#I can see both of them being strangely torn about this

[yourbuerokrat2]

Qs reaction to finding out about this would also be interesting because there would be confusion and a lot of tension with Picard waiting for Q to mock him for it and sure there are a few jokes Q can think of right now but Picard wants to be.. held by him? Or at least a part of Picard wants this. And here Q always thought that Picard would hate it if Q became a bit openly protective.

The hug would be awkward because I doubt Q really know how to hug and he is not sure if he is doing this right and Picard is still fighting himself because he should not want this.

A sincere "I won't let anything happen to you." and Picard is still however and despite the inner arguments of 'This is Q. As Captain of the Enterprise I shouldn't show this kind of weakness especially to a being such as him' (because it has been a rather tiring week and even though he knows he shouldn't he believes Q. He believs that at least for now he doesn't have to worry about the Borg, the Romulans, the Cardassian or anything else. That at least in this moment he is utterly and completely safe.

One of the many interesting internal conflicts I can see Picard having about any positive feelings towards Q would be a sense or just a want for safety especially by the end of TNG. Because while Q can be danger at on point Picard does admit that Q seems to genuinly care about him. And of course Picard would try to deny it to himself because Q is next of kin to chaos and he is Captain Jean-Luc Picard so he couldn't, shouldn't, want even for the split of a second for Q to be protective about him.

I mean after everything he has been through and the daily pressure of being the Captain and people needing a feeling of security from him I can see him very reluctantly and very secretly at the back of his mind wanting to be held and to be safe. And he chastises himself over it for wanting this and wanting it from Q of all people (because where else to have absolute safety but in the arms of a being who can snap any threat out of existence and who cares about him even if it is in a way Picard considers 'concerning').

[sheepispink]

happy new year everyone, this is probably crap but just take it im tired

being a homebody with roommate!simonriley is a strange experience. He had told the landlord he hadnt minded having a roommate occupy the spare room but with so long and no sign of interest, he had ultimately forgotten altogether. Until one morning, the landlord had texted him and soon he was opening the door to you, standing with your suitcases and an embarrassed smile. He helped you bring it in, although he wasn't the most friendly and the both of you were dead silent the entire time.

“Dont really care what you do here. Just dont bring friends over and leave a mess, dont come home in the early ‘ours and leave a mess and dont go out and leave a mess.” You blink at him, and then point to yourself, almost unbelieving of his words. When have you ever gone out? “Yes you, who else?” He has to resist rolling his eyes, and a little smile peeks out, an awkward one but it breaks the ice enough to make him raise an eyebrow in confusion.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

.You quickly revert to your quiet demeanour, giving a meek salute in response.

“Okay, okay, yes sir, i’ll follow all the rules.”

And you did, almost too well. There was never a mess left in the kitchen, infact he hardly saw you most days he was home. Given that your shoes were never near the door too, he just automatically figured you were out partying all evening or hanging out with friends. It almost made him roll his eyes, that you could have so much energy but also just waste your life away like that. He knew you went to work on the weekdays, saw you slip out the front door quietly, and then return to your room in the evening.

It’s one of those weeks in British winter which is just freezing for no apparent reason, even if it’s barely December yet. Simon’s skin is practically about to turn blue, having just come back from a long deployment yesterday. The usual clothes he uses for underlayers had been ripped and torn throughout the mission, aswell as his usual balaclava. It was one of the toughest yet, leaving him littered in bruises and a wave of exhaustion that refuses to leave. He sighs, rubbing his temples as he lays on the couch, head resting against the armrest whilst he flicks through the tv channels.

Though his activities are interrupted when he hears a small click, causing his eyes to immediately flick over to the direction— he was sure you were out. After all, there wasn't a single sound in there all day. Has someone broken in? Did you have a dog he hadn't been told about? He’s never heard a bark, maybe it’s something quieter like a cat, sneakier like a snake even. Then the handle turns and he tenses, eyes trained and his grip tightening on the remote control. Who the hell was behind that door?

What he hadn’t expected, was to see you shivering with a frown, your hands wrapped into the pockets of the thick hoodie as you tried to warm them. You intended to grab a hot water bottle from the kitchen, since you had left it there drying the night prior. Though, naturally your focus moves to the tv, forcing you to see the full view of his bare face and eyes widened. “You’re home?!” You squeak, trying to turn back incase you witnessed something you shouldnt have, only to hit your head smack against your bedroom door. He quickly sits up himself, face tinting with colour as he practically snatches his ripped mask from his pocket and forces it on. “I should say the same to you.”

“ Its the weekend, I never go out on the weekends.” He looks at you with clear disbelief, a hand tugging his shirt down where it had ridden up on his stomach. “Your shoes ‘ave never been by that door though.“ You blink, opening the door to your bedroom to show him the shoe rack and he falls silent. “ You never come out of your room. How do you even survive?!” He watches your cheeks burn pink but he’s had enough, wanting to understand how you had evaded his senses for so long. Before you can protest he’s pushing past you, looking around your room.

“We literally have a stove.”

“This is more convenient!”

“You’re just lazy!”

He waves the self heating pan in your face and you frown, embarrassed at being caught out for being so lazy that you even make your own lunch and dinner in this room. Instead, his gaze moves over your current set up which is adorned with everything soft and comfy. He’s starting to understand after he sees the wide screen pc, the stash of snacks in your cupboard and the cans lined up. “Yknow, most keep paperwork in their cupboards.” He grunts and your hands plant on his arms, attempting to push him out of your room before you instantly recoil. “You’re freezing!”

That’s the first he’s chuckled for a while, and presses his knuckles against your cheek making you recoil like a hissy cat. “Oh come on i’m not that cold—“

“Ice on my face! Literally ice!”

His mask creases, but you’re right , there’s even goosebumps along his skin now. But damn, that throw blanket on your bed looks comfy..

“If i make ya some good food, will you give me that blanket?”

”Thi’ is so good-“ You say through a full mouth, coddled beneath a blanket as you scoff down a bowl of chicken salad. He doesnt know when he picked it up, but he has a few memories of Kyle giving him and Johnny a bowl when they didnt know what to do with the few ingredients in the fridge. “That’s ‘cause im a good cook.” You mumble something in response to his grumble, but it’s difficult by how stuffed your cheeks are, almost looking like a squirrel. It makes him want to laugh but he’s growing more tired by the minute, eyes threatening to fall. Whilst you were stuffing your face, he had gotten exactly what he was promised, currently enthralled by your heated duvet. You even have one on your mattress to warm that too, and a plushie that you can microwave— he feels like he’s in a heater heaven.

“Hey— I said a blanket, not my whole bed.” Finished with your meal, he supposed you’d be back to lazing around now, either gaming, watching the latest episode of your series or starting a new book to finish within the hour. “Hey— move-” You try to push him but he only grunts, already halfway to dream land. He owes you breakfast tomorrow.

[keferon]

Sorry in advance for the word vomit but. I love the whole Jazz-and-Prowl figuring out the language barrier but also consider:

They don't.

Prowl's been captured by Quintessons and is currently thinking of ways to completely scrape his processor so they can't get any useful data, only to get rescued by a random mech. They fight their way out (the mech is extremely proficient in combat). At first he thinks it's a drone- it looks at him when he asks questions but doesn't answer (responds to noise, not language), it is sparkless (not alive) and it makes random but entirely incoherent noises and doesn't even ping (not able to communicate). Prowl has no idea what's going on but he's too injured to make it back to base alone and it's helping him? So. He chalks it up to some waylaid stealth military asset and tries to think of ways to both get it back to base whilst also making sure it's not some sort of Quintesson Trojan-horse [10%].

Meanwhile, Jazz was sent to blow up a Quintesson command camp by his organisation but instead he got thrown through a weird portal, and found a pilot all tied down and probably being tortured so naturally he busted him out but uh. He has no idea what the other is saying. He's talking in total tonal gibberish. Not that he's judging, he's heard some stuff about how far other piloting programs are willing to go to advance neural technology. And his face! He has one! A handsome one. Must be some advanced shit because he's got micro expressions and he's using them to frown as him. Anyways, Jazz's got bigger fish to fry. The sky's a different colour, there are two suns and atmo is reading terribly low levels of O2. Maybe he and this pilot got thrown into an alien planet? Cool- well, actually pretty bad but hey they're in this together.

Prowl knows by models that they're bound to run into another Quintesson patrol eventually, and based on the drones alertness to its surroundings, his previous observations to its capacity to fight, and how it doesn't stray to far from him, if patrol numbers are favourable [1-8 range] they can survive [70, .5]% the route back to base. But the drone is reckless and abandons him to the melee (how can a drone be reckless?) and Prowl gets injured worse. Energon drips from wounds, and the angle makes it challenging for him to patch it. But the drone creeps closer, folds to its (knees? Its joints are in an odd but effective configuration) and gently (gently?) begins to mimic (clumsily) Prowl's motions of patching his wounds. Here is where Prowl falters, because drones are not so careful. Drones do not do not look up multiple times at his faceplates, and become more delicate when they see you in pain. Drones don't hold out a servo and help you to your pedes when your done. Which begs the question, if he's not a drone, so what has been done to this mech?

Jazz on the other hand is freaking the fuck out. Naturally. Because uh, he started slicing Quints, expecting Frowny to do the same because his mech was still clearly operational, only for the idiot to completely disregarded normal combat standards which can be summarised as 'fight hard or die' and instead get chewed on by some big ass teeth.

Only to see the glowing purple dripping from his torn sides, only to see that he's bleeding.

Machines don't bleed.

So Jazz figures out Frowny is an alien first. He starts pointing at himself and saying his name, insistently, until Frowny repeats it. He points at Frowny, and records and replays whatever sound bite Frowny makes until Frowny's also nodding in confirmation. He still calls him Frowny, because even though he has his name? Probably? He has no idea what it means and can't actually pronounce it (no idea how to get a mouth to move that way) but hey! Progress! He does this again and again with small things (rock, hand, cyber?animals, music (Frowny's confused at that one it's pretty adorable) ect.

Prowl has no idea what to make of this strange mech. Is he a failed experiment? A runaway from Cybertron following the Functionalists rise or power? Thennn Prowl finds out one fateful night that the mech is actually an alien organic (in a fit of misunderstandings, and squeezes him pretty hard for it ouch and feels SO guilty about it later) and suddenly the language/culture barrier makes way more sense.

Prowl's injuries degrade (a line splits). He has no way to communicate this except for the energon dripping out of his chassis. The organic is clearly worried (how did he think he was ever sparkless), and Prowl can't reach the injury himself. So he guides the mech's servos past armour and wiring, down to protoform (near his sparkchamber) to the split line. Gestures and hopes the mech can figure out what to do from his miming[#^%]. That'll he'll be careful, and won't hurt him [5%, 87%, #*%, *########%].

Frowny is later picking shrapnel stuck in his forearm that's too small for him to remove, so Jazz gets out of his mech to help with his small human hands. Jazz has no way to communicate to Frowny that if he moves, he'll sheer Jazz's limbs clean off, but he goes in anyway, because Frowny's hurt, and speckled in blood. Because he's clearly struggling and hurt and tired. Because Jazz has to trust that he won't.

Frowny's injures eventually make him collapse, and Jazz carries him the rest of the way. Jazz has no idea how they'll be received (especially considering how Frowny reacted when he found out Jazz was organic). Jazz knows he might be dissected. Knows he might be pulled apart (again) but.

He remembers all the little moments they had on their journey (Frowny shielding him from falling rubble when Jazz was out of his mech once, them getting to gesticulating arguments, Frowny's reaction to his music, how he fell asleep on Jazz once and it was fricken adorable).

It doesn't matter that Jazz can't say (barely understands) his actual name. That Frowny probably doesn't understand his. It doesn't matter that they talk in halting miming, in broken sound clips and touches and half-glares.

He's already gone out on all his limbs, might as well put his head on the chopping block. And if it causes him to lose the damn thing, well.

He's a pilot. Dying horribly is practically his job description.

OOOUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHH DYING HORRIBLY IS PRACTICALLY HIS JOB DESCRIPTION,,,,,,,,,,,

[legendofmorons]

Please consider: one of the boys gets stranded from the group and promptly ambushed. As he was left alone, he wasn’t able to protect himself to the best of his abilities and the others are no where to be seen. Out of the blue, Reader, who he has never met before, begins beating the snot out of that poor offending monster. Turns out, they are a traveler of some variety who got roped into this adventure by one strange looking shadow.

How would the boys react to being protected by someone they have never met before, someone who seems altruistic in their intent?

I love your writing and I would be interested to see who you think would have the most interesting response to this. Please remember that you are appreciated and loved for all that you do. You create masterpieces with your words, and for that, we are grateful.

-VS

Chain is stranded, reader saves them

This is such a GOOD concept!! If anyone wanted a fic I'd be happy to do one.

Content under the cut, boys are in alphabetical order. (Slowly catching up, but I am tentatively back.)

Four

He's probably just greatful for the assist.

Maybe a little curious about where you came from but he'll ask questions later.

If he can he tries to help ypu right back

He'll thank you after and offer to help you back to your home/town

Would probably check you for injuries he could see

Overall he's both a little confused and very grateful

Hyrule

He's thanking you the moment you start to help

His world is fairly sparse, so any aid is appreciated

If he can, after the fight is done he'll try to heal you

If he cannot, he'll offer a potion or something

He offers to walk you home or to let you stay with him until a time you can go home

He very grateful over all, would try to get you food as payment

Legend

Immediately torn between grateful and suspicious.

It's convenient you just showed up.

But if you were going to kill him you probably wouldn't be trying to save him. So he doesn't accuse you

When it's over he thanks you and tries to send you on your way.

Would help you if you injured yourself protecting him.

He would throw you to the wolves, so if you need him to travel with you for a bit he will, but he's still a little suspicious of your intent.

He's still glad you came and helped him through.

Sky

He's definitely surprised.

But he's very grateful and will tell you at least twice

More trusting than some of the others

Will offer you healing items afterwards

He's chattier than others too, he's likely to ask you about yourself while you guys find a way towards wherever you've chosen to go.

Time

Probably in pretty bad shape if he needs saving, so if he's not talkative don't take ot to heart

He might be unconscious honestly. He's got too many tools to go down easy.

But after it's all said and done he thanks you and offers to get you home and fed.

He's not the most trusting, but he's friendly enough now.

Twilight

He's grateful and says as much as soon as you step in.

He will patch you up afterwards too they all would honestly

Probably less surprised than others he grew up in a small town where people were friendly

Might compliment your fighting

Warriors

Embarrassed and grateful. He's captain of the royal gaurd he shouldn't need help.

But he IS grateful. He's glad you were there because regardless of his emotions, he NEEDED help

Would subconsciously analyze your stance and movements because again... captain.

Will thank you.

Wild

Suspicious. Immediately. His Hyrule is sparsely populated and he's always worried about Yiga.

But he's still grateful.

He'd probably offer you a snack or potion as thanks. Maybe invite you to stay for dinner.

Wind

Oh, he's probably offering you a shiny trinket as thanks.

He's more trusting than some of the others.

Will demand to trade battle stories.

He's a sweetheart and will probably also offer for you to join them for lunch/dinner.

[corgoship]

Fandoms vs. The inconceivable goodness of fictional cultures

It's strange and a bit worrying how (often adult) fans look at fictional marginalized cultures (in kids media) that are by default written to be virtuous, and they twist themselves into knots to try to prove how they were horrible people all along, and I'm left wondering: Why? Not to mention it's often coupled with apologism for the actual, textual bad guys, who are often straight up fascists.

This is mostly about the Jedi (Star Wars) and Air Nomads (Avatar: The Last Airbender) but feel free to add more if you know any.

My analysis and observations are under cut! Fair warning, this is a long post, and I'm writing this on the fly, so please forgive me if this isn't as coherent as it was in my head.

(Sidenote: It appears as though both of these cultures were inspired by Buddhism to certain extents, way more blatantly in atla. However, I would argue that the some of the philosophical conflict regarding attachment in atla was pretty heavily influenced by Star Wars: the season 2 finale is emotionally almost the exact same thing as the climax of Empire Strikes Back! But that's a story for another post...)

In a nutshell

Both of these cultures are described as wise and peaceful. They both put a lot of emphasis on meditation and enlightement. The Air Nomads are pacifists and vegetarians. The Jedi preach love and compassion, as per Anakin in Attack of the Clones. Both of them value love, but are discouraging of attachment - which a lot of people wrongly conflate with love in these texts, I believe. It is not specified whether or not Air Nomads could marry, but they lived in monasteries separated by gender, and the Jedi were not allowed to marry. Both of these cultures were victims of genocide by a fascist regime. And both the stories of Avatar and the original Star Wars trilogy are about an individual, who can be considered the last of their extinct kind, and the resurgence of their forgotten beliefs of kindness bringing peace to a war-torn world.

(Sidenote no. 2: they both have Mark Hamill. On the actual opposing sides of the spectrum, too. He went from being the hero electrocuted by the Emperor to... Being the Emperor electrocuting the hero. Which is kind of funny to me.)

With all that said, it will always boggle my mind how people will say these fictional cultures were conservative, arrogant, harmful towards children, dogmatic in their religion, and worst of all, DESERVING of being murdered. This is something I will NEVER understand or agree with.

The many crimes of the elemental monks and the space wizards

Let's dig into the criticisms they often receive, shall we?

To rapid fire list off a few: being too isolated from the rest of the world, indoctrinating children, having strict rules that restrict freedoms, deeming feelings to be inconsequential and a bad thing, considering themselves to be superior, and being too arrogant to notice their coming demise, which some consider to be justified by the aggressor.

Now, I will say not all of it is without merit, and some of these things could be taken as real flaws that were intended by the creators of the respective stories. The Air Nomad elders are dismissive of Aang's fears and that fear is what essentially forces him to run away at twelve years old. The Jedi Council tells nine years old Anakin that his fear for his slave mother could potentially lead him to the Dark Side and make him evil. Both cultures teach their children from a very young age, and the children are raised communally - which isn't in itself a bad thing, but I can see how some people mind find that uncomfortable, especially with the Jedi, who take in children from various cultures. Both Luke and Aang are advised to not only forego attachment towards the people they love, but they are actively asked to stand by and potentially let their loved ones be hurt or killed. (Take this last point with a grain of salt because neither Aang or Luke were ready to do what they did, and they both paid for it dearly, so the advice does have real merit, despite what some people might tell you.)

This is about the extent of the textual flaws I could find. So what do fandoms do? They take these flaws and completely blow them out of proportion. I have seen takes that claim both the AN and Jedi steal children from their families. That they are dogmatic in their religious beliefs, ostracize those who don't conform (or don't have their special powers), and they are condescending to other cultures, even considering themselves to be superior to others. That their ideologies were harmful and that they deserved to be eradicated for it.

How do you make a leap like that? In a story made for children, no less? We are presented with these cultures as being good, and the text never urges us to question their goodness. And this is by design - because again, these are stories for children, so there isn't much moral ambiguity when it comes to the murdered peaceful pacifists and the evil imperial super power threatening the world. So why do people still twist the narrative in spite of this?

Grey morality only gets a story so far

My best guess is that they DO want that moral ambiguity to be present, even if there is none, because that's "more realistic" and "better storytelling". I can agree with both of those statements to a point, but realistic doesn't automatically equal better. Sure, added nuance can often enrich stories and prompt more philosophical questions and more interesting conflict within the story itself, but is it always necessary? Does it always enhance the themes the story is trying to tell?

We are told to take the fact that the AN/Jedi are are a force of good at face value. And why wouldn't we? What is it that makes people question this, despite there existing little canonical information to disprove the innate goodness of these cultures built on love and compassion? Again, I believe that people - mostly adults - crave for things to not be black and white. Real life usually isn't. But stories aren't real life. There isn't some hidden secret that proves these bad-faith right. There are some flaws present at worst, but that is enough to spin headcanons and straight up lies that further the idea that there is no such thing as a paragon of goodness. Because of such a thing not existing in reality, it cannot exist in fiction either.

To love or not to love

The biggest issue people take with these two cultures, as far as I have noticed, is their view on love and attachment.

And then there is the most extreme version of this - the people who claim these cultures were the true evil all along, and that they were deserving of being victims to genocide by the imperial power. This is more rampant in atla fan spaces, and the agenda there is a bit more spite-motivated, because while the Air Nomads didn't hurt anybody (unlike the Jedi who could be seen as hurting Anakin, as far-fetched as that claim is), Aang is an Air Nomad, and a certain part of the atla fandom really doesn't like him (not gonna beat about the bush: it's certain zutara shippers). By painting his dead culture - which Aang loves and holds in high regard - as bad, they either make him supportive of harmful beliefs, or naive and ignorant, unwilling to take criticism, therefore stubborn and bigoted.

This is of course connected to his romantic relationship with Katara, which a lot of people claim is a bad thing. I will not get into the specifics here, but a large chunk of the fandom doesn't understand what the act of "letting go of your attachment" means, and that Aang achieves this in the s2 finale (which is what allows him to enter the avatar state on command), and that he's not, in fact, unhealthily obsessing over Katara. A different shade of this criticism is that in being the Avatar (similarly in Star Wars, a Jedi), Aang cannot love Katara in a full, meaningful way, because he is held back by his duties, and he must put the world over her.

Much like in Avatar, in Star Wars, attachment IS an obsessive form of love that impacts people negatively and should be avoided. In the more extreme cases, such as the case of Anakin, it leads to ruin, and it is his inability to let go of his feelings and think rationally that creates problems. In the case of Luke (and Aang in s2) and his love for his friends, he gets punished by the narrative for indulging his fear - he gets mutilated as a direct result of choosing his friends over taking the time to become stronger and have a better chance against his enemies.

Now look me in the eye and tell me where do either of these stories state that love is bad. You can't, because that's not what the stories are claiming at all (there is a reason why Aang ends up with Katara, and why Luke redeems his father through his love), and some people are incapable of drawing that distinction. They would rather claim that the AN/Jedi are dismissive of love and feelings as a whole, than to admit that the sort of love THEY personally value might be unhealthy.

Because I do honestly the believe that most of these detractors are the type to find "i would burn the whole world down for you" to be the truest form of love and devotion... When that, is in fact, the exact thing these stories caution about, and by pointing that out, they're not claiming that love is bad, but that it has the potential to grow into obsession, which we can all agree, is objectively bad.

Lastly, let's look at the other side of the equation...

Long live the empire!

The evil Fire Nation and the evil Galactic Empire are just that - point blank evil. This has never been put in question by either piece of media. There is nuance to be found, sure, with the Headband episode in atla and Zuko as a character, and... I actually can't think of a single not-blatantly-bad thing about the Empire/Sith in the original trilogy + prequels, lol. Maybe that the separatists had a point, and that the republic was collapsing in on itself under bureaucracy and corruption - but that's still no brownie point for the Empire nor Palpatine, lol.

Palpatine's derision and disdain for the Jedi is used to manipulate Anakin to... Become evil. And while his words may have a grain of truth in them, they are deliberately twisting the Jedi ideology and making the Dark Side look not only palatable, but necessary for Anakin to save Padmé, something the Jedi had failed him in (as far as Anakin himself believes). Why would people readily believe the bad guy, who has been lying and deceiving everyone, about the things he deliberately said to manipulate Anakin? Because it makes Anakin's turn seem more... Justifiable that way? It sure did in his eyes, but we as the viewers are supposed to see past that, since we have all the context, and he doesn't.

Atla takes a bit of a different approach and tackles the anti-Air Nomad propaganda head on. In the afforementioned episode The Headband, we go inside a Fire Nation school, and we see how they are being taught lies in order to justify the FN's attack on them (claiming they had an army, etc.). And yet there are still people who claim otherwise, that the FN was indeed right to do what they did, despite canon making it very clear that they are lying about what happened! (Also, let's just throw away the entirity of s1 episode 3 where Aang comes across the charred bones of his people and his mentor... Let's just not touch that, I guess. Don't worry about it.).

In both cases, the common thread is that the FASCIST bad guys are given grace, while the marginalized minorities are demonized. They are excused for their crimes time and time again, because what? Their aesthetic is cool? Their weapons/fighting style are cool? They're badass? You can appreciate these things for what they are, sure, but when does liking how something looks swing over into condoning the very bad things these people are guilty of? Probably when you start preaching how they, in fact, "did nothing wrong", and how the resistance are terrorists, and that people are inclined to be on their side only because the narrative paints them as the good guys... Yeah. You've lost the plot.

Or... Maybe you just like the person committing the atrocities...

It's not my fault my blorbo is a fascist warmonger!

This is the last point I will go over, I swear. There certainly is an overlap between fans who hate said marginalized cultures, and fans who love a certain character... Who happens to be a part of the fascist regime. Respectively for these fandoms, it's Zuko and Iroh in atla, and Anakin/Vader in Star Wars. Now, I am not saying Zuko is a bad person by the end of atla, don't get me wrong, but he spends the majority of the show flaunting the fact that he's a prince, and he's actively oppressing and terrorizing people in the first season. A huge part of his growth is recognising how the Fire Nation is crushing the world in an iron fist and reigning terror - Zuko says as much in his conversation with Ozai before he defects. I feel like the vast majority of people recognise that his words ring true, and that he's become a better person by confronting his father and his evil regime. But there are still some, who will bend over backwards to make the Fire Nation look better, so that Zuko and/or Iroh are absolved of their earlier crimes. Because god forbid my favourite character did bad things in the past, right? It's blatantly clear when people do this, and why they do this. An extended version of this is when they make the FN seem less evil so that Zuko can be shipped with Katara without any hang ups about her becoming the Fire Lady or similar common tropes in the zutara fandom.

And then we have Anakin. To keep it short, a lot of people view Anakin and Vader as two different people (Anakin didn't murder the younglings. Vader did!) and believe that he's not responsible for his actions after falling to the Dark Side. How to deal with his actions pre-fall, you ask? Well, he was justified, because the Jedi were holding him back, because they lied to him and belittled him, and refused to help him. All of Anakin's actions up to that point are the Jedi's fault, of course! I'm not saying their treatment of him was inconsequential to how things turned out, but he was very much in control of his actions and chose to do the things he did. The Empire wasn't going to magically fix the problems of the republic (and by extension, the Jedi) and I have no idea why certain people would think so.

Just kidding, I know why...

So... Where do we go from here?

I don't know man, I don't have a conclusion drafted. I just think this phenomenon is quite sad to see - people are refusing to see past their own biases, and they would rather twist the story to their liking than engage with the text in a more meaningful, constructive way.

I do think this needs to be called out when you see it, because it's a very relevant issue today. Fascism isn't cool just because the people doing it are someone you identify with in some way. Genocide isn't cool because the people affected are someone you disagree with.

It's just fiction, but these problems are present in the real world, too. People are very quick to forgive someone they support, and very eager to stone anyone they disagree with. They are not past creating and spreading misinformation about those they hate, just to get more people to agree with them.

It's quite worrying to me, especially since in these fandoms in particular, it boils down to the same thing - if people can't understand right and wrong when it is being spoonfed to them by a story crafted to be understood by children... Then how will they act in the real world, when met with more complicated matters?

Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[its-avalon-08]

it all fell down (ln4)

part4

multipart story! part1 part2 part3

✦ pairing - lando norris x female reader

summary : lando norris and y/n were friends for 20 years, fell in love and dated for five. until it all fell down. they left each others lives abruptly and never spoke again, until they met again in the most unexpected way. can they find their way back or will certain scars never heal?

As the night wound down, guests began to bid their farewells, congratulating Anna and Liam once more before making their way to the valet to retrieve their cars. Y/N stood at the edge of the party, trying to appear patient as she glanced at her phone, checking for updates from the valet.

"Ma'am, I’m really sorry," the valet said apologetically as he approached her. "It looks like your car is blocked in. It’ll be at least another hour before we can get it out."

Y/N sighed, her shoulders drooping in frustration. "Great," she muttered under her breath, trying to hide her anxiety. The thought of waiting alone in the dark made her uneasy, but she tried to mask it with a brave face.

As her friends began to leave, Y/N forced a smile, reassuring them she’d be fine. "You all go ahead. I’ll just wait here," she said, waving them off.

Lando, standing nearby, overheard the exchange. He knew Y/N well enough to recognize the anxiety behind her composed exterior. Despite their history and the tension between them, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her alone. He knew her fears of being alone in the dark, he cared too much to leave her alone.

Feigning casualness, he lingered by the entrance, checking his phone and making small talk with a few stragglers. As the crowd thinned and the night grew quieter, he finally approached Y/N.

"Still waiting for your car?" he asked, his tone light.

Y/N looked up, startled to see him. "Uh yeah, it’s taking forever," she replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Well, it’s getting pretty late," Lando said, glancing at his watch. "I can wait with you if you’d like."

Y/N shook her head. "You don’t have to do that, Lan- Lando. I’ll be fine."

Lando shrugged, leaning against the wall. "I’m in no rush. Plus, it’s not safe to wait alone in the dark."

She bit her lip, torn between accepting his offer and maintaining her pride. Before she could respond, the valet returned, looking apologetic.

"Miss, I’m really sorry, but it’s going to be at least another hour."

Y/N sighed again, feeling her resolve waver. Lando stepped in, his voice firm but gentle. "Let me give you a ride home baby Y/N. No point in both of us standing around here all night."

Y/N hesitated, her pride and need for independence warring with her anxiety and exhaustion. Finally, she nodded. "Yeah, alright thanks."

Lando nodded, leading her to his car. The ride was quiet at first, the tension from the party still hanging in the air. Lando broke the silence, glancing over at her. "You don’t have to worry, Y/N. I’m just making sure you get home safe."

She nodded, staring out the window. "I appreciate it, Lando. Really."

The car was filled with a heavy silence as Lando drove, both of them lost in their thoughts. The familiar hum of the engine was a reminder of countless drives they'd shared, back when things were simpler, when their conversations flowed easily and laughter came naturally.

Y/N finally broke the silence, her voice soft but edged with tension. "This feels strange, doesn’t it? Being in this car again."

Lando nodded, gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. "Yeah, it does. A lot of things feel strange now."

She glanced over at him, her eyes searching his face. "So, how’s the racing been? Still enjoying it?"

"Yeah, it’s been good," Lando replied, keeping his tone neutral. "Keeps me busy."

"Busy enough to keep you from thinking?" Y/N asked, her words laden with meaning.

Lando’s jaw tightened. "Something like that. And you? Busy enough with your dates?"

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. "Is that what this is about? You being a dick tonight? You’re still hung up on the fact that I went on a few dates?"

"It’s not just a few dates, Y/N," Lando shot back, his voice rising. "You moved on so fast. It was like our years together meant nothing to you."

She scoffed, turning to look out the window. "Moved on fast? Lando, you’re one to talk. How many fucking flings have you had since we broke up? Or do you even bother keeping count?"

"Those weren’t serious Y/N," he retorted, his frustration evident. "They didn’t mean anything. It wasn'y like us. It wasn't love,"

"And you think my dates did mean something?" Y/N countered, her voice shaking with emotion. "You think it was easy for me? I was trying to move on, trying to forget."

"Forget me?" Lando’s voice was almost a whisper, the hurt in his eyes clear. "Is that what you wanted?"

She didn’t answer immediately, the silence between them growing thicker. "I don’t know, Lando. I just… I needed to find a way to cope. You left, and I didn’t know how to deal with it."

Lando’s grip on the steering wheel loosened, his anger giving way to a deep sadness. "I didn’t want to leave. But it felt like we were tearing each other apart. We were just ruining each other's lives,"

Y/N turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "And now? What’s changed? You didn't have any problem leaving back then."

He sighed, the weight of their history pressing down on him. "I don’t know if anything has changed. But I do know that seeing you with someone else feels like you are just running away from the past."

Y/N closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "It’s not that simple, Lando. We’ve both changed. We’re different people now."

"Maybe we are," he conceded, his voice softening. "But that doesn’t mean you act like we didn't have a beautiful past."

Y/N laughed bitterly. "Oh, so now it's beautiful? It was a "burden" back then wasn't it Lando? It was "holding" you back. I needed to move on, Lando. I couldn’t keep living in the past."

"Living in the past?" Lando’s voice rose. "Is that what our five years together mean to you? Just the past?"

She looked away, the anger and hurt in his voice cutting deep. "Maybe we were a mistake, maybe it was a all mistake." she muttered, barely audible. Instant regret washed over her. No, no, no she didn't mean that. It wasn't a mistake. It was glorious. What had she done?

Lando’s face fell, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "A mistake?" he whispered, the word like a knife to his heart. "Is that really how you feel?"

She couldn’t bring herself to take them back. "Lando, I didn’t mean it like that."

He shook his head, pulling up in front of her apartment. "No, I think you did. Maybe this was all just one big mistake for you."

As the car stopped Y/N opened the door, stepping out into the cool night air. She paused, looking back at him, wanting to say something, anything to take away the hurt she had caused. But the words wouldn’t come. She looked back at him one last time, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and finality. "Goodnight, Lando."

"Goodnight," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lando watched her go, the tears finally spilling over as he stared at the empty seat beside him. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, the pain of their broken relationship crashing down on him once more. As Y/N disappeared into her building, he felt the ache of their unfinished story, wondering if they would ever find a way to heal the wounds they had inflicted on each other.

time skip

Lando parked a few blocks away from Y/N's apartment, unable to drive any further. The words "maybe dating was a mistake" echoed in his mind, reverberating like a cruel taunt. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel, the memories of their relationship flooding back with a force that took his breath away.

He saw flashes of their happiest moments—their first kiss under the stars, the way Y/N's eyes lit up when she laughed, the countless nights they spent talking about their dreams and fears. He remembered the way she used to look at him, with a love so profound it made him feel invincible.

"Why?" he muttered angrily to himself, his voice choked with emotion. "Why did it have to fucking end like this?"

Tears began to spill down his cheeks, the pain of her words cutting deeper with each passing second. "Maybe dating was a mistake," he repeated bitterly, shaking his head. "How could she say that? After everything we had? After everything we went through?"

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, frustration and heartache boiling over. "I gave her everything," he shouted, his voice breaking. "I loved her with everything I had, and it still wasn’t enough."

Memories continued to assault him—nights spent cuddled on the couch, mornings waking up to her smile, the way she used to hold his hand and make him feel like he could take on the world. He saw her laughing at one of his jokes, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Was it all a lie?" he whispered, the weight of his grief pressing down on him. "Did it mean nothing to her?"

The image of Y/N walking away from his car replayed in his mind, her expression a mix of regret and pain. He knew she hadn’t meant to hurt him, but the damage was done. Her words had opened old wounds, making him question everything they had shared.

Lando’s tears fell freely now, his shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs. "I thought we were forever," he cried, his voice barely a whisper. "How did we end up here?"

He sat there for what felt like hours, the torment of his thoughts relentless. The love he still felt for Y/N was a double-edged sword, both a comfort and a source of agony. He knew he needed to find a way to move forward, but the path ahead seemed impossibly dark.

"I don’t know how to let go," he admitted to the empty car, his voice hollow. "I don’t know how to stop loving her."

As the first light of dawn began to break, Lando finally started his car, the reality of their broken relationship settling heavily on his shoulders. He drove away, leaving behind the remnants of a love that had once burned so brightly, now reduced to painful memories and unanswered questions.

taglist ---> @misspygmypie @kol67-t @sltwins @f1fantasys @sarx164 @imboredway2much @demandealalune e @elz-xo o @bellelovesharryy @hey-there9-its-me @marauders-wife

comment to get added to taglist

[yunwangja]

undercurrents | signal no. 18

masterlist | secret signal

"this was such a good idea,"

alisa sighs contentedly, setting down her fork with a satisfied smile. kuroo mirrors her expression, nodding in agreement, though his mind drifts elsewhere.

inside, a war is raging. everything about this feels wrong, but it's the right thing to do. at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

he tries to maintain his composure, to focus on the woman in front of him, but beneath the surface, he’s being torn apart. it’s maddening - the frustration, confusion, and anger building up inside. emotions he knows he shouldn’t be feeling, not now, not here.

kuroo was brought up to be a "good" guy. make the people around you comfortable, give them a hand when they need to, and help bring out the best in them. he lived his whole life being the reliable, friendly guy that is ready to give you a push whenever you need him.

in his mind, it means he can’t afford to be selfish. it’s simple: if it makes others happy, it should make him happy too. and when he wants something for himself? well, he should bury that desire, deny it for the greater good. because that's his "role".

that's how he mastered the art of masking his own feelings, hiding behind a smile, always keeping things light and fun. anything to avoid ruining the peace, to avoid letting people see how conflicted he truly is. if he messes up, in his eyes, he’ll have failed. the tetsuro kuroo everyone knows and relies on would be gone.

he knows kenma can see through it. kenma’s always been his voice of reason, telling him it’s okay to be honest, to not always put himself last. but it’s no use. kuroo can’t afford to believe that - not when the cost of expressing his true feelings seems so high.

so, he convinces himself that this is for the best, even though he knows deep down that if he could, he’d treat you so much better. he’d hold you close, knowing you belonged there. just seeing you smile could melt all his troubles away, and even the slightest brush of your hand would send his heart racing.

to him, you are everything. beautiful, kind, funny, and passionate. but it’s more than that. something about you makes him weak in a way no one else ever has. you make him want to be selfish, to want you all for himself, no matter the consequences.

he’ll do anything for you - even if it means forgetting you. because that’s what he thinks you want. you don’t need him complicating things with his feelings, not when you like someone else, even if you call it a harmless crush. it’s ruining whatever you already have. so, he’ll keep this up.

alisa and kuroo continued to talk, and he tried his best to get to know more about alisa, outside being his project partner and classmate. all he knew about her was that she had a little brother who was also into volleyball, which sparked most of their conversations before. besides, he needed to distract himself from thinking about you.

honestly, he feels bad. this date is probably something you both just wanted to try out, but he can't help but feel like he's forcing himself to be here when alisa is genuinely great.

as they finish their dessert and wrap up the conversation, kuroo can’t help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment. he’s managed to put up the front, to act like everything’s fine. maybe if he does this enough, he’ll actually start to believe it. maybe, eventually, he’ll forget about you.

“i had a great time, alisa,” he says, turning to her with a small smile.

“this was a really nice date. i felt comfortable.” the lie slips out effortlessly, though he did genuinely enjoy getting to know her better.

alisa raises an eyebrow, her expression shifting to one of amused confusion. “wait, what?” she lets out a small laugh, “a date?”

kuroo tilts his head slightly, caught off guard. “yeah?”

she shakes her head, still smiling. “this wasn’t a date, kuroo.”

for a second, the words don’t register. then, when they do, he feels his stomach drop. holy shit. embarrassment rushes over him as he quickly tries to backtrack.

“oh god,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “i’m sorry.”

alisa’s expression softens, and she waves it off casually. “no, no. did i lead you on? i didn’t mean to. i’m sorry if i made it seem that way.”

kuroo shakes his head quickly. “no, it’s not your fault. i just misunderstood. honestly, at first, i didn’t think of you like that, but when you asked me out for coffee, i thought - well, maybe.”

alisa nods slowly, her expression apologetic. “i’m still sorry, though. i guess i should’ve been clearer when i asked.”

he shrugs it off, offering a weak smile. “it’s fine. really. i hope this doesn’t make things awkward.”

alisa shakes her head this time, "don't worry, as long as we're on the same page. you're a great guy yourself, kuroo." she smiles at him.

he returns the smile, but inside, his mind is racing. despite the embarrassment, a strange relief settles over him, washing away the tension he’s been carrying all evening. it feels wrong to be this relieved, almost like he’s betraying the plan he’d set for himself, but the truth is undeniable.

why is he relieved? all of a sudden, although he feels emotionally tired from all the torture he gave himself throughout today, it's like his inner self was screaming, thank God.

a wave of emotions crashes over him, sudden and overwhelming, as if the universe is trying to tell him something. like, this was a sign.

he freezes, the thought hitting him hard. it's absurd, reckless even. after everything he’s put himself through today, after all the mental battles and efforts to push you away, this would undo it all. it goes against every rational argument he’s made for why he should forget you.

but the relief flooding his chest is undeniable, drowning out the logic he’s clung to. it’s like a voice, quiet at first but growing louder, insistent, cutting through his doubt until it’s the only thing he can hear:

he loves you, and it's you who he wants to be with.

without another thought, kuroo stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

“thank you, alisa. i’m sorry again. but i have to go.”

"i want you, y/n."

his words echo in the quiet room, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, frozen in place. the intensity in kuroo’s eyes sends a shiver down your spine, and you’re not sure whether it’s the surprise or the weight of his confession that makes your heart race.

kuroo lets out a shaky breath, his voice raw. “i know you like tooru. and i know you’ve explained to me how you feel about him, how it’s always been. but even knowing all of that, i couldn’t stop wanting you.”

his gaze drops to the floor, as if he’s ashamed to admit it. “i kept telling myself that i didn’t have the right. that i shouldn’t want you. but no matter how hard i tried, i couldn’t help it. i just do.”

there’s a vulnerability in his tone that you’ve never heard before. kuroo, who’s always so composed, so confident, now stands in front of you, his emotions laid bare.

“i don’t know if you’ll hate me for this or if this will ruin everything between us, but i... i can’t stand on the sidelines anymore.”

his fists clench slightly at his sides, his voice almost breaking. “i’m tired of pretending i’m okay with it. tired of forcing a smile when all i want is something i convinced myself i couldn’t have.”

he steps closer to you, his eyes lifting to meet yours again, filled with something that leaves you breathless.

“from the day i saw you smile... i wanted you. even if that smile wasn’t for me.”

the room feels smaller, the air heavier, as you try to process everything he’s saying. a part of you wants to speak, to say something, but nothing comes out. instead, you find yourself moving without thinking - your arms wrapping around him, pulling him close.

kuroo stiffens for just a second, caught off guard by your hug. he doesn’t know what this meant, but in the midst of his confusion, his arms come around you slowly, holding you close, his fingers curling gently into the fabric of your shirt.

maybe she just missed me, he thinks. or maybe you felt touched by his confession. he tries to make sense of it by thinking that you were too happy to see him that you just weren’t able to control it. he’s been avoiding you lately, after all.

you glance over his shoulder, and there were your friends, peeking around the corner, smirking like they’ve been waiting for this moment all along. you pull back slightly from kuroo, cheeks burning, and clear your throat.

“come on,” you whisper, guiding him toward your room to escape their prying eyes. once inside, you close the door behind you, trying to ignore the heat that’s rising to your face.

the two of you sit on the edge of your bed, but there’s still a careful distance between you, an unspoken barrier that neither of you know how to cross just yet.

kuroo breaks the silence first, his voice hesitant. “so...”

you glance at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. you know you need to say something, but finding the right words feels impossible. after a moment, you take a deep breath and decide to start with the truth.

“you know about my last relationship, right?”

he nods silently, his eyes softening as he waits for you to continue.

“well… it scarred me. i decided after that… i didn’t want to fall in love again. i didn’t think i could be a good girlfriend, so i chose to just admire from afar instead.” you pause.

as you start to explain, kuroo starts to decipher what you’re trying to say. immediately, he thinks this would end up in a rejection. why would you say these things to him anyway?

despite this, he wants to listen to what you have to say. it’s not like he’s expecting you to like him back. you feel his gaze on you, unwavering, and it makes it both easier and harder to keep going.

“i told myself i didn’t deserve anyone. even more guys that i thought was out of my league. that was the case too when i liked tooru. it was safe... i knew nothing would come of it - the reason why i used to say i just wanted to be an ‘observer’.”

kuroo stays quiet, letting your words sink in. there’s no judgment in his eyes, just understanding.

“i did my best to run away from romantic feelings,” you admit quietly. “because i didn’t think i deserve to be in love anyway.”

there’s a pause, a heavy silence that settles between you. then kuroo speaks, his voice gentle but firm. “we both know that’s not true.”

“is it, though?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

kuroo shifts closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “do you really think i would’ve fallen in love with you if that was true?”

the question takes you by surprise, and you don’t know how to respond. “i... i don’t know,” you stammer, unsure.

he shakes his head slightly, his expression softening. “you didn’t need to be my girlfriend for me to see that you’re more than capable of being loved. you didn’t have to prove anything to me. i’ve always seen it. you’re perfect the way you are, y/n.”

his voice drops lower, filled with emotion, looking down. “i would’ve done anything just to call you mine.”

his words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at him. you can see the sincerity in his eyes, feel the truth behind every word he’s just said.

“kuroo,” you begin, your voice shaky. “i don’t like tooru anymore. i haven’t for a while now.”

his brow furrows, confusion flickering across his face. “but... i thought you guys were getting closer?”

you nod, a small, rueful smile on your lips. “we were, but only as friends, nothing more.”

kuroo’s eyes widen as realization dawns on him. tooru had been trying to push him toward you this whole time.

“kuroo,” you say again, gently pulling him out of his thoughts.

“yeah?” he replies, his voice a little unsteady.

“i know you just said you’re in love with me... but do you think i can?”

he tilts his head, eyes searching yours. “can you what?”

you hesitate for a moment, feeling your heart pound in your chest.

“can i fall in love with you too?”

kuroo’s eyes widen in shock, his body going rigid as he processes your words. for a moment, he��s completely still, his mouth opening slightly as if he’s searching for the right response. the room feels charged with the weight of your confession.

you watch as he takes a moment to absorb what you’ve just said. when he finally speaks, his voice is a whisper, filled with disbelief. “w-what?”

you give him a small, rueful smile, and continue, “you know, getting closer to tooru was because of you. he was also helping me figure things out.”

kuroo’s eyes widen further, a flicker of realization crossing his face. “because of me?”

you nod, your gaze steady. “yeah,"

the pieces start to fall into place for kuroo, and you can see the understanding dawn in his eyes. he takes a deep breath, his expression a mix of relief and intense emotion.

and then, in a swift, almost desperate movement, he reaches for you, pulling you close. his lips find yours with a kind of urgency that takes your breath away, the kiss filled with all the emotions he’s been holding back.

his hands frame your face gently, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. you can feel the tension melt away, replaced by something warm and undeniable.

when you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. kuroo lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

“of course,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

“please do.”

and then, without missing a beat, he kisses you again.

notes

kuroo borrowed yn's phone and tweeted (and not because i didnt realize the plot hole immediately)

yn and kuroo sitting in a tree : D

this ends undercurrents OMGG UGHHKFSDHFKSDFS

i hope this was a good ending !!!!!

dw because a special chapter is coming !!! bc ik i'll miss this plus i want u guys to see sum yn and kuroo moments as a couple because WHY NOT

i'll properly conclude everything there !!

so technically its not officially done???

taglist: @lvtilzs @rarararararq @iamfontenlos @kurooswifeyy @secretsunsetsociety @kagsnumnine @yumiecheesecrackers @tojirin @jaynawayna @noxva08 @zahrawr-writes-fanfics @mawenskiblue @smellysluna @cccccccccccleo @winniethepooh-lover @akirqx @cupidsblonde @kukkurookkoo@emotiandon @urslytherin @mochroialainn @avis-writeshq @sorrynotsorrh @walllflowerrrsss @viva-vxgue @chifuzzy @mikaela26sstuff

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + five

authors note: soooo, i both hate and love this one. can't tell if i'm just being super hard on myself, but it feels flat and a bit boring, but i also know if i keep messing with it, i'll never feel wholly satisfied, so here is the best version i could come up with!

it does include more of roman's background though so....there's that at least lmao

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: sexual harassment, language, violence, ptsd episode (dissociation, avoidance, breakdown), torture

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 8k

Solana has come to the realization that training isn’t entirely awful.

Or maybe it’s the fact that along with training, she’s allowed the chance to socialize, to be around other people and learn to not be so nervous all of the time. Naomi is a great person for that, bubbly and naturally personable. She’s created such a welcoming space that has left Solana feeling less and less nervous.

A couple weeks into training, Solana also feels like she’s growing more comfortable in her learning. It’s still the very basics, a lot of focus on flexibility, but it feels good. It feels almost relieving to be able to learn certain skills and tips that she can use to maybe one day defend herself. 

To maybe one day be able to take care of herself.

Or maybe some dreams are just too big to wish for.

It’s the end of her session with Naomi, and Solana is in the women’s locker rooms, having just finished her shower. She’s in her head a bit, mentally going over what she’s going to make Roman for dinner.

He’s been gone more often than not the past couple weeks, and she’s torn on that. On one hand, it’s nice not to be around a man who she’s supposed to be figuring out a way to kill, a man whose presence alone creates an additional layer of anxiety on top of the pre-existing baseline that is her everyday anxiety 

But…..

But, there’s also a part of her that….that wouldn’t be too opposed if he was around more. Being alone in the big house also creates a space of anxiety. If…if he was present more, maybe she could learn how to interact with him.

Could learn him.

It’s this strange thought process that’s so confusing and almost overwhelming for her that it keeps her from noticing the pending danger lurking just steps away.

“Hey, Solana.”

Solana gasps loudly, spinning around, her eyes widening at Austin Theory who stands before her with that same predatory smile. She opens her mouth to scream, but she’s too slow. 

Austin backs her against the lockers and slaps his hand over her mouth. His other hand moves to pin her hands over her hand. Instantly, her heart is beating out her fucking chest, an intense weight of dread anchoring her down. 

Solana feels paralyzed. She is paralyzed. 

“Always so damn jumpy. All we wanna do is get to know you....”

It’s almost perfect timing when another man appears, Grayson. But, it’s when he sees Austin and Solana that he frowns, walking over, “man, what the hell are you doing?”

Austin rolls his eyes, laughing. “Come on, don’t be a little bitch. It’s just a little fun.”

“This isn’t funny, Austin. If Reigns finds out—”

“What the fuck is he gonna do, huh?” Austin scoffs, gaze returning back on Solana who has her eyes clenched shut, tears threatening to spill over. “And you’re not going to say anything to him anyway, are you?” 

Solana gasps, breathing uneven as Austin lowers his hand to tug on the knot of her towel just enough to loosen it but not enough to undo it. Regardless, it’s that one act that truly immobilizes her because she’s no longer standing before this man as a grown woman.

She’s that 12 year old little girl completely unaware of what night of horrors is about to be unleashed on her, the way an unspeakable act of evil perpetrated on an innocent child is going to lead her down a dark, depressing path.

And she’s frozen, frozen in time, forever stuck in that state of suffering. 

Grayson’s eyes fall on Solana, seeing that she’s almost no longer present, dissociating, and that seemingly freaks him out even more. He tugs on Austin’s shoulder. “You had your fun, mate. Let’s fucking go.”

Austin has never been one to listen to others. Ever. But in a testament to his cruelty, Solana’s lack of reaction, lack of struggling and displaying helplessness in front of him wanes the enjoyment. He doesn’t get off as much, doesn’t feel as empowered as he does by making people feel small.

So with a scoff and not an ounce of influence from Grayson in his ear, he releases her, stepping back with a smirk as she instantly moves her arms over her chest. 

“Relax, Mrs. Reigns.” She’s anything but, and it brings a smile to his face. It’s so fucking easy to get her unnerved. “Just messing with ya, that’s all.”

There’s more distant talking, snickering and combatting with someone speaking quietly but urgently. Solana can make out part of that as she gradually returns to a state of awareness. Enough to where she’s eventually cognizant of the fact that they’ve left, that she’s alone, that they no longer pose an immediate threat.

But, they do. They do, because what if they come back?

Chest still tightening, breathing still erratic, Solana rushes over to the door, shaking hands managing to shut it closed and locked. But, it’s not enough to just be alone, to know that no one can come in and try to hurt her. 

Because she still feels it.

Still feels hands on her, restricting her, bounding her, and it makes her sick.

Hand over her mouth, Solana does her best to push back the nausea, rushing over to the showers, turning the knob so that it’s at full strength. 

And heat too.

Shoving the towel off her body, she steps under the scalding water and grabs the soap, immediately scrubbing at her body. It’s unnecessary force, unnecessary heat, unnecessary altogether, but it’s the only thing that gives her a faux sense of comfort. She needs to wash the feeling of them off of her, scrub until her skin starts to look wrinkled and raw, her complexion tinging with redness from the heat of the water.

Eventually, the scrubbing stops feeling like enough. Nothing feels like enough, and she falls back against the wall of the shower, sliding down as she pulls her knees to her chest.

And she cries, the water blending seamlessly with the tears that filter out the drain in a way she wishes the heavy feelings wrecking her body would melt away.

Safe.....

It's a dream that she'll never achieve.

A wasted hope.

A lie.

—-----------

“The RKO proposal is pretty decent.” 

“But not good enough.” Roman’s dismissal is swift and to the point. “I want 75% of all profits.”

Rikishi presses his lips together, calmly reminding, “that’s gonna be a hard sell.” 

“Orton is desperate. He’s an imbecile who uses more products than he moves and is running Bob’s legacy into the ground.” Roman is a man who prides himself on always being on the up and up. He makes it his business to know what’s going on with all competitors and even partnerships. “He should consider my offer fucking mercy. 75% or nothing.”

Rikishi sits back in his chair, a proud smile growing on his face. “I’ve taught you well, Uce”

There’s a modicum of truth to his cousin’s words, but for the most part, Roman has learned more on his own than anything anyone could have ever taught him.

“What’s the status of the imports from Columbia?”

Jey leans forward, answering without pause. “Scheduled to arrive just on time, assuming nothing goes awry.”

“Who’s managing?”

“Tama.”

Roman nods. “It’ll be fine.” His distant cousin, Tama Tonga is a bit on the……eccentric side, but he’s never failed to see a successful shipment through from beginning to end.

“If…..” Paul’s low but firm voice enters the conversation, Roman’s lazy gaze falling on the man. “If I may, my Tribal Chief?” With the nod of approval from the Head of the Table, Paul clears his throat. “By my calculations, there’s a way for us to improve on the total time it currently takes for us to move product by over 40% with some minor….changes.”

Jimmy, who sits almost bored at the other side of the table, feet propped up, asks in a suspicion tone. “What kind of changes?”

Paul clears his throat. “If we were to have access to the Eastern harbor—”

At that, both Jimmy and Jey land eyes on their cousins head counsel. Jey is the first to speak though. “You know that’s Nightmare territory, correct?”

Paul’s voice is surprisingly calm. “I do.” A nervous set of blue eyes settle on the man who sits at the head of the table, the primary one who needs to be convinced of the possible benefits of what he’s about to suggest. “If we would just consider—”

“No.” Roman’s rejection is loud and echoes throughout the conference room. “How could you even fucking suggest that shit?”

“My Tribal Chief, if you could please hear out my—”

Roman’s fist banging against the table sends an alert to all members of this current meeting that the Tribal Chief word is final and unchanging. “I said…..no.” 

Rikishi shakes his head, thankful that a stern rejection is the extent of his cousin’s reaction. He can’t believe Paul could even be stupid enough to even suggest such a thing to Roman. Perhaps he could be swayed over to see the business and financial benefits, but Roman…..no, that history runs too deep and bleeds too much red for Roman Reigns to ever consider some sort of ceasefire or let alone alliance with The Nightmare Factory. 

“Well, that shit got awkward real fast,” Jey mutters, uncomfortable with the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Even if it makes all the sense in the world. “How about that marriage life?

Roman shuts his eyes. It’s jumping from one annoying topic to another. “What?”

“Man, Big Dog living good over there,” Jimmy’s smile is wide as he rubs his hands together. “Lil Soso can cook her ass off!”

“Stop calling her that.”

“Speaking of ass, she pregnant yet?”

This is why Roman didn’t want to get on this subject, because he knew where it would lead to, another road he’s not trying to go down right now.

Rikishi chimes in, “their delivery is trash, but the question is still fair. Is there a chance she’s pregnant?” A sly smile falls on his face as he teases, “I know you well enough, Uce, that I don’t need to remind you of the importance of trying.”

Jey snorts. “That ain’t never been a problem for any of us. Especially Roman. Man, I still don’t know how you don’t have a gaggle of lil mean mugging ass kids running around here.”

The answer is simple, and Roman expresses as such. “Because I know how to fucking use a condom unlike you idiots.”

“Hey. I don’t know what you talking about. All my kids by Nicki.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing.”

At that, Jey jumps out the chair, Jimmy rolling his eyes as Paul shakes his head and sighs heavily. “Ayo, you the Tribal Chief and everything, but you not gon’ keep disrespecting my wife like that, aight?”

“Where did you sleep last night, Jey?” Roman’s tone is both bored and knowing, especially as Jey’s gaze drops the same way his ass does right back in his seat. “That’s what I thought.”

“Just…” Rikishi’s voice is louder, allowing him to realign the conversation. “Keep us updated, Roman. When she does get pregnant, you’ll need to up her security.”

“I’m aware.” Just like he’s aware of the fact that unless this girl is the virgin fucking Mary and will have an immaculate conception, there’s no need to worry about that right now.

Or ever. 

His business phone lighting up with a familiar name across the screen is both a welcomed surprise as well as distraction for Roman. Without hesitation, he answers, watching the TV anchored on the wall light up.

Roman’s shoulder straightens as he leans back further into the soft Italian leather of his chair. “Dwayne.”

“Roman.” Dwayne removes the stereotypical dark glasses Roman always grew accustomed to seeing his cousin wear in any interaction. His smile beams. “Long time no fucking see, cousin.”

Roman shrugs, answering honestly, “been busy.” 

“I saw that. Congratulations on the marriage. An invite would have been fucking nice.”

At that, Roman chuckles, calling out his bluff. “Like you would have come.”

Dwayne’s laughter echoes through the office. “Fair.” He then greets the rest of the men present, though it’s a surprise to no one that his initial exchange is solely with Roman. They’ve always had a great bond, even better business partnership, hence the position Roman has placed him in. “You know why I’m calling though”

And there goes the ‘fun’ while it lasted. Straight into business with his big cousin. He respects it immensely though. Dwayne is all about profit and efficiency and ensuring the smoothness of operations. “The same reason you always reach out, cause it’s not that often.”

“It’s been a couple years, cousin….”

“I’m aware.” 

And he is. 

6 years, to be precise. 

“You need to fly out here.” Dwayne isn’t saying anything Roman doesn’t already know, hasn’t already heard. “They need to see your face.”

“They have you.”

Dwayne snorts. “They hate me almost as much as they hate you.” They being that other side of Roman’s family, the side that he could go on with the rest of his life without seeing or speaking to. The side that probably feels the same about him and his Tribal tattoos, long hair, and skin that is not like theirs. 

Yeah….hate is definitely the right word.

“Do you care?”

“Hell no.” The answer is surprising, unlike Dwayne’s next statement. “But, I do care when shit starts to get more openly disrespectful.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re becoming bolder with questioning your leadership. Less subtle. More direct.”

At that, Roman’s attention is fully captured. He sits up in his seat. “Is that so?”

The twins, Rikishi, and Paul all exchange knowing glances, having been wisely quiet to allow the Head of the Table to conduct business as he sees fit. But this, they all know where this is going.

“Maybe it is time I remind them who the fuck is in charge here.” As much as Roman loathes the idea of having to be around and interact with these fuckers, nothing vexes him more than having his authority challenged. 

Like he’s not the one, the two, and the three they’ve been looking for. 

“I’ll see about flying out within the next week.” 

Jey speaks up for the first time. “I can’t just leave on that short notice—”

“Did I say I needed you to come with me?” It’s a bit of a rhetorical question. “I can handle this on my own.”

As is his preference with most things, because in Roman’s opinion, most things are handled better and in the way that most pleases him when he does it himself. His expectations can only be set and maintained or exceeded by him.

“At least take Paul with you, Uce.” Rikishi suggests, and in the moment, it’s last thing he wants. Paul’s already pissed him off enough for the day. “They need to be straightened out, not taken out. Paul can help you keep that balance.”

Roman isn’t obstinate enough to disagree with that. Paul does have his uses, one of which being his ability to talk Roman down when the preference is to just kill motherfuckers the second he deems them annoying. 

And that’s not the goal for this trip.

Not yet, anyway.

“Fine. Wise Man and I will go.” There are far too many other things on Roman’s plate for him to push back on a plus one. This is immaterial to the larger picture. “Dwayne, start the preparations.”

“You got it, brotha’. I’ll keep in touch.” 

The screen goes dark as Dwayne ends the call. Roman reclines back in his chair, a mixture of muddy, dark, bleak emotions. The idea of having to be around his maternal family is quite literally sickening to him. He hates those sons of bitches almost as much as they hate and despise him.

But on another hand, the idea of getting away from all this, from this Solana dilemma, there could be some benefits. He’d be gone for a couple of weeks, perhaps even a month. Maybe in that space he’ll come back to a different kind of woman. A woman who knows how to fucking stand up for herself instead of being so scared all the time.

And as if reading his cousin’s mind, Jimmy breaks the silence, asking, “Ayo, Roman, you sure you should be leaving—”

A knock on the door seems to only exacerbate the tension as Roman snaps. “What?”

Alicia, his secretary, easy on the eyes and effective in what she does, opens the door just enough to stick her head through. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Reigns—”

“So why are you?” It’s well known that Roman is a man who hates interruptions, especially when he’s in the middle of a briefing meeting, and she knows this well. Might be time for a new secretary.

Alicia swallows and calmly explains, “your cousin, Nia, is on line one. She says she needs to speak to you immediately.”

“She can wait.”

“With….all due respect, sir, it sounds like an emergency. She’s been blowing up the lines all morning.”

Curious, Roman turns his personal phone over and sees his lock screen littered with missed calls, texts, and a voicemail all from one person. 

Nia. 

With a heavy sigh, Roman dismisses Alicia. “I’ll handle it.”

Quietly, she closes the door and he unlocks his phone to return the call. Nia never makes such an effort to get in contact with him. Some shit must have went down, though his mind still wonders what level of bullshit could have occurred that even she can’t handle. 

Phone laid on the table, he dials and places it on speaker.

“It’s about fucking time, you asshole!” Her introduction is unsurprising. “I’ve been trying to call you for almost an hour.”

Roman is already tempted to hang up the phone and block her until further notice. “What do you want, Nia?”

“You need to get down here now.” He’s still not hearing anything that would warrant him moving an inch. “Your fucking Princess Peach wife—”

But at that, Roman’s interest is piqued. He sits forward in his chair. “What about her?” 

“I don’t know, she had a mental breakdown or something and has locked herself in the locker rooms. We can’t get her to come out—”

Right away, Roman gets to blaming and accusing. “What the fuck did you do to her?” Nia can’t respond before he asks the next important question. “Where the fuck was Solo!”

“I didn’t do anything, Roman! And Solo can’t be with her in the fucking women’s locker room!” Nia’s defense is as sharp as his imputation. “I told you that girl isn’t made for this life. She’s a fucking problem! Come get her now, or I’m going to blow the damn doors off myself.”

Highly vexed with Nia’s smart ass mouth as well as the nature of the situation, Roman slams his finger on the end button and stands up from his chair, rolling his shoulders. “Fucking hell.”

Jey, just as confused as everyone else, decides to be the sacrificial lamb, asking, “Roman, what was that—”

“You two come with me. Wise Man. Rikishi. Finish and send out the response to Orton’s proposal.” Roman issues out indisputable commands as he marches out of the room, the twins not hesitating to hop up and follow suit. Confused or not, they know better than to question their cousin when he’s in one of these moods.

They don’t even say anything for the beginning portion of the ride to the Warehouse, a rarity for them considering they always have something to say. But this time, they wait for Roman to break the silence, and he eventually does, still just as angry. 

“I don’t have time to be dealing with this shit!” To say Roman is pissed would be an understatement. He’s livid. For a lot of different reasons, really, maybe even mostly at the fact that his head counsel had the unmitigated gall to even utter Rhodes name around him.

Roman would see the entire empire go up in smoke and flames before he’d ever agree to any sort of alliance with that son of a bitch.

That only adds on top of the fact that the Italian faction of his empire seems to be questioning his ability to lead, as if the data doesn’t clearly support that business has never been better. The cash flow is endless. Numbers don’t lie.

But, Roman knows the real reason for their insubordination. 

It’s because of his father, the Samoan blood that runs through his veins. His being afakasi. Mixed. They believe that following that night, the alliance between the Bloodline and the Guild, an alliance sealed by the marriage of his father and mother, should have been dissolved. That someone from his mother’s side, a full blooded Italian, should sit on that metaphorical throne.

But, that’s not the case.

Roman assumed power because it is his by birthright, and he’ll be damned if he lets some ignorant fucks try to take it from him.

So yes….there are a lot of different reasons for his anger.

But, it’s a lot easier to blame it on the reason he’s in an SUV now, heading to a place he didn’t even plan to attend today.

“I’m not going to keep dealing with this shit with her.” He’s not even entirely sure who he’s speaking to at this point, or if he’s directing his statements to anyone in particular. Just needing to vent and get it out.

“What do you mean keep dealing?” Jimmy is the first to pick up on his cousin’s wording. “Something like this happen before?” 

The twins look between each other and then back at Roman who runs his hand over his face, realizing that if there’s anyone he can trust to keep this between them, it’s the twins. Annoying and sometimes dimwitted, they’re notoriously loyal and can sometimes provide sage advice.

“She had a complete meltdown on the wedding night. Panic attack, wouldn’t stop crying.” Roman conveniently leaves out the part of him talking her down from a panic attack. They don’t need to know that. 

No one needs to know that.

“After ya’ll….”

“No.” He answers, honestly. “We didn’t even do it. She was too hysterical.”

“Wait a minute.” It doesn’t surprise Roman that Jimmy is the first to put two and two together. “So you ain’t even fucked her yet? But you said—”

“I know what I said.” He doesn’t need to be reminded of anything. Roman’s memory is long and sharp. “I also know what I do and don’t feel like dealing with right now.”

“Uce, the only reason you even married this girl was so that she could give you an heir. How the hell is that supposed to happen if she won’t even let you touch her?” As much as Roman wants to snap at his cousins, he can’t. He can’t because they’re right. It’s something he’s thought about on and off since the wedding night.

It’s painfully evident to him that Solana’s mental state is….fragile, to stay the least.

He doesn’t need fragility.

He doesn’t do fragility.

The same way he apparently can’t do her.

“Maybe you need to just annul the shit and cut your losses while it’s still early.” Jey suggests, and Roman can’t deny the idea has a level of appeal to it. Until the next part leaves his cousin’s mouth. “Send her back to her family.”

“No.” That’s an easy no. He’s not entirely opposed to the idea of annulment, but what’s not an option is sending her back to that house of horrors. The only way he can see himself doing that is if he’s put a bullet in both her brother and father’s head, which technically, is the plan anyway.

He would just be making some…..timeline adjustments.

“I won’t send her back there. That’s a death wish.”

Maybe set her up with some money and a house. Let her live out her days with her damn writing, reading, and cooking, the only three things she seems capable of doing without fear. But even thinking that, Roman wonders just how capable she is of living on her own.

Xavier kept the girl so damn sheltered. He’d have to keep a security detail on her at all times. Maybe keep Solo with her. She seems to have grown somewhat comfortable with him. 

The same with Naomi.

Or, so he thought. People who are moving in the right direction don’t lock themselves in public fucking locker rooms.

Jimmy also points out, validly, “well, you obviously can’t keep her around if she literally can’t do the one job she has.”

“Let’s not be irrational, alright?” Jey, in a twist of faith, tries to be the voice of reason. “That girl can cook.”

Jimmy’s eyes light up. “Oh shit, I forgot about that.” Sure enough, he switches his tune. “Man, Soso ain’t even that bad, uce. You just gotta be patient with her.”

The change of tune doesn’t surprise Roman, but his suggestion is almost comical. If not for the fact that he’s already in a sour ass mood. “Do I look like a patient man?”

“No, but you do look like a man who could benefit from learning how to be patient,” Jimmy’s rebuff is quick and sharp. “That’s why you and Jey on high blood pressure medication right now. Both ya’ll hotheaded asses be getting yourselves all upset over nothing. Probably why you’re going gray too.”

There may be some element of truth to what he’s saying, but it’s also irrelevant to the issue at hand.

“I’ll figure something out,” he mutters, and it’s the truth, because that’s what Roman does. He figures shit out. 

He always figures shit out.

The SUV is barely parked when Roman flings the door open, slamming it shut behind him, not knowing exactly what he’s about to walk into.

“What happened?” Roman’s demand is accompanied by his powerful stride into the Warehouse, Nia immediately rolling her eyes and pointing to Naomi.

“Ask her. She was the last one to interact with her.”

Naomi is unsurprised by both Nia throwing her under the bus as well as Roman directing his fury in her direction.

“What the fuck happened?”

As someone who’s been involved with the Bloodline and their family members for over a decade, she’s used to both Roman’s anger as well as being on the receiving end of said anger. So, her response is calm and to the point. “Like I told Nia, we trained, and she was fine. She actually did well today. I had another training session after her, so we agreed on the next date, and she left for the locker rooms. That’s it.”

Naomi’s answer is unhelpful, but he believes her. Knows she’s being honest. It’s just that her honesty doesn’t do shit for him.

“Clear the place.” It’s directed to Nia even if his focus is still on Naomi.

Nia steps forward, irritation undeniable. “Roman, seriously? We have matches lined up—”

“I don’t care. I want it cleared now, Nia.” She’s about to protest again, but he lifts his hand, warning, “I’m not in the mood, so don’t fucking test me.” 

Nia isn’t stupid. She might be able to teeter the lines some days with her cousin, but this clearly isn’t one of those days. Grumbled protests stay within the confines of her inner dialogue as she turns on the edge of her heel to start emptying the Warehouse.

The twins step forward, asking, “what you need us to do?”

Nothing. He doesn’t want anyone to do anything aside from leaving him the hell alone, but that’s not an option. So, he moves quick to find a task for them. Naomi as well. “Check the cameras. Something happened, and I want to know what.”

“What if—”

“Check the cameras.” At this point, Roman’s about to kick them all out if people keep questioning him like he isn’t the fucking Tribal Chief. 

Control has always been a big thing for Roman.

When one doesn’t have much, or any, as a child, they overcompensate, and then some, as an adult.

He recognizes that fully. 

As all parties move to follow through on his orders, Roman heads toward the locker rooms, ignoring the complaining of the gym goers having to prematurely leave against their own volition. He’s not focused on that, just on the panel near the doors, a panel he’s never had to use until this day.

A panel only he can operate and use as its his biometrics and only his. Again, a man who likes control.

It takes less than a minute for him to gain access, the door automatically opening. Roman steps in and closes it behind him. 

“Solana.” He’s certain she won’t answer him, won’t magically do a 180 and feel well enough to step out, but he does feel like at least making his presence known to her will minimize her fear and surprise. 

Because one of the first things he notices and hones in on is sound, listening for any and all sounds that could lead him in her direction, and it’s a bit on the easy side considering there’s only the sound of running water coming from one area. And if he had to guess, one specific shower stall. 

Carefully, his steps take him from one end of the room to the other, moving in the direction of the woman he needs to find.

And he does find her. 

He finds her sitting on the floor of the shower, naked, enclosed in the corner, her legs pulled up to her chest, staring like she’s in a state of shock, like she’s not aware of where she is or what she’s doing. Like she’s not aware of the heat of the water bearing down on her body.

“What the hell?” Roman’s first reaction is a modicum of shock, the heat from the steam alone almost instantly suffocating him. Naturally, he moves toward her, to cut it off, but her scream of terror stops him prematurely. 

“No!” It’s been a while since Roman has heard that level and depth of fear in someone’s voice, in the hefty depth of their sorrow. She’s petrified. “P–please don’t.”

It’s for that he actually hesitates, doing his best not to shout at her because that’s clearly the last thing she needs. “Solana, I’m not gonna fucking touch you, but you’re burning yourself!”

While he does his best to keep his eyes focused on non–inappropriate areas, he can already see the reddening of her arms and back. If she already hasn’t burned herself.

Again, he tries to reason with her, which is such a strange experience. Roman doesn’t negotiate with people. He does whatever the fuck he wants and cuts down anyone who has something to say about it. But this, this is a completely different experience he’s not entirely sure he knows how to navigate in a way that won’t fuck this girl up even more than she already is. 

“I’m just going to shut the water off.” Announcing his intentions seems like the next best thing, even if it seems to do little to calm her. So, he bites the bullet and moves fast enough to where she can’t protest until it’s already done.

Which is exactly what happens. 

“No! I—I need—I need to get clean. I need—” She starts crying again, hugging her legs closer to her body. “I can still feel—their hands—”

“Did someone touch you?” Interrupting her isn’t a good idea, especially with the way anger naturally floats into his tone. It’s almost impossible for it not to. If someone fucking touched her….“ Solana….what happened?”

She gasps, shaking her head, pleading almost. “Please….please don’t m–make me t–t–talk about it.”

There’s a distant look in her eyes, one that’s both uncomfortably but extremely familiar to Roman. He knows what it looks like for someone to be physically present but mentally elsewhere. That’s what Solana is right now. 

She’s not talking about today but something else, something much darker that whatever happened today only triggered. 

Roman slowly starts to crouch down in front of her but she jerks back. “I’m not going to touch you, Solana,” he again reiterates. “But you can’t stay in here.” He starts to remove his jacket, reaching it over to her. “We have to go back to the house.”

Again, she’s panicking, protesting. “I can’t—I can’t go out t–t–there.”

“I had the place cleared,” he explains. “There’s no one out there except for the twins, Naomi, and Nia.” Truthfully, he’s starting to wonder if he should have asked them to leave too. He didn’t know she'd be this frazzled. 

“Come on," he encourages.

Eventually, she accepts his jacket, and Roman stands back up to his full height, turning around and allowing her the privacy he’s sure she’d want. She steps forward, Roman seeing she’s hugging herself keeping his jacket covering her body. 

She keeps her head down, obviously still shaken up, still messed up from a lot of things. He honestly doesn’t know where the trauma stops and ends with this girl.

Roman directs her. “Get dressed. Meet me outside.” He looks down at her, needing some level of acknowledgement. “Okay?”

Solana surprises him by glancing up, nodding softly, walking away to what he would guess is the locker where her clothes are. 

Pleased that she’s at least well enough to be left alone to follow through on a simple task, Roman exits the locker room. He approaches the desk, the twins immediately standing up. It’s not lost upon him that Naomi and Nia are nowhere to be seen. If he had to guess, Jimmy sent Naomi home, not wanting her to bear anymore of Roman’s wrath. And Nia left to avoid unleashing her wrath on Roman, neither of which he’s entirely upset about. 

He has no interest in seeing either of them right now.

Jimmy speaks first. “We found something.”

“Send it to me.” Roman is smart. Always has been. It’s not difficult for him to connect the dots to see that someone clearly fucked with Solana. And he’s almost certain whatever footage the twins found will confirm and show exactly how she was fucked with. The same way he’s entirely certain that managing his anger seeing as such is damn near if not wholly impossible.

And she doesn’t need that right now. She’s already a hot mess. Being exposed to his explosive temper will only exacerbate that, so being sent the footage for him to view when he’s alone and can respond as violently as he wants is the best route.

Especially with his next order.

“Whoever it is, bring em’ to Asylum.” He adds, as if it needs to be specified. “Tonight.” 

Jey nods, and Roman notices there’s an edge to his voice. The same way there’s an edge in Jimmy’s expression. They seem pissed. “You got it.” And for some reason, Roman has a burning guess that it has to do with whatever they found rather than it being directed toward him. 

Waiting for Solana to exit the locker rooms, Roman blows out a deep breath and scratches his beard. This day has been a shitshow for a variety of reasons, but this reason in particular, this thing with Solana, it ranks pretty high up there.

He hasn’t a clue what he’s doing to do with this girl. 

“Jimmy.”

“Whassup?”

“Text Paul. Tell him I want Solana’s medical records. All of them.”

Roman knows now he needs answers, specific answers regarding exactly what he’s dealing with. And Solana is clearly in no position to share these things with him, not that he’d even want her to. 

She’d probably have to be admitted somewhere if he tried that shit. 

Jimmy looks understandably confused but affirms, “I gotchu.”

And with that, Roman also pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts, selecting the thread and typing out a message he doesn’t really think twice about.

Roman: Dwayne. Change of plans. I’ll come when I can, but now’s not a good time. I have shit here I need to handle first.

Roman: In the meantime, take my name out their fucking mouths. 

————

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

And just like that, Solana knows that he knows what happened. Knows about Austin and Grayson.

And it turns her stomach. 

Roman took her back to the house. He left her alone, giving her time and space to come down from her breakdown. And even in sitting in her room, writing out her feelings about the day's events, she knew. Solana knew that it wasn’t that simple. That Roman wouldn’t just leave what happened today at that.

That he’d want to know what happened, what triggered it, but naively, she tried to convince herself he’s too busy of a man to deep dive and find out on his own. To push her for answers. 

She’s wrong.

She’s wrong because that’s the first thing to leave his mouth when he finds her in the kitchen. 

Roman’s question, however, is valid and understandable, even if just the thought alone of having this conversation makes Solana physically uncomfortable.

Still, given everything that’s happened today, she can’t blame him for wanting answers.

She just doesn’t have them to give.

Her voice is barely above a whisper. “I—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” His tone is full of mockery and frustration that she also can’t blame him for but physically finds herself feeling unsettled. “Bullshit. I want an answer, Solana.”

Her skin feels hot, stomach starting to knot. “I just—I don’t—”

“I can’t handle problems you have if you don’t fucking tell me that you have a problem in the first place.”

“I’m sorry—”

At that, Roman snaps, unintentionally, but also a build-up from all of the day’s events. “Stop fucking apologizing!”

What he doesn’t expect is for her to jump back away from him, so much so that she falls to the floor and hurriedly moves back against the cabinet, as she shouts in a panic, “I’m sorry!” Her arms are crossed in front of her body, a defensive position, like she’s waiting, bracing.

Waiting for him to hit her.

Roman’s been in this position countless times. Standing before people as they begged for mercy, begged for him to not enact his vengeance, to rule out his judgment as judge, juror, and executioner. And it’s always been a thrill for him, a boost to his ego, a reminder of his power.

And not once has he ever felt bad for causing such a reaction.

Not until this moment. 

With slow, careful movements, Roman also moves to the floor, one leg outstretched, the other hiked so his foot is planted on the ground. His arm casually resting on his knee. “Solana….do you remember what I said to you that day at your job?”

She's still waiting for the inevitable, waiting for him to lash out, for him to hit her. But, she’s confused by the fact that instead of him doing so just yet, he's sitting on the floor opposite of her. And somehow, she finds it in her to focus on his question. He said a couple of noteworthy things that day, but somehow, she knows exactly what he’s referring to.

“My…..my clumsiness.” Clumsiness he told her she wouldn’t have to worry about, but she’s been more than worried about it, more waiting for it, expecting it at some point or another. 

“And I meant that shit.” His head is leaned back against the cabinet, and Solana suddenly feels even worse. He seems so stressed out from all of this, from her. “You’re my wife now. I’m not going to let anyone lay a fucking hand on you. Not your dad. Not your brother. Not fucking Theory and Waller.” There’s a bit of a pause as he adds, almost quietly, “and especially not me.” 

Solana is unsure what to make of what he’s saying to her. Not sure how to process and take it at face value. It’s hard for her to digest the fact that one of the most dangerous and violent men in the country wants her to believe that he’d never put his hands on her. That he’s not someone she needs to be scared of. 

And she doesn't understand it, can’t comprehend how he can not be like every other man in her life. “W–why?”

“Cause unlike your piece of shit family, The Bloodline has morals. I’m not a good man, Solana, and I don’t pretend to be. But, I’ve never hit a woman, and I never will.” Roman never pictured himself having to explain to a woman why he has no desire to beat her. Yet, here he fucking is. “Real men don’t do that shit.”

Solana doesn’t know what to say to that, is still not sure what to say to any of it. But then, Roman is speaking again.

“It’s no secret. I have a temper, and that’s not going to change. I’m not going to change. Not for you, not for anyone.” Solana knows this, knows this very well, and understands it just as much. She would never expect him to change his ways, especially for the likes of her. “But, I—I’ll try to be mindful of it around you.” 

That…..throws her for a loop. Why? Why would he do anything for her? What has she done to make him even feel like he should? Except stress him out and cause him unnecessary problems.

Roman continues, asserting, “but, you’ve gotta start fucking telling me shit. I need you to meet me halfway here. I need you to communicate with me. You can’t spend the rest of your life writing what you refuse to say out loud.” 

She licks her lip, a nervous action, replying as best she can, “I’m not—I’m not used to—” She’s not used to people caring about her, caring about her wellbeing, and maybe that’s too strong and too inaccurate to describe what Roman is saying. It’s certainly how it feels though. “I—I’ll try.”

He seems pleased by this, probably not fully satisfied but enough for him to drop the subject. And she appreciates that, and is thankful for it. This day has already been a lot, too much. She’s so fucking tired. 

Roman says nothing else, not that she needs him to, not that he needs to. But, as he stands up, turning to leave, she finds herself asking him, “where—where are you going?”

His answer is simple but ominous. “I told you. No one lays a hand on you.” He grabs his jacket off the sofa, sliding it on as he vows, “I’m gonna make sure everyone understands that shit from here on out.”

—-------

Asylums, historically, have been places of horror. Where the lives of so many end in cruel and undeserved ways. Screams and pleas falling on deaf ears, memories of terror forever etched in the walls and halls of a building that’s only seen suffering.

It’s a fitting name for Roman’s location for interrogation. 

Torture. Because there is no being interrogated by the Tribal Chief. It’s just straight up, unadulterated torture. And truth be told, it’s a bit of a last, or maybe second resort. Killing someone in the moment is much easier, preferred. A shot to the head, a knife across the throat, even the snap of a neck. All much easier than methodical, drawn out ending of lives.

But some instances, some circumstances call for something more, something sinister, something lasting.

And that’s exactly what Theory and Waller are going to get.

By the time Roman walks into the building, sliding and tossing his jacket to the side, the twins have done a decent job roughing them up. One of them—he could never tell the difference—nor did he care or will it matter in a few hours, has a black eye that’s swollen shut. The other’s nose is crooked and bleeding, most likely broken. Their clothes are already stained with sweat, blood, and dirt. 

They’re both tied down by their wrists and ankles that he can see have started to dig into their skin. Their chairs are situated opposite each other. Good. That’ll make this even better. Calmly, Roman walks over, snapping his finger as Jimmy and Jey step back, visibly pleased with their warm up. 

He crouches down between them, looking back and forth between both with a smirk. “Gentleman, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” One of them, the taller of the two looks scared shitless while the other is glaring with idiotic defiance. Like he clearly thinks he and his friend are going to leave this building alive. 

They’ll leave.

Just in pieces.

“I’m Roman.” His voice is slick ice. “Roman Reigns.” There’s a rush of adrenaline that soars through Roman’s big body seeing the fear flash in both sets of irises. Good. They should be fucking terrified. “But, I do know someone you have met.” His voice goes cold again. “My wife.”

“Actually, I saw you meet my wife, but you didn’t just meet her, did you?” Roman smiles, shaking his head. “Naw man….ya’ll did a hell of a lot more than that.” 

Roman doesn’t need to have footage of just what happened in that locker room. He can paint the image all on his own, and it’s an image that makes his blood go cold. The footage of them in the hallway was damning enough. “You cornered her, didn’t you? You waited until she was alone and vulnerable and you harassed her. You sexually harassed her. My wife.” 

Roman shrugs, looking between the two. “What ya’ll think should happen?” Their mumbled and grumbled voices are incoherent against the gags in their mouths. Laughing quietly, he continues, “now, now, I’m a fair Tribal Chief.” Roman stands up, walking over to the wall of tools and weapons laid out. He settles for the hunting knife. “So here’s what I’m gonna do, I’m gonna let you tell me which body part goes first.”

He motions for the twins to remove their gags and upon that removal, the defiant punk is the first to speak, “what the fuck is wrong with you!”

The other one, however, is damn near in tears. “Pl—please. We–we’re sorry.”

“Shut up, Grayson! He–he’s bluffing.” Theory, he thinks, decides to prolong his torture even longer by reiterateing, “we didn’t even fucking touch her. The bitch is ly—”

Roman sees red, again, most likely a buildup of the day's events. But, it’s pure rage that fills him as he slams the Buck 119 down against Theory’s left hand, cleanly slicing off four of his fingers. 

Theory’s screams fill the room as the twins chuckle, Jey taunting, “who’s the bitch now, huh?”

Roman grabs his chin, vowing, “I’m gonna make you suffer the longest.”

“We didn’t hurt her, I swear.” Grayson is now crying, clearly ready to beg, plead, and whatever else it takes to get him out of this hell. “Austin just—he had her up against the locker, he–he pinned her, but we didn’t rape her. I swear!”

Grayson unintentionally paints a picture in Roman’s head of what he already figured is what happened, what he figured is what sent Solana into her traumatized state.

Big mistake.

Roman brings the knife down on both of Grayson’s thighs, intentionally aiming for near the top of his knees, his quadriceps, effectively rendering him permanently paralyzed. His screams of pain are music to Roman’s ears. Roman grabs him by his jaw, screaming, “who the fuck do you think you are! She’s mine! You hurt her and think I’m not gon break every bone in your fucking body? You don’t ever fuckin touch what’s mine! You understand me!”

The younger man is practically hysterical at this point. “Please….” Roman looks down, hit with the stench of urine, seeing that the one with the accent has pissed himself. Disgusted, he backs away, hitting the pathetic son of a bitch with a blow across his cheek that sends teeth flying out his mouth.

He turns back around, eyes focused on a now teary eyed Theory. “I was going to be fair, let you decide in which order I dismember you, but now…now I’m just gonna make you watch as I kill you both, piece by fucking piece."

He looks over at his cousins who seem completely unaffected and almost indifferent to the gruesome scene unfolding before them. “Jimmy.” Roman doesn’t hesitate, a sadistic smile on his handsome face. “Give me the saw.”

—------

Blood is such a pain in the ass to get out of almost everything. 

Roman showered a good twenty minutes before leaving the Asylum, and he can still see specks of dried blood, or maybe it’s bone, or flesh. 

There’s a sense of satisfaction that fills him though, that almost calms him as he imagines the look of pure terror and fright on their faces as he methodically took their lives, piece by piece. Well fucking deserved in Roman’s opinion.

And he’d do it all over again if he could.

Minus the blood and guts and shit, because that's just fucking annoying. Roman readies to take another shower, hitting the light switch near his bedroom door when he immediately notices the brown journal sitting in the middle of the bed.

There’s a second to pause and another second for him to realize he’s seen a similar book before. Solana. He’s seen her writing in one very close to the one on his bed. 

Less apprehensive, Roman walks over to see it’s open to a page filled with neat writing he knows must belong to Solana.

Lifting it, he reads what she’s written.

Roman,

I know you don’t want me saying sorry anymore, and I know you want me to talk to you, but it’s really hard for me. I’m not used to this. I don’t know how to talk to you. 

And I know you said I can’t write, but writing has always been the only way I can express myself, so I will try to talk to you more, but….until then, can I just write?

Solana

Right off the bat, Roman’s first and initial response is no.

Because why the fuck would he write like something out of a damn movie when she could just fucking talk to him?

But, that’s the thing, that’s exactly what she’s trying to express to him, that she can’t, that it’s too hard for her. Right now, at least. Because there’s also a promise, a promise to try to transition to more verbal communication, Roman’s preference.

Granted, he hates talking to most people in general, but it’s preferred over writing damn letters like the 1700s.

And then he thinks about it, recalling earlier today and the pure terror in her voice, the fear wracking her body so much so that she didn’t even realize she was this close to third degree burns. He has to be realistic here, realistic about what she is and isn’t capable of.

As frustratingly slow as it is, she is trying, in her own way. He can’t fault her for that.

Regardless of how he feels about it, this is the best she can do. For now. And he’ll hold her to working towards that, because growth doesn’t happen in comfort zones. She has to get used to being uncomfortable with new things. That’s just how it is.

But this….he can meet her halfway.

Grabbing a pen out his nightstand, Roman writes out his response, taking and laying it out on the kitchen island for her to see first thing in the morning.

Solana,

I recognize communication is challenging for you. If this is what works for you, I’ll do it. For now.

Do you work this weekend? If so, call off. 

I’m taking you somewhere.

Also, there's nothing you can't tell me.

I promise you that.

Roman

[secretsandwriting]

HELLO!!!, can I request a etho fanfic

So this is not hermitcraft but the life series, so I would like the secret life one. like etho got a task but it involves reader, they have to like they both have to kill 2 or 3 warden together, but unfortunately the reader died, but the reader will respawn tho. if you dont want to make it secret life you can do it in hermitcraft, but it will change a few, BUT ITS FINE, That it! I dont know if you get it or not😭😭 but I hope you do get it🥲🥲, THANK YOU💜 LOVE YOUR WORKSS🫶🏻🫶🏻

I got this in April, i'm sorry it took so long!! I hope you see this anon!

Anyways, this has a hint of the hermits being borderline god mentioned bc I love that so much. So many emotions too...

Death Games and Wardens

Etho wasn’t sure how to go on about this, He had to keep his task a secret but it involved you. He stared at the book in his hands.

Kill two wardens with Y/n. Neither of you can die.

The thought of you dying sent a pang of fear through him. Logically he knew that if you died, you would respawn and if you lost your last live you would go back to your home server. Which was hermitcraft, the exact Server he would return to. 

Respawning was bad on a good day, but on a Server with rules that didn't follow Players normal code and instead added some, made respawning even worse. He didn’t want you to go through that. 

“Etho!” His focus was torn away by you. He couldn’t help but relax around you, even when playing against you in death games. Somehow, you brought comfort to him no matter the circumstances. The book burned in his hand as he remembered what your task was. He saw your book in your hands and a nervous grin on your face. “You got a good one?”

“Let's go somewhere private.” You nodded and followed him to the border. Etho glanced at the two sentences in his book and signed. The fear of you getting hurt was back and growing stronger. You broke the silence, apparently he waited too long to start.

“Does your task involve both of us?” He nodded, the sick feeling in his stomach growing. “Good my task does too… Now.. Is yours something we have to do?” Another nod and more stomach pains. “Ok, this is my task.” You handed him your book and he opened it.

Etho’s secret involves you. Do it with him and guess what it is to finish.

Etho may read this book.

He somehow hated this more. You didn’t even know what you were getting into. That meant more room for mistakes and mistakes would lead to a very fast death. You were oblivious to his dilemma and just waited for him to figure it out, assuming he was just trying to figure out how to go about this. The expression on his face was very abnormal but these were death games, they put everyone on edge and filled them with stress.

“Are you ready?” Etho’s head jerked up to look at you. “We only have so much time after all.” He sighed and nodded. He really wanted to come up with a fake task but he knew you wouldn’t like that.

“We need to gear up.”

Fully geared,you followed Etho do into a cave, when the shrieker went off, you hesitated. This wasn’t looking good. This had to be a hard task and probably involved wardens. Something you avoided no matter what. The sound of the Shrieker going off a second time had adrenaline pumping through your veins and terror settling in your bones.

“Etho,” You whispered. “Is the task to summon a warden?” 

“No, but that's your closest guess so far.” You were starting to understand Etho’s hesitation and strange looks. The shrieker went off a third time, darkness filling your vision and the sound of a warden spawning filled your ears.

“It’s over here,” Etho whispered. You weren’t sure what to do until you saw Etho launch himself at it and attack it with his sword. Pulling out your bow, you shot it with arrows both to lower its health and to help Etho out of any sticky situations by drawing its attention away.

To focused on the fight, you didn’t notice the second warden spawn or it approaching from behind until it was too late

Y/n was slain by Warden

Etho’s attention on the warden shattered when he saw the death message and another warden standing in the middle of all your items. His hesitation cost him some hearts but he managed to get away and took the surface without them following. Rushing to spawn he looked around, desperately trying to find you and make sure you were ok. He found you not too far away, sitting on the ground looking a bit dazed.

“Y/n!” Etho grabbed you and held you close. “I’m sorry! I should have noticed! I shouldn’t have let it happen!” You sat in his arms, letting him ramble at you while you readjusted  after a hard respawn. When you finally got yourself together, you listened to Etho’s rambles, pulled yourself out of his grip, and slapped him hard. Etho immediately stopped and jerked back to look at you.

“Pull yourself together!” Etho immediately took a deep breath and squeezed your hand. Once he was calm, you continued. “Etho, I'd respawn no matter what. You know that. If I didn't respawn here, I’d be back on hermitcraft. If I wasn’t there we have enough people that are almost gods on the server I'd be found and brought back.”

Etho shuffled forward and dropped his head on your shoulder, he wrapped his arms around your waist and his shoulders shook with sobs. You ran your fingers through his hair while your other one rested on his back, you slowly rocked side to side. From your spot you could see a few of the red names started to surround you.

Your communicators buzzed with the 5 minute warning but you knew you wouldn’t make it until then. Not with the intent in Gem’s face as she came closer. She paused and pulled out her communicator and typed for a second before flipping it so you could see the message to Xisuma letting him know to expect you. Something only done when one of the players was having a rough time. She smiled when you mouthed a thank you and slipped it back into her pocket before lifting her sword.

Etho was slain by Geminitay

Y/n was slain by Geminitay

Waking up on hermitcraft was disorientating. It always was when you respawn from another server due to death. Your communicator buzzed with a message from Xisuma.

Xisuma: Did you respawn ok? Gem messaged ahead, she didn’t specify who

Y/n: Yeah

Y/n: Etho was having some trouble at the end. Did he respond?

Xisuma: No, I was just about to go check on him.

Y/n: I’ll do it. I’ll let you know if anything went wrong with his respawn.

Xisuma: Ok

You got up from your temporary bed at your mega base and made sure your elytra was equipped before shooting off to Etho’s base. You searched the entire place, the only sign of Etho was the messy bed and his communicator on the floor. So you took a gamble, instead of flying you ran down the path leading to your starter base. Looking for a mop of white hair along the way. With no sign of him along the way, you looked through your house. Stopping in the doorway of your room to see Etho sitting on the floor next to your bed.

“Etho.” He didn’t seem to hear you. “Etho!” You tried again, nothing. Carefully, you moved towards him, making sure to go slow. When you were close enough, you gently rested a hand on his shoulder. He jerked out of your grip and looked up at you.

“Y/n!” He launched himself at you, pulling you close and holding you tight, relief crawled up his spine as he clung to you. “I thought you were gone.”

“I just respawned at my mega base. I told you I would respawn… Come on, let's lay down for a bit.” You managed to get Etho into your bed and when he relaxed you sent a message to Xisuma.

Y/n: Etho’s ok, just the death part of the death games messing with his head.

Xisuma: Ok, take care of him. Let us know if you need anything.

With that out of the way, you put your communicator away and decided to get some rest. Maybe when you woke up, the two of you could figure out what you were. But for now, you were tired.

Etho x Y/n shippers

Geminitay: I kinda felt bad, Etho was clinging to Y/n when I killed them. I mean CLINGING

Xisuma: Y/n went to help Etho right after his respawn when he wouldn’t respond and then let me know he was ok.

Xisuma: What happened?

Grian: So I might have purposely messed with their secrets so they had to work together. I forgot it might have been a bit traumatic.

ImpulseSV: What were their secrets?

Grian: Ethos was to kill two wardens with Y/n and not die and Y/n’s was to help and guess what it was.

Xisuma: Etho is literally laying on top of Y/n in their sleep

Geminitay: THEY'RE SLEEPING TOGETHER

Grian: THEY’RE CUDDLING???

Xisuma: [Image]

Tangotek: You think they’ll actually talk this through after this or not?

You two did not in fact talk about it afterwards. Both of you just acted like it didn't happen and the group chat with every hermit except the two of you were outraged

[norissisca]

“I wish to be with you in my final moments, my love”

PTII — TEASER

Satoru x Suguru x Non-Sorc!Reader

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT : fempov

content warning : gore, thoughts of cannibalism, death, angst, miscarriage, alcohol, mention of rape, horror themes, psychosis, suicide

a/n : I felt bad for making my snookums wait and with my recent problems with tumblr and then deleting my whole draft, I had to re-write it so here is the beginning teaser of ptII. I hope you guys can tell what the first bit of the fanfics are, hehe always love challenging people into little puzzles

PT I

August 10th, 2017, at around midnight,

Commence of investigation and assessment

Like usual he had to say something snarky, always having the last word to those elders. . . God, I should’ve killed them ages ago. But whatever. A smirked piqued as he spun around his heel and pulled up his blindfold, concealing his icy blue eyes, as if the thought of seeing those old ragged men seeing a flash of purple before they were wiped clean from the Earth gave him euphoria.

“Fucking hell. . . Seriously, it’s just a body that is unidentifiable, these second-grades keep getting more pathetic and pathetic as they go. Makes my white hair turn whi— no, no, no, black.”

He would whine and complain, swinging his hands around to express more dramatic key to how he’s currently feeling. He’d teleport himself to the site, stretching his lanky arms and his long legs took wide steps, shoving his hands in his pocket with a pout on his face. Striding past Ijichi as he began his usual “important” rambling, breaking down the suspicion of the attack and how the investigation will play out which as expected Satoru literally always ignore him and simply waved his hand as if he already knows everything.

“Soooo. . . Do you know who this person is or are we gonna play guess who with this body.”

Ijichi would adjust his glasses as he let out a soft sigh as he had to repeat himself yet again. Satoru nodding as he continued with the information.

“Gojo-san, if you heard me correctly, the body is completely mutilated to the point the body is unidentifiable, we don’t even know the sex of the person. . . At the moment all we are suspecting is that this curse must’ve eaten its way in or out of the lower stomach, we be—“

“Euughhh! Now thats just gross, I’ll give credit to the curse for trynna be a weirdo. Cause that’s just outright weird, but nothin that isn’t past my big leagues.”

“Right. Anyways, as I was stating, we believe this theory because although the body is completely disorientated we can tell it was from the lower stomach due to the massive hole in it that its the focal point of the attack.”

Satoru would abruptly stopped walking making Ijichi speed walking into a halt which merely made him skid to the pole in front of him. Satoru would tug one of his hand out of his pocket and lazily point to the alleyway with the corpse in it. Although they can’t see the body yet due to how deep it was into the alleyway, it was evidential that it was there because of the rotting stench kissing their noses and that made the both of them grimace (mostly Ijichi).

“If that’s so, has any of you dudes found the curse yet?”

“Uh, no. That’s why you’re here, the second grade won’t talk. He’s in a state of shock from seeing the body, so it was quite hard to ask if he’s seen the curse or not.”

“Welp! I’m only guessing you want me to ask?. . . Jesus, ‘state of shock’. This guy is obviously weak as hell, can’t even handle the sight of a body torn up!”

He would’ve grumble the insult underneath his breath, obviously he was currently pissed off as the investigation is being dragged out even more all because some second grade is being a pussy. Ijichi notice the aura change of Satoru, which made him a teeny bit scared of him.

Man, I wonder how my sweets is pulling up. Lowk kinda worried about her since the past few weeks, she’s been acting strange. . . Like real fuckin’ stran—

Until it struck him. The scent of nostalgia, it reminded him back in his school days. That smell coming from the alleyway where the body was located, it was no doubt. . . Suguru

[phantombegruvia]

in your post about sorry about my nan you mentioned a theory about how all the shows link together

my friend and i have been amateurly finding silly links between shows so i’d love to hear your theory ❤️❤️❤️

(feel free to ramble)

Ohmygoshhhh, okayokayokay, this will be a very ramble-y post so RAGH

This is my theory/headcanon about how the Astral Plane could be the thing that links [at least some of the] longforms together, especially the supernatural themed ones.

But first, I want to point out that magic has always existed in the SFTH-verse. This is seen in the existence of witches; Old Lady Margaery, the witches in Moist & Magical, The Dark Moons of Slough and for the sake of this theory I'm going to say that Miss Twiliger (Green Leaves on a Summer's Day) is also a witch.

There are also two types of witch;

"immortal" witches - however they can be killed (OLM)

What I call "generational" witches - witches whose powers get passed down from generation to generation (Moist & Magical)

Miss Twiliger is both. She's lived a very long time (but this is mostly because of her feeding on youth), and some of her abilities passed down to her son.

Flaschem Naschem is also an example of magic that has existed for a long time - Marigolds, Bluebells and Hugh is set in the 1870s. Maybe Margaery, or another witch, created the Bluebell King?

So, yes, magic has always existed in the SFTH-verse, but I don't believe that magic can just be created, it needs to come from somewhere;

The Astral Plane - the place where spirits rest. Where the supernatural is the natural.

The witches have some sort of connection to the Astral Plane, giving them their powers. And for the longest time, only biologically human females could access the Plane. That is, until Jasper was given his grandmother's abilities.

For the longest time, the supernatural was kept within the confines of the Astral Plane, only the witches being able to access the smallest fraction of the Plane. Only beings made of magic are able to see into it, but even then, they can only do so through death (The Grape Depression).

That is until the wall that separated the Astral Plane and the Human Plane was broken.

The Xavier family (The Leftenmost Window), following my definition, are technically witches, and generational ones at that. They, out of everyone I've mentioned so far, have the strongest connection to the Astral Plane so far. It was their story where the Astral Plane was introduced. The Xaviers physically went into it, we saw it happen once, but we know that the mother had gone into the Astral Plane at least once before - at the end of the Boer War.

This caused the wall between Planes to begin to fracture, and for it to further break when both Samantha and her mother went into the Astral Plane. This therefore caused holes in reality to form, allowing the supernatural to creep into the Human Plane, and the non-connected to see (and sometimes enter) the Astral Plane.

Holes can be torn when a pilot goes too fast, and causes him to be stuck in the Astral Plane (The Pilot's Final Flight). Maybe a haberdasher sees the ghost of his old bosses daughter (The Meringue Haberdashery). Maybe a young boy discovers a hole in his wall leading to one of the Astral Plane's most sinister inhabitants (Strange Noises From The Hole In The Wall). Maybe the Astral Plane also serves as a prison for the most devious of phantoms (The Phantom of Hornchurch). Maybe the Astral Plane was the home of a little girl of extraordinary powers (She Came From Beyond). Two friends forced to trial their friendship in some sort of twisted performance on a stage where death isn't permanent (Sorry About My Nan).

The Astral Plane could also have different names; The Beyond, Hell, maybe even The Vault.

Overtime, the inhabitants of the Human Realm learn to control the Astral Plane, even without being connected to it. Mary invented time [astral] penetration (Murders in Space). An aspiring TV presenter could have gotten his hands on this technology - going back in time to a time where television was first taking off, making it easier to become a host (Beetroots & Murder), maybe experimenting with it more and going forward in time a little, and continuing to be a competition host (Burglary & Bobsledding), maybe he accidentally travelled to a different timeline, where the Xaviers never intervened with the first world war, and found himself in Germany, 1916 (Ballet on the Battlefield). Maybe André Beetroot is connected to the Astral Plane more than we know.

Okay, I want to go back to the witches now, I couldn't find a suitable place to out this bit so I'm putting it here. A lot of people headcanon that the football family in The Neighbour's Under The Bed are related to the Xaviers. But I raise you this, what if they are related to Jasper (And Mr. Rumple (Priscilla's Final Petal))? I already said that Jasper was the one to break the mould and allow biologically male humans to also be connected to the Astral Plane. And, as I said, Jasper is a generational witch, his powers gets passed down to his ancestors - but what if it weakens as generations pass? What if Rumple caused their bloodlines connection to dim when he banished Annabelle?

Anyway, TLDR; everything is connected through the Astral Plane, the Xaviers are witches and accidentally caused all the horrors™, all of SFTH's horrors™ are originally from the Astral Plane and André Beetroot is our favourite camp time traveller.

Thank you for reading if you did and let me know if you have any questions :)

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in April 2025. For more new fics, check out this month's fic roundup at @1dmonthlyficroundup ! You can find my other fic recs here.

- Louis / Harry -

🌸 Pretty Please (With Sugar On Top) by @angelichl

(E, 113k, omegaverse) Harry is a sugar baby omega who cons rich alphas for a living. Louis is a rich alpha with too much self-control.

🌸 The Money Mark by @brightgolden

(E, 52k, omegaverse) Where Louis is Harry’s first sugar daddy who dumped him over text and their paths cross, seven years later.

🌸 HL 80s NYC verse (series) by superglass / @gaymoustache

(M, 51k, HIV) In the midst of the AIDS crisis, Harry meets Louis after coming home from a drag ball. 80s NYC au.

🌸 Mountain Investigation by babyhoneyhslt / @babyhoneyheslt

(T, 35k, mystery) As a plane crash investigator, Louis has handled his fair share of strange cases, but something is different about the crash of British Airways flight BA278. Crashed into the Brecon Beacons, over the Pen Y Fan mountain, very few survived. One of them being the pilot, Harry Styles.

🌸 All Of You For Eternity by @signofcomfort

(M, 29k, soulmates) Meet the walker of the night, aka, vampire, aka Louis Tomlinson, who is dwelling between the lovers from the past and the present!

🌸 Not having a breakdown! (I'm just here for the kid.) by louisismycat / @liminalkittyfics

(E, 28k, omegaverse) Harry has to park outside his ex-husband’s (Louis) wedding so that he can whisk their kid away if a meltdown ensues during the day. Guests will not know this and will only see him parked outside, it cannot be stressed enough, his ex-husband’s wedding.

🌸 Lucky Again by BoosBabycakes / @boosbabycakes28

(T, 10k, exes) It’s been 7 years since Harry and Louis broke up and one special tattoo on Louis’ fingers might be what brings them back together again.

🌸 Birthday Boyfriend by @emmli28

(M, 6k, meet cute) It’s Harry’s birthday, and he has had a rather shitty day, to be honest. That changes the moment a complete stranger sits down across from him at a bar and decides to make it the best birthday ever.

🌸 in the middle of the night, when the wolves come out by larryftnoctrl / @the-larry-way

(T, 4k, omegaverse) A snowstorm ruins Harry's Christmas plans. Presented with an alternate in an equally stranded Louis, he finds that he doesn't mind so much.

🌸 X Marks The Spot by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry

(T, 4k, exes) Breaking up six weeks before their best friends’ wedding wasn’t ideal, especially given the fact that both Harry and Louis are part of the wedding party. What happens when they see each other at the wedding and actually get a moment alone during the reception?

🌸 My husband (29/M) died and has been possessed by a demon and now he’s cooking eggs in my kitchen as if nothing happened, what do I do? by cosycryptid

(M, 4k, MCD) The man, Harry, his husband, is standing there. Louis still hasn’t removed his wedding ring and he doesn’t think he ever will. He looks down and sees it still sitting on Harry’s finger also, though, there’s mud and dirt staining the silver. Actually. Come to think of it. He’s covered in mud. His whole body. The suit they buried him in is torn in places and there’s grass stains lining his wrinkled white shirt.

🌸 Sweven by @1diamondinthesun

(NR, 4k, Idiopathic Hypersomnia) "So this Harry,” Liam chuckled, reaching for the business card, “Harry Styles, witnessed you in a near nap state and gave you his card? And his personal number?”

🌸 Through Darkest Clouds by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 3k, Orpheus and Eurydice AU) “That’s the deal. You cannot look at him. You cannot speak to him. Until you’re over the border, he is to know nothing.” Harry nods, face set. “If that’s what it takes,” he says. After all, he has no choice.

🌸 Silently Calling You Home by Spigityspack

(NR, 3k, established relationship) Harry is coming home from a trip and wants to take Louis out as a way to celebrate. Louis falls ill and feels awful for ruining Harry's plans.

🌸 The lights are a little too bright by @sunflour28

(G, 2k, chronic dizziness) Louis' a little done with his situation. He's seen the same hospital room far too many times in his life. Maybe things will start looking up though- now that Harry's in the same waiting room as him.

🌸 calm down girl by larryftnoctrl / @the-larry-way

(T, 1k, meet cute) Harry can't handle the stress of boarding his darling cat. Louis is happy to ease his worries.

🌸 What If We Were Penguins? by Worldsofdreamers / @defences-down

(NR, 1k, penguins) A late night question turns into the strangest dream... or is it?

- Rare Pairs -

🌸 Let Us Be Lovers by @lululawrence

(NR, 27k, Louis/Diego Luna) Louis and Diego were only supposed to have a one night stand. When Diego's parents unexpectedly turn up the morning after, Louis finds himself getting a crash course in Mexican culture and Diego's family, and quite possibly the healing he didn't even realize he still needed.

🌸 Two, He's Kissing On You by @louislittletomlintum

(E, 10k, Louis/Harry, Louis/Zayn/Harry) the one where louis' a life model, zayn is a photographer, and harry is also there

[shreddedparchment]

The Garden Gate

Pairing: Medieval!Loki x Reader Word Count: 6,514

Warnings: smut, mentions of infidelity, language, bodily fluids, jealousy, Loki in a poofy shirt

A/N: Well, I haven't done this in a while. I had to go look for an old post to see how I used to do these openings. LUL Anywho, y'all can thank @darkficsyouneveraskedfor for this one. She sent me a picture and then I asked her for three characters and three scenarios and this one is the one that spoke to me the most. I did put my own spin on it but that's just me. Anywho, I'm not sure how many of my old readers will read this but I hope y'all like it. Anything y'all have to say about it is also greatly appreciated. xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other sites or blogs!!

REBLOGS are always welcome!

Your family’s fall from grace had been nothing short of spectacular.

It had started first with the crumbling of respect from the men and heads of other houses. The gentry had taken offense to the shame of your father and eldest brother’s retreat at the battle for Carmine Valley, so named for the blush of trees that peppered the expanse of lush green and the strange but beautiful red waters of the central lake.

Had Lord Odinson’s own knights not been flanking from the western ridges, the valley would have fallen into the hands of the northern enemy forces. A great loss seeing as the valley was the largest producer of grain and vegetables in the kingdom.

The fallout had been catastrophic. Both your father and brother had been sent to the wild woods to the southernmost parts of the kingdom to work off their shame and languish in the dangerous labor camps where men were said to be torn into shreds by beasts as large as a carriage.

Even though you loved them very much, you couldn’t help the anger within your veins at their betrayal to not only the kingdom, but to your very family. The abandonment that their retreat meant. They knew what doing so would do to you, your mother, and younger brother.

If it were not for the King’s good nature, you’d have no doubt found yourself working in some brothel alongside your mother leaving your younger brother, at the tender age of seven, exposed to the worst parts of society.

The seediest brothels were not above selling children, you knew. No matter that the King had signed a death warrant for anyone known to sell or buy said company. It was the worst of sins and it breaks your heart to know that one man’s generosity saved all three of you from that life when he could have very well condemned it.

Knowing this–knowing how bad it could have been–doesn’t change the fact that your life now is still torture. Torture of a different kind, but torture all the same.

The King’s kindness came in the form of service. While your family was stripped of all titles and wealth, you’d also lost your beloved.

That is the true source of agony in your chest as you struggle with the bucket of waste water you’re holding, trying desperately not to slosh it around too hard. The last thing you want to do is to go to bed smelling of someone else’s bodily fluids.

The thick wool of your simple navy dress and the apron you keep tied over it are both great for absorbing disgusting materials. Already in need of a wash, the white ruffle along the neckline is frayed and yellowing despite the gown being only a few months old.

Edging along the courtyard wall, you try not to rush. The exhaustion in your body begs for sleep. Even months later the labor of working in the castle as a servant to former peers has not grown easier.

Wincing as the rough rope of the bucket burns the center of your palms, you almost sigh but instead freeze at the sight before you.

You’d know his silhouette anywhere.

The light is low here, a small lamp just beyond the open garden gate illuminates them from behind and hides their expressions but you don’t need to see to understand.

Her lips are parted, head pressed back against the door, hand braced against the warm brown and ornately carved wood. Her legs are parted a little too wide, a subtle motion of his left arm and the bunch of fabric around his forearm tell you enough of what you’ve stumbled upon.

You’re embarrassed and try to fade back into the darkness of the small courtyard behind you.

His shoulder length hair, black as a raven’s feather, is disheveled. You notice her hand gripping it tightly as his arm pumps.

A wispy, sultry moan slips through her parted lips and you stumble, gasping your own bit of surprise as you try not to spill the bucket’s contents.

A small splash, luckily away from you but the shuffle of feet and the rustle of fabric tells you that you’ve been noticed.

You look up, Lord Loki stands facing you, hands fisted as she hides behind him quickly adjusting her skirts.

“Oh, it’s you,” Lord Loki says, disdain in his voice.

Everyone here hates you. You already know this. Your father’s sins are your own. Nothing can change that.

“Finally where you belong,” the girl says and you recognize the voice with a small shock of pain in your chest. “You smell like piss.”

Lord Loki chuckles and you shrink just a little. More embarrassed by your own situation than catching them in the act. In fact, you’re disgusted by both of them, not only because of their audacity to do this at all, but because the woman whose fingers Lord Loki were just in is also your once beloved’s fiance.

Your former confidant. Lady Amora Antress. You’d once considered her your closest friend. Now here she stands, betrothed to one brother while fucking the other. The venom she spits at you is also unappreciated and painful to hear.

How long had she hated you before your downfall? How long had she waited before pursuing Thor?

“Aren’t you going to reply to her ladyship, servant?” Lord Loki asks, gleeful mirth in his voice as he takes a step towards you.

You bow your head even more, holding the bucket in your hands as still as you can while your hands struggle with the burn of the rope.

Amora scoff, “Pathetic. Leave her be, Loki. She’s where she deserves to be. She’s not worth the breath in our lungs.”

You don’t mean to cry. The utter betrayal of your once friend hurts more even than the loss of your once future husband.

“Are you crying?” Amora laughs, moving around Lord Loki, her shoes clicking against the brick of the courtyard. She stops in front of you, arms crossed over her ample bosom, still exposed more than it should be from what she and Lord Loki were just about to do. “You’re pathetic. The least you could do is be invisible while you serve.”

You say nothing, fist tightening around the rope. Pain shifts into rage at the cruelty in her words.

The wind blows and you can smell the scent of their near copulation. Luckily, it’s driven away by the vines of jasmine that creep along the tops of the brick wall.

She doesn’t deserve Thor. But you know that he never deserved you either. The rate at which he moved on…

Almost as if she’s sensing your thoughts, she takes a step closer and drops her voice to a whisper. You know Lord Loki will still be able to hear.

“Poor little flower, so careless and trusting.” She smiles. “You know it was so easy to seduce Thor. Even before your disgrace of a father betrayed his kingdom, Thor came to my bed often. Such a chaste little thing you were. You had no idea that every night after he whispered sweet promises in your ear of a happy future, he was burying his cock deep in my cunt, whispering how glorious I felt around him. Promising that even after you married, he would slip away and fuck me because no cunt could be as good as mine.”

Whore. Your heart shattered. Finally your eyes met hers.

She took a slight step back at whatever she saw in them. The hatred coursing through you set your teeth on edge. You wanted so much to rip her hair from its roots. If you could gouge her eyes out with your fingers without the consequence of a beheading, you would.

Perhaps she could see that promise of death in your eyes.

She scoffed, a reaction to whatever fear she felt in that moment.

“Now, now, ladies.” Lord Loki chastised, “Let’s keep things civil.”

“Civility? From a servant?” Amora looked at him then back at you, her hateful smirk twisting her pretty face into an ugly mask.

No…this is her true face. Her long blonde hair, pale skin, and green eyes might make her superficially beautiful, but you can see the true ugliness in her now.

“Trash knows no civility.” She spits.

Done with this encounter you make to move around her to finish your duties. You need rest. Body and now soul exhausted, the sanctuary of your quarters beckons like a beacon.

She steps in your way, smiling cruelly as she does.

You make to move around her again. She blocks you once more.

Body shaking with rage, you don’t bother stopping this time as she steps in front of you. Instead you let yourself fall against her, your bucket sloshing loudly as you angle the wide opening towards her.

The smell of piss and shit slices through the scent of sex and jasmine.

Amora screams, stepping back quickly until she bumps into Lord Loki who quickly pushes her away from himself, a wrinkle of disgust on his handsome face.

The green damask pattern of her silk gown grows slowly darker as the piss soaks into the fabric. A dark brown stain sets in towards the bottom.

“You probably should have moved out of my way, my lady.” The casual tone of your voice, the respect you can now fake like a professional grifter sounds so real that your taunt sounds like an apology.

“You bitch!” Amora growls.

Lord Loki catches her by the arm before she can move towards you.

“Perhaps, Lady Antress, you may want to go and change? If what you say is true and my brother will seek you out, I doubt very much he’d desire your company if you smell like shit and piss. No matter how delicious your cunt may be.” Lord Loki’s smirk gives away his delight at Amora’s distress.

Almost as soon as he’s grabbed her, he drops his hand and angles himself away from her slowly to avoid being soiled as well.

“Forgive me, my lady,” you curtsy, a perfect bow. “It was an accident.”

Amora glares at you then looks at Lord Loki who has taken to pressing the fingers of his right hand against his nose to shield from the smell, affixing her with a look of amused disgust.

Amora huffs, “Fuck you.” Then turns and stomps past you across the courtyard and disappears into the castle.

“That was nicely done,” Lord Loki says once you’re alone.

You give him a quick curtsy and move towards the gate to toss the remaining waste where it belongs in the river just past the far end of the large hedged garden.

Ignoring the sound of his following footsteps against the gravel and footstones, you wander through the fragrant rows of flowers.

“If anyone had been watching, no one would have doubted your sincerity with that apology.” He declares, hastening his footsteps to catch up with you, settling in to your right as he matches your pace. “I’m impressed. You never gave me the impression that you even knew how to lie let alone be deceptive.”

Grinding your teeth, you attempt to ignore him. You don’t engage.

He reaches out to grab your arm but you stop and twist away from him, disgust on your face as you stare at his left hand pointedly.

For a moment he looks confused and then laughs once in realization and takes his hand back.

“You won’t tell my brother, will you? About my…meeting with Lady Antress?” Lord Loki doesn’t sound like he actually cares.

You know that he and Thor never truly got along once they were of age. As children they had been inseparable. You’d followed them around and they’d welcomed you into their company as a playmate despite your gender.

Not until you also were of age did you realize that your parents and their parents had seen your friendship as an indicator of good fortune for a future marriage.

As the elder brother, Thor had been chosen. Your heart, having been devoted to Thor even as a girl, had been so full. Eagerly you’d thrown yourself into the arrangement of your marriage. Only now did you begin to realize that perhaps your heart had been the only one truly invested in the promises that Thor had made.

Agony cuts you again, tearing your heart apart a little more as the feeling of stupidity makes your eyes prick with tears again.

“Did you truly not know that Thor and Amora were fucking?” Lord Loki asks, voice devoid of anything but genuine curiosity.

A tear slips down along your cheek as you turn and resume your walk. Lord Loki follows.

“You wound me.” He says, voice low. “Were we not also friends before?”

Scoffing, you readjust the bucket and wince at the pain of the rope as you feel your skin break. You drop it, Lord Loki stepping back quickly but nothing splashes out this time. Most of the contents were currently soaking through Amara’s gown.

You lift your hand up, staring at the peel of skin and the slick of the pink muscle beneath as red begins to pool along the edges of the tear.

Just another wound. It’ll seal and heal and scar, joining the others on your once smooth hands.

The bite of pain gives you a reason to let your tears fall. You don’t hold them back as you sob quietly, uncaring of the audience to your humiliation.

“He’s an asshole,” Lord Loki states, stepping up in front of you. “Always has been. Arrogant, proud, and foolhardy. Thinks with his cock more than his brain.”

Again, you scoff. The irony of Lord Loki, whom you just caught fingering your former best friend in the garden, telling you that Thor thinks first with his cock does not escape you.

Lord Loki clears his throat, embarrassed?

“If I’d been your betrothed,” Lord Loki continues. “I’d have worshiped the ground you walk on.”

“You’re a liar, and just as susceptible to Amara’s games as he apparently is. Does it make you feel happy to sleep with your brother’s fiance? Does it give you pleasure to betray him?” You spit at him, angry at yourself, at Thor, at Amara, at your father and brother.

You’re just so angry. You’re always angry now. Even when you’re sad, you’re angry.

“Are you really worried about my betrayal against him when Amara just exposed him for the hypocrite he is?” Lord Loki demands, a little affronted by your ire.

Biting down hard on your lip, you squeeze around the wound on your hand.

“You’re all hypocrites. All of you deserve each other.” You realize and reach down to take the bucket again but are stopped by Lord Loki’s hand as it takes hold of the bucket for you.

He doesn’t wait for you to say anything and instead moves towards the gate at the end of the garden.

Quickly, you hurry after him, eager to take the bucket from him before anyone might look out onto the grounds and see him interfering with your duties. The punishment you’d receive would be painful.

“My Lord, please,” you finally beg, unable to really catch up with his long legged stride. “I’ll be punished if they find out.”

Lord Loki says nothing but strides out through the gate into the wooded expanse behind the garden.

Expertly, probably from the many hunts he’s gone on around the castle, he winds through the trees towards the rushing river whose roar you begin to hear.

“My Lord,” you hurry after him, nearly catching up but then he turns and disappears behind a tree only to emerge before another one. “Please,” you beg.

Taking a quick glance behind you towards the castle and its countless illuminated windows, you don’t see anyone watching but panic has begun to take hold.

He shifts and turns, stomping over the wild grass, the occasional crack of twig or fallen branch as he steps onto it, eaten by the rush of the water now louder.

You’re almost running now to keep up with him and still you lose sight of him when he turns around a particularly large tree. You stop beside it, scanning the area for him desperately.

The dungeons are so damp this time of year. You don’t want to get locked up if you can help it. Illness is something you don’t have much experience with and with your body weak and unhealthy now compared to the grace and flush of perfection you’d been with money and a constantly full belly, you might succumb to any serious illness.

You don’t want to die, despite the hardships you face.

With no sign of him, you move towards the section of river you always go to empty your buckets.

Minutes later you break through the treeline and spot Lord Loki crouched by the water, damp bucket set beside him now empty and rinsed.

Breathing heavily, you try to catch your breath and press your hand against your thundering heart, forgetting for a moment about the wound there and hiss.

Lord Loki rises, turning to look at you with a furrowed brow as he shakes the water from his hands and dries them on his dark emerald jerkin. He pulls down the puffed sleeves of his black shirt, fastening them around his wrists again but only finishes one before he’s holding his hand out for you.

“Come,” he orders. Not a request.

You don’t move, holding your wounded hand still as you watch him, pale skin nearly glowing in the light of the moon.

“Come here,” he orders again and this time you move towards him only a step. He steps towards you once, his hand held up again with more emphasis. “Shall I say please? Am I wrong? Were we not also friends?”

He smirks, amused by your hesitation for some reason.

Asshole. How dare he throw the past in your face. It’s coercion to remind you of your bond as children.

Unwilling to let him get the satisfaction of seeing you be defiant, you close the distance between you.

He takes your hand, holding it up close so that he can see it clearly. The moon is bright enough that he can and he pulls you towards the river’s edge. Squatting down again, he pulls you down with him.

You kneel, inching towards the edge as he pulls your hand into the water.

A hiss escapes your lips as the water coats the wound, tugging at the bit of skin still holding on until it tears free.

He holds it under the water for a minute then brings it back up to examine, pulling your arm so that you shift to face him and he does the same, kneeling before you.

“It’ll scar,” he realizes, but notes the other small scars that now cover your palm underneath the base of each finger.

You watch him as he traces each scar with his thumb, the golden emerald ring on his finger cool to the touch after being submerged in the cold river water for a bit. It feels nice against the heated skin of your palms. The friction of the rope burning them both.

“I remember when your hands were soft,” he notes.

Self conscious, you make to yank your hand from his grip but he tightens it and meets your eyes in silent order not to try that again.

Holding your gaze, he brings your palm up towards his mouth. Heart hammering against your chest, you try again to yank it from him but his lips close around the wound.

A strange tumble of knots in your stomach work their way up into your chest and constrict your heart.

More strange than that, a shift between your legs has your face and neck burning. Ears so hot that the breeze of the late spring air feels cold in comparison.

“Stop that,” you tell him, voice weak from shock at both his actions and your body’s reaction to it.

He does. Pulling your hand away from his mouth to look the wound over.

“The bleeding stopped,” he states, then reaches for your apron.

The tearing of fabric sends our heart seizing but more arousal pools between your legs. Embarrassed, you look away from him as he wraps your hand tightly. He must have dealt with many small injuries on his hunts because he ties the wrap around your palm securely and nothing save for cutting the fabric away will undo it.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He asks, voice low and deep. Almost dark in the way it slithers across your skin in a sultry embrace.

“No.” You answer honestly. “And it’s probably only because I caught you and you didn’t get to stick it in Amara.”

He releases your hand as you pull against his grip but he reaches forward to place his hand on your cheek. His left hand.

You almost pull away but remember him drying his hands on his vest. He’d deliberately washed both hands. Why?

“I meant what I said,” he whispers. “I would have worshiped the ground you walk on. I still can, if you’ll let me.”

“I’m a servant,” you spit, turning to look at him with anger and betrayal. “Anything you do to me will be forced merely by the fact that I cannot deny you anything you might want.”

Lord Loki frowns.

“You think so badly of me?” He wonders, hurt in his green eyes.

Your mind flashes back to your childhood. You, Thor, and Lord Loki running to the stables of his estate. You fall. Both Thor and Lord Loki stop but it’s Lord Loki that rushes back to you, helping you up and dusting you off as you cry loudly.

Thor rushes away, laughing in his eagerness to mount his horse.

More memories of your childhood assault you with images of Lord Loki and his kindness. Frequent acts of compassion and what you might have once considered friendly love. Thor’s are fewer and mostly contained to the days after your betrothal had been agreed upon.

“You will never be a servant to me,” Lord Loki assures you.

“It is what I am,” you counter. “You cannot simply ignore it.”

Lord Loki sighs, “You’ve always been so stubborn.”

He lets his hand glide down along the side of your neck, over your shoulder, down along your arm, and then he settles it along the side of your waist, the shape stiff thanks to the corset underneath.

It’s almost unbearable that he’s here, in your shame of servitude. His touch is confusing. You almost ask him why it feels so strange but instead focus on what’s most important.

“Is it true?” you ask, voice wary and quiet.

“Is what true?” There are so many things you could mean, you realize.

Part of you almost doesn’t want to know. So you hesitate.

Something softens in Lord Loki’s eyes as if he suddenly knows what you’re going to ask.

“Were…did Thor and Amara…?” You shake your head, trying not to let the pain show.

“Yes,” he answers, voice firm. He wants you to know that it’s true. No hesitation in his answer. “A few times even with you nearby. You almost caught them a handful of times. Were you only a few moments earlier or later.”

Head falling, you can’t help the tears that spring forth. So much of your past had been a lie. The strength of your house. The friendships you held dear. Your betrothed hadn’t truly loved you. If he had, he would not have betrayed you.

“My brother paints a pretty picture. Despite what he wants others to think he is changeable. He is impatient. Clearly that was his undoing with you. He is rash and prideful. He doesn’t think about what he does before he does it and because he would be insulted by it, would it not be sweet revenge to dangle what he wanted most in the open for all to see?” His words are slow and sure.

The last bit of his speech is careful and calculated. You can hear the manipulation in his words even though he tries not to let you. You’ve known him too long. Lord Loki also changed when you were betrothed to Thor. A shift of his usual kindness had taken place and the sneering Lord had been born. Intent on his own machinations to pry forth the dreary truths of his life.

He’d never been cold and harsh but he became so after your engagement. Thor had called him a snake and even then you could see it. The skill with which Lord Loki had developed his manipulating tactics and the precision with which he enabled them are known to you.

So you know what he’s saying even if he won’t say it clearly.

He takes hold of your chin and slowly lifts your head until he can see your eyes. There’s a strange eagerness in his own greens as he tries to read you. There’s a question there, an uncertain probing as his hand at your waist grows tighter, wrapping around to rest on your back, arching your body towards him.

That strange feeling between your legs surges. It’s Amara’s sneering face that breaks down your defenses. It’s the pride in her words as she’d bragged about being with Thor while you were still betrothed to him that shatters your will.

You do want to get revenge. You want Thor to know that you don’t care anymore. That he means as little to you now as you did to him then.

And what better way to show him that than with the one person he’d hate it happening with the most?

He might overlook some random stablehand. He might ignore some merchant’s son, even if he were above your station.

With Lord Loki…the bite would be as harsh as the sting of Amara’s venom was to you.

“Loki…” you whisper and he surges forward.

His lips are over yours, moving and massaging as you at first merely take his kiss.

He hates it. He pulls back and tilts his head the other way, kissing you more enthusiastically, trying to draw some type of reaction from you.

It’s taking you longer to submit than you thought it would take.

He pulls back one final time and tilts his head back again before this time pressing his lips against your own slowly. He doesn’t move then but instead waits, puckering against yours as he tugs you towards him instead of shoving himself onto you.

Strong lithe arms wrap around your waist and pull you up onto your knees and against his chest. He holds you so close, so tight. It isn’t rough or demanding but needy. As if he can’t get you close enough to his own body and he can only draw you closer and closer in the hopes that it’ll fill something in him that needs filling.

You place your hands on his shoulder as you tilt your head back with his kiss.

Finally, you find the strength in your body and pucker your own lips and return this gentle kiss.

Shock flashes in his eyes as he opens them to look at you. You watch the confusion bloom in them but then shut your own and give in.

Loki’s lips part and envelop yours. It shocks you the way it sends those knots back into your stomach. In response you do the same, enveloping his lips with your own.

Loki’s hands splay out against your back and he groans as he opens his mouth and the tip of his tongue slides against the crease of your lip in question.

In answer, you open for him and welcome his searching tongue with your own. The taste of him, the scent of him, it overwhelms and you gasp as you lose yourself in the moment.

You feel his hands drift around to your front, his right sliding up along your bodice until he can cup your breast, a groan slipping through his lips as he breaks your kiss and traces wet open kisses along your jaw, neck, and shoulder.

“Loki…” you gasp without ever having given your mouth permission to speak.

He bites your neck when you say his name. You moan and he licks the spot to soothe it.

“Loki…” You whisper again.

He’s driven mad by it and before your mind can understand what is happening, he’s laying over you, hands moving wildly underneath your back, running along your sides, fumbling around until he finds where your dress is fastened and he pulls at the ties.

“Should I stop?” He asks, breathless and looking as if he would like nothing more than to keep going.

“No.”

“Mm,” he moans and kisses you again, tongue claiming your mouth as his own.

You can feel him tearing away your apron and then your dress. Too eager to pull it off you completely, he merely shoves it down so that he lays spread out along your waist.

He looks down at you, the corset you wear hiding very little of your breasts. He kisses them each in turn, the soft fleshy bits that pool up above your undergarment.

You shudder at the touch of his lips.

“Has anyone kissed you here before?” He wonders. You’re not sure if he wants  an answer or not but you shake your head anyway.

As he nuzzles the soft flesh, his hands work on the corset, pulling at strings blindly until it gives way and he pulls it off of you exposing you completely.

The cool air of the night perks your nipples more than his touch already has and he takes both breasts in his hands, pushing them together as he stares to the point of embarrassment.

Before you can cover yourself, he takes one into his mouth, suckling softly to draw soft moans from your open mouth.

He sees it, your gaping mouth, and seals it with his own, his tongue nearly in a frenzy as he devours your whimpers.

Cool air hits your suddenly exposed legs. You gasp sharply as he thrusts suddenly and the hard press of his cock rubs against you, shielded only by the fabric of his pants.

“Shall I stop?” He asks again, hands running down along your torso where he takes each breast in hand, massaging them slowly before rolling each of your nipples in slow deliberate circles.

“Don’t stop.”

It’s almost torture when he removes his hands from your overheated body. But you enjoy the sight as he removes his jerkin, followed shortly by his shirt. His body is sculpted but tight, not bulky. Lithe limbs hard and eager as he reaches down beneath your skirts in search of what he desires.

He hisses when his fingers touch you, soaking wet, and you reach down to hold his wrist not to stop but simply to hold on.

The thought crosses your mind that he’s already had someone else like this tonight and it almost makes you pull away. You’re so close to stopping but he sees the thought in your eyes and leans over you, removing his hand he leans over you, pressing his chest against yours and silencing your thoughts with a slow kiss.

It burns through you, the meaning clear.

“Shall I only touch you from now on, darling?” he whispers, kissing your chin then suckling along your throat.

He’ll leave marks…

“Tell me and I will only touch you.” He promises.

“Don’t make me promises you can’t keep, Loki.” You chastise him, mood nearly breaking again at the memory of the endless promises Thor had made you.

“I will never break a promise to you. Tell me to refrain and I will. I meant what I said,” he kisses his way up to your ear, licking the shell of it before hot breath sends your skin prickling. “I will worship the ground you walk on if you will only let me.”

He thrusts again. You shut your eyes, gasping at the cock straining for freedom.

“H-How do I know I can trust you?” You ask, unintentionally letting him see how desperate you are to do so.

He kisses you again, genuine and hungry for it.

“Give me a week and I shall truly prove it. Trust me until then and you shall see the depths of my willingness and devotion.”

He thrusts again and maybe you’re a fool for allowing yourself to consider this when he’s got you right where he wants you, but you nod.

“Only touch me,” you order him.

He smirks. He reaches down between your legs again and with one finger slowly strokes from the bottom of your cunt to the top, the lurid sounds of your wetness poignant despite the rushing river beside you.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises.

One finger. He uses only one finger and the pressure is intense. Sensations you’ve never felt before awaken every nerve ending in your body. His thumb presses against your clit and you nearly sit up with the shock of pleasure that rushes through you.

He adds a second finger, moving slowly as he pumps them in and out.

“Shall I stop, darling?”

“Never stop,” you gasp, still gripping his wrist.

Another smirk on that handsome face, his green eyes dazzling you as he shifts back to his knees.

He licks his lips as he pulls a tie free at the front of his trousers and slowly pushes them lower and lower until he can kick free of them completely.

The length of him is breathtaking. He reaches down and strokes his cock, slowly running his thumb along the shiny pink head before he scoots closer, your skirt blocking him from view.

He rubs himself against you, slicking himself with your own arousal.

There he waits, watching you as you brace your hands on the soft grass beneath you but open your legs wider.

Your eyes meet and both of you know that there will be no coming back from this choice. Nothing either of you do will ever erase this line you’ve nearly crossed completely.

He pushes in slowly, leaning over you as he gets deeper and deeper until he’s buried completely. Chest to chest. Face to face. He grunts deep, face twitching as he settles within you.

It’s so much pressure it’s painful. The feeling of him is so foreign. You’re not sure whether it feels good or not.

“Fuck,” he whispers and tenses then shudders. You feel a wave of heat within you, followed by the sensation of slow moving drippage. “You feel…”

He seems lost for words. Do you feel terrible?

He pulls his hips back just a bit and pushes back in.

You whimper, pushing against his chest to look down where your bodies connect.

“Loki,” you fret.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises. “Be calm my sweet. I will ease you into this.”

Each thrust into you, his pelvis pushes against your clit and each time you moan, wishing he’d do that more. The feeling of him is filling, strange, but not unpleasant. Just different.

As your body relaxes a bit more, Loki’s thrusts grow faster. You smile unintentionally as he presses against your clit more often.

“You like that?” he wonders, stopping as he pushes all the way in and then rolls his hips against you.

Your responding moan gives him confirmation and he settles himself over you fully.

As he thrusts he presses harder against you, lingering for a moment before doing it again and again. The slap of his skin against yours grows louder and he finds a rhythm that has you both breathless and moaning.

“Loki,” you plead, feeling the build up of tension within your body.

“Come for me, darlin,” he kisses you, subduing your voice as he pumps into you.

You’re unsure for certain what he means but your body seems to listen. You wrap your legs around him, holding him as close as you can as he continues to thrust into you. The sweat of his body glistens in the moonlight. The soft silk of his hair tickles your skin as he arches up slightly so that he can take your breast into his mouth again as he keeps pumping into you.

You feel it…so close.

“Loki,” you whimper, wanting to reach the end of this tightrope.

He growls once and brings his hand down between your connected bodies. His thumb presses against your clit firmly. He presses and presses, rolling it in small circles with such precise pressure.

Your body explodes into endless fuzzy light. You arch into him, trembling as his thumb continues to draw pleasure from you in spasms as he keeps moving his cock in and out.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts and thrusts one final time his whole body tight in its release as that same sensation of heat fills you again.

Both of you seem to have stars in your eyes as he collapses on top of you, kissing you slowly with his eyes wide open to watch the expression of pure bliss on your face.

“I think-” Loki says, pulling back as he slowly helps to pull your dress up a bit to cover your exposed breasts. He kisses each one before he does so. “-it goes without saying that I would appreciate it if I was the only one allowed to touch you.”

You’re floating, swathed in golden light, unable to process anything he’s saying because of the pure escape from and yet complete connection to your body Loki’s cock just gave you.

You hear him chuckle. He pinches your cheek, drawing your attention back to him.

“Agreed?”

“What?” You gasp breathlessly.

“No one may touch but me. And I will touch no one but you.” He declares. “Is that understood?”

The authority in his voice draws your legs wide as that throbbing from before is renewed.

Loki’s face twitches at the movement.

“Show me again,” you plead.

“Tell me no one else will touch you,” he orders.

“No one else will touch me,” you agree.

“If you betray me,” you begin.

Loki’s eyes soften. He leans down to press a kiss to your lips.

“I promised you that I would worship the ground you walk on.”

He kisses you again, slowly, feeling every inch of your mouth against his.

“One week, my darling. I’ll prove to you my devotion.” He promises.

The sincerity in his voice has your legs spreading again and he hisses as you shift. Inside you, you feel him harden.

“Show me…” you beg.

“You’re going to be insatiable.” He realizes.

And revenge against Thor aside, you realize that being with Loki might be the smartest thing you’ve ever done.

“Do you have any idea how long I have waited to make you mine?” Loki wonders, stroking your cheek.

“How long?” You wonder, reaching up to take hold of his hand.

“I’ll show you.”

There will be NO tags.

[scribesynnox]

Jazz and Prowl Meet Cute

Fuck it, I have too many thoughts about mer au Jazz and Prowl and how they met, I'm not confining my ramblings to the tags anymore. Text post be upon ye. @keferon for their apocalyptic ponyo au

Everyone has been writing such excellent ideas for jazz and prowl, and I'm gonna add my own.

language barrier my beloved, jazz can understand humans, maybe even MULTIPLE human languages due to getting bounced around a lot, but doesn't have enough practice with mer and can only speak in a bastardized chimera version that is 10 different dialects in one ugly torn up trenchcoat. And also it's limping. He only knows that much in the first place because that's what he was able to pick up from the short conversations he has with other trapped mers.

Meanwhile Prowl doesn't know ANY human speech because as far as the merfolk are concerned, humans are like land dolphins; smart and cute but also clever enough to know it and very capable of being assholes. Still not as intelligent as them though, and language being a mystery to merfolk. Like, Prowl will recognize certain tones and gestures, sure, but he doesn't know enough to be able to hold a conversation. He didn't know they could even DO that!

which leaves them both in an awkward position. Neither knows the other's language enough to hold a proper conversation, and Jazz is woefully very very unpracticed speaking with another mer (the humans were scared Jazz would eat/hurt any other rare mer that gets put in the same tank as him so Jazz remained woefully alone alone ALONE).

Jazz overhears the humans talking about bringing another orca mer in with him and he is SO EXCITED!!! Finally, FINALLY!!! Something new, something different, and stars and moon above, something that can TALK and treat him like a PERSON!!

because he IS a person, he IS! The humans took a lot away from him and treat him like a dumb animal, but he knows he isn't, he's smart, he's clever, and he is so so SICK of not being treated like a PERSON.

and this orca will be with him for an extended period of time! Not just a small wave or quick snatches of simple conversation during performances or check ups. The orca will be WITH him, long enough to TALK.

Long enough to plot, even!

So Jazz is maybe a little overenthusiastic when Prowl wakes up from being drugged and Prowl maybe doesn't react super well to a strange orca after having just recently fallen asleep from trying to nurse his wounds from the LAST orca mers he met.

then you add language barrier on top of that and the two are kinda just left there staring warily at each other.

no matter! Jazz has a goal and by the MOON he is going to GET it.

Call Jazz an octopus with the way he keeps escaping captivity (sometimes he sees them on his own nightly escapes and it makes him laugh at seeing the little guys be just as bored and disdainful with captivity as he is), but he still hasn't actually. you know. ESCAPED escaped. But with Prowl here, he has a better chance!

Prowl REMEMBERS the outside! Remembers what the ocean is like, clearly is old enough and experienced enough to have lived to adulthood, and maybe! remembers how close to the ocean this place actually is!

Prowl has INFORMATION and Jazz does not. He needs information if he is ever going to get OUT of here and get back to where the water is not Wrong and Forward doesn't run out after 5 idle tail swishes, and also not DIE immediately in the new waters because Jazz isn't stupid. He knows this place isn't the ocean and knows his chances of surviving in the ocean after spending most of his life in captivity is going to be low. It's going to be one hell of an adjustment.

(I'm starting to realize why I'm constantly running out of tags in the posts now, wow, this is getting long. Better go put this under a read more)

Jazz is going to need information if he is ever going to get HOME.

(but what is home? Is home a fuzzy, blurry memory that he doesn't remember anymore? He doesn't even remember what the water felt like anymore, he only knows that the water here is WRONG)

(What a joke. To remember enough that the water feels Wrong, but not enough to remember when it was right)

Well Home sure as hell isn't HERE, so Jazz is going to get OUT, and this new mer here is going to help him!

Meanwhile on Prowl's end, he just woke up from being poisoned by the humans and is trapped in a weird artificial ocean. He must be in one of those structures the humans like to build, and as fascinating as it is to BE in one such structure. It also does not bode well for getting BACK to the ocean because humans are very infamously land bound.

Then all of a sudden a weird loud orca mer is in his face and speaking in the most dizzying language he's ever had spoken to him. One klik and it's the low, loud notes of the open sea dialect, the next klik it's the rapid staccato of the lake dialect, and in another klik it's the sing song tones of the northern foggy dialect! Prowl can barely keep up, even as the mer is clearly slowing down to speak with him.

Prowl doesn't know and he doesn't care, the other mer is a stranger and Prowl doesn't know WHAT is going on. Is he one of the orcas that fought Prowl earlier, who ended up getting dragged here with him? Is he a random orca that just HAPPENED to also be caught?

The chances of a random orca being here by coincidence is low, and so Prowl assumes it's an orca who had tried to come back after him to finish the job but got caught along with him.

It doesn't explain the horrifying butchered language being spoken to him however.

Unfortunately for Jazz, Prowl is still keyed up from being injured and now from being poisoned, so he whistles harshly "STAY BACK" at him anyways, and Jazz doesn't know what was just said, but he can tell when hackles are raised as well as anybody else, so he raises his hands and slowly backs away.

It takes a couple more tries and several hours of being in each other's company where nothing happens before they both calm down enough to actually get anything done. They both want to escape, and they both can't understand each other.

Yet.

Prowl pantomiming "what is your name?" to Jazz and Jazz replying with a very distinctly human noise of "Jazz".

Jazz immediately clocking in the sneer/pity on Prowl's face at the name and he is Offended! Like, it's HIS name! HE chose it, and so help him Moon, Prowl is NOT allowed to be all judgey about it. So he likes jazz music! Sue him! He's allowed to name himself whatever he wants!

Because stars forbid he get to decide anything else about his own life.

If he wants to name himself after a human noise, then he will name himself after a human noise! He doesn't want to hear anything from Mr. "low throat rumble with a weird echoing undertone to it", whatever that means. He's going to call him Purr for short. Isn't that nice, now they BOTH get to have human names.

"Is it JazzProwl if they're not lying to each other about something?" Now it's a a little tricky given their language barrier, less opportunities TO lie, but I live to please, and I can work with this.

Jazz is a performer. He knows how to put on a show. He's done nothing BUT put on a show his whole life.

Act cute. Act docile. Act dumb. This is what protects you.

Jazz is TOO used to putting on a show. He automatically hides his intelligence and skills from Prowl.

Wait no, even better: Prowl lies to Jazz about something, taking advantage of the fact that Jazz doesn't understand mer language yet or is ignorant about something. Maybe he lies about what someone said to them or maybe he's lying about a secret. Or maybe he's just lying because Jazz is one weird and suspicious orca and Prowl just doesn't trust like that.

Either way, Jazz realizes it and gets so so so MAD that Prowl is treating him like a dumb animal just like the humans did and THAT'S when Jazz starts acting dumber and less competent than he actually is, because if Prowl wants a dumb animal, then he's GETTING a dumb animal.

Jazz starts pretending that he doesn't understand what Prowl is saying, even when he does, and he doesn't do things to help even when he COULD, but it would leave him vulnerable/involve trusting Prowl to hold up his end of the deal. I.e., they need to get to the other side of a collapsed building but the only way through is up and over. And Prowl doesn't do "up". Jazz does, but in order to do it, he'd need to trust Prowl to lift him over, or maybe there's like, mutant birds in the area (or just regular seagulls, the vicious little fuckers) and he'd need Prowl to keep watch or something along those lines. Or maybe it would just hurt to go over the wall because there's broken glass on the ground, and he COULD hurt himself to go over, and then help Prowl follow through without hurting him, but Jazz decides to not let Prowl know that he can go over the wall. They go to find another way around.

Act dumb. Dumb is what protects you. Performing keeps you safe.

Well this got HELLA long, so I'm going to cut it off here. Plus I am eepy. Time to hit post and leave this for future me to find every spelling mistake ever, later. Or never. Who's to say.

I am just Consumed with mer thoughts. They must be released.

Edit: i cut this one a little short cuz it was getting long, so here’s a second part. Bonus content let’s goooo.

[saiintvalentiine]

ok so @kiquebi made a post about Wifies adopting a parrot and it having beef with Parrot and I'm. a little obsessed. so I wrote an itty bitty thing abt them! thanks for letting me write this QB :) divider

Word count: 524

“I don't see why you need to constantly bring that bird everywhere.”

Wifies doesn't sigh, but Fairy does squawk. He's perched on a rafter, watching them both keenly, feathers puffed up, cyan and large and intimidating.

“I don't bring him everywhere,” Wifies explains patiently for the third time. “He does what he wants. I only trained him to keep away from me when I'm working on redstone, of which he's doing a great job of.”

He's got his sleeves pushed up over his elbows, redstone stained up to his wrist. Parrot had asked for help building an automatic archery range for the Warriors to practice, with moving targets and an arrow collection system. Wifies likes the challenge of such a mechanical beast, so even if it wasn't Parrot asking he'd still do it.

It helps that Parrot’s the one who asked though. They're working on their relationship right now. However, Parrot and Fairy are a bit. . . adversarial.

Fairy chirps and “says” keep away, keep safe. It's what Wifies tells him when he's working with redstone so he won't inhale any redstone dust and get sick.

“Good job Fairy,” he calls out with a little smile. “You're so smart.”

So smart, so smart!, Fairy repeats. When Wifies looks up, Fairy is walking across the rafter, flapping his wings proudly. Parrot, surrounded by observers and repeaters that he's crafting for Wifies, is glaring at Fairy.

“It's very obnoxious.”

“It's a parrot, that's what it does,” Wifies rolls his eyes. “If he bothers you that much, you can leave. I'm almost done with this for today anyway.”

“You're telling me to leave instead of the bird?!” Parrot sounds torn between anger and disbelief.

“The bird isn't complaining about you, is he?”

Wifies!, Fairy calls out in a way that sounds very reminiscent of Ken. Wifies, Wifies.

“Hi Fairy,” Wifies stands up and wipes his hands off with a rag. Fairy swoops down to perch on his shoulder as soon as the rag is gone. “Fairy! Bad, no, there's redstone everywhere!”

Fairy presses his beak to Wifies's cheek, ignoring his scolding and letting out a little mwah! Wifies feels the anger and worry drain out of his body. He's easy, okay? He turns his head and kisses the top of Fairy's head a few times, walking away from the redstone and Parrot. Fairy does it again as soon as he stops kissing him, mwah, mwah, mwah!, while pressing his wide, chipped beak into Wifies’s face.

“You're still bad for getting so close to redstone, but I forgive you because you're the sweetest bird in the whole world,” Wifies says. Fairy chirps and whistles and “kisses” him again.

Parrot mutters something indistinct behind him, appearing on the opposite side of Fairy’s perch.

“I think that's enough for today,” Parrot says, frowning like he's personally offended by the way Fairy “kisses” Wifies.

“It's getting late,” Wifies agrees. “I'll see you tomorrow Parrot.”

Fairy peeks over Wifies's head to stare Parrot down, and Parrot stares Fairy down right back. Wifies sends a prayer to whoever may be listening. Being the man between two strange birds may be the end of him.

[scourgebff]

more from the hollycinder partners in crime au, their little family ( original concept/au idea by @the-owl-tree )! i imagine dovewing got cinderheart’s build with hollyleaf’s striking features while ivypool is leaning more towards hollyleaf’s tall stature but cinderheart’s recognizable markings.

holly’s disappearance into the tunnels after upending the entire normalcy of thunderclan had left quite a stir in her wake. ivy and dove grow up trying to make sense of and deal with her legacy in their own ways. cinder is in the middle, fiercely protecting her daughters’ youth from a world which wants to press the weight of everything on their shoulders far too readily while also struggling to figure out her own identity.

very detailed brainrot under the cut

it seemed like an ironic twist of fate in the eyes of lionblaze and jayfeather that dove was to take holly’s part in the prophecy, quickly sweeping her under their wing and closely guiding her paws. the lingering worry that she would stray from them and onto a dangerous path as holly had- doubly so since lion was made dove’s mentor. lion is fiercely protective of dove, seeing in her a bright potential and genuinely wants her to succeed. however it is quite clear to everyone that he’s projecting his sister onto her, for all her talent and resourcefulness going beyond the shadowy pelt and leading to heightened expectations. dove swallows down her discomfort at the pressure, wanting to make everyone proud and live up to their expectations, not only as warrior but as part of a prophecy so much larger than herself. one that she feels is partially to blame for driving her other parent away, as jay eventually reveals to her to full truth, leading to feelings of guilt she doesn’t even particularly understand. torn between stars and shadows, her paws wander over clan borders in search of an answer or escape for herself while discovering things she’d never expect.

meanwhile ivy feels like a spectator in her own life. listening in on near constant rumors and gossip about her family that she isn’t even included in, instigated by a cat she doesn’t even know. getting even further frustrated by just how passively helpless to remedy anything she is. while cinder treats the two girls completely equally, ivy isn’t blind to the practically palpable anticipation thunderclan holds towards dove. she’s a prodigy, with the undivided attention of both the clan’s healers and one if not the strongest warrior as a mentor, sent on journeys and given extra assignments as cats discuss how promising she is- yet also the level of suspicion cats hold towards her for being related to both a traitor, a healer, and a windclanner. ivy is of course of the exact same blood, yet she might as well not exist to anyone but dove and cinder bar a few extended family members. feeling isolated yet reluctant to try and burden her already troubled closest kin with insecurities she feels are ‘insignificant’, ivy meets hawkfrost who seems to not mind listening. in fact he says he relates to her, having a controversial family history himself. ivy asks for advice, ending up gaining confidence with his helpful suggestions and in turn drawing closer to the dark forest. she seems more well adjusted, yet in truth she’s merely getting better at lying and giving cats a spectacle to notice her by. while her social life improves, the unease in her grows as she’s gradually lured into working for the dark forest. ivy with new confidence and supposedly trustworthy new friends feels as if she can balance the danger despite rising escalation.

cinder, ivy, and dove remain extremely close. there is certainly friction between ivy and dove, however cinder is incredibly involved in their lives. refusing to let them lash out at each other and drift apart, she’s reminded all too painfully of her bitter last interaction with holly. she regrets how they ended, strangely enough considering how she didn’t regret dirtying her paws with blood to cover up holly’s sins. what she will not tolerate however is disrespect against her kits, growing estranged from her childhood friends jay and lion upon seeing how oddly they treat dove. it’s an uncomfortable situation, yet dove and ivy both are incredibly grateful to always have cinder in their corner. just for her they’ll set their reservations towards each other aside to form an at least temporarily stable truce. that being said, cinderheart being a reincarnation of cinderpelt actually has relevance to her character here that can be a whole other post on its own so i won’t go into it.

holly is more washed than a rack full of clean dishes icl. fleeing into the tunnels was a temporary solution, made at the peak of her mental crisis she initially tries to ignore how horrifically she treated so many cats. pushing it aside, and trying to restart herself. yet she can never forget cinder, even when she leaves the tunnels to become a wanderer cinder’s loyalty always sticks out so clearly. the kindness that holly had pushed and pushed and pushed until it broke and now here they were after that blow-out argument upon the gathering’s aftermath. a lot can be said for the time she’s out living as a rouge, but she eventually will have to come back and face her horrible past mistakes. unfortunately not before meeting a cat who might change everything for the worse- darktail C:

there’s some more i could mention because the cinderholly brainrot is infectious but i already rambled enough sorry TY IF U ACTUALLY READ THIS LOL UH </3 reward for making it down here is the fullbodies of these very normal not tortured individuals i consider them an equally normal amount