#I mean he has to survive on his own in winter so

[karespocketboyfriends]

𝙿𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 & 𝙷𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢

World Underneath

A Love and Deepspace Fanfiction (For Intertwined)

Warnings -> None necessary

<- Epilogue - Act One

An original fan-fiction for Love and Deepspace. I appreciate reblogs but reposting to Tumblr or any other site is not okay with me.

Currently Playing: Wavering Heart by Love and Deepspace

(Listen in the background to enhance your reading experience)

Winter, 2039

"Dad, I need help."

Russell leaves the cart full of books he's stocking, attention redirected to the teenager sitting at the counter, surrounded by textbooks and worksheets. "What are you working on, sprout?"

"Dad!" She rolls her eyes, dark like her mother's. "I'm too old for that name now. Can't you call me something else?"

"Something else, huh?" He rubs his chin in thought. "How about Char-bear?"

Her nose scrunches. "That's even worse!"

The brass bell above the bookshop's door dings. Russell twists to greet his customer, but instead of the usual folk who frequent Tomes, he finds himself looking at a girl no older than fifteen. She's somewhat dressed for the weather, her hat and gloves in good condition, but her coat has seen better days. It looks a little small for her, too.

He's seen her before. Never in his store, but passing by the barred windows. She'd stare at the books longingly through the glass, but never came in to buy one. Or attempt a theft. He's never seen her alone either, but the boys she's usually with don't seem to be around today.

Standing up straight, Russell walks over to greet her. "Welcome to Tomes. Is there something in particular you're looking for?"

His business was thriving before the collapse of the city. He used to carry a wide variety of books, ranging in genres and languages and publication times. The chaotic birth of the N109 Zone has forced him to abandon most of his stock for books that are considered valuable to this new brand of civilians.

This girl doesn't strike him as the type to be into such topics. Despite the horrors that take place daily on the streets, an innocent light still shines in her wary eyes. Her thin shoulders are hunched, both hands wrapped tightly around the strap of the cross-body purse hanging from her shoulder.

"Yeah." She's so soft-spoken, Russell can hardly hear her. "I'm looking for a job. Can I work here?"

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

"Russell, no." Edith is stern as she paces back and forth in the kitchen above the bookstore. "We can barely afford to take care of ourselves. We don't need help running the store. Paying an employee we don't need is only going to put us on an even tighter budget."

His wife's concerns are valid. Trying to live by morals gets you no where in the N109 Zone. The only reason Tomes hasn't caved in is because Russell spent a great deal of time making connections during the years of the gang wars. He has enough clientele to keep from going down the dark road many of his neighbors have, but by no means is his family wealthy.

"She seems like a good kid, Eddie. A kid who's trying to survive like the rest of us." Russell says calmly.

"And what about our kid?" Edith turns towards him fully. "Have you considered what Charlotte will go without if you give the money we use to take care of her to someone else?"

Russell says nothing, because he hasn't considered that.

A floorboard squeaks, and the couple turns towards the sound. Their daughter lingers at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister while she chews on her lip.

"I go to school with her. She's very nice. Follows the rules, too." She says. "I don't know too much about her, just that she patches up her older brothers whenever they get into fights. There's rumors that she's raising her little brothers, too."

Edith's heart pangs. "How old are her younger brothers?"

Charlotte shrugs one shoulder. "In middle school, I think."

Russell turns to his wife. "I can't do it, Eddie. I can't turn her away."

Edith's eyes soften, and it looks as though she's about to give in. But a glance at their own child has her expression going stern once more. "Then I will."

The brass bell downstairs rings. Russell's spine straightens as he rushes downstairs, his wife and daughter hot on his heels. The girl is gone.

Russell walks behinds the counter and looks at the camera footage. To his relief, and utter surprise, the girl hasn't taken anything. The quality is clear, much so that he can see the devastated expression on her face as she looks towards the stairs. It seems she overheard them and fled before she had the chance to be rejected.

Russell sighs. His gut was right about her being a good kid.

Christmas is three weeks away.

Before, when the N109 Zone was a bustling technology hub, Tomes would see customers coming in and out from morning to evening. That hasn't been the case since 2034. It's almost four, and not a single person has come to make a purchase.

Russell sighs and rises from the stool placed behind the counter. He's caught up on everything he had to on the management side of the business, placed a new order for stock and paid off the protection fees. He's been on good terms with the small gang that rules this street, and as long as he pays on time, they leave him and his family alone.

Just when he considers closing up shop early for the day, the brass bell rings.

A group of four boys enter. The older two appear to be in their late teens, the younger two about middle school age. The younger two have hats and gloves to combat the cold weather, but the older two do not. Something about them seems familiar, but he can't place it.

"Welcome." Russell greets, a bit wary. "Looking for something in particular?"

One of the older boys, the one who isn't scowling, replies politely. "We're looking for a Christmas gift for our sister. She loves reading."

"Ah, then you've come to the right place. What kinds of books does she like?"

One of the younger boys breaks into a grin. "Magic stories!"

"Stories with dragons." The other young boy adds, a bit more on the quiet side.

"Love stories." The scowling older boy includes.

Russell swallows his sigh. He stopped carrying books like that a long time ago.

The more polite of the older boys crosses his arms. "We go with her to the library twice a week, but she never brings any home because of the rental fees. We thought getting her a book she can own and actually finish would make her year."

The other older boy looks around with narrowed eyes. "Doesn't look like you have anything like that here, though."

"Not currently, no." Russell admits. The younger boys' faces fall, and Russell spits out an offer before he can think it through. "But, I can order something. It should arrive before Christmas."

The more polite boy hesitates. "How much?"

It strikes him then, where he's seen this group of boys before. That girl who often passes by and gazes through the window, these are the boys she was always with.

"Tell you what." Russell says, crossing his arms. "This place could use a good tidy up. Come back the same time tomorrow to help, and we'll consider the order paid."

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

The next day, the boys arrive a half hour early. Russell puts them right to work, the older two dusting off shelves while the younger two help him sort out the books that arrived in the latest shipment.

"Where is your sister now?" Russell can't help but ask as he lifts the organized piles onto the trolly.

"Looking for work." The less shy of the younger boys says. "We need more money."

"Where are your parents?"

The shy one shrugs. "We don't know."

It isn't an uncommon story. Majority of the kids in the N109 Zone are either orphans or in bad situations, and most of those kids have followed the lawless path to survive. Kids like these, who look for honest work to afford that they can, are rare.

'So, those rumors are true.' Russell thinks. 'She and the older boys are raising these two.'

"It sounds like you have a good sister." He says with a smile, trying to ease the now somber mood.

They both nod, smiles beaming. "She's the best!"

The older boys appear then, their sleeves rolled up and a light sheen of sweat on their foreheads. Russell glances at the shelves, and is left impressed at how good of a job they've done. They even scrubbed the very tops of the shelves.

"Well done, boys. I'll put in that order for you tonight. Have you decided on which one you want to get her?"

The boys leave him a note with the title and author and are sent on their way. True to his word, Russell goes to his computer and places the order. It will arrive by next week.

Christmas is one week away.

Frost clings to the windows, snowflakes falling from the ever dark sky and melting the second they hit the ground. Tomes is the only building decorated for the holiday, a worn wreath mounted to the door, the glow of a miniature Christmas tree placed on the corner of the counter. Russell tosses and catches his keys as he closes the register, then turns towards the door to lock up for the night.

She’s there again, staring at the rows of book-lined shelves, purse clutched tightly to her body. She’s without her entourage again.

The brass bell is silent as Russell opens the door. The cold bites into his skin as he pokes his head out, a flurry of snowflakes attempting to get in but dying in the warmth of the shop. The girl startles, tenses and stares with wide eyes.

Russell smiles. “It’s cold this evening, huh? Would you like to come in and warm up for a bit?”

He waits while she thinks. Her nod is subtle, her steps slow and hesitant as she follows him inside. She lingers by the corner of the counter, close to the door to make an escape but far enough away to not be ambushed by anything bad that might try to come in.

Russell considers asking if she would like something to drink, but keeps the question to himself. She’s cautious, and no smart person would accept a drink from a stranger.

“We didn’t get the chance to finish our conversation last time.” He says instead. “Are you still looking for work?”

“I-”

Footsteps make their way down the stairs. His wife appears, poised to say something but falls silent at the sight of the girl.

“Hello, dear.” She greets her warmly, the way she would greet any customer. “Doing some last minute shopping this evening?”

The girl bites down on her lip.

Fearing she would flee again, Russell clears his throat. “Edith, honey, this is Charlotte’s school friend. She came inquiring about a job a few weeks ago, remember?”

“Ah, yes. I remember.” Edith walks to stand by her husband and gives the girl a gentle smile. “Have you managed to find something yet, hon?”

The girl shakes her head. “A lot of the things I’ve found are scary… and dangerous.”

The couple exchanges a glance. She came to Tomes because it felt like a safe place in this ever dark city full of monsters, both real and in human form.

Russell’s eyes are pleading as he looks at his wife. “Eddie-”

But he doesn’t have to. Her quiet sigh fills the quiet bookstore.

Edith smiles at the girl again. “You know, we were hoping to expand our selection this upcoming year. More stock means more things to manage. My husband and I could use another pair of hands around here.”

The girl’s eyes brighten, but dim again just as quickly. “But, I thought-”

“Great! You’re hired.” Russell cuts her off with a quiet clap of his hands. “Welcome aboard, kid.”

Late Summer, 2044

The brass bell above the door rings.

Russell hears it, but doesn’t exit the back room to greet the customer.

“Good afternoon! Can I help you find anything?” His one and only employee’s voice rings through the store like a song.

She’s been welcoming and helping customers for the better part of the day, each greeting just as cheerful as the last. No matter how many hours she spends behind the counter or between the shelves, her energy never dies.

Russell finishes the task at hand before returning to the central room of the store just as the customer is leaving. Now that his employee is unoccupied, he walks over to the counter and placed the wrapped gift in front of her.

"What's this?" She asks, eyeing the dark red wrapping paper.

"A present." Russell says with a smile. "Your birthday is this weekend, isn't it? Take the day off."

"But-"

He chuckles and shakes his head. They go through this song and dance every year. "I haven't changed my mind for the last five years, and I won't be changing it now. Eddie and I can manage this place just fine for a day."

She gives up. Smiling softly, she carefully unwraps the gift. Russell isn't expecting her to be surprised; every birthday and holiday, he gives her the thing that brings her the most joy. It's a romance novel, straight from the second shelf of the fiction section he added about a year after she was hired.

"Thank you." The young woman says, affectionately tracing the book's title with her fingers. The light in her eyes tells him how much she appreciates the gift.

Russell softly pats her arm. "Happy birthday, Evie."

Masterlist

World Underneath: Oddity ->

Tag List:

@xxfaithlynxx @angelafinstone @mysticcollectionvoid @greatmistakes @chuppiechanchan @softlycandescent

[vamprisms]

hey everyone, I have been speaking to Nader @abdalsalam1990 again. if you've been following the situation for a little while you'll know that he is a 17 year old boy who has been displaced along with his family by the war in palestine. he's been campaigning hard to raise funds for food and medicine for his family. now that the height of winter is here they also need extra funds to survive severe cold, as there is currently a lack of blankets etc. he has reached out and asked me to share their campaign again with you (which is vetted #4 here). It is now at 71% to goal 🩷 i want to thank everyone who has donated and helped me spread the word so far. please consider reblogging this new post so we get their campaign even closer to the goal and help them survive the winter season 🩵

[prisonhannibal]

I know everyone is overwhelmed and stressed about so many different things in the world, but never forget your own power to help. If you’re worried about the US elections impact on palestinians, please remember that you can help palestinians in gaza right now. Support organizations and movements and share and donate to fundraisers. we’ve seen many times that fundraising does help, both with evacuation when the border is opening and with purchasing food and clothing for the winter.

I want to share an opportunity to help a palestinian family right now. My friend Ibrahim is only 15 years old and lives with his family in Gaza. Since the genocide started, he has been displaced several times, lost access to his education, and lives in fear of bombs. Only a couple of weeks ago his uncle was martyred by the occupation. Everything in Gaza is very expensive because of the occupation stopping aid from entering, so they are in need of funds to buy clothing for winter and food to survive until they can evacuate. He’s only fifteen and has so much life ahead of him and so many dreams and hopes for continuing his education and living a safe life. We can help that be a reality

DONATION LINK + VETTED LINK (#25)

It would mean the world to me and Ibrahim if you could match my donation of it’s €15. Any donation bigger or smaller than that will help get him survive and get to safety

@vampiricvenus @dirhwangdaseul @butchniqabi @autisticmudkip @90-ghost @nabulsi @tamamita @finalgirlabigailhobbs @sawasawako @heritageposts @khanger @neechees @shesnake @loumandivorce @cuntylouis @jdon @dlxxv-vetted-donations @beserkerjewel @handweavers @anneemay @socalgal @pikslasrce

[hopelessromantic5]

King Arthur happens to be traveling through Ealdor the exact day the citizens decide they’ve had enough of Merlin.

Labeling him too dangerous, they tied him up on the pyre in the center of town.

As long as Merlin had been alive, he’d never seen this pyre lit.

He would’ve just gotten himself out of this situation with his ‘gifts’ if it weren’t for his poor mother.

The villagers would never let her live in peace if he magically disappeared.

No, this was the only way she could go on living, even with a broken heart.

He didn’t fight. He didn’t really hear much of what they spit at him. But he could hear his mother wailing at him, to save himself, to do whatever he must do.

He’d resigned himself to an early death.

Tom, the town representative, started spewing some righteous words at him. New Religion words that didn’t quite make sense to him, but that’s to be expected. He is, himself, a creature of the old religion, if prophecy is to be trusted.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, serpent?”

Merlin opened his mouth to tell his mother that he loved her, but he stopped short.

In the distance, he could hear a sound.

The beating of hooves on hard, cold dirt.

Visitors were approaching.

It must be fate, he thinks.

As the horses drew closer, the villagers slowly turned their attentions away from him.

Merlin simply hung his head, letting the Earth he loved so dearly decide which way his life would swing.

“What is the meaning of this?”

A calm, steady voice came from behind him. Deep and concerned. Merlin wished he could see the man.

“My lord,” Tom bowed, as well as he could, which was strange.

Upon realization, Merlin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, were these visitors noble? They never had nobility stay long enough to make comments on anything, only ever just passing through.

“I asked you a question.” The voice said again, with all the authority of someone who’s used to using it.

“This man is a sorcerer, sire. We were just-“

“What has he done?”

“Sire?”

“What has this man done to call for these extreme measures?” When no one answered him immediately, he rephrased.

“Surely there must’ve been a crime committed?” As if it’s a question.

Merlin’s mother pulled herself out of shock and brought herself forth.

“He did nothing, sire.” She spoke firm and unmoving. She must’ve seen hope in this man that Merlin had yet to lay eyes on. “He’s only ever used it for healing wounds and helping our gardens in the winter. Please have mercy on him, my lord. He is my only son.” Tears started falling as her voice broke. She finally met Merlin’s eyes again and he smiled at her, weakly.

“So this man-“

“Sorcerer.” Corrected Tom. What a dick.

“This man, did nothing but heal you and help you survive and this is how you repay him?”

Again no answer.

The man seemed to gesture at Tom, walking towards the town elder, and bringing him finally into Merlin’s line of sight.

The doomed boy nearly gasped.

Silver and red bled together in the sun, armor and finery melded like roses in white sand.

The man-the lord…the knight? He had golden blonde hair, that shone like it’s own light.

Blue eyes made even more obvious and striking surrounded by unblemished, sun-kissed skin.

“You seem to be leading the horde. Tell me why?” No, answer. “Cut him down.” A command. The stranger’s face was a hard, blank line.

Funny how, even then, he didn’t feel like a stranger. But Merlin was in no state to remember it.

“My lord, I do not think that would be wise. Your father was the one to wage war on magic-“

“I am not my father. Cut him down.”

Merlin swallowed. Uther Pendragon was the only person in his mind that waged the war on magic, that began the purge. Which means this man could only be his son, Prince Arthur.

What a prince he was.

Well, King, now.

No wonder every person in the vicinity practically dropped to their knees upon his arrival. They’d all heard stories of ‘The Just King’ that now reigned over Camelot. Giving whatever he could to his citizens that needed it most, never turning anyone away who seeks shelter. Merlin had heard the same as everyone else. Seeing the King in person now, he was in awe.

“I will not endanger the lives of all who live here.” Tom turns back to Merlin with the lit torch.

Merlin held his breath, but the second Tom turned away from him, the King pulled his sword. It made the loveliest sound as it left the sheath.

The sound of salvation.

Tom had the tip of a majestic blade directed right at his throat, as the King spoke again.

“I said, cut him down.”

The look on the King’s face was one that could kill.

Merlin wondered momentarily why he cared so much.

Finally someone from the crowd stepped forward with a knife and began to cut away Merlin’s ties.

Hunith leapt forward and engulfed her son in a hug, while also somewhat holding his body upright.

He did not want to let go, considering he thought he would never get to hug his mother again. But the entire village was watching them.

As was-

“What is your name?”

It was phrased as a question but spoken like a command. Merlin knew it was directed at him without opening his eyes.

He did, reluctantly, release his mother and turn to the golden King, facing deep blue eyes head on. Never cowering.

“Merlin.”

The King must’ve seen something in him. Something every other person was blind to or chose to ignore, simply because he was a peasant. He took a step closer and Merlin could hear the tiny tink of metal pieces on his shining armor, as he did so.

“Well, Merlin.” He said, as if trying it out for himself. “Seeing as I’ve just given you your life, I’d like to ask a favor.”

Merlin’s curiosity was peaked, to say the least. King’s didn’t ask favors, they took whatever they wanted.

King Arthur did not wait for a reply to continue.

“I’m in need of assistance. And I could use someone with a gift like yours, specifically.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes in minuscule doubt. Doubt of intentions, doubt of his safety.

The King somehow knowing his exact thoughts said

“Of course you would be permitted to come back when you are needed. And when I have accomplished my goal, if you wish, you can leave. I will not keep anyone against their will. I am simply offering.” A small smile played on his mouth. Flush pink lips. He also held up his hands as if to say ‘I will not harm you’.

Merlin’s gut told him to follow this man.

Terrifyingly, his intuition told him to follow this man, practically a stranger, anywhere. Everywhere.

Merlin felt a pull he’s never felt before. In the moment, he assumed it was immense gratitude for saving his life.

Merlin turned to meet his mothers eyes, he already knew what she was going to tell him.

“I think it will be good for you. To get out for a while.” She smiles softly.

“Will you be alright?” He whispered, glancing at the crowd still gathered around an unlit pyre.

“I’ll be fine.” She grabbed him in a bear hug, like she always did. “And if they boot me out, I’ll come find you.”

Merlin sighed into her shoulder.

“Alright.”

When Merlin turned back, the King had turned his eyes to the ground, giving mother and son a moment of privacy.

Merlin was starting to warm to him already.

“Can I pack first?”

King Arthur met his gaze then, doing that half smile thing, again.

“I suppose.” He nodded. “But don’t dawdle we need to move if we want to make it back before sundown.”

“Yes, sire.” The title which usually held reverence and respect, was laced with sarcasm. He didn’t seem to think twice, as he strode away towards their hut to gather his things.

If Merlin had looked back, he would’ve found a fully beaming King looking after him and about six knights with faces of complete shock.

And perhaps, one knowing mother.

[xoxochb]

omgomg knight!percy and princess!reader??

warnings: they makeout but it’s nothing really serious. also one allusion to sex, but nothing explicit. pairing: knight! percy jackson x princess! reader

“it’s cold outdoors. come inside.”

you curl your fuzzy cloak farther around your arms to shield your bare arms from the winter temperatures. you wished nothing more but for spring as soon as possible.

your rest your hands on the opposite side of the balcony railing to steady yourself from falling as you peer downwards.

percy stands below, on the ground. you only assume your father had put him to guard the outdoors. unfortunate for him, you didn’t care much.

“I could not,” percy begins. “your father—”

you cut him off with a scoff. “will survive. you, however, will die of hypothermia within minutes. come up.”

you point to an array of vines beside the balcony. the flowers had shriveled, along with most of the actual vines, but alas. percy removes of his sword and helmet, discarding it onto the frozen ground.

and climbing, he goes.

you adjust your cloak again as you await. what you has failed to realize is that his armor may not have been particularly easy to climb in. it was likely it was freezing too, since it was made of metal.

while he attempts (rather foolishly) to climb over the railing, you extend a hand for when he stands. without hesitation, when he makes it over, percy grabs your nimble hand.

but you pull away with a yelp, clutching the hand to your chest with a frown. “I’m sorry. your armor is very cold…”

“ah.” percy flexes his hand subconsciously. “apologies, my sweet princess.”

you walk inside without intertwined hands. swiftly, you close the balcony door behind you, allowing the warmth of the fireplace to entrap you in its arms.

you remove of your clock and hang it on the coatrack before turning back to percy. almost instantly, he begins removing of his cold armor, revealing little clothing beneath.

yet you’d seen him in less.

you fight a feverish blush and begin to absentmindedly smooth out your ruffle-y pink dress. it matches just perfectly with your room, also adorned with various shades of pink.

coincidentally, it matches your cheeks too!

once percy finishes undressing his armor, he makes his way to your unoccupied self. his oh-so calloused hands, surprisingly warm, rub your arms to emit the same heat.

the majority of the day, you’d cursed the strapless dress repeatedly. now, you don’t mind it that much.

percy presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering his lips against your skin as he speaks, “how was your day?”

a smile breaks upon your mouth. “I slept in by accident. and I took a visit to the library. though we haven’t anything new since last week. I’m going to check again tomorrow.”

“do I need to threaten anyone?” his smirk is prominent against your head.

you giggle lightly and take a fist of his shirt in your hands to steady yourself. “it’s quite alright. I have a book for now.”

“how unfortunate.”

you reach up on your tippy-toes and kiss percy’s cheek quickly. his arms curl around your waist, hands splaying along the small of your back.

when you extend for a second cheek kiss, this time, his head turns with swiftness and you catch his lips instead. though you are not opposed to it. his mouth is warm and inviting and soft like blankets on a cold day like this.

you snake your arms, with diligence, up his arms and around his shoulders. he’s many inches taller than you, meaning you need to stand back up on your tippy-toes like before.

you curl your fingers around his dark hair at the nape of his neck, tugging just lightly in hopes you’ll elicit a noise from him, into your mouth, in the way that always makes your knees weaken.

percy murmurs your name hoarsely against your lips before coaxing your own apart with his tongue. he explores the cavernous expanse of your mouth like it’s his first time doing so.

his fingers fumble with the strings of your corset. but you assume they’re frozen from his time outside, so too numb at the moment to do much. yet the simple attempt alone makes the sleeping butterflies within your tummy awake and begin fluttering.

you try your best to stifle your growing smile as you wish not to break the kiss. but you hadn’t seen him since last night— you’d managed to go all day without him and to have percy here now in your room was overly enticing.

you assume that percy had took noticed as he breaks the kiss before you do. he pecks your lips once more before you rest your head against his shoulder.

“I missed you today,” you whisper.

his fingers toy with the strings of your dress again. “as have I.” he kisses your hair. “I will stay the night. and visit just before the twelfth hour.”

you gasp happily and lift your head to face him. “I will bake! how do you like tiramisu?”

percy smiles lovingly down at you. “whatever it is prepared from your hands,” he begins, taking both of your hands into his, rubbing your fingers with delicacy. “I will eat with joy.”

you squeal and tightly squeeze his hands. you reach up to kiss his cheek again. “great! I will arise early to prepare!”

“not too. you need to rest also.”

“ah.” you nod. “I presume you will keep me in bed regardless what I protest.”

“it’s been too long since you have been within my arms.”

“the ninth hour. plenty of time.”

“that is fine, my love.” percy kisses your cheek this time. “I’ll await you at noon.”

“perfect! shall we ready for bed?”

“it is late.”

“then yes?” you bite back a smile.

percy kisses your forehead. “how smart you are, my dearest.”

“mhm. then to bed we go.”

[elfbotanist]

Environmental storytelling in inquisition is so good. I played the game blind last year and oh how I wish I could play this game again for the first time.

Early in the game you're exploring the ruins. You heard about ancient elves in a dialogue with Solas and now you are seeing the remains of the said people. Ancient beings used to live in these ruins. It's fascinating but also sad.

You explore an ancient tevinter ruin, you venture deep inside the said ruin, you realise the architecture is more elvhen than tevinter. You remember someone saying how tevinter built its empire over elvhenan. Claimed their marvels as their own like vultures and now you are seeing it.

You capture Suledin keep. Place obviously elvhen and important to the elves, only for the chantry to claim it for its own as soon as you clear out the red templars. Andraste's statues everywhere, place never going back to elves ever again. You are left with a bitter taste in your mouth, maybe you shouldn't have captured the keep but atleast nearby villages will have a safe sanctuary.

Then near ending of the game you actually meet those ancient beings living in the ruins you were exploring throughout the game. You talk with them. It's implied that others may still linger. You're so bamboozled by the idea that a whole society of ancient beings might still be out there sleeping and/or walking. No one had any idea about this, it changes everything you know about the world and your own people.

You're so busy having a crisis about everything, you don't even question how your hobo apostate bf even knew about other ancient elves still surviving.

Then you meet the said hobo apostate bf in rotunda wondering if he had painted something after the quest but dude is fuming. You don't know what's happening you just want him to calm down so you reassure him and he gets hopeful and flirty. You pat yourself on the back 'job well done' cuz now he's taking you on a romantic date.

He tells you the truth about vallaslin, you think 'but the meaning is different now' but you still let him remove them cuz you trust him. He said he wanted to show you how much you meant to him but ended up breaking up? You're so confused, angry, helpless and sad. You just don't know what is happening anymore. When you ask him to explain things he hits you with a 'you saw the most' which again makes no sense because why you're running away from me if i changed everything?

You're either busy being too sad or busy backtracking everything he has ever told you to pinpoint the reason WHY he broke up, you are not analysing the environmental storytelling anymore. You are analysing the man himself. And then he fucking leaves. Motherfucker. You hope atleast he's safe wherever he is, he got the warmest armour you made for him with so much love and care and the powerful staff you gifted him which goes with his whole hobo look. But you can't stand the rotunda being empty so you skip everything and load trespasser dlc.

And ah the trespasser dlc. They really said "oh so you loved exploring ruins for storytelling? AND you romanced Solas? Well I have just the dlc for you".

You see someone casting a huge mindblast spell, literally shaking your screen and now you know it's him. It has to be him. So you rush forward, he's not there but there are murals. I honestly can't put in words how I felt when I saw that one mural of Solas removing vallaslin and freeing slaves. It's beautiful, terrible (how can your "gods" enslave your own people) and tragic (that's your lover and you thought you knew him).

You're feeling so miserable and now the music is making you anxious. Everyone back at winter palace is having the best time it seems. You appreciate it but you're not in the mood for spa day. Get married? With whom exactly my dear friend. Cole is someone you are seeking out again and again cuz you know he will give you something.

You think this can't get any worse but then it does. He created the goddamn veil. And sundered the world. "Vhenan, where the fuck are you?"

The qunari tells you Solas is an agent of Fen'harel but you know better and so does your inquisitor at this point. But you have to save him. You run through eluvians, skipping fights to reach him as soon as you can. Your anchor is killing you, you don't care, you have to reach him anyhow.

You hear a familiar voice speaking some foreign language. You know it's him. You've found him. Finally. One moment you don't recognize him AT ALL but in another you do because he has the same kind eyes, full lips (and adorable shiny head lol). He looks very different now. Somehow older, wise, like a leader and so SO handsome. He tell you not to be proud of him but you just are. He is brutal to his enemies, his magic terrifying, an ancient freedom fighter, Fen'harel, Dreadwolf. But he is also just Solas. Vhenan.

"Ma ghilana, vhenan"

 "Ir abelas, vhenan"

He keeps calling you vhenan, my heart, my love. You have never seen him so open and vulnerable about his love for you (like that night in crestwood). He answers some of your questions but not all. This impossible man. He saves you only for vowing to sacrifice everything else, even himself.

Impossible, IMPOSSIBLE man. Just let me come with you!

"I cannot bear to think of you alone".

"I walk the din’anshiral. There is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become".

[esther-dot]

when long night falls 6k

Appearances can be deceiving, and Jon is not yet used to discerning truths from lies. Her hair is brown enough, even in the candlelight, where Sansa’s was red. Ygritte was kissed by fire, as was Sansa. Neither had been lucky.

All That We Forgot 16k by @rumaan

The Wall has fallen, the North has fled south, and Stannis Baratheon sends a delegation to the Vale of Arryn, the last untouched region of Westeros to seek their aid against the Others. A delegation that includes Lord Commander Snow. What will this mean for Alayne Stone?

The Thawing of Winter 100k by @jade-masquerade

Sansa knew Jon married her—married Alayne—for the Vale, or maybe, because of his past, he saw her as a fellow bastard and meant to raise her up the same as his people did for him, how they chose Lord Eddard’s sole surviving son as King in the North. But when she looked at him, she saw nothing of the sort in his eyes, only a flash of desire, the way a man ought to look at his wife, before he steadied his gaze. If this was truly wrong, she wondered, then why did the gods let it feel so right? corresponding moodboard by @the-lords-kiss corresponding moodboard by @sunbeamsandmoonrays corresponding gif by @readingisloving

Came Down the Mountain 12k by @darkmagyk

Alayne Stone makes a name for herself during the Long Night by feeding the troops of the army of the living. But after the Dawn Breaks, her father takes to back up to the Eyrie, even as she hears that a new Stark has taken Winterfell, a young Lord named Brandon. But whatever Petyr Baelish had planned for her must change with Daenerys Targrayen flies up to them on dragon back with a offer the woman who is Sansa Stark is desperate to refuse. corresponding moodboard by @the-lords-kiss

maybe everything that dies, some day comes back 1k orphaned

Following his resurrection, Jon leads a retinue of men to gather supplies and new recruits where they can find them. He doesn’t expect to find anything else along the way — that is, until they reach the Vale, where the echoes of harp strings can be heard in the middle of the night, and a bastard girl in the Eyrie strikes a chord within Jon he thought to be long vanished.

You lied to me ficlet by @justadram

“You lied to me,” Jon pants, swinging his legs over the side of her narrow bed and sinking his head into his hands.

Stone and Snow 1k by @jonsastan

“My daughter, Alayne Stone.” Petyr Baelish’s voice exuded charm and submission. The Dragon Queen did not seem impressed. Alayne dipped into a low curtsy, focusing her eyes on the Queen’s small feet. Such mighty ambition walked through the world on such tiny feet. “Your grace.” She murmured. The Queen looked at her for a long moment, longer than royalty looked at a bastard. “You’re a pretty little bird.” Still a bird. Alayne thought before scolding herself. Not before, only now. You were never a little bird in a gilded cage. You are bastard born and bastard brave.

cover your eyes (do i feel right, darling?) 12k @majicmarker

Jon Snow’s arrival at the Vale is met with trepidation and intrigue; after all, what could this bastard-come-prince want in this far-off corner of his kingdom? But Jon has heard the whispers that the Eyrie’s prized beauty is not a bastard of Littlefinger’s at all, but the daughter of Winterfell—and Jon means to steal her away.

Underneath, All Along ficlet by @myrish-lace-love

Jon steals Sansa from the Vale, but for reasons of her own, she'd like to stay Alayne a little longer. Alayne, after all, can wish for the company of her handsome traveling companion at night.

Alayne AU 4k by @sunbeamsandmoonrays

A girl in grey on a dying horse the stranger may be, but she was not his sister. The Red Woman gave him a false prophecy…and false hope, it seemed. So why was he still transfixed? corresponding moodboard

frostfire ficlet by @zoyaalinas

jon and alayne at the eyrie. vale au. post parentage reveal.

Who am I darling, to you? ficlets 1, 2 by @blackholeofprocrastination

When Jon’s is sent to treat with the Lords of the Vale, he finds someone unexpected on the weirwood throne.

as i stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge 12k

Jon travels to the Vale to find allies in the fight against the army of the dead.

godless 3k by @charmtion

Alayne. He tastes the word. Lets it roll on his tongue like a plum-stone, the scraps of flesh still sweet on it.

Lies/Luck 1k by @phosphorescent-naidheachd

“Have we met before?” he asked, the words leaving his lips before he could think them through.

My Maid of Stone 11k WIP by @cappymightwrite

It was a near windless half-hour of waiting. Of only her cloak and hair occasionally moving, her body as rooted as a tree. Later she would remember this day mostly as metals. Silver of the valley. Iron of the rocks and the clouds. Zinc of the evening storm in its full fury. Rare gold of the sky as it chose now to break open. Her silence matched her stillness, until at last, there, out of the mist: marching men. * Or, a newly crowned King in the North comes to the Gates of the Moon, unaware of what he will find there…

if i can't relate to you anymore, then who am i related to? 13k by @jonsaslove

Alayne watches him. She knows. In her bones she knows. But her mouth doesn’t let her form the words. Her mind doesn’t let her consciously acknowledge it. Because it cannot be, it can never be. If she lets herself accept the startling truth she can't unknow it, and then every carefully crafted facade will come crashing down. Because the man is Jon Snow. And Jon Snow can’t know that she is Sansa Stark. (Because she’s not. She’s Alayne Stone. And somehow that’s more dangerous). -- Or; Jon comes to the Eyrie. Alayne remembers.

Stone and Snow 1k by @alemoncakelife

Jon Snow meets Alayne Stone corresponding edit

Family Ties 2k by @framboise-fics

Her husband had her father thrown out of the Moon Door. Her husband is her brother. Her brother is her cousin. Daughter, sister, cousin, wife. Who is she supposed to be? She will let her husband tell her, she supposes.

what one finds in the snow 1k by @amymel86

The Eyrie is perhaps the most peculiar castle Jon has visited as Lord Commander, nestled high in the Mountains of the Moon, surrounded by nothing but air, craggy rocks and soaring birds.

I Remember (I Remember) 1k by @hilarychuff

“That’s pretty,” Jon says, and her heart thumps hard in her chest.

What Lies Beneath Her Skin 100k by @chispas-and-broken-bindings

Sansa Stark returns to a fractured North for the first time since traveling south as a young child to be fostered by her Aunt Lysa in King's Landing. Stannis Baratheon's troops have broken against the walls of Winterfell, starved and weakened by the relentless northern storms - their King's fate unknown. Roose Bolton lies dead within Winterfell's walls as his bastard, Ramsey Snow dances a bloody minuet with Jon Snow, the half-brother whom she has never met, and his rag-tag band of wildlings in the northern woods. Petyr promises that it's time for a true Stark to return and bring these mongrels to heel, with the might of the Vale behind her. Yet, the girl does not feel like a true Stark, nor does she know how to break free from Littlefinger's claws. A chance encounter sets her on course to Jon Snow's war camp, where disguised as Alayne, she helps the resurrected King-in-the-North unite the North and become Sansa Stark once again.

Rosemary (For Remembrance) 7k by @orangeflavoryawp

“’My daughter, Alayne Stone,’ Baelish repeats, motioning toward her, almost daring in his tone. Jon’s eyes slip back to Sansa’s.” - Jon and Sansa. What winter means in a world that teaches them to forget.

King Jon & Alayne ficlets 1, 2 by @vivilove-jonsa

“Jon would never harm me.” “How can you know that, sweetling?  Years have passed since you last saw one another.  You’re not the girl you were when you left Winterfell no more than he is the boy you knew…and I wasn’t aware you were ever that close to begin with.”

Buried under with my desires 2k by @captainbee89

Post resurrected Jon is sent to the vale to get an allegiance on Stannis' behalf. While there, he discovers a long lost part of his past, and maybe his future.

Art: Have we met before?, A familiar face, More beautiful than me? by @leulahart, Reflections of Aemon and Naerys, Should two bastards hookup or what? by @jonsawilldanceanon, The Bastard and the Lord Commander by @palominojacoby ,The Lord Commander and the bastard of the Vale, Alayne and Jon by @amunetmana, Alayne and Jon by @melinaillustrations, Alayne by @songofaurora If he calls me his daughter one more time... by @asoiastarks , Alayne Stone by knightmarescape

Edits: Charm Him. Entrance Him. Bewitch Him. Stone & Snow by @theirwinterfell, Stone was a bastard's name i'm alayne, i must remain alayne because she's stronger by @countessmaryarostova, Jon x Alayne by @paloma-nevada, Jon rides to the Vale by @lunaathorne , Oh it would be so sweet to see him by @whiteraven0001

Gifsets: May I wear your favor? by @alaynestcnes, The Brooding Bastards by @jonstarks, Jon x Alayne, Sansa loved to dance..., A Ghost wolf... by @thewindsofwolves, She had not thought of Jon in ages by @akarena, Oh it would be so sweet, Sansa Stark went up the mountain by @kitnjon, Alayne & Jon by @paloma-nevada , I am a bastard now just like him... But of course that could never be by @bericdondarrion , It sounds like a wolf by @fromtheboundlesssea , A ghost wolf by @kummittelemaanninja , Alayne Stone and Jon Snow parallels by @jonsansasource

Shout out to the post where the Jon x Alayne ship name was declared to be Jolayne (And I suppose that makes this medieval version of Jolene pertinent!)

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON SIX - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE -SALTY TEENS - POST CANON - RICKON LIVES

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 6

Masterpost - Ao3

Danny can't sleep. Not in this horrid place where the lights bleed green with old rot, and the bees in the walls that buzz in time with his vibrating heart. The murmurs behind doors bleed together, kind and angry, ferocious and sugar-sweet, and when the bees get louder so do the voices and Danny wants to run to them; he wants to hide. The pile of papers on his desk looming over him, the red lines a discordant note amidst the overpowering green. The green of blood, the green of fear. His desk lamp turns to look at him, and it burns his skin, boiling and bubbling like a live wire, and Danny is trapped in the web, frozen and stuck to the floor. Rooted in place, but no one's there, not even Sam or Tucker. He's alone. He has to do this part alone. There's only two others like him. One doesn't care and the other is a child. So Danny has to move, has to listen harder to whispers, has to know who they took this time, has to find them, has to repair the damage and escape without getting caught. Can't rely on anyone else (the only people who want to help don't deserve this, don't deserve any of this - no one else should be punished for his mistake)and the green glow stretches and builds and the walls fall away and everyone is staring at the moron who broke the world, who ruined everything with a stupid dare (why did he take the dare, he knew better than that), and it doesn't matter anymore because there's white cars and white suits, and his mother is staring in shock as the agents advance-

 Danny pulls awake all at once in the pre-dawn light. His dream laughs from whatever recess of his mind it pulled itself out of, the horrid ichor of its dread cling to every aspect of him as he carefully tenses all his muscles and relaxes them again, grasping at the desperate hope that it might help get rid of the horrible way his body wants to vibrate itself to pieces. He feels like he's made of the damn bees from his dream.

Danny's careful tensing process barely helps, but at the moment he's happy to take even barely-help, so he stands up, still counting in his head and breathing as slowly as he can manage. His lungs burn with the strain of it, but the burn kind of feels good, and it definitely helps him stay rooted in the here-and-now, so he keeps doing it as he extricated himself from the night's hiding spot.

The chill of early winter is definitely starting to hit, and Danny let's himself feel just a bit smugly satisfied about the usefulness of his affinity for ice. His resistance isn't huge, and it's not exactly any more pleasant to be cold, but it's a relief to not have to worry about hypothermia that much even though he's now homeless.

Of course, how long he'll remain homeless for is decidedly in question now. Danny hadn't wanted to ask about time-frames, when Robin was already going out of his way to assist Danny at all, and when he'd offered housing assistance too, Danny had only been more reticent to ask questions.

“Now, you said you were homeless?” Robin had asked. Danny had startled back,but before he could start extemporizing, Robin had continued in the same blunt tone. “I’ll obviously be emancipating you; I would make you eighteen, but you really don’t look it, and I don’t want anyone to have a reason to scrutinize any of this, and a declaration of emancipation largely amounts to the same thing. Plus it will give you an easy way to discourage people from asking about your past, since emancipation typically implies a, shall we say, sensitive situation. That does mean that you'll be liable for your own housing though, so considering your present lack of legal standing, I would be more than happy to assist you in acquiring an apartment in your city of choice.” The matter-of-fact speech had caught Danny completely off guard, and he'd ended up staring at Robin for a long moment before Superboy’s half-hidden snickers had triggered a spat almost exactly like Sam and Tucker had always gotten into. 

Even now, thinking back on the conversation after almost a week, Danny finds himself a little choked up on the homesick wash of memory. At the time, Danny had choked down the unpleasant feeling, and admitted that the help with housing would be much appreciated. Superboy had narrowed his eyes, clearly spotting something in his tone of voice (thanks to his super hearing, undoubtedly), but he had managed to distract him with a joke about not wanting to risk his home dimension’s money being seen as counterfeit, and Robin's resounding excitement over that little theoretical conundrum. In that way, he’d managed to end the encounter with some actual legitimate cash in exchange for his interdimensional stuff, which was turning out to be an exceptional boon, all by itself. 

Of course, that exchange had come with its own revelation — the fact that heroes here had reason to carry cash on them was, perhaps, the most reassuring thing he’d seen so far. Phantom certainly hadn't ever been able to hang around long enough to have a shot at spending any money. It makes him wonder if they're getting paid for their work as heroes, and if so, who's doing the paying. Probably, it's a question worth looking into. Any payments coming from the government ought to have a paper trail of some sort, and Sam would say that sort of detail would say a lot about the whole dynamic.

For now, though, Danny finds himself walking briskly through the shadowy early morning streets, fighting against a wash of melancholy. Robin's cash weighs heavy in his pocket – he's been using it as sparsely as he can, since he doesn't know how long the hundred-or-so dollars need to last. Luckily, the nearby grocery store has a good collection of cheap and easy pre-made foods. For the last six days straight, Danny's been able to have a breakfast of two hard boiled eggs, and he currently has the supplies for pb&j sandwiches in his backpack. He anxiously checks his pocket to make sure Robin's burner phone is still there, but he doesn't bother pulling it out - he has no intention of using it unless he has a real emergency, no matter what the other teen had implied. 

It's still not late enough for the library to be open, by the time he's acquired and eaten his breakfast eggs, so instead he heads for the park, with a thought to shake off the remaining thrum of anxious energy from his dream. He's already flinched at two different cars as they drove past him, so he definitely could use the distraction, and the running has, regrettably,  repeatedly proved itself good at calming down Danny's running thoughts. Danny mentally snorts at the thought; an image of his body chasing down his own mind, tackling it and wrestling it into submission. That's certainly one way to deal with his anticipation for a fight.

Danny makes it three laps before he decides to stop, carefully taking the time to stretch out his legs and properly cool down. It's late enough by now that there's a handful of other people scattered in the park, two of which are on similar morning jogs. A couple of them even offer him a smile and nod as they pass each other. He doesn't know a single one of their names, but he's seen most of them around before, and as he finishes his cool down lap and heads off, he realizes that they probably recognize him too.

It's late enough now that he can head to the library, though when he gets there, he discovers that the computers are all in use, so instead he heads for the aisles of books.

He wanders through the rows, not really looking for anything in particular. Danny's happy enough to admit that he's never been much of a reader; language arts had always been his worst class. Even before the portal had been finished, he'd had a tendency to frustrate his English teachers by completely missing whatever symbolism they expected him to find, and the problem had only gotten worse once he'd half-died. With all the myriad problems the portal had created, Danny had all but stopped turning in any of his homework, and he'd not picked up even a single one of the assigned books.

At a certain point, it had actually become a bet between him and Sam and Tucker. He would come up with the most ridiculous possible answers whenever Lancer made the mistake of calling on him, and if he finally managed to get the man to break and swear for real, his friends would have to pay for his Nasty Burger for the rest of the year.

That was before things got really bad. The GIW had still been a mostly incompetent nuisance, and his parents had yet to join forces with them. Of course the ghost fights were annoying, but they'd also been kind of fun, and the trio had been so caught up in the fantasy of being the heroes that they hadn't thought about things like collateral damage or serious injury. It wasn't until Tucker and Sam were stitching up gaping wounds while the populace called for Phantom’s head that they really realized how serious things had gotten.

Danny stares down at the copy of Lord of the Flies that he'd pulled out of shelves. This was the book they'd been reading when he'd first had his accident with the portal. He remembers it clearly because afterwards he'd kept dropping the book and Sam and Tucker had ended up taking turns reading it to him. They'd gotten into several arguments over the meaning of the book. But by the end, both had agreed that the characters of the book were losers. Anyone reasonable wouldn't waste time with petty problems in a life or death situation. Now, Danny's not sure if the three of them just underestimated what's reasonable, or if everyone was just that unreasonable. Probably, it's more complicated than that, but as Danny stares at the book, he can't help but feel furious that a trio of fourteen-year-old losers managed to be more compassionate and forward-thinking than an entire town of adults. Danny wonders if any of the books he hadn't read would offer an explanation of their behavior.

Danny's pocket buzzes and for a moment all he can think about is the bees in the walls of his dream, buzzing louder and louder and louder- then, behind him a chair scratches against carpet as someone stands up. Danny's in the library, and the buzzing in his pocket is the burner phone that Robin had passed him along with the cash. He pulls it out, fumbles for a moment with it, and then stares at the text message on the screen.

Marla's Diner, noon. Wear your mask.

The message is short and to the point, which Danny supposes he should have expected. It hasn't even been a week yet, so Danny can't imagine Robin has his identity ready yet – he's got to have loads of other, more important work, after all. That doesn't mean he has any intention of arguing though, so he types out a little saluting emoticon, and then shoves the book back in the shelves. If he's gonna be meeting with Robin, he needs to not spend his morning having a crisis, thank you very much. So instead he hunts down the young adult section to see if he recognizes any of the series they have here.

Danny finds Marla’s Diner around 11:30, and once he’s spotted it, he finds a place to transform. He doesn’t want to be late, but being in his ghost form still makes him feel like he’s about to get jumped, so he sits on the roof of the building, holding his invisibility, until he sees Superboy flying over and dropping Robin off.

Robin murmurs quietly to Superboy as he’s set down, and Danny strains to hear them without moving at all. “...right to privacy.” Is all he catches before Superboy nods and straightens into a goofy salute.

“Tell him I said hi,” Superboy says. “And just text me whenever you want me to pick you up!” Robin agrees and heads into the diner,while Superboy flies off again. Danny stays frozen until he’s sure the other boy is fully gone, wondering what exactly a day in the life of one these heroes really involves.

When he and his friends weren’t dealing with a ghost attack, or some other crisis they were always more focused on school and having fun, but now with so much time to reflect, and a clear vision of what actual organized heroes look like, he catches himself wondering if things wouldn’t have turned out so bad if they had spent more of their time working on the problem where there wasn’t an imminent threat. Not that he has any clue what that work should have looked like, but maybe if they’d been more focused, Danny wouldn’t have had to flee.

Of course, Jazz would tell him to focus on what’s in front of him, rather than past decisions he can’t change. And right now, he has a meeting to get to. So Danny drops his invisibility and floats down to the ground, trying to look as unthreatening as possible as he enters the diner. The last thing he wants is to get mistaken for a rogue, after all. The hostess turns to greet him and freezes, and Danny flinches, frantically debating whether it’s worth upsetting Robin by bolting.

“Oh!” The hostess says after a moment, pulling Danny’s focus back. “Well, that explains Robin's presence here, doesn't it!” Her tone is bright. She doesn’t sound upset or scared, and when Danny risks glancing at her expression, she’s actually smiling.

“Uh-” Danny blinks. What was he going to say? Why exactly was he here, again?

“Our local hero, already catching the notice of the big leagues! I should be glad, really. You certainly look far too young to be doing the hero thing all on your lonesome.” Her grin dims a little, but before Danny can respond, she brightens again and continues. “Well, your pal is down at the end, hun. Last booth, nice and out of the way, for all your Very Important Discussions.” With a wave she gestures to a booth where Robin is seated, watching the entire interaction with a blank expression. Danny fights down another flinch, and instead forces himself to start walking over to slide into the booth across from him.

“Uh, hey.” Danny says, grasping at the string of his hoodie the second he’s seated. There’s a menu sitting on the table in front of him, and one in front of Robin as a well, so he probably intends for them to have lunch while they’re here, which probably means this is a friendly conversation. At the very least it’s not openly hostile, which officially makes it better than any meal he’d been forced to have with Vlad.

“Well,” Robin begins. “You certainly have a rapport with the locals already. I wasn't aware this region had significant issues.” Danny blinks over at him. He hadn’t even processed the waitress calling him the local hero, he’d been so focused on not causing a scene. And of course, now Robin thinks he was lying in their previous conversation, and- oh god, is that what this meeting is about? Did Robin become suspicious of him since their last conversation. What if this is a trap? Robin’s just staring at him and Danny hasn’t even responded to the clearly implied question yet.

“I’m not-” Danny starts. “Hero is really an exaggeration. There was a train crash about a month ago and it was- bad. I couldn’t just not help the firefighters.”

“Hmmm,” Robin responds, tilting his head slightly and watching Danny fidget for a long moment.

“That doesn’t cause problems for you, does it? I wasn’t trying to step on any toe, I promise! I just- didn’t want people to die, if I could help it.”

“You did nothing wrong,” Robin says suddenly, his tone turning deadly serious. “Nobody is ever wrong for wanting to help, and I read about that crash in the news. You worked with the firefighters and listened to their instructions without question. You provided clear and honest estimates of capabilities and didn’t cause any damage by overestimating or harming yourself in the process. Frankly, that incident is an exemplary show of everything the Justice League strives to do. I know fully trained members who would struggle to perform so perfectly in that kind of circumstance.”

“Oh, wow. Um, thanks?” Danny mumbles, a thrill of pride coursing through him, not unlike he’d felt in the initial aftermath of the crash. Maybe he shouldn’t feel so good about something that was such a terrible tragedy, but it’s just so nice to be told you did a good job.. “I mean, obviously it was freaking terrible, you know? And I’m sure they would have saved loads of those people without me, but-”

“In a disaster like that, everyone’s efforts count towards something,” Robin cuts him off. “It’s not about whether you single handedly changed the outcome, it’s the fact that you made the decision to lend a helping hand in a scary and dangerous situation.”

“Right,” Danny says. Somehow this conversation has become very serious, and Robin’s not talking like he’s in trouble, but he can’t imagine any other reason for this meeting. “Um, is that what you wanted to see me about? The train crash?” Robin stares at him for a moment, before relaxing his posture a little.

“No. I had a few questions regarding your identity. But we should order first. I want you to take your time to consider your decisions.

“Oh, um.” Danny glances down at the menu. He’d been kind of hoping to get away with not ordering anything, but he really doesn’t want to tell Robin no. Luckily the food seems pretty similar to what they’d have at a diner back home. “I’ll probably just have a sandwich? Whatever’s simplest.” The list of sandwiches is about half diner specialties, but there’s also a turkey club and a BLT listed, though the latter includes a fourth letter A, so Danny’s not entirely positive it’s the same thing. He struggles a bit with reading the description, but manages to confirm that it is his kind of BLT, just with the inclusion of avocado.

“If that’s what you want,” Robin says, and at Danny’s nod, he turns to signal the waiter, his demeanor shifts as he does so, and Danny watches with wide eyes as he smiles and thanks the server in a perfect presentation of manners. It would remind him of Vlad, how he drops so suddenly into a charming manner, but it's so completely devoid of malice, that instead it just comes off as someone incredibly gracious who is here on serious business. Then the waitress is gone again, and Robin's undivided attention returns to Danny.

“Do you want to go to school?” Danny blinks, and struggles to reorient himself to the new topic. School has certainly never been a choice in his life before, so the question feels just a little like a trap.

“Is truancy not a thing, here?” Danny asks. 

“I mean, under normal conditions yes, but we’re sort of dealing with a lot of exceptions that the standard laws don’t really cover here. So it’s mostly up to us, how we handle your education. I considered just listing you as having your GED, but I wanted to give you the opportunity to have input into the matter. After all, school could help you adjust to the cultural variances, and if you have any intentions of going to college, a GED can complicate the process. Not that you couldn’t just attend a community college first, but you did say you were sixteen, so we could also set you up to finish off high school properly. It wouldn’t be too hard to list you as previously homeschooled to explain away your missing educational history.”

“Huh.”

“Of course, if we listed you as having your GED, you could just head directly into community college, so in some ways that would get you through college faster, but it would also place more pressure on you, and you’re already having to adjust to plenty of societal differences.”

Danny sits for a moment, thinking about it. Getting a say in how he handles school is wild, but what’s even more wild is the slow realization that he actually kind of wants to go back to it. Danny had hated high school so far, but really most of that could be attributed to a combination of bullies and the absolute hell that was trying to complete school work while secretly being a ghost.

Robin stays quiet, letting Danny mull the question over, as he starts typing on his fancy wrist computer. Danny’s very intrigued by  the piece of tech. He hadn’t seen enough room for a full keyboard, but the way he’s typing seems too fluid to be using the multitap T9 system that Danny’s familiar with. He watches Robin for a moment, thinking about his parents’ own inventions and how he’d always been kind of intrigued by them, even when he thought their whole ghost obsession was nonsense. Danny had always hated his lit classes; had never gotten the hang of analysis, but he’d found science fascinating, and even if he’d had a habit of making a lot of dumb mistakes in math class, he’d liked the logic of it well enough.

It’s kind of fascinating coming to the realization that he actually likes learning, as he sits at a diner in another dimension. Before the portal incident the part of school that he’d really hated had been the social bullshit, not the actual classes. And the idea of getting a fresh start, where nobody already hates him, and he can get whatever grades he wants without worrying about getting in trouble with his parents is practically intoxicating.

“I mean,” Danny says, after their food’s been delivered. “I feel like I might as well try doing school for real? I could always test out if I wanted to and it would be kind of nice to get like a year and a half of a normal high school experience, you know?” Robin watches him for a moment after he finishes talking, and then nods.

“Entirely understandable. Would you prefer a physical school, or do you want to do classes online?”

“Um, I didn't even know that was an option.”

“It's not exactly standard, but it exists as an alternative just like homeschooling. Generally speaking online classes offer more flexibility, at the cost of requiring more self-sufficiency. Some private schools even offer online options that partner with colleges.”

“Huh. That sounds really cool? I don't know if I'd be good at it though.”

“If you want, you could try it out, and if you find yourself struggling, I can help you switch to a physical school.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

[charliedaltonswife]

could we maybe get a part two to “an education in loathing….?” the sizzling tension, the hatred, the quippy remarks OOOO i loved it. maybe the two get assigned as partners for a project (or something??? idk??) and a late night argument finally boils over into something smutty…if you feel comfortable writing that….

An Education in Loathing - Pt 2

Henry Winter x reader (The Secret History)

soooo, went overboard with this one, high word count, um gets heated....

Summary: read the request

Warnings: far from none. S.M.U.T. do with that what you will

master list found here

You begged, as in got down on your knees and hands clutching together in prayer type begged, for anyone in the group to switch with you in this stupid project. But to no avail. 

You should have seen it coming. The way the universe seemed to take particular delight in your suffering, in orchestrating your life like a Greek tragedy, the fates snipping their shears with barely concealed amusement. Of course it had to be Henry.

Julian had announced the project with a kind of airy indifference, as if he weren’t about to ruin your entire semester. A “joint exploration of classical interpretations,” he had called it, pairing each of you off with someone to work through the assignment together. A “reward,” he had added, as if being shackled to Henry Winter for the foreseeable future was anything short of divine punishment.

Now, here you were, sitting across from him in the library’s dim back corner, trying not to succumb to the overwhelming urge to either strangle him or fling yourself dramatically out of the nearest window.

Henry, of course, looked perfectly unbothered. His long fingers turned a page of De Anima with excruciating slowness, his expression unreadable. The lamplight cast deep shadows across his face, sharpening the angles of his cheekbones, his jaw. He looked like some archaic statue came to life, some smug, superior deity sent to torment you.

“I suppose we should begin,” you said, barely keeping the venom from your voice.

Henry didn’t even glance up. “By all means.”

Your nails dug into the paper in front of you. “Well, seeing as you have no original thoughts of your own, why don’t you start by parroting whatever Julian has spoon-fed you on the subject?”

He made a quiet, amused sound, finally lifting his gaze. “Charming,” he murmured, setting the book down. “I see you’ve elected to be insufferable tonight.”

“You bring out the best in me.”

“I’ve noticed.”

You gritted your teeth, trying not to let him see the way he got under your skin. If you let him have that, you’d already lost.

“We could always divide the work,” you said, feigning a pleasant tone. “That way, I don’t have to suffer through your droning monologues, and you don’t have to endure my… how did you put it last time? ‘Exhausting need to contradict everything you say’?”

Henry leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, utterly at ease. “No,” he said simply.

You blinked. “No?”

“I don’t trust you to do it properly.”

You let out a sharp breath of laughter. “Oh, I’m the one who can’t do it properly?”

“Yes.”

You wanted to throw something at him. Preferably something heavy. “And why, exactly, is that?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering. “You’re impulsive.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And you’re a condescending bastard, but we all have our flaws, don’t we?”

His mouth twitched. “The difference is that I’m right.”

“Oh, you are so-” You cut yourself off, inhaling sharply through your nose. You refused to let him rile you up this early. You had to pace yourself. If you let the irritation take over now, you’d never survive the night.

Instead, you took a slow sip of your coffee, schooling your expression into one of disinterest. “Fine,” you said at last. “Since you’re clearly too much of a control freak to work separately, we’ll suffer through this together. But I swear to God, Henry, if you correct me one more time on things I already know-”

“You’ll what?” His voice was almost amused.

You leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into something slow and deliberate. “I’ll smother you in your sleep and burn all of your books.”

Henry regarded you for a moment, gaze flickering over your face, before he exhaled a quiet laugh. “It’s adorable that you think you could.”

You stared at him, and there was something taut in the air between you, something sharp and charged. You could feel it, a tension neither of you wanted to acknowledge but both of you were utterly ensnared by.

Finally, you forced yourself to look away, reaching for your pen with more force than necessary. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Henry smirked, but he, too, returned to the task at hand.

-

The problem with Henry Winter, you had learned, was not simply that he was insufferable. It was that he was insufferable with such careful precision, such cruel artistry, that you sometimes suspected he did it on purpose, the way a cat will toy with a half-dead bird. That he liked needling you, watching the slow build of frustration, the way you burned under his gaze.

However, you found yourself in his apartment, not exactly what you’d expected; cold, austere, and far too tidy. Books lined the walls in obsessive, precise order, not a single one askew. A small fireplace, unlit, and the smell of something faintly metallic in the air, like old paper and ink.

You had known from the start this was a mistake.

“You could at least pretend to be a gracious host,” you muttered, dropping your bag onto the armchair nearest to the desk. “It wouldn’t kill you.”

Henry didn’t glance up from where he was pouring over a text, one hand idly at his temple. “I didn’t invite you here for pleasantries.”

You scoffed, taking a seat opposite him. “No, you invited me here because Julian gave us this absurd assignment, and unfortunately, you are stuck with me.”

“I wouldn’t say it's unfortunate.” His voice was mild, but there was something in it, something you didn’t trust.

You ignored it. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He hummed, leaning back slightly. “You’re in a mood.”

“You put me in a mood,” you retorted, flipping open your notes. “Now, are we discussing the comparative mythology of Orpheus, or are we going to sit here and psychoanalyze my temperament?”

Henry exhaled sharply through his nose, his version of a laugh. “The former, obviously.” He turned a page. “Though your temperament is certainly interesting.”

You gave him a sharp look. “Don’t.”

He smirked, and you hated how he did it, so subtle, so knowing. Like he had already won. “As you wish.”

For a while, you managed to focus. Or at least, you tried to. But Henry had a way of getting under your skin, his presence coiling around your thoughts like smoke, making it impossible to concentrate. And of course, he was unbearable, correcting your phrasing, sighing pointedly whenever you said something he found lacking.

Eventually, the digs began. As they always did. Thank the lords the group wasn't present, although they found your banter amusing, often when it got too far they were the ones having to break you two up and sometimes being caught in the crossfire.  

“That’s not the primary interpretation of the myth,” Henry murmured, flipping a page, barely looking at you.

You grit your teeth. “It’s an interpretation.”

“A weak one.”

“Oh, I see. And you’re the sole arbiter of intellectual strength, is that it?”

Henry glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to.” You set your pen down with a sharp tap. “You think so.”

There was a pause. “You always assume the worst of me.”

You scoffed. “Because the worst is usually true.”

“Is that what you think?”

“I don’t think it, Henry. I know it.” You leaned forward. “You like feeling superior. It’s why you go after people the way you do, why you can’t just have a discussion, you have to dismantle. I’d almost admire it, if it weren’t so-” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Pathetic.”

For the first time that evening, his expression shifted.

And then, to your horror, he smiled.

Slowly, purposefully, he shut the book in front of him, his fingers resting lightly against the worn cover. “That’s an awfully emotional response for someone who claims not to care what I think.”

Your pulse quickened. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t have to,” he said, voice low. “You do it for me.”

There was something wrong with the air in the room. It had thickened, become charged. You suddenly felt too warm.

Henry stood, moving past you toward the bookshelf, running his fingers idly over the spines of the texts, the firelight casting sharp shadows along his jaw. “You hate me,” he mused, his back still turned. “And yet here you are.”

“Oh, please,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’s an assignment.”

He turned.

It was something in his posture, the slow way he leaned back against the shelf, arms crossed, head tilting slightly. The smirk that wasn’t quite a smirk.

“Of course,” he murmured. Something about the way he was watching you made your stomach tighten.

“Stop that,” you said, voice coming out sharper than you intended.

“Stop what?”

“Whatever this is. The-” You gestured vaguely. “You’re being weird.”

“You’re imagining things again, we’ve talked about this darling, you must stop doing that” Henry said smoothly, pushing off from the shelf. You looked forward, only hearing his steps approach you as he rounded the table to stand behind you. 

You meant to say something cutting, to brush him off, but then, his hand. Light. Barely touching the inside of your wrist as he moved to lean over you.

The contrast was startling. His words, his voice, the sharp precision of his arguments, and then, this.

It was like a game.

And worse, you were losing.

“Careful,” you murmured, echoing the warning you had given him before.

Henry, leaning so his lips were ever so close to your ear. “Am I making you nervous?”

You inhaled sharply, your eyes blinked a few times before you turned your head slightly to be eye to eye with him. You were so close it felt suffocating. “You wish.”

You suddenly pulled the chair out from under you, the back of it forcing Henry to step back. You quickly move to the middle of the room, facing him and strangely out of breath. You didn’t want the distance for a reason unbeknownst to you, but if you were that close to him anymore you were going to combust. 

He hummed, as he moved closer, boxing you in. Slowly, so you barely noticed it was happening. Until your back was nearly to the bookshelf, and Henry was in front of you, his presence filling every inch of space between you.

It wasn’t quite touching. But it was close.

“You like to think you know me,” he said, his voice lower now, almost conversational, like he was considering something carefully. His fingers skimmed the edge of your sleeve, so light you almost didn’t feel it. “But you don’t.”

You swallowed. “And you like to think you’re unknowable.”

Henry’s lips twitched, but his eyes darkened. “Maybe.”

There was something in the way he was looking at you, something electric, a live wire strung too tightly. Your pulse was an insistent, frantic thing against your ribs.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if it was a warning or an invitation.

Henry leaned in just slightly, the heat of him inches from your skin, his breath warm against your jaw.

“So are you.”

You should have left the moment you realized what he was doing. Should have made some scathing remark, put him in his place, turned on your heel and walked out. But instead, you stayed. And Henry knew it.

You could see it in the way his eyes gleamed, dark and knowing, in the small curve of his mouth that wasn’t quite a smirk but something worse, something more dangerous.

"You always run your mouth, don’t you?" His voice was quiet, almost amused, but there was something sharper beneath it, a blade hidden in silk. ��So much conviction. So much certainty.”

You exhaled sharply, trying to push past him, but he didn’t move. He only shifted, subtly, deliberately, blocking your escape with the sort of ease that made you realize he’d been planning this, had anticipated every move, every reaction. Your back pressed against the bookshelf, the sharp corners of the wood digging into your shoulder blades. Henry leaned in.

"Tell me, do you ever stop talking long enough to listen?" he murmured, and his breath was warm against your ear, a stark contrast to the razor edge of his words.

You breathed hard, threw your nose, letting your chest rise and fall. "Get out of my way, Henry."

His hand lifted, light, barely there, trailing just along the side of your throat, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin beneath your jaw.

"You don’t want that," he whispered.

You did.

You did.

But he was so close now, his body a careful, practiced cage around yours. His cologne, something dark and expensive, filled your lungs.

“I think you like this.” His voice was a murmur now, a secret only for you. "I think you like fighting with me. Like how I make you feel.”

You swallowed hard. “You’re delusional.”

Henry exhaled a quiet laugh, tipping his head slightly, close enough that you could feel his lips brush the shell of your ear.

“You know what I think?” he whispered.

You refused to answer.

“I think,” he continued, voice silken, “that you like the way I get under your skin. I think you wake up in the middle of the night replaying our arguments, rehearsing all the things you should have said." His fingers drifted lower, a ghost of a touch along the inside of your wrist. "I think it keeps you up.”

Your heart was hammering against your ribs, your breath uneven. You didn’t answer, but Henry wasn’t expecting you to. He tilted his head, considering you.

“I wonder,” he mused, his fingers slipping down to the curve of your waist, tracing over the fabric of your sweater, "if you even hate me as much as you pretend to."

Your skin burned under his touch, and you gritted your teeth, furious, at him, at yourself, at the way your body betrayed you.

“Henry,” you said, a very empty warning, hating how unsteady your voice was.

He only leaned in closer, his lips barely an inch from yours now, his breath warm, steady, unrushed.

"Why?" he murmured, his fingers tightening ever so slightly at your hip. “Afraid you’ll like it?”

Your nails dug into your palms. “You,”

Henry lifted a single brow, waiting.

You wanted to slap him or maybe you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to kick yourself for wanting both. 

His fingers trailed up your spine, slow, deliberate. He pressed in closer, his body a whisper against yours, the heat of him making your knees weak.

And then, just as you thought he might close the distance, might press his lips to yours, might finally shatter whatever had been simmering between you for months, he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, let his mouth hover just beside yours, and whispered,

“Say please.”

It was so condescending. You refused. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, wouldn’t feed his ego with whatever twisted game he was playing. You shook your head, not saying a word. 

But Henry was patient.

His lips hovered just beside yours, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath, the maddening proximity of him. His fingers traced slow, idle patterns along your waist, barely touching, just enough to make your skin prickle with awareness.

"Nothing to say?" he murmured, voice low, teasing. "For once?"

You turned your head away, jaw tight, but he only laughed, a quiet, amused sound that made something coil hot and electric in your stomach.

Then, his hand caught your chin, turning your face back toward him. Not forceful. Not rough. But firm.

His thumb traced lightly over your bottom lip, the touch so featherlight it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I could make you beg,” he said, thoughtful, almost to himself. "If I wanted to."

Your breath caught. “Go to hell.”

Henry just hummed, nodding his head as to agree with your statement. "Ladies first."

And then, he dipped his head, his lips grazing along the line of your jaw. It wasn’t a kiss. Not really. Just a brush of warmth, a suggestion, as though he was testing you. As though he wanted to see how long you could last before you cracked.

“You hate me,” he mused, his mouth ghosting over your skin. “You hate this.”

Your fingers curled against his chest, gripping the soft, expensive fabric of his sweater like you weren’t sure whether to pull him closer or push him away. His lips moved lower, the curve of your throat, the sharp line of your collarbone, never quite touching, just enough to make you want to chase the feeling. And god, you hated that.

His hand slid lower, past your waist, tracing slow, teasing lines over your hip.

"Say please," he whispered again.

You swallowed hard. “Go fuck yourself.”

Henry sighed, like you were being particularly difficult, and then, he pressed his lips just beneath your ear, the faintest scrape of teeth against sensitive skin. Your breath hitched. His hands curled against your hips, pulling you just slightly, just barely, against him. And oh, you felt it then, how hard he was, how much he was enjoying this.

The realization sent something sharp and hot spiraling through you, a dangerous kind of thrill, a rush of power tangled with frustration and something else you weren’t ready to name. Henry leaned in, pressing his body flush against yours, caging you against the bookshelf.

And then, with a voice so low it was almost a growl, he murmured,

"I think you like being told what to do."

Your breath left you in a sharp exhale. Henry tilted his head, studying you, like he was savoring your reaction.

Slowly, maddeningly, he dragged his lips down the side of your throat, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just above your pulse. And before you know it, you let your desire overcome your body, you let it consume your movements and your thoughts. Your tongue tangled with his, so eager as you pulled his shirt desperately to bring him closer. He guided your tongue into his mouth, sucking lightly before releasing you to bite your lip, toying with your mouth like he owned it. 

You hated him. You thought you had. He thought you had too but he could feel how much you loved this in your own sick and twisted way, your hips pressing against his. 

He smiles, moving his hands to grip your hips. In a quick movement, he guides you to the desk with all of your work scattered on it. He moves to stand behind you, and slowly trails down your spine with his finger tips before pushing you down to lean against the desk. Your hands slapped onto the table to catch yourself

“Henry,” you whined, trying to look over your shoulder at him. He smiled down at you while sliding up your skirt.

“Say please.” He already knew what your answer would be. He knew you couldn’t do it. Not yet.

You shook your head side to side, pressing yourself back into his hands. “You’re insufferable,” you managed, voice breathless, unsteady.

Henry exhaled a quiet laugh.

"You’re trembling."

You hated that he was right.

Hated the way your body betrayed you, the way his voice sent a pulse of heat straight through you.

He smiled, squeezing the ample flesh, then delivered a swift slap that made you gasp. “Oh darling, let’s see where this hatred will take us.” 

He slid his right hand between your legs, gliding two fingers over the damp spot on your panties. You gritted your teeth, not wanting him to be awarded the pleasure of your moans, gripping the wood of the table to keep yourself shut when he applied a little pressure, moving his hand in a slow circle. 

“Such a shame,” he said, pausing his movement. “Letting your pride get in the way of your own pleasure. It’s not as noble as you want to believe.”

“You’re a pretentious, self righteous, piece of sh-” you cut yourself off with a whine as his hand came down onto your flesh again. 

“There we are,” he murmured, and in quick movement, he pulled down your panties, letting the fabric pool around your ankles, and kicked your feet further apart, forcing you to lay your chest flush against the table. “So good for me now huh,” he purred, bringing his hand back between your legs. 

“Fuck you,” you moaned, rocking your hips against his hand.

You were already soaked, hot and slick as his middle finger swiped through your sex. He started massaging your clit, quick, light circles that had you moaning breathlessly. He moved away from your clit and eased his middle finger inside of you, curling gently as you bit your lip, nearly drawing blood. Your walls fluttered around him, sucking back against his finger when he pulled it out. You let an annoyed whine escape your lips, feeling pathetic to let it slip. 

“Say it,” he rasped, snaking a hand up your spine to grip your hair and pull your head back.

“No.” You replied through gritted teeth, and before you knew it you felt him pushing into you. He drew back a few inches before snapping his hips forward, gripping your hips as he pounded into you. 

You screamed, your whole body locking up and then losing all control of itself, collapsing harder onto the shaking table. He didn't let up, no matter how much you shook.

He was panting, the heat from the fire in the study made sweat collect around his hairline and drip down his spine. You felt as if your soul had ascended, you were reaching for the sublime. You let out loud noises from your lips, letting the pleasure drip like honey, letting him grip your hips. You didn’t want to, but you needed to. 

“Please, Henry, please.” You reached back for him, nails dragging along his forearm, and he felt himself teeter on the edge of release, his balls drawing up tight as liquid heat spread through his pelvis. 

“I knew you could do it. Just had to fuck that attitude out of you, didn’t I.” Your pussy clenched at his words, a wanton moan falling from your lips, and he smiled.

“Yes,” You moaned out, tears beginning to prick your eyes and threaten to fall onto your cheeks.

“How much do you want it?” Henry asked, almost politely, which almost made you laugh. If you didn’t feel like your body was being taken over, like pleasure was swimming through the veins of your body, making your heart pulse at a rate you didn't know was possible, you would have laughed. 

“So much, please Henry.” You were both so close, holding on to the brink of this worldly feeling. Then, it happened.

“Yes, yes, fuck!” It hit you, your whole body convulsing as it ripped through, and he was done for too. It flooded through you like golden light through cracked stained glass, something vast, something unbearable, an ecstasy so sharp it teetered on pain, leaving you trembling, hollowed out, and whole all at once. You were nothing but a vessel for it, a body undone by beauty, by longing, by the sheer ruinous joy of surrender.

Bracing his hands on the table as he came down, his hips involuntarily rocking into your greedy warmth. You, again, were trembling, completely boneless, held up entirely by the table and his hips. He leaned forward, pressing kisses into your hair. “All you needed to do was say please,” he murmured, throat tight with affection. 

“Such a jerk,” you muttered, amusement ringing through your tone so he could catch it. You chuckled before he moved his feet, letting you close your legs, and he hissed through his teeth at the new tightness around his softening cock, stealing a final thrust before slipping out of you.

The only sounds were the ragged edge of your breathing, the ticking of the antique clock on the far wall, and the faint rustle of Henry adjusting his sweater sleeves and you fixing your own clothes up.

You were slumped against the desk, fingers curled against the polished wood as if it might anchor you, keep you from unraveling entirely. Your skin was feverish, your body still humming with the aftershocks of everything that had just happened.

Henry, infuriatingly composed, leaned back against the bookshelf, watching you. His lips were pink, his hair mussed in a way that betrayed his otherwise careful exterior. 

You tilted your head and smiled slightly, biting back its full capacity. “Don’t look so smug.”

“Why not?” His voice was languid, smug, so utterly him you could’ve throttled him. “I think I’ve earned it.”

You had to force yourself not to laugh. “You-”

Shifting closer, voice a murmur. “Would you rather I pretend it didn’t happen? That you didn’t enjoy it?”

You bristled, standing so abruptly your knees nearly buckled. Henry caught your wrist before you could move away, his fingers light but firm.

"Careful," he murmured, tilting his head. "I wouldn’t want you to fall."

Your pulse leapt.

“You’re staring,” you muttered, still breathless.

“So are you.”

You scowled, pushing yourself up, reaching for your coat draped over the chair. “Well, I’m leaving.”

Henry hummed. “Why?”

You hesitated, fingers curling in the fabric. And then, just as you turned toward the door, Henry caught your wrist, not forcefully, not teasingly, just… gently. A stark contrast to everything that had just transpired between you.

“Stay.” His voice was quieter now, none of the sharp edges from earlier, none of the arrogance. Just the simple weight of the word. You swallowed, suddenly unsure.

“We hate each other,” you reminded him, but your voice lacked its usual bite.

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Do we?”

Your heart pounded. He was still holding your wrist, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your pulse. It wasn’t calculated, wasn’t another move in whatever game the two of you had been playing for years.

It was just him, just you.

“I won’t ask again,” he murmured, eyes searching yours. “If you want to go, go.”

For a second, you thought about it, thought about leaving, pretending none of this had happened, continuing as if you still couldn’t stand the sight of him.

But then, instead of pulling away, your fingers curled around his.

You exhaled, shoulders sinking. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to walk back in the cold.”

Henry’s lips twitched. “Of course.”

You rolled your eyes, but when he laced your fingers together, you didn’t let go.

[rallamajoop]

That time Heisenberg stabbed Ethan with a rusty fencepost

Thanks to this one fic project that needed a pornographically detailed list of Ethan’s most memorable injuries, I've spent some time trying to figure out exactly what Heisenberg stabs him with when they first met. Working mostly from a free-camera version from youtube, I settled on calling a metal pipe with a square profile.

Tumblr: I was wrong. The reality is so much worse.

Having cracked the game files and installed my own free-camera mod, I tracked down the original asset for this thing, and, well...

No, really, this is it! Check out those matching cross-bars if you doubt me.

FWIW, it isn’t actually a spear. Those semi-mangled crossbars flag it instead as a spear-headed fence-post. (This may not be a distinction that Ethan would find very comforting after being stabbed with the thing, but there it is, regardless.)

In fact, if you poke around the cemetery area just outside the castle gate, you can even find the fence it presumably came from.

Look in on the cemetery near the church from the lane leading up to the Duke's shop beside it, and this is what you'll see.

It's not a perfect match (in fact, it's even worse viewed from the opposite side, because someone has clearly stuffed up the textures on different sides of the same asset). I'll also note that if you go back to this fence again after meeting Heisenberg, you won’t find any suspicious gaps in it where a post was recently ripped out. So I’m going to just go ahead and assume this particular piece was lying in a pile of surplus scrap in the cellar somewhere, and Heisenberg did not, in fact, drag the thing all the way there from well outside the whole damn building. I mean, at that point, you’re just showing off.

The fence post is, admittedly, pretty hard to get a good look at in the actual game. Unlike all the other crap Heisenberg already has levitating around him in this scene, the fencepost doesn’t appear at all until Heisenberg stabs Ethan with it. It actually seems to emerge at speed from between a couple of barrels at the back. But if you’re enough of a lunatic to play around with the various slow motion/rewind settings that came with the free camera mod, you can get a decent shot of it in flight, cleaning up any remaining doubt that this is the same asset that was used in game.

It even freaking spins in the air as it moves. FTR, yes, it does go in pointy-end first. And the whole fucking spearhead ends up buried in poor Ethan. (Please feel free to insert your own dick-joke here.) Those paying really close attention might even note that the blood on Ethan's shirt is present even before the spear hits him, but that's just going to be virtual-stunt-coordination having a normal one.

I can offer you no similarly definitive insight into why Heisenberg would think stabbing Ethan with this thing was a good idea. I can’t even tell you if he knew for sure that it was Ethan Winters he was talking to at this point (maybe he's just playing dumb, pretending not to recognise him. Or maybe he legit didn't know that Ethan himself had made an appearance until Miranda told him. Sure, he's already got that whole conspiracy board, but finding real pictures of this Ethan-guy is surprisingly hard.) But whether Heis was already testing out Ethan’s ‘interesting body’, or whether he’d just generally assumed that anyone who could survive a full lycan assault on the village wouldn’t be too seriously inconvenienced by a little stabbing, hoo boy was this one way to make a first impression.

I’m not even sure which of these losers is the bigger idiot here: the one who imagined Ethan might still agree to work with him even after inserting a very convincing imitation-spearhead into his intestines, or the one who never thought to seriously question how he keeps shrugging off injuries just as exciting as this one.

They probably deserve each other.

[yahumankdj]

LaDs Flower Analysis

Because I am such a loser when it comes to flower meanings and symbolism and feel the need to apply it to everything I write and look into it with obscene detail.

This isn't a flower analysis on flowers that represent them, but the ones I could see in game and wanted to talk about how they represent them~ This is mostly my interpretation and research - feel free to correct me ehehe...

(Finished writing, phew, this is PACKED with angst, sorry gang + SPOILERS FOR THE BOYS’ MYTHS.)

Xavier - Forget-Me-Nots

Alright, firstly my favourite eepy boy, and his is pretty self-explanatory, but obviously I will use any excuse to talk about him. Simply, they mean 'don't forget me' or 'I will never forget you', and in the context of Xavier's myth that is so devastating for me... He's seen so much, his existence has been one linear timeline of memories and a shattered sense of identity, it's ironic in a sense. He wishes for MC to remember him, but does that 'him' even exist anymore? That thought probably runs through his head every moment.

Another meaning is humility. Xavier has grown into a person who is willing to put his needs second to MC's, he would do everything to protect her. It might seem like modesty when he doesn't talk about his own abilities but I wonder if it's because he truly doesn't see them as anything worth mentioning... Simply something necessary. This goes hand in hand with the meaning of resilience, with how much he's survived and lived through over the years crafting his mild personality. He's used to surviving. Living without much meaning, besides doing what is necessary to see the girl he loves.

You think I'm done hurting you yet? They're also commonly used to represent soldiers lost at war. (Like Xavier's sense of identity. Crying yet?)

They also represent faithfulness and loyalty. Oh Xavier my quiet loverboy, I love you so much it hurts.

Rafayel - Red Spider Lillies

You really can't think of Rafayel without mentioning love and tragedy. Across East Asia, the meanings kind of differ. In Japan, it's commonly a sign of death, love, loss and how fleeting life is in the grand scheme of things. Considering how Rafayel obviously isn't human and has a long life time, this is pretty representative of all the suffering he's gone through. One phrase I saw while researching stood out to me, 'the beauty that can be found in decay'. If that isn't the most Rafayel thing I've seen, I must hate flowers. Rafayel has caused so much death, so much chaos in pursuit of true love, he probably weighs the consequences in his head everyday. True love at the cost of sacrifice upon sacrifice, hurt upon hurt. His centuries of pain eventually lead to his true love. His happiness.

Red Spider Lillies are a poisonous, toxic flower that represents so much love and beauty it hurts. How fitting.

The positive side here is that they can represent new beginnings. Rafayel coming clean to MC about the past and finally letting go of the agony and regret is the only way for the true beauty of his love to grow from the decay of his homeland.

Caleb - Crabapple Flowers

CALEB MY SHAYLA, off the bat they literally symbolise enduring affection and love. Ugh. Just kill me why don’t you. They have the general message of new beginnings, however the fruit of the flower is so enduring it can ladt through the hardship of winter to enjoy spring and blossom. I could make a better metaphor for Caleb’s situation if I tried.

Particularly Chinese crabapple flowers are intrinsically linked to marriage and romance, leading to peace and a long life… Which Caleb better have after exploding so much bloody times. Just like crabapple flowers, Caleb has so much love for MC in him that it endured through countless unimaginable hardships, despite it hurting him, like how winter kills flowers, yet he persevered.

Also, not to like encourage the Caleb smut writers or anything but uh, crabapples are a major symbol of major fertility and reproduction. Do what you will with this knowledge.

Sylus - Daturas

This is the red flower seen in his dragon myth card, although they took some extreme creative liberties with it - it looks more like red Lillies than anything. Daturas are what they actually are, and how fitting they are, being known as the ‘Devil’s Trumpet’. While Sylus’ whole demon imagery, it’s fitting.

The datura flower deals with themes of beauty and death. It’s extremely poisonous to the point of being deadly, but you can’t help but admire its pure beauty. It reminds me of Sylus because most judge him from what they’ve heard about him (like how we hear the flower is poisonous before even seeing it). However, when you get to know him, it’s clear his love is as pure and adoring as the innocent beauty of the flower.

The flower also has effects of delirium and hallucinations, usually used in rituals to symbolise transformation. This screams Sylus’ childhood, how he discovered his own identity and was hated for it.

On a cool note here, they’re an infamous flower, playing major roles in culture and religion - particularly Hinduism (we see you polyglot culture lover Sylus) and is a symbol of power. Something to be taken caution to. It’s a perfect representation of him, something terrifying, holding power to dominate, yet if you ignore those aspects there’s a beautiful pure love underneath.

Zayne - White Jasmines

Our K-drama male lead Zayne has the most positive flower here. He honestly deserves it, he deserves all the happiness tbh, poor guy. After timelines of suffering having a flower that has no negative connotations is the least he deserves.

Jasmines, generally, are a symbol of love, purity and romance with a new couple. White jasmines in particular put emphasis on new love between a couple, and the purity of the romance. As well as new beginnings, which we all know Zayne has had too many of those across his lives. It’s a giant indicator of peace as well, used to celebrate a new chapter in love. Considering all of Zayne’s suffering, the innocent love of white jasmines is the least he deserves.

It’s quite straightforward in regard to this flower, I hope this is representative that Zayne will find happiness with MC in this timeline… They deserve best :(

[afurtivecake]

I didn't really care much for Jean when I read the original trilogy the first time because I, like Neil, was very much just cycling the thoughts, "But what about the rest of the season's games?" and "what's the deal the with Andrew?" Reading TRK the second time after reading TSC, I just want to pat Jean on the head.

It's so endearing to see that Jean has always been obvious as fuck when he's attracted to someone. No chill whatsoever. It's more obvious in TSC when he just freezes and his brain empties of all coherent thought. (like when he interrupts his own angry tirade to simply comment "Blond" at the sight of Jeremy). I hadn't noticed that he just forgets to keep shaking Andrew's hand in an intimidating fashion at the sight of Renee.

It's a bit confusing here what exactly Neil noticed about Riko but with TSC knowledge, it's clear that Neil noticed Riko noticing Jean's reaction to Renee because he's been so focused on keeping an eye on Riko. And it implies that Jean realized as quickly as Neil that Riko had seen him looking. In TSC, Jean can't stop himself from looking, but he's also mortally afraid of being seen looking. There's a line in TSC: "Jean knew better than to look at another man too long. He'd learned that lesson the hard way and would not survive a repeat". So he's definitely gotten into trouble for being caught looking before and this exchange in TRK suggests that the person who gave him trouble for it was Riko.

(I mean, my theory has always been that the reason Riko set the backliners on him as torment is that he caught Jean checking out Kevin in that obvious way of his and didn't like it. Why else would Riko not tell Kevin the whole truth about that incident?)

And then this bit at the winter banquet when Riko orders Jean to take Kevin and go? The line that he "held onto Kevin like his life depended on it" takes on a different tone because it's not that Jean's worried Kevin will go charging back unwisely; Jean's just scared. And holding onto Kevin like his life depends on it is not a bad summary of their entire relationship.

Like you know that Frenchman must have really SUFFERED because even Neil, who can't bother to give a shit about the majority of everyone he meets, can't help noticing how jumpy Jean is.

[quarterlifekitty]

I'm making this its own post bc these are some long asks! No need to apologize tho I love when you people get crazy

Yellowjackets Spoilers ahead

I think in this scenario, while not quite at the same level, reader has been institutionalized in the past like Lottie. It's why they're able to offer so much emotional support to the guys-- think of it like secondhand therapy.

They're also adults-- college aged, at least (I wanted to make them a bit more culpable).

I think you're right that Kyle is excited at the possibility of rescue, but, he worries that those aren't his true feelings. That he's cramming himself in that mold because he thinks that's how he's supposed to feel. In reality, he's not entirely sure he wants to go back. Back to a school and a major his parents picked for him, a whole life planned to a T.

Simon isn't stupid. He knows he's changed. They all have. In his mind, they don't belong in society anymore. What does he have to go back to? He doesn't have any family that cares. School was just a means to pass time-- everyone knows he isn't really going to make it anywhere. He'll be stuck in the same town he was born forever, living in the shadows of his father's abuse. Out here, he's someone important. He can make his own way. He's strong in a way that matters. He has to be incapacitated to be taken out of the wilderness. He stops at nothing to try to keep you all there.

Soap looks to you to make the right choice-- for everyone. He'll follow you to the ends of the earth. He doesn't remember a time before you anymore. Price, much the same, will follow his team. Simple as that.

However-- Price and Nikolai do concern themselves with getting stories straight and cleaning up evidence. They're aware that there's a price to going home-- they will have to fight tooth and nail for privacy, every single action and item accounted for and under public scrutiny. They're determined-- if you do want to go home, they will make sure that you can live a normal life.

Similarly to Mari and Van, while they were once devoted in this new belief system, it was really just a coping mechanism for Ale and Rudy. It was a story to immerse themselves in. Once the possibility of going back to society is presented, they snap out of it entirely because they never truly believed, deep down. They just want to go home.

You want to go home because you can see how sick everyone has become. That you cannot support them all. That you cannot survive another winter while remaining whole. You love them, but you also miss when they were happy. When they loved each other.

Some people say that Lottie made Shauna the leader as a way to spare Natalie's life. I can see reader doing something similar-- promoting Ghost when he's outraged over Price committing an act of mercy against the group's wishes. The captain of their team that he once trusted more than his own flesh and blood.

When you do get back, Soap uses his body to get between you and any reporters. He snarls. He's far and away the most devastated when you all get separated from each other for treatment, physical and psychological. You don't all go back to school. Graves, Gaz, and Alejandro all finish their studies at their own paces. Price and Nikolai do so much much later. Soap can't fathom going back to his chemistry major or whatever the fuck. Rudy abandons higher education to go into trades-- he needs something to do that will keep his hands and mind busy. Simon stays in treatment for much longer than anyone else.

After the return, and after a lengthy term of in patient psychiatric treatment, you can't bear to go back to your old life. Not because you grew too accustomed to the woods, but because you're horrified by the things you led those men to do. The lives that ended because they wanted to protect you, to keep you fed. You survived, but the cost is too great for you to confront. You think the best thing you can do for them now is... disappear. They might just have a chance at something normal, of having real lives, if you leave them be. So with a new name, hair cut and dyed, face mask and sunglasses, you go far away and don't tell anyone where you're going.

Which doesn't fly for many of them. Ale, Rudy, Graves, and Gaz are content to leave you be-- you went through a lot. If you don't want to be found, that should be respected. Nikolai and Price are content to do their own investigating quietly-- to speak privately with you when they find out where you've gone, because you can't hide from them.

Soap and Ghost aren't content with that. They'll drag you back in their jaws if they have to. The team needs to stay together.

And, well. Imagine just how much worse it would be if any of them found out that they really did manage to knock you up out there.

[fandomsimagined]

Don't Go Dark - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Title: Don't Go Dark

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Female!Reader

Summary: Kaz Brekker realizes that he has feelings for his healer.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: What you could expect from Six of Crows

A/N: This is my first time writing for Kaz, so if it's out of character, I apologize. I kind of gave up and phoned it in at the end so if you can tell, I'm sorry. Very loosely inspired by the song Don't Go Dark by Bleachers.

For most of his life, Kaz Brekker called the Barrel home–despite the fact that there was really nothing homey about it–and there was one thing that he knew for certain about the dreadful place: that it always had a tendency to contort even the purest of things into something nasty. No one was good-natured for the sake of it. If someone was kind, it was usually a ploy, as he very well knew. That was one of his first lessons in survival. Love was a weakness that oftentimes had disastrous consequences. The only thing to come from the Barrel was carnage. The currency was blood, and he’d paid his share and then some with his own, and with others. Only the most ruthless and ungodly people prospered, and prosper he did. 

Believe it or not, he did remember the short life he had before the Barrel. He remembered his father and their farm, and he remembered after his father died when Jordie sold the farm with the promise that they would find fortune in Ketterdam. That was when he’d learned the most valuable lesson that there was to learn. That the only person he could truly count on was himself. To love nothing and trust no one. If he loved nothing, then there was nothing to be used against him. Nothing that anyone could take from him. It got lonely, but it had kept him alive for this long, a feat not many accomplished, so that was how he lived. 

She was different. She didn’t live under the same guise of violence as the rest of Ketterdam. She didn’t have the same mentality: that things can always–and most likely will–get worse. She didn’t hold grudges. Not like Kaz did. Kaz was fueled by vengeance and spite. He took whatever was thrown at him in stride with the knowledge that he would find vindication by dealing a much harsher punishment. 

The winter chill bit to the bone, an unfortunate truth for Kaz especially, whose bones were already not in well-working order. His limp was more pronounced as he made his way to his office (formerly Haskell’s). The Dregs were still bustling about, doing Saints knows what, but none would bother him. It was late, the state of his face was less pristine than when he’d left, and his permanent scowl was even more noticeable than usual. No, they would leave him be.

The meeting with the Razorgulls had gone as well as he’d expected, which was not well at all. They weren’t too happy to see him, still holding a grudge over Pekka Rollins’ quite unfortunate downfall. They’d landed a couple of punches, but he always had the upper hand, and they were smart enough when it was over to abandon Fifth Harbor entirely.

His office door was slightly ajar, something that didn’t bode well. He knew that the healer would be waiting for him, but she was never so careless to leave the door open, as there were quite a few documents and collectibles that he preferred to keep away from the other Dregs. 

He pushed the rickety door open and immediately he could feel that something was off. She was sitting in the extra wooden chair that he kept there (mostly for her and Jesper since he rarely gave anyone else the privilege to stay in his office for long periods). He sat in his desk chair, his gloved fingers thumbing through the papers that he’d left. Nothing important, just something to keep him occupied. 

Kaz Brekker noticed everything; meaning that Kaz Brekker noticed her trembling hands, though she tried to disguise it by keeping them folded in her lap. He noticed her red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks that she’d tried to hide, and he noticed that she was jumpier than usual. Something had happened, that much was obvious, but he wouldn’t push. If she wanted to talk, she would, otherwise, it was none of his concern. Though, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anger at the mere idea of anything happening to her.

“Again? Kaz, you really should be more careful.” It was no surprise that she was born a healer. It was quite literally in her nature to be caring. She was born to fix things. 

“Why? If I were to die tomorrow, all of Ketterdam would breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe even cheers to the occasion,” Kaz scoffed. It sounded grim, but it meant that he was good at what he did, so he saw it as an honor of sorts. He was in control.

“I wouldn’t.” She frowned. She moved to stand above him, getting leverage so she could properly heal his face. Her lips were pursed in concentration as her fingers hovered over a gash on his cheek. It was a strange feeling. It was like he could feel the skin stitching back together as she worked. It was like an itch. “I quite like having you around.”

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” Kaz raised his eyebrows, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “What are you getting at? A raise?” 

“Oh please, why would I even bother trying to flatter you?” She rolled her eyes. “Not when I know all I have to do is compliment Jesper’s hat, give him a few kruge to gamble away, and he’ll talk you into whatever I want.”

“And here I thought that you were too soft for the Barrel.” Kaz smirked. 

“I’m serious, what are you going to do if I’m not around to fix you up?” 

He thought about the statement carefully. The implication of the words. That was the confirmation he needed to push for further information. She’d opened the door. “Are you planning on going somewhere?” Maybe that’s why she was acting so strange. She seemed like the type to get all weepy about leaving. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea himself. It would be harrowing work trying to find a new healer. Especially a trustworthy one, but he wouldn’t stop her if that’s what she wanted. He just wouldn’t pretend to be happy about either.

“No!” She exclaimed quickly. “No, of course not.” Her quick response and furrowed brow were a relief. She wasn’t planning on leaving him. Not yet, anyway. 

“Well, if you’re not planning on leaving, then I suppose I don’t have to worry about it then, do I?” Kaz spoke bluntly, though he supposed if she listened close enough, she would hear the twinge of satisfaction hidden beneath. It was selfish. Ketterdam was a grim place, but he didn’t want her to leave. She made it a little less grim. 

Her fingers moved eloquently, drifting over his broken nose, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her palm. It did him well not to think about how close she was to him. It would probably send him into fight-or-flight mode if he did. 

He winced as he felt the bone setting back into place. It was nothing that hadn’t happened before, though he wasn’t sure that he would ever get used to the damn itch that plagued the area as she was working her magic. That wasn’t what bothered him, though. What bothered him was that she hadn’t spoken again, something that was quite unlike her. Normally she would be scolding him or telling him all about whatever had happened at the Crow Club that afternoon. No, she hadn’t spoken and she hadn’t provided any elaboration to her previous statement. 

“Is everything alright?” He pressed further. If it was anyone else, he would’ve left it be. A problem for another day, but this wasn’t anyone else. 

“No… I mean…” She started and paused, turning to face the wall to her side as if avoiding looking at him. He was relieved that she wasn’t planning on leaving the Dregs just yet, but there was something bothering her and he couldn’t deny being slightly concerned about what it was. Had something happened at the club while he was gone? Surely one of the others downstairs would have mentioned something to him when he walked in if it had. But, there was no way to be sure. 

She turned back to face him, taking a shaky breath as if trying to figure out what to say. “This afternoon while I was on my way to the club, a man grabbed me. Put a knife to my throat and said that if I didn’t give him all of my kruge, then he would slit my throat, watch me bleed out, and then take it all anyways. It wasn’t even much, just seventeen, but he was willing to kill me for it.” He clenched his jaw as she recounted the story. He wouldn’t interrupt, but he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t already plotting on what he would do when he found the bastard. She reached up to fiddle with the necklace chain that she always wore, but it was missing. He’d taken her locket too.

“I was sure he would kill me even if I gave it to him, I saw his face for Saints’ sake, but I just… It made me think about if something had happened to me, then who would be here to make sure that you didn’t get yourself killed? I mean, you’ve almost done it several times with me here and I’m one of the best healers in Kerch, not to pat myself on the back or anything…” She was one of the best healers in Kerch. That was why he’d recruited her in the first place, and that was why she was under his protection. Though, he thought that she might’ve been exaggerating. He was pretty sure, he only almost died twice, and only once was his fault. 

“Who was it?” Kaz said through gritted teeth. It was unlikely that it was anyone from a rival gang. It wasn’t a secret that she was associated with the Dregs and they weren’t stupid. Pulling a stunt like that would start a war, especially since it was in Fifth Harbor. That was his territory. No, the only one that bold would be the Dime Lions, but they would’ve killed her to send a message. This was probably some random person off of the street if he had to guess. Looking for a quick buck, so they thought why not steal it? What they didn’t know was that they’d stolen it from the wrong woman. 

“Kaz-”

“Who was it?” He repeated. 

“It doesn’t matter. The point is, that I might not be here next time you decide to go and get yourself all bloodied up, and what if it’s more serious next time?” He didn’t like the way that she was talking so casually about the prospect of dying. Like it was inevitable, and she was making her final arrangements before she went. 

“Listen to me carefully. Nothing’s going to happen to you because I won’t let it.” It was a statement not a question. He would make sure to get the message across that not only was she associated with the Dregs, but she was under the protection of Dirtyhands himself, and he would make sure to send a very clear warning as to what would happen should anyone get the bright idea to lay a finger on his crew again. 

“You’re not always going to be there to protect me, Kaz. We all know it’s only a matter of time. People like me don’t make it very long  here. I’m not strong, or smart, or resourceful enough…” Her eyes were glassy, trying to hold back the tears that were forming in her eyes. He was confused. None of those things could have been farther from the truth. She may have been soft, sure, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t smart or strong. She had to be strong to have put up with him for so long. He wasn’t known to be the most facile person in the world. 

“Nothing is going to happen to you.” Kaz’s voice was gravelly. It was rough. In fact, he’d often heard it described as the voice of a demon, or the devil himself. There was nothing soothing about it, yet he saw her shoulders slump in what seemed to be relief. That even though the Saints had never looked out for her, he would. 

She didn’t say anything else. Neither did he. That was that. There was nothing left to be said. He didn’t make promises that he didn’t intend to keep. He lied, he stole, he killed, but he didn’t break his promises. And there wasn’t a promise that he ever intended to keep more than that one. 

She silently worked on mending the split on his cheek. The Razorgulls had gotten a couple of good shots in. More than he thought, and he was starting to feel it, though he wouldn’t for long. 

“Stay at the Slat tonight.” He finally broke the silence. She didn’t live far, but clearly she wasn’t safe and he couldn’t have that.

“What?” She shot him a puzzled look. It was seemingly out of the blue, and he didn’t exactly give much room for any discussion. 

“I want you to stay at the Slat tonight. It’s late, you shouldn’t walk home in the dark.” 

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

Kaz perused the selection at Alwynn’s pawn shop. When he’d noticed that her necklace had been stolen, he knew that it had probably ended up in a pawn shop somewhere. No one stole jewelry off of ladies on the street to wear. No, clearly he needed money. 

He’d expected to have to go to more than one shop to find any relevant information, but no. It was almost too easy. He’d spotted the necklace on a display in  the front of the store. He recognized it immediately. The dainty gold chain could’ve easily been confused, but the locket that dangled from it, couldn’t be. 

“Mr. Brekker, I didn’t think of you as the jewelry type,” Alwynn gave a short laugh. 

“Well, Alwynn, there are quite a few things you don’t know about me.” 

“That, I’m sure of.”

“How much did you buy it for?” Kaz inquired.

“Bought it for twenty-five. Selling it for forty-two.” Kaz wasn’t surprised. Alwynn had always been a crook. 

“Who brought it in?” 

“I’m afraid I can’t say. Merchant-client privilege, I’m sure you understand.” Alwynn appeared nervous now. Good.

“I’ll pay double the price.”

Alwynn thought for a moment. “His name’s Griffin. He came in yesterday afternoon. He’s been staying in the alley beside Burke’s.” 

“Thank you, Alwynn. It’s been a pleasure as always.” He was well aware that he probably could’ve stolen the necklace or threatened him without spending the kruge, but he decided to, for once, pick his battles. He slid over the proper amount of kruge before making his way to the door.

Kaz found Griffin exactly where Alwynn said he would be.He’d clearly been staying there, the pile of rags on the ground and empty bottles were scattered beside them. He almost felt sorry for him. He almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Kaz approached Griffin, making his presence known. The man, probably around twenty or so, must have been at least a little intelligent, because his expression was a mixture of fear and confusion. 

“Good evening Griffin,” Kaz crooned. “You know, I heard from a close source of mine that you met a lady around this area yesterday afternoon.” 

“I meet a lot of ladies around here.” Griffin scoffed.

“Well, this particular lady said that you threatened her. Stole her money and a necklace. Surely you would remember that. Unless, you make a habit out of stealing from women. Do you?”

“What?” 

“Do you only target women to  pay for your alcohol addiction, or was this particular lady just a special case?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sputtered. 

“How much did you take?” Kaz growled, ignoring the obvious lie that had escaped from his mouth. He didn’t need an answer. He already knew. 17 kruge and her necklace (which he’d gotten thirty-five for at the shop), but he wanted to hear him admit it. 

“I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Even if Kaz didn’t already know he was lying, it wouldn’t have been hard to tell. The sweat beading at his forehead, the way his eyes darted, the fact that he had around fifty-two kruge worth of bottles at his feet. It was too easy. 

“This wouldn’t happen to jog your memory would it?” Kaz held the chain out. Griffin’s face went pale. It was as if all of the color had simply vanished. “So, I’ll ask again: how much did you take?” 

“Not a lot, just seventeen kruge, and I’ll-”

“You’ll pay it back. In fact, you’re going to pay back the seventeen that you stole, the eighty-four I had to pay to buy the necklace back from the crook you sold it to, and an extra thirty kruge for making me get out in this dreadful cold to track down you and this necklace.” Kaz felt it to be a fair trade. For him at least. 

“I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Well, I suggest that you find it before the week is out. Paid in full, and after that, I don’t want to see you back in Fifth Harbor again, and if I do, I’ll make sure that you end up at the bottom of the Harbor.” He turned to walk back towards the street, but he turned back before he got there. He swung his cane, hard, at Griffin’s right hand–his dominant one–earning a howl of pain. “Next time you decide to steal jewelry from a woman on the street, I would suggest selling it to a shop that’s not only a few feet away from where you’re staying.” 

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

“What’s this?” She looked puzzled at the pouch of kruge that he’d dropped on the table in front of her. Kaz didn’t answer, and realization flooded over her face. “Kaz…” she gave him a stern look. “You didn’t kill him, did you? I would feel really guilty if you killed him.”

“Relax, I didn’t kill him.” Kaz scowled. “But, he won’t be bothering you or anyone else around Fifth Harbor anymore.”

“That really makes it sound like you killed him…”

“I did not kill him. I simply reminded him that it’s not very polite to threaten women.” Kaz rolled his eyes. “Besides, if I’d killed him, I wouldn’t have gotten this back, would I?” He draped the gold chain over his gloved fingers. It was beside the point that he’d found the necklace before he’d found Griffin, and that he could’ve easily gotten it back had he killed him. She didn’t need to know that. 

“You got my locket back?” She gasped in disbelief. She took the chain, eyes wide. “How? Wait…” she paused. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“I’ll have you know that you’re missing out on quite the lovely story, then,” Kaz teased. 

“I’m sure. I think it’ll be far lovelier if I never find out, though.” She chuckled. “Because something tells me it involved some of your more extreme measures.”

“Not extreme enough if you ask me. He got to keep all of his fingers. You know if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you’re making me soft.”

“Thank you.” She offered him a gracious smile. 

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

Kaz had never been one to fear others. He was fairly confident in his ability to fight his way out of a skirmish, should one come up, so why would he? He’d fought off far more men than the three in front of him on his own. What could he have to fear?

He had never been afraid, but all it took was a few goddamn words and his blood turned to ice. “It would be a shame if something were to happen to that healer of yours, wouldn’t it?” A threat. A barely subtle attempt at one. In any other case, he probably would’ve laughed it off. Come up with some witty response. He didn’t have it in him. What if it wasn’t a bluff?

“If you touch her, I swear to you, I’ll gut you,” Kaz snarled. It wasn’t the smartest move. Now, there was no doubt that he cared. That they could use her against him. 

“The Bastard of the Barrel does have a heart, eh?” Rowell sneered. His last encounter with the Razorgulls hadn’t ended as smoothly as he’d hoped. They’d gone searching on him. Trying to find–well he supposed they did–find leverage. They’d finally found Kaz Brekker’s weakness. 

The words echoed through Kaz’s head. “Rowell, if you touch her, I can always pay a visit to Broad Street. I seem to recall that’s where your wife and daughter are? If I find out any of your men touched my healer, I’ll put a bullet in their heads myself.” He was good for it. Rowell knew it. He had never been above killing, and that was when he didn’t have something to lose. 

Rowell’s face contorted in alarm. Kaz knew where his family was. Kaz had just as much leverage as he did. The only difference was Kaz was far more ruthless than Rowell ever imagined. 

“You may think you’ve found my weakness, Rowell, and maybe you have, but you should know by now that I don’t respond well to threats. If you’re going to do something, do it. Otherwise don’t waste my time and your breath just telling me about it.” With that, Kaz began his trek back to the Slat. For the first time in quite a long time, he was scared. They could very well call his bluff. By this point, Rowell could have already gotten to her by now. He’d spent so much of his time focusing on protecting her from the Barrel, that he’d forgotten that association with Kaz Brekker was the biggest threat of all. 

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

It had been weeks since Rowell’s threat. He hadn’t taken it lightly. He didn’t think Rowell was brave enough to do anything, but if he’d noticed, it was only a matter of time before others would too, if they hadn’t already. 

He’d decided to keep his distance. That was the only way he knew how to keep her safe. Kaz Brekker was the most feared man in the Barrel because he had nothing to lose. If it came out that he did in fact care for anything… well he had a lot of enemies that would waste no time doing everything in their power to take it from him. 

He’d been avoiding her altogether. She was hurt. He knew that. It was better for her to be hurt than dead. 

He was making his way up the stairs to his study, ready to shut himself for the night to plan for the upcoming job he’d secured. It was nothing big, probably him, Jesper, and a couple of the newer recruits for the Dregs. Test their loyalty before anything major. 

He saw her near the bar talking to Jesper, laughing at something he’d said. He swiftly turned away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Xavier (ironically one of the new recruits he was planning to take) grab at her waist. He was quite intoxicated, slurring a remark that he couldn’t hear, but was almost certainly derogatory. She politely pushed him aside, muttering a soft ‘no thank you’, but Xavier wasn’t taking no for an answer. 

Kaz didn’t even have time to think, really. He didn’t have to think. It was instinct. He ignored the pain in his leg and crossed the room. He’d never been the biggest fan of Xavier, so he didn’t feel too guilty about the punch that landed on the boy’s jaw. His knuckles throbbed from the contact, but he ignored it. When Xavier offered to try and return the blow, Kaz dodged the jab and cracked his cane over his back. 

“This is a respectable establishment, and that means when a woman says ‘no’ that’s the end of the discussion.” 

Kaz avoided her gaze, and made his way up to his study, but he was followed. 

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Kaz muttered, sitting in his chair, finally resting his leg. 

“You’ve spent weeks acting like I don’t exist, and now you’re getting in bar fights to defend me? And what? You’re just going to go back to ignoring me?” She was hardly a confrontational person, so Kaz knew that she was angry by the sudden outburst. “I don’t get it. What did I do to make you decide that you hate me?” 

Surely she didn’t really believe that he hated her. “I don’t hate you.” He still didn’t look up. 

“So, what is it then?” She was blinking back tears. He felt guilty, a feeling that he didn’t even know he was capable of. 

“You seriously don’t get it?”

“No, I don’t get it!” She shouted. 

“I care about you!” He blurted. “Far more than I should.” His confession earned a scoff. “You don’t believe me?”

She raised her eyebrows. “No, I don’t believe you. Why would I?”

“Why? What would I possibly have to gain from lying to you about that?”

“I don’t know, but I never know anything with you!” 

“Fine, if you don’t believe me, then go. If you think I’m lying then why are you still here?” He didn’t believe that she didn’t believe him. She wasn’t stupid. He knew she wasn’t. 

“I just want to know why! Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I already told you the truth, so what do you want from me?” Kaz suddenly felt defensive. “I care about you, and people noticed. Rowell threatened you straight to my face, and I realized that if people thought that you meant anything to me, then they’d come after you. They’d kill you to get to me, and that can’t happen.” 

“So, it was that easy then? You got scared that someone was going to come after me so you decided to just stop caring? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“That is not what I said. What I said was that if they thought that you were important to me, they would come for you. I never said that meant I stopped caring.” Kaz huffed. “This is the only way that I can be sure you’re safe.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I have a stake in this too?” She was letting the tears fall freely now. “I don’t care who comes after me.”

“I can’t lose you.” Kaz shook his head. 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I can’t guarantee that people won’t come for you. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I haven’t exactly made a good reputation my priority.” Kaz attempted a joke, but really it served more as a warning. A glimpse into what being close to him would entail, which would mean always looking over your shoulder. 

“Believe it or not, I have actually caught on to that part…” She let out a soft chuckle. 

He reached up, brushing a stray piece of hair out of her face. He took the opportunity to rest his gloved hand on her cheek. He felt his body tense. His hand fell. Flashes of the nightmare that he’d endured. Jordie’s cold grey skin. The smell of waterlogged rotten flesh. It was as if he was back in the harbor. Surrounded by nothing but death and decay. 

She seemed to notice his ordeal. Concern flashed through her eyes. “Are you feeling alright, Kaz?” He’d never told her about his brother. He’d never told anyone, really. As far as he was concerned, Kaz Rietveld had died in that harbor, but that wasn’t all true. If it had, he wouldn’t be damn near hyperventilating because he’d touched her. It was stupid. He was stupid. He couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. She probably thought he’d lost his mind.

“I think you need to rest,” she suggested. “I’ll run downstairs and grab you some water, I’ll be right-” 

“No.” His voice came out hoarse. 

“Kaz, you look like you’re about to pass out, I think you should drink something.” 

“I want you to stay.” He sounded needy like a child and he hated it, but he also meant every word. “Please stay.” He grabbed her hand. Only this time, it was easier. He wasn’t thinking about death and despair. He wasn’t thinking about Jordie. He was thinking about her. 

[kick-a-long]

i find it so desperately sad that goyim generally would be so much less antisemitic if jews started physically fighting back with guns or sticks in every country. calling for the murder of muslims all over the world, if the jewish population was big enough to have large scary groups of crazy fringe fundamentalist synagogues all over the world, a billion strong, that preached murder and hate so goyim could look down on jews like some noble savage in need of assistance and western education and protection. so we could be reformed in obvious patronizing ways because there were so many of us that we had militant violent fringe extremists, like christians and muslims have, mixed in with the normal jews.

if jews didn't have such a reputation for success and intelligence maybe conspiracy theories would stop blaming us for controlling the world. if we felt less in danger maybe we wouldn't be so obsessed with long term survival.

is antisemitism some warped form of envy? maybe. what sucks is that jews are no better or worse than anyone else. some jews are brutes and some are the most wonderful people imaginable, just like any other group. what sucks is we don't all live up to the reputation of tactical geniuses and wizards with mind control magic. all of us jews are just tired and abused humans who have lived with 2000+ years of generational trauma and the endless fall out from a popular jewish book written 3000+ years ago describing the best practices of jewish culture. It has some great stories, histories, life advice, diet recommendations, hygiene, and rules about how to treat others.

is that such a crime?

trying to show a path forward? not demanding anyone else follow those rules but wanting to do our best to follow them anyway? how to live a good life that makes the world better and makes you proud to have been on earth for the time you were there? jews fail to do this all the time, just like everyone else. I fail all the time. why are people so obsessed with that? people say shylock is a stereotyped antisemitic character but,

"I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction."

so why do jews always have to be the better man? why do we have to apologize for being angry and sad and hating the people that attack us? that was written by Shakespeare, a christian in the 1600s who who had probably never met a jew, they were expelled from england, but imagined us as money lenders, the only profession left to jews at that time. even he saw the double standard. it makes a good point.

now, i don't want vengeance, i don't want violence, but i feel vengeful. i feel angry that i am unsafe because of play actors and terrorist supporters who want revenge for jews existing but scream bloody murder when jews refuse to dig their own graves, beg forgiveness for ever being born, and lay down in them to be mocked and pissed on and abused in the worst ways imaginable for the entertainment and conquest of it. i want peace with them. they are as human as i am, full of foibles and anger. i want nothing to do with them. i want them to never come near a jew again for the rest of time.

i am sad. all i want is to feel my feelings and advocate for what is the most ethical and practical work around to a world filled with unending suffering while i am still alive. i want them on thier side to live in the world they want and me on my side to live in the world i want. why don't these children of all ages, lost in delusions of fantastical battles and ultimate good and evil, see that? why can't I be a human first as well as a jew first? why do they ask me to pick? why am i not allowed to pick?

it's been almost a year. we're all so tired.

I'm going to a music festival. I'm trying to decide whether to wear a star. why is it dangerous to wear a star around my neck?

[sapphoherselz]

howdy!! two literal people have asked for some andreil rec so here they are!! my most favest fics EVER in the first 60 ao3 pages (I'll keep updating tho as I read!)

Not yours to bleed:

The Pros were never in the cards. Not for an ex-medicated alleged psychotic with a dysfunctional family and an Exy career he’d rather not have. But even if it wasn't his first choice, no matter what happens, it can’t possibly be worse than that one fucked up sophomore year when he stood toe to toe with the Yakuza-and won.

At least, that’s what Andrew thinks until a familiar face shows up.

Another Raven!Neil AU. Or, the one where the boys don’t meet until the Pros.

 

**Updates every other Wednesday, whatever hell may come.**

The Sun Still Rises:

Somewhere on the road, Mary Hatford gets pregnant with her second child. When she passes, she leaves behind not only Neil, but his toddler brother. Survival is difficult without also raising a kid. Worn out and desperate, Neil still somehow ends up at Palmetto, only this time, he brings his four-year-old brother with him.

TALE OF A MARTYR IN XII PARTS:

Neil closes his eyes and counts the things that he knows:

One: Death has a name.

Two: He has met Death before. Several times, in fact.

Three: Someone is trying to kill him. Permanently. But it's only kind of working.

Or, the one in which Andrew is the Grim Reaper, Neil is very, very good at dying, over and over and over again. They teach each other a few things over the centuries.

Hearthlines:

The Fae king and queens have gone away, closing the knowes behind them and abandoning their offspring to the mortal world. As the Fae have spread far and wide, their bloodlines thinning if not vanishing forever as they flee from mortal persecution... two Fae have found a way to reopen the knowes - Kayleigh Day and Tetsuji Moriyama. The Fae regroup once more, the balance of power shifted amongst them, and 'changelings' appear now and then in the mortal population.

Andrew Doe is one of those changelings, a young child suffering in the foster system, shunned by his peers for some reason and hearing voices in his head.

Alex - the latest name gifted to him by a charm - is on the run along with his mother from his father, using their talents as shadow walkers to slide between worlds and stay one step ahead of the powerful Fae. Except even that is not enough anymore. Except that's not Alex's only talent.

*******

An urban fantasy where I throw Fae, necromancy and magic at TFC characters, pretty much!

Scared to Live (But I'm Scared to Die):

Neil Josten goes to the Nest for Andrew, but he stays for a lot more.

~

"I'm sorry Coach," he muttered.

"For what kid?" Wymack shifted. "You've got to give me something to work with here."

Wymack watched the thin traces of sorrow as paper exchanged hands and he was looking down at a contract with the Edgar Allan Raven's.

"I signed them Coach, I'm sorry."

~

The one where Neil doesn't come back from Winter Break.

Amor Vincit Omnia:

“I said it already,” the man said, “Your cluster.”

“But what does that mean?” Neil asked.

“It means that you are no longer just you,” the man said tersely, “Congratulations.”

It didn’t feel like anything worth celebrating.

A Sense8 AU where the foxes all share one subconscious and kick a lot of ass

The Real Thing:

Andrew was more than willing to turn down the Ravens' offer to be their newest goalie, unwilling to play five more years of Exy - let alone for someone with a too-sharp smile and a manic gleam in their eyes.

That was, until he realized that a member of their Perfect Court was his soulmate. (That was, until Riko Moriyama realized that Nathaniel Wesninski, the Ravens' #3 in waiting, was Andrew's soulmate.)

Andrew always knew that Fate loved tormenting him, he didn't need a reminder yet again via a too-attractive soulmate who appeared to loathe him. Yet things aren't always what they seem, especially in the Nest.

mad girl says she's wolf-proof:

Keeping her grip light on Nina’s throat, Andrea drops her gaze to her plump lips. She smiles—coldly, slowly. Fangs on fangs. Salt tombstones. It is not a nice smile, none of Andrea’s smiles are, but Nina’s eyes are stuck in it regardless. “And I will answer, all the better to eat you with.”

 

(Andrea Dobson vs girlhood and lycanthropy.)

lessons in caretaking:

Neil was acting shifty, and Andrew knew why; that motherfucker was leaving. Despite the promise between them, Neil was prepping to run. Andrew wasn't upset about that, not at all. After all, if notorious Neil "No-Swing" Josten needed to leave after Andrew admitted his desires regarding his proximity to Neil's shorts, who was Andrew to stop him. But that doesn't explain why Neil was stealing socks, or why he wanted Andrew's clothes.

Whatever. That was probably unrelated.

Sauntering Vaguely Downwards:

They’ve known each other since the Beginning. Not the Beginning Beginning—they didn’t meet until after the War in Heaven, where they kept to their own sides, or until after the subsequent Fall. It wasn’t even until after the Exodus from Eden, but only by a couple minutes. They’ve witnessed the rise and fall of empires, sampled all the cuisines the world has to offer, and weathered several very silly fashion trends.

Andrew doesn’t think they’re friends, exactly, but it is natural to become accustomed to the presence of the only other being who has been around more or less consistently for six millennia. It wasn’t anything more meaningful than that.

A Good Omens AU where Andrew is a grumpy angel, Neil is a sharp-tongued serpent, and it takes them literally six thousand years to figure out they belong together.