#(or had it been some other debt) the debt would have more likely be repaid or at least tried to be repaid somewhat

[fragmentedblade]

The more I learn about them the more I think the heliobi are in the right

[lizzy06]

Osamu Miya x Reader Fic Recs!!(Tumblr/AO3/Wattpad)

Haikyuu! Fic Rec Masterlist

Inarizaki Fic Rec Masterlist

A Debt Repaid ✨✨by matchumu (oneshot, sibling love)"Just keep the money." Atsumu repeats. "Don't think of it as a charity. Just think of it as a debt repaid."It was Miya Atsumu who bought the first Onigiri Miya store. [COMPLETED]

a world without you by my side ✨by farozaan (oneshot, happy ending, waking up in alternate au, time travel) He wanted just a single day without his brother all around him. That would be paradise. Miya Osamu makes a wish and regrets it. [COMPLETED]

tick. thump. pt 1  Pt 2 , Pt 3✨✨ by @seokiloquy (soulmate au)[COMPLETED]

long shots ✨✨by vogonpoetry(oneshot, fluff, grad student! reader, TA! osamu )miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him

Markings✨  by @storyoffracturedstars (oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) There are multiple trypes of soulmate marks... timer, tattoo, compass, you could hear whatever tour soulmate hears from tie to time.[COMPLETED]

Finding Your Soulmate by @leafsgarbage(oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) [COMPLETED]

All I Want ✨✨by Declaraso(friends to lovers, fluff, secret crush)The twins have been your friends for as long as you can remember. They've always been there and you reckon they'll remain with you 'till all of you are old and gray. Miya, Osamu wants nothing more, as long as he's the one holding your hand.[COMPLETED]

Switch Up✨ by mochi_puff (strangers to lovers, fluff)Miya mama pesters Atsumu to find a girlfriend and sets him up on blind dates. One day, he decides to rope his twin brother in to switch with him in disguise. What's the worst that could happen?[COMPLETED]

Onigiri Miya Tidbits✨✨ by secretpeachtea (fluff, humor)Onigiri Miya is now hiring and you just happen to be the right person for the job.You did expect some craziness from working in food services, but what you didn’t expect was to be bombarded with frequent tomfoolery from a bunch of attractive volleyball players. [COMPLETED]

fair chance by seliene (friends to lovers, humor, fluff, angst with happy ending)sure, he isn’t a star athlete, like his brother, but you (still) think he’d be the man of your dreams—do all that he can, be all he can be.[COMPLETED]

Lapse in Judgement ✨by @oreosmama (oneshot, angst)A car crash has taken Osamu’s brother away, the boy you liked so dearly. Osamu was dull to the pain, his crush on you blinding him from reality. But when he dyes his hair in hopes that he could make you feel the same, he realizes he may have gone too far.[COMPLETED]

Comfort Food by bloomgloomy (friendship/ love, fluff, humor)When you finally meet Atsumu's twin, Osamu, everyone but you sees the sparks fly. That's when the Black Jackals decide to give their blind manager the push you need.[COMPLETED]

A Good Dream/without theme ✨✨by @yourstarvic (oneshot, fluff, humor)Osamu had a good dream but with some repercussion.[COMPLETED]

long shots by vogonpoetry(oneshot, fluff, slowburn)miya osamu is the teacher’s assistant for food chemistry i. you can’t stop thinking about him.[COMPLETED]

Love at First Bite by secondhand_trash (domestic fluff, eventual romance)Your story with Miya Osamu started with tears, rain, and really good food.[COMPLETED]

Put my lips to something by tsumoo (starngers to lovers, blind date, fluff)The thought that you could be another person for Osamu to take care of—it satiates the ache. Loneliness is just another form of hunger. You realise that now.[COMPLETED]

around by satendou(heavy angst, post breakup, mentions of cheating) how you and osamu find your way back to each other.[COMPLETED]

Fishes of the Same Pond ✨by admiringlove (fake dating, fluff, humor, angst with happy ending) a book. a boy. a shelf at the empty side of the library. and a sweet little spin of fate with romance and some pining. what could go wrong?[COMPLETED]

How He Shows You Affection by @jayeray-hq(oneshot, fluff)[COMPLETED]

[h4arts]

hi! saw you are open for asks 🦢 i have this idea with kaz and reader, where kaz is like ready for the next step to make more bold touches, but reader still acts super cautious with him. maybe their touchy with others but strain themselves with kaz for his comfort and it makes him sad mad( so he makes the first move and reader is kinda shoked but ofc happy

hope it’s fine 🤍

red lily, kaz brekker -synopsis: after a job across kerch, you question if kaz wants you to stay in ketterdam, and he takes the opportunity he'd been waiting for. -warnings: maybe ooc kaz (i'm, still trying to figure out how to write him best)

Kaz Brekker, dirtyhands, bastard of the barrel, he had a sharp eye for details, for things that could be worth something or could be useful later on. That's how he raised himself to be in the barrel, be above anyone else before they can be above you. It was quite literally kill or be killed, he quickly realized that after Jordie's death.

He knew from there looking forward that he had to seek revenge, if not for himself, for Jordie, to silence his brother's voice ringing in the back of his head. When he rose up the ranks of the Barrel, closer to getting exactly where he needed to be, he had gained a name for himself (or many names) that gave him a new purpose of life. A kind of rebirth from Kaz Rietveld to Kaz Brekker. From the darkness rose a nightmare.

His gloves, really, were his only weakness, the only hint he had outwardly towards the past where he was forged. He'd heard the rumors, even fed into some to keep people's minds grasping for an answer they would never find. It hadn't at first occurred to him really that someone might reach past the gloves, the barriers he had set to keep out the water threatening to reach back in and drown him.

You had come along sometime before Inej by pure chance. You knew of Kaz Brekker, and needed his help. Something small that would hold a price you could repay easily, yet was still worth enough to get him to agree. He hadn't expected you to stick around even after the debt was repaid. He told himself it was because of Inej, who had recently been brought out of the Menagerie. He saw how compatibly you worked with one another on simpler jobs that didn't require a mess. Not a big one at least. He certainly hadn't expected your company to evolve over the next couple years.

Now, he sat at a table below the deck of the ship they were on, going back to Ketterdam from a job across Kerch. He busied himself with refolding maps and blueprints that were no longer needed, but he couldn't help from hearing the laughter coming from right above him on the deck. Your laughter, mixed with Jesper's. He shouldn't have been surprised, it was like you and Jesper shared the same brain when it came to making jokes. But that knowledge didn't seem to matter, because he knew exactly why you were laughing from the thud that echoed right after, cuing Nina and Wylan's laughter as well. You and Jesper were probably a mess of limbs on the deck right now, wrestling over something stupid and impractical like usual as Matthias tried to pry you apart despite his amusement that he tried to hide.

Kaz felt something stir inside him, a feeling he had become familiar with when he saw how tightly Nina would hug you or how easy it felt for Jesper to wrap an arm around your shoulder when walking. It made him wish he could get over whatever he felt against touch when he saw Wylan instinctively reach for your hand whenever something excited either of you, he wished he could take Matthias' place with a comforting hand on your shoulder after a bad job or take Inej's place smoothing bandages over wounds after a fight.

Kaz recalled the first time he had felt your touch without any fabric between his skin and yours. It was and unpleasant trip in his mind, to say the least, but it had to be done. You were the only one around that didn't feel like letting Kaz Brekker die that day. It was a light press of your knuckles as you tied off a stitch, but it was long enough to signal the panic waiting to be released. You had quickly stepped away, not wanting to make it worse, but you hadn't seen it coming, and you didn't know how to stop it.

The second time was close, he had held out his hand for the jewel you had collected on a job, his gloves resting on the desk beside his elbow. You had dropped it in his hand right before you touched him, but he still felt the air of your retracting hand, and the small bit of warmth that had radiated from it in the second it hovered over his own.

Since then, he had allowed you to help him with it. He told you it was only to avoid an encounter where his one weakness might be a compromised vulnerability. He couldn't risk that happening even though no one knew besides his crows. It started small, you would rest your hand on his desk, palm facing up. The rest was at his pace. It was slow process, progress did not come quickly or easily, as the mind is a powerful thing, and trauma's claws are sharp and hurt to pry from the victim.

You gave him the space and time he needed. On a day he could manage linking your pinkies, he wouldn't take his gloves off for another day. On days that weren't so much, he could try again the next day. Progress comes slow for anything, you should know. He did know, not only from experience, but your reminders repeating over and over in his head.

Inej's hand appeared over the map Kaz had been staring at, slowly pulling it towards where she was seated across from him. "You're missing the party up there." She chose not to comment on his blank stare before she had made her presence known.

"You could hardly call that a party. Maybe a group of maddening school children." Kaz picked up the next map unfazed, folding it according to all the previous creases it bent at. Inej allowed a near invisible smirk to pull at the corner of her lips as she folded her own map.

"Maybe you could excuse the heartrender in that group that saved us all from being blown to pieces." This time, Kaz looked up at the girl across from him, expression completely unreadable besides the annoyance clouding in his eyes that only a select few knew where to find. "The sunlight may do you good anyways. Maybe even someone else up there would find extra company pleasant." But Kaz didn't make a move to get up, and Inej didn't push it.

The two sat in silence, save for the loud conversations still coming from above deck. The maps had been folded and stored away until they neared the docks, and Inej watched as Kaz's fingers twitched slightly beneath his gloves. Your voice echoed over the others again, something about the flowers of Ketterdam. A joke, Inej knew. There were no flowers, at least none easy to come by.

But Kaz knew there was another meaning to your joke, he had heard it before during a job, back before even Jesper or Inej were around. He had asked you about it, and your response was simple, it's easy to make jokes of things that will never be.

Kaz couldn't understand why he remembered it, why such a small detail held such a big memory, like it was a secret kept between the two of you. Inej had left, and you had taken her place. Kaz didn't seem moved enough to greet you as you sunk into the chair.

"The flowers of Ketterdam?" You duck your head at his question, instead staring at the rough skin around your nails.

"Yes. I might grow some lilies at the club. Red ones." Kaz shook his head at that.

"There will be no flowers at my club." Kaz reaches for his cane that had been propped on the edge of the table, holding the crows head between his gloved hands.

"Is Nina not a flower then?" You grinned, looking up from your hands.

"Nina is far from a flower."

"That's not what Matthias thinks."

"I don't care what Matthias thinks about her. Though I'm unfortunately reminded of it every time he looks at her."

"What, the way you look at a new stack of kruge?"

"Have you simply come to pester me or do you actually need something?" Your eyes go back to your hands, shrugging your shoulders that were still visibly tense from when you had gotten on the ship when you had first left Ketterdam.

"Just letting you know we'll be back in a few minutes." The room fell into silence then, besides the light tapping of your heel against the wood beneath you as your leg bounced.

"The job went fine, why are you still acting like it's your first one?"

"Maybe because we're constantly putting our lives on the line for more money even though we just steal whatever we want on the daily." Your eyes were still trained on your hands, twisting your rings back and forth around your fingers.

Kaz knew you were right, but he couldn't just stop. That was how he made his income, that was how he got to where he was, and ultimately, it would be how he destroyed Pekka Rollins. He didn't want to risk the lives of his crows, but honestly, they were probably safer where they were now than wandering the wrong side of Ketterdam homeless, stuck under contract with the Menagerie, or thrown in a prison cell awaiting death.

"This can't be how we live the rest of our lives." You finally look up from the glimmering rings adorning your fingers, meeting Kaz's gaze which had also been fixated on your rings.

"It won't. Think of it like a phase in a game, long but never lasts." He stands from the chair across the table from you and instead sits in the one next to you. "You'll all leave this place eventually, and with that, you'll be leaving this life behind."

"What about you?"

"I'll always be here." A frown settles across your face, it sounded horrible that he'd always be stuck in Ketterdam, even though you knew he could go anywhere if he wanted.

"Then I will too." You disliked Ketterdam just as much as your friends above deck, but also like them, like Kaz, a part of it felt like home now. The Slat, the Crow Club, where you'd spent days and nights talking and laughing when jobs weren't lurking around your schedules. You weren't alone like you were when you first arrived in Ketterdam. You'd all found a small, broken family in each other.

"You shouldn't." You couldn't have expected those to be the words that left Kaz's lips. Something else was happening, gears were turning in a multitude of directions in his mind. In fact, you were so focused on that, you had missed how carefully he'd slid off his gloves.

"Do you not want me to stay?" Your voice had dropped to a whisper, scared of the answer. You weren't sure what Kaz wanted exactly, no one ever was. But rather than a verbal response, you were shocked at the sudden feel of a hand taking yours. Looking down was when you noticed Kaz's gloves resting on his knee, the skin of his hand uncovered and touching yours.

He didn't say anything, about holding your hand or a response to your question, but the grip of his hand on yours was reassuring to you, and it answered any possible question you could think to ask in the moment. He did want you to stay with him, but he wanted better for you. Not the dim streets of a city that would kill before it would love.

Kaz had found that he surprised himself with how easy it felt to have your hand in his once he had pushed the waters down and the resurfacing memories back. Carefully, he ran his thumb down your palm, resting at the pulse point of your wrist. You watched him with gentle eyes as he put the slightest amount of pressure there, feeling your pulse beat lightly against his thumb. He left it there for a moment, until it began to feel like too much. You noticed and lightly pulled your hand away before the panic could set in.

"You don't have to stay." He mutters, pulling his worn gloves back on, refusing to meet your light gaze.

"I want to." Your response calls his eyes back to your own, and he saw the feeling you held in them. "I'll use my flower money to buy you some new gloves. Or maybe a hat."

Kaz knew he still had a long road of work ahead of him if he wanted to touch you properly, without gloves or multiple layers of fabric between you. But he knew you were patient with him, and he trusted you would stick to your word of staying.

"We're home children, you owe me waffles!" Nina's voice calls down the stairs, followed by the echo of footsteps moving off the deck. Giving Kaz a small smile, you stand from your chair and head towards the stairs that would lead above deck.

"I'll wait for you up there."

───☆───

The next morning, you woke up a bit later than normal. Though you'd had a reason too, the boat ride was not the most relaxing thing after the job you'd all performed the previous two days. Stretching out your arms, something brightly colored caught your eye from the night stand beside your pillow. With a smile, you reach for the object resting neatly in the center. The floral scent pleasantly stung your senses as you observed the bouquet of red lilies that had been placed on your nightstand, along with a note that instructed your presence at seven bells at the corner restaurant the crows had been meeting at for dinner lately.

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

Yan Wushi and Shen Qiao Comparison

The author of Thousand Autumns, Meng Xi Shi, wrote in the Foreword, "The two leads have extreme personalities that are diametric opposites: one finds joy in helping people, while the other resolutely believes that human nature is evil. But because both are them are incredibly strong, they cannot convince each other. And so when they meet, they’re destined to clash in a blaze of intense sparks." While I reread the series, I collected a few of my favorite quotes that described Yan Wushi and Shen Qiao's personalities and world views so I could compare them side by side. It is amazing how two characters who are polar opposites can complement each other so well.

Shen Qiao: “When it comes to worth, every heart weighs it differently. Grudges have a source, and debts a debtor, but involving innocent people should never be commended. When you don’t save the people you could have, when you don’t take action when you could have, a shadow lodges in your heart forever. Whether other people know about it—whether they’ll feel grateful—that’s their business.”

Yan Wushi: As always, whenever Yan Wushi opened his mouth, sarcastic comments streamed out. Hearing them was enough to make any listener grit their teeth. But with the way he stood upon the cliff face, hands clasped behind his back and robes dancing, the assembled spectators simply had to look up to him as well. His achievements and martial arts, his incredible strength—many understood that they’d never reach such heights. It was human nature to admire those of great strength, and if anyone claimed they felt no trace of admiration for the egotistical Huanyue Sect Leader—who had the power to warrant such an ego—they’d be lying.

Shen Qiao: Even when he’d fallen into the mire, when he was smeared with dust and grime and was at anyone’s mercy, still he struggled back to his feet and walked onward, step by step. His comrades’ betrayal, his kindness being repaid with enmity—it was as if he’d taken none of it to heart.

Yan Wushi: But Yan Wushi was the kind of man who reserved even his egotism and conceit for those on his level. The mediocre remainder weren’t worth his attention, so he couldn’t care less what they said or thought.

Shen Qiao: “During our time in this world, everyone has to make their own choices. Some will choose to preserve their lives at all costs, and some will choose to give up their lives for their reputation or to demonstrate their innocence. In all cases, there is nothing to criticize. Only during the darkest hour will one’s true self emerge.

Yan Wushi: This Huanyue Sect Leader’s character was just as the rumors painted him: mercurial and unpredictable. Even after they’d spent so much time together, Shen Qiao still dared not say that he completely understood him.

Shen Qiao: “There are many people in this world. Some of them good, some of them bad. But even more can’t be categorized as simply ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ Their thoughts may be different from yours, and the paths they choose may also be different... You mustn’t reject others just because they’re different from you. As a person, you have to be like an ocean that embraces the hundred rivers: tolerant and broad-minded. The same holds true as a martial artist. The narrow-minded are limited in what they can achieve. Even if they reach the summit, they won’t be able to stand there for long.”

Yan Wushi: In Yan Wushi’s eyes, the incompetent would never be worthy of his attention. Counting decades into the past, there’d been one exception in Shen Qiao, but there was only one Shen Qiao. No one else deserved any extra concern from him, even if they were his disciples. He’d already taught his disciples his skills; if they needed his protection in everything, why bother wandering the jianghu? They might as well bash open their heads and die.

Shen Qiao: He was happy to treat others with kindness, and he didn’t care how much he gained or lost in exchange. But when other people returned him a similar kindness, to the point that they were willing to die for him, it was far harder for him than simply receiving nothing in the first place.

Yan Wushi: Shen Qiao shook his head. “He’s not cruelhearted—he never had a heart in the first place. He treats everyone in the world with the same callousness, and he’ll never be particularly gentle toward anyone...”

Shen Qiao: In this world there are many, many situations where giving someone something doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll receive anything in return. When you choose to give, you must remember this, or else the only one hurt will be you.”

Yan Wushi: In Shen Qiao's opinion, Yan Wushi had no reason to bring trouble down on himself like this. But ultimately, Yan Wushi was Yan Wushi. If he moved according to other people’s expectations, he wouldn’t be Yan Wushi anymore.

Shen Qiao: “From the great Dao springs forth many thousand paths,” said Shen Qiao. “Some are fast, some slow, but none are better than any other.”

Yan Wushi: He adored Shen Qiao to a ridiculous degree, but this kind of adoration was usually expressed through teasing and bullying.

And what they think of each other by the end of the series:

Just as Shen Qiao was thinking this, he heard Yan Wushi say, “A-Qiao, do you know?” “Mm?” Shen Qiao returned to himself. “In the past, I classified all humans into two categories.” “Mm,” said Shen Qiao. He knew this. “They were either your opponents or insects.” Opponents were those who could stand on equal footing with him. Insects were the ones not worth his attention. In the past, Shen Qiao had been an insect in his eyes. “But now,” Yan Wushi said leisurely, “I’ve changed my way of thinking. A-Qiao, you’re different from most people in the world. You have compassion for all mankind carved into your bones, to the point that you’re willing to give yourself up for others without asking for anything in return. In the past, I thought you were the same as everyone else: you might start out good and innocent, but the world is fickle, and in the end it’d teach you to change as well. But you went completely beyond my expectations. Human affairs are like a stream, yet you are a rock. No matter how the stream flows, you will never shift.” Shen Qiao gave a brief laugh. “It’s rare to hear Sect Leader Yan praise me. How remarkable! This humble Daoist is greatly honored.” “Do you still hold a grudge against me in your heart?” Shen Qiao shook his head. “No, it’s the exact opposite. I admire you greatly. There aren’t many people in this world who can live so willfully, but Sect Leader Yan is one of them. Before I left the mountain, the only world and jianghu I knew was the tiny little space that my late master had told me about. I’d never seen it with my own eyes. If not for Yan Wushi’s instruction, I wouldn’t be alive listening to you say these things now.”

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

hello! I saw your recent post for asks, so don't mind me! x) someone said that Jiang Cheng lost his Golden Core because he saved Wei Wuxian, which is.. not true at all? I would've asked where they got that take, but I don't feel up to receiving hate ;-; have a nice day!

Hi there!

I will answer some of these seriously and others not so (Yours is one of those to be taken seriously even if Jiang Cheng doest deserve that).

On to the question... I believe this is conflated with the assumption "Jiang Cheng decided to chase away the Wens that would have seen Wei Wuxian" hence this saved Wei Wuxian and Wei Wuxian losing his core. And to that: there is nothing in text as to what would have happened if the Wen soldiers saw Wei Wuxian instead. What we found know is that Jiang Cheng led the soldiers away, we don't know how else he had been caught by Wen Zhuliu eventually or how he had been retained long enough by them for Wen Zhuliu to use the core melting technique.

As to saving Wei Wuxian, in one way, at the time, yes he did. But this is immediately rescinded when he chooses to strangle Wei Wuxian, again, and regrets very resentfully, the sacrifice this cost. Jiang Cheng does not like to make sacrifices, especially on s detrimental to himself or what he sees as more trouble than that sacrifice would be worth. He did not expect to sacrifice anything from this saving of Wei Wuxian. And even after this his hate is enough that he expounds on what he thought Wei Wuxian owed to the Jiang parents to himself and reasons them as debts owed by Wei Wuxian. Yet sacrifices aren't supposed to be repaid and to do without. Even thirteen years later after Wei Wuxian had died and provided Yunmeng Jiang with a better place and chance it had before, Jiang Cheng still expects continued sacrifice from Wei Wuxian as he does think he is entitled to it, even when that goes against Wei Wuxian's ideals.

We have two instances where Jiang Cheng decides to protect Wei Wuxian, once when they are nine and he says he will protect Wei Wuxian from his fear of dogs, which he stops doing and uses a dog against Wei Wuxian rescinding his own promise. And when he chased the Wen soldiers from Wei Wuxian where he did not expect to lose a thing, and even after getting a core, he chooses to frame this all as Wei Wuxian abandoning those that gave him life and helps to have Wei Wuxian killer one way or another.

What he wanted was an outlet to hate with what he hater in himself and his lack of taking his own choices and actions into account. This is only stopped when he is faced with Jin Ling under worse circumstances as Wei Wuxian once had and goes out of his way to leave his faith in someone finally unquestionable and unable to be exploited.

[wondertrio]

Wendell was found and adopted as a young child (5-ish) by a family of halflings named Erling and Berthe Tinselfoot. They already had a young daughter named Winnie, but brought Wendell in, named him, and raised him on a relatively isolated farm in Longsaddle, near the city of Luskan.

Wendell remembers very little of his early childhood. It’s mainly a blur of his time on the Tinselfoot farm, nothing earlier than six or seven years old (though it should be noted he has no idea of his actual age or birthday). He was a quiet, solemn kid who dragged his feet (hooves) about doing farm chores and would instead sneak into the fields with a book to read the day away. He particularly enjoyed stories about paladins slaying devils and demons, or adventurers getting lost in the faewild and falling prey to fae trickery. He tried to cut off his horns at around age 11, and was stopped by his mother after cutting one. It never fully grew back. He was uncomfortable with his tiefling appearance, especially since other tieflings didn’t seem to have hooves like him, but he has more or less gotten used to his body as he grew up.

Wendell (early 20s) went to the same shop in Luskan three days in a row to study a scroll of plane shift. It was 500gp and he couldn’t afford it. He would clean for two hours in exchange for one hour of study time. On the fourth day when he was studying, the shopkeeper told him someone (Roben Klement) was buying every spell scroll in stock and he had to hand it over. Wendell, frustrated after having just spent time cleaning, asked if Roben could wait a while longer. Roben let Wendell keep the scroll. When Wendell said he didn’t need any handouts, Roben replied that it was just a gift from one magic enthusiast to another and left. Wendell caught up to him and asked to work to pay for it, like he had done at the shop. Roben says he always has components to process if he wanted to come over.

After a few weeks, Wendell casually mentions he wants to go to school but can’t afford it. Roben offers to pay, Wendell declines. Over the next week, the Tinselfoot farm gains dozens of new clients wanting to stock their produce and dairy, the Tinselfoots become quite wealthy very quickly. Wendell is suddenly able to go to school. Roben denies involvement but Wendell knows better.

Wendell is grateful but not stupid. He is very dedicated to Roben, despite knowing very little about him. Wendell also knows this debt will likely need to be repaid at some point in the future, not with money, but more likely with favors or allegiance, which at this point he is happy to do.

Wendell (now around 35ish) maintains a small apartment in Luskan, and frequently travels between there, Longsaddle, Candlekeep, and Silverymoon. His knowledge (and level) come from diligent study, NOT real world application. He spends his time teaching, and researching interplanar travel.

In game it has been revealed that Wendell is from the Faewild, that he houses a fragment of a fae queen’s soul, and that he was taken to Faerun for his safety. He and his party are now actively working to get to the Faewild to resolve a number of issues!

[mikodrawnnarratives]

TW IMPLIED CHARACTER DEATH

TW BLOOD

(Just like last time, it isn't really graphic but I'm tagging just so you know)

@naffeclipse

Part 1 | This is Part Two | Part Three | Extra

It. Probably won't need a part 4

I'm doing this all on one cps file so I sure hope so kjlfdkfljs

i'm at like- 750+ layers i'm so sorry my file

...there might be a part 4 but it'll be small sketches and aftermaths

Once again, long post under the cut:

I am not the only traveler, who has not repaid his debt.

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Take me back to the night we met

- The night we met by Lord Hurdon

Alright, I didn't make too much of an effort to hide it but how many of you guessed it was gregory and how many of you didn't see it coming?

Gee I wonder who Gregory's companions are

Okay if you don't have a nugget of who these companions are then my rambling below makes it a little more obvious

Anyway, this little comic of self indulgence to mend my broken heart says "YO what if Gregory and other characters saved Vanessa like they did in canon"

It certainly would NOT be easy for Vanessa once she wakes up to that realization. But there are factors that make it a little bit easier for Vanessa to cope compared to other children.

Since Gregory and others proved they could fight and free her as Vanny, it gives her mind a little reassurance that they aren't completely helpless.

Plus, I like the idea of the GGY story (Dr Rabbit) existing as this au's equivalent of the same experience, that would mean Gregory has had his own bad experiences with Glitchtrap and so it wouldn't be like some random kid going against a threat he was unfamiliar with

She still distances herself a lot earlier on and the more time passes, the older Gregory gets, the less he looks and sounds like a kid.

Those make it much easier for Vanessa to stand being around them as time goes by. Earlier on, she only really interacted when absolutely necessary. But she did grow a small soft spot for them.

She remained pretty closed off about herself over the years and never delved too deep about her past. Ness left frequently for her own hunting jobs and at one point Gregory asked where she went. Somethings made it seem like these hunts weren't just random and different

He didn't get an answer of course. But later that day, Vanessa told him about Y/n. In vague terms. This is the most information he ever gets about Vanessa's past.

So Gregory's got no idea who to expect to see showing up to the gravestone ltr on and is just like

Gregory: cool, ur mysterious enough for it to be believable ur related to my mysterious older sister/mentor figure Wanna hear a story

Y/n: ...yes.

Forgive him his brain is ever so foggy from grief and no slep

Anyway, Y/n picked a day to visit Vanessa when they knew they were stable enough not to lash out and attack any humans that may happen to also be visiting the graves. They had eaten pretty recently but not so recent that they were vulnerable.

It's pretty early in the morning where it is still dark and the rain provides some more protection.

If you couldn't tell before, many MANY years have passed since Y/n has been human. Think somewhere between 20-30 years. And while, they still hate who they are now and aren't mentally okay, they've gotten a semi-solid understanding of their limits and what they can and cannot tolerate and when.

And, even though they are nervous, they can manage to have this conversation with Gregory for now.

Why are they talking to Gregory so willingly? despite the risks?

well

the next part will explain that

[mariacallous]

A US judge has cleared the way for billions of dollars to be refunded to former customers of bankrupt crypto exchange FTX.

At a court hearing in Wilmington, Delaware, on Monday, judge John Dorsey gave final approval to FTX’s reorganization plan, the terms of which had previously been put to creditors and voted through by a landslide.

“I think this is a model case for how to deal with a very complex Chapter 11 proceeding,” said Dorsey. “I applaud everyone involved in the negotiation process.”

FTX filed for bankruptcy in November 2022 after running out of funds to process customer withdrawals. Billions of dollars’ worth of FTX customer deposits were missing. The money, a jury later found, had been swept into a sibling company and spent on high-risk trading, venture bets, debt repayments, personal loans, political donations, luxury real estate, and other illegitimate dealings.

A year later, FTX founder Sam Bankman-Fried was convicted of multiple counts of fraud and conspiracy, then sentenced to 25 years in prison. In September, coconspirator Caroline Ellison received a two-year prison term after testifying against Bankman-Fried at trial.

First proposed in May, the FTX bankruptcy plan charts a path to a full refund, plus interest, for former FTX customers—a level of recovery rarely seen in bankruptcies. “Generally, anything over 100 cents on the dollar is close to miraculous,” says Yesha Yadav, associate dean and a bankruptcy specialist at Vanderbilt University Law School. “What tends to happen is that unsecured creditors get cents on the dollar, if they’re lucky. The expectation is that it is a process of scarcity.”

In this case, though, the administrators of the FTX estate were able to recover billions of dollars by liquidating investments made by the exchange’s venture capital arm, FTX Ventures, and its sister company, Alameda Research, along with other assets. A rise in the price of cryptocurrencies in the period since FTX filed for bankruptcy, meanwhile, raised the value of the coins left in exchange coffers.

Under the plan, government bodies in the United States—including the Internal Revenue Service and the Commodities and Futures Trading Commission—have agreed to suspend high-value claims against FTX until creditors had been repaid (although the IRS will receive a $200 million upfront payment as part of the settlement).

Even FTX equity holders, typically the last to be repaid in a bankruptcy, stand to make back a portion of their initial investment—a maximum of $230 million between them—paid for using funds recovered by the Department of Justice through the prosecution of FTX insiders.

But despite the abnormally high expected recovery, some creditors believe they are still getting a raw deal by virtue of the way their claims have been valued.

Many customers held crypto assets like bitcoin on the FTX platform, but through a process called dollarization common to bankruptcies, their claims have instead been assigned a dollar value based on the price of those assets on the date of the bankruptcy filing. When FTX fell, the crypto market was in the doldrums, but it has since lurched to new all-time highs, meaning some customer claims would be far more valuable if the refund were mapped to the present value of crypto assets. Therefore, though dollarization is proper under the bankruptcy code, “saying [the return] is over 100 percent is just wrong,” says Yadav. “For the average person, it’s very far from that.”

Among the parties that stand to gain the most from the approval of the plan, meanwhile, are investment firms that spent millions of dollars purchasing claims from people with assets stuck in FTX, who either preferred to take a haircut and reinvest the money or had urgent need of the funds. Those claims were typically purchased at a cut-price rate before a handsome recovery was considered likely—some for less than 10 cents on the dollar—but are now worth multiples of that.

“In terms of internal rate of return—holy shit. It’s the best trade I’ve seen in my lifetime,” says Thomas Braziel, cofounder of 507 Capital, an investment firm that specializes in buying up bankruptcy claims and took a large position in FTX, and 117 Partners, which brokers claim sales. (In July, Braziel was ordered by a Delaware court to repay $1.9 million that he misappropriated as receiver of failed financial services company Fund.com to make investments and luxury purchases.)

In August, a number of former FTX customers filed formal objections to the plan with the bankruptcy court. The customers objected, variously, to the legal immunity provided under the plan to those that have administered the bankruptcy, the likelihood that cash payments would trigger costly taxable events for creditors, and other elements of the plan. “I felt vindicated when Bankman-Fried went to jail—and I believed that would flow through to bankruptcy court,” says Sunil Kavuri, one FTX customer to cosign an objection. “I’ve been unpleasantly surprised.”

In the course of the five-hour hearing, Brian Glueckstein, an attorney at law firm Sullivan & Cromwell and counsel to FTX, responded to each objection in turn. “There is no evidence on the record that somehow these debtors are not providing maximum value—none,” said Glueckstein.

In providing his approval, the judge rejected the pending objections and cleared the way for FTX administrators to begin to execute the plan.

It remains possible to lodge an appeal against the plan after its confirmation in limited circumstances. Logistical complications may also delay repayments to creditors, expected to begin late this year at the earliest. But few realistic options now remain for parties hoping to change the course of the FTX bankruptcy.

The confirmation hearing “is the last chance in a practical sense for changes to be made,” says Yadav. “This is the defining day.”

[mitaukanoarts]

Huh, I never posted her backstory anywhere. Well then. Lets recitify that shall we? Mair Hendwr Backstory -

Gifts are never given freely by the fae, and one such gift the Lord and Lady Hendwr did receive. Two children the Prince of Boars Twrch Trwyth would bestow, but the third would be their own and that was the price he demanded. One fully human child to stay in his kingdom ten years after its birth, he would keep it in his world and then the debt would be repaid.

The third child born was Mair, the most human and mundane of the children. With coal black hair, deep brown eyes and a penchant for mischief she easily made friends and was most glib with her speech, a young couturier in the making it seemed. All would have been well, had the closest noble house not sought out an early marriage arrangement for their daughter as the two children had become fast friends. Tentative agreements were sent, and one last trip to meet with the other nobles to discuss the details at length.

While the children played, the parents plotted. The Lord and Lady Hendwr unwilling to let their ambitions of a greater alliance for their house be stopped by a mere fae bargain signed the proposal for a future alliance of the houses. But Twrch Trwyth is no fool, he waited until the girls played far from the keep, waited untill servants looked away and the older boys clashed sticks in battle before snatching Mair  up in his jaws, a gigantic red bristled boar with red eyes. It would be a memory that scarred her friend, haunting her into adulthood the memory of the red eye’d boar and Mair’s scream of terror.

Though Twrch Trwyth demanded payment he was not cruel or harsh with Mair, though she did see him rage across the Fae realm when his anger did consume him, and from this she learned when to be quiet and when to be seen for even Princes of the Fae have tells for their emotional state. He kept her there for two hundred years though she stopped feeling the effects of age at twenty-five. For two hundred years in a land where time was slippery at best, Mair fought, read, and learned some magic. Any extended time will change any human in the fae realms especially one so close to the Prince of Boars. The hair that grew past her ears, all new growth since coming there was red, her eyes also changed after the first ten years to match Twrch Trwyth’s now she was all but his daughter in blood.

One day, in the eternal sunset of that world he came to her with a proposition. She would be allowed to leave, and return to the world of mortals perhaps even live a full mortal life but only if she established herself in the human court. For Twrch Trwyth had heard rumors that other fae had their hands and eyes on the court of the Britannia’s young King Arthur. The Prince of Boars, being far older and wiser than they, must then have an envoy as well.

So Mair once again found herself brought back into the mortal world, resigned that it must have changed significantly in 200 years. But to her shock, she found while her time in that otherworld had been long in the mortal world it had only been fifteen years. The Prince of Boars had kept her for two mortal lifetimes and while she felt all 200 years the world had not much changed. She was now an outlier older inside than she appeared. Worse yet, her childhood friend had never forgotten her and once a year made her way to the place of Mair’s disappearance to honor the memory, so it was a shock when a woman with eyes like the boar and hair with more red than black appeared in that place.  There was a brief scuffle between the two, the friend being sure the Fae Boar had taken on the appearance of a human to taunt her or as some sort of trick.

She attempts to keep her otherworldly appearance from being a distraction she generally wears a hood to disguise herself. Her hands, and arms, are covered in black blackberry tattoos a reminder of her new home in the fae realm.

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Kaz Brekker x gn! grisha! Reader - Newbie

A/n: I love this request, it was absolutely brilliant!

Request: Hello there, I love your writing, it's so amazing but may I request a Kaz Brekker one shot were the reader is a Tailor and they are very powerful, and once an enemy (there to kill Kaz obv) sneaked inside the slat to kill but the reader do first and Kaz is very impressed and when he asks what happens, they say "what? you think i'm gonna let some random asshole sneak in with a gun and have tea with them?" or something sarcastic like that, thank you so much and take your time, take care!! <;3 @abookloverlmao

Warnings: swearing, killing, death, guns, indentures, I think that's it? You have been warned!

The three P's:

[Pronouns used: you/your] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: (romantic!) Kaz x reader]

You were new to the Crows as your abilities were not ones commonly used in battle. But you weren't there for a battle, you were there as a spy.

You would scowl at the word spy if anyone ever used it to describe you, a spy was someone who blended in with the background who was not seen. You were nearly always seen, that was often the point of you being there.

You were a Tailor, and your art although it could be used on other people was primarily used on yourself. As you had grown up in the barrel and there wasn't many people to help you hone your skills.

After living in indentures after indentures to women, men, anyone who wanted a grisha Tailor, you had gotten tired. You were being used to your very limb to people you didn't want to work for, sure Tailoring is certainly your passion. Though there is always a difference between living your passion, and forcing it.

In an act of desperation you had whispered to a Crow who was known as the Wraith but you had later found out is named Inej that you could give them information if they could free you.

Somehow it had gotten all the way up to Kaz Brekker and one day your indentures to the people who wanted you without stop had disappeared and you were sitting up in an office in the Slat trying not to sweat your arse off.

Eventually you had talked to Kaz but you hadn't pleaded your case to him like he had expected you to. No, instead you had explained calmly how you could be the Dregs double agent with almost a smirk on your face.

Kaz didn't like your finesse, how dramatic you were, but he had eventually put you to the test and you had been entirely correct. You were a perfect asset to the Crows, and had made Kaz Brekker look stupid.

Despite all of this though, you felt the need to prove yourself, you weren't just a measly little Dreg anymore, you were a Crow. The best of the best, and although you acted as if you were more full of yourself than Jesper and Kaz combined you knew that you felt like you were in debt to Bastard of the barrel. He had freed you from your captors and you have never repaid him.

Some part of you wanted to repay him the world.

Thoughts like those wouldn't leave your mind as you lounge on one of the chairs in the Slat mindlessly looking at an painting that was probably stolen on your right side.

To your left there was three people, two joyously in conversation presumably about a win, and the third looked somber, and excited.

The emotions confused you, you didn't know how someone could be somber and excited? The two together just seemed wrong.

Opposites, isn't that what you and Kaz were? If something is opposites then something is going on. (Although you couldn't say the same about you and Kaz.)

With people and emotions, the combination meant something and in the barrel never something good.

Your eyes followed their figure as they left the room quietly, to go up the stairs of the Slat, you were going to leave them to their own devices and brush your thoughts off as paranoia. You would of noticed if there were a double agent in the Slat, right?

Why would you be paranoid about a double agent? You're a double agent yourself for Kaz but that's either for getting information or for killing someone directly. Although option one usually ends with someone's body dropping to the floor just indirectly.

The only reason there would be a double agent in the Slat would be to kill Kaz, directly or indirectly. But why would there be-

That fucking Merchant!

You nearly leaped out of your seat as you remembered, the Crows had stolen last from a Merchant two weeks ago. Somehow the Mercher had figured out. Although Kaz had said that he had it covered now it was obvious that he didn't.

Your theory was just confirmed when you saw a concealed gun on their side and the way their body leaned towards the right of the stairwell despite that the railing was on the left.

Because Kaz's office is on the right!

Yes, you would notice another double agent if you saw them.

Slowly, you sat up from your seat and walked leisurely behind the double agent. You brought your hand up to your face and changed some small things about it, just so they wouldn't get suspicious that you were following them.

Then in their foolishness when you walked past them and turned the corner past Kaz's office they were overjoyed. Their hands were shaking as they pulled their gun from their coat and had their other hand on the door knob.

Scowling you pulled your own gun out, they were basking in their glory and their near accomplishment that they didn't even think to double check their surroundings and never hesitate.

So with an easy click off the safety you cleared your head thinking about the person's life you were going to take. This wasn't a job, this was much different.

It was undeniably for Kaz, you didn't want to be in debt to anyone. If you truly didn't care for him you would have let him die.

And with a simple pull of the trigger the once living eyes now laid open, looking on to nothing.

Of course the noise of the gun had alerted Kaz and when he opened his door he was surely met with a sight.

A dead body on the floor with you over it with a gun in your hands as you looked at him unimpressed with a hand on your hip.

He didn't realize now, although if he analyzed it later he would assuredly see that it was all an act to cover up how much you wanted to see him alive after someone had just attempted to kill him.

"You killed him?" He rasped with an raised eyebrow. Obviously a bit confused.

"What? You think I'm going let some random asshole sneak in with a gun and have tea with them?" You loured with a roll of your eyes.

He pressed his lips together in an attempt to not let a smile reach his face.

He didn't succeed.

Dirtyhands is smiling, not fully like you people see at those clubs, no Dirtyhands had a small genuine smile on his lips because of you.

You had made Kaz smile!

You couldn't read Kaz, you're not sure that Kaz could understand his own emotions sometimes, but you knew that in that moment he was proud.

If only you could've read his thoughts because in those moments Kaz wasn't only thinking about how proud he was of you;

'Oh shit, I am in love.'

Words 1157

-thedelusionreaderbitch

*note I edited this on my phone so there might be a good amount of mistakes*

Grishaverse taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmsamultifan06

[loosingmoreletters]

for the ask game? your current favorite ship, and meeting on a train ride au

this couldn’t ever be anything but an ORV fic

Kim Dokja didn’t want to feel uncharitable, but the last thing he needed right now was his train getting delayed because someone had decided to end their life in such an inconvenient way. There were neater solutions to it, though he supposed jumping in front of a train was at least more effective than jumping out of a window.

But honestly, Kim Dokja couldn’t care less. He just wanted to go home and, well, figure out what he was supposed to do with the rest of his life. Maybe he should just read Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse again? Even if the novel had disappeared from the website, Kim Dokja had copied and saved a version on it on his laptop at home. He had left the author many comments, been its only true commenter. It was a story written just for him, he could allow himself this indulgence, especially if he would pay for the novel in the future.

And then, finally, an announcement rang out.

Telling all passengers on the train. Telling all passengers on the train. E-Everyone run away… Run…!

What?

The moment the announcement was finished, the inside of the carriage became a mess, people standing up and screaming. Kim Dokja checked his phone, wondering if there was some other news appearing, yet he saw nothing but the usual weather forecast, the random game apps he had downloaded. And then the time switched from 6:59 p.m. to 7:00 p.m.

At once, the darkness grew heavier, oppressing, the weight of the world bearing down on him as slowly a figure emerged.

[The free service of planetary system 8612 has been terminated.]

[The main scenario has started.]

Familiar words rang out and Kim Dokja held his breath as a scene he’d only ever pictured in his head and drawn clumsily in school notebooks blurred into reality. A small fluffy creature floated above their heads and it proclaimed horrors Kim Dokja had seen as his salvation for over a decade. As people needlessly pestered the dokkaebi, Kim Dokja sat still. This was just like his novel. A train, a monster—

Kim Dokja raised his head, searching for the number of the train carriage. Which one had he boarded?

[3707]

Oh.

This story could only have one ending, could it? And it wasn’t one he was meant to see.

The subway became a bloodbath before the main scenario even started. Had Kim Dokja not read this story before, would he have reacted the same way? Would he be smeared against the glass windows now, dead before the story even really began?

Kim Dokja calmly put his phone in his pocket. Only he knew the future and if he was lucky enough, had proven himself faithful enough to his reason for living, then maybe he’d be allowed to live past the prologue.

A small window emerged in front of everyone’s blank eyes.

[The main scenario has arrived!]

The dokkaebi smiled bloodthirstily before it bowed. [I look forward to an interesting story.]

The next moment, the screaming started again. Kim Dokja turned to the left, the very end of the carriage, from where the people were starting to drop like flies. No question then where the protagonist was. Kim Dokja turned to his right. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the person next to him, they hadn’t moved at all either, had they?

There sat a boy, probably not even middle school aged, holding a box of grasshoppers. Wirely, Kim Dokja thought that he’d need the power boost to face the protagonist.

“Let me,” he told the boy and took the box from him. He opened it just so to get a single one out and pressed it into the boy’s hand. “Now squeeze.”

The boy did as told on reflex, his widening a moment later. With that, Kim Dokja had done his part, repaid the debt he owed the kid. Another particularly gruesome scream and a glance towards the left told him he didn’t have much time. Quickly he reached within the box, squishing all the insects and eggs inside.

[You have killed a living thing.]

[100 coins have been earned as additional compensation.]

Rapidly, the notifications rang out, and just as quickly, Kim Dokja invested them, and that not a moment too late as the last person standing between him and the protagonist was easily tossed aside.

Kim Dokja grimaced and pushed the kid behind him.

Yoo Joonghyuk stared at him with cold narrow eyes, as if searching for something. “Unusual.”

Somehow, Kim Dokja couldn’t keep from grinning. “Did that not happen in your last regression?”

It was only thanks to his added speed that Kim Dokja evaded Yoo Joonghyuk reaching for him. Yoo Joonghyuk might have killed more people than anyone else on this train, but it was Kim Dokja who’d win the trophy for mass murder, having killed the most living beings.

“What do you know?”

“More than you,” Kim Dokja replied. “I can definitely lead you to the end of scenarios. Make me your companion, Yoo Joonghyuk. You won’t regret it.”

The protagonist’s eyes widened.

Yes, Kim Dokja thought. This is what I stayed alive for.

[di-writes-stuff]

Cowboy Like Me

Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Chapter 2

TW: Mentions of alcohol? Literally nothing, which is weird for me.

It’s of no shock that Valentine isn’t exactly a land of dazzling opportunity. It seems Mr. Mallory was about the only person worth robbing in the whole damned county, and of course that chance slipped right through Arthur’s fingers.

All thanks to you.

You wouldn’t exactly say you felt guilty. That’s not the right word. Empathy is better suited, although you’ve never been one to let a good job slide right past you. Nevertheless, there was something more driving your decision to send that letter.

You would never admit it, not openly. But something about him…you wanted to see him again. Maybe it was his looks, maybe the fact that for once, a man might understand you.

Or maybe it was how sweet he was that first day, coupled with the danger that comes with a man like him. The thrill of knowing damn well you’ve seen that face before, and only later realizing where. In the middle of a bounty poster with a reward of more money than you’ve ever even gotten close to.

Five thousand dollars on his head alone. You’d be a damned liar if you said that didn’t make him more enticing. And so, after you heard about a goldmine in the midst of the barrenness that surrounds Valentine, writing to a certain Arthur Morgan didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

After all, everybody deserves a second chance.

…………………………………………………………………………��………..

Outlaws don’t typically get mail from random women, so when Miss Grimshaw let Arthur know there was a letter from a lady sitting on his cot, confusion was the first thing that sprung to mind. After he saw your name on the envelope, then came the recognition.

A poster pinned up outside the sheriff's office a couple towns back. He could have gone for your bounty, it was decent enough, but something in him told him to go with the man next to who he now knows to be you.

He’s never felt better about that decision than now as he reads your swirling handwriting.

Dear Arthur,

You don’t know me very well, and I’m not quite sure I know you at all. But, I figured if the price on your head is of any indication, your skills could be useful to me, and mine to you. See, there’s a train running through these parts this Saturday, full of all kinds of rich folk with plenty to go around. If you’re as interested in this prospect as I believe you will be, meet me on Friday morning at the Valentine saloon. I’m sure we can think of some kind of plan together.

Besides, I’m afraid I’ve been in your debt since poor old Mr. Mallory “misplaced” some valuables. I figured it was high time I repaid you for that little incident.

- Y/N

He sits on his cot like a fool for a few moments, a boyish grin on his face before the realization hits him. It’s Friday, and it’s already well past sunrise.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

For a moment you started to believe he wasn’t coming, imagined images of him throwing away your letter in confusion filling you with humiliation.

That is until the man himself walked through the doors of the saloon, although if his appearance had anything to do with it, you’d say he rushed. His hair is a little messy as he removes his black leather hat, and you can’t help but notice that the top few buttons of his shirt are undone, hair peeking out of the loose collar of his shirt.

His steps come down heavy on the creaky wooden panels of flooring as he makes his way over to you, willing his heart rate down to normal as he does.

You, on the other hand, look like a perfect picture of a civilized lady. The vest you bought with the money from oh so generous Mr. Mallory fits snugly around your waist. Enough to be attractive, but not too enticing, that wouldn’t be very lady-like, of course. Your skirt hangs off the edges of your stool, covering any bit of skin that would leave the rather judgmental citizens of Valentine scoffing and tugging their daughters away from such a bad influence.

In short, you look innocent, something you’ve mastered after years of being the exact opposite.

You also look beautiful, something Arthur notices very clearly as his eyes sweep over your waiting figure. The saloon had few windows, flickering candlelight creating shadows that seemed to dance along your face. You can’t help the smirk that creeps onto your face at the relief on his upon finding you awaiting him.

He walks over slowly enough, not too eager, although the way his fingers rap along the leather brim of his hat tell you otherwise, the the dull tapping the only sound made between the two of you as he sits on the stool beside you.

You break the silence, seeing as you’re the one who invited him here. “You came.” Is the only sentence you utter, his presence in front of you a little nerve inducing, if you’re being honest. You keep your voice at a low murmur, watching as he leans in ever closer to hear you better.

He nods slowly, and you watch his lips move as his gruff voice sounds. “I’ve learned enough not to keep a lady waiting.” The smile on your face only grows at his words as you examine every detail of him that your previous meetings were too short to notice.

His honey-colored hair is choppy, only a few tufts growing long enough to brush along his forehead. Tanned skin shows little crows feet by the corners of his eyes, ones that you assume are from years of squinting against the desert sun rather than laughter. His eyes are just as entrancing as the day you met, swirling shades of blue and green trapping you like a moth to flames. Stubble adorns the lower half of his face, the only spot untouched a little scar on his chin.

The most noticeable thing is that Arthur Morgan is handsome, distractingly so. The sleeves of his faded blue shirt are rolled up to reveal the strong build he has underneath, a sheen of sweat across his forearms.

Your eyes snap back up to his face to find a rather cocky smirk waiting for you, a clear sign that your admiration hadn’t gone unnoticed. You don’t mind too much, seeing as his didn’t either. After the pregnant pause you find your voice again, enough to respond to his little quip. “Good choice, Mr. Morgan.” You watch as shock flits across his gaze for a moment at your knowledge of his full name.

It’s a small victory, but impressing him once again fills you with a bit of pride. “Now, about that train.” You begin carefully, not wanting to abandon the small talk too forwardly.

After all, men can have such fragile little egos.

Although, it seems Arthur had been waiting for you to bring it up, his eyes lighting up at the thought of a good job. He nods, waiting for finer details than what he found in your letter.

It seems as if the train is on a scenic trip through the countryside. Giving all the stuck up rich folk from the big city what they think is a taste of western life. All from the from the safety of a train, of course. After all, what would they do if mud disgraced the bottoms of their fine, imported shoes? It couldn’t be further than the reality of living out here, but you imagine they don’t care to know what it’s really like. They never do, it’s all about if something looks nice.

For a moment you find yourself thinking they’d like the sight in front of you then, too. He’s certainly easy on the eyes, but you try not to linger on that thought too long.

You receive only nods and the occasional “mhm” as he listens, sipping a beer as he does. Once you’ve finished explaining he looks confused for a moment, and you wonder if getting him involved with this was a mistake. The question that leaves his mouth next certainly isn’t what you expected. “I’ve seen you work. You’re good, so why do you think ya need me on this?” He asks, his southern drawl hushed to avoid any gaining any listeners.

You can’t help but blush as little as you look down, a lock of hair falling in front of your face. The truth is, you don’t need him. You could do this job yourself and be out in no time. Sure, two people might get it done faster, but working with an outlaw as known as Arthur comes with it’s own slew of risks.

The truth is, you wanted to see him again. For some foolish, girlish reason, you did. Enough that the payout wasn’t the first thing you thought of upon hearing about this job.

It was him.

You clear your throat a bit, resisting the urge to look away again when you see a certain glint in his eyes. You’ve seen it before, on different men, on different days. The only difference is they were all, well, them.

Dull, cookie cutter versions of the same man over and over. No cracks in the surface, nothing to strike your interest. So dreadfully un-ordinary that they could all be clumped into the same category of men trying to be what they assumed you would be attracted to.

Perfect.

It’s not as if you know Arthur well. Some would argue you don’t know him at all. Maybe it’s foolish of you to think he’s different simply because he’s not so eager to take a step into the new world. Void of outlaws and freedom, of wild land untouched by gluttonous men who believe that it’s something to be owned, dominated.

Void of people like you and him, living with the land rather than atop it. Maybe it’s because in him, you see that fire that everybody seems to be trying so hard to extinguish.

And so, you answer honestly, because lying to him is something you’re not sure you want to do. “I don’t need you, Arthur. As shocking as this might seem, I’ve found I rather like your company.” The smile on his face is mirrored on yours quickly, brightened cerulean eyes watching you over the rim of a beer bottle.

He’s a smart man, so your answer didn’t exactly come as a shock. Still, hearing it brought a certain flush to his face he hasn’t felt in years. The sound of your voice is still just as sweet as it was the very first day when you speak again.

“So, are you in?” He smirks, a devilish kind of excitement on his face.

You know you shouldn’t, he’s trouble. It’s as clear as day. But that look sends your stomach fluttering like a teenage girl.

“Course’, miss.”

It’s a bad idea to involved with the likes of him, but you can’t seem to find your reason as a smirk grows on your face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night. Meet me at the train station.” As you stand to leave, you can feel his eyes follow you to the door, just like the last time you met, and just like the time before that.

You can’t help but throw one last glance over your shoulder at the figure watching you, smirking as he brings the bottle up to his lips.

“Goodbye, Arthur.”

A/N: JENDHWJSGDHWGDHEBHEHD

(i love him sm)

- di <3

[bendgineer]

What happened to Rapinoe is actually all Ashlyn Harris's fault. You see, Pinoe has never won a NWSL championship, and absolutely deserves to. It would have been the perfect way to send her off into retirement. And the universe intended that originally. BUT then Ashlyn went and cheated on and divorced Ali. Incredibly cruel and tragic for that to happen to Krieger. So the universe had to compensate for that, to have some things go incredibly Ali's way. Enter Ali Krieger Revenge Tour. It's more important for the universe to balance out what happened to Krieger than to give Rapinoe a fairytale sendoff. We go to the final. The Reign are too good. Their mentality is sharp. Their game has never been better. They are going to win. So the universe has to knock them down. So that Gotham and Ali Krieger can win. But the Reign is so special. They've endured a lot of difficulties. They can handle a lot. Taking out any other player won't do. They have a deep bench and will adapt. There is only one player whose loss will affect the rest of the team wholly enough to tip the scales. They are all playing for Pinoe, they all want to send her out with a ship. Pinoe going out in her final game in the cruel and tragic way she did hits the whole team hard emotionally. It's like a punch to the heart. They aren't as sharp as they could be. They aren't as focused as they could be. They still look like a team that deserves to be in the final. But they don't look 100% like what they looked like in their end of season and post season runs. Championship games are often won on thin margins, and these are the margins that allow Gotham to separate themselves, to EARN their own Championship win. The Bats and Ali Krieger take the trophy home.

Pinoe had to go out like that so Ali could win. It's weird universe karmatic balancing. But just as the universe repaid the cruelty debt to Krieger, it will be obliged to repay to same debt to Pinoe.

[direwombat]

For the AU asks, how about a role reversal AU for Jacob and Syb? One where Syb is the herald and Jacob is the deputy?

[SEND ME A PAIRNG + AN AU SETTING]

ahhhhh thank you kate!!!! fdsa;lf ok so. this got long, but considering anything under 5k is a "short" fic for me, it's fine. also writing evil syb is a lot of fun, so i just let it flow.

for context: in the role reversal au, i imagine that daddy la roux played a more significant role in syb and augustine's upbringing and as a result, syb ends up going to prison instead of going into the army. so when she becomes a herald (nicknamed the Warden) of augustine's cult, she takes over the Henbane with her base of operations being the Hope County Jail (which she calls "the kennels") where she trains loyal and obedient "dogs" to defend the cult.

word count: ~1.5k warnings: imprisonment and brief torture using an electric collar

Jacob was aware of the so-called Warden of the Henbane. 

He’d read her file front-to-back until he had it memorized when Whitehorse made the call to bring in Burke to arrest her brother. Born in New Orleans and raised in a dysfunctional home with an alcoholic father and sick mother, “troubled” is perhaps the kindest word to describe her childhood and adolescence. Her rap sheet was already a mile long by the time she dropped out of high school at age sixteen — after her mother died — and no one was surprised when she started busting kneecaps professionally. 

They were even less surprised when she killed her Daddy. If anything, those who knew her were more amazed that she hadn’t unloaded the entire clip into his torso. Just a single bullet, straight through the brain. His execution might have been merciful had she not shoved the barrel into his mouth first, breaking his teeth before pulling the trigger. “Daddy taught me there’s only one way to take care of a bad dog,” she’d stated on the record. “So, I put’im down.”

She hadn’t fought her case. Pled guilty, spent the next fifteen years at the Louisiana Correctional Institute for Women in St. Gabriel, and was eventually released on good behavior. By all accounts, she was a model inmate and repaid her debt to society. 

Or, at least she had, until she broke parole and fled to Montana with her cult leader brother. 

Everyone who’s come into contact with her makes her out to be some sort of monster. A boogeyman with sharp teeth and soulless eyes, stalking around on long, spindly legs with a cattle prod hanging off her belt. Unlike the other cult Heralds, people rarely speak of her outside of hushed whispers, as if fearful she may overhear. “She turns men into animals,” they say. “And then she trains them up like dogs.”

But Jacob assumes that, like most authoritarians, she’s less impressive in person. 

Every bone and muscle in his body aches as he slowly comes to consciousness. The attempt to arrest her brother had gone poorly, to say the least. Joseph would probably consider him surviving the impact of the helicopter crash a miracle. Jacob isn’t so sure he’d agree.

Even behind closed eyelids, the soft blanket of darkness gives way to blinding white light, and he lets out a low groan. The high pitched buzz of fluorescent lights sound overhead and he curls in on himself, instinctively protecting the soft, vulnerable flesh of his abdomen. His breath comes out rough and ragged. The taste of copper rests heavy on the back of his tongue. 

Back in Iraq, Miller had told him about how he’d spent three months as a POW before being rescued. The worst part wasn’t the torture, Miller had said. It was the isolation. With no way to measure time passing, all he had to hold on to the fraying threads of his sanity was focusing on his own breathing. “If I could breathe, then I was still alive. And if I was still alive, then I could hold on a little bit longer.”

So, Jacob takes a breath. 

And then he takes another. 

And another and another and another, focusing on the air — cold, dry, stagnant — filling his lungs until the pain melts away and the panicked thumping of his heart slows to match the steady rhythm of inhales and exhales. 

In, two, three, four — the soft clicks of a lighter’s flint struggling to spark sounds over the buzzing lights. 

Out, two, three, four — and the smell of cigarette smoke burns at his nose. 

Jacob stirs, cracking his eyes open and wincing at the bright white light bouncing off gray concrete walls. He blearily searches for the source of the smoke, his vision still soft and fuzzy. A figure, tall and thin, stands on the other side of his cell, and as the world slowly comes into focus, he’s met with a face he’d only ever seen in a mugshot. 

Sybille La Roux — The Warden herself — leans casually against the bars with a cigarette held loosely between two fingers. 

She’s older than she appears in her photo, and significantly more covered in ink. Various tattoos crawl up the pale skin of her toned arms and shoulders, and one of a fraying noose circles her neck, serving as a grim memento mori. Long gone is the mullet she once had — her dark hair cropped short instead, but the look in her eyes remains just as cold and remorseless. 

It’s a look he’s familiar with. One he’s seen in his fellow soldiers and one he sees every time he looks in the mirror. Like him, this woman is a killer, and she has no reservations about killing again. 

“Rise ‘n shine, princess,” she drawls. Tendrils of smoke coil out of her mouth, demon-like, as she speaks. Her lips curl into a cruel smile. “Sleep well?”

Jacob shifts, pushing himself up into a seated position. A chain jangles behind him as he moves, but he pays it no mind, sliding backwards until his back is pressed against the wall. He levels her with a stone-faced glare, jaw clenching, and even as the seconds drag on, he doesn’t dare break eye contact. 

Here, under her scrutinizing gaze, weakness is the one thing he can’t afford. 

She tuts with a click of her tongue and bends down to squat in front of the bars. “Aw, c’mon now, ain’t no need to be like that,” she says, taking another puff of her cigarette. When she exhales, she blows the smoke through the bars, into his cell. That taunting grin of hers never leaves, and she crooks the two fingers holding her cigarette beckoningly. “Here, boy.”

But Jacob makes no move to obey. He remains where he sits and narrows his eyes. 

She sighs, shoulders heaving in an exaggerated display of disappointment, as if she were a child upset that her favorite animal at the zoo wasn’t being interesting enough. Lifting the cigarette to her lips, she lets it dangle there for a moment while she shifts her weight to pull something from her pockets. Whatever it is, it’s small enough to fit in her palm without Jacob seeing it. 

And then pain — sharp, jolting, and electric — shoots through his veins. 

His jaw locks in place and he grinds his teeth together so hard he tastes blood. The skin around his neck burns. His muscles spasm, and he falls over onto the ground. His heart races, thumping against his ribcage with enough force that he thinks it might actually explode in his chest. A clipped scream slips out between his teeth and he writhes on the ground, limbs twitching in agony.

And just as suddenly as it started, it stops. 

He’s left panting on the ground, red-faced and drooling. Thick strings of spittle dampen his beard, dripping onto the floor below. Yet, despite the trembling of his limbs subsiding as the current leaves his body, the tightness in his chest remains. It isn’t until he can’t take it anymore that a hoarse, rasping cough forces its way from him, leaving him dry-heaving where he lay. His sweaty temple is pressed against the cool concrete, and slowly, his heartbeat slows and he regains his breath. 

When he opens his eyes with another groan, he finds La Roux regarding him dispassionately. “I said: c’mere,” she repeats, and this time, her tone leaves no room for disobedience. 

Jacob grunts when he lifts himself onto trembling hands and knees. Reluctantly, he obeys, crawling towards her on aching knees until the chain behind him pulls taught and the electric collar she’d just used to shock him digs into his windpipe. He stops just short of the bars, unable to reach through and grab her.

Her lips curl into a cruel smile. “Good boy,” she says and takes another drag. “S’pose I don’t gotta explain the humor of your situation, do I, Deputy Seed?” she asks, reaching through the bars so she can tap the ashes of her cigarette onto the ground in front of him.

The irony of an officer of the law being unlawfully held in his own jail by a convicted felon isn’t lost on him, but once again, he doesn’t answer.

Unconcerned by his refusal to respond, La Roux keeps talking. “Tell me — you ever think about what happens to the people you lock up?” She cocks her head menacingly to the side and her voice lowers. “Do y’know what happens when a person spends too long inside a cage?” 

“Why do I get the feeling you’ll show me,” he grits through clenched teeth.

He nearly flinches when she throws her head back to bark a laugh. When her gaze returns to him, her eyes are glimmering with malice. “You gonna give me reason to?” she asks. Once again, Jacob remains quiet, and she takes the moment to let her eyes rake over his body, sending a shiver crawling down his spine. She locks onto his old army dog tags, which dangle freely from his neck. Her smile widens. “Nah, y’already half broken in, ain’t’cha?” 

She rises to stand and looks down at him groveling before her like a dog. Taking a final drag, she lets the butt of her cigarette slip from her fingers and fall to the ground. Her heavy boot comes down and she grinds its glowing ember out with her heel. “Don’t worry. We’ll get’cha the rest of the way there. I’ll train ya up real good.”

[silin-vigil]

Silin glanced over at her grandmother’s ashes, even with magic one could not stop the process of aging. Slow day? Sure, but her grandmother had graced the earth for hundreds of years, and time for her was up. She no longer walked this earth, it ached. She had no one and nothing. Her grandmother had gradually handed her everything of importance to her. Witch debts were often times repaid in years, or in jewels or gold. Other debts were generational, which often cases meant saving someone from the brink of death or saving them from death. While Silin and her family were white witches. Silin was well aware her grandmother was beings frequently took advantage of, and it was only proved further the more she learned of the debts she would soon collect for her. Beings were repaying the favor of magic in crumbs, making her blood boil. She valued life, just like her grandmother had, but it did not mean they should be doormats. That was a lesson Silin learned far too young, far too naive, but she had loved. Loved foolishly and loyally to only catch her betrothal in bed with her mother, her own mother. If her own mother could betray her, why would humans, fairies, and elves not? She had grown cyclical, perhaps even miserable, as her grandmother had stated in attempts to talk some sense into her. But she was not wrong, Silin firmly believed that. Her mother, the witch who gave birth to her? Her own flesh and blood, and her warlock, had betrayed her when she had done nothing but love them? She expected nothing less from the world, and each and every day she was proven right. Now more than ever as she visited each of the towns her grandmother had to collect. Rearranging the terms of their debts. Only to be met with defiance and resistance, some even tried to harm her. Her patience grew thin as she nearly finished with the list for her grandmother, glancing down, noticing it was a family of winter fairies. Silin knew enough about fairies, mostly because of her grandmother. This particular family had been truly given her grandmother crumbs for what she had done for them. Saving their youngest from death. Her grandmother had given them a recipe for them to make for their kid to drink every year for health. Silin lifted her hood as she walked deep into the forest. It had to be during the dawn hours, the instructions of her grandmother echoing in her mind. Passing a leafless ancient bristlecone, staring in awe for a couple of moments, to be an earth witch was a blessing from the gods. Placing her hand on the trunk of the tree, causing the ground beneath her to shift softly, as roots slightly moved from her magic. Carrying on with her task, she came upon the cave covered in poison ivy. Glancing around for any animals, or people. Silin was very in tune with foliage, trees, plants, and rocks, but animals? Not as much as she would have liked. Wrapping her hand around one of the roots and gently tugging on it, as if it were a church bell ringer. The plant immediately parted allowing her entrance, “Okay grandma.” Silin whispered to no one but herself, wondering why her grandmother had taken so many safety measures with this family. But she would make them pay her back in full. Glancing around for the rock with a pointed edge, sitting on her knees and pushing it to reveal a snowflake-shaped pendant, wiping the dirt from it, roots keeping it perfectly encased and secure. Silin dangled her hand over it, whispering a soft mantra. Her magic, a mixture of white and gold, dripped from her fingertip onto the roots, which caused them to move to slither like serpents away from the amulet. Grabbing it, and blowing on it to further clean it. Crystal clear, smudged with dirt, but it was a snowflake shaped, there was no doubt. Silin rubbed the amulet five times on each side as instructed. Standing up slowly and acutely aware, waiting for something to happen. Only to be meant with silence, complete silence, which was not normal. Hearing the sound of ice breaking, only to notice that frost was settling over the rocks and dirt.

Everything that surrounded her now had a thin layer of frost. Her head snapped in the direction of the portal, causing her hood to fall from her head. Fairy after fairy stepping out of the portal, she had not expected the whole family. She imagined only one would come, but she figured it was for the best. There would be no room for confusion or error in their communication. Glancing at the family, her eyes easily spotted the younger fairy, a full-grown woman now much like Silin. “You expected Theodora, but my grandmother passed away a few months ago.” She explained, figuring she would not have to prove her lineage given that she had access to them. It was something that only they would know, and well now, her. “I am Silin.” She introduced herself, reaching into her satchel to pull out a brown leather journal. “My grandmother shared a recipe to help save your daughter, a potion you must give her yearly.” Sharing information they surely knew, but she wanted to leave no room for them to question who she was. “It is a three-generational debt, and what you have paid her all these years has not even made a dent in your debt.” She informed them coldly. But it mattered little to her what they thought of her. She pointed a finger at the fairy woman and beckoned her with her finger, “You, you will come back with me to start paying off what your family owes.” It only seemed fair they paid her grandmother and her back in labor at this point, the payment was no longer beneficial. “I have many jobs for a fairy-like yourself,” Silin stated. Horror passed through her eyes, which amused Silin wondering what they were thinking she meant. “Those are my new terms, either you accept or I will make sure that recipe is of no use.” She was cornering them, but she was doing exactly what she had done with the others. They were no exception, it mattered little what relationships they had with her grandmother, they clearly had taken advantage of her.

[enbyleighlines]

Apples and Oranges

(A short drabble on Ike/Soren and Ike/Ranulf. It gets a little spicy, so read at your own risk!)

There was no use comparing Ike’s feelings for Soren with his feelings for Ranulf. He loved them both equally, though his relationship with each lover was distinctly different.

Ike’s love for Soren was heavy, like a chunk of rock pressing down on his chest.

Soren was his closest confidant, his oldest friend, the man he trusted most in the world. It seemed that fate itself had tied them together. Soren owed his life to Ike, and though he had repaid that debt several times over, Ike knew that Soren would never be fully satisfied. No, Soren would be at his side until the day he took his last breath, and Ike didn’t want it any other way.

Soren was a moody one, withdrawn and contemplative. Ike didn’t think that he would ever comprehend the enormity of pain Soren carried in his heart, causing him to lash out like an animal caught in a bear trap whenever someone attempted to befriend him. The trauma of his past was something he might never fully shed.

But Ike accepted that, as he accepted all of Soren. When the burden became too much to bear, Ike would bear it for him, would be the one to hold him together when Soren seemed on the verge of falling apart.

Soren needed him.

And that was just fine, because Ike needed that, needed that grounding sense of obligation. He had always been compelled to help others. Soren affectionately referred to it as his hero’s complex. Having Soren depend on him settled something in Ike, kept him rooted to himself. There was no way to describe it. That was just how it was, as if they had been crafted by some higher power for one another.

And Ike needed Soren, too. Soren needed Ike like animals need shelter, a place of safety to which he could retreat when his thoughts became too stormy. But Ike needed Soren like a traveler needs a map, someone to explain things in a way he understood. He depended on Soren’s attention to detail, his ability to juggle multiple tasks without losing his train of thought, to keep Ike’s life organized. Ike was a man of action, of seeing the big picture. But in order to achieve his goals, he needed Soren to handle the details, and handle them he did.

Their love was intense, but also as innate as Ike’s own body. He couldn’t imagine life without Soren. At times, it felt strange to think that they inhabited separate bodies, as if they were two halves of a whole.

Perhaps that was why Ike was addicted to Soren’s touch. Ike had never craved physical affection before, but since their embrace that fateful night at the Tower of the Guidance, Ike suddenly couldn’t live without it. And it wasn’t about sex, not really. Rather, it seemed as though there were a magnetic force pulling them together. Just getting to hold Soren in his arms every night was enough to satisfy Ike’s desire, making it more bearable to part the following morning.

Ike’s interest in sex was generally perfectly neutral. He accepted that it was a natural part of life, and he was as happy to have it as he was to forgo it.

When they did make love, though, it was equally as intense. They got hopelessly entangled in each other, desperate to have as much skin to skin contact as possible. Ike was never as half as interested in his own pleasure than he was on Soren’s, and he knew Soren felt the same. They took turns delighting in the act of servicing each other, drawing out the moment for as long as they could, worshipping each other as well as two atheists could. Every gasp of Ike’s name on Soren’s lips was a prayer. And every bruise Ike sucked into Soren’s skin was a token of his devotion.

In contrast, Ike’s love for Ranulf was light and airy, like the tune of a harp being carried by the breeze.

Ever since they first met, there had been a spark, like a thousand tiny bolts of lightning dancing over Ike’s skin. When Ranulf was around, Ike felt out of breath, giggly, the way crushes were described in the sorts of books Mist liked to read. It should have been embarrassing. Yet Ike, who before had been a great skeptic of romance, found it impossible to think rationally around Ranulf. His thoughts took on a hazy quality, like something out of a dream.

Unconsciously, Ike’s eyes tracked Ranulf, fascinated with the man’s lithe form, the muscle in his arms and shoulders contrasting so nicely with the shapely dip of his waist. He moved like a dancer, strong yet graceful. It was bewitching, and Ike struggled not to stare at Ranulf from afar, aware that his feline friend was too perceptive not to notice.

Ike wanted him. And luckily, Ranulf wanted him back.

Whenever Ranulf flirted with him, turning that coquettish smile on him, Ike tingled all over. It was his first crush, and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

Even after they became lovers, Ike’s infatuation never completely disappeared. It became easier to manage, certainly, but Ike still experienced that same flutter in his heart whenever Ranulf was near. No matter how many years passed, Ranulf kept Ike feeling like a besotted schoolboy. All it took was a little lop-sided smile, or an endearment whispered into his ear, and Ike was falling in love all over again.

Ranulf didn’t need him, not like Soren. He didn’t need anyone. He was too independent for that, like a street cat that refuses to be domesticated. But Ike didn’t mind. He had chosen Ranulf, and Ranulf had chosen him, and there was something equally as magical about that.

It was so easy to love Ranulf. He was bright and cheerful, and he made Ike laugh harder than anyone had ever made him laugh before. And behind the jokes and flirtations was a surprisingly sensitive man. Ranulf was a person who had keen insight on the thoughts and feelings of others, and this empathy was matched with the strength of his compassion. He cared deeply for the world and the people in it, the same as Ike did. In Ranulf, Ike found someone who shared both his sense of humor and his values.

It was Ranulf who constantly introduced him to new things. Every day was an adventure when Ranulf was involved. There was always something new to taste, to explore, or to try out. Together, they took the path less explored, and they grew stronger for it.

Ranulf’s sense of whimsy extended to the bedroom. They were often trying new positions, or turning things into a game, and Ike was more than happy to be led along by a man who knew what he wanted. With new experiences came awkward moments, but that didn’t matter. They could laugh about it, and that made sex even better, somehow.

So Ike loved them differently, but equally. He couldn’t imagine life without a sour-faced Soren by his side, nor did he ever want to stop falling in love with Ranulf.

As for Soren and Ranulf’s relationship, it was neither fully platonic nor romantic. Ike didn’t know how to label it, and Soren wouldn’t have wanted one, anyway. He maintained that Ike was the only man he loved, and for all that Ranulf pretended to be hurt by that, Ike knew he didn’t mean it.

They bickered constantly, in the way an old couple might. It hadn’t started like that. It had taken time for Soren to stop instinctively flinching away from Ranulf whenever he got too close. But Ranulf was the persistent sort, and gradually he coaxed Soren from his shell, until one day Ike overheard them discussing the decades-long animosity between their races. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop for so long, but…

It had given Ike hope to know that they would have each other, once his shorter lifespan reached its inevitable end.

After that, something small yet monumental shifted in Soren and Ranulf’s relationship. They still bickered, but Ike heard the affection underneath the cutting remarks. At times it veered close to flirting.

More importantly, they had each other’s backs. Ranulf never quite lost his cool quite like he did whenever a laguz said something rude about Soren. And Soren never fussed so hard than when Ranulf was late getting home, even they both knew that the cat had most likely gotten sidetracked by one thing or another.

Perhaps the best advantage of Soren and Ranulf getting along was the fact that they could tend to each other when Ike didn’t feel up to the task.

Ike’s interest in sex was generally perfectly neutral… “generally” being the key term. At times, he found himself pulled in one of the two extremes. On one end, he experienced an unexpected surge of desire for his lovers that always caught him off guard. And on the other end was a sharp decline of interest, when he couldn’t get over the uncleanliness of the act, and he found himself mildly disgusted by the very thought.

When the latter mood struck, Ike encouraged his lovers to spend more time together. There was some reluctance from Soren’s end at the beginning, but with time and ample reassurance from Ike that no, he really didn’t mind, it became something that benefitted all three of them.

And if Ranulf and Soren occasionally fooled around even when Ike was feeling neutral about sex, then he wasn’t going to complain. Rather, it often propelled him into the very interested side of the spectrum.

Though Ike’s favorite thing was when he found his lovers sharing the bed in the literal sense. Nothing warmed his heart more than the sight of them curled up together, Soren using Ranulf’s chest as a pillow, and Ranulf purring oh so quietly in his sleep.

It was endlessly endearing, filling Ike with a love that was somehow both heavy and light, and if Ike could have loved them any more, he would.

(If anyone made it this far: Thanks for reading!)

(And yes, I know the ending is abrupt, but I didn’t know how else to end it. This is mainly just my headcanons on Ike/Soren and Ike/Ranulf, just put into prose. I do not know why I felt compelled to write it, only that this ot3 has taken up permanent residence in my brain, and thus I am physically incapable of shutting up about them.)