty glass to Jeff who just laughs.

“He won’t even notice you’re in the room.”

“Trust me he’ll notice. He fucking hates me man. I practically drugged his wife.”

“If you’re in the same room as her then no. He won’t.” With that Jeff turns and heads towards the opposite end of the bar leaving Niall standing there with no other option really than to just suck it up and honestly he doesn’t want to seem like a horrible friend so he needs to at least go check and see how you’re doing.

Mitch turns to look at the door when he sees it open and he gives Niall a small smile as he leans against the doorframe a few feet from where Mitch is leaning against the wall closest to the door. Harry doesn’t pay him any attention as he kneels down in front of the small couch in Jeff’s office, right in front of where your left foot is propped up on a pillow.

“Baby can you tell me if this hurts?” Niall feels his mouth slightly drop open at the tone of Harry’s voice, it’s soft and gentle, not a trace of the anger Niall heard earlier and the way he’s looking at you is as if he thinks even too harsh of a glance could break you.

“Sweetheart.” Harry’s face breaks out into a playful smile as he looks over at you and sees your eyes are closed but he knows by the way you’re breathing that you’re not asleep, just acting like you are.

“You sound like my husband.” Mitch chuckles as you let out a sigh while still keeping your eyes closed while Harry just playfully rolls his eyes at you as he gently reaches over and puts his hand on top of your foot. “But you can’t actually be him because it’s Tuesday and Tuesdays are for dancing.” Harry just nods with a smile still on his face as he puts a little bit of pressure on your foot while looking at your face for any signs of discomfort.

“Oh is he not allowed to come to these dancing Tuesdays?” Harry asks as he moves his hand further down your foot, still applying pressure and seeing if you show any signs of pain. When you give him a small pout he immediately removes his hand from your foot and rests it on your ankle. “Did that hurt baby?” Harry questions with a furrowed brow as you slowly open your eyes.

“He works late Tuesdays and comes home when I’m asleep.” You mumble sadly making Harry return your pout as he stands up and places a hand on the back of the couch so he can lean down and place a kiss to your forehead. “You wanna know a secret?” Harry just lets out a soft chuckle as he nods his head while you try to sit up onto your elbows. “Sometimes I’m not asleep and I just act like I am.” You whisper making Harry smile at the little giggle you let out when you fall back onto the couch after telling him your secret.

“That’s so sneaky of you love.” He teases making you smile as you reach up and place a hand on his cheek. “I’m sure your husband hates Tuesdays and coming home so late he has to eat dinner all alone and can’t even get a goodnight kiss.” He explains as he places a kiss to the inside of your wrist before you pull your hand away from his face.

“You always get a goodnight kiss.” You argue making Harry laugh as he leans down to place a quick kiss to your lips in an attempt to get rid of your fake pout.

“Do I? Are you sure?” He asks as he pulls away making you roll your eyes and let out a huff as you cross your arms over your chest.

“Yes I’m sure because you wake me up and beg me for one because you’ll have bad dreams if you don’t get it.” Harry just nods as he quickly leans down and kisses your cheeks before standing up and turning to grab your purse and shoes off the floor.

“That’s right sweetheart your goodnight kisses keep the bad dreams away so if I have to beg for them then so be it.” You smile as you watch him gather your things into your purse and toss the bag over his shoulder before he turns back around so he facing you.

“Hi.” You mumble as you look up at him causing a dimpled grin to take over his face as he looks down at you.

“Hi baby.” He says as he holds out his hands for you to take to help you sit up. “Ready to go home?” You just nod your head and before you can even ask him for your shoes you feel one of his arms under your knees and another under your arms scooping you into his arms. Niall moves out of the way before Harry has to tell him to allowing room for the two of them to exit the office and when you see Niall you give him a big smile and a wave.

“Bye Niall! See you tomorrow!” Niall just laughs and waves back at you while Harry ignores the interaction as he heads for the door to the bar with the keys to your car in his hand.

Harry knows he’s going to have to smooth things over with Niall at some point but not tonight, not when he’s still not even sure what exactly happened or what exactly on your foot hurts. As much as he hates to say it, he can admit he understands why Niall did what he did because he saw his friend in pain and wanted to help so he did what he thought would make you feel better. He just hopes that Niall will keep his moment of anger between the two of them because he just made you a promise about threatening people and he knows you’ll be beyond upset with him if you find out he threatened your cubical mate. But he will find a time to worry about that later because right now all he wants to worry about is getting you home and then figuring out which movie you want to watch in bed while he makes you dinner and gets you situated before he has to unfortunately return to the man in the basement to finish his job for the evening but he decides that can at least wait until you’ve gone to sleep.

With Harry gone Mitch takes a moment and looks over at Niall who he can tell is struggling with understanding how that man was the same man who had him bent over a bar as he casually threatened to break his nose not even five minutes ago. It’s something everyone who meets Harry goes through because they all come to learn that there’s two sides to Harry and only one person gets the side that involves gentle touches and soft voices and that person is you. But Mitch knows that since Niall is your coworker he gets told stories about the softer side of Harry and even though the past few times he’s been around him while Harry hasn’t been the friendliest he wasn’t ever blatantly an asshole, so meeting the rougher side of him full force tonight was probably a bit much.

“It’s weird right?” Mitch asks breaking Niall out of his trance as he stares at the door you and Harry just went through. “Seeing him like that with her?”

“Is he a Gemini or something?” Niall asks with a more than serious expression on his face as he looks from the door to Mitch who just laughs and shakes his head as he reaches over and puts a hand on Niall’s shoulder. “Like with the two people in one body kinda thing?” He adds with a quirked brow making Mitch just give his shoulder a little squeeze.

“Nope he’s an Aquarius.”

[autumnscribbles]

the one | drew starkey

part 2

pairing: drew starkey x married!reader

summary: after drew picked you up after your husband hurt you, it’s time to face him together

warnings: mentions of abuse, slight physical violence, not really proofread

wc: 1.9k

authors note: thank you guys so much for all the love on part 1!!! it truly means the world to me! it took me a while to think of where to take part 2, but i wanted it to be somewhat open ended so i hope you still like it!!

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The sun broke through the slight crack of the curtains, making you squint despite your eyes still being shut. Your eyes slightly opened, your mind instantly disoriented. You gasped as you quickly sat up, nervously taking in your surroundings. After a few seconds it came back to you. Derek. Last night. Drew.

The bed was vacant beside you. You remembered falling asleep with Drew last night, but you had no idea what he did after that. You smelled coffee wafting into the room, instantly craving it. You quickly threw the blankets to the side and found the kitchen, Drew’s clothes still on your body. His familiar scent comforted you and made you feel nostalgic for simpler days. Before Drew left to pursue acting, before you married Derek, before everything. You missed being carefree, riding your bike with Drew to go watch the sunset as you sipped on takeout milkshakes together. You missed when your biggest worry was what you would wear to school the next day, or what your weekend plans would be. You missed your life before all of this. Before you had to walk on eggshells around your husband, or spent every day trying to please him, or now thinking of him hurting you. You couldn’t even recognize yourself anymore.

“Morning,” Drew smiled over his shoulder. “Did you sleep okay?”

You nodded sleepily, rubbing your eye as you held back a yawn. He passed you a mug of steaming hot coffee, an attempt at latte art on the top making your lips curl up. Your eyes drifted to a blanket on the couch. Drew must have left the room once you fell asleep.

He knew you were vulnerable, and he didn’t want to take advantage of you. Didn’t want there to be any expectations or precedent for you sleeping in his bed. He didn’t want to use this as a way to insert himself in your life romantically. You needed space. Out of respect, he gently slipped out of the bed after you fell asleep, taking his place on the couch.

You sat on the couch with your coffee mug, tucking your feet under you. You let out a heavy sigh as the first sip warmed down your throat.

“Are you hungry?” Drew asked. “I can make you something.

You shook your head quickly. “I don’t think I can eat right now.”

Drew nodded solemnly, but told you that you couldn’t go the whole day without eating. At some point, he was going to make you something, no choice.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” you said, a lump forming in the back of your throat. “I don’t know how to face him after…”

Drew sat down beside you, leaving a comfortable space. He was treating you like you were fragile, and maybe you were. You appreciated how gentle he was being, even if the behavior usually would anger you. You never liked being treated differently, or like you were delicate.

“You can stay here as long as you need,” he told you. “And when you’re ready, I can go with you.”

“Maybe I’m just overreacting,” you sighed. “I probably deserved it, and he’s probably feeling guilty.”

“Stop,” Drew whispered, placing his hand gently on your shoulder. “You didn’t deserve that. No one deserves to be treated that way. I’m not saying this for my own benefit but you can’t go back to him.”

You nodded, knowing he was right. You always thought it would be easy to walk away in a situation like this, you didn’t realize all the nuance that came with it. Your own feelings of shame, of failure.

“We’re married,” you sighed, closing your eyes and tilting your head back. “It hasn’t even been that long and I’m already in a failed marriage.”

“You didn’t fail anything, y/n,” Drew said. “He failed you as a husband. You did everything right. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I know,” you admitted, agreeing with him. You knew Drew was right, he always was. He was always the voice of reason, the little angel on your shoulder saying all the right things.

“I think I should go over there,” you uttered after a few moments of silence. “At least to get some of my stuff. I can’t just wear your clothes.”

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

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Drew pulled up to your home, which suddenly had a cold aura around it. This wasn’t home anymore. It never would be again. You spotted Derek’s car in the driveway, meaning he was likely still home. You wondered if he went looking for you last night, if he called anyone to see where you were. Or did he just go to bed soundly, not even thinking of you?

Dread filled your body as you looked at your house from the passenger window. How were you supposed to face him?

“I don’t think I can go in there,” you mumbled, your voice laced with fear, shaking slightly. “Maybe we should come back when he’s not home.”

“Want me to go in?” he asked. “Just tell me what you need and I’ll grab it for you.”

“I don’t think it’s safe,” you replied. “He’s been giving me a hard time…about you lately. He’s going to get angry and think I cheated or something.”

Drew clenched his jaw, anger fuelling him. The audacity Derek had to be jealous of him when Derek was the one who manipulated everyone to get what he wanted. Drew had a bad taste in his mouth at the thought that they were ever friends. Now that Derek hurt you, there was no going back. No pretending.

“If he’s actually sorry, he won’t say a word,” Drew told you. “I’ll be fast, we’ll just get the essentials today and we can come back when he’s not here, like you said.”

You finally agreed, somewhat reluctantly. You didn’t want Drew to go in there alone, but you had to admit you needed some of your belongings. You needed clothes, stuff to take a shower, your phone back. You listed a few things off to Drew, explaining to him where he could find everything. He nodded quickly, telling you everything was going to be fine before he hopped out of the car, crossing the imaginary yellow tape onto your property.

Drew rapped his knuckles on the door, anxiously awaiting who would appear on the other side. The door opened to reveal Derek, looking disheveled. His hair was all over the place, a white tank top on with a stain on the front, his breath smelling like booze.

“Do you know where y/n is?” he asked frantically, not noticing you in the car on the street.

“I do,” Drew answered stoically. “I came here to pick up a few of her things.”

“What?” Derek’s voice had bite to it. “She sent her little puppy for her? Too much of a wimp to face me herself?”

Drew had told himself he would remain calm, but something broke inside him. Hearing Derek still speaking that way about you after what he had done. He couldn’t tolerate it. Drew grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him on the wall.

“You touch her again I’ll fucking kill you,” Drew sneered. “Don’t call her, don’t look for her, it’s done.”

“She can tell me that herself,” Derek chuckled. “You just think there’s hope for you. She’s my wife, Drew. I don’t care how whipped you are for her.”

“It’s not about me,” Drew said, shaking his head. “It’s not about me, or about how you lied to me our entire friendship, lied to her. You crossed a like, Derek. You were a piece of shit before but now…you’re just a monster.”

Drew could barely finish his sentence when he was blinded by the punch to his face. He groaned as he lifted his hand to his eye, his vision white and searing pain shooting through his face. Stay calm.

“Nice, Derek,” Drew nodded. “You gonna hit her like that next time? Real great man you are.”

“Don’t talk to me about my wife.”

They didn’t notice you at the door, letting yourself in. You had started to get anxious sitting in the car. You were worried about Drew. It was time to be brave, and to stand up for yourself. You gasped by the scene you were met with. Drew’s left eye was discolored, bright crimson leaking from his nostril.

“Derek,” you breathed. “What did you do?”

“Babe,” Derek smiled, rushing over to you, placing his hands on your shoulder. You noticed the blood stained on his knuckles. Drew’s blood. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean anything I- can you just come home to me? We can figure this out.”

“You punched him,” was all you could manage to choke out.

“Seriously?” he scoffed. “I’m trying to fix things and you’re focused on him? Here we go again with your little boyfriend.”

“There’s nothing to fix, Derek,” you said sternly, removing his hands from your shoulders and taking a step back. “I’m grabbing some things, and I’m leaving. You’re never going to touch me again.”

“You’re leaving me for him, right? That’s what this is?” he asked. “You’re just looking for the easy way out. I knew you were cheating on me.”

Drew stepped in to defend you, but you raised your hand at him. You knew there was a high likelihood Derek would hit him again if he had the opportunity.

“This has nothing to do with me and Drew,” you said calmly. “I was loyal to you, and a great wife. This is all your own doing. You’ll never be even a fraction of the man Drew is.”

Venom dripped in your words. You knew comparing him to Drew would hurt him, and maybe that was the point. He was constantly in competition, trying to one-up Drew, or to get you to think negatively of your friend. You were tired. Derek’s face twisted in anger, but you walked away before he had the chance to retort. You rushed to your room, quickly shoving what you needed into a bag. You felt dizzy, unable to process any of the events that had unfolded. When you came back to the foyer, Drew was by the door. His hand on the doorknob, waiting for you.

“Let’s go, Drew,” you whispered. “Goodbye Derek, don’t contact me. You can talk to my lawyer.”

With that, you were out the door, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as you sat back down in Drew’s car. He slid in the drivers seat, hissing slightly as he brought his hand up to his eye.

“I can’t believe he hit you,” you muttered, tears filling your eyes, but not quite falling. Just teetering on the edge. “I shouldn’t have let you go in there.”

“It was worth it,” he said, giving you a weak smile. “I’d take the hit a thousand times over if it meant he’d never hurt you again.”

The tears spilled over, but you couldn’t help but smile anyway. “My hero.”

The tension in the car was heavy. You were unstable, feeling so many things at once. When you leaned in towards Drew, he placed a hand on your thigh, his blue eyes boring into yours.

“Take your time,” he whispered, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “You’ve been through so much. I wouldn’t feel right taking advantage of this situation after everything you’ve been through.”

“As much as I want to. I’ve been thinking about kissing you for most of my life it feels like,” he continued, letting out an airy chuckle. “But I’m not going anywhere. So take your time.”

More tears spilled down your cheeks. Drew’s slightly calloused thumb brushed them away. He leaned forward, his warm lips connecting with your forehead. The warmth lingered as he pulled away, making you shiver.

“Let’s go home.”

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taglist: @percysley

[dogsplayingpoker]

Ok weird it wasn't letting me reblog this properly. Anways hiiiii

I did read it (over a year ago when i reblogged this) and that isn't what I said, or my criticism of his point and, overall, the neo-liberal ancient-contemporary comparative perspective that Devereaux is routinely writing these articles in. It would be silly to be fully Pro-Rome, sure, but I'm not really accusing him of that persay. I do still think his general perspective is a silly and factually inaccurate one and disagree with it, so I therefor disagree with the arguments he makes starting from this perspective. In particular, I think that no matter how much he claims to actively be against it, Devereaux and the many historians that follow his same playbook end up: 1. romanticizing (I previously said "admiring," which may have been where we got mixed up) Rome by claiming it was a ghastly horrific slave state (true) while also being unable to help from looking to "the good parts" with a kind of breathless nostalgia, and here, overtly for guidance. This is of course a pretty common issue for classicists, unfortunately, including professors of mine that I've generally really respected. Usually the "good parts" = freedom of religion in occupied territories, civil rights afforded to slaves (+the way that pre-Race slavery functioned differently in general), and exactly what Devereaux says in the title of the article, i.e. their "Notion of authority" being likened, often, to a gentle but firm father figure who knows whats best for his children. It is absolutely hilarious to me how often historians, even ones that claim to have left-wing values, can believe in the noble pater familias rule of the romans with a smile and a tear in their eye. Does anyone else here remember 'the white man's burden'? Did anyone see that weird tucker carlson speech where he talks about daddy coming to spank the disobedient little girl that (assumably?) was supposed to be the Biden government? Anyways. Writers try to isolate only that there was religious self determination (in occupied territories of an expansionist empire), that they Ruled the horrible violent imperial war machine Fairly, and then don't even hide the fumble when they get to the slavery part, proudly saying YEAH, they were ENSLAVED, sure, and that's BAD, BUT........ This all ties into issue two, or the underlying issue:

2. Devereaux is a liberal American historian that is either unable to appreciate the full context of the country he lives in OR is actively obfuscating it AND/OR accepts it and thinks its just peachy outside of a few stubborn issues like police brutality and the like which he thinks can be handled in a vacuum by throwing enough good old fashioned liberal values at them. He fails to view issues from a systemic lens and therefor thinks anything he doesn't like is a weird flaw coming from some outside source. In that article (and I can't find this specific article again on Foreign Policy to pull examples from, I'm sorry) he was trying to 'learn from rome' for the sake of America. Even if he's saying Rome was a heavily flawed society, he is saying our empire can still learn a good thing from their empire. I disagree with that. I disagree with the empires staying empires in the first place, or that empires are things worth saving, or that they're even possible to save. My argument is also that we should actually definitely not look to Ancient Rome for advice on law enforcement, or indeed any of our policies point blank period. I personally think this kind of Rome-USA compare and contrast exercise is always fnny because the writer also never seems to reckon with how much we already, fundamentally, ARE Rome-- in all the worst ways, and in the ways he's claiming we can 'learn' from them. We already have. We've been romanticizing and following in their footsteps very intentionally the whole time, just as others were inspired to follow in ours in a horrific timeline of gore and human atrocities. Devereaux, per his website, is really into classical liberalism, liberal democracies, private property, free-market capitalism, and John Locke. (https://acoup.blog/2024/07/05/collections-the-philosophy-of-liberty-on-liberalism/). We simply have really different perspectives on politics that also inform how we view and would choose to write about things as historians.

I think this quote from that blog post on liberalism is especially funny in context: "And of course Cicero himself never fully absorbs the implications of his philosophy: a wealthy Roman slave-holder, it never occurs to Cicero that perhaps he daily violates the natural law by keeping people in bondage." Devereaux himself never fully absorbs the implications of his philosophy: a white well-to-do professor in an elite seat within American Academia, it never occurs to Devereaux that perhaps he daily violates the individual freedoms of liberalism by rationalizing and hiding away the dark parts of a fundamentally unjust empire relying on the slave labor of prisoners, the indentured servitude of sweatshop workers worldwide, the slaughter and subjugation of millions of in the global south and the underclasses within the empire itself, and the theft and hoarding of the world's resources. But okay. Cicero bad, John Locke good. Got it. My argument would of course be that they are both bad, both equally ignoring the reality of the society they lived in and their places within it. Devereaux is starting his argument from an already catastrophically flawed point of view that forces him to look past things like 'context' whenever it becomes inconvenient. He has to say in the post multiple times that like yeah, sure, Locke's view of who counted as a "person" worthy of having things like "rights" was, um...narrower than ours today, but he was still correct because I like him (and it's totally different from how other people cited, like Cicero, were incorrect hypocrites). Ignore the slavery and colonialism, same old same old, it is still correct and not at all laughable to claim that the United States was a nation formed on a defining principle of inalienable freedoms for every single person. He mentions that those things were obviously bad but doesn't see them as truly conflicting, more as growing pains. He even says the founding father's misogyny and racism (towards the enslaved specifically: indigenous people, and therefore the ACTUAL founding principles of the US colonial empire, go completely unmentioned) "[...] represented betrayals of the principles that otherwise document: the crime was common, the hypocrisy was special." American exceptionalism who? Obviously if he was saying we should instate a more 1:1 ancient roman government that would also be ridiculous. But my point is that he's asking the wrong questions about the society we have and what's wrong with it in the first place. He is often wrong about Rome and near-universally wrong about America.

Despite Sparta’s reputation for superior fighting, Spartan armies were as likely to lose battles as to win them, especially against peer opponents such as other Greek city-states. Sparta defeated Athens in the Peloponnesian War—but only by accepting Persian money to do it, reopening the door to Persian influence in the Aegean, which Greek victories at Plataea and Salamis nearly a century early had closed. Famous Spartan victories at Plataea and Mantinea were matched by consequential defeats at Pylos, Arginusae, and ultimately Leuctra. That last defeat at Leuctra, delivered by Thebes a mere 33 years after Sparta’s triumph over Athens, broke the back of Spartan power permanently, reducing Sparta to the status of a second-class power from which it never recovered. Sparta was one of the largest Greek city-states in the classical period, yet it struggled to achieve meaningful political objectives; the result of Spartan arms abroad was mostly failure. Sparta was particularly poor at logistics; while Athens could maintain armies across the Eastern Mediterranean, Sparta repeatedly struggled to keep an army in the field even within Greece. Indeed, Sparta spent the entirety of the initial phase of the Peloponnesian War, the Archidamian War (431-421 B.C.), failing to solve the basic logistical problem of operating long term in Attica, less than 150 miles overland from Sparta and just a few days on foot from the nearest friendly major port and market, Corinth. The Spartans were at best tactically and strategically uncreative. Tactically, Sparta employed the phalanx, a close-order shield and spear formation. But while elements of the hoplite phalanx are often presented in popular culture as uniquely Spartan, the formation and its equipment were common among the Greeks from at least the early fifth century, if not earlier. And beyond the phalanx, the Spartans were not innovators, slow to experiment with new tactics, combined arms, and naval operations. Instead, Spartan leaders consistently tried to solve their military problems with pitched hoplite battles. Spartan efforts to compel friendship by hoplite battle were particularly unsuccessful, as with the failed Spartan efforts to compel Corinth to rejoin the Spartan-led Peloponnesian League by force during the Corinthian War. Sparta’s military mediocrity seems inexplicable given the city-state’s popular reputation as a highly militarized society, but modern scholarship has shown that this, too, is mostly a mirage. The agoge, Sparta’s rearing system for citizen boys, frequently represented in popular culture as akin to an intense military bootcamp, in fact included no arms training or military drills and was primarily designed to instill obedience and conformity rather than skill at arms or tactics. In order to instill that obedience, the older boys were encouraged to police the younger boys with violence, with the result that even in adulthood Spartan citizens were liable to settle disputes with their fists, a tendency that predictably made them poor diplomats. But while Sparta’s military performance was merely mediocre, no better or worse than its Greek neighbors, Spartan politics makes it an exceptionally bad example for citizens or soldiers in a modern free society. Modern scholars continue to debate the degree to which ancient Sparta exercised a unique tyranny of the state over the lives of individual Spartan citizens. However, the Spartan citizenry represented only a tiny minority of people in Sparta, likely never more than 15 percent, including women of citizen status (who could not vote or hold office). Instead, the vast majority of people in Sparta, between 65 and 85 percent, were enslaved helots. (The remainder of the population was confined to Sparta’s bewildering array of noncitizen underclasses.) The figure is staggering, far higher than any other ancient Mediterranean state or, for instance, the antebellum American South, rightly termed a slave society with a third of its people enslaved.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: The Master Fiction Plot

Lester Dent's "Master Fiction Plot", often referred to as the "Lester Dent Formula" is a widely circulated guide to writing a saleable 6,000-word pulp story.

This is a formula, a master plot, for any 6000-word pulp story.

It has worked on adventure, detective, western and war-air. It tells exactly where to put everything.

It shows definitely just what must happen in each successive thousand words.

The business of building stories seems not much different from the business of building anything else.

Here's how it starts:

A DIFFERENT MURDER METHOD FOR VILLAIN TO USE

A DIFFERENT THING FOR VILLAIN TO BE SEEKING

A DIFFERENT LOCALE

A MENACE WHICH IS TO HANG LIKE A CLOUD OVER HERO

One of these DIFFERENT things would be nice, two better, three swell. It may help if they are fully in mind before tackling the rest.

A different murder method could be--different.

Thinking of shooting, knifing, hydrocyanic, garroting, poison needles, scorpions, a few others, and writing them on paper gets them where they may suggest something.

Scorpions and their poison bite?

Maybe mosquitos or flies treated with deadly germs?

If the victims are killed by ordinary methods, but found under strange and identical circumstances each time, it might serve, the reader of course not knowing until the end, that the method of murder is ordinary.

Scribes who have their villain's victims found with butterflies, spiders or bats stamped on them could conceivably be flirting with this gag.

Probably it won't do a lot of good to be too odd, fanciful or grotesque with murder methods.

The different thing for the villain to be after might be something other than jewels, the stolen bank loot, the pearls, or some other old ones.

Here, again one might get too bizarre.

Unique locale? Easy.

Selecting one that fits in with the murder method and the treasure--thing that villain wants--makes it simpler, and it's also nice to use a familiar one, a place where you've lived or worked.

So many pulpateers don't. It sometimes saves embarrassment to know nearly as much about the locale as the editor, or enough to fool him.

Here's a nifty much used in faking local color.

For a story laid in Egypt, say, author finds a book titled "Conversational Egyptian Easily Learned," or something like that. 

He wants a character to ask in Egyptian, "What's the matter?"

He looks in the book and finds, "El khabar, eyh?"

To keep the reader from getting dizzy, it's perhaps wise to make it clear in some fashion, just what that means.

Occasionally the text will tell this, or someone can repeat it in English.

But it's a doubtful move to stop and tell the reader in so many words the English translation.

The writer learns they have palm trees in Egypt.

He looks in the book, finds the Egyptian for palm trees, and uses that.

This kids editors and readers into thinking he knows something about Egypt.

Here's the second installment of the master plot.

Divide the 6000 word yarn into four 1500 word parts. In each 1500 word part, put the following:

FIRST 1500 WORDS

First line, or as near thereto as possible, introduce the hero and swat him with a fistful of trouble. Hint at a mystery, a menace or a problem to be solved--something the hero has to cope with.

The hero pitches in to cope with his fistful of trouble. (He tries to fathom the mystery, defeat the menace, or solve the problem.)

Introduce ALL the other characters as soon as possible. Bring them on in action.

Hero's endevours land him in an actual physical conflict near the end of the first 1500 words.

Near the end of first 1500 words, there is a complete surprise twist in the plot development.

SO FAR:

Does it have SUSPENSE? 

Is there a MENACE to the hero?

Does everything happen logically?

At this point, it might help to recall that action should do something besides advance the hero over the scenery.

Suppose the hero has learned the dastards of villains have seized somebody named Eloise, who can explain the secret of what is behind all these sinister events.

The hero corners villains, they fight, and villains get away. Not so hot.

Hero should accomplish something with his tearing around, if only to rescue Eloise, and surprise! Eloise is a ring-tailed monkey.

The hero counts the rings on Eloise's tail, if nothing better comes to mind.

They're not real. The rings are painted there. Why?

SECOND 1500 WORDS

Shovel more grief onto the hero.

Hero, being heroic, struggles, and his struggles lead up to:

Another physical conflict.

A surprising plot twist to end the 1500 words.

NOW:

Does second part have SUSPENSE?

Does the MENACE grow like a black cloud?

Is the hero getting it in the neck?

Is the second part logical?

DON'T TELL ABOUT IT***Show how the thing looked.

This is one of the secrets of writing; never tell the reader--show him.

(He trembles, roving eyes, slackened jaw, and such.)

MAKE THE READER SEE HIM.

When writing, it helps to get at least one minor surprise to the printed page.

It is reasonable to to expect these minor surprises to sort of inveigle the reader into keeping on.

They need not be such profound efforts.

One method of accomplishing one now and then is to be gently misleading.

Hero is examining the murder room.

The door behind him begins slowly to open.

He does not see it.

He conducts his examination blissfully.

Door eases open, wider and wider, until--surprise!

The glass pane falls out of the big window across the room.

It must have fallen slowly, and air blowing into the room caused the door to open.

Then what the heck made the pane fall so slowly?

More mystery.

Characterizing a story actor consists of giving him some things which make him stick in the reader's mind. TAG HIM.

BUILD YOUR PLOTS SO THAT ACTION CAN BE CONTINUOUS.

THIRD 1500 WORDS

Shovel the grief onto the hero.

Hero makes some headway, and corners the villain or somebody in:

A physical conflict.

A surprising plot twist, in which the hero preferably gets it in the neck bad, to end the 1500 words.

DOES:

It still have SUSPENSE?

The MENACE getting blacker?

The hero finds himself in a hell of a fix?

It all happens logically?

These outlines or master formulas are only something to make you certain of inserting some physical conflict, and some genuine plot twists, with a little suspense and menace thrown in. Without them, there is no pulp story.

These physical conflicts in each part might be DIFFERENT, too.

If one fight is with fists, that can take care of the pugilism until next the next yarn. 

Same for poison gas and swords. 

There may, naturally, be exceptions.

A hero with a peculiar punch, or a quick draw, might use it more than once.

The idea is to avoid monotony.

ACTION:

Vivid, swift, no words wasted.

Create suspense, make the reader see and feel the action.

ATMOSPHERE:

Hear, smell, see, feel and taste.

DESCRIPTION:

Trees, wind, scenery and water.

THE SECRET OF ALL WRITING IS TO MAKE EVERY WORD COUNT.

FOURTH 1500 WORDS

Shovel the difficulties more thickly upon the hero.

Get the hero almost buried in his troubles. (Figuratively, the villain has him prisoner and has him framed for a murder rap; the girl is presumably dead, everything is lost, and the DIFFERENT murder method is about to dispose of the suffering protagonist.)

The hero extricates himself using HIS OWN SKILL, training or brawn.

The mysteries remaining--one big one held over to this point will help grip interest--are cleared up in course of final conflict as hero takes the situation in hand.

Final twist, a big surprise, (This can be the villain turning out to be the unexpected person, having the "Treasure" be a dud, etc.)

The snapper, the punch line to end it.

HAS:

The SUSPENSE held out to the last line?

The MENACE held out to the last?

Everything been explained?

It all happen logically?

Is the Punch Line enough to leave the reader with that WARM FEELING?

Did God kill the villain? Or the hero?

Excerpts from Marilyn Cannaday's biography of Lester Dent, "Bigger than Life: the Creator of Doc Savage" (Bowling Green State University Popular Press, c1990), transcribed by Jason A. Wolcott, 1995.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Plot ⚜ Character ⚜ Worldbuilding

[nowimjustastranger]

Okay I've been a little obsessed with your AU Somebody to Call My Own and I need to ask something

In your AU SCMO!Ford have seen any Stanley with polydacty instead of Stanford?

But despite that, Stanley maintains his personality, with the change that he suffers a little more bullying than Ford because of his condition.

I can imagine Stanford defending him, but knowing Stanley I doubt he'll tell his brother when some students get out of line with him and he decides to confront him on his own so as not to disturb his Stanford

I guess SCMO!Ford had to step in at some point if the bullying became too much for Stanley or a group of students wanted to get out of line with him

I actually love this.

But yeah, there are definitely Stans out there that have polydactyl instead of Ford, and even some dimensions where both boys have six fingers.

But, in this case, I can imagine that Stan wouldn't change much at all. He'd have the same mindset that he had when Ford was the one with six fingers, just without the insecurity about them. The extra finger on each of his hands functions like all the rest, it's not hindering him or stopping him from doing anything he wants to do, and that's all he really cares about.

Now, in terms of Ford defending him, Ford would probably do it less and less as they grew up and grew apart. It would get to the point where Ford would have no idea how bad the bullying had gotten when they hit highschool because Stan wouldn't tell him. Plus, Stan has that mindset where he can handle it himself, not wanting to burden his brother. What was Ford supposed to do about it anyway? He can't throw a punch, he'd just get beaten up right alongside Stan.

It would escalate when Crampelter and his friends found Stan on the beach alone, working on the Stan o' War that Ford no longer had interest in. And he's not crying over being brushed off for the hundredth time, he's not, he just got some salt in his eyes.

Stan would put up a hell of a fight, but they get him pinned on the ground and Crampelter would grab Stan's pinky (which isn't even the extra finger). Crampelter would bend it too far the wrong way, not letting up in time to keep from dislocating it. There would be a pause as the three boys watched Stan violently twitch with a bitten-off curse.

And Crampelter, high on adrenaline and wanting payback for all the black eyes and bloody noses he'd gotten from Stan, would grab the next finger and wrench that out of place too. Stan would buck and cuss but the panic and pain would make him sloppy, which is why it would be a relief when Crampelter was tackled off of him and had a weird triangle gun shoved in his face by a dude in a sleek black and red helmet.

Crampelter's friends would bolt, leaving the bully pleading for his life at the end of the barrel. The stranger would be vibrating with rage, the gun perfectly steady. Stan would pick himself up with a hiss, the pained sound drawing the stranger's attention to Stan and his crooked fingers. The stranger would knock Crampelter out with the butt of his gun before swiftly standing, Stan trying to play the whole thing off as he thanked the stranger for helping him out.

The stranger would briskly walk him home, Stan blankly staring as he silently let himself be guided to his house, hand clutched to his chest. He wouldn't even notice that the stranger had picked up a thick but short stick during the walk, hurling it at a familiar window. Ford would hesitantly poke his head out through the curtain, eyes widening when he saw his brother with a strange man that looked like bad news. Ford would scramble to the front door, wrenching it open and grabbing Stan to drag him away from the stranger.

Stan would yelp in pain and Ford instantly let go, focus redirecting to Stan and the hand he had pressed against his chest. The moment Ford got a look at the very clearly dislocated fingers, he'd know that someone did that to his brother. They were dislocated in different directions, one sideways and the other straight backward. Ford would stare until the stranger moved, Ford instinctively blocking his path, but Stan would nudge Ford aside while muttering that the stranger helped him.

Ford would reluctantly let the stranger take Stan's hand, Ford blinking dumbly when he counted six fingers on the man's hand, which would carefully pop both fingers back into place for Stan. The the man would give Stan a small tin of what looked like ointment, instructing him (in an extremely altered voice) to massage the fingers with it once a day for two days and it would be like it never happened. Stan would mutely nod and head inside, lingering in the entryway to wait for Ford, who stared down the stranger.

"Who hurt him?"

"Crampelter and two of his friends."

[lovelaetter]

hii ! it's my first time writing & sending an ask so I'm kinda unsure what to say "( – ⌓ – ) but please hear me out on rosie posie ♡♡ quick psa, has a lot of context sorryyy

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ stepcest & kinda dubcon

⠀⸝⸝⸝⠀⠀( stepdaughter!reader × guilty!stepmom!rosé ) rosie feels so bad for seeing her daughter like that—she's supposed to be her mom, she married her father—but she just can't help herself. guilt building up 'n she gets all flustered whenever she sees you because her mind starts swirling and she just can't. you obviously notice because who wouldn't notice someone who's recently moved in ogling at them. oh my. rosie thinks she's being discreet because, once again, she married your dad, she's supposed to be attracted to him. but she swears she can see you staring back at her, stealing glances, but she refuses to give it thought. there's no way her now-daughter is going to reciprocate—that would be immoral.

but she can't help herself anyway, not when she's doing laundry and hopes you don't notice the fact some of your underwear is missing. when they appear again, this time with her own «ysl libré» scent, that's all the confirmation you need.

confronting stepmom!rosé is all a haze, rosie's not sure how she ended up eating you out as an 'apology', all she knows is that it feels so good to finally let go to her wants. you aren't very nice though, pulling on rosé's hair as to guide her and also what could be called a makeshift leash. rosie is sloppy, unsure, too pussy-drunk to actually do anything but loll her tongue out and deliver kitten licks. but that's okay, you have plenty of time to teach her mommy how to please her.

and then rosie can't believe she actually did that—but you can. ever so often teasing rosé by spreading their legs a bit wider than normal whilst they sit across from rosie during dinner. maybe also a bit of increased touchiness, discreet groping that makes rosé squeak and then cover it up with a cough. what else is she supposed to do? she'll have to admit she ate out her stepdaughter to get anything to stop. but she also doesn't mind your teasing, honestly, she loves it. she does get a good reward at the end of the day for being so good and quiet tho. she's so filthy for wanting her stepdaughter, the least she could do is behave for a small prize.

you're constantly reassuring rosie because who wouldn't want a pretty, older girl wrapped around their finger? rosé has never been one to go behind her lover's back, but now she can't help but picture you when she's giving her hubby a blow or when she's getting pounded dumb by your dad. but it's okay, you're still there to dumb her down even more.

⠀⸝⸝⸝⠀⠀she doesn't need to use her pretty head when all she has to do is just take it. maybe bent over the kitchen counter while your dad's at work. she's whining and tearing up because she's just so sensitive and one more finger would break her in half. something against that one spot is so different—so much better—than her husband mindlessly pounding into her. your fingers curl up and it just feels so good for her because it's not just her cervix, it's her spongy insides and swollen clit that are making her cry out in need.

taking her on the living room couch as well, some cheesy series you wanted to watch with her turning into her eating you out. she was a bit dumb to believe you actually wanted to just watch a movie—you're wearing loose clothes and your panties are peaking, you obviously have other intentions. there's even a bottle of lube shamelessly staring from the coffee table. all she can hear is the sounds from the TV turning into white noise as your moans drown out everything out. you're pulling and tugging on her hair, keeping her in place with your thighs, making sure she does well.

(I also have a few thoughts for roles reversed as in stepmom!reader corrupting stepdaughter!rosie (⸝⸝ ˊᗜˋ⸝⸝ ) but I think this is already long enough hahahah)

signed by ☃️

STEPCEST

yes, god, my head HURTS, i have nothing to add to this just yes… yes! if you don’t have a blog, i need you to create one asap and let me know bc !! i kinda want to live inside your mind ngl

and i might be suspicious about stepdaughter!rosie because i love the concept of her x older!reader so much, in my humble opinion she would only be allowed to date older women, so please share your thoughts on that too, i really want to hear them :(

[lacyscabinet]

ellie williams with blind reader

I JUST CANT FIND THIS ANYWHERE AND I THINK ELLIE WOULD BE A SOFTIE WITH THE READER😭😭

A/N: HELLO POOKIE!!! I love love love this request so much and I had so much fun writing it, thank you so much and I wish you a wonderful day!🤍🤍🤍 It was supposed to come out WEEKS ago but I got sick because I have the immune system of a Victorian child and I forgot to post this, I beg on my knees for forgiveness 😔✋🏼

give me feedback, gays 💜

NAVIGATION

okay so where should I start...

First of all can we say that being blind ESPECIALLY in an apocalyptic world is not EXACTLY ideal...

While Ellie may not fully grasp how you experience the world without sight, she knows what it's like to feel isolated and alienated

She’d make it her mission to keep you emotionally safe, always checking in with you, and gently coaxing you to talk when you’re feeling down or scared

BUT I'd like to think that Ellie wouldn't treat you like a little child just because of your condition, she knows you just need some extra help for some tasks

Ellie would totally read books out loud for you, because I don't think braille would be a thing in the apocalypse

She doesn't even mind doing it and she actually loves being able to help you with that

she might sit with you at the end of the day and read aloud from any scraps of books she can find out on patrol. If she doesn't have a book handy, she might make up stories on the spot, trying to paint vivid images in your mind

Sometimes if she doesn't have any ideas she'd just tell you about her adventures on patrol

...and it would be hilarious sometimes-

"Alright, so I was getting chased by this huge group of clickers, right? And they’re all like… trying to get me, but I’m just this...stealthy ninja, dodging left and right— Anyway, I had this crazy plan, and I kinda... tripped but, hey, that’s the story of how I almost died!"

I also believe she would be SO worried whenever she leaves for patrol because she knows you'd have to stay alone for a while.

Ellie would likely become hyper-aware of your other senses. Since you can’t see, she would focus on sounds, smells, and even tactile sensations to keep you informed of your surroundings

she might tap your shoulder lightly to guide you if you're about to bump into something

She would hold your hand to guide you when walking through a dangerous area or wrap her arm around your waist to steer you through crowded spaces in Jackson

Even though you’re blind, Ellie might still try to teach you about things that can be learned through other senses.

She could explain how to recognize different plants or what types of birds are nearby by their calls

Maybe she’ll even take it upon herself to teach you how to identify objects or places by their texture or sound, making you feel more connected to the world around you.

"This one’s a little tricky, but feel the texture of this rock—it's rough, right? Man, I love rocks..."

Ellie might get frustrated at times, but never at you, more at herself: she feels like she can’t do enough to make your life easier.

She might worry about how you experience the world, wanting to fix everything but realizing that some things are beyond her control

This would lead to moments where she becomes fiercely determined to find a way to help, trying to make things better in any way she can

"I just wish I could give you more, you know? I wish I could make you see the things I can see, just so you don’t feel like you’re missing out on things."

Overall she would be such a pookie because she's Ellie and she's a cutie patotie (and she also reduced the population of Seattle by 50%)

[hsnlv]

jealousy | s.jy

a/n: this is actually based on this tweet because honestly, i do see him as someone who WILL get jealous but whatever you say sim jaeyun🤭 oh and! if you read from my page often, it would be nice if you can leave some comments on what i should improve on and how!! ily have a great day ;)

(cut to story)

jake always had this self-assured air about him, claiming jealousy had no place in a relationship. “if you trust someone, there’s no reason to feel that way,” he’d say with a smug grin, like he’d figured out the secrets of love. right?

wrong.

this man is confident—too confident—but the moment he’s in love, he turns into a completely different person. sure, in theory, he thinks he can handle it. but in practice? he can’t even stand the thought of other guys existing around you, let alone looking at you like you hung the moon.

“jake, are you serious right now?” you groan, watching him sulk in the corner of your shared couch. his lips are pushed into the most dramatic pout, and while it’s usually cute enough to make your heart flutter, right now, it’s testing your patience.

“stop it, y/n,” he grumbles, refusing to meet your eyes. “he was staring at you, practically drooling like some kind of idiot.”

“okay? and how exactly is that my fault?” you cross your arms, your glare fixed on his moody figure.

“it is your fault!” he whines, finally turning to look at you with those ridiculous puppy-dog eyes that make it impossible to stay mad for long.

“how exactly?”

“you’re too pretty. what was he supposed to do? not look at you?” he stomps over to you like a sulking child, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world is on him.

you sigh, your annoyance slowly melting into amusement. “didn’t you used to say jealousy wasn’t a thing in a relationship? what happened to that wisdom?

“that was before!” he shoots back, throwing his hands up dramatically. “i didn’t know i’d end up dating someone like you! cut me some slack.”

before you can reply, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close until your back is pressed against his chest. his head rests on your shoulder, and you can feel his pout shifting into a soft smile as you instinctively reach up to cup his cheek.

“you’re ridiculous,” you mumble, though your fingers move gently against his skin.

“maybe,” he says, his voice quieter now. “but you’re mine, my love. i don’t care what i said before. i don’t want to share even the air around you with anyone else.”

your heart softens at his words, and you turn in his arms to face him fully. his face lights up when your hands move to cradle his cheeks, his smile brighter than the sun.

“you’re not gonna lose me, okay?” you whisper, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “i’m not going anywhere. i love you too much.”

he grins, leaning into your touch with that boyish charm that always makes your chest ache in the best way.

“promise?”

“promise.”

before you can say anything else, he dips his head to press a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, and finally your lips—so sweet and soft that it makes your toes curl.

“you better,” he mumbles against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “because if anyone else even thinks about stealing you away, they’re in for a fight.”

you laugh, the sound light and airy, and his smile grows wider at the sound.

“fine,” you say, pressing your forehead to his. “but only if you stop pouting every time someone breathes near me.”

“deal,” he says, though the mischievous glint in his eyes tells you it’s a promise he probably won’t keep.

[smileposting]

alright so based on That One Ask Yugo Posted here's my headcanon-theory-vision-thing of what the drain is/means: so, drain has a very Negative connotation within the context of the story. In General, for something to go down the drain is for something to be wasted, and for something to be wasted is to serve no use to the Bigger Picture — ergo, it is not Unreasonable to assume that the drain as a theological concept in great god grove's universe is shorthand for "the place where things that the world No Longer Needs go." this could be people, technology, concepts, entire species, etc.

given the amount of historical anachronism we see within the grove itself, it's very possible that there really is no rhyme or reason to what goes down the drain and what does not, but there are still people both in and outside of the grove who ascribe some kind of moral value to it, i.e. "well if you're here then you must have done something to deserve it because the alternative is Much scarier to think about." if the bizzyboys being from the drain is meant to prove that there are other sapient beings in there, then i imagine this could apply to the drain's residents as well. i'd say it's even possible that the grove exists in direct opposition to the drain, even if unwittingly, given how much of GGG's story is about the importance of preserving history and art, no matter how grisly or seemingly incomprehensible. either way the grove doesn't seem like the kind of place that's very keen on determining value based on usefulness, nor do its gods seem like the kind of pantheon that would come up with something like the drain. it's possible that the drain is older than even them -- i suppose i'd have to find whatever in-game info there apparently is about it to confirm lol.

anyways it'd certainly explain a few things -- again, the fact that every area seems to be in a different time period, the second-eldest god being a passionate historian, inspekta and capochin's whole [gestures vaguely] everything, even inspekta ascending to godhood in the first place. of course the bizzyboys were a legitimate organization once upon a time. but all i'm saying is that if i was a deity ruling over a land in which archival As A Concept was this vitally important thing no matter how "useless" the things being archived were considered, and one day i met a guy who literally pulled himself out of The Place Where Things Deemed Useless Go and organized a lil army of guys who are Also from the place where things deemed useless go so they could run around my land and help people, thereby telling that place to go fuck itself and that they are in fact, Not useless -- i'd be impressed. i would in fact be like "hey have you considered running in the God Elections bc that's metal as fuck." it may not have been what he needed in the end but like i see how we could have Gotten here is what i'm saying.

[theoutcastrogue]

A point about Silco's politics.

Silco somehow did the "nationalist noble" thing by reversing cause and effect. Traditionally, the local nobility (or the bigshots in any case, elders, landowners, rich fucks, warrior aristocracy, whatever's handy) of a subjugated region will happily champion nationalism in order to get rid of the overlords and rule in their place, while convincing the lower classes (and themselves, if they're not very smart and/or cynical) that they're on the same side.

Silco became the bigshot (heartwarming rags-to-riches story!) in order to champion nationalism. Obsessed with achieving power by any means, he used shimmer (and Vander's elimination) to establish the Chembarons [*] as the closest thing Zaun has to a local ruling class, separate from their Piltie overlords. Of course, it was more a mafia than a government – not that these two function that differently.

However, by viewing power as the necessary stepping stone to Zaun's independence, Silco completely lost the ball. Shimmer could have been a weapon, to be tactically employed in the veins of people who actually wanted to fight Piltover. Still extremely shady tbh, but clear in purpose. But that would require getting people to want to fight Piltover, and Silco seems to have… neglected that. Instead, he flooded the streets of Zaun with shimmer, the very place he was supposed to liberate, causing a hideous addiction epidemic (fastest way to kill a social movement btw), and only cared to weaponise it to wrestle more power for himself from other Zaunites. NOT from Piltover.

So something went extremely wrong there, and Silco ended up "an industrialist". The local strongman, the little big man, The Man, the Boss, the one the lower classes dread. For Ekko (whose assessments matter VERY much), he's the No 1 enemy and biggest threat to the well-being of his people, not because he's more powerful than the Council, but because he's closer, getting his hands dirty every hour at every corner. Whereas Piltover's systemic exploitation works from afar and in the background, and is often experienced as neglect rather than assault.

And THEN, Silco got to negotiate on behalf of Zaun because the Council went to him, after Jinx caused mayhem on her own. Jayce came waving a white flag, because he was also acting unilaterally. In short, through NONE of Silco's doing, Zaun's independence fell on his lap. And ironically he couldn't take it, because the price was his daughter.

Fantastic character btw (the depth, the pathos, the total lack of qualms) but damn. Some nationalist. Some liberator.

[*] It's unclear to me why there are several Chembarons when shimmer was basically commissioned by Silco, and therefore could be controlled solely by him. Did the others reverse-engineer it? Did he share? Did he need their facilities after his lab blew up? No idea.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

What if Disney adapted Maid Maleen?

I suppose they could! Maid Maleen is a curious kind of fairy tale. The start with the princess Maleen being imprisoned in a tower for seven years for refusing her father's choice of husband for her and after the 7 years finding out the kingdom has fallen into ruin around her, is very unusual.

After that it turns into a more traditional false bride VS true bride type story, although her true love's fiancée is different from most other "false brides", which makes her harder to adapt in my opinion:

She is not a step-sister or maid of the true bride. She is her equal, another princess, who never knew of the true bride's existence.

She did not get engaged to the prince through trickery. The prince's father chose her as his bride.

The tale states that this new bride is "as ugly as her heart was wicked", and while she does prove herself wicked (she tries to have Maleen killed later), the focus is purely on her ugliness.

Instead of the false bride taking the true bride's place by force, it is the other way round. The false bride (true fiancée, but not the person the prince loves) makes the true bride (never engaged to the prince, but they love each other truly) take her place in the wedding procession because she is afraid she will be mocked for her ugliness and the true bride (pretending to be a maid) is beautiful. She first tries to flatter and then bribe Maleen into taking her place, but when she refuses she threatens her life to force her.

So technically the true love is not the true bride in this case. Maid Maleen herself says upon entering the church: "Church-door, break not, I am not the true bride."

Having the undesirable princess be unconnected to Maid Maleen and placing such emphasis on her shame for her appearance makes her a less satisfying villain for me. She comes across too desperate for it to feel gleeful when she gets her head cut off in the end, even if she had ordered the same to be done to poor Maleen.

More importantly the two kings (Maleen's father and the prince's father) seem most at fault here. One for denying his daughter her true love - who is a prince by the way, nothing objectionable - and the other for betrothing his son to a woman he has never even seen, so he can be easily tricked.

Any fun adaptation of this story would have to make the evil bride far more crafty and evil and the king's either comic relief fools or secondary villains.

[chkrschss]

SQH Fanfic Concept

SQH kinda angst fanfic where he feels completely out of place with the Peak Lords. Then he goes to the Demon Realm and feels additionally out of place. Especially with LBH, MBJ, and Sha Hualing.

So he decides to start periodically fucking off to different places in small outings. Just little few day trips. And he begins building it into his schedule. So people think he’s somewhere else. And NO ONE CATCHES ON. For months, even maybe a few years. He’d disappear on an excursion once every other month, then every month, then every week. He ends up developing a pseudo-identity. He’s actually enjoying it. And visits different people in smaller villages. And at some point, he decides to maybe leave for longer.

The person who actually notices after a long time is Mobei Jun. SQH had enlisted some demons and disciples to shoulder his responsibilities while he’s gone and finally MBJ noticed a small error/tick or whatever that SQH would never do. And he raises the alarm. Even the Peak Lords panic. They begin searching for SQH but home dawg is currently starting on a 2 week adventure.

SQH is eventually found after people who met SQH’s pseudo-identity point MBJ and the others to him. He’s prolly like vibing in a lovely little cottage that he’s renovated as homebase. Maybe even developed some talismans or smthing to teleport there. MBJ finds him like…. Idk watering w garden or smthing. He’s outside. And SQH is so at peace and is smiling n shit m. MBJ is shocked. He never thought SQH could even make a face like that.

Maybe SQH finds a kid who is a lil rascal but is overprotective of him. Maybe jokingly calls him A-Niang. People kind of know that SQH is lying about who he is but they’ve been assuming it’s because of some shit. They want to protective SQH. An elderly woman berated MBJ “for scaring his husband away”. She rants about SQH being a catch and MBJ is a fool for not paying attention. “Happy wife. Happy life. Yknow?” MBJ is confused but it turns out that SQH starts gushing about him whenever he’s too tired or drunk. So everyone can tell who he is in the village. The old woman demands that he woos SQH back.

Cue a whole redemption arc of MBJ paying attention to him. MBJ actually writes a letter formally berating the Peak Lords and especially SQQ who was suppose to be SQH bff. He starts defending SQH as SQH remains oblivious.

On SQH’s side, he was fuming. He just wanted peace. He wanted to be left alone. The kid he’s been watching over is asking about MBJ. He tells the kids that MBJ is his boss that he thought wouldn’t notice him gone. The kid hugs and says something along the lines of “Well SQH is so cool he can’t be forgettable and those who forget him as dumbasses” which makes SQH laugh.

Timeskip occurs and SQH’s two week trip has now lasted three. He’s kind of gotten used to MBJ helping him. At one emotionally charged moment, he cups MBJ’s face in his hands and has the urge to just kiss his king for being so silly. The kid noticed how MBJ’s actions mirror someone courting another. The old lady tells tum it’s because MBJ is courting SQH. The kid snarks about how SQH doesn’t even reciprocate but the old lady misses that he doesn’t even realize what MBJ is doing.

(Note: this is where I stopped rambling but indulgent concept for myself lol)

[smiley-mcdoggington]

LET'S SEE HOW MUCH REVERSE AU I CAN TALK ABT BEFORE MY BREAK ENDS--

Stan n Ford are the same up until highschool, where Ford starts trying to be an individual a bit sooner so Stan takes a fuckton of extracurriculars so he doesn't have to be alone in that house

Stan is in theater, glee, boxing. You know where this is going.

Filbrick finds out and beats the fuckshit out of Stan for being queer, but Stan doesn't stop going because Fuck Him, Stan wants to perform

3 years later, Stan and Ford get called to the office, but Ford is the one in the hallway. Principal says that Stan is a savante and could be a movie star making millions some day. When Caryn asks about Ford he says "Ford will be fine", doesn't care, Ford's future has never been regarded so casually because he's supposed to be bigshot scientist.

Filbrick is suddenly a lot nicer with Stan, and when Ford's grades slip he gets a lot harsher with Ford.

CAME BACK

Stanley's future is centered around an agent at a talent show for which he wants to perform a song and dance number with Carla. It's Beyond the Sea by Bobby Darin. The lyrics haunt Stanford. He doesn't want to be left waiting for Stanley while he sails off on his own, and he certainly doesn't want to see the way Stanley holds Carla's waist when they practice in their shared bedroom.

Ford practiced the number with Stan a few times when Carla couldn't make it but Stan was antsy. He felt like a fool while Stan pulled him through the steps and crooned 'waiting for me' so sweetly in his ear. Ford doesn't want to have to wait for Stan. He never thought he would have to, but now Stan's going places while Ford thought he would always have Stan in his pocket.

Ford was responsible for bringing the record with that damn song on it. But Stan had left early, he hadn't woken Ford up, and Ford slept in. He'd asked, the day before, if he could use the El Diablo to get to school since Stan was riding with Ma in her car. Stan said "Hell, Sixer, if this gig goes off without a hitch, you can keep the car!" Ford sped in the car to the school to hopefully make it in time with the record. When he got there, Stan and Carla were already on stage, Stan's voice carrying the lyrics with no music, him and Carla dancing as if it made no difference. As if Ford's contribution made no difference. Stanley dipped Carla the way that always made him bump Ford's glasses, but it was so smooth with her. Ford left, drove Stanley's car to their boat, and waited for Stan to find him like he always did.

Stan is pissed because Ford was supposed to be there to support him for once. He goes to the boat and demands to know where the hell Ford was. Ford asked if it mattered. Stan said it mattered to him. It was the first thing that really mattered to him. It was the first thing he was good at, that he got recognized for all on his own, and he wanted Ford there to cheer him on like he always cheered on Ford's stupid mathletes competitions and his stupid science fairs and his stupid debate matches. He said he waited for Ford but Ford wasn't there. Ford snaps and says he won't wait for Stan while those damn lyrics circle his head.

Stan says that isn't fair. That Stan's always waiting for Ford. Ford says Stan stopped doing that the second he got a chance to be better than him. Stan said that wasn't fair, either. Stan says he's walking home, he needs to cool off.

Ford isn't back when he gets there. He isn't back the next morning either. He goes back to the boat and both Ford and the Stanleymobile are gone. Ford ran away.

Ford, determined to prove himself more than "just fine", takes shortcuts to get around the colleges he doesn't have the patience or the money for. He does reckless things, gets caught up in making drugs because it's just so easy and it gives him a lab space to work with so long as the product is received on time (plus Speed let's him work for longer without needing to sleep). He sees Stan on TV - that agent loved him, of course they did, and Stan was some bigshot with a ring on his finger and his name in the cast of so many shows and movies on shitty hotel cable that Ford wants to scream.

The first time Ford sees Stan in four years since he ran away, it's from behind bars. Ford had gotten arrested for some pretty scary shit, and he called Stan in a panic. Of course Stan came, and Stan was frustrated but he was so happy Ford reached out even if it was just because he wanted something. Stan pulled a few strings, used his silver tongue and his heavy wallet to convince the small-time cops it was a misunderstanding. In the car Stan said he missed Ford, and Ford said he did too. They spent some quality time in the back of "Ford's" car

Ford won't accept charity, he says he's not a money hungry letch like their parents are (who retired in Florida after Stan made his first decent role in a big box movie), he also refuses college on the principle of the matter because all the college kids he's interacted with acted like they were smarter than him when he Knows he's a genius he just needs to get some more materials - get someone to accept his papers and his patents when he has a record instead of a degree. If he can just Proove his science works then people will stop fucking questioning him (that proof is through wildly unethical means but it doesn't matter if the science works, does it?)

He only sees Stan when he calls Stan to bail him out. He built it up in his head as Stan owing him for ruining his life by taking all the attention for himself and leaving Ford neglected, but that excuse is fickle so be avoids him anytime else to try to not think too hard about it.

He met Fidds in jail because Fidds made a giant murder robot, Stan bailed him out too for being Ford's friend

Stan is starting to get tired of the routine - he has a daughter now, he doesn't want to explain to her why she can't see her uncle Ford because he's wanted in so many states, and he won't see Stan unless he wants his bail paid, his lawyer arranged and his dick wet for an afternoon.

Then Ford meets Bill, and suddenly he swears he'll get clean for Stan, could he please just have a stipend to get a house in some nowhere town so he can gather enough research to make a proper grant request? Stan thinks it's too good to be true, so he says yes on the condition he visits Ford every few weeks to check on him, make sure he's not on anything and that he's not doing anything so illegal he'll get a warrant in Oregon, too. Ford has never been so offended, but he takes the deal for the sake of his Muse.

The first few years are great, Ford is really passionate, even if he's always cagey around Stan because his Muse keeps telling him how Stan's looking for a reason to kick him out, take away the support, leave Ford drowning. Then Fidds is traumatized.

Ford and Bill fall out, Ford starts using again just to stay awake, to keep his body to himself. Bill made him terrified of Stan finding out he screwed up again - because isn't that all he's ever done, from the day he forgot that record when they were 17? Stan's visiting day is rapidly approaching and Ford's house is torn apart trying to keep Bill from hurting him. Ford can't be homeless now, not with everything going on. He can't ruin his relationship with Stan, not when Stan's the only one he has left. In a last ditch effort he sends Stan a postcard that says 'DON'T COME'. Stan never receives it.

The last few times Stan had brought his daughter (3-ish) with him on his visits because Fidds was great with her and Ford was always happy to see her (even if he hated that she was Stan's but not his). He brought her this time, too. He's immediately devistated when he sees how twitchy Ford is. How paranoid and violent. Stan leaves his daughter upstairs when he goes to the basement with Ford.

Ford's terrific plan - asking Stan to take this book and never visit again, drop the financial support if he needs to, just leave and never see Ford again - doesn't go well.

The fight happens - Stan gets burned and throws off his jacket to maybe keep the fibers from burning into his flesh (doesn't work), then gets pushed through the portal. Ford cries into Stan's jacket, goes upstairs to shoot himself but his niece is crying. He forgot she was there.

Ford isn't good with kids, he's even worse with kids that want to see their dad but don't understand when Ford says he's Gone. After a week of watching her cry herself sick he breaks, takes off his glasses, puts on Stan's jacket that still smells like him, and picks her up, telling her he's right here and she's okay in his still perfect Stan impression.

He steals Stan's identity to keep the house - but drops his career entirely. It doesnt matter, Stan made enough in his long and successful career that Ford doesn't need to work a day in his life (well he does but that's Bill-related) he also drops all of Stan's obligations - he never gives his parents financial support because he doesn't think of it (his parents die working minimum wage because they sold the pawn shop), he doesn't give Carla alimony or tell her where her daughter is, he never tells his niece he even has a twin.

Stan gets back by himself after 30 years of being a sexy space pirate and that 'you took my name what did you do to my house' moment in canon becomes "You took my daughter?!" because Ford left no room for Stan to return and his daughter didn't even know she was his, didn't even know he existed.

[eggbertith]

I HOPE Vi gets some sort of moment or mini arc in act 3, shes been dkne so dirty. Do u have any theories?

hi anon! ready for the most incoherent ramble ever let's get started

i definitely want the same thing. in particular, i need vi to be angry at caitlyn for more reasons than caitlyn joining ambessa. even ONE moment, one LINE where vi finally stands up for herself because people treat her like shit, i'd be happy enough

i wouldn't go as far to say that vi hasn't had an arc this season, but they brush over it so badly that it feels like she doesn't

but let's talk about that. one of the big problems with vi this season is that she doesn't have her own goals or drive the plot like she did in season 1. and perhaps it's supposed to be a reflection of how lost and insignificant she feels, but it makes her feel sidelined and like a plot device. this is the exact reason why i LOVE the moments when her character drives the plot and not the other way around (i.e. when she stops caitlyn, when she decides to trust jinx about warwick, when she protects jinx from the explosion at the end of episode 6)

vi's at her best when she 1) exercises agency, rather than simply going along with everything, and 2) has someone to protect. with that being said, vi's "timeline" in season 2 kind of looks like this:

act 1: vi's spiral into guilt (doing anything to alleviate said guilt) and losing everything (again) act 2: vi having nothing left, not having a "purpose," and trying to grapple with her supposed insignificance to the people and the world around her act 3: vi getting back up on her feet, finding her place in the world

something so, so crucial about vi is that she NEEDS other people in her life. i've seen people complain about it (me included), but we DO see how she is when she has no one left to protect and it's not fun at all (i would've loved to see more but you know, i'll take what i can get). she's bitter, angry, depressed and falls back into a familiar, self-destructive routine not so different from her years in prison. the second she learns that someone needs her help (vander) she sobers up and, though tentatively, goes "alright, i'll help" because she's a protector, she wants to help people, that's at the core of her character

since she has important people back in her life, it does give me some hope that vi will be more prominent in act 3. vi still has to decide to become an enforcer (again) and it's hopefully for reasons outside of guilt this time. vi has to forgive caitlyn, sort things out with jinx, and will play a significant role in stopping ambessa and viktor. act 3 is also when vi gets the cut over her face tattoo, so if we're lucky act 3 will actually be vi focused but that's just me being hopeful

o7 anon