#(though most people who knew them are like well they could certainly be dead. they're probably with zevran tho)

[bethrnoora]

even tho i still have to play origins and da2 i know my hawke is a middle-aged butch woman with a big sword. torn on whether i'd want to play a human or dwarf warden though

[shadowqueenjude]

SJM's zionism as seen in ACOTAR: Fae males were territorial, dominant, arrogant—but the ones in the Spring Court … something had festered in their training.

Haha, what? You were just fine with them before, they revered you and respected you, and now they're suddenly suspicious because they live under Tamlin? It's giving "Ohhhh look at Hamas see see see? All Muslims are terrorists!" And I'm almost certain this is the justification SJM uses for Feyre to genocide the shit out of them in ACOWAR. HyBeRn'S aCtIoNs ArE tHeIr OwN sounds remarkably like Israel using October 7th to justify killing babies, maiming children, and abusing the elderly. They use this same mentality towards CoN citizens too despite Mor coming from there. But notice how Mor is somehow white. “Most of your soldiers are dead.” Eris only blinked. “And the good news?” “Two of them survived.” Nesta studied every minute shift on Eris’s face: rage glimmering in his eyes, displeasure in his pursed lips, annoyance in the fluttering of a muscle in his jaw. As if countless questions were racing through his mind. Eris’s voice remained flat, though. “And who did this?” Cassian grimaced. “Technically, Azriel and I did. Your soldiers were enchanted by Queen Briallyn and Koschei to be mindless killers. They attacked us in the Bog of Oorid, and we were left with no choice but to kill them.” “And yet two survived. How convenient. I assume they received Azriel’s particular brand of interrogation?” Eris’s voice dripped disdain. “We could only manage to contain two,” Cassian said tightly. “Under Briallyn’s influence, they were practically rabid.” “Let’s not lie to ourselves. You only bothered to contain two, by the time your brute bloodlust ebbed away.” Nesta saw red at the words, and Cassian sucked in a breath. “We did what we could. There were two dozen of them.” Eris snorted. “There were certainly more than that, and you could have easily spared more than two. But I don’t know why I’d expect someone like you to have done any better.” “Do you want me to apologize?” Cassian snarled. Nesta’s heart began to pound wildly at the anger darkening his voice, the pain brightening his eyes. He regretted it—he hadn’t liked killing those soldiers. “Did you even try to spare the others, or did you just launch right into a massacre?” Eris seethed. Cassian hesitated. Nesta could have sworn she saw the words land their blow. No, Cassian had not hesitated.

Cassian and Azriel are super duper mega warriors and they didn't even bother to try and save Eris's soldiers despite knowing they're innocent, yet we're expected to take Cassian's side over Eris's. It's giving "Israeli soldiers are traumatized over all the civilians they were 'forced' to kill" DAMN RIGHT YOU SHOULD BE TRAUMATIZED!!!

But Keir must have known, too. And said simply to Rhysand, “I want out. I want space. I want my people to be free of this mountain.” “You have every comfort,” I finally said. “And yet it is not enough?” Keir ignored me as well. As I’m sure he ignored most women in his life. It's giving, "I will colonize your land, I will trap your people in Gaza strip and systematically oppress you, but hey we didn't kill you! Why are you mad??" Also the white feminism in that last line I can't. THERE ARE WOMEN TRAPPED UNDERNEATH THAT MOUNTAIN GETTING ABUSED EVERY DAY!!!! It's the same reason no one cares that Palestinian women don't have clean menstrual supplies and no anesthesia for clean births. Because Palestinians are brown.

So Keir knew about Velaris. The Hewn City knew about Velaris. Before Rhys wiped their memory. This is a lot like Israel occupying Palestine and rewriting history to make it seem like they're the country and Palestine are the occupiers. But they can't delete all the evidence, and now the truth has come out.

[harrowharks-iliac-crest]

4

Seventh skull... that bodes well; everyone we've ever met from the Seventh is dead, and we are firmly in the realm of the living.

The plants filtered out some of the clinging smoke, and Nona loved to look at the trees and the bristly, curving shapes of the shrubs and bushes.

Me too, Nona. Sounds like you don't have a lot of plants there.

Another place had been cleared and ineptly concreted over, and they put the cages there. The cages were bone-cold and they’d been almost fully cleaned, but Nona didn’t like looking,

Cages... for what, Nona?? Or... for whom???

Then the teacher said, unexpectedly: “Hot Sauce is here too.” Not even the teacher knew Hot Sauce’s real name. Nona said, “That’s early.” “Yes. I asked her why, but she wouldn’t say. Check on her, won’t you?” As though Nona could check on Hot Sauce. “I’m worried about her, living alone. I’ve tried to tell her about the sheltered accommodation, but she’s too independent…”

We're finally getting to see Nona at school!

Honestly, I'm with the teacher on this one. As much as Hot Sauce is a leader and independent and all of that, she's also an orphan of like, fourteen.

Hot Sauce said, “Don’t let them see you from the window.” “Who’s watching?” “Don’t know. Green building. Fourth floor.” Nona was smart enough to catch herself getting up to look, which she privately congratulated herself upon.

Someone is watching. Hot Sauce doesn't think they're watching for Nona, but you can never be sure with these things. For all we know, the Emperor and/or Blood of Eden have lost track of Harrow's body and might very much like to get it back, no matter who is currently residing in it.

But Nona is so precious. I love her. She's so bright and full of love for plants and animals and people around her and herself. Have I mentioned that she's precious and that I love her?

Hot Sauce’s failure to ask anyone’s opinion on anything she did was probably the reason she was the unquestioned authority in the school, over and above the teachers. Nona had told Palamedes about it and Palamedes had said, Lead researcher material, certainly.

Lol, having worked in research, this is most certainly a diss against some kind of lead researcher Palamedes has worked with in the past. Maybe even himself.

She was a gallant little person of fortyish who gave the impression that she had learnt a lot early in life and discovered late that it was no real good to her or anyone else. This lent her teaching a weightless, secretive feeling, like it was really all for fun at the end of the day.

We meet "the Angel" for the first time properly, and this whole thing is a big mood. Same, Angel.

Nothing Pyrrha drank could really hurt her. She had even drunk the contents of the bleach bottle once. When Palamedes had asked why, Pyrrha said she had realised she wasn’t used to being tortured while immortal and wanted to get a head start, and Palamedes said bullshit because he thought Nona had not been listening. Nona wondered if the Angel had been drinking too, albeit not bleach, which had given Pyrrha some sensational hiccups.

Hold on. Pyrrha drank bleach?? Is she. Is she okay?

I mean, if you think about it, she's really not; she's stuck in Gideon the First's body, Gideon is dead, all Pyrrha's friends are dead, and she can't go back to the Emperor, and she can't go to the Blood of Eden, and she's here working her arse off for these kids, which is really what Nona and Cam and Palamedes are to her. Hard, thankless work day in day out, with very little idea of when this will end.

Oh, Pyrrha.

Everyone turned to look at Nona, who writhed beneath this judgement, and they agreed that she had not looked well for, like, weeks. “I do,” she said indignantly. “Look at my braids—I look wonderful,” which thankfully replaced their worry with a group effort to squash her vanity. They often took it in turns to squash Nona’s vanity, which never worked.

Good.

Anyway, she looks like Harrow, who's never looked particularly healthy in her life. Sorry to break it to you, Nona. She's in a Lyctor's body, which means very little can truly hurt her - I bet she could survive drinking bleach like Pyrrha - but if the other kids think she hasn't looked well in weeks, but she was looking better before then, is there something going on?

Even if they all assured her that she was nothing to write home about, she could say, “Who cares? I can’t write,” and then they had to switch tack and squash her for being proud that she was so goddamned stupid.

This is so fucking precious. Keep being proud of your dead-body looks and your above average stupidity, Nona. We love you.

Anyway, this kinda points to Nona's sickly looks just being general Harrow-ness.

The most interesting sight was someone lounging in an alleyway opposite the school building, sitting in a busted-up chair next to an overflowing bin, and Nona watched intently, trying to decide if they were dead or not. She decided not dead, because they were wearing quite a good jacket and faceguard and nobody was coming around surreptitiously trying to take either.

I'm sure this isn't of any importance whatsoever.

[thelampisaflashlight]

Just Some Guy pt. 2: Hate

[Guy meets Mountain. It goes about as well as can be expected. Part two of this fic. Poll at the end to determine who teaches Guy a lesson after this.] Below the cut.

It's weird, Guy thinks, how peaceful the abbey is.

The monastery is never so calm and quiet, there's always something to be done, people to see to, problems to solve and then fret about when nothing can be done to fix them entirely.

He feels... decidedly useless here.

His orders are just to pass the time, and stay out of people's way.

Even Cardinal Fiero seems less uptight staying in this place, but, then again, he'd always envied the funding this branch of the church received.

"They house the ghouls who are part of the Ghost project, so of course most of the donations find their way here. It's favoritism plain and simple." he'd told Guy one evening after dinner, "If you had a lick of talent in you, I would have sent you here in a heartbeat, but instead I had to find another use for you."

"At the very least you could sing, but you've even gone and managed to screw that up as well."

Guy tries to imagine it, living here at the abbey instead of being hidden away in the monastery... but he really has no frame of reference for such things.

What would his life have been like if his fingers weren't so clumsy?

If his mother had stuck around long enough to pass on her knowledge, her gift, to him instead of leaving him to his fa- Cardinal Fiero...

Not father, never father.

They're not so close that he can say such a thing... and the only way he'd call him anything like Papa would be if the cardinal got his wish and the rest of the bloodline dropped dead.

He prays to the lord below that such a thing never comes to pass.

May a thousand and one bastard sons keep the title out of his hands.

"Are you alright?" Vespera worried voice snaps Guy from his thoughts, "You've been looking a little pale since we left the greenhouse... I already told you, Mountain really isn't upset you broke one of his flower pots, it was an accident."

Ah, right.

Guy sits up straight, regaining his bearings on reality as he recalls the events of his morning so far.

Vespera had been excited to show him around the abbey, to introduce him to her friends, or rather one "friend" in particular.

He isn't sure what her relationship with the tall earth ghoul is, but even someone like him, who has spent the entirety of his life thus far amongst celibate -yes, indeed, such people exist among the clergy- men, he knows whatever the two have going on goes beyond what he'd consider friends.

They, he and Vespera, don't talk about those kinds of things.

She's too much like a sister to him, and with how often he trailed after and pestered Vespera in his younger years, the older woman surely felt a similar familial bond.

Or, at least, he would certainly hope so considering the first words out of her mouth about him to Mountain were to introduce him as her "precious brother".

And, ah, how the older ghoul had looked at him then.

So... so strangely kind and... and hopeful.

It made him mad.

Guy has never had the best handle on his emotions, and though his tongue has been in disuse for some time now, he could still taste the acidic bitterness of jealousy burning inside of his mouth when Mountain and him were alone in the greenhouse.

Vespera had left them for a moment, having to attend to her duties elsewhere, but promising to return as soon as possible, treating it like a chance for the two ghouls to bond.

But Guy...

He doesn't often break things out of anger.

He knows better.

But he couldn't help it, not when Mountain started telling him about Vespera's life at the abbey.

Not when he quietly offered to put in a word for him with the ministry to get him transferred, implying that he knew.

That he knew how Guy was being treated back home.

That he'd been told in some compacity of the pain he had endured, when the only person who could have told him was-

It really had been an accident.

"Are you alright??"

Fuck, Mountain had sounded so genuinely worried for him.

"Let me see your hands-"

His touch was...

"Oh, thank goodness..."

...Excruciating.

Vespera leans into his field of view, brow pinched, "Guy?"

It's no wonder so many people have abandoned him over the years.

"Oh, sweetheart, what am I going to do with you?"

He's so pathetic he can't even handle the idea that someone... that more than one person... might actually see how broken he is.

.

.

.

"You should try going for a walk, a bit of fresh air before bed can do wonders." Mountain tells him later that afternoon, having decided not to give up on him over one broken flower pot, "I could come with you, if you'd like?"

...he should have broken two.

Guy merely shakes his head, doesn't meet the older ghoul's gaze.

"Alright." he concedes, "But if you're not back before dark, I'll come find you, if you get lost, look for the steeple, you can see it no matter where you go on the property."

Right.

"...Are you really sure you want to go by yourself?"

Guy nods and walks away before Mountain can continue talking to him.

Hopefully giving him the cold shoulder will make him stop trying to be so... so...

"Be careful out there!" Mountain calls after him.

Guy covers his ears as he rounds the corner, seething.

He's not a child!

Mountain should just stop-

"Stop pretending you give a damn, you're just trying to get on my good side because you're fucking my sister!" He hisses internally, "I hate you! I hate you! I hate-"

...Why does he hate him?

Why is he acting like this?

Guy places a hand on his chest, he can feel his heart pounding.

It makes him feel sick.

And what makes him feel sicker is the fact that Mountain was absolutely right.

As he trudges along, each step fueled by an anger he cannot seem to quell with positive thoughts alone -like leaving, like going home- he starts to feel better.

The air around the abbey really is... calming.

The sun has long since dipped past the trees, but there's still enough light that Guy feels safe enough to continue wandering, circling around the large lake Vespera had pointed out to him earlier during their tour.

It was much bigger up close, and hauntingly deep.

Living in a humble monastery, he'd not even had the luxury of a pool or a pond to swim in in his youth, and as a result he'd never learned how to swim, so as dark and beautiful as the waters looked, he found himself less enticed by it and more... frightened.

Growing up, he'd never put much thought to what scared him beyond, well... upsetting the cardinal or the dark, but the latter fear he'd grown out of.

So this.

This fear pooling in his belly was a new one.

As he stands paralyzed on the shore, already his mind is working against him, his vivid imagination conjuring up different scenarios in which he falls in and drowns.

He gets so lost in his thoughts he barely notices the sky growing darker around him.

He shakes his head and has to force himself to move.

"Let me go." he tells himself, "C'mon, please..."

It's a terrible thing, being held hostage by your own body.

Mountain is waiting for him when he returns, looking very much like he was about to step out and come find him, if the lantern in his hands is any indication.

Vespera is beside him, already opening her mouth to scold him for worrying her so much, but she stops as soon as he reaches for her.

His hands tremble.

"...Did it happen again?"

.

.

.

Guy isn't sure what to call it, when he slips away.

Vespera has thrown a few words out there before, none that he remembers, all he really knows is that sometimes he has a hard time... pulling away.

He can feel it, the inability to move, settling into his bones sometimes, and he has to fight it to keep from stagnating.

Other times, it only comes on after he's already been sitting for too long.

He has to force himself to stand, to move at all.

Sometimes he wonders if he's even inside of his body when it happens, if he's not somewhere out in space...

Mountain tries to talk to him about it, probably having heard from Vespera that last night wasn't a unique experience, and Guy he... he...

"I know..." Vespera says forlornly, looking at the mess Guy has made of one of the flower beds, at his hands caked in mud, "...I shouldn't have told him about that, but this is..."

Stop.

"...I really liked those tulips..." she sniffles, "...they took so long to grow..."

STOP.

"...Why are you acting like this?"

STOP.

"It's alright, I can... I can replant them." Mountain assures her, "It's..."

Guy can hear the ghoul trying to justify his actions, to placate Vespera and give him the benefit of the doubt even though he doesn't deserve it.

He did this out of anger.

Out of spite.

Out of... unjust hate and stupidity.

He did it because...

Because...

...Why did he do this?

[sideblogforcrimpy-plus]

Fic idea!

Spencer, the oblivious twit, is having a groundhog day experience. While initially he was alarmed, because this is impossible, after a couple days he settles a bit (ignoring the scary thought of 'is this indefinite? Am I destined to repeat this day over and over and over like a boring version of the doctor's confession dial?).

But he has time to really research and learn a bunch more. First he's a bit wary of fobbing off work, because what if this day is the final day of repeats and he makes a mess of the actual tomorrow?

But as time goes on and today leads into the same today each day, he gives in, he calls in sick, and he chills the hell out. Spencer didn't even know what truly relaxing could be like until he'd called in sick 30 times the same day in a row. But now he's got the bulk of another language under his belt (conversationally verbal, he'd hand cramped last time he tried a written language in the time loop).

Then the days where he goes back into work for a bit of a break, he's still learning, but through fresher eyes. Like now, he appreciates that Hotch may cut him off in times of stress, but he'll prompt Spencer to say the same thing later when there is time (I didn't forget, it wasn't the place or time. What was that about popcorn smell in the jungle from an animal??').

And he sees that when he's particularly annoyed, Penelope is out of her office more when given the chance. Not to press him too much for information (though she certainly does a bit; it's how she cares) but rather to guide attention from him to her, giving him space to breathe and grieve the possibility that this might be his forever now, this day, ordinary Tuesday where they're not even in a fun destination. And all the while, she seems to surreptitiously glance and stare as best she can to see if he's better now that he's had his own bubble.

It'd taken him a couple days to figure out who was leaving him sugary teas on his desk when he couldn't hide his anger, but he caught Prentiss squinting at the bull pen from the kitchen to make sure no one was looking at her before she left it for him. He thought, when his mood was sour, that she apparently wouldn't be caught dead doing something nice for him, heaven forbid. But when he calmed down he realised she just wanted to quietly help because he didn't like or accept well any other kind of help. And she probably didn't want praise for it, she just wanted her friend to feel better. She didn't want a thing to be made of it.

And though all those things calmed his mind and warmed his heart, what made him most pleased, most content, was Derek. How he would check in on him full of jokes with a thread of sincerity carefully woven in and unmissable. How it showed he knew Spencer was struggling with something and showed he was aware and cared, but didn't want to pressure Spencer or draw too much attention to it since he knew Spencer wouldn't like it.

How on the days that went so well Spencer tried to have them repeat the same way, he and Derek got so close Spencer became aware that he didn't know if he was projecting his feelings onto Derek or if Derek might actually feel the same.

And then, on the last day, he was so painfully aware that he wasn't projecting. That his colleagues, his friends, were the best people he knew, and he was so sick of learning how deeply they cared for him but not being able to reciprocate in tangible way. Because tomorrow would be today again and again and again it seemed, and he'd never be able to show that he knows.

He knows how much they care. How much they all do for him and each other, more aware than he's ever been. He knows now, almost the most painfully, how much he and Derek Morgan must be sick for each other and he's done with it. He can't spend his life building on relationships the way he now wants to if every day is this god damn Tuesday. And then it's Wednesday.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Some thoughts:

Killer Frost is not a Flash villain. She's a Firestorm villain. Not that she couldn't fight the Flash, but she wouldn't logically be part of a Sinister Six for him. That would be like having Lex Luthor be part of Batman's Sinister Six. I blame the Flash TV show for this one.

Is this Mirror Master Sam or Evan? Which one it is could drastically change the team dynamics; Evan is a lot less reliable in a group setting than Sam, but Sam has more of an ego.

I suspect that the person who made the video has not read any stories about Golden Glider that were written prior to Geoff Johns' run. Pegging Golden Glider as being the nice one or the most likely to help the Flash only makes sense if you don't know anything about her Bronze Age history. Although I certainly don't blame the video maker for getting confused about this, given the way that DC has been writing Lisa lately. It's a frustrating sign of the way in which her character has been misunderstood since...well...basically since Messner-Loebs' third or fourth issue with her.

Captain Boomerang always gets the short end of the stick. He's way more dangerous than most people assume he is.

With the exception of Killer Frost, who shouldn't even be here since she's not a Flash villain, none of these guys would need a reason to come together, seeing as all of them are already part of the Rogues. You don't need an excuse for characters to team up when they're already allies.

I'm kind of surprised DC hasn't attempted to do an all-Speedster team-up already. It's exactly the sort of thing that you'd expect them to dream up.

If anyone on the Speedster team switches sides, my money would be on Zoom (Hunter Zolomon) or Godspeed. They were both friends with the Flash at one point and seem like they might get uncomfortable with Savitar and Eobard's more pointless acts of violence. Johnny Quick in the comics is usually a pretty nasty son of a gun, so I doubt he'd help the Flash.

Team #3 is interesting. Though I can't see it lasting very long unless Grodd is using some sort of mental control over the others to keep them in line, since none of the others like him. A power struggle between him and Thinker would also be interesting, although Roscoe would also assuredly be vying for control over the group.

Hurrah, he didn't laugh at the Top! Usually everyone makes fun of him, so it's nice to see that not happen here. And he even knew that spinning increases Roscoe's brainpower!

Pied Piper would absolutely be the one to switch sides here (unless we were dealing with pre-2000s Al, in which case he would also be a candidate).

I'm not sure that this team-up would work logistically. Even if they all agreed to work together, it would be very difficult to find a time when all of these guys were around---and evil--simultaneously. The only time it could have happened was very early in Barry's career, since Al reformed in 1964 and stayed reformed, more or less, until around 2001. This would also mean that the story would feature a Barry who hadn't married Iris, a very young Wally, and a group of comparatively inexperienced villains...and if the story was during Barry's term as the Flash, the villain who would be most likely to switch sides would be Al, not Hartley. From 1964 to 1988 (or, in-universe, during the remainder of Barry's initial career as the Flash), Albert was reformed, and, while it is possible that his evil personalities might have emerged at some point to facilitate this team-up, it does seem a bit on the unlikely side. After Wally becomes the Flash, Hartley reforms, and then he can't be part of the group. The Top being intermittently dead only makes things even more difficult to handle logistically---especially since his telekinetic powers first manifested right before he died. Even saying that this Dr. Alchemy is Alvin doesn't help a whole lot, since Alvin didn't debut until after Roscoe's first death (and only a few years before Hartley reformed).

Dr. Alchemy is far more powerful than this video would imply. I can't blame the person who made the video for not knowing a whole lot about him, given how comparatively obscure he is, but it is nevertheless true that Dr. Alchemy can do far more than create chemicals. He can, quite literally, turn anything into anything else, without even needing technology to do it. He's powerful enough to give Grodd a run for his money.

I find it hard to picture Albert joining any group. Alvin would, but Albert generally works alone, and has become downright anti-social since Geoff Johns got ahold of him. They'd have to offer something pretty impressive to get him to join them instead of just wandering off to go read. He's so powerful that they couldn't force him into it against his will. And from the picture being used and the fact that it seems unlikely that most people who aren't super-huge Rogue nerds know about Alvin anyway, I think it's a fair bet to assume we're talking about Albert here.

The last team is also the one that seems most unlikely to me---unless, again, Grodd is using his mental powers in some capacity to control people. Captain Cold, Mirror Master, and Weather Wizard would be very, very wary of being anywhere near Grodd and would almost assuredly not agree to any plan he masterminded, and they outright hate Eobard. Also, Turbine would probably be reluctant to work with any of them unless manipulation was involved. And then there's the minor detail that Grodd and Eobard probably couldn't be in the same room with each other for a minute before their competing egos caused the group to collapse.

If you have one spinning, green-uniform-wearing villain named Roscoe on your Sinister Six team for the Flash, it should probably be the Top, not Turbine. Dillon's been around for over sixty years at this point and is still haunting the edges of the DC Universe. Hynes lasted less than 10 years. I feel kind of bad for not liking Turbine, since he has some interesting character ideas behind him, but I hold a slightly irrational grudge against him for being created to be a replacement for the Top, a character I am inexplicably but very fond of (and not as a legacy character in the vein of Axel or Evan). Also, Top is frankly scarier than Turbine.

Heat Wave is absent because the video maker inexplicably doesn't like Mick (as he stated in another video where he ranked a lot of DC villains). I have no idea why. Mick is great.

Obviously, this is not intended in a mean-spirited light. This video is more impressive than any video I could make, and people are allowed to have opinions that are different from mine.

[contreparry]

“When you laugh like that, it just — you’re so beautiful, you know that?” for the pairing of your choice?

Absolutely! Here's some DagnaxSera for @dadrunkwriting!

Sera was a great deal cleverer than people gave her credit for.

She was chaos incarnate and reveled in mischief, but she was thoughtful as well. Observant. She planned things, just with her own process and in her own time.

Sera was also insatiably curious, much to Dagna's delight. It was all well and good to have someone willingly be a captive audience to her academic ramblings, but Sera asked questions. Good questions. And her questions built up on her previous knowledge, grew more and more insightful the more she knew about Dagna's work. If she had the inclination and patience, Sera would probably be at Dagna's level of expertise with rune translation within the year.

Perhaps that was a little bit of an overstatement, but most people underestimated Sera. Someone ought to make up the difference.

"What's that?"

"Oh, that's an ancient rune- might have something to do with imprisoning? Not quite sure-" Dagna wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her wrist. The runes were practically swimming in her eyes. Too much work and no breaks made her slow and tired and bad at her job, but Dagna wanted to finish translating this last rune before she retired for the night.

"Hmm. It's got those wiggly dashes like that other rune you had, Widdle," Sera grabbed the magnifying glass off the worktable and held it before the rune. "Yeah, three wiggle dashes, like tadpoles. Wasn't that a... eh... freezing symbol?"

"Suspension!" Dagna exclaimed, and at a second glance (a better glance) Dagna could confirm that Sera was right. A suspension rune, combined with what had to be time... Dagna turned the stone over in her fingers, examining the etchings with a critical eye. The translation was there on the tip of her tongue, but it was...

"Freezing time?" Dagna frowned. "That sounds ridiculous. But all things considered, it's hardly a surprise."

"Dorian does time stuff. Did? Got scared proper because of that, ummmm, thing," Sera said, and she hoisted herself up onto the workbench. "Doesn't look like any of the runes you work with, though. All... cloudy-like. Not clear at all." She wrinkled her nose, glaring at the stone as if she could unlock all its secrets with her gaze alone. Dagna beamed with delight. Sera really had been paying attention these past three months!

"An excellent observation, Sera! The stone is cloudy because the rune is... hmm... how to say this properly..."

"It's shite?"

"... it's shite. It pains me to say that about a fellow arcanist's work, especially one who was so ambitious, but... this stone is poorly crafted. Grand concept, bad foundation," Dagna sighed. "I've got a whole chest full of ancient runestones like this. Such a waste of material, and I can't fix them. All I can do is take their mistakes and learn from them." And she had learned a lot, learned what didn't work, learned what was a waste of time, learned what ancient arcanists thought was important (a steam stone was certainly... something).

"Or you can hand them to me. And I'll find a use for them colorful pebbles," Sera suggested coyly, and she curled her hand around the dead runestone. Dagna clicked her tongue and reached for the stone, but Sera stretched and kept it out of her grasp.

"Sera. Scattering useless runestones in front of the doors of visiting nobles isn't useful," Dagna scolded.

"Useful for me! Reminds them exactly what they're dealing with. Keeps 'em humble," Sera grumbled, but she returned the stone into Dagna's expectant hands. "Keeps me entertained, too."

"You know... I have some other runes that need translating. Ones that might be a little more... immediately useful." she suggested, and Sera's grin was infectious.

"What're we waitin' for, Widdle? Bring 'em out!" Sera insisted with a bright and bold laugh. magnifying glass in hand and a wild light in her eyes. Dagna smiled and pulled a small jewelry chest out from underneath the workbench.

When you laugh like that, it just— you’re so beautiful, you know that?” Dagna said when she emerged and set the box on the bench. Sera rummaged through the runes like a magpie, nimble fingers plucking every stone that caught her fancy and her eyes darting this way and that. Dagna loved watching her twist and turn new ideas, loved trying to guess what Sera would work out on her own when she picked at a new problem to unravel. As she sorted through the items Sera giggled.

“Oooo, flattery! You always know how to butter me up,” Sera coyly said. “What do you think would happen if we combined one of ‘em time runes that worked proper like with some ice? Make a insta-frozen puddle in the dining hall during one o’ them big affairs, hmm?”

People really underestimated Sera, but that was to their detriment, Dagna thought as she watched Sera pick through the finished runes and analyze them with the air of a true professional. But Dagna knew the truth, and that warmed her to her very toes.

[kadavernagh]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Frank's Frogurt PARTIES: Elias and Regan SUMMARY: After Elias and Regan discussed froyo online, Regan begrudgingly agreed they could get some. She could only find frogurt which is probably close enough. They're not welcome back. CONTENT WARNING: None

Could it still be called froyo if the store said it was frogurt? Regan stared up at the Frank’s Frogurt sign and frowned at it. Something about the portmanteau seemed sinister and wrong. She had told Elias she would find somewhere for them to get frozen yogurt, and it already felt as though she’d failed. As soon as he shuffled up, she was ready to roll in with an apology and explanation. “Elias. Hello. You probably see this is a frogurt store. I was looking for froyo, but I thought I caught a whiff of putrescine and ended up following it, and now we’re here instead, and I don’t know if – I mean, it’s probably the same thing, right?” She looked at him, and judged him the expert on the subject matter. Her expertise was limited to regular yogurt. 

“Also, are you sure about this? Isn’t it strange to eat in each other’s presence for no particular reason? I usually eat alone. And – and I don’t usually see other people eat, only what they ate after they ate it and if they’re dead.” Okay, so she might have been a tiny bit nervous – she hadn’t done anything like this in years. But that didn’t matter. She forced her nerves to come to a screeching halt, sealing them with a couple of deep breaths. Right, Elias could go in now. She didn’t have to, right? “Okay. I will wait for your return.” She looked to Elias and then the door, as if it were obvious she wasn’t going in.

After receiving the time and a place to meet Regan at for ‘froyo,’ Elias had been happy to oblige. Even though he had seen the doctor claim that she did not have a need for friends, she seemed kind enough to not turn him down. Maybe it was the pull of yogurt? Who knew. He hadn’t gone to a frozen yogurt place in a while, so the idea of meeting up with someone who he considered a friend (even if she didn’t) was quite nice. As soon as he came up to her, she had begun talking. Putriscine, what she smelled death? Well, that was certainly a good sign. And most importantly, very Regan. “That’s just their way of shortening frozen yogurt, just like froyo.” He explained with an amused smile spread across his face. “It is the same thing, we’ll be just fine.” 

“I’m sure! People hang out all the time, there’s nothing weird about going to grab a tasty treat together.” He frowned, realizing that the woman had very little social habits at all. Surely it wasn’t her fault, could it be? He wasn’t sure. But he did know that there was something about it that he found endearing. “Well then consider this a lesson in socializing with others.” He spoke, phrasing it in a way he hoped she’d find palettable. “What, you’re not coming with me?” He asked, turning to the door, then back to her. “Oh no. If you’re getting something good out of this from your assistant, you’ve got to go in with me. I’ll talk and pay so you don’t have to interact with the person behind the counter.” He insisted, gesturing to the door with a tilt of his head. 

Elias was so chipper all the time, and Regan couldn’t fathom how he managed to stay that way in a town like this. Maybe it was the only thing keeping his sanity from dribbling out his ears. He pressed so hard for answers sometimes and didn’t realize he was melting his own wax in the process, and risked being reduced to nothing. “I think it’s weird to watch other people chew.” She remarked, unconvinced. “And what makes you think I need a lesson? You and Marcy both. Why is your way more correct than mine?” But Elias practically glowed, and something about it was… foreboding. Like the way the air felt charged right before a thunderstorm. Why? She wasn’t sure. There was no scream swelling inside of her. But change was on its way, and she knew it. She needed to make sure it was in her favor – and preferably Elias’s, too.

Regan met his lightheartedness with a grave expression. However, she considered his proposal. He did make it sound as though it might be okay. That was a skill of his, and one she was slowly coming to appreciate. Regan nodded. “I accept your terms.” 

She looked left and right as she walked through the door, eyes narrowed in suspicion. But there was nothing suspect. Just a mustachioed man behind the counter and a display full of a rainbow of froyo colors and consistencies. Regan stared cautiously at the flavors. As if she didn’t already know what she was going to get. There was something else tugging at her though, a tickling across her skin, and her attention was diverted away from Elias and the froyo and the flies flitting in and out of her vision. “I’ll have the vanilla.” Regan said rotely, almost bored, and directed neither at Elias nor the mustache man in particular. She had her eyes on something else. Sure, she couldn’t see it yet, but it was there, she could feel it, its stiff little fingers wrapped around her heart.

Upon entering the small shop, Elias began to look around at the different flavors, and honed in on the cookies and cream immediately. Picking up one of the cups, he gestured to Regan to pick one up and fill it herself, then he walked over to the tower and pulled the lever, the frozen yogurt pouring into his cup. Then, he made his way over to the toppings to start putting on different ingredients. 

He didn’t pay Regan any mind as she seemed to look around the place, like a hound sniffing out its target. He was too content with putting together his ice cream the way he wanted, some brownie pieces, cookie dough, and oreo crumbles. He knew it didn’t really match his age, but he found that he didn’t particularly care either.

After he finished his froyo masterpiece, he turned to Regan to see how she was doing with hers, only to find her looking around. “Uh. Everything alright?” He asked her, brow raised as he tried to figure out what she was searching for. She looked bored, which he wasn’t surprised to see, but she also looked as if she were seeking something out. “Regan?” He then spoke, trying to figure out what she was up to.

Regan was somewhat aware that Elias was moving around in the store, collecting toppings on his yogurt like flies on a fresh cadaver, but she couldn’t pull herself away from that feeling in the air and charge against her skin. “Yeah, yeah, just a moment…” Her interest in frozen yogurt had evaporated. She was getting closer, and she wasn’t leaving here until she achieved victory. Cliodhna had much to be ashamed of when Regan was concerned, but her persistence was the one thing that she openly praised. She paced around the perimeter, scanning the floor where it met the wall. There may not have been anything dead in her sight yet, but she could tell that whatever she was picking up had skittered around the store just prior to dying. The mustache man was saying something, asking her to stop, but that barely entered her consciousness. 

Closer… she was getting closer. Regan stopped next to one of the soft-serve machines and stared at it for a moment. “Ma’am, please just get some frogurt like everyone else. Here, it’s free.” He gestured emphatically to the cups, then to the machine. Regan practically looked through him, then Elias, and went right back to examining it instead of using it. She knelt down, and knew she had it. “It’s here. It’s–” She reached blindly behind the machine. It was a narrow crevice, but there was enough room for her to grasp for the prize. “Aha!” She said gleefully. She reeled out a fetid, limp rat tail-first, and displayed it for Elias. “Found it!” 

Regan popped up and admired the rat. It was supremely fresh, had probably only died a few hours ago. She felt a little bad to be robbing Frank’s Frogurt of the smorgasbord of stenches it would let off a day or two from now, but finders keepers. “Did you get your yogurt?” She looked at Elias and confirmed he had a mountain of dessert, drowning in oreos and sprinkles and more. “Great. I’m good now. We can leave.”

Eyes widening as Regan all but sniffed around the store, Elias stood stock still as she did whatever it was she was doing. He had placed the yogurt down on the counter and watched with mild horror at the show she was putting on, kind of glad that there was no one else in the shop to watch what was happening. The mustache man started yelling at her, and he felt as if he wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. The last thing he needed was to be nearly kicked out of some place because of her. She was strange, yes. But he’d never seen her act this strange.

Elias opened his mouth to speak as she reached down behind the yogurt machine, tilting his body to watch as she did so. When she picked up the dead rat, he nearly let out a shriek. He didn’t, as he was able to calm himself enough to not let out that scream. The mustache man looked as horrified as he felt, quickly taking a wide step away from the ice cream he no longer had any desire to eat. 

“You… you want to leave now.” He spoke, watching as she handled the dead rat with no gloves. Shooting the mustache man a sidelong glance, he decided it was best to leave before something else nefarious showed up, like cockroaches in the toppings. “Eh, sorry…” he muttered to the worker before making a beeline for the door. “I’m glad you’re happy,” Elias muttered to Regan on their way out the door. 

The man grumbled as the two of them swung out the door. The searing way his eyes burned into them communicated one thing: do not tell anyone about this. It was difficult to decide what to do. On one hand, others should know about Frank’s Frogurt and, with a little luck, what might be found there. On the other hand, Regan wanted to be able to return for round two without any competition. She would ponder it. For now, she looked down at Elias’s empty hands. Oh… “You didn’t bring your frogurt. Which is understandable, considering the circumstances. But… we could go somewhere else. If you wanted. I mean, I am a satisfied customer, but you clearly are not.”

Happy? No. She wasn’t happy, because that was not allowed. So the airy feeling flitting around her stomach must not have been happiness. “I’m not happy. I’m pleased. There’s a difference.” In the sunlight, she could appreciate the way the rat’s greasy gray hair shined. Its paws festered, one of them gone entirely, and she could clearly see the outline of most of its ribs. This was probably starvation. Which was a shame. There was plenty of frogurt it could have eaten.

Regan beamed up at the Frank’s Frogurt sign as the two of them walked away from the shop. “This place is excellent.”

[sincerelylivvv]

pairing: nate jacobs x fem!reader

summary: the one where reader doesn't realize how toxic the relationship is until nate fucks up and puts everything into perspective. based off the song 'blue' by madison beer.

warnings: toxic relationship, nate accidently hits reader, nate fights another guy

word count: 5,871

I was always blue behind the red-blood stain on my lips

You were always green with envy, saw right through the tenderness

We were like a California sunset, fated to die any minute

Gettin' rid of you might be the best thing I ever did

Nathaniel Jacobs was most definitely one of a kind. He was your standard golden boy; good looking, athletic, had a successful family, and was well known amongst the community. But as much of a golden boy as he was, he certainly came with his flaws. He was hot-headed, possessive, crude, reckless. 

Even with his flaws, you still became enraptured with him. He gave you attention, the kind that made every girl swoon, her heart beat a little faster, and gave those infamous butterflies. 

Nathaniel Jacobs swore that you were one in a billion. Looked at you dead in the eyes when he told you for the first time. The smile that came from you couldn't help but make his mind race at the thought of the endless possibilities. A family, a nice house that would be picked by you of course,  and a great job that only millions could dream of ever having. He wouldn't want you to work though. Not that he felt you should stay home to be the classic stay-at-home mom, but he wanted you to live a life of relaxation, peace, not having anything in the fucking world to worry about. He was a man who wanted, craved even, to provide for the ones he loved; his someday family. He loved you to the moon and back and would do anything to keep you with him. You had him wrapped around your constantly manicured finger, and strangely enough, he was okay with that. 

Nathaniel Jacobs promised he would never hurt you. You weren't someone he could find somewhere else, there was nobody on earth that would, or could, replace you. 

But people change when they're shitfaced. They get more truthful, more real, not as covered up as they usually were, you know, realistically and metaphorically. 

Shit comes out, shit blows up, and that's what happened at the college party the two of you went to. 

You and Nate were still high schoolers, but he had extensive connections, and as a person who parties a lot, those connections become pretty vast. He asked you to come with him, picked out an outfit and everything, ogled as you did your makeup, and fucked you moments after you had it done, but again, shit happens. 

The party was more than you thought it would be. There were sweaty bodies everywhere you turned, no air, drugs, alcohol, but God, would you be lying if you said you didn't have a damn good time. 

Nate wouldn't leave your side, not even for a second. Wherever you went, he was sure to follow. But when you're at a college party, surrounded by so many college guys that would probably be worth more of your time and would snatch you up the moment he left, it's hard to find the okay to dip, even if he would be back pretty soon after that. 

Nate ran into a close friend of his, if that's what you want to call it. He didn't consider a lot of people, if not the majority of them, friends. They were more of assholes he just kind of used for whatever reason whenever the time. They got to talking, and you got bored. You told him you'd be right back, just going to get you two a few drinks, and left a swift kiss on his cheek. Somewhere along the way, you ran into a friend of your brothers. He grew with him, so he was around a lot. And before you knew it, the two of you got to talking. Making light-hearted jokes and easy conversation. He asked basic questions, how've you been, how's your brother doing, even asked about your parents. You answered in short sentences, not wanting to keep Nate waiting too long, but it was almost as if Nate could smell another guy talking to you, because there was no way on earth he could hear you two talking over the loud music. He came up out of nowhere, and wrapped a protective arm around your waist, sliding his hand into the band of your underwear, the ones he told you to go without, and pulled you closer to him. 

You smiled up at him, the same bright one you had every time you saw him, and your eyes glistened with joy. "Nate, this is a friend of brother's. He grew up with us," Your eyes darted between the two of them rapidly, anxiety creeping in once you saw the dark look on Nate's face. 

"Hey man, I'm Dalton," He was kind enough to stretch out a hand, despite being slightly nervous at the newfound man across from him. Nate grasped his hand in his own, slowly, gripping with the same unwavering stare that he had plastered on, and shook it. Dalton's hands were clammy, he noticed. Due to the hot air that bounced around or the nervousness or both, he didn't know or cared to think too much about. 

"Nate Jacobs," the man to your left introduced. Nate oozed possessiveness and dislike. 

"Right, heard a lot of great things about you. Y/N talks very highly of you." Nate hated him saying your name. He hated that he was so close to you and wasn't there earlier to guide you away. He hated Dalton most of all. 

Dalton wasn't by any means a small or insecure person. He was built, being a football player and doing shotput when he did track and field in high school, and had plenty of confidence to go along with his build, and he didn't know much of Nathaniel Jacobs besides the fact he too, was a football player, and a good one. No matter how built or confident he was, he wasn't looking for a messy altercation with a man he just met, especially when he was dating the sister of a former best friend whom he hadn't talked to in who knows how long. He was just there for a good time, and wasn't looking to overstay his welcome. 

You were shifting uneasily, your stomach turning from the anxiousness and the music was suddenly becoming way too loud. The alcohol in your hand didn't calm your nerves no matter how much you took, and Nate had yet to let up his hard stare. "We were just catching up, he asked how Trent was-"

"I don't care. We're leaving," He gripped you a little too hard, and it made you flinch in surprise. Nate wasn't one to be so rough with you, and Dalton noticed the way you blinked up at him with pain tinging at your eyes. 

"Woah, hey man, no need to get upset. I was just asking her-" 

Nate didn't know what caused him to lash out, but before he knew it, he was throwing a punch at the guy you had been having a calm conversation with moments before. Your drink had been knocked out of your hand somewhere along the way, or maybe you had dropped it from shock. You tried to regain your composure as quick as you could and stumbled over to the two as they grappled at one another. 

"Nate, stop," Your eyes were beginning to well up with tears and you tried hard not to blink, not to release those droplets of water and salt. But you were done for as soon as Nate's fist swung back and hit you straight on the nose. The hit was sickeningly loud, and you swore something may have even crunched, but the tears were soon falling as well as thick loads of blood. You yelped in pain, your feet stumbling back from the force of the hit and you fell into the body of another onlooker. 

Nate froze as soon as he realized what he did, the man under him being forgotten about, and his head whipped around to look at you. 

You couldn't decipher the look in his eyes, maybe because of your now blurry vision or the alcohol that was coursing through your queezy system. You grasped your nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding and try not to show too much of your hurt expression, but it didn't do much. Everyone saw what had happened, and now word will quickly spread that Nate Jacobs provoked an unneeded fight and hit his girlfriend in the process. Your parents would flip. They were already upset with the two of you after the pregnancy scare that had happened and him showing up to your doorstep completely and utterly plastered. Everyone at school would be talking about it, and you were sure a video had already been posted to someones social media showing what had happened. 

There would be no getting out of it, and that terrified you. 

Nate got off of Dalton somewhat slowly, terrified to approach you. To let the realization of what happened sink in. His father would be pissed, your parents would try to keep you from him. His future would be put in jeopardy. Would he still have his place on the football team? He didn't know for sure and he hated that he had to now worry about that as well as the oncoming rocky relationship that would be coming his way. Would you ever forgive him? Would he ever forgive himself? He would never intentionally hurt you like that. 

You got up as quickly as you could, and walked out, pushing through the bodies that circled the three of you. The door could not have been any farther. It seemed that no matter how many steps you took, as quick as you moved, it moved away faster. Your hand reached the doorknob after what seemed like years. Time slowed down so much more, and you twisted the silver sphere with as much force as you could manage and pulled it open. 

Nate was in a daze until he realized how far away you were now, and sprinted after you. He found you getting into the truck he brought you in. He grasped your wrist, the one that had been brought back down to your side after you opened the door. Your head darted back to him faster than you would have cared for, your mind now spinning and your eyes not being able to focus on your boyfriend. You tried to pull your wrist away, but his grip got stronger. 

"Get off of me!" You tried to sound like you weren't hurting, like you were nasally from the hit to your nose, like your heart wasn't breaking into pieces. 

No matter how pathetic you thought you sounded, he dropped your wrist. Your tears fell faster, your shoulders shaking in sadness and fear. He wanted to reach out, to hug you, to tell you he was sorry, but he couldn't move. Couldn't take his eyes off of the sight in front of him. He hated himself at that moment, you both knew. And as much as you wanted his comfort, his apologies, you wanted to get home even more. To curl up in your bed, shut your phone off for a week at the very least to avoid the messages and calls. You wouldn't be able to show your face at school, and you doubted that your parents would even let you go after the events of tonight. You could already feel the area around your nose starting to swell, your eyes beginning to get puffy from the crying. 

"Y/N, I-" You shook your head at him, not wanting to hear him. Not wanting to talk. 

"Just take me home," Your voice was so quiet. If he hadn't been so focused on you, he probably wouldn't have been able to hear you. He was gonna help you into the vehicle, thinking that was the least he could do in that moment, but you were already in the truck by the time he worked himself to move towards you. He closed the door for you, your right hand still being held over your gushing nose. 

You had your eyes closed, and tried to think about anything other than what was actually happening. You were forced out of your thoughts once you heard the door slam and felt the truck shake a little from Nate getting in. It was quiet for a few moments, which you were thankful for. The only noise being Nate's heavy breathing. 

Nate started the truck, the engine rumbling to life. Cool air was blasting on your face from the air conditioning and Nate slowly moved from his parking spot, careful not to cause any more hurt to you. The exhaustion weighed heavy, your eyes became more relaxed and you somehow fell asleep. The drive was only about 45 minutes, but Nate knew you could use the sleep. He parked beside your house and was tempted to wake you up. Your nose was no longer bleeding, your eyes stopped dropping the tears he hated so much. He let out a heavy and much-needed breath. His head dropped back against the headrest and he closed his eyes. It was only for a few moments, the front porch light being flicked on and it woke the two of you out of the rest you were taking. Your eyes blinked a few times in an attempt to adjust to the dim light outside of the truck. Nate wasn't looking at you, didn't notice that your eyes were now open. He didn't move until he heard the click of the door to his right. You didn't say anything before you got out, you were still tired and upset, and you had every right to be. He wouldn't rush you to talk to him, he doesn't even know what he'd say if you did. 

You closed the car door behind you and stalked to your front door. Your eyes were squinted just a little and you opened the front door as quickly as you could. You didn't turn around once, didn't spare him a glance as you went inside. He didn't follow you, he knew you needed space. He'd give it to you of course. 

It took days for you to start coming out of your shell. Your sister asked plenty of questions about what happened, none of which you bothered to answer. She was a freshman so you knew she had already seen the video, and that proved that there actually had been a video that made its way around school. It was like a disease, or a cancer. It was on the internet for anybody to see. And of course, the disease took a hold of you. You didn't talk to anyone for a while. Your friends were worried, as were your parents. You made your sister promise she wouldn't show the video to them. Nate was already under enough heat, the last thing he needed right now were charges from your vengeful mother and father. 

No one was home today. Your sister was at school and your parents at work. You were downstairs, grabbing ice for your still swelled nose when you heard a knock against your door. You stilled, your shoulders tensed, and the ice was now long forgotten. Your sock-covered feet shuffled towards the front door. You peeked through the windows that lined the door, trying to see who it was. You identified the person as the mailman that wandered through the neighborhood when he needed to. It was cloudy and a little dark that day, it seemed to be every day that you didn't see Nate. It was like a complete reflection of how you felt. You were blue and sad. You opened the door hesitantly, and the mailman smiled politely once he saw you. The smile dropped a little when he noticed the condition you were in. It was hard not to notice the puffy and bruised areas on either side of your nose. 

He cleared his throat and glanced down at his feet before looking back up at you. "I uh, have a package here for you. Just needs to be signed off on." He held the notepad out to you and gave you a pen to write with. You signed it with curiosity and handed both objects back to you, after which he gave you the small box. You closed the door, not bothering to give him a goodbye, and went to your room. The TV in front of your bed was still playing the show you put on, and you grabbed a pair of scissors to open the box with. Inside it held a gray bag of plastic, which was opened and thrown onto the floor. There was another box. It was black and a soft velvet. You lifted the lid and found a necklace inside. It was silver and small and it held the finest cut diamonds. You sighed, knowing who sent it to you, and sat on your bed. The box that was previously sitting on your bed fell, and when you peaked over, to pick it up, there had been a note. It was sitting face up and with an arched eyebrow, you picked it up with a clammy hand. It was a simple 'I'm sorry, and I love you'. It didn't have a name, but again, you didn't need one. Tears pricked at your eyes in response. You hated what he did to you, but you loved him. No matter what, you always would. And you despised that. You were half tempted to take the necklace and send it back or throw it away. But it was a gift and it was beautiful. And you thought maybe this was a start to things going back to normal. If things could ever go back to normal, you thought bitterly. 

Nate wasn't the same either. Some days he'd be quiet and still, his mind not saying or thinking much. Other days, he'd be easily angered and quick to resort to violence. But he wasn't the same Nate. He hadn't heard from you in about two weeks. You didn't show up to school, didn't talk to anybody, and he honestly never saw you outside your house. He would go by every so often and see if you were doing anything. 

He didn't mean to get jealous, envious of the guy you were talking to. It was just a fucking party and he shouldn't have overreacted the way he did. But he was drunk and stupid. So stupid, he thought. He heard conversations about you that night. How hot you looked in your outfit, how good you'd be in bed, how funny it would be to free the angel from the beast. Nate got angry. It didn't matter who it was, you wouldn't have let anything happen. As soon as you felt uncomfortable, you'd find him and you'd tell him all about it like you always do. You two would laugh at your story, sometimes he would get angry, not at you, but the guys who would talk about you like that. And it would more often than not lead to sex. But never would you cheat on him. You hated how he got so jealous and angry so easily, but you would never resort to leaving him and moving on to someone else. 

But you'd be lying if you said that it wasn't a little nice to be without him. You didn't have to deal with the anger and the resentment he constantly felt towards everyone. It was a little refreshing. It was like you could finally breathe. In a metaphorical sense, considering your nose and everything. 

You had returned to school the next day, the swelling had gone down over the almost two weeks, and the bruising had faded enough to cover it with makeup. You parked your car in a different spot than you usually did. You always parked your car next to Nate's, when you drove. Sometimes he picked you up. You drove an Audi e-Tron GT. Electric, expensive. Your dad owned a car dealership, an expensive one, so it wasn't too much of an issue. Your mom was a plastic surgeon, and a pretty good one. 

People talked, they gossiped. Some saw that you didn't have any marks on your face and that you were making up that Nate hit you and it was all just a rumor. Like you were out to destroy his life. Others say that you just didn't want to show up to school because you and Nate broke up after you had supposedly cheated on him. The rest called Nate a woman beater, and to you, those were the worst. He hadn't meant to hit you, to cause you pain and anguish. No matter how hard it was, you ignored the rumors and avoided the questions. The video had been taken down, due to Nate and his buddies you figured. You were kind of thankful for it, even if it gave those rumors life and sparked more drama. 

You and Nate had a few classes together. Those were gonna be difficult to get through, you concluded. It was gonna be almost impossible to avoid him. But maybe the confrontation was needed. 

He saw you during first period. It was an English class. And while the two of you always sat together in the back of the class, you opted for the front this time. You were beside another girl, a quiet one who didn't talk shit or ask prying questions like everyone else had been that day. And you were thankful for it. But of course, you and Nate not sitting together had people talking even more. Were the rumors true? Had you and Nate broken up? Most people thought so at this point. 

Nate didn't take his eyes off of you, not once. He couldn't tell you what the teacher was droning on about for the life of him. His sole focus was you. He wanted to talk to you, to hear you say something to him. Anything, at all. He'd rather be told that you hated him, despised him, and hoped he'd burn in a ditch than for you to not say anything at all. No matter how hard he stared and wished for you to turn around and so much as even glance at him, you didn't. Not once. You focused on the lesson, filling in the notes handout that the teacher had given you all. It took your mind off of everything. You silenced the thoughts and muted the whispers. 

And I was seein' us in a silent movie

Takin' off our gloves like a violent crime scene

Diamonds in the cut always know how to fool me

Oh, honey

You had managed to avoid him. He didn't push, left you to your own devices. You made it to 8th period before you were done for the day and went home. Skipping the rest of your classes wasn't the best idea, but it beat staying in the constant loop of ignoring your friends, your boyfriend, and all the gossip that was still spreading. You got home quickly, speeding just a little bit, and it didn't take long for you to change out of your clothes. Your bed was a relief. The soft padding and warm sheets a comfort. Your fairy lights twinkled around you and a soft hum of music came from your Bluetooth speaker. The events of the last two weeks were like a movie or a reality TV show. And as much as you hated it, you were the main character. It wasn't anything new, though. Dating the high school's golden boy and being well known within your community didn't make hiding in the shadows possible at all. You decided you would take a nap, that it was needed and well deserved. 

The slam of a car door woke you hours later. You knew it would be Nate. He was bound to show up at some point. Your sister was already home, in her room more likely than not. Nate didn't bother to knock on the front door. He was determined this time. He told himself he wouldn't force you to talk to him, but he expected you to talk to him at some point that day. And because you didn't, he decided to start the confrontation. It was no surprise to you. Nate did knock on your bedroom door, however, and heard you mumble a small 'come in'. Your back was facing him, hair spread around you. You were gazing out your window and didn't look at him right away. He sat down beside you on the other side of your mattress. His back too faced away from you. You didn't say anything and waited for him to speak up first. He was the one to come to you. 

"I'm so sorry." That was all he said. He didn't mention the necklace or the note or you not speaking to him for so long. 

You didn't reply right away. But he could feel the bed shift and turned his body to look at you. 

You didn't look at him when you sat up. "For what?" You whispered back. You hated when he did this, when anyone did this. When someone would apologize but not own up to what they were sorry for. 

"You know what for." He mumbled. 

"It's been a while, remind me," You were testing him, he knew that. And while he loved you, he also hated apologizing. 

He didn't say anything after that and you scoffed. "If you're gonna be a dick, you can leave." You were already fed up with the conversation, and you could tell he was too. He was getting irritated, he wanted a calm conversation but the way you were handling this pissed him off. 

"I came here to try and make things right and you're acting like a bitch." Anger rolled off of him in vicious waves. You tensed and narrowed your eyes. 

"You can't even form a sound apology, and I'm the bitch?"

"I spend thousands on a fucking necklace for you and I don't even get so much as a thank you. Then I come over to apologize because, for some reason unknown to me, you can't come up to me and say even a fucking word. Like I'm not good enough to lick the dirt off your shoe." You were both standing up at this point, eyes glaring holes into each other. 

"A fucking necklace doesn't really make up for hitting your girlfriend, Jacobs. If I wanted, I could have you on your knees begging me to forgive you. You'd be in jail right now if it wasn't for me." 

But I know when to run, run, run

I know when to run, run, run

I know when to run, run, run

When my makeup does, when my makeup does

"Please. You're just like any other bitch. Easy and replaceable. Get off you're high horse for once and realize you're not that fucking important. I could have another one of you by tomorrow. Another girl to hang off my arm and suck me off-" You had heard enough. The slap was loud and seemed to boom throughout your otherwise quiet house. There was a clear handprint on his right cheek. 

"Get out." Your voice wasn't as loud as it was before, it was cool and collected. It held a newfound malice, and unbeknownst to you, your sister was leaning against your door frame watching the altercation.

"Excuse me?" He looked at you closely, took a few steps forward, his body towering over your much smaller one. 

"You heard her, you piece of shit." Your sister made herself known and had her phone in her hand. "I push a button and the police come. Your ass becomes grass." 

Nate whipped around to look at her, disbelief clear on his face, and he scoffs. "Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, huh Y/N?" He shakes his head and walks out. His head is still held high and his back straight. 

It was the slam of the front door that completely broke you. The dams broke and your knees gave way under you. Your sister was beside you in an instant. 

You clung to her like a life source, like she was the only person on earth. No words were said, and you appreciated that. You didn't want to hear anything, you just wanted to cry. Screams tore from your throat until no more noise was able to be made. Your sister almost started crying with you. She had never seen you in such a state. You always held your composure and had never broken down like this before. She also never saw Nate treat you like that before, either. He handled you with such care and gentleness and had not once disrespected you so much. He loved you. Whenever he had questions about you, what you liked, what your dream date was, your favorite color, he would always go to her for answers. He would text her asking what to do now that he fucked up so much, she was sure of it. 

The makeup you had on from earlier that day was running now. Tears mixed with mascara and snot took off any concealer you had on. 

You two fell asleep together, curled up in a ball with a light blanket the younger girl pulled off your bed draped over your bodies. She still had you in her arms and your head resting in the crevice of her neck. 

You woke with a slight jolt, hearing your door open. Your sister was still asleep you saw and looked over to see who it was that woke you from your slumber. 

Your mother stood in the doorway with a slight frown on her face, she was confused, you noticed, but if you walked in and saw yourself in such a condition, you would be too. 

"Dinner's ready, hun." She didn't say anything else and you wondered if you wanted to go downstairs and have to face your parents. Their questions would be one after another, but you figured if you were crying so much and looked as devastated as you were, they probably already knew it was Nate that did that to you. 

You could feel the body underneath you shift and you knew that she was awake. Her hand ran through your hair once before she yawned and sat up straighter. 

"Shit, my back hurts." You moved off of her to give her the chance to stretch and you did the same. You didn't notice how stiff your shoulders were until then, as well as your neck, and you felt bad for the girl that was comforting you moments before. 

"Sorry," you mumbled. Your throat was dry and sore, and you knew there would be no way you were going to school the next day. It would be a Friday, so you could have the weekend to recollect and move on. Or try to, at least. 

"Don't be. You don't have to apologize for shit. That dickbag does, though." Your sister shook her head, remembering what had happened and what he said to you. She should have called the cops before speaking up, but she didn't want to put you through what would be even more of a mess. 

"I have a feeling after today that won't be happening." You didn't know how at that moment, but you knew he'd pop back up sooner or later. He always does. He'll victimize himself and force you to say something first. Make you make the first move. You'd refuse. If you had to run away, you would. Anything to get away from him. As soon as the makeup runs, so do you. 

I was always blue behind the black mascara that I cry

You could be as sweet as honey, but I knew the darkness in your mind

We were like a gorgeous bed of roses, ready to die any minute

Gettin' rid of you might be the best thing I ever did

Getting rid of Nate was almost too easy. He made no attempt to talk to you or reconcile even in the slightest. It almost made you think he was truly over you and the words he spoke that afternoon were true. There was no way he wouldn't retaliate, though. He was too petty and prideful not to. He was conjuring something up. You didn't know what and you didn't know when it'd happen, but it was inevitable. 

Not being with him anymore cleared your mind. It made you realize a lot of things. You ranted to your sister about all the shit he did in the past, and she pointed out how toxic and unhealthy it was. It put everything into perspective. How he'd make you feel like shit one moment and then make you feel like you were queen of the world the next. And that wasn't okay. No one said relationships were supposed to be easy, but they also shouldn't have been that bad. You realized that the day you got his necklace that you had been blue many times before. No matter how much concealer, eyeshadow, and mascara you put on, you were still always sad. And you realized that all the tears you cried that day he came over and everything went to hell was more than what happened. It was all those frustrations and all that sadness built up. You can't hold back the flood once the dam breaks, and that's exactly what happened then. 

You always knew there was something more to him, but your enamored heart ignored it and shut down the logic in your brain. 

The conclusions you made the day before about him retaliating, quickly came to life. He found someone else, you thought bitterly. "I cannot fucking believe him," Maddy shook you out of your trance. She scoffed at the new girl he had, their hands intertwined. You didn't know much about the girl, she was in drama club but wasn't into parties. She was susceptible and naive. Nate would dig his claws into her at some point, and she'd be the next victim. You and Maddy knew better than anyone else how the story went. He'd woo her, make her feel special, and then crush her from the inside out. If she was smart, she'd get out as soon as she had the chance. Not give him any hint of her leaving and watch him eat shit. 

You shrug, "Doesn't concern me. He's someone else's problem now. The heat from what happened between the two of us will be drawn off and we can go about our merry lives." Maddy's eyes flickered over your face. She didn't understand how you could be so okay after everything that's happened. 

She knew you would move on, too. Find someone else and live happily with them. She just hoped Nathaniel Jacobs would mind his fucking business when you did so. 

a/n: first imagine, please like and repost if you enjoyed it. imma try to knock some more out sometime soon. if you have any requests, feel free to send them in. lemme know what you thought. thank you for reading my lovelies <3

[xhisokas-harleyx]

Your Hisoka headcanons were so good😭 and i completely agree with all of them- I wanted request something, u can ignore if u want. 🏃

I am just thinking of a scenario where Hisoka got hurt, by someone who 'cheated' in the fight maybe, and his first instinct was to go to his 'friend's place. And Reader helps him without hesitation, they're even worried and stuff. And he is just like "are they just so naive or dumb? Kind? What do they get from this? And tf is this feeling in my chest? A poison maybe-" Maybe hcs? Or an oneshot? Whatever you like to do. Have a good day or night!:)💛 damn i wrote too much lol sorry

This warms my heart. Thank you SO MUCH for your support!!! And no, you did not write too much! I love having my ego stroked ;) 😂 seriously tho I love hearing from you guys!

I love this prompt. I hope that I was able to bring this to life for you, please feel free to request more!

To be honest, I’m not really happy with how this turned out, but I haven’t written in a long time and feel really rusty. I may rewrite it at some point, because I thought of a different way this could also go! At any rate, I hope you enjoy it.

Word Count: 2880 (yeh, it’s a long one :o)

A little song inspiration I had:

As The World Caves In: Matt Maltese

Hisoka x Reader One-Shot: The Man Beneath the Monster

...

Well... this wasn't supposed to happen.

Currently, the jester of everyone's nightmares lay on the ground, golden eyes staring up at the dull night sky while shrapnel and debris etched patterns into his back, remnants of the attack he'd just barely survived. Hisoka didn't normally have much of a problem mowing through his opponents- but then again, they usually didn't possess the ability to play with their enemy's mind. It was insanely unfair, the way he'd been attacked, and while it had been an interesting battle to say the least, Hisoka had barely pulled through.

Admittedly, he was invigorated by the feeling of almost being beaten- save for the searing pain that inched its way through every nerve in his body. Hisoka wasn't usually so affected by pain in general- in fact, more often than not, it gave him a certain indescribable gratification. He tended to brush off the feeling of most wounds he obtained during battle, distracting himself with shuffling his cards or fantasizing about the next battle he'd be facing. Only this time, if he didn't get help, he wasn’t sure there would BE another battle.

Hisoka strained himself to sit up, and looked down at his body, analyzing just how much damage he'd sustained. A deep gash opened up his chest, revealing glimpses of the muscular content underneath, and it was oozing a lot of blood. His arms and legs were burned, and some of the skin was a little charred, which smelled just lovely against the night breeze.

This is going to be difficult to cover with Texture Surprise... he thought, forcing himself a bit angrily to his feet, when he heard the cracking of the joints in his left ankle, indications of a break. He needed medical attention, badly. His gash wasn't going to heal itself, and he would bleed to death within hours if it didn’t get bandaged.

But where could he go? Hospitals wouldn't dare take him- even though he was a hunter, most people wouldn't be caught within miles of him, let alone would provide him any remedy. In fact, most people thought the world would be better off if he were dead anyway.

Maybe they were right.

He chuckled a little at the thought, but as he tried to brush those creeping inner fears off, he soon realized that his normal detached approach wasn't going to work this time. Already, his legs were getting weaker, and his vision was getting a little darker by the second. In that moment of weakness, when he felt the most vulnerable, the magician was puzzled by the singular thought that came to his mind.

Y/N.

She was a girl he’d encountered more than a few times in his travels; not by accident, but through carefully orchestrated meetings he initiated himself. She was strong in his eyes, which was not a compliment that he offered freely, especially to someone who didn’t regularly seek out altercations to smash their enemies. She was strong in a different way- not because of her nen or battle tactics- but because of her resolve. He found it intriguing that she didn’t run at the sight of him (even when he popped up behind her in the park), and he liked that she wasn't afraid to tell him exactly where he could shove his cards, if warranted. Y/N was appealing to him in an indescribable way that made him continue to think up excuses to meet her ‘randomly’- but he could never put his finger on what it was that made her unique. However, through brief conversations and what he considered to be highlights of his travels, he’d gotten to know her only a little, but he hardly had enough contact with her to call her a ‘friend’.

It wasn't like she had any special sort of healing nen. She probably couldn't help him anyway. But if he did bleed out, and his last thought had to be of something...l it might as well be of her.

The pink-haired clown looked to the city up ahead in the distance- he was close to her house already. It didn't take him long to get there; Y/N lived on the outskirts of town in a small place away from most other homes.

It was a place he knew well, although he'd never been inside. He'd spent more than a few long nights watching the residence from the rooftop of a distant neighboring home as he denied his human emotions. He often watched her pack groceries, or try to figure out why her porch light wasn't working (which he certainly had nothing to do with), or watch TV on the couch all alone.

Hisoka quite liked those stupid romantic comedies that played late at night on the local channel. His only opportunity to watch them was through her window- and in his mind, he was sure that she left the subtitles on because she can somehow sense his presence. She usually fell asleep watching those, and missed the part where the hero gets the girl. He always watched that part with particular interest, but he can't figure out what makes the protagonists so special to each other. If there was a feeling that caused them to sacrifice so much for one another… he sure didn’t know what it could be.

But he's not a hero, so why would he know what that feels like?

As Hisoka reached her door and lifted his hand to the doorknob, not bothering to knock, a pang of what could only be anxiety ripped through him. It was well past 2 AM, and he knew she had things to do early in the morning. Their previous encounters had been abnormal, to say the least, complete with him teasing her and being a douchebag. He's been nothing but an annoyance to Y/N, so why would she help him?

As soon as he was about to pull his hand away, the door swung open, revealing a disheveled looking y/n in its place. Hisoka was bent over in pain, holding his chest, but as she startled him a little, he straightened up and put on his mask, acting complacent and confident. He wanted to say something smart and witty like he always does- that always helped to bat the pain away. But his lips wouldn't move- his tongue wouldn't function as he stared at her, unable to reach out in a way that normal humans seem to find so easy.

He felt frozen in that moment. He was normally so deliberately irreverent, but seeing the look on her face made his blood run cold.

Don’t let her see this weakness. It was a plea to himself.

But Hisoka had no choice. He was broken, and he needed her to fix him. He wasn’t used to depending on someone else to save his life, but now his life rested in the hands of someone who most likely despised him.

"...Hisoka." Y/N breathed, her eyes widening as she placed a hand over her open mouth. Only seconds passed before her delicate hands were pulling him inside the door without hesitation. She didn't bother to ask what happened, what kind of trouble he'd gotten into, or whether she would also be in danger. Instead, she sat him down on the couch, laying a pillow under his head for comfort, which he annoyingly refused to use until he absolutely couldn’t hold his head up any longer.

Hisoka was a bit dazed from the loss of blood, and the crimson river was flowing all over y/n's lightly colored couch. He was puzzled by the swiftness of her reaction, and he watched tepidly as she shuffled frantically through the drawers in the bathroom for something to heal him. Though he was on the brink of death, his default deflection of emotions still shone through, a reflex that he didn’t even mean to activate.

“I don’t need your help, you know.” He said with an impudent grin, watching as she began to work on his wounds. “It’s just a scratch. But I can see how badly you want to touch me…” Why was he like this? Here she was, giving up everything to help him (a criminal and the scum of the Earth),yet he can’t so much as even show her an iota of gratitude. He knows, but will never admit that it comes from his inner vulnerability; that fear of getting hurt by these things called emotions. She could just as easily let him bleed to death in front of her; he knows she has the capability to be stone cold. But she won’t… why?

Why?

Y/N could have easily let Hisoka’s false complacency hurt her. But she knows that what he cannot express in his words, his heart cannot truly hide. It was the way he was built, she told herself, and she pushed on through his antics because she wanted to see him safe again. Through the laceration in his tough exterior, she could not only see the flesh beneath, but a glimpse of the man he tried to hide using the monster that he assumed everyone saw.

But she was different.

The jester was confused by her silence. Normally, she would have retorted at his smugness, but right now, she didn’t even seem concerned with it as she began to fumble with cleaning his wounds. The alcohol seared his flesh just as the emotions boiling within him burned his heart. Why would she ever care to help him when he’s been nothing but rude and degrading to her? Could it be that she really can see through the detached front and overbearing persona? Impossible, he’s spent years building that reputation!

Suddenly, he became enthralled with the way Y/N’s eyes focused on threading the needle to sew up his gash. The way that those fingertips danced over his pale skin made him jolt unexpectedly at her touch, exhibiting a softness that Hisoka has never known before. In fact, he can’t even fathom someone wanting to touch him without the intention to hurt him in some way.

The details slowly became a blur in his depressed mental state- but he still analyzed every motion Y/N made.

Oddly, the promised sting of death had never scared Hisoka before; he did as he pleased, without care for his own life nor anyone else’s. But as his vision faded, and he watched her through the gaze of someone nearing death, he realized that he did not want to leave this world yet. He wanted to live- and maybe he wanted to discover and experience what he’d been missing in those movies he’d watched through her window.

With that, Hisoka’s heart began to beat faster.

Blood loss. That’s what it is… Hisoka thought; but he wasn’t stupid; only unwilling to admit that he was beginning to exhibit the same qualities he saw in the protagonists of those hopeless romantic flicks. He was unable to accept that the tightening in his chest was not just because of her stitches pulling his lacerated skin together.

“Are they dead? Did you kill them?” Her voice brought him out of the trance-like state he was in, and his golden eyes focused on her face. Her hands were covered in his blood (which in itself made him feel delightfully feverish), but his gash had been mended, the bleeding stopped for now. Once again, he didn’t say anything. It was unusual for the smug magician to keep his mouth shut.

“Because if you didn’t kill them, I’m going to.” A protective tone dripped into her voice, bewildering Hisoka again. That quality in her voice was both threatening and comforting, and the duality sent a chill up his spine. It inspired him to use his voice, though it had lost some of its signature modulation.

“You have that little faith in me…” A cough escaped his lips before he could smile as if nothing was bothering him at all. “Of course I killed them, my dear.” Somehow, calling her ‘dear’ no longer felt right; that was typically a placeholder, a default name to use for someone he had no connection with, and she seemed to be worthy of more than that now.

As Y/N suddenly dipped to her knees, Hisoka refrained from any lewd thoughts that he normally might have had in such a situation. That sensation in his chest was too distracting to allow this memory to be defiled with something he often indulged in fantasies of. She began to slide the high-heeled shoe off of his swollen foot to wrap it. She began to struggle with ripping the fabric she’d gathered to act as a cast for the bone.

Surely, she knows who I am. Why would she bother to help someone like me? What is she gaining? She knows that with the flip of a card, I could end her life. She’s not even protecting herself in any way. She’s leaving her guard down right in front of me.

Perhaps it was his dark desire to set fear into everyone he came across, or his distorted need to drive away anyone who might care for him, but his body suddenly acted on its own. By instinct, almost as if it were a test of her intention, a card spawned between his middle and index finger, which was right against her neck. With just a slight movement of his knuckles, he could spill her blood. His golden eyes analyzed the way she froze for a moment, and he believed that to be the end of this fragile trust between them. That was until she lifted the fabric she was holding, sliding it along the edge of the card, and cutting it to the perfect length.

“Thanks.” She spoke, beginning to wrap and set the ankle in place.

At that small motion, Hisoka’s discretionary eyes widened, and his lips fell open in surprise. Rather than interpreting his advance as an attack, she’d innocently taken it as an offer of his help. Was this a joke? Was she stupid enough to trust him, or was she bold enough to outsmart his games? Was Y/N this confident that he wouldn’t just kill her? This naive girl at his feet seemed to be the only person in this convoluted world who didn’t see him as a disgusting, heartless monster… and that warmed his icy heart.

“I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before. I know you’re graceful, but high heels are always a recipe for a broken ankle.” She offset the pain of wrapping those bones by talking to him all through the procedure, and it worked wonders. He scoffed, but by that time, Hisoka’s snide comments and emotion-killing thoughts had been expended. Somehow, she’d broken through the barrier that he’d spent so long building around himself.

Unable to ignore his whims anymore, Hisoka reached out to touch Y/N’s hair, the soft delicate strands pleasing his senses. It’s the only movement he can make now, his body weakened from the loss of blood. His gilded eyes were barely open, but they looked directly into hers with an unfamiliar realization. His hand travelled weakly down her face, caressing her cheek with the most delicate touch he could muster, and held her head in his large hand as she froze there. He wondered for a moment if she was afraid, or if something deeper that he cannot see calms her.

A small, genuine smile is all he could muster for her before his hand dropped to the side of the couch, the same couch he watched her curl up on most nights. For once, it’s not a smirk, and it’s not a smug smile- but something she has never seen before- a true smile with good intention behind it. His eyes closed, with uncertainty that they would open in the morning.

After she’d finished her work, she stood up, and looked down at him. The only remaining light in the room was the silent flicker of the television set in the background, which illuminated both of their faces.

“I need you to be alright, Hisoka,” She cooed, unable to know if he could still hear her. He didn’t know if she even realized how much he wanted to kill her right now, because the way her kindness was attacking his heart while his chest was already sliced open was something he should not excuse.

As Y/N’s final healing gesture, she bent over his body gracefully. He was taken off guard when he felt the feathery soft sensation of her lips on his forehead, the kiss of an angel on his clammy skin. As she went to pull away, however, she was startled by the lunge of Hisoka’s hand initiating a death grip on her wrist. He used the last bit of his strength to pull her lips into his, causing her to lose balance and be forced to brace on either side of the couch cushion below him. His lips were cold, but Y/N graciously returned the sensation, and boldly moved to embrace both sides of his face with her mending hands. Before she pulled away, and he passed out, she felt that same smile against her lips.

And in that moment, before he fades away, Hisoka realizes what he’s been missing.

Y/N.

-----------------

Hmm... part two? I KNOW, it’s super freakin’ sappy. I could have taken a lighthearted approach to this (and maybe I will later), but I wanted to kind of challenge myself to write a more depth-driven version of Hisoka. Maybe I bit off a little more than I can chew :0.

Anyway, let me know what you think, and once again thanks to anon for the request! Hope you all enjoyed!

Mac

[i-mybrunettelady]

Sorry but I want to ask another question not related to ask games: Since Nyra is Ascalonian, does she have any thoughts about Rytlock having Sohothin?

Well, this is a question I certainly have never thought of, so thank you for asking it - and I'm always glad when people ask about her patriotic feelings because it's a subject I care about for many reasons <3

Also, shame on me for overlooking this. Seriously. Here I am working the Separatists in and there's a glaring, flaming Sohothin here like

So, let's rewind a bit to Personal story. It is true that Nyra felt like Sohothin should belong to her people (not necessarily her, though it may have crossed her mind once or twice but ended there), but she'd never met Rytlock before and was a little affronted that Logan would just give it up like that, to a charr of all people. She respected Logan, but judged him hard for that choice at the time. (Tee hee baby Nyra knew jack shit!!) It didn't sit right with her that a charr should have a human holy relic of Ascalonian heritage, in the same way it didn't sit right that she'd have to serve under Almorra and take orders from her.

She also knew she wasn't yet strong enough to fight Rytlock for it, but then Zhaitan showed up and she figured she it could wait till the dragon was dead. She came to respect Rytlock's prowess as a warrior during that time, though (and him in general after he saved her ass when she first came to Black Citadel) and could genuinely find no other person suitable to wield it beside him or Logan (and Logan had given it up already.)

(A little note on Magdaer: in my canon, Logan did get in the end, but doesn't use it often and instead it stays in Divinity's Reach, alongside King Adelbern's crown.)

Over time, the more she came to befriend Rytlock, the more she felt like he deserved to wield it, though she wouldn't have hesitated if she felt he overstepped his bounds in any way. By the time PoF rolls around, she's used to him having it (and they're, like, buds so it's fine and she understands why Logan gave up on it) and after The Departure, she becomes very fearful of fire, rightfully so, so she never challenges him for it.

It must also be remarked that when Rytlock gave her Sohothin to fight Balthazar, he was giving her a huge moral boost. It reminded her of everything her people stand for and that nothing will cut them down, not even a rogue god; it reminded her that this is a holy mission, blessed by the rest of the gods, but also by her ancestors who wielded the sword before her.

And though Sohothin was tuned to Rytlock, it recognised her faith & chose to aid her and I don't think she would've won the fight if it wasn't for Sohothin.

An unrelated side note while I was doing some digging for this: I accidentally ended up with Nyra as a descendant of King Doric. Her family, the Ainsaphs, are descended from Duke Barradin's brother (a king of Ascalon) and both Barradin and his brother are descended from Doric as members of the Ascalonian royal line. But she is one of many; all modern royalty traces their bloodline to Doric and as stated in Faren's wiki page, most nobles can trace their bloodlines back to ancient kings. I just thought this was an interesting observation :>

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Unexpected Places (Pt. 02 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

<- Previous part 01

Next part (03)->

{Vikings Masterlist}

×

A Christian Among Vikings

It takes two days to share your entire life with the Queen of Kattegat, but she did seem interested after you started. Mostly on the parts where you give voice to everything you couldn't stand. The lies and hypocrisy. That, Aslaug loves, and you have no trouble telling her that. It feels good to say all these things without the fear of being caught.

So, since today you'll finally go to the feast they're still having for the third night on a roll to celebrate this year's raid, you relax in the tub, the warm water slowly getting colder, a sign that you'll have to leave soon.

You're stretching your legs, watching the water drops rolling from your ankle to your knee, before falling back into the water. “Aslaug, where's the–” The voice makes you turn your head at the door, pulling your legs down to the safety of the water. Ragnar stands there, wide eyes and mouth half-open. “I thought this was my wife.”

“Well, it isn't so go away.” Thanks to the distance, you know he can't see anything, but even so, it makes you uncomfortable.

“I live here, do you know that?” He snaps back and you roll your eyes.

“I don't care. I'm not your wife so get out.”

“This is my–”

“Get out!” You raise your voice, throwing water at him. “Or I'll scream for help.” You're not scared of Ragnar, and you don't think he'll try anything. But you know him enough to know he's a teaser, and he loves putting people in uncomfortable positions.

He raises an eyebrow, shrugging his shoulders. “Then do it.”

Squinting your eyes, you move closer to the edge, making sure he won't be able to see anything. “Help!” You shout, trying not to laugh. The situation is quite funny, and, if he wanted to try anything, he'd already moved. So you decide to play along. “Somebody help me!” When you hear footsteps, you smirk victoriously. But, when another man comes in, the smile fades, and out of instinct, you cross your arms over your chest.

“What's going on here?” The guy asks, confused as hell, furrowing his eyebrows at you and then at Ragnar.

“Princess, this is Hvitserk, my son, who so bravely came to your rescue.” Ragnar starts, pacing around to the other edge of the room. “Hvitserk, this is (Y/N). Aslaug has been keeping her in here I have no idea why.” He sounds a little pissed, but you don't mind him in the back, your eyes focused on his son.

“Hi.”

“Would the two of you just leave?” Now you're annoyed, running a hand through your soaked hair. Relieve washes over you when Aslaug comes through the door, her eyes quickly finding her husband.

“What's going on here?” She mutters, and through the corner of your eye, you see Ragnar already moving.

“Just came to take this.” He answers, showing her something you can't see, right before leaving, grabbing his son's arm and pulling him along.

“Your husband is a complete idiot.” You say, relaxing once again.

“I noticed.” She gestures at the dress she brought you, laying on a chair. “Get dressed. I'll do your hair like a Viking woman and you'll join the feast tonight.”

Doing as she says, you put on the dress, which is different from everything you ever wore. The fabric is strong, yet beautiful, in a wonderful shade of blue with golden details that look like flowers. Aslaug braids your hair, way too patiently, and when she's done, you do look like a Viking. She even teaches you how to paint your eyes, and you wonder why she changed so much in these two days. As you wait for her to get ready, with the aid of her slaves, you decide to ask.

“Why are you being so nice to me now?” Playing with the tip of one of the many braids, you rest your back against the chair you're seated on. “When I got here I thought I'd end up living with that Lagertha.”

“Because it's more than rare to find a Christian I don't find stupid.” Dismissing the girls, she stands up. You're not entirely sure that was a compliment, but you decide to take it. “And I have the feeling, mostly after everything you told me, that this was most of a rescue than a kidnapping.”

She has a point. “It certainly does.”

“Now, come. Today I want to introduce you to the town.”

“Introduce me?” Following her, you wonder what that's about.

Aslaug doesn't answer, and it doesn't take much until you start hearing the feast. How long do these things last? Is the third day and it doesn't seem like anyone is tired. The moment the Queen enters, some heads turns, and, as she stands right before her chair, a silence starts to fall. You stat in the back, waiting to see what's going on when she gestures for you to come. Taking a deep breath, you move to stand next to her.

Many eyes lie on you. Probably all of them. You can identify hate, curiosity, disgust, indifference... And other things you can't quite place. At least you look like one of them... It must be of some help.

“People of Kattegat, this is Princess (Y/N), daughter of King Ecbert of Wessex,” Aslaug speaks, loud and clear. “She was brought here by my husband, and now will live among us.” That gets some people talking. They're not particularly excited about a Christian among them... You can't blame them. Your people kill them, and they kill your people back. They're like natural enemies. “I'm aware of the fact that you have no affection for her kind, and neither do I. So that's why she will tell you what she told me.”

A breath gets caught on your throat, and for a moment you feel like you're back home, forced to admit your sins, even though you haven't committed any. You've been in situations like this, but now, it's different. You can speak. You can let out the very thoughts that once had you imprisoned, confined to your chambers for days no end. Maybe they'll understand, unlike people in Wessex. Aslaug did. “Tell what?” You ask because you did speak great too many things with her. You have no idea where to begin.

“Tell them about your relationship with your faith.” She seems so secure, unbothered by how some men and women look so angry at this whole thing.

Taking a deep breath, you look ahead, eyes scanning through the room for any kind face... But it takes a long time until you find that Ragnar son who went to your rescue, Hvitserk. He doesn't look like he hates you, so you focus on him. “I have no love for the Catholic faith.” You start, stepping forward. “Since I was little, they've been telling me you worship false gods, made of stone, wood, iron, and silver. But they do the same.” Hvitserk furrows his eyebrows as if asking something. “My father himself spent hours repeating prayers for a cross made of gold. They accuse you of doing the same things they do.” If your older brother heard this, you'd be whipped, probably. “They're all hypocrites, punishing and condemning people for the same sins they commit, over and over again, and that I could never accept.” Chuckling, you move your eyes from Hvitserk, noticing how some angry faces are now... Inquisitive. “I was told you're all murderers, but so are they. So what if you come home covered by the blood of your enemies? Isn't that what a battle is? If it was me on the battlefield, I'd rather kill a hundred men than die by their hands.” The hall erupts on yells and shouts, hands being raised. It takes you by surprise, and for a moment, you're scared they heard enough, and decided to end your life right here and now. But the yells are from... Praising, approval. “And, as Ragnar Lothbrok as my witness, I'd rather face death than go back into the life I had there. If I can even call that a life.”

“That's true.” Bjorn raises his voice, coming from behind some men. “The moment she learned her father was dead, he stood before my father, ready to face her fate. I've never seen a Christian girl do that.”

“Don't forget about how she stood in the pouring rain with that idiot over there,” Ragnar says, pointing out his hand at Floki, who's standing on a chair or something, at the very back, watching the commotion.

Floki giggles, tilting his head at Ragnar. “Even though she can't swim. And don't get me wrong, I'd still rather she fell off to the mighty waves than have her here with us.”

“Don't say that Floki,” Aslaug warns, moving to sit on her chair. “I plan to make a Viking out of (Y/N) since she's more than eager to leave behind everything she once knew.”

“No doubt.” You mutter, wondering if this is it, if you can go sit down somewhere.

“What about that man, Edward?” Bjorn asks, coming to stand before you. He's so damn tall. You don't think you ever met a man this tall before. “You said something about a marriage.”

“Oh, that.” Rolling your eyes, you shrug your shoulders. “My father would have me dragged down the aisle in chains if it was necessary since the political implications of the union were... Delicate. But you guys decided to show up and ruin his plans. Thankfully.”

“Was he that bad?”

“The most disgusting man I've ever met in my life, so, as the Queen said herself a few moments earlier...” Turning at the people once again, you sigh. You don't expect to be accepted by everyone here, you just hope they won't hate you. Not so much, at least. “This was more like a rescue than a kidnapping.”

“Well, now that you know our new resident, I must make something very clear,” Aslaug speaks up, her voice rising above everyone else's. “(Y/N) is a free woman.” She takes a cup from the small table set next to her chair, spinning it in her hand, not bothering to look up from it. “Whoever touches her loses the balls, the hands, and the tongue... As a start.”

You giggle, thinking she's joking, but by the way, the silence persists for quite a long time, you understand that was no joke. And that's very good. That will surely keep them away from you.

“Well, let's celebrate!” Ragnar shouts, and everyone sets in motion again.

You're not sure where to go, so you find a table that's half-empty to sit down, taking a cup and filling it. Being isolated for two days with Aslaug didn't really help you being sociable, and it does feel like you're from two different worlds now. Because that's the truth, even though you're dressed like them. There's an invisible barrier keeping everyone distant, and not only for what Aslaug just said.

“Hey there.” Someone says as they settle down by your side. Hvitserk glances at you, kindly smiling. “Sorry about earlier. Heard a girl screaming, thought something bad was happening.”

“Well, something bad was happening. Your father was annoying me to death.” Taking a few sips from your drink, your eyes find that man again, Ivar. He's seated on Ragnar's chair, chatting with his mother. As if being called, he stares straight at you, suddenly angry.

“I see you already met my little brother,” Hvitserk mutters, and only then do you notice he had followed your gaze.

Clearing your throat, you look away. “Not really. But by the looks of it, he hates me.”

“I wouldn't say he hates you. Ivar is just... Not really fond of the idea of–”

“Of a Christian girl among us.” The voice comes from the head of the table, and when you raise your eyes, you see the man himself. But this time, you don't let his eyes pull you. Somehow, you manage to distract yourself. “You know you're only here because my mother wants to turn you into a Viking.”

“I'm not interested in being anything else than myself.” Drinking what is left on your cup, you sigh. “Haven't had the chance since I was born.”

“Do you really expect anyone here to believe you didn't like being a princess?” His tone is mocking you, a fake pity expression on his face.

“Being a princess in England might be fun if you just do as everyone says, no questions asked.” For some reason, you're pissed. Ivar pushed some button that got you suddenly annoyed, so you stand up, bending over the table to get the jar and refill your cup. But before you can reach it, Ivar takes the thing, drinking straight from it, some of the liquid dripping on his chin. Sighing, you squint your eyes at him, a humorless laugh escaping your lips.

“Here.” The voice gets your attention, and when you turn at him, you see Bjorn filling your cup again. “This one's better anyway.”

“Thanks.” Sitting back down, you give Ivar one last glance before taking long sips.

“Are you going to live here?” Bjorn asks. “Or are you going to live with my mother after all?”

“I'm staying.” Nodding, you look at him. His mother is the most famous shieldmaiden in the world, a skillful fighter. Also Ragnar's ex-wife, reason why Aslaug can't stand her. “The Queen already helped me settle on my chambers.”

“That's good.” He smiles, and a man pushes his shoulder quite violently. Bjorn turns to face him, cursing, but soon enough bursting into laughter.

Ignoring the two men, you look down at your cup, now almost empty again. Music starts playing suddenly, and it doesn't take much for people to start dancing. It gets louder as the minutes go by, and Ragnar and Floki stand on your table, moving around and laughing, kicking everything out. Your eyes follow the whole commotion, standing up and stepping away from the table when they get a little too close. But you don't mind. You've never seen people acting so... Crazy. So happy. And you can't stop smiling, seeing as other people join them.

“I bet you never saw anything like that,” Hvitserk says, raising his voice a little to make himself heard. “I know how boring the feats are in England.”

“This is so much better.” Ragnar jumps to the ground, but one of his legs get caught in between the bench and the table, making him fall. But on the next second, he's up again, a smile on his lips. “My brother would have a heart attack if he ever saw this.”

“Aethelwulf?”

“Yeah.” Someone bumps on your back, making you almost fall. But Hvitserk holds you up, and he seems quite confused to find you laughing. “What? It's alright, I like it. At least this chaos is real, people aren't faking it.” As your eyes move through the hall, you find Ragnar, behind this weird curtain made of leather. You didn't even know he left. “What's that weirdo doing over there?”

“He's observing.” Hvitserk answers, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “From back there, he can see who's sleeping with who. Who's not sleeping with who anymore, who may be plotting something to put him in a dangerous position.”

“Smart guy.” Nodding to yourself, your attention is stolen by the crowd, that starts moving outside, shouting something you can't really understand. “What's going on?”

“Someone's gonna fight. Come watch.” Hvitserk helps you walk among the people, all the way to the beach. Torches came out of nowhere, illuminating the night. Everyone seems oddly happy for this to be about a fight, but Hvitserck wasn't wrong. On the sand, the two men pace around each other, shouting, cursing.

“What's this about?” It happened out of nowhere, and you're not sure how serious this is. The warriors are clearly pissed at each other, but the public is cheerful. This is when you feel how new and different this culture is. Something like this would never happen back at Wessex, and it will take a while for you to get used and understand how things work here. It's a shock, a sudden impact.

“They're both in love with the same woman. She claims she loves both, but they won't share.” Hvitserk explains, as someone passes him a torch, which he holds up high. “The one who survives gets to be with her.”

“Damn.” You mutter as the two men start attacking each other. You've never seen an actual fight. Girls aren't allowed on the battlefield, mostly not a princess. The only glimpses you had were from soldiers training, and it was nothing compared to this. This is violent, powerful, and you can't help but be impressed by their skills. Of course they're good. They're Vikings, a freaking force of nature, they had told you back in England. It's impressive how they keep getting back up, even after so many wounds. Cuts, punches, everything.

A particular loud shout coming from the crowd gets your attention. It's Ivar, seated on the sand, eyes shining and a bright smile on his lips. He's enjoying this. Everyone is, actually. And once again, as if you called his name out loud, he turns to look at you. And somehow you know exactly what he's looking for. Fear, desperation. He wants to see if you're scared.

But... You're not.

Every single person here is joyfully yelling, and those two men choose their fates. They're not being forced to it, it was their decision, as it was yours to stand up, neck exposed, ready for the ax Ragnar was holding. They're choosing to face death, fearlessly.

Then, your eyes aren't on Ivar anymore, but following the men's every move. It doesn't take much for you to gasp and yelp when one or the other successes to throw a blow. You feel like a savage, laughing at the thought of what your father and brother would say if they saw you now.

When the tallest man, with long dark hair, falls dead, the crowd goes insane. The victorious raises both his hands, still holding an ax. A woman comes from the crowd, hugging and kissing him. “That's insane.” You chuckle, running a hand through your braided hair. “Teach me.” The request comes out suddenly, and you don't even give it much thought.

“Are you sure about it?” He asks, looking down at you. Hvitserk is being nice to you, and that's a surprise.

“I mean, I could never be a shieldmaiden but... I'd like to know how to defend myself.”

“Well, I've got nothing to do tomorrow, so I guess we could start.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you smile. “Thanks. You're the quickest and... Probably the most real friend I've ever made.”

“Yeah, you'll need someone to help you out around here until you get the hang of things. Ragnar gave me this task.”

“Oh...” Looking down, you start walking back to the hall, following Hvitserk's pace. Maybe it was a little stupid to expect him to be so nice to you. “You don't have to. I will get used to things on my own.”

“I didn't mean it like that.” He quickly responds, leaving the torch on some post along the way. “You're pretty cool, actually. For a Christian. You've been a good friend so far.” He gives you a glance and a smirk. “And I don't have to obey my father, you know.”

Blushing a little, you giggle. “Thanks again, then.”

“Now, get a good night sleep and get ready for tomorrow, I mean...” Hvitserk takes a look over his shoulder, a little too dramatic for your taste. “If my older brother doesn't mind it.”

“What do you mean?” Following his gaze, you find Bjorn staring. He doesn't seem angry, but he's not happy either.

“I think Bjorn likes you.”

“And? If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have watched the fight.” Shrugging your shoulders, you stop at the entrance of the hall, waiting as the crowd moves inside. “You've done more for me than he did tonight.”

“So you enjoyed the fight?”

“I have no idea why, or how, but I did.” Nodding, you smile again. “Now, friend, let's drink some more, and maybe I'll consider dancing.” Gesturing at the hall, you both walk in.

The warmth is welcome, and you soon find your way back to the table. But, as you sit down, you see Ivar again, crawling. He moves fast, talking to a man. As he moves past your table, he gives you a stare. It's different from before, but you can't read it. His eyes, like magnets, attract you in a way you didn't even know was possible. You think about waving, or smiling, but then he looks away and disappears inside the house.

“Don't mind Ivar,” Hvitserk says, and you look down at your cup. “He'll get used to your presence.”

“Let's hope he will.”

×

@multific @revolution-starter @crackhead1-800 @youbloodymadgenius @clown-boyyy @kitten0394 @castielsangelx-blog @goldlion07 @midnightmystic @readsalot73 @xvxcarolinexvx @momowhoo @fangfoxy @msrawog @walkingonshunshine @alytavzla

[twh-news]

'Loki' Full Season 1 Review: The Most Frustrating Thing Is How Incomplete the Story Feels

Editor's note: The following contains spoilers through the Season 1 finale of Loki, "For All Time. Always."

[TWH-NEWS note: Tom is NOT confirmed to be on Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness even though the article so claims. Marvel hasn't confirmed it.]

The Loki season finale is perhaps one of the most vexing episodes of television I have seen in quite some time. The Disney+ sci-fi drama, tracking the events following Loki's (Tom Hiddleston) escape from the pre-established timeline, was never confirmed to be an ongoing show versus a limited series, with rumors of a second season on the horizon from the beginning, so the biggest twist delivered by "For All Time. Always." ended up being confirmation of a Season 2 with a post-credits title card.

However, while there were other key reveals made during the episode, those reveals left behind plenty of story to explore in future seasons. Too much story. There's a difference between a few dangling plot threads and a mess of string, and the staggering number of questions left unresolved by "For All Time. Always." crosses a line when it comes to completion — especially given the fact that there's no clear sense of when the show might return, and the real story being told is much bigger than the fate of one mischievous scamp.

In general, every episode of this show was beautifully made, with immense credit going to director Kate Herron, head writer Michael Waldron, and the creative team. The cast of known all-stars like Tom Hiddleston, Owen Wilson, and Gugu Mbatha-Raw, blended with new all-stars like Sophia Di Martino and Wunmi Mosaku, did a remarkable job of grounding even the most fantastical moments in raw humanity, and the writing popped with verve and wit. Also, Loki does come full circle on what was its original raison d'etre — the redemption of a character who literally was plucked out of the timeline at his worst, having attacked Manhattan with an alien force so destructive that the Earth needed a whole damn team of superheroes to stop him. On this score, the show was wildly successful, breaking down Loki's sense of grandeur and purpose in the first episode and then slowly but surely rebuilding him into a man capable of evolving beyond his past. Loki did more to examine a single character's psychology and motivations than we've ever seen in the context of the MCU, and all of the progress and growth made by the character, as a result, feels truly earned.

However, if Loki's redemption was the only thing this show had been about, it would have been a very boring show, and Loki was far from boring. The official theme of the series was "What makes a Loki a Loki?" but the real issues being raised were far more existential; in so many ways, this was a show about faith and free will, an undercurrent that deserves more exploration and frankly appreciation, especially after the questions and themes left dangling by the last episode.

This element proved to be key to so much of the show's construction, especially when it comes to the TVA, which basically functions as a religious order — its devotees slavishly sacrificing their lives to the cause of protecting the Sacred Timeline. It's not subtle, especially when the dark side of it is revealed, those devotees learning that their service happened against their will. "We can't take away people's free will, can't you see that?" Mobius pleads with Ravonna in their final scene together, before she walks away in something resembling agreement with him, telling him that she's going in search of free will herself.

Loki Season 1, by the end, becomes a show not just about a crisis of faith, but about an apocalypse. Every time a story about apocalypses comes up, I find it impossible to forget that the Greek word from which the term originates actually means "revelation." That's why the part of the Bible about the world ending is called the Book of Revelations, but beyond that, the definition serves as a reminder of why endings can matter. Endings are beginnings, in some ways. A painful breakup reveals the flaws in what might have seemed like a loving relationship. Extreme climate change is a revelation regarding humanity's callous attitude towards its impact on the environment. For the characters of Loki — perhaps the entire MCU — the apocalypse they're facing following the destruction of the Sacred Timeline also means the revelation of what lives they left behind.

Certainly there's a ton of room for speculation as to what lies ahead for these characters, but the fact is that the next chapter of Loki's journey won't even be told on Disney+, as Hiddleston is reportedly in Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, and there's no telling when we might return to resolve the events of the Season 1 finale. Cliffhangers are one thing; anyone who grew up watching '90s TV learned the hard way how to handle the dramatic season endings of The X-Files or Star Trek: The Next Generation. But Loki didn't dangle its characters off a cliff — it pushed them off the edge, leaving them suspended in mid-air for who knows how long.

Back in the days of The X-Files you at least knew that whatever jaw-dropping cliffhanger the season finale had just delivered would be addressed by the season premiere in just a few months. (Maybe as many as six months, depending on the baseball season.) That's a sense of certainty that Loki fans do not have the luxury of enjoying; based on where the conversations around a second season currently stand, it could be a while before the contracts are even signed. Conservatively, at this point, it feels unlikely that we'll get a second season of Loki until near the end of 2022, and given that the first season took over two years from its announcement to now to actually debut, 2023 doesn't feel like too much of a stretch. Maybe Owen Wilson and Gugu Mbatha-Raw get to make cameos in Doctor Strange 2 as well? Nothing is possible and everything is possible. We just have to wait for the answer, and in the meantime stew in dissatisfaction.

"Only one person gets free will. The one in charge," Ravonna tells Mobius — implicitly referring to He Who Remains (Jonathan Majors). Who, speaking of, is now dead, Sylvie having completed her one primary quest to revenge herself upon the ones who took her life away. That, combined with the Wizard of Oz parallels, makes this a show that's fascinating to parse (Sylvie literally killed God!), but frustratingly incomplete in its themes. Literally as the episode officially ended on the visage of Kang enshrined as the ruler of the TVA, I said out loud "Well, there's going to be a Season 2," and I suppose that thanks are owed to Marvel and Disney+ for not leaving that element in suspence for more than two minutes and two seconds.

But if I have a religion, it's my belief in the power of storytelling, how the myths we create for ourselves and others can shape lives and hopefully make them better. One tenet of that is the idea that great stories deserve some sense of completion. So, the first season of Loki committed a pretty grievous sin.

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

Additional on the disembodied reader.

If player are simping on one character, talking that they're her type and they like something about them(character) but they heard it. They talked about it but the player were embarrassed and stop talking about it for the rest of her existence(?)

—°u°

hi hi °u°!

eiuheiveievub broski i'm gonna scream bc i did just that when i met each character and my friends had to deal with my stoopid simp ass lmaoooo. but it' be funny bc poor nikki would have to hear your horny thoughts and she's turning so red she puts tomatoes to shame. by the time you're alone with her, she's screaming into her hands and begging for you to quit it. so get bonked and go to horny jail.

also just imagine that once the characters confront you, they perfectly recite all the things they said about them, even saying the words when you had fawned over them, much to your embarrassment. they have no shame whatsoever, and they'll watch you all the while you screech into your hand. and they're not about to let you leave anytime soon, so sucks for you, more fun for then though.

scenario and some spoilers below!

" nikki, nikki-" you chant her name, knowing she's trying her best to ignore you. you try to repress your laughs, but it's so hard, especially with how she's pouting and her amber eyes strain and are trained at one spot.

" hey nikki-hehehe-c'monnnnnn," you whine, giggling at her adorable reaction. " i'm not talking to you," she simply says, probably shell-shocked. or disappointed, who knew. your lips pursed as you choked back laughs. seriously, you were gonna die from holding in your laughter.

" nikki, you don't get it, they-"

she took in a deep breath, clearly trying to keep it together. if this was earth, then she could have scolded you and bonked you with her hand, but she couldn't exactly touch you or even acknowledge your existence without looking insane. so she had to suck it up and try to ignore you whenever you started rambling about another one of your "crushes" again.

" all i'm just saying is they could step on me and i'd thank the-"

she slams her head against the counter, clearly embarrassed beyond all belief, and catching the attention of the people around her. you immediately burst into laughter, howling and cackling like a psychotic murderer. " BWAHAHA!!" you shriek, hitting the counter with your palm as you continue to laugh. your stomach already aches from the laughter shaking your body and you can feel tears forming - well, if you even had a body, there'd be some by now. whatever.

she shifts her head until the side of her face is resting on the cool, smooth wooden countertop, and you can see the inflamed skin of her forehead - red as a cherry. her dead expression says everything you need to know and you giggle - a rather high-pitched one - and lean your head.

you've said many, many things about the various personalities you've come across at nikki's side, and the ones you've found attractive you've had rather...interesting things to say about them, many of them steamy and explicit enough to back your mother reel. and poor nikki had to hear every. single. word.

of course you had less than nice things to say about the ones who'd hurt the pinkette the most, but you still said the words you'd said about them before if you were feeling bored. and if you wanted to ruffle nikki's feathers a bit.

hehe.

--

loen doesn't exactly stand out too much, but that doesn't mean you didn't find him unattractive. heavens no, the mercenary certainly held a charm that you found charming and alluring. he seemed so goofy and silly, something you found a nice change of pace compared to the stark challenges you went through.

even if loen couldn't see or hear you, you had whispered your thanks into his ear, thanking him for saving nikki and aiding her without expecting anything in return. when he had pulled some strings in order to get nikki in without any serious charges, and when he had stood alone, you'd whispered a gentle thank you, embracing him tightly.

you leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his smooth cheek, before skipping off, squealing about having finally done a cheek kiss and how it wasn't so bad. hehe, you couldn't wait to tell nikki once she awoke-

loen blinks, confused as he touches his cheek.

he smiles.

--

zoey is incredibly hot, and totally your type. you loved the kind of woman who could kick your ass and actually succeed in doing so if no one gets the reference i'm crying. you didn't even mind her being a woman, she was so much more than just that. she was strong, determined, unwavering, everything you found to be admirable. of course, she might've been too much for your liking, but you weren't one to judge or hold it against her. she'd been through so much in her life, evident by what you'd seen in her spirit world.

but you could at least take comfort in knowing that she had nikki's back, just like loen. for what reasons, you weren't sure. to let her see first-hand just how cruel and callous the world was? maybe. or maybe it was because she found the pinkette's mission to be adorable by her standards and wished to see how it would eventually turn out to be. who knew.

or maybe she wanted to protect the little good there was in the world, to let it bloom like a fragile little daisy that would never see the fire of the hells around it for its short, fragile, but meaningful lifespan. perhaps so. you were probably looking too far into it though. damn, your english class had really stuck with you with its analyzing and shit huh.

" you're really badass y'know," you say, stupidly smiling as you lean on your palm. you really can't help it, you admire her tenacity for these kinds of things. " wish i could be as pretty and kickass as you," is the continuation of your words. she doesn't react, at least not that you can tell. well, she shouldn't. nobody but nikki and momo can even hear you anyway. you observe her sharp features for a while, before sliding off your high-boosted seat.

" thank you zoey," you send her a wink - she won't see it anyway, so you don't care - and you bounce off to where nikki and momo are.

she pauses, before the corner of her lips twitch upwards.

how amusing.

--

" if you weren't so pretty i'd have ripped you a new one," are the words you hiss through gritted teeth, giving qin yi a death glare.

actually scratch that, his pretty looks were no excuse for what he'd done, even if his facial profile suited your tastes quite finely. now anytime you see his face, you want to scratch at it until there's nothing left anymore.

you had to admit, you too had fallen for his pretty face and his gentle eyes, but-

your stomach would twist and ache so much it hurt when you were around him. and it burned. horribly so.

you had desperately wanted to believe nikki too, that he was trustworthy. and his alluring face had almost done its job, and his gentle smile had nearly soothed you to calmness, and his eyes had nearly drowned you in the silver waves.

you had wanted to mistakenly believe that you loved him.

" drop dead qin yi," a deathly whisper flows from your lips as you watch the man from behind, your eyes boring into the back of his head. he continues applying the makeup onto his already perfect face. you scoff, before leaving, the floorboards beneath never creaking, never groaning. you're not here, and yet you are. how strange.

his slender fingers paused, clenching around the smoothed, wooden makeup brush that tickled his skin. his silver irises darting to his side, to the empty and dead doorway.

a beat passes.

he let out a low chuckle.

h̷͎͕͔̭͍̀̆̈́̎̿͋̚̕̚ͅͅó̶̧̡̨̦́͌͊́̋̆̚̕͠ẇ̸̧͍̦̲̩̲͌̈́̈́͒̍̊͌̓̈́̊ ̸̡̛͙͚̻͕̰̲̲̠͆̓̀́̍̒ͅc̸̨͖̭͘u̸̫̦̲̝͚͛̄͋̂͆͋͝ţ̸̳̰̒̎͗̓̎̇̓͐͊̕ę̸͔̱͚̭͉̻͔͔͖͔̳̥̉͂̎̃̈́͊́͛̔̑͛̌́̆͝.̴̡̧̜͙̹͎̝̹͚͎̺̉̈́́̌̇͆̔̓͐̑̃̉̓͘͝

--

" lucky ass rich bastard," you grumble, eyeing every single thing that looked more expensive than your life insurance policy. damn, if you weren't like this, you'd have stolen some of mercury's shit a long time ago and sold it online. hey, you gotta do what you gotta do.

you glance around the finely decorated and obviously very expensive room, eyes dazzling and soul breaking simultaneously because of how nice everything looks. you can practically feel your wallet crying with how fancy and expensive everything in here is. ugh, rich people.

mercury merely sits there, silently going through the siles neatly stacked upon his smoothed wooden desk. he would occasionally stop whenever his pretty black cat purred and rubbed its sleek head against him, to which he'd gently scratch behind its ears. you slunk over, contemplating something, everything, many things. mostly -

whether or not you want to truly and utterly hate him.

sure, his handsome looks and cold personality were exactly what made your heart go into practical overdrive, and poor nikki had been the unfortunate soul to hear about yet another one of your many "crushes." you honestly almost pitied her for having to listen to your ramblings, of all people, but you digressed.

and you felt nothing but sorrow for him. sorrow that he was hated so much for something that wasn't his fault, and never would be. sorrow for the endless pain he'd gone through that no child should ever have to go through, sorrow that he'd become so twisted and callous that he'd become the monster he'd always feared he'd become.

how scary.

but he'd been the one who'd been pulling the strings, the one who'd been opposing nikki all this time, hurting more and more people and for what? his belief to change the world?

you choked, before letting out a small laugh. it was cruel of you, but you couldn't help it. the world wouldn't change like that. humanity was cruel, always stubborn in their beliefs. you would know, back in your and nikki's world, nobody could even respect each other's political beliefs or opinions without getting aggressive.

the sound of scribbles against paper fills the air. he sits, unblinking. the dull hues of the lamps perfectly illuminate his face. if you didn't know who he was or what he'd done-

you'd have fallen in love in an instant.

" you're really pathetic, y'know?" you whisper. his black cat perks up, its eyes boring right into where you stand. you can only guess that it can sense you, even if only just a little.

" if you weren't such a heartless bastard, maybe i could've loved you," you reach a finger to the cat, and rub between its ears gently. it purrs, clearly satisfied and content. you smile a bit, before retracting your finger. it lets out a discontent "mrrppp" as you pull back.

you do a quick glance over. you had searched the room even before mercury had returned to it.

no sign of leonid's manuscript.

dammit.

you heave a disappointed sigh. then again, you weren't exactly the greatest so-called detective as you would've liked to think. but you can't risk it, especially since mercury will be in the room for god knows how long. so it was best to retreat for now.

" later merc' " you snidely say, ignoring his cat's eyes boring into you. you made a god-awful kissy sound, snickering at how stupid you sounded. you must've looked stupid too, but who cared. you were fine with that.

" let's not fall in love, okay?"

with that, you slip through the barely-opened door, and sprint off, trying to remember the way out. god, your memory sucked ass.

a beat passed.

mercury heaved a heavy sigh, his baritone voice groaning. the cat jumped from his lap, letting out a small yawn and stretching its limbs.

he chuckled, pale green eyes staring at the doorway. it was silent. no phantom-like whisper insulting him or whispering out its dying love for him. just the sound of his breathing and a cat's occasional meow.

" haha."

he was amused.

[yan-twst]

Do remember the ask"dorm leaders s/o scared of them physical hurting them"well can you do it again, but this time only to find out why they're scared of being physical being hurt by them. Like their caretakers/parents were physical abusive to s/o and and their ex-lover was also physical abusive to them. What would they do with this new found information.Would the dorm leaders go seeking revenge on their s/o caretakers/parents and their ex-lover.

a/n: this is a pretty sensitive topic, so i'm going to try my best to write on it: it is NEVER my intention to romanticize these darker themes, but if anyone feels offended or hurt by this particular post please do reaxh out to me and i won't hesitate to edit or take it down. due to the nature of this text i will put it under a read more.

warnings: topics such as domestic abuse, child abuse, and things of that nature are mentioned here, along with general yandere topics and themes. mentions of torture , too! please be careful while reading if anything could potentially cause bad memories or emotional responses in you!

riddle rosehearts

he comes from an abusive household, even though he wouldn't admit it (and probably doesn't realize it). while his mother never used much physical punishment, he is no stranger to getting yelled at and having all his comforts taken away for the smallest mistake

when he realizes his darling came from a similar background, he'd probably take a cold hard look at himself: is he... becoming like his mother? the thought is terrifying to him- he doesn't want to be like that, he doesn't want his darling to fear him like he did his mother

although the realization would lead to him being more lenient and less punishing, he is still a toxic lover. sure, he isn't yelling at his darling for breaking rule #163- but he is still guilt-trippy, still a perfectionist deep down. it's a small improvement, though

even though he would like nothing more than to destroy those who dared hurt his darling, he'd hesitate. he knows he'd lose it if someone were to hurt his mother, even after all she put him through; what if his darling feels the same way about the people who hurt them in the past...? he feels like he shouldn't ask such a crass question, so he'll limit himself to promising to protect his darling

in short, while he is enraged at those who hurt his darling in the past, he believes they're safe now: he would never let such harm befall them again... it's another excuse to why he keeps them locked up. but if his darling's past tormentors ever as much as tried to poke their heads back into their life, it's off with their heads- and perhaps lives, if riddle can so so.

leona kingscholar

he's immediately deeply angry when his darling admits part of their fear of him comes from their past experience. he cannot stand it- his darling should only be scared of him, respect him; the fact other people even dared try to get his darling to hurt in the past makes him red with rage.

he'll absolutely track down his darling's past tormentors. does he care if his darling is scared of him? no. does it piss him off that they're scared of him because of other people? god- it makes his blood sizzle. don't mistake his rage with him being a knight in shining armour for his beloved- although he wouldn't be opposed to his darling seeing it like that

he'll kill them in cold blood, with his bare hands. this isn't a job he can make someone else do: it has to be him. he may even make his darling watch as he tears their previous tormentors to shreds. it's horribly gruesome, and it'll certainly scar his darling, but he doesn't care. if they're going to fear him, then fear only him.

azul ashengrotto

he instantly softens up with his darling when they admit this. he may not have been abused in his past, but the scars of the bullying and teasing in his formative years still weigh down heavily on him

he'll comfort his darling as he wished someone had comforted him- but this is also a good way for him to become even clingier and more obsessive... sure, he isn't being harsh or mean, but his darling is still very much a prisoner to him

he'd absolutely try to get revenge on those who wronged his darling, but he might not kill them. instead, he'll torture them (with the twin's help, of course!) until they apologise in tears to his darling- beg for mercy to them, cry- before he takes them away to never be seen.

in reality, this probably doesn't help his darling's trauma in a bit, bur for him, it's cathartic. he feels like he's wiped a dark period of his darling's life clean- aren't they happy? aren't they grateful?

kalim al-asim

he gasps and immediately holds his darling into a hug when they admit how their past was. so that was why- why despite all his attempts and gifts, they remained scared...?

kalim cannot comprehend how anyone could ever hurt his darling. they're the most beautiful, kindest and gentlest soul on earth: who would dare think of bringing harm upon them?! the thought makes him seeth with anger

he'll swear that he won't ever allow such a thing to happen again. after all, he's already protecting them (by keeping them locked in, always making jamil check up on them); he'll just double his efforts. he'll have extensive background checks on every single servant who attends his beloved just to make sure they have ZERO history of violence

it isn't hard for such a rich man with connections everywhere to find the people who hurt his darling in the past. it's also not hard to pay for their deaths: every single one of them is quietly found dead after mysteriously going missing... he won't say what he did to his darling, simply reassuring them they're safe now

vil schoenheit

do people have no shame?! he's incredibly shaken and stirred when his darling finally admits the source of their fears. people are beasts- he knows this, and that's why he keeps his darling close at all times, but to think they'd already managed to hurt them before he even knew them...!

he has no problem sending his legions of fans against anyone who wronged his darling. after all, he's seamlessly introduced his beloved as part of his image: his fans adore his darling! he's presented them as a weak, meek and adorable doll, the source of his happiness. if he as much as mentioned someone had wronged them... the fury would be immediate and direct

although vil is guilty of tearing down his darling's self esteem whenever they do something he dislikes, he'll act as if he'd never done that. suddenly he brings up how lucky his darling is to have him, who will bring justice to them- he who will make those who wronged them regret being born, he who loves them so much to go through all of this

and if one day, those past tormentors quietly day due to a scentless, tasteless, untraceable poison...? well, isn't that just a wild coincidence!

idia shroud

he cannot believe such scum exists. even he- the lowest of the low, a disgusting freak who kidnapped his darling- wouldn't dare to hurt them for the sake of just causing pain!

he immediately regrets every single physical punishment he ever gave, although it's such a rare occasion and usually something even lesser than a slap. no wonder his darling was scared! he was just a monster, right? just was bad as the others, right?!

he'll feel the need to make it up to his darling, and he can't think of any other way than revenge. if he gets rid of those who hurt his darling, can his actions be forgiven? he prays they can

his darling's past tormentors better be ready for hell- what starts as merely hacking into their devices becomes a one-man lead spionage campaign, with blakmail slowly and surely driving them up a wall. idia will show no pity- he has to make them pay. he has to, so he may one day be forgiven...

malleus draconia

it's not just men's nature that makes them hurt each other, and he knows this, but even still he cannot help but want to curse all mankind when his darling finally tells him about their past experiences

he doesn't care about reasons or circumstances- all he knows is that those people hurt his darling. all dragons are protective of their treasure, and to think of others laying their filthy hands to strike his most beloved... he can feel fire burning in his mouth at the mere thought

he'll swear to never lay a hand on his beloved- but don't be fooled, this doesn't mean that the relationship will improve. physical punishments are replaced with the torture of isolation, of taking away all the comforts he's given his darling until they beg for him

and as for his darling's tormentors... to them, after malleus learns of their actions, death would be nothing short of a blessing. the draconian man wouldn't feel a shred of pity in torturing them, breaking their fragile human bodies time and tima again. he has no pity for anyone who hurts his beloved

[imaginejamesandsirius]

Can we get like. A pirate AU where James is the captain of a ship and Sirius is like a Private in the Navy on a ship that James's crew attacks. But instead of killing Sirius James is like 👀 and Sirius joins the crew and they're in love❤️❤️?? You are doing gods work carrying this rarepair on your back.

((A/N: Warning for mentions of slave trade and past child abuse)) 

Sirius knew that he could've thought through his escape plan a little better, but he'd been desperate to get away from his family, by whatever means necessary. He needed to do something that they couldn't pull him back from. Joining the military had been the easiest, most solid answer that he'd been able to come up with. It was bad for their image if they pulled him out of that, but they could do it. Their reach was long and powerful, and Sirius knew that. Military wouldn't just be enough; he needed to get away. 

So he joined the navy. Sailors spent all their time on ships, hardly ever in port. With no war on, they didn't even fight. They were little more than guards to merchant ships carrying valuable cargo, and Sirius didn't mind that at all. 

He sort of minded being told what to do all the time, but he figure out that the better he got at his job, the less he was ordered around; there was no point in telling him what to do if he was already doing it, after all. 

He kind of hated his fellow crewmates, but that wasn't a surprise. Sirius didn't get on with other people, and he was still content to be away from his parents. 

Sirius wouldn't describe himself as being happy with his new life, but he'd never been very happy to begin with, so it was no real loss. He knew that freedom was a dream that could never be attained. He'd been born into a prestigious family, and while he'd reaped the rewards, he wasn't willing to deal with the consequences. His father had called him spoiled, and his mother had said he was being ungrateful. The truth was that Sirius was plenty grateful for what he'd had growing up, but not who he'd had it with. 

He hadn't been a part of the navy for a full year when it ended. He'd always thought that if he was pulled out of service, it would be because his parents yanked him out, or maybe that he finally lost his temper and assaulted a superior officer. In a way, the latter is what happened. He just... didn't get discharged for it because there were bigger events at work. 

Pirates attacked them, and that was around the time that Sirius learned the 'valuable cargo' they were guarding were slaves-- it suddenly made sense why a single ship had needed an escort, but it didn't make it any less reprehensible. They were under attack and the chances of any of them making it out of this were slim, so Sirius figured it was well within his rights to be the shite out of his captain. 

Whether it was considered improper conduct or not-- which, to be clear, it definitely was-- Sirius was rounded up with the rest of the sailors that still lived when the attack was over. The worst they'd do was kill him; pirates didn't have time to be inventive torturers, and any way they could kill him would be quick. Even the more frightening ideas would only last for a couple hours before he died. That being said, he didn't want to die. He rather liked living. They were on their knees, waiting for the verdict as the pirates deliberated. 

He could hear one of the pirates talking to his captain, but he couldn't hear what was being said. All he knew that was one second, they were talking, and the next, the captain was squat down in front of Sirius, peering at him curiously. Sirius met his gaze evenly. "You're not like the others," the captain said. "What's your name, love?" 

Pirates were weird. Who called someone 'love' before killing them? "I'm pretty sure you don't need to know someone's name to kill them." 

"Who said anything about killing you? I know I didn't. What's your name?" he asked again. 

Sirius didn't have a good reason for why he refused to answer. Best he could figure was that he just didn't like being told what to do, and if he was about to die, there was point in being accommodating. This pirate captain could say as much as he wanted that he didn't plan on killing Sirius, but he knew that pirates didn't take prisoners; it simply wasn't feasible. He didn't want to answer, so he just stared into the captain's eyes and raised an eyebrow; if there was one thing he was good at, it was being annoying. According to Regulus, at least, but he had plenty of evidence to back up that claim. 

After twenty seconds or so, one of the other sailors next to him muttered, "For fuck's sake," before saying, loud enough that the captain could hear him, "Sirius Black. His name's Sirius Black." It was one of the lieutenants, which meant that he'd almost certainly known about the slaves in the merchant ship.  

Sirius had the urge to kick him, but he couldn't do it without falling over, what with his hands tied behind his back and all. He settled for glaring at the man. He didn't turn his head quickly enough to catch the spark of realisation in the captain's eyes. 

Instead of the pirate captain saying anything about his family or the hefty ransom he could try to get for giving them back Sirius, he just said, "Like the star." Then his gaze slid over to the lieutenant and down to his shoulder where his rank was displayed, and his face hardened. He looked back at Sirius, his expression clearing again. "Moony?" he said, pointing at the lieutenant. 

The next second, there was a sword sticking out of his chest and he made a horrible gurgling sound. Sirius flinched, and he wasn't the only one. The sword pulled back out, and he fell, lifeless and face first, on the deck. 

"Don't worry, Sirius Black," the captain said quietly, like this was something just for the two of them, "that's not going to happen to you." 

Sirius clenched his jaw. It wasn't the reassurance the captain wanted it to be. Going back to his parents and that sodding house was nothing short of a nightmare. 

All the same, the captain was true to his word, and Sirius wasn't killed. The same couldn't be said for the rest of his crewmates, but a few of them did live to see the next day. 

None of them were prisoners, and that was as strange as everything else about this had been. It made sense that they wouldn't have jailcells, but it didn't make sense that they let them roam free. That just wasn't safe. And it certainly didn't help that Sirius had no idea why he hadn't been killed. The captain had been dead by the time the battle ended-- and it had been a short lived battle-- and the rest of the higher ranked officers had been killed. All that was left of the original crew was Sirius and a handful of other privates. Did the pirates think they were harmless because they were new? But that theory didn't hold because from what Sirius had seen, these pirates weren't stupid. They had a reason for keeping these particular crewmen alive, and he wished he knew what it was. Sirius? He was obvious. Ransom, a grateful reward for transferring him safely, whatever they went with, that was smart. The rest of the privates didn't have those sorts of family connections, though. 

Sirius had never liked being idle, and when he had more reason to be cowed, he had a tendency to act out-- or, as Regulus always said, act stupid. As far as stupid ideas went, this was harmless. He went on deck, and when he saw someone struggling to keep hold of the rope and get down where they needed to tie it off, he went over and said, "Want a hand?" 

"Tie this off," they said, tossing the slack rope down to him. After he did, they gave it an experimental tug, then hopped down. "You must be Sirius," they said with a grin. 

He blinked. "How d'you know that?" He hadn't met any of the pirate crew, and he certainly hadn't been introduced to them. 

"You're not on our crew, and James only cared to mention one of our passengers to me. I believe the phrase he used was 'devilishly handsome'." Now that they were closer, Sirius could make out all the freckles dotting across pale skin. He guessed that some people tanned, and other people just freckled. He caught sight of coppery red hair tucked under their hat, and that explained the resilient paleness, at least. 

Sirius blinked some more. "Who's James?" 

Their grin widened. "He must really be in it if he forgot to introduce himself. He's the captain. I'm Lily. Normally, I would follow that up by saying that I'm available to someone like you, but I think James would get pissed with me if I even thought of stealing you out from under him." 

"I'm supposed to think fondly of someone that kidnapped me?" Sirius said with a snort. "He'll be waiting a long time for that to happen." 

Lily raised an eyebrow at him. "We kidnapped you? That's news to me. The way I see it, we saved your life. You would've been around slavers for years before they realised you weren't one of them. When that day came, they would've killed you." 

"I find it hard to be grateful when I'm about to be delivered into the hands of my family," he said, even though he was grateful for the save; the Navy crew would've tossed him overboard. 

"You don't miss them?" 

"Not one bit," he said immediately. 

She hummed, then glanced out at the ocean. "If you're going to be up here, you might as well help me. C'mon." 

*

"You did what?" James asked, staring at her, dumbfounded. 

Lily rolled her eyes. "It's not like I went into his cabin and pulled him out with my feminine wiles. And, in case you forgot, you never introduced yourself to him. He asked questions and I answered them. I wouldn't be surprised if he confronted you about it tomorrow," she said with a sly smile. She liked to meddle. Normally, James thought it was funny, but that was because normally he wasn't involved. It was so much easier to find her funny when it didn't effect him. 

"Please tell me you're joking." 

"Why would I joke about something like this?" Lily asked innocently. 

James narrowed his eyes at her. He couldn't tell if it was genuine innocence or if she was faking. Knowing her, it could easily be either one. "You did not tell him that I thought he was cute. Right? Lily, tell me. I need to hear these words from your mouth, right now." 

She cocked her head. When she had her hair down, it did a fair job of distracting him from the point. With her hair tied back though, James was not so easily deterred. "I thought you told me to stop lying to you." Definitely fake innocence. 

"You are such a pain in the arse. Why do I keep you around?" 

"Because I'm your second best swordsman." She crossed her arms and leaned forward. "Man to man, James. What're you planning on doing with the privates from that ship? We aren't going the direction we do to drop people off. We're going straight to the free colonies." 

He looked at her for a moment, debating if he wanted to tell her or not. Eventually, he settled on not. There was a certain amount of push back he was willing to deal with, but it would be more than that if he told her the truth. "It doesn't matter what order we do it in, Lils. It's the same end result. I'll see you in the morning," he said, heading to his cabin. 

*

As Lily had predicted, Sirius came up to him the next morning. It's what woke him up, actually, which meant he wasn't fully dressed when he stumbled to the door. 

"What?" 

Sirius's eyes tracked over him before flickering back up to his face. It was, admittedly, gratifying, but it didn't explain why he was here so early instead of waiting until after they'd gotten some food in them. "You have some questions to answer." 

"Do I?" James asked, rubbing one hand tiredly over his face. 

"Am I prisoner?" 

"What? No, of course not." 

"Then where are you taking us?" 

"You'll see when we get there," he said grumpily, then he shut the door. He was not a morning person, and what he hated even more was getting woken up before he was ready. If it was an emergency, that was one thing, but this was decidedly not an emergency. 

It took him about thirty more minutes of being awake to realise that he'd been an arse to the bloke he wanted to impress. Wonderful. He meant to apologise the next time he saw him, but Sirius glared at him before he could get close, and he figured some time to cool down might do him good. 

*

James had made mistakes. In life, generally, but specifically he meant today. The way he'd started his day with Sirius had been getting off on the wrong foot, and it had only gotten worse as time passed. Sirius knew how to hold a grudge, that's for sure. 

As much as James would like to say that it was an annoying aspect of someone growing up rich, he liked it. Sirius was bloody fit, and no amount of him glaring at James changed that opinion. In fact, he thought it might've made it worse. His crew respected him, and he was friendly, so there was a decent amount of smiling. As captain, his word was final, so there was a certain amount of distance. Even Remus and Lily, his closest friends, knew that there was a limit to how far they could push him. But Sirius didn't care; he didn't care in a way that didn't take away from James's authority, so it's not like anything had to be done. James had double-checked by telling him to do something, and all Sirius had done was nod and go off to do it. In hindsight, not his best idea, but at least he knew that he didn't have to turn on captain mode with him. 

James was full of bad decisions, but he couldn't get himself to stop. He looked at Sirius, caught sight of his jaw or his thick black hair or his piercing grey eyes, and all rational thought left him. Sirius was hardly the most experienced sailor that James had met, but his competence was hot. He had big hands and he knew exactly how to use them. James knew that getting hot and bothered over one of his crewmen was a recipe for disaster, but he looked at Sirius and he wanted. He didn't know how to turn it off, and he wasn't sure he would even if he did know how. Fancying Sirius put a fire in his stomach that made him feel alive, like a reminder of all the things he loved in life. 

After dinner, James was manning the wheel while Peter got ready for his night shift, and that was when Sirius approached him. He tried not to show how surprised he was, but he wasn't very successful. 

Sirius didn't say hello or give any lead up. He just stomped over to him and said, "You're giving me back to my family, aren't you?" 

"That was the plan," James said, even though he didn't want to and he normally wouldn't have bothered. If anyone asked-- and people had requested it before-- he told them that he couldn't risk it. Which was the truth. He wasn't putting his ship and his entire crew at risk to deliver someone right to their doorstep. Hell, even with Sirius, he wasn't bringing him all the way; he'd never make it back out if he did that. 

"Is there-" Sirius swallowed thickly "-something I can do to change your mind?" 

James blinked at him. Every point of Sirius's posture screamed that he was uncomfortable, but it sounded like he was propositioning James. And this, Lily, is why you should keep your big mouth shut, he thought. "I'd have thought that you wanted to go home," James said, ignoring what Sirius was attempting to offer. "Most people do." Even the people that no longer had homes. It wasn't something they could attain, but they wanted it all the same. It honestly hadn't occurred to him that Sirius might not want to go back. 

The ship gave a long heave, and James braced his foot on the bottom of the railing. Next to him, Sirius put his hand on the bannister, moving easily with the motion of the larger waves. 

"Do you not want to?" James asked. 

"I'd rather die," Sirius said, his answer plain enough that James knew it was true. 

"Then we won't bring you back," he said easily. "Was that all you needed?" The unease was gone from Sirius's posture now, but there was no chance that he wanted to stick around and chat with James. That being said, all he wanted was for Sirius to want to stay and talk to him. Talk on the deck, in the dying light of the sun, and feel like he was falling in love all over again. He didn't expect it though. He knew that Sirius would probably say yes and then leave. 

"Yes," Sirius said, but he didn't leave. He didn't say anything further, not yet at least. He just stayed there, looking at James. 

He'd always thought that he was pretty good at reading people, but Sirius's expression couldn't be described as anything other than closed off. 

Sirius stayed there for several minutes, only leaving when Peter started making his way up the steps to relieve James. As he left, James was struck with the feeling that something important had transpired. Hell if he knew just what it was that had happened, though. 

*

James's interest in Sirius had never been a secret onboard, and not just because Lily had told Sirius flat out that James fancied him. James always let his eyes linger too long, and the frequency with which his eyes strayed to Sirius made it quite obvious. 

What came as a shock to everyone was when Sirius started returning that interest. It wasn't in any way that was as obvious as James's feelings, but it was there. No one was more surprised by it than James, to the point that even when Sirius was kissing him desperately and grabbing at bare skin, he almost didn't believe that it was happening. 

"You like me," James said wondrously. It could've been a dream. He would've been convinced that it was a dream, actually, if not for the little details that dreams never contained. The swollen lips, the too-dry hands, and the fact that there was no amount of practice that made snogging someone new on a ship easier than doing it on land. Until they learned to move together, there was going to be a certain amount of awkwardness that they had to deal with. 

Sirius grinned at him, happy and utterly unashamed. "What gave it away?" 

"You used to hate me," James said, as if Sirius hadn't said anything. 

"I didn't hate you," he denied, tugging James a little closer. 

"It felt that way to me," James said. He wasn't judging. He'd killed a lot of people that Sirius had worked with during their rescue. 

"I thought you were going to send me back to my parents," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "And you were acting like a total arse by ignoring me and acting like you were better than me." 

"What if I am better than you?" he asked curiously. 

"Don't worry. You're not." 

James laughed, and then Sirius was kissing him, and thoughts about Sirius having hated him at one time was far from his mind. Even if he was right and Sirius had at one time hated him, it was a thing of the past, now. 

*

"Potter!" 

"Which one?" Sirius called down, leaning out from his perch with a shit eating grin. He wasn't holding onto the wood with his hands right now. He was prevented from falling only by his legs wrapped around the nest and linked together, and with the way he was hanging, it made his thin shirt cling to the taut muscles in his abdomen. From where he was standing, James could see a patch of familiar tanned skin because of the way his shirt fell. The spyglass he'd been using dangled from one hand as if carelessly, but they all knew he had a firm hold on it. James looked up at him and could only think of how much he loved him. 

"You know damn well I meant the captain," Remus yelled back. 

"Then just say captain!" Lily said from the front of the ship where she was looking through her own spyglass. "We do this every time!" 

The crew amongst all of them laughed to themselves as they went about their jobs. 

"You bloody well know why," Remus groused. 

"Did you actually need something, mate?" James asked, even though he was always amused by these conversations-- and had been since the very beginning, when him and Sirius had gotten married. He continued working on strapping his sword on; they were preparing for a battle, after all. 

"We're running low on gun powder. Unless you want to buy more from Rosmerta the next time we're in her bay, but there's no point when they should have plenty." 

"We'll check on what they have and see how much cargo space we have available," James said. Fresh water was of the highest priority, of course, and it took up most of their space below deck. That they had to plan for any people they rescued didn't make it easier. The fact was that they didn't often fight in a manner that required gun powder, but if Moony requested it, then he'd check. Plus Rosmerta's blend was more powerful than what the British Navy carried, so sometimes it wasn't worth getting it for free. 

Sirius winked when James glanced up at him again, then pulled himself to a normal sitting position. 

"How's it look up there?" James asked Lily. 

"Looks to be a barge, Captain." she said. 

"Sirius?" he checked. 

"Not seeing anyone guarding them." 

"This'll be easy. Like finding rum in a pub," Remus said, and James couldn't help but agree. Stealing from the government, even when the ship in question wasn't running slaves, wasn't exactly something he would lose sleep over. And, he thought with another glance up at his husband, there was no one else he'd rather be doing this with.