#I’m hoping to keep it a similar length to the first one but it might need to be a bit longer to fit stuff in

[littledeadling]

dincobb fic #2 coming along splendidly…... this one’s from Cobb’s perspective btw 🤭

[matchavellichor]

A Losing Game

A/N: was in the mood to write pure filth so here's some jealous sebastian smut lul. also i left the context intentionally vague so that i could maybe write a prequel sometime but i hope it's clear they absolutely hate each other loool

Sebastian Sallow x f!MC - NSFW - 4.4k words - ao3

Summary: Watching his long-time rival and dueling partner kiss someone else ignites feelings in Sebastian that has him questioning just how similar hate is to desire.

Tags: Yule Ball, Enemies to Lovers, Pining Sebastian, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Mild Prey/Predator, No Safeword

For the first time in their many years of friendship, Sebastian is the one being dragged to a social event he has no interest in being a part of. Ominis, taking no small amount of pleasure in this, leads them into the Great Hall with an amused smirk on his face, only biting his tongue because he’s respectful of present company. Sebastian frowns.

His robes are scratchy, his date is doused in a nausea-inducing amount of flowery perfume, and there’s not nearly enough firewhiskey in the spiked punch this year.

He tells himself pointedly, as if it’s a matter of public record, that he isn’t looking for her.

Even as his eyes comb over the crowd, and there’s a little pang of disappointment in his gut when he still doesn’t spot her after the third sweep.

“Stop sulking,” Ominis murmurs from beside him. “You look miserable.”

Sebastian proceeds to sulk even more. “How would you know how I look?”

“I’m blind, not oblivious.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, sitting down at the table the blonde had chosen and preparing himself for an entire night of brooding.

He’d have no qualms in remaining seated in their desolate little corner for the entirety of the evening, but his date—Bianca or Beatrice or, maybe something with a D—has other plans.

She titters something about dancing, and then she’s suddenly tugging on his arm and dragging him towards parquet floors. In no mood to protest, he lets himself get weaved through pairs of students who are doing anything but respecting Headmaster’s Black rule to maintain a Potions textbook length apart.

So much for leaving room for Merlin.

He manages a tight-lipped smile when they stop under a cloud charmed to sprinkle snowflakes, small flurries of white blending into a halo around them. It’s a truly beautiful sight, a winter wonderland of silver and gold englobing them, yet despite this, Sebastian’s demeanor is tight and forced, starkly unhappy.

He pretends he doesn’t understand the reasoning behind his sour mood. Pretends he isn’t thinking about someone else’s hands, someone else’s smell, someone else’s eyes, and the obvious absence of them.

Sebastian feels dreadfully pathetic clinging to the prospect of even simply seeing her as a motivator to suffer through the remainder of the night.

He wonders when he became such a pining, spineless idiot and deduces it must’ve been somewhere during the first dozen times she’d knocked him on his ass in a duel. Surely, a screw was knocked loose then. Or a couple.

Sebastian swallows his displeasure and takes hold of a hand that’s not the right size, that doesn’t have the calluses and rough edges in the places he’s already far too familiar with. It’s easy to fall into pace, but it’s hard to enjoy it. Hard to pretend he’s dancing with someone else.

It’s then, glancing over his date’s shoulder through the haze of floating candles and snowflakes, that he finally catches sight of what he has decidedly not been thinking about all evening.

From the way he stills and all his attention narrows in on one person, you’d think Salazar Slytherin himself just made an appearance butt-naked on a unicycle.

Breath-taking is an understatement. Asphyxiating might be a more valiant contender. Sebastian would be impressed with himself if he managed to get enough oxygen in his lungs to keep his brain functioning for an entire night of staring at her across dance floors.

His eyes comb over every inch of the blood red floor-length gown she has on, head-to-toe, gaze rising to dust over the blush high on her cheekbones, even further up to the gems crested in her hair.

He takes a deep, fortifying breath, though it doesn’t do him any good.

Then, his attention narrows in on the person accompanying her and it’s like his stomach immediately pitches, falls down six flights of stairs, and subsequently plummets into a dark abyss, landing at the bottom with a pathetic, defeated sort of sound.

Because her arm is tucked into the crook of someone else’s elbow, and she’s smiling at something someone else is whispering in her, and despite being only a few feet away at this point, she doesn’t even spare a glance at Sebastian.

Instead, she drapes an arm around her date’s neck, which he reciprocates with a hand at the small of her back, pulls their bodies closer and—

Sebastian squeezes his eyes shut and refuses to look, turning away from what feels like betrayal, though he knows is the farthest thing from it.

Maybe that’s what feels the worst. What makes his mouth taste so bitter he could gag from it. It’s the realization that he has no right to feel so upset about any of it. That he can’t expect anything from her.

That she isn’t his.

His shoulders stiffen and he suddenly stops any movements, letting his hands drop from where they were rested at a chiffon-covered waist, stepping away.

His date calls his name, emitting some cross between a petulant whine and indignant scoff, but he doesn’t really hear her. He’s busy high-tailing towards the drink table and doing the mental math for how many teal-coloured glasses of spiked punch he’ll have to drink to self-induce a coma.

Ominis, with his hell-anointed sixth sense, meets him three-quarters of the way there, falling into step as they weave through pairs of students.

“This is your own doing, you know.”

He’s right, yet Sebastian would still throttle him if there weren’t so many witnesses around. He ignores him.

“Sebastian,” Ominis sighs. “You’re being childish.”

“You aren’t helping.”

“I’m not trying to,” Ominis says. “I thought I’d already made myself clear that I was on her side concerning this.”

Sebastian scowls. “Some friend you are.”

“All you had to do was ask her.”

“Asking her is admitting defeat,” Sebastian mutters over the rim of the glass he just poured himself. “She wouldn’t have ever let me live it down.”

“I don’t understand this game you two play,” Ominis frowns. “Would it have been so hard for you to humble yourself for just a moment?”

Sebastian takes a long drink. “Yes. In front of her, it would’ve been.”

“Then enjoy watching her dance with someone else for the remainder of the evening.”

Sebastian has just about decided to actually throttle Ominis, witnesses be damned, but he’s already making his way back into the crowd, out of reach.

Sebastian groans, yet doesn’t go after him. Refuses to.

From his position on the outskirts of the dance floor, he’s in blissful ignorance of whatever it is she’s doing at the moment. Despite the curiosity eating away at him from the inside, it’s some form of solace that at least he can’t see the smile he’d caught on her face. Can’t see the glow in her eyes, or her hands on her date’s robes, or all the affection he craves so ardently misdirected towards someone else.

Somehow, it’s worse.

And then, as if Fortune, on his damned quarry smiling, has decided Sebastian hasn’t endured enough for one pitiful night already, the steady crescendo of a waltz begins to build.

The crowd pulses and sways in tempo with the symphony, leaving breaches and eyelets, brief openings that he can’t tear his eyes away from, because even if it hurts, he needs to see her again.

That’s how he catches sight of her for the second time that evening. Like the seas parting to reveal a miracle, she finds herself right in his line of vision.

Sebastian conveys the tightening he feels in his chest into an ice-cold glower, features hardened. He prays she’ll just look. Even if it’s something fleeting, a split second of a glance.

Once again, her eyes never make their way anywhere near him.

It’s almost intentional, in a way that drives him insane. As if she knows where he is, and she’s skirting over him pointedly, antagonistically. Sebastian wouldn’t be surprised if it were intentional, a gleaming testimony to all the other ways she manages to get under his skin.

The dancing body of students continues to shift, like a pendulum, back and forth, revealing and concealing. He clings to the momentary sight of her, and still, like a fool, hopes that at some instance she’ll look back. Acknowledge him.

Give him some form of recognition so he doesn’t have to admit defeat so quickly. So that he knows that they’re still playing their game, that he’s not just losing alone.

The composition nears its apex, surrounding gowns and robes reaching a swirling mass of glitter and silks, and something heavy sinks inside of him, an impending sense of foreboding.

He knows what’s coming, somehow.

The orchestra finally reaching its climax.

Her fingers threading through the hairs at the nape of her date’s neck.

Her leaning forward, nose slotting against his, lips hovering over another’s and yet—

He doesn’t look away. Even if it feels like being split open, sternum cracked across the middle, until he’s left with a slick-red, yawning chest cavity.

He can’t look away, because her eyes are open and for the first time in the entire evening, they’re meeting his.

Like most instances involving her, he isn’t sure if he’s winning or losing anymore.

She doesn’t look away, and he can’t bring himself to either. It’s like he’s standing there, split from top to bottom, voluntarily exposed for her to prod at, to ruin. And yet, there’s a bittersweetness to it all.

Her lips aren’t on his, yet she’s looking at him as if she wishes they were.

There’s something taunting in her eyes. Something he might’ve mistaken as a threat if they were in their usual setting, mid-duel in the Undercroft.

A challenge.

It takes him a moment to realize that context shouldn’t matter. This is an invitation for battle, a glaring provocation. He stares.

The sight of her mouth on someone else’s makes bile rise in his throat, makes him so filled with rage and revulsion that he thinks he might suffocate on it all. Yet the sight of her eyes, the sheer amount of longing she’s able to convey in such a short glance, is enough to invigorate him, to channel all his rage and wanting into something else.

His legs move of their own accord.

Her reflexes are as sharp as they are in battle.

The second she sees him coming towards her, she reacts. Murmurs a hurried apology towards her date, who looks so confused Sebastian would almost feel bad for the bloke if he didn’t want to strangle him so violently.

She’s immediately cutting through the crowd towards the opposite direction, her eyes trained on one of the exits. He picks up his speed, but she’s quicker than him, smaller, able to duck through bunches of students with ease, even with her dress hindering her movements.

Adrenaline trickles up his spine. She throws him another glance over her shoulder and smirks, sly and knowing, a look that writhes under his skin in the way her glances always do.

Even if he’s the one chasing her, Sebastian feels awfully like the rodent in their little game of cat and mouse.

They both step into the quiet of the dimly-lit hallway, the sounds of the party bleeding away as the door shuts behind them, casting them in silence.

There’s a split moment where she spins around to look at him, chest heaving. The live-wire tension between them is pulled so taut it’s a miracle the air doesn’t crackle with static.

Neither of them move for a long moment, until her lips curl into a smile.

She breaks into a run and Sebastian doesn’t miss a beat.

He chases after her, his heart pounding with something primal, something instinctive. Like his self-control might slip away from him when he catches her, like he might just sink his teeth into soft flesh, dig his nails into supple skin. She runs as if she’s just as aware of this fact as he is.

He almost wants to punish her for it. Bite and scratch and mark as if in vengeance for her thinking she could ever get away from him. For her forgetting that she’s anything but his, as if she should simply know it by now.

She’s fast, but she’s nearly tripping over the dress she has fisted in her hands, and her heels don’t help. All it takes is for her to stumble around a corner and he’s on her, grabbing her gown, pulling her towards him.

He spins her around, and she grunts when he slams her against the wall. Teeth bared, strands of the elegant updo she’d had her hair in falling down over her shoulders, glittery makeup smeared down her cheeks — she looks like something savage.

For some reason, it makes something deep-set inside Sebastian ache.

“Let go,” she grits, struggling against the hold he has on her wrists, under the weight of his body that has her molded to the wall.

His grip only tightens, frustration simmering low in his gut. Sebastian has never known desire like this, shadowed by fury. Want and anger, love and hate, repulsion and obsession.

“I know what you’re doing,” he hisses.

She stills her thrashing in favor of looking up at him through her lashes with an expression so innocent, it’s crucifying.

“Attending a dance?”

His jaw sets. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Why, are you having a hard time keeping up?”

He stares at her for a long moment, jaw working in tandem with his thoughts. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and she tilts her head, amused at how worked up he’s gotten.

“I know what you’re doing,” she says.

“And what’s that?”

“Thinking about how badly you want to kill me, probably,” she says. Her eyes fall to his lips and his breath stops in his throat. “Or kiss me. Haven’t quite worked out which one yet.”

“So certain that they’re mutually exclusive,” he murmurs, his gaze falling to mimic hers despite himself. “I think you forget that I’m very multi-faceted.”

“That I’m aware of,” she tilts her chin up, almost as if inviting him to press his mouth to hers, a siren’s call. “You manage to be mind-numbingly stupid and brilliantly obnoxious, all at the same time.”

He scoffs. “And you manage to be the most infuriating person on the planet.”

She seems starkly proud of the title. “What can I say, I invoke passion.”

“You invoke homicidal thoughts.”

“Not the only kinds of thoughts I invoke in you, is it, Sallow?”

He reddens. He’s spent too many showers hunched over his own fist with silencing charms plastered around the tiles for his response to be anything more than a blurted, evocative reaction.

“Anything you think I feel for you is precisely the opposite. I fucking despise you.”

He only notes a split second after that it’s not an outright denial.

Evidently, so does she. Because then, as if she were made to crawl under his skin, writhe underneath it until his nerves were a mess, she smiles.

What he truly despises is how pretty he finds it.

“You don’t hate me.”

He sneers. “Is that so?”

“Hate isn’t the opposite of love. Indifference is,” she leans in. “And I’d hardly call chasing me through the castle simply because I kissed someone else…indifferent.”

He decides then — or more accurately, his too-horny, too-angry, too-impulsive brain decides for him — to wipe the pleased grin off her face the most effective way he knows how.

With a hand fisted in her hair and his mouth crashing against hers.

It isn’t tender or sweet, nor the remotest definition of kind, but it’s fitting and dreadfully familiar, because it’s not like they’ve ever been nice to one another.

He lets go of her wrists to give her some fighting chance, because he’s cruel, but he prides himself on being fair. Instead of pushing him away, or going for her wand, or doing anything to indicate she doesn’t want this, however, she pulls him in. As if she knows exactly how to bring him to his knees, in any and all contexts, and revels in any opportunity to destroy him.

He almost thinks it’s a trap, another one of her grating ploys, but when she tangles her fingers in his hair and drags her nails down his scalp and kisses him back with just as much fervor as he does, it’s hard to believe it’s simply a farce.

Her tongue finds his and Sebastian wonders if they’ll ever do anything together that doesn’t mimic a battle. She fights for dominance in every stroke of her tongue against his, and his stubbornness refuses to grant her it.

“Fuck,” he groans against her mouth, because he’s learning just how much she kisses the same way she duels.

Dirty, unfair, brutal. Like she’s never been afraid of blood, or getting messy, or breaking things.

She stokes a fire that’s been simmering inside him until it’s red-hot and all-consuming, flames licking at the inside of his throat. He pulls her bottom lip between his teeth and bites until he tastes copper, finding some sick form of satisfaction at the pained little whine she lets out.

“You kissed him,” he pants, and there’s something raw in his voice. He rests his forehead against hers and stares at the crimson pooling on her lip. “You kissed him.”

She swallows. “I did.”

Sebastian despises how hurt he sounds. “I could kill him.”

“You won’t.”

“I could.”

“I know,” she nods, chest heaving against his. Her voice grows suddenly soft, until it’s barely a whisper. “I wanted it to be you.”

He groans, almost pained. “Did you?”

She nods.

“Has he ever touched you?”

She shakes her head.

“Tell the truth,” he says, fingers threading through the tangled remains of her chignon, tilting her face up towards him so he can meet her eyes. “Did you let him touch you?” He presses a leg between her thighs, barely able to feel her through layers of tulle. “Here?”

“No,” she gasps from the contact, nails scrambling to drag down his forearm. “Never.”

“Fuck,” he sighs, and tips his head down to press against her throat, drags his lips over her jaw. “Only me, hm? Say it.”

She shakes her head and his gaze darkens, pulling back to tighten his fingers still tangled in her hair, to tear a whimper from the back of her throat.

“No? Who then?”

“No one,” she whispers, and despite the tight angle her neck is at, despite the fear dancing behind her eyes, she smiles up at him again. “You haven’t touched me yet, though, have you?”

She’s baiting him, and he’s aware of it, and still it manages to work.

He feels his self-restraint slipping through the cracks of his fingers like sand. There’s traces of scarlet on her teeth he wants to drag his tongue over. He wants to suck the marrow from her bones.

He spins her around, presses her cheek into the cool flagstone of the corridor they’re in, and molds his body to hers.

“S-shit,” she curses when his patience wears thin and he yanks at the fabric hiding her body away from his, pulling at the skirt of her gown until it rips. “Asshole.”

“Looks better this way.”

His fingers coast up her thighs to hook into her knickers, tugging them down before she can protest. She gasps and he smiles against her cheek, pushing her hand away when she tries to cover herself.

He nips at her ear, his hand reaching between her legs to cup her sex, reveling in the way she tries to squirm away from him.

“What’s wrong? Going to act shy now?”

“Someone could see,” she grits, though something in her tone tells him she’s not going to stop him.

“Wouldn’t they be lucky.”

His breath stutters when he finally dips his fingers between her folds and finds how soaked she is. Something about the revelation is dizzying, the notion that she could possibly want this as badly as he does. He grinds his hips into her arse so she’s just as aware of how gone he is.

Immediately, his hand is fumbling with his belt, the other pressing bruises into her hip to keep her still. He kicks her feet open wider, spreading her for him. His fingers flex on her hip in anticipation.

“You have full permission to use any Unforgivables you want on me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply. He groans. “You’re not getting me off of you in any other way.”

When she doesn’t make any move for her wand he positions himself at her entrance, rubbing to coat himself in her fluids. Her breathing is heavy against the wall she’s pressed against, her gasps coming out in soft little pants. He revels in them for a long moment.

Then, he’s impaling her and all of her breathing stops. Replaced instead by a strangled sort of sound, as if he’d managed to knock out all of the air in her lungs with a single thrust. His jaw falls slack.

He manages to composure himself enough to murmur in her ear, voice hoarse. “Hurts?”

She chokes out a sob, nodding weakly. Her head falls against the wall, clenching around him as she tries to adjust to his size.

His hips snap forward again, even harsher this time, burying himself to the hilt and tearing a yelp out of her throat. “Good.”

“S–Sebastian—”

He pauses, so deep inside her he can feel every little pulse, hips flush against her arse. “Want me to stop?”

Miraculously, she shakes her head. It’s never like her to back down from a fight, after all.

“Of course,” he chuckles, though it sounds uncharacteristically strained, imprecise. Like he’s losing his grip. His head falls to her shoulder and he moans, grunting feverishly against her skin as he starts a brutal, unforgiving pace. “You can take it. Look so pretty taking it.”

“Please,” she whines. “Too much, I–I can’t,”

“You’re a tough girl,” he whispers, tone vicious despite his words. “You’re going to shut your fucking mouth and take my cock.”

She nods fervently, obediently, and Sebastian thinks he deserves a medal for not finishing right then. He yanks her hips back from the wall, shifting the angle and she gasps when he feels him push in even deeper.

“Oh my God,” she moans. “Good — feels s’good, yes, yes. Plea–please don’t stop.”

“Fuck,” he grunts, voice sandpaper-rough. He snakes a hand to her front to rub tight little circles between her legs. “Look at you babbling. Dumb little cock-drunk slut. Can’t even think properly with me inside you like this, can you?”

Her response is too garbled for coherence, a mess of moans and pleas. He groans in a way that’s almost just as saturated with desperation, that tells her she’s not alone in her unraveling. He pulls her head back to smash his lips to her, stifling all kinds of confessions that threaten to escape him.

She breaks the kiss to gasp for air and his fingers swirl against her just right. She tightens. “Gonna — m‘gonna cum,”

“Yeah? Come for me, baby,” his voice breaks on the word, and he’s aware he’s practically begging. He’s too far gone to care, so he scrapes a kiss to her heat-flushed cheek and properly pleads.

“Please. So fucking beautiful. Let me see your pretty face when you come undone for me,” he stares down at her through half-lidded eyes and briefly contemplates the possibility that he’s died and gone to heaven when she looks back at him. “That’s it, look at me.”

He studies her as he sends her over the edge and pulls himself over along with her, her lashes fluttering as she struggles to keep her eyes on his.

The sight is enough to ruin him.

Her makeup a mess from the tear tracks running through them, the hair fisted in his hands in an even worse state, and somehow— she still manages a lopsided smile, as if beyond pleased with herself.

He’s faintly aware of the fact she’s won. He makes peace with the realization.

There’s nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing to fill the silence in the hallway as Sebastian tries to regain his bearings, still buried inside her. Neither of them move for a long moment, and Sebastian likens it to the peace following a war, a brief period of prosperity.

He’s conscious that it’s temporary.

She winces when he finally pulls out of her, their shared spend trickling down the insides of her thighs, her knees nearly giving out to the point he has to hold her up, even if his own legs feel dreadfully unstable.

It doesn’t take her long for her to detach her body from his own, to duck under his arm and slip away. Panic suddenly seizes his chest, dread trickling up his spine. For some reason, he can’t bear to watch her leave. He opens his mouth to say something—an apology, maybe—but she beats him to it.

“That was fun,” she says plainly, glancing back at him over her shoulder. It’s as if they’d just finished another duel. Hardly anything to bat an eye at. Sebastian is at a remarkable loss for words.

She hasn’t continued down the hallway, but she looks as if she’s prepared to.

He’s faintly aware of the fact he probably looks like a fish right now, jaw still slack.

When he doesn’t say anything, she turns her attention to righting her underthings and fixing the tattered remains of her gown. He watches her.

“Goodnight, Sebastian.”

Suddenly sprung to life by the threat of her absence, he takes a step forward. “I’ll walk you back.”

She snorts. “Ever the gentleman.”

“Unless, you’d like to, uh,” he stares down at his shoes, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “I could transfigure something for us in the Undercroft.”

She looks amused. “My god, you’re insatiable.”

He reddens. “I didn’t mean—oh, Salazar, to sleep…I meant to sleep.”

She turns to face him fully and raises her brows. “You’re asking me if I’d like to forego my own bed in order to spend the night with you in a dusty cellar?”

Mortification washes over him. Why would she? He should’ve kept his mouth shut and walked her to her dorm room instead of deluding himself with the notion that this could’ve been anything more than a quick fuck.

She stares at him expectantly and his fingers twitch at his side with the desire to grab his wand and promptly Avada himself.

It’s then that she decides to saunter over to him, taking her time, until she’s right beside him and can tuck her arm into his. She gestures forward, almost impatient.

“Go on then. I’m little spoon.”

[luminouslywriting]

Heyy, I recently found your blog and omg I’m obsessed🫶It’s so rare seeing people that write for Band of Brothers.

Could you maybe write something about the BoB guys reaction to their new lieutenant being a woman? And they fall in love after a while and stuff. Just a fun little idea lol, have a great day!

Nonny, I adore this idea so much! Enjoy note the fact that my requests are open and I adore spam!

Cut for length, kept short and sweet since I've done some similar things to this, and please note that my requests for Dead Poets Society are also open :)

Dick Winters:

-He's stunned in the best way possible—super impressed with your credentials and your reputation already and gives you the utmost of respect.

-I think he genuinely enjoys working with you and getting to know you—it's a slowburn for sure though.

-Doesn't make a move until he's in Austria with you and you two get to talking about what'll happen at the end of the war and everything :)

Lewis Nixon:

-Laughs at first because he thinks you're joking and then very quickly has to backpedal himself out of the dog house because oh SHIT he did not mean to offend you

-Quickly becomes one of your closest friends and talks to you about a lot of his relationship issues back home—the two of you are a very much "will they, won't they" type of thing

-You probably hook up while in Austria and things just progress from there.

Ronald Speirs:

-Secretly impressed by you the entire time but is not about to share his feelings on that—but he keeps a careful eye on you and makes sure to have your back whenever you need it

-This man is out here just trying to make the men drink 'respect women' juice and that starts w/his example and he's perfectly aware of that.

-Steals a lot of stuff so that he can express his feelings to you with nice things haha

Buck Compton:

-He's pleasantly surprised and waits to make a judgement until he gets to know you—best decision of his life really

-He's out here able to talk to you about literally anything and enjoys your company as a friend first and foremost, which is important to both of you

-He absolutely writes you once he leaves the line and hopes that you come back safe

Carwood Lipton:

-Shows you nothing but the utmost respect and never steps a freakin' toe out of line. He probably isn't even trying to get close to you because he doesn't want you to get the wrong idea about him.

-Bonds with you during Bastogne and deeply admires the way that you carry yourself in hard situations

-Probably asks in a soft tone if he can write take you to a nice restaurant once all of this is over and take you on a date

Joe Liebgott:

-Simp with a capital S, and there's just no putting that any other way. This man hangs onto your every word and then pretends as if he never heard you speak. SIR, GET AHOLD OF YOURSELF.

-In all practicality though, he's probably the type to become your friend and hang out with you/help you integrate with the men

-And when he's talking to Webster about his post-war plans...yes, they involve you and no, you are not aware of them (yet, anyway haha)

Donald Malarkey:

-Also someone who is not about to step a toe out of line or show you any disrespect. He takes the time to listen to your opinions and your orders and values what you have to say.

-It's quite easy for him to fall for you, though he's not going to say anything about it until some liquid luck finds its way into his system during Austria

-Feelings are exchanged and so is a kiss :)

Eugene Roe:

-You are his favorite lieutenant—the most competent person in the world in his eyes—and one of the people he values most.

-He consistently takes the time to check in on you and makes sure that you're doing alright in your leadership position and tries to keep a wary eye out for anything that might do you harm.

-And if you kiss him after the events of Bastogne to get his head back in the game?? Well neither of you is going to kiss and tell haha

Bill Guarnere:

-Doesn't know how to feel about it at first?? He's a little confused and a little standoffish but then he sees how Sobel treats you and he's just not having it

-So the two of you become fast friends after that and integrating into the group is a lot easier with Bill on your side

-Admits that he loves you amidst a bloody and snowy ground in Bastogne and hopes that you'll write to him

Joe Toye:

-Impressed by the fact that you've made it this far and isn't about to go out of his way to make life easier or harder for you. He's just going to simply have your back.

-However, he's a great person to talk to and always will second your opinion or thoughts and add that he thinks it's a good idea.

-Also the type of person who writes you love letters after he ends up back home and hopes that things can work out between the two of you

George Luz:

-Makes a joke about it at first and then realizes that he has colossally messed up–grovels a little bit and does you a few favors before becoming your friend

-He relies on you a lot, especially during some of the heavier times for the company, and if you keep a smile on his face, he falls for you

-Would, in fact, invite you to come home and meet his family (you know, if you want haha)

[dorkagedoodles]

And there we have it folks - the end of Empyrean Book I! I sound like a parrot but just ... thank you so much for reading! Also, for everyone's convenience, the afterword is also in text under the "keep reading" bellow. <<< PREVIOUS ✧˖☆˖✧˖☆˖✧Page Archive✧˖☆˖✧˖☆˖✧

(To be continued ... ) AFTERWORD

I’ve been putting off writing this for way too long, thinking I have plenty of time until suddenly: BAM! December was upon me and the final update of Empyrean Book I was uploaded while I had the worst migraine in years and couldn’t even scramble together a last minute afterword. But here we go. I’ll try not to care about sounding professional or eloquent, just so I can get it done.

First I want to say a big thank you to everyone who've read Empyrean, all the way through or just a little bit, I’m grateful nonetheless. And extra big thank you to everyone who’s left comments or nice tags in the reblogs etc. I’m awful at responding, but I’ve seen them all and really, really appreciate it.

I worked on the book on and off for three years and I’m pretty happy with the end result. Of course, this is just the beginning of the story. I have an outline for the whole thing, aiming for a total of four books of similar length which will, as you can guess, take a loooooong time. Which brings me to my second point.

Empyrean will go on hiatus for the time being. For how long? I wish I knew. While Book 2 is all scripted and currently in the sketching stage, I have no idea when I’ll have enough finished pages for an update. Once I do, however, I’ll probably update as I finish the pages, rather than wait for the whole book to be complete.

I don’t think I need to explain much of why this is. It’s simply being an adult. It’s having rent, bills and a cat with special dietary needs. And what Empyrean brings in joy it certainly doesn’t bring in money, so ever since July I’ve drawn almost nothing but freelance work.

Despite that, I still feel positive about the future of Empyrean. It’s already been published in parts in a small Swedish magazine and I’ve met people and opened doors that would have been impossible, had I not created Empyrean. Long time followers might remember how I’ve long wanted to be able to support myself by making art. And right now? That's exactly what I’m doing.

Finishing Empyrean will take many years and, in the end, it might never even get picked up by a publisher. But I’m at peace with both of those things. I draw Empyrean entirely for myself and would continue to do so even if not a single other person was reading it. Though … as long as there’s at least one such person I will keep uploading it too!

Lastly, I’ve been looking into self-publishing and hope to give that a try. No solid plans yet, just counting costs, looking at kickstarters and such. I’m currently neck-deep in a big project, but once that’s over I can start thinking about it again. When the time comes, I will of course post about it.

I think that is all. It got a bit longer and ramblier than I planned but oh well.

Again, thank you so much for reading Empyrean! And until next time! -Hans

[planet-crait]

Yeah, canon Peri and fanon Peri are more or less two completely separate characters. It's a real bummer because the concept of a godparent (particularly someone as famous as Peri) failing to empathize, support, or even get along with their godkid is really fascinating (and tragic) and I would have loved to see more fanworks exploring that.

Yes the fanon version of Peri that starts to connect with Dev too late and is desperately trying to fix things and get his first godkid back is a very fun concept. But we already kind of got that with Juandissimo and Remy. I feel like exploring the canon Peri and Dev combo would be a very unique concept to explore that we didn’t get in the canon show ever.

In the Og show we saw godparents and god kids tended to care about each other and bonded overall okay even if the bond between Cosmo Wanda and Timmy was considered different and weird, the concept of godparents and godkids bonding on some level wasn’t out of the ordinary.

Here however, we see a pair that isn’t bonding. They can’t seem to form a connection despite it seemingly being that Dev was eager to make a connection with Peri while Peri seemed disinterested in forming that bond and only saw Dev as a job nothing more.

Exploring the idea that Peri as an almost celebrity godkid feeling the pressure of the spotlight to be perfect so he keeps his first godkid at arms length despite him desperately needing to be close with some sort of adult figure and it causing a massive rift between them is fascinating.

Peri clearly is struggling with empathizing and connecting with his godkids, part of it seems to be he’s so focused on his “work” he can’t see that what for him is just work is an escape and chance at happiness of some kids. But another aspect that I also haven’t seen explored is the concept that I don’t think Peri can comprehend actually wanting and desperately seeking out a parent’s time and attention. From Peri’s perspective, he feels suffocated by his parents, he turned off his wands tracking because, as he put it, his parents are too clingy. They suffocate him with love and affection, so the concept of a parent being emotionally distant and neglectful is a foreign concept to him.

So I could see when they first met and after the camera fades to black Dev might get a little clingy, he’s lost his first and best friend and is starting on the path to realizing his dad will never love him and thus latches onto what feels like a gift from the universe itself to make things easier and that potentially sets off Peri and he pushes Dev away. It’s easy to see why both would react the way they do, while it also being the worst thing they both could do on a first impression. Obviously we don’t know if things went down this way, I’m just throwing out ideas based on what we see as their first meeting and when we see them next together.

Something went very wrong and based on these two characters I can see Dev initially coming off to “clingy” for Peri and making him panic and think of his parents too much and kind of trying to push him away causing Dev to completely shut down emotionally from being “rejected” once again in a very vulnerable moment. Either way things go from an exciting and hopeful meeting to a very tense and unhappy relationship.

Peri seems content to ditch Dev every chance he gets and is very inattentive to him and his needs and Dev has accepted Peri won’t be their for him when he needs it which unfortunately likely reminds him too much of his dad. I’ve said it a few times but I’ll say it again, I can see some similarities in Peri and Dale in both are very obsessed with their work and both think material things can make things better when they can’t always fix things. It further adds to the tragedy of them being paired as Godparent and Godkid and how ill suited they are for one another.

For a kid like Chester for example whose emotional needs are being well met overall and more has material needs that need to be met like having some food insecurity, a godparent like Peri would work just fine. He’s happy to grant wishes and a kid like Chester might just ask for material things to fill in what he’s missing to live comfortably.

For a kid like Dev though who can already get whatever he wants whenever he wants, he needs a pair more like Coswan who can connect and give love to a kid who is alone and hurting. It’s not the wish granting Dev needed or I think was even excited about, he just needed someone to care and not ditch him the second things got a little difficult with him.

The concept of a godparent terrible at empathizing and connecting with a kid whose only real need is a real connection is a very painful and interesting concept to explore, but Peri is kind of becoming the Tumblr sexy man and people aren’t necessarily interested in exploring him being wrong about something.

And thing that also makes this a fascinating dynamic to explore is this isn’t just Peri’s fault, he’s clearly being taught that rapid fire wish granting is how to be a good godparent, and thought if he just pushed for wishes and granted them enough it would somehow help Dev. Exploring how the fairy system isn’t properly set up to help kids like Dev who are deeply hurting and need companionship more then anything else adds a layer of pain and complexity to the entire situation which I think could be really fun (and tragic) to explore.

How we even got here is an interesting concept because we know the fairy council knows Timmy cared far more about the companionship from Cosmo and Wanda then the wish aspect, but somehow despite this they’ve seemingly moved away from connections and companionship and pushing wish granting solely which wouldn’t necessarily be what a lot of kids need.

I think I accidentally talked my way into a small fic idea. Dang it.

[pine-rhyme]

Pine I’m going insane please clear something up about tlt

I keep seeing art of two(?) v similar looking people, one with short hair and another with pigtails and I’ve seen both being referred to as Harrow or Nona or similar. I thought they were the same person (with Nona being a nickname of Harrowharks family name) but I saw some art that’d imply they’re two different people???

I always interpreted it as ‘Nona is what Harrow would be without the Horrors’ since she’s v cheerful. Like a sort of collective fandom oc. But now I think that’s wrong. Pls advise T^T

(Also hiiiiiiii hope you’re having a nice day ೕ(•̀ᴗ•́) )

OMG THANK YOU I AM SO GLAD I GET TO EXPLAIN THIS TO YOU BECAUSE THIS IS GENUIENLY MY FAVOURITE THING OUT OF THIS SERIES!!!!!

That and the wild contrast between Harrowhark and Nona makes me giggle maniacally every time.

Here is some sketchy art and rambling under the cut because I LOVE LOVE LOVE NONA!!!! And by extension the book she stars in!

Nona is a real character! But very well pointed that her name derives from Harrow's NONAgesimus! She is the narrator and main lady of the 3rd book (Nona the Ninth :DDD).

The thing about Harrow and Nona is that yes! They share the same body! Harrow is such a haunted character that it is already ridiculous how many other ghosts could take over her body if she falls unconscious (which already happened a few times and ngl it was very sexy).

But this time, in Nona's case it is unclear if it is one of her many ghosts piloting her body or if it is really Harrow whose trauma caught up with her and got her brain reset (you already know it wouldn't be her first rodeo given that she already has had the lobotomy experience :)) but the thing is, Nona can't remember a thing from before she got saved by Harrow's... friends? Acquaintances? People that owned her a favour?

The beautiful thing is that you have this vulnerable person, who doesn't know anything about herself is getting taken care of by these people that? Genuinely cared about the old Harrow? And are actively trying to figure out who Nona actually is. And how she can be helped. All we know is that Nona is uncharacteristically kind and sweet-natured for the tlt world :)))

She is deeply aware that she is unlikely to survive for much longer and experiences everything around her with a deep sense of wonder. She has only been alive for 6 months and it was a gift. The world is slowly crumbling around her and her body is slowly dying but she loves the people that take care of her nevertheless. She looks in the mirror and finds herself truly beautiful and she is openly grateful for the girl who let her borrow her body to experience this life. It is a bittersweet story and a very big tonal shift from the intense and alienating POV of the previous book (Harrow the Ninth), focusing more on the domesticity and closure nurtured in a wartorn refugee camp, between unlikely characters.

AND IT IS JUST HILLARIOUS to encounter characters with whom Harrow has been AT LEAST highly disagreeable, getting absolutely showered in affection by Nona. Nona herself being so full of love and admiration for everything and everyone she meets is just amazing when you remember that's HARROW'S body she's piloting. Harrow who is easily the most people-allergic character out of this whole series lmao. AND NONA IS WEARING HER HAIR LONG AND BRAIDED! AND PARADES AROUND IN THE MOST INSANE GRAPHIC T-SHIRTS. SHE WANTS TO DYE HER HAIR ELECTRIC BLUE LIKE HER CRUSH!

I absolutely love Nona she is my favourite character in this series. It is because of her that Harrow started to grow on me as well. It is just wonderful to find, after how distressed and alone Harrow is during the 2nd book, she has people that would go to such lengths to care for her, despite the fact that she lost her necromacy, genius and aptitudes, along with her memories and, in fact her body might be the only thing that remained out of her because, by the end, Nona might indeed be somebody else entirely.

More than that it is a story about a girl with no past and no future loving unconditionally and getting unconditionally loved in return by her friends and family. Even when it gets very complicated and twisted and at times you are forced to question what is everybody's hidden intentions or what is the meaning of it all. It is just as grim (and upsetting at times) as the rest of the series but having for once an optimistic pov (even tho it comes with her forcing herself to suppress her ugly feelings because her life is very short and she needs to enjoy everything while it lasts) feels almost like a fever dream.

"Life is too short and love is too long."

(This is Nona with Pyrrha! Pyrrha loves Nona so much it makes me sick to my stomach and I could talk for hours on end about them. )

Thank you so much for this ask and for indulging me in my madness!!!!!!! MMMMWAH!

[theleafpile]

you know what, for you @pipiripipi101 and @thewollfgang I got out my hard drive and here's the old fic, titled "Twenty Questions," that might be just the thing you're looking for.

Originally published 01-02-2018, 6,065 words

Original prompt:

from @lucifermorningstarlux: "I would love for there to be an interview scenario between Lucifer and Chloe, like she gets to ask him twenty questions about anything. And he has to answer with no side distractions. And then Lucifer gets to ask her twenty questions and she has to answer truthfully. I can literally imagine all sorts here."

Summary:

Chloe and Lucifer play the game twenty questions… with some modifications. They get to each ask each other twenty questions, and have to answer honestly. They both know Lucifer doesn't lie.

The truth, however, requires trust. And belief.

[this was written when I was first discovering how to write fiction so be kind]

Lucifer pulled the chair out for Chloe to sit before dragging the other around to the opposite end of the steel table. The interrogation room lights shone above them mercilessly, casting no shadows. The sound of the metal chair, scraping across the concrete floor, scratched the inside of Chloe’s ears, but she kept her mouth shut in a thin line. Lucifer could have his antics, if it finally meant she could have answers. Of course, he didn’t notice the tension in her shoulders, the calculation behind her gaze. Instead, his eyes shone, dark and mischievous under the bright lights, his smile more similar to what she imagined a lion might smile like, its mouth coated in fresh blood.

He sat, crossing his legs and setting his folded hands atop his knee, the very picture of poise. She rested her forearms on the table, leaning forward.

“You may begin,” he offered magnanimously, lifting a hand as though he were a king, and she his subject.

Nuh-uh. Not today, buddy. “You know the rules?”

He had the audacity to feign boredom. “I think of something, and you have twenty questions to figure it out.”

She shook her head slowly. “Nope,” she said, the word popping off her lips. She caught the small tilt of his head, his curiosity piqued.

“No?”

“I ask you twenty questions, and you have to answer them all. Truthfully.” Something behind his gaze flickered, unsure. “C’mon,” she said, her voice low. “Aren’t you always up for breaking the rules?”

He leaned closer. “I’m always up, darling.”

She hid the smile at his innuendo, hoping that he couldn’t sense how her heart had jumped at the thought of him playing along. “Is that a yes, or not?”

He leaned back, his gray suit as impeccable as the rest of him. “Twenty questions, all answered truthfully,” he confirmed. She nodded. “And I get the same?”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a smile, thinking that she had far less to hide. “Yep.”

“Concurrently?”

“Why not?”

“You do realize that I don’t lie, regardless?”

She bit her tongue to keep it from lashing out. She was so tired of his half-truths, his omissions, that even if she didn’t get the whole truth of out him now, she could at least get a better sense of what to ask later. “Yep,” is all she would say.

He threw up his hands in mock surrender. “If it’s truly what you desire, then who am I to judge?” He looked her over hungrily. “And I can think of a few burning questions I want answers to, myself.”

Satisfied, she tugged a scrap piece of paper from her back pocket and smoothed it out on the table, pen already in hand. She drew a line, making two columns, and wrote “C” in one, “L” in the other.

“I can remember how many I ask, you know,” he huffed out, incredulous that she would go to such lengths.

“I don’t trust you,” she answered easily.

Too easily, he thought, even as she smiled teasingly at him. But how could be blame her for that? If he were being honest. The ordeal with the Sinnerman had left her walking away from him. Had left her nearly getting shot, only to be saved by… Cain. Of all people. His jaw clenched, and Chloe couldn’t help but wonder if it was directed at her.

“Who first?” she asked lightly, eyes downcast on the paper, pulling it back toward her.

“Why don’t you go ahead?” he said, feeling the dark cord of jealousy pulling tighter within him at the thought of her and Marcus – Cain – doing anything together. Even working together. Even being on the same planet together had his teeth set on edge.

“Okay,” she breathed out, suddenly nervous. There were so many questions, that she couldn’t be sure where to begin. She shyly lifted her gaze to his before steeling herself, pressing on. “Why are you upset right now?” she asked quietly, busying herself with ticking off a question under the “C” column.

He hadn’t been sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He heaved in a breath to answer, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t trust ‘Marcus Pierce.’”

“You have to be honest,” she reminded him, setting down the pen.

“I am being honest.”

She nodded thoughtfully, and he could see the resolution in her expression, the sense of disappointment. He hated it.

“And I don’t…” he began again, and her eyes shot up to his, “I don’t want you anywhere near him. He’s dangerous.”

She took in his words. “It’s your turn,” she prompted.

“Do you like him?” he asked, steepling his fingers, elbows on the table.

“Really? That’s your first question? You’re as bad as Ella.”

He waited, an eyebrow raised. Chloe screwed up her mouth. This was going to be harder than she thought.

“I don’t know. And that’s the truth. He’s not the best boss I’ve ever had. He’s an ass. But he did save my life.”

“Once."

“Yeah. Once. It was enough to make me believe he’s got good instincts.”

He acquiesced, folding his hands in front of him. “You’re turn.”

She ticked off his box, trying to hide her nervous swallow. “Have you ever seen a therapist, or been institutionalized, before we met?”

“Why would I have been?”

“You can’t answer a question with a question. And you know why.”

“No. Despite countless horror movies depicting me as haunting abandoned hospitals, I have never been committed or seen anyone before Linda.”

Lenient parents was her first thought, but then she remembered – he always spoke of becoming the Devil after being kicked out of the house.

“When was the last time you had sex?” he asked, a cheeky grin firmly in place.

She really didn’t want to tell him that. Her hand darted out, slipping under his suit jacket – much to her partner’s surprise – retrieving his flask. His smile widened as she took a shot. She coughed at the burn of the alcohol. He made no move to retrieve it.

“Before Dan and I divorced,” she managed. Lucifer’s grin faded as his mouth dropped open. She had expected an immediate offer, or some comment about him barely going more than a day without, but there was only abject pity in his eyes.

“You poor thing. No wonder you throw yourself into your work.”

“I’ve always done that,” she weakly protested.

He suddenly leaned forward, eager. “When was the last time you orgasmed?”

“You know it’s my turn, right?”

He waved it off. “You’ll have two in a row, then. Answer the question, detective.”

She licked her lips. “I may have… orgasmed,” she said, looking directly into his eyes, “this morning.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. “How?”

She couldn’t tear herself away from his gaze, wondering if this was how those he questioned felt. But she felt no pull to dispel her darkest desires, or whatever. She was simply… captivated, by his attention, 100% on her.

“I woke up early,” she explained, her voice soft, drawing him in closer. She may as well have a bit of fun, and teasing Lucifer was always sure to be a good time. “Everything was quiet. Everything felt warm, and smooth,” she drew out, her legs rubbing together at the memory, so different from the hard lights and metal she found herself surrounded by now. Something in Lucifer’s gaze had become serious. She lifted a finger to her neck, trailing down to the skin of her chest, drawing down her v-neck blouse to between her breasts. His eyes followed the movement like a predator watching prey. Her finger drew small circles on her chest as she remembered. “I was dreaming about something, I don’t remember what, now. But I felt… loved. And,” her breath caught, and his body jumped at the sound. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, her finger moving down over her stomach, disappearing under the table. She decided to be brave. “I wanted.”

“Tell me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that a question?”

“If you wish it to be.”

Her heart raced in her chest, but she could feel it all the way down to her fingertips, pulsing. “You,” she whispered. “Or some version of you.”

She expected him to lean back, to gloat. He did not. Instead, he looked… Sad. Eventually he came back to himself, clearing his throat and moving away slightly.

“That’s five, now” he told her, tapping the paper at her elbow, breathing hard.

Dutifully, she wrote it down. They had breached from playful to serious, and now she felt she could really ask the questions on her mind.

“Why do you have sex so much?”

“Is it a lot?”

She decided not to count it, if he was only clarifying. “It really is an inordinate amount. Unsustainable.”

He breathed out his nose a short puff. “It’s fun. I’m good at it. Brings people pleasure. And me, obviously.”

She waited for more. He still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, surprised by the words coming from his mouth.

“Sometimes, in the midst of it, I catch them looking at me with this expression. Like, wonder, almost. Or… awe. I suppose it’s built into me, to want it.”

“Why?”

He huffed, shaking his head, his mouth pulling into a tight line. “No matter how far I’ve Fallen,” he said, closing his eyes for the briefest of moments, “I was an angel first.”

The silence stilled the air around them until he spoke again.

“Do you believe me?” he asked, finally lifting his eyes to hers.

“No. Do you need me to?”

“It would certainly make things easier.”

She couldn’t help a small smile at that, at seeing the man she was more familiar with returning.

“Will you ever have sex with me?”

Yep, he was back. “Ever?” she confirmed.

“Ever.”

She considered it. “I don’t know what the future holds.”

He smiled. It wasn’t smug. Just pleased.

“How do you unlock… everything. Handcuffs. Doors.”

“I am the Devil, darling. Comes with the package.”

“Why?”

“Because not even Hell can hold the Devil, let alone a few pieces of flimsy metal.”

“And that’s the truth?”

“Always. Now tell me,” he said, leaning in, “Did you really want the spawn?”

Chloe narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Dan wanted kids more than I did,” she admitted. “He comes from a big family. But I knew one was going to be enough for me.”

“That’s not really an answer to the question I asked.”

She knew the answer, but had never said it out loud before. “I didn’t want kids. After the way my mom was… I wasn’t really sure what kind of mother I’d be. And I had a rough pregnancy. Not that it’s any of your business, but I ended up getting my tubes tied after Trixie was born. Dan and I fought about that a lot. But after I had her, I knew that I never wanted to be without her. I love her more than anything else.”

Lucifer sighed, obviously displeased. He leaned back, turning and throwing an arm over the back of the chair.

“Do you have any kids? That you know of?”

“Wouldn’t the world have ended, then? If I had fathered the Antichrist?”

“Answer the question.”

His gaze drifted toward the door, and she looked, wondering what he was thinking lay beyond it. “Not that I know of, no,” he answered, bringing himself back to her with a smile. “Surprised?”

“Actually, a little. Given your, you know. You-ness.” He smiled then, a little proud. She decided to try and lighten the mood between them. “What instruments do you play?”

“All of them.”

She shot him a look. He shrugged.

“What languages do you speak?”

“All of them,” he answered again, amused.

“All of them."

“Yep.”

“How?”

“They aren’t particularly difficult to learn, especially when you have an infinite number of test subjects to learn from and no time limit.”

“How many nightclubs have you owned?”

He studied his fingernails for a moment. “I haven’t really been on Earth long enough to get everything in order before now. Well, there was that one. You may have heard of it. Little place called Eden.”

“Where were you born?”

“I wasn’t born so much as created, but I first came into being in the Silver City.”

“Which is… Heaven.”

“Colloquially.”

Chloe stared down at the paper, keeping track. “And what was your name?”

He didn’t answer, so she looked up. “Why do you ask? Trying to run a background check? I assure you, I won’t be in any databases.”

“Yes,” she answered truthfully, feeling anger build itself in the center of her body. “If you won’t tell me the truth, then I’ll just have to find out for myself.”

“I am telling you the truth.”

“No, Lucifer,” she sighed, setting down the pen. “You’re just telling me more of the same bullshit I hear from you all the time. She let her face fall into her hands before smoothing back her hair, frustrated. “Why don’t you want to tell me your name?” she asked. “There’s got to be some reason. Some real reason. Were you in WitSec, or did you change it to get away from your dad, or –”

“I don’t go by that name anymore,” he interrupted.

“Yeah, I get that, and it’s not like I want to start calling you something else, because weirdly enough, you hear ‘Lucifer’ enough times and it becomes just like any other name. I just want to understand.”

He softened under her imploring gaze. There was no malice behind it, no searching for something she could use against him. “If I tell you, will you never repeat it?

She blinked a few times, surprised, but nodded all the same. He looked up and over her shoulder, toward the camera with its little blinking red light. She knew that footage was recorded, but Lucifer had quickly made friends with the officer who transcribed interviews and interrogations, resulting in a lot of the stranger occurrences and questions being left out of official reports. It wouldn’t take much for someone to dig deeper, but so far, they had been lucky.

“Can I tell you later?” he asked.

Her heart leapt in her chest at the thought, but on the surface she remained calm. “Of course.”

“Eleven for me.” He tapped the paper. “Fifteen for you.”

She noted it and ticked off another in her column. “When you wanted to show me proof of who you were, what stopped you?”

“I don’t know,” he started, then realized that wasn’t entirely true. “Someone… took it from me.”

“What were you going to show me?”

“My face. My true face.”

“Your… face.”

“Well, I couldn’t bloody well show you my…”

“Your what?”

He looked away, and she tried to figure out the expression on his face. “I’ve seen your everything, you know,” she said lightly, pushing at his forearm.

“Not everything, I’m afraid. Not this.”

“Not what?”

He hid any discomfort behind a neutral expression. “My wings. And I couldn’t show you because… because I had cut them off that morning. Little did I know they would simply grow back.”

She ran her fingers over her lips, thinking. “Do you often struggle with, um. Body modification?”

He gestured to himself. “Why would I need to change this?”

“People change,” she told him.

“Not inside. The outside. I mean,” he chuckled, then gestured down his body with body hands. “Perfection, am I right?”

“Do I have to answer that?”

“Yes. And I’ll even be generous and not count that as a question, considering you only have one remaining.”

She quickly counted her marks. Obstinate, she ticked off two more in his column.

“No,” she agreed. “Your body is very… nice.”

“Nice?” he repeated, astounded. “Nice?”

“I said very nice.”

“Oh, because very nice is so much better.”

She giggled at his outrage, and he relaxed. “Alright. You have eight questions left.” She looked at him through her lashes. “Use them wisely, cause I’ll probably never do this with you again.”

“Do you have any sex toys?”

“Nope,” she answered, making another tick mark. He shook his head, frankly disappointed.

“Have you ever been with a woman?”

“I messed around a little, when I was younger. Nothing serious.”

“If money was no object, where would you like to go? Anywhere in the world,” he added.

“Barcelona,” she answered, and he was surprised at how quickly she responded. “I don’t know. Ever since I was little, I always just liked the name. Always felt drawn toward it. Never found the time to go, I guess.”

“Is this,” he lifted a hand, gesturing to the empty room, “really what you want to do with your life?”

“Be a cop, you mean? I told you before. After my dad died, I just… knew. It feels right. To help people. To put away people who shouldn’t be on the streets.”

“Even if money was no object? Is this truly how you would desire to spend your time?”

She considered it. “Yeah. I mean, I wish I could spend more time with Trixie. I wish the job wasn’t so dangerous. But I know that I can do it. I’m strong enough to, and not everyone is. I guess I feel responsible, like I’m taking the burden off someone else’s shoulders.”

Slowly, his expression melded from one of disbelief to understanding. She wanted to ask why he did this, why he chose to help her, but something in her told her to wait. She only had one question left, after all. She knew he had been wronged, and that this was his way for making up for that. She wouldn’t probably get a straight answer out of him, anyway.

“Do you feel guilty about anything?” he asked.

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I think we all have our fair share.”

“No,” he said desperately, shifting to rest his weight on his elbows, leaning close. “No. Really, truly guilty. About something. Something that weighs your heart down. A moment you repeat, over and over, wishing it could have gone differently, knowing that you are responsible for the consequences of those actions.”

She rested back, shocked at the fear in his eyes. She knew the answer, of course. It sat on her tongue, ready to be freed. “Yes,” she answered. His eyes widened. “For a long time I felt guilty about my dad, knowing that he was where he was only because he was doing something for me.”

Suddenly, he reached across and took her hand in his. “You mustn’t feel any guilt over that. None whatsoever.”

She stared at his hand covering hers, at the black ring that adorned his middle finger. A question sat on her lips – why – but she couldn’t bring herself to ask it.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked softly. “To lift that burden?”

She huffed out a laugh, willing away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “The Devil himself doesn’t want me to go to Hell,” she said, lifting her eyes to his with a small smile.

He returned hers with a smile of his own, one that just barely reached his eyes. “No. He doesn’t.”

She breathed out. He made to pull away, but her thumb running over his stopped him. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do. Unless you want to promise me you’ll come break me out if I wind up there.”

“I would move Heaven and Earth to do so.”

She scooted closer, turning over her hand to hold his. He gazed at her softly.

“Do you believe me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she admitted, studying their hands. “And that was your last question.”

“You have one left, as I recall.”

Unbidden tears welled in her eyes, and he shook his head, not understanding. “I already know the answer, I think,” she said, a tear trailing down her cheek as she offered him a smile. “But I’m not sure if you do.”

“Seems you should ask it, then.”

“Do you love me?”

In that moment, he understood. He understood why his wings were back, and his scars, gone. His Father had only asked one thing of him. To love humanity. And he never had. Before. When he decided to tell her the truth, he knew. Knew it with more surety than he had ever felt for anything else in his life. She squeezed his hand in his silence.

“I didn’t know that I could love anyone,” he confessed. “And honestly, I never tried. I never understood how someone could mean so much more than anyone else, especially given just how many of you there are, and knowing exactly the depths to which you are capable of sinking. Quite literally. I was always satisfied, but now I find myself wanting…” he trailed off, drawn in by the open sky of her eyes. “To be known. Truly. By you. I know that you think I’m crazy,” he told her hand, brushing off a tear that had fallen there. “And I know that hurts you so. Which I find myself no longer capable of tolerating.”

He let the wings gently unfurl behind him, not meeting her eyes. She squeezed his hand tightly with a sharp, surprised inhale.

“If I have ever loved anything. Anyone,” he said, dragging his eyes up to meet hers. They brimmed with unshed tears, and he watched as she brought her gaze over the wing and back to his. “I have loved you.”

He pulled her hand from atop hers and tucked his wings away. He stood. She stared.

“Samael,” he said, smoothing down the front of his suit jacket. “My name was Samael.”

The door shut quietly behind him, leaving Chloe alone in the silence. She lifted her hand, still warm from his touch, to her mouth to stifle whatever sound threatened to escape.

[savagewildnerness]

Another week, another my-thoughts-on-the-next TVL bit...

Part VII - Ancient Magic, Ancient Mysteries.

(I'm worried I'm not generous enough to Marius in this. So to clarify, I actually really pity Marius in QOTD and I love how he can be humorous and despite my noting his feelings of superiority, when he loves someone he can also be accepting... That said.... on this read, here were my thoughts...)

Q - Lestat and Marius have physical similarities in the books & they even have attire-based similarities with their red velvet cloaks.  Will the TV show keep or amplify this and if so, how do you think it might impact the connections between Lestat, Marius, Armand and Louis?

Q - What does Lestat love about Marius?  He clearly sees him in some way as a Father figure.  He loves that Marius retains a humanness (Lestat calls Marius an immortal MAN - just as Lestat wishes to be), and Lestat’s greatest fear is that he is merely pure monster… although I wonder whether Marius truly is as human as Lestat perceives him?  Marius is undoubtedly clever and undoubtedly a chronicler… is some of his humanness artifice?  A disguise for the inhuman thing he actually is?  A disguise that beings such as Armand, Nicki and Claudia cannot or will not wear?  Is Marius actually a more human vampire?  He’s so very old and even as a mortal he seemed mainly to observe other humans at arm’s length.  I’m not sure.  I just wonder…. It feels to me Marius was always somewhat removed from others - observing humanity in an intellectual, distanced way…

Q - Why does Marius bring Lestat to his home?  Why does he so quickly (even before he has told anything of their tale at all to Lestat) take Lestat to see Those Who Must Be Kept?  It feels irresponsible that he gives Lestat no preparation.  Does he want Lestat to echo Marius’ own experience of first seeing them?  Does he want to shock Lestat?  He knows Lestat has been in The Earth - essentially a suicide following deep grief… and he takes him here?!  To see The Horror of these frozen, sentient beings?!  And THEN he forces Lestat to stay in the room and strongly encourages him to greet them… almost as if he *WANTS* Lestat to stir them?!  Does he want Lestat to rouse them?!  Marius didn’t so much as ever tell Armand a word about Those Who Must Be Kept and Lestat is still so young as a vampire….

Q - Nicolas’ perception of “the light” in Lestat was to do with his positivity and optimism and his failure to be cynical (p267).  He couldn’t bear that Lestat retained this optimism or innocence even in the face of the proven true and pure evil of becoming a monstrous vampire. Marius’ description of innocence is an absence of need for illusion.  I wonder about this, because to me this is an area where Marius considers himself above those who have faith.  There’s some skin-crawling irony in my mind about considering yourself superior to who you perceive as weaker-minded individuals, yet ALSO framing this as “innocence” as if you are somehow also more pure…?!  Where does Marius’ love for Armand lie in all this, too?  Armand, the most religious of them all… Nicki was indeed cynical in large part due to his religion - ingrained.  But also due to a nihilistic and importantly a REALISTIC worldview.  Lestat can be more positive as he can be more hopeful in his worldview.  But Lestat has literally just been dwelling relentlessly on fate.  Maybe that Lestat wasn’t indoctrinated into faith allows him a more openminded level of hope?  I don’t know… something about Marius’ argument unsettles me here.  Something about having make himSELF the best.  Children aren’t innocent.  Savages aren’t innocent.  Uneducated people aren’t innocent.  Animals aren’t innocent.  Marius and Lestat; the exalted ones are innocent…?  I also wonder how similar/different Marius and Lestat’s views of faith/religion are/aren’t?

Q - I discover over & over that “Lestattian” is a verb to me & I wonder if I am being ungenerous when I compare how Lestat describes Marius as kindness & benevolence; compassion & grace, patient… but when Marius tells his story he sometimes reveals a snobbish, superior side where he looks down at those he feels intellectually, spiritually or socially inferior… and it makes me wonder: when Marius describes himself in ways that could be Lestat self-describing - is it *always* exactly what Marius said & did, or does he see in Lestat’s mind what *he* would feel & how he’d respond? And I think to myself sometimes when Marius goes on the fiftieth tangent to explain JUST HOW MUCH BACKGROUND KNOWLEDGE ON WHATEVER TOPIC he has, is it ungenerous of me that sometimes I roll my eyes & think *Goodness, please stop SHOWING OFF, Marius!!! We get it! You have read ALL OF THE BOOKS!!*. I will say I do love Marius’ humour. I love how he can forgive & I love that he is learned.  But I worry that at times he says all Lestat wants to hear.

Q - Marius’ paintings I found interesting.  The way Lestat describes the grotesquerie of the worms in the soil and how the initial seeming perfection of Marius’ art is transformed or marred when Lestat notices its horrific aspects…. Is this a nod to vanitas art and to the corruption in Marius too?  Marius’ art is illusion and what else about Marius might be illusion?  The home Marius takes Lestat to reminds me very much of the unnatural Paradise Armand lived in with Marius…. Does Marius truly fit with current times?  Or is this a (metaphorical) cloak he wears?

Q - When Lestat talks of if only Nicolas had gone down into The Earth, could he have lived.. and Marius says all old vampires go into The Earth, it made me think - who besides Lestat has described going into The Earth for a prolonged time?

Q - p380 Lestat says he feels the possibility of an overpowering love… but is he just grieving and seeking Marius to fill him up?

Note: “A crack between faith and despair” could describe much of The Vampire Chronicles…

Note: “I could hear chants and ancient invocations” made me feel excited for Daniel Hart’s Those Who Must Be Kept music!

Note: p389 Lestat’s “Oh God” at the realisation of Those Who Must Be Kept being sentient but not moving reminds me of his “Oh! Oh! Oh!” Existential crisis with Nicolas.

Note: p395 When Lestat feels he is praying essentially to Akasha and is reminded how as a tiny child he used to pray to escape his Father’s house - Rolin could really take that comment and run with its implications… Also, the physical experience Lestat has in this moment with Akasha - she must create that in him, foreshadowing Queen of the Damned and the spellbinding power she has over whoever she wishes.

Note: When Marius really gets into his own story I often write/note when he sounds Lestattian.

Note: Marius, the illegitimate son, with complete freedom - the educated chronicler and scholar is in many ways the complete opposite of Lestat, the impoverished and imprisoned seventh legitimate son - the illiterate hunter with no freedom at all.  It’s interesting that Marius notes how free he was by 20 - Lestat’s age at turning.

Note: I find it annoying how Marius is so deeply at pains to show Lestat/us how CLEVER he is at times.  I also find him sometimes rude and patronising (p400/401)

Note: p403 - Marius enjoys collecting interesting people as a human… Is he kind of collecting Lestat now?

Note: There are lots of parallels to The Witches’ Place in The Druid’s religion, Gods and the turning of Marius. Over & over & over again; The Witches’ Place. Even here, in Marius’ story, it resounds - echoing into the past, into the future, over All Humanity’s Existence… From Maharet & Mekare, through Marius, to Nicolas & Lestat & on & on to now…

Note: The Great Mother talk p407 reminds me of Akasha becoming a God in the future… is she listening to Marius right now?

Note: Marius being chosen as Perfect to be a God seems to really match with the superiority/slight arrogance in Marius…?

Note: I wonder what Lestat thinks about the vampire Keltoi Gods?

Note: The wicker figures are so Wicker Man and I cannot wait for Rolin to go full horror and to pay homage to Wicker Man - surely this part of Marius’ story will be shown.

Note: p413 - the way Marius says he will (implied) free the innocent and denounce the religion is SO Lestattian.  Marius doesn’t do this.  Would Lestat have done?

Note: Marius too calls the God “it” just as Lestat did Magnus.

Note: Sometimes Marius says beautiful things, such as “The great spiritual depth of each man buried deep within a crucible of heated flesh and blood.”

Note: Rapture and ecstasy as part of their festival - allusion to both vampiric turning and The Witches’ Place.  Even a literal cauldron.

Note: Even Marius’ final paragraph p426 is very Lestattian.

[justdillydally]

Will You Still Love Me? (Gwayne Hightower x OFC) 2

https://www.tumblr.com/justdillydally/759136953047433216/will-you-still-love-me-gwayne-hightower-x-ofc-1?source=share Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary: The tourney commences. Rhaella was reunited with her cousin and her guise as a minstrel was short lived.

Chapter Rating/Trigger Warning for the chapter:  Teen and up audiences, non-graphic description of violence (they're in a tourney)

Note: I finally had a rough draft on how things will go in the story. It’s a slow burn as I mentioned and it looked like I might need to turn it into a trilogy if people still reads this. The first part (WYSLM) will have around eight or so chapters. I try to be fateful to the canon but I have to tweak up some details to make it work in the fic. Thank you for the kudos and reblogs from the previous chapter. I really appreciate it. Hope you enjoy this one!

@deniixlovezelda @loverslikeghosts

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Sunlight stretched across the field, once barren but now vibrant with a multitude of tents adorned with colorful banners bearing the coats of arms of the competing knights and noble houses. As the dew evaporated from the grass and the morning birds serenaded the new day, the arena buzzed with life. Spectators filled the stands, the clamor of preparations mingling with the excitement in the air.

Rhaella had hurriedly left the Red Keep as soon as she broke her fast, despite Princess Rhaenyra’s insistence that she stay in bed until the babe arrived. Dressed in a full-length gown of bronze and black, with intricate red embroidery, she made her way to the Royce tent. Her eyes danced over the elaborate designs of the Great Houses' tents, a stark contrast to the simpler attire of the smaller houses. The sounds of clanking metal, neighing horses, hushed conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter created a lively backdrop.

Finding the Royce tent was easy; its bronze fabric with black iron studs and the flag proudly displaying their sigil made it unmistakable. She lifted the flap and stepped inside, her gaze quickly taking in the unfamiliar faces. Two men stood by—one older, and the other around her age—while the only familiar face was that of her cousin, fully armored.

“Willam!” She greeted him with a broad smile, noting the similarity in their dark hair and shared features.

“Rhaella.” His voice was warm, and he welcomed her with an embrace. “You’ve grown up so much since I last saw you.”

She stepped back, her eyes assessing the changes in him. “And you’re a knight now. I’m impressed.”

Willam stood tall with a grin. “You should hear the tales of my exploits, cousin.”

She bit her lip, stifling a laugh. “I can only imagine the heroic stories you’ve accumulated.”

“Where is Ser Qarl?” He gestured to a boy, who promptly fetched chairs from the corner.

“I sent him to wait in the arena. He’s doing his duty well as my protector,” she assured him, wary of whom she could trust in King’s Landing, a place teeming with intrigue.

The boy arranged the chairs, and Willam addressed him. “Make sure my steed is ready, Allard.”

The older man bowed and left, while the boy returned to polishing Willam’s helm.

“How is Runestone?” Rhaella inquired as she took a seat opposite her cousin. Leaving home had been hard, but it comforted her to know it was in capable hands.

“Still standing, my lady. Leowyn is managing things efficiently in your absence.”

Relief washed over her, but concern quickly followed. “And Uncle Gerold? I haven’t heard from him in weeks. Is he aiding Leowyn?”

Willam’s expression grew serious. “He’s been occupied with the Hilltribes near the Gates of the Moon. Last I heard, they were driven back near Kingsroad.”

A worried look crossed Rhaella’s face, but she had a smile to cover it. “I’ll return to Runestone after my name day. I’m eager to help in any way I can. I miss the Vale.”

“You’ve missed the Vale, and not your charming cousin?” Willam’s smirk was playful, aimed at lightening the mood.

Rhaella laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Of course, I miss you too, but King’s Landing is so different from home.”

“We all miss your presence at Runestone. We look forward to your return,” he said earnestly.

The blare of trumpets and the roar of the crowd signaled the start of the tourney. Their conversation halted as they both stood.

Looking up at Willam, Rhaella placed a hand on his shoulder, her eyes brimming with pride. “I bid you good fortune in the tourney, Ser Willam.”

“Thank you, my Lady.” Willam bowed gracefully.

With a playful smirk, Rhaella added, “Show them what a Royce is made of.”

“I shall do my best not to disappoint,” he replied with a grin.

As Rhaella prepared to leave the tent, she froze. Her heart raced as she caught sight of Ser Gwayne Hightower on his steed, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. Instinctively, she ducked back inside the tent, her hand clutching her chest.

Willam’s concerned voice broke her reverie. “Lady Rhaella, is everything alright?”

Turning sharply, she met his worried gaze. Hesitation marked her tone. “It’s—it’s that Hightower knight.”

Willam’s eyes widened slightly as he opened the tent’s flap to scan the field. “Ser Gwayne Hightower? Are you hiding from him?” He closed the flap and returned to her.

Her fingers fidgeted, and she avoided his eyes. “He might have a reason to suspect that I’m a minstrel.”

Willam’s lips twitched in amusement. “Pray tell, dear cousin?”

Rhaella hesitated, her mouth opening and closing as she searched for the right words. Finally, she sighed. “Long story short, I needed money.”

Willam’s snort was barely restrained. “You needed money? And you chose to become a traveling bard?”

“I was training near the Roseroad. Ser Qarl and I needed to eat but had little coin.” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she reasoned to him.

Willam’s amusement faded. “Just the two of you in the woods?”

Rhaella straightened, her voice defensive. “In King’s Landing, they don’t train ladies in combat. I use riding as an excuse, and Ser Qarl helps me practice.”

Willam’s tone grew serious. “It’s dangerous, Rhaella. People might start whispering about you and your sworn sword.”

She met his gaze firmly. “We’re not far from King’s Landing, and Ser Qarl is loyal. He’d never act dishonorably. You know that.”

Willam shook his head, sighing. “I’m not questioning either of you, but you’re the heir to Runestone. You need to be cautious.”

Rhaella’s expression softened with understanding. “If I’m to defend and rule Runestone, I need more than just words and courtesy. I’ll be careful, cousin.” She nodded in agreement.

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The stands buzzed with excitement as lords, ladies, and smallfolk alike filled the seats, eager to cheer for their champions. The vibrant colors of the banners fluttered in the breeze, and the noise of anticipation mingled with the occasional burst of laughter. Rhaella, having missed the early matches, finally made her way to the royal box.

King Viserys and Queen Alicent turned to her as she approached. “Where have you been? You nearly missed House Royce’s turn,” the King inquired, a hint of reproach in his voice.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Rhaella replied softly as she took her seat beside Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys. “Princess, My Lord” she greeted them with a nod before turning her attention to the arena. The royal box was filled with the royal family, save for the toddlers and Princess Rhaenyra, who was resting as advised by the Maesters. Behind them, the small council lords occupied their seats.

A flutter of anxiety gripped her. What if Ser Gwayne doesn’t recognize me at all? After all, I’m not in my usual attire, and my hair is styled differently. The gods must be merciful if that’s the case.

Down in the arena, Ser Willam Royce charged against a knight from House Bettley. With a resounding clash, Willam’s lance struck his opponent’s helmet, though the opposing knight managed a hit on Willam’s shoulder. Despite the blow, Willam remained steadfast on his stallion, while his competitor was thrown to the ground. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Rhaella clapped with enthusiasm. Willam was announced the victor, and the arena cleared for the next match.

Her heart skipped a beat when the announcer declared the next bout would be between Ser Gwayne Hightower and Ser Erren Appleton. Rhaella held her breath, hoping for a distraction or change of fate.

Before the match began, Ser Gwayne Hightower guided his steed toward the royal box, his visor raised and a grin playing on his lips. “For the Lady Rhaella Targaryen,” he called out, his voice carrying across the arena. “Her beauty is an inspiration to minstrels. May I have this favor?” He raised his lance, the sun glinting off its metal.

Rhaella felt the eyes of everyone in the box, especially the Queen, on her. “Ser Gwayne,” she said, her voice steady as she accepted the ribbon and flower. Despite her irritation, she managed a polite smile as she fastened the favor to his lance.

Their gazes locked, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them. The cheers of the crowd and the scrutiny of the royal box faded into the background. Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to remain composed, even as her lips tightened into a thin line.

As Ser Gwayne resumed his position and lowered his visor, the match commenced. Rhaella watched intently, her eyes tracking his every move. Despite her disdain for the Hightower, she couldn’t deny his skill. His strikes were precise, unhorsing his opponents with apparent ease. Each victory was followed by a growing sense of frustration and begrudging admiration from her something she won’t admit openly.

When the matches paused for an intermission, Rhaella headed toward the edge of the tourney grounds, planning to catch up with her cousin. But fate had other plans. Ser Gwayne appeared, his stride confident and his eyes twinkling with amusement. He approached her with a smirk.

“Lady Targaryen,” he greeted, bowing slightly, though his tone was more teasing than respectful. “I should thank you. Your favor seems to have brought me good fortune.”

Rhaella raised an eyebrow, her voice without warmth “Perhaps you should. I’m sure it was entirely my favor that kept you from falling off your horse.”

Gwayne chuckled, nodding. “It’s possible my skill had something to do with it,” he said, “but your favor certainly didn’t hurt. I must admit, you’ve surprised me, Lady Targaryen. I hadn’t expected a minstrel to secure a place at the royal box.”

“And you were too eager to believe that’s all I am,” Rhaella retorted, her shoulders lifting in a nonchalant shrug.

Leaning in slightly, his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re not as discreet as you think, my lady. A lady hiding behind a minstrel’s guise?” He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval.

Rhaella stiffened, her discomfort barely concealed. She forced a polite smile, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Is it praise you seek, Ser Gwayne? Surely winning a few matches should be sufficient.”

Gwayne’s smile widened, his gaze lingering on her. “Victory is sweeter when noticed by those who appreciate it. You were watching closely, weren’t you?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed her face. Her lips curled into a smile yet her eyes were set ablazed, it reminded Ser Gwayne of Rhaella’s father. “I was watching the tourney, Ser Gwayne, just as everyone else was. You simply happened to be part of it.”

“And yet, you seem to be quite invested in my performance. Perhaps you enjoy the thrill of seeing me unhorse my opponents or is there something more?” Gwayne replied smoothly.

Her nose crinkled in the accusation. “I watch the tourney to appreciate the fine display of skill by knights. Your victories are impressive, but hardly a matter of personal concern to me.”

“You agree, it is impressive?” Gwayne’s grin widened, finding satisfaction with the reaction he was stirring within her. “And yet, you seem to be quite engrossed. It’s as if you are here to support me and not your own House.”

Rhaella never saw a reason to detest the Hightowers until Gwayne. The Queen has been dutiful to the King and despite her aloofness, she was kind to her and let her play with her children.  “Your confidence in yourself is admirable, Ser. You have more rounds to win, after all. It would be a shame if you were to lose.”

“I will certainly do well with the favor you bestow upon me,” he replied. The silence stretched between them as he gave her a slight bow. “Until the next round, then, Lady Targaryen.”

“Ser Gwayne.” She curtsied, her eyes following him as he walked away. Enjoy your victory until you can.

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Back in the royal box, Queen Alicent sat beside King Viserys who was busy conversing with Lord Corlys and the other Lords in the small council. The discussion of their favorite knights from the tourney was the main subject of their chattering.

Queen Alicent caught sight of her brother, and the unmistakable Heir of Runestone. Worry etched on her face, trying to decipher what the two could be talking about. Her fingers tapped the chair, watching Gwayne smiled at Rhaella. How did Gwayne know her? She has not been in Court when he last visited the Capitol, and she was with Gwayne since he arrived yesterday.

[pigeontheoneandonly]

Would you be willing to expound on the Kaidan/Anders similarity? I’d never really considered it and would love to hear your ideas 💛

I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve started this post over the years, and abandoned it unfinished when it got out of hand.  But I’ll try my best to be succinct.

At its core, the reason why I find Kaidan and Anders to be similar is that both are centrally driven by profound compassion, and preyed upon by the consequence of profound compassion, which is an absolute intolerance of injustice.

Let’s dispense with the superficial details of their arcs.  Both are outcasts in their societies due to their unique capabilities, feared, loathed, and used as tools in the same breath.  Both have chosen to turn those abilities towards the service of others.  When we meet Anders in Awakening, he is literally trying to survive, to hide from the templars and maintain his own freedom.  When we meet Kaidan in ME1, he is metaphorically trying to survive, to keep his head down and be a “normal” marine, in hopes this will let him escape the stigma of being a biotic.  Anders declares to you “this is a place of healing”; Kaidan confides that he won’t use his abilities against sentient beings.  Both see their feelings harden and their willingness to accept more extreme methods expand as their enemy’s power grows. 

Even their childhoods are similar.  Anders was obviously taken as a child and imprisoned in a mage tower, but I’m not sure many people realize BAaT was founded when Kaidan was nine years old.  Though it’s mostly assumed Kaidan was taken to BAaT as a teenager, since he’s in the first known exposure group, there’s a case that he was actually taken much younger.  Regardless, both characters were strongly marked by their early experiences.  Anders escapes to the Wardens because the tower is so awful it makes that option look good.  Kaidan escapes to the military because it’s one of the few ways he can actually make use of his abilities, even if he has no illusions this will allow him to escape surveillance (“might as well get a paycheck for it”). 

In both their romances, they view their partner with a sense of wonder, and as a grounding point, making them feel safe and like they have somewhere to belong.  There is a sense that they are extending a trust that’s been buried a long time, which makes it all the worse if their partner then chooses to leave them later.  But both will stand by their principles even if it costs them their partner. 

Anders’ anger has been examined by the fandom at length, but we say relatively little about Kaidan’s anger and the ways it changes and hardens him, on Horizon, and especially through the arc of ME3.  He clearly understands and believes that the reapers are sentient beings and even expresses curiosity about them in ME1, but by the end of ME3, he’s fully willing to wipe them out because of the evil acts they’ve committed.  It takes a real act of effort for him to step back and try to understand Shepard’s role in Cerberus and reconcile that with what he knows about Cerberus.  His sense of injustice is twisting his perspective every bit as much as did Anders’, but it’s somewhat easier for us as players to sympathize with someone fighting against an ancient race of machines vs. someone facing down a religious institution that has far more parallels to real life situations.

(I also believe that if Kaidan were Subject Zero, the comparison would be that much more obvious.  Imagine that the side mission in ME1 where you rescue the hostage, Chairman Burns, instead becomes Subject Zero!Kaidan’s recruitment mission.  Imagine a Kaidan that much more deeply impacted by trauma, who has made it his life’s work to help other biotics.  Starts to sound a bit familiar, right?)

[enruiinas]

I’m still on my Law novel feels BS, so I thought I’d sit down and sort through a few of my favorite lines/things I feel are most integral to my understanding of Law as a character (and therefore my portrayal of him).

Long, rambly post with many feels and spoilers from the Law novel ahead. Like, direct quotes from the entire thing so… read at your own risk if you haven’t read it.

♡ “And if White Lead Disease had never existed, maybe my parents, my sister Lami and I would be running a hospital by now. For a moment, the scene I imagine dazzles me. Oh yes, what happiness that would be. But at the same time, I know that I will never be able to find this lost world. I must no longer lean toward the past, but move toward the future.”

There is a part of Law that has always and will always think of the “what if”s and how things might have gone differently in every aspect of his life. He wonders what it would have been like if his family survived and he’d had a normal childhood. He wonders what would have happened if Cora-san had lived, what might have happened if he’d given his missive to any other marine besides Vergo, and if it would have been better if Cora had never met him. These are a few of the darker places he goes when he’s left to his own devices or there’s no one around to keep his thoughts from spiraling. It’s stated again and again throughout the novel how seriously Law takes his duty as the leader of the squad, captain of the crew, how much it means to him that people follow and learn from him, etc. Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi need him as a leader role in their lives in pursuit of their own meaning and ambitions- but he NEEDS to be needed in a leader capacity just as much. Knowing people depend on him and need him to keep moving forward gives him the means to keep those “what if” thoughts at arms’ length. Yes, it’s nice to envision the might have beens, but he knows it would be entirely too easy to lose himself in them if he didn’t have a reason to push through and keep moving forward.

Along those same lines…

♡ “I can’t lose, I don’t have the right.”

He’s put himself in the position to lead them- as much for their sake as his. Now he’s committed and this is what he reminds himself when things get hard or they’re facing difficult obstacles. He’s been saved by the kindness of people and handed his life back twice - first in Cora-san’s sacrifice to find a cure and free him, and again after Wolf finds him in the cave following his extraction of the White Lead Disease from his body. Does he sometimes still experience survivor guilt after everything he’s been through? Absolutely. But he’s been given his life and knows he can’t disgrace his late benefactor by letting it go to waste. He has to live make sure his death meant something by living to the fullest extent he can.

♡ “I thought I had nothing more to hope for from anyone, the way Cora acted towards me prompted me to give them a second chance to people and to believe in the human again.”

♡ “Aah… the more I think about it, the more I tell myself that in fact, this world is not that bad.”

These two quotes come up early in Law’s stay with Wolf and pretty quickly following his savior’s death. In the few short months they had together, Cora-san managed to instill such powerful ideas and hopes in a kid that was hellbent on burning the world down.

Law absolutely knows that the world is far from perfect. He’s seen horrible things and was for a very long time a hurt little boy very much afraid of the pain and misery “bad adults” could inflict on children. He was afraid of their disapproval and their resentment. But Corazon taught him to love again and to open up to seeing the good in people again.

This was one of the things where the depth the novel provided really took me by surprise. Prior to reading it, I liked to think about the similarities between Law and Robin and how the latter had come to see good in people again but Law hadn’t quite made it there yet. But that’s not true at all. I didn’t realize how big of an affect the 3 years on Swallow Island and the company of his friends really impacted him.

This fell apart a little as I was writing it because this post is getting pretty long on my phone (I’ll probably edit this part later), but my takeaway from this part is for all his stoic demeanor, Law does see and value the kindness in people and is motivated by hope and good things. The novel even states that his goals when he sets out include:

♡ “Enemies to beat, countries to save, an immense sea on which to travel with his crew…”

For a kid so determined on insisting he’s “not a good person”, umm. Yes, he is. And I think everyone who really knows him would refute that claim of his.

♡ I didn’t save the exact quote, but it’s important to me to note that Law really enjoyed the three years on Swallow Island. He cherished the time spent with Wolf and the OG3, loved their meals together, loved their little makeshift family. He loved the people of Pleasure Town and the work he did in the clinic, and a part of him knows it would have been easier to stay there than you’d think before he learns to pursue his goals and the concept of “true freedom”. (This was another ‘wow’ moment for me because I’d always leaned into unresolved angst and inner turmoil. Prior to the novel I would have said -did say, even, in plotting with @clownquixote- that Law would never want to go back to North Blue because too much bad happened there. But I can absolutely see him looking forward to going back and seeing Wolf again someday now, even if it’s not to stay.)

Lastly, two random lines I don’t have to elaborate upon a lot but that are super important:

♡ “I suddenly have the impression of seizing this ‘joy of the doctor’ that my parents looked for more than anything in the world, they who taught me everything.”

Combined with Law’s insistence to Wolf that he would only ever use his DF to be the best doctor he could be, he takes his profession as a doctor very seriously. It is essential to who he is, even more so than being a pirate or the Captain of the Heart pirates.

♡ “It’s not that I have a heart of stone, but I don’t want my feelings to be a brake on my progress.” // ♡ “Then I turn around so that none of those in the room can see how silly happiness makes me look.”

Law does feel things. I would even venture to say he feels things A LOT and more deeply than most- good or bad. He just knows how to take all of those feelings and convert them into what he needs to keep moving forward and being the other thing he loves being: a leader to those who needed one. And also, he is a dork and will hide happiness just as much as he would hide his tears.

—-

Oops I had to edit to add this: despite all the progress I didn’t know he made and the insight he gained on Swallow Island, I have strong thoughts on what the things he saw unfold at Marineford and time alone on Punk Hazard did to him. I rambled last night that he needs people around him to keep him from spiraling and NOT having them around for a while certainly resulted in steps backwards in many aspects. Maybe he’s lost sight of the good things again temporarily besides his own crew but no, I don’t think the part of him that sees the good in people/the world (or wants to) is gone.

Click here to return to the headcanon masterlist on Carrd.

[lookinghalfacorpse]

i have a bad habit of dumping au or 'what if THIS happened!' bunnies onto people so i have a dsmp one for you, also its really long i am so sorry

what if cdream, in the back of his mind, always knew that XD had made him? His whole purpose was to bring together and maintain the peace and family like nature of the server. Too whatever lengths it took. The original Dream, the manhunter speedrunner the eight were close too became the server that universe, thats why its call Dream SMP. XD was created by the server to maintain it, XD created this puppet replica of Dream so his friends could live there, their friends could live there and their family and friends.

after the vault, cDream knows hes too damaged to keep fullfilling that purpose. Philza and Techno get the vibe that Dream's given up. They try to help him regain that, but Dream has accepted that as soon as he's in reach of one of XD's anchor points, such as the End Portal, XD will most likely undo him and remake him. A different version of Revival. HE doesn't tell Phil or Techno this at all, why? it doesn't change anything, and they would try make so it did.

Then Punz shows up, in a rare moment that Techno and Phil are gone (syndicate meeting? ranboo's still dead and dream is almost refusing to even try to get better) and takes Dream to that End Portal. Following Dream's instructions to his End. They show up, holding this broken puppet man and XD appears. Neither XD or dream speak, but XD lays their many hands upon dream, like a mother upon her child and says "Sleep, You Have Done More Than Earn It. I Will Take Care of Them All For You Now." and Dream nods and goes to sleep.

And all the Life leaves him, however you want to envision it. Techno will say like cooling corpse on a hospital bed, Niki will say like barely there steam from a fresh loaf rising and twirling away.

And Phil? Phil would say that even though Kristin stood over trying to catch the butterflies and dragonflies that left him, she couldn't. Those little creatures return to the server, along with rumors from the Artic of a Dream who's never known the rest of the SMP, who is exactly the same as the Dream the eight knew, before anyone else joined. Quietly, in the Void with the Dragon, a deity hopes that this time they'll find enough love in their to heal from the posions they fed themselves and the puppet man who had hurt them so much trying to protect them.

like an amnesia arc for only c!dream ?? am i reading that right ?

i’m picturing a dream who’s confused by the scars on his skin, who doesn’t remember losing any fingers, who’s frustrated by his trembling hands and the ache of his shoulders and hips.  he’s confused, and lost, but in other ways he’s still very much himself.  he’s sharp.  quick-witted.  he loves animals and insects and has read all of techno’s books about wildlife already.  he smiles more.  he doesn’t shy away from touch.  he has gruesome nightmares about lava and pliers and needles and infinite tnt falling from the sky and he doesn’t know what they mean.

philza would love him.  he’d teach him about history.  he’d show him how to heal, how to grow crops (not potatoes-- that’s techno’s job), how to cook, how to build.  phil already watched sam lose his memories and start a new life, so he’d surely grant dream the same freedom.  he’d be protective of this second chance, hiding him from the rest of the server because he Knows that the younger members won’t recognize what a rare and merciful opportunity this is.  at first, in the face of dream’s many many questions, he might say that he’s dream’s father or a similar arrangement.  in time, he might find a way to tell him the truth.

techno would mourn him.  at least at first.  all the inside jokes, the memories, the infallible Trust he worked so hard to build has disappeared.  losing that would be hard.  i do think he’d come to agree with phil, however, that this was probably the best option-- the kid was on death’s door anyway, so at least this way they haven’t lost him completely.  he’ll be grateful that punz had the foresight to see that.  he’d feel honor-bound to the new dream, determined to protect him, and, of course, to make him laugh.  he’s good at that.

niki finds it hard to look at his face and forget who he used to be.  it takes her some time.  punz feels the same-- there’s an ache in his chest that won’t seem to pass.  anyone else who comes to the cabins to investigate is chased away.

dream will wander off on his own, and when he finds the frozen body of a butterfly in the snow, he’ll take it home and preserve it.

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒯𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐸𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 12

Explanations and Meetings Long Over View

Pairing: Alastor x F!OC (Theia, The Demon of a Thousand Eyes)

Chapter Summary: Time to meet Rana in Imp City! We have a lot to discuss and it's not even been a full week at the hotel! Rana has lots of opinions on what has happened, mentions some rumor about the Vees keeping something secret from the last extermination, and finally introduces us to her boss.

The results of the poll about Chapter 14: Theia and Sir Pentious with a 53.8%! I also got an additonal comment this morning hoping as such, and frankly as soon as I posted the poll I immediately wanted this to happen but I'd already decided to post the poll so I'm happy about the results, too! Not to worry if you voted for Angel because of Fat Nuggets. We'll see Fat Nuggets soon. I promise. I won't forget his perfectness in this little fic. It might have to wait until the events of Masquerade, but he'll be there.

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: Cannibalism

Humming, you step out of the alley and out into the streets. Every now and again someone might be surprised to see you, but since you weren’t dressed too fancy no one paid you much mind. Sinners come to Imp City sometimes, you were aware, but you didn’t travel here for any of those reasons. You were just here for Rana. A few streets over, and you see her sitting at an outdoor table at your favorite cafe. She’s average height for most female imps. She’s dressed today in a simple black dress that looks similar to your own, minus the eyes, of course. Her dark red skin and tail contrast well with her black hair and black and white striped horns. Her hair is short, about neck-length, but she’s tufted it so that it almost looks like ears. In her hair, she has a crescent moon shaped hair clip. You’re quite fond of it. Perched on the bridge of her nose, she is wearing a pair of hot pink cat-eye frames. Around her neck on a chain, she has a pair of neon green square shaped frames. You’re certain that if you requested she turn out her pockets, she’d have at least one monocle and a few more pairs of glasses.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” You smile as you sit beside her.

“Nothing to worry about, Theia. I’ve already ordered for both of us. I knew you’d be along shortly, with that network of yours.” She sips from a teacup in front of her. “The waiter will bring your drink soon, now that you’ve arrived.”

Just as she’d spoken, in mere moments the waiter arrives with a second cup of tea. You thank him and reach into your fridge to procure a pair of eyeballs for your cup. “So I know we just spoke on the phone a few days ago, but how have you been, Rana?” You ask curiously as you sip your tea.

“I’m quite alright, Theia, thank you for asking. Work has been messy. My boss managed to set the entire office on fire. Nothing to worry about though, I managed to get the fire under control and ordered some extinguishers for the next time we inevitably need them. The souls under your keep are all doing well. Rumor has it that the Vees stumbled across something big in the last extermination and have been keeping it a secret from all the other overlords.” Rana sips her tea and her tail flicks with conspiratorial amusement.

You shrug as you sip yours. “Well when that rumor becomes substantiated let me know. I can’t afford to be out of the loop about something so important. I may have the most eyes in Hell but even I can’t be everywhere at once.”

“Enough about my work, though. How have you been doing? You’re at the hotel now, right? What’s that like?”

“It’s a hotel. Charlie’s got us doing these trust exercises to bond with each other? It kind of works. I’m making some friends like Rosie said I would.” You shrug again as you sip your tea.

“‘Charlie’, huh? You’re on a first name basis with the Princess?” Rana raises an eyebrow, surprised.

You shrug a third time. “She introduced herself that way. For royalty, she really likes to keep it low-key. It surprised me, too.”

“Hm, that is very different from any royalty I’ve ever been around.” Rana frowns, swishes her tail, takes a sip of her tea, then says, “And what’s it like now that you’re around him?” She leans in conspiratorially as the waiter brings a plate of finger foods for the two of you to snack on together. Not actual fingers though, as this isn’t Cannibal Town. The tray is piled high with cookies, cakes, and a few sandwiches of various kinds.

Your smile wobbles. You let it fall. It’s hard to not keep that poised smile affixed. You raise your arms to rub your temples. “He’s driving me insane, Rana. I mean we’ve talked about him before. I’ve kept my distance ever since I arrived, made sure to observe him through the network to avoid running into him. He’s a cold-blooded, heartless killer. He’s quite close with Rosie, and I know she can be a softie when she wants to, of course, but she has a similar taste for murder and vengeance. All overlords have it to some extent. I know I enjoy the satisfaction of tearing apart some sinners now and again myself. Alastor is…more than I anticipated. I expected him to be arrogant, smarmy, smug. I knew that he was polite, charming, as a facade, and I’ve always been fascinated by his powers, his shadows, his tentacles…”

“Theia, please, I don’t need another twenty minutes of you telling me how hot he is when he uses his tentacles on his enemies. The last six of them were more than enough, thank you.”

You huff a laugh but continue onward. “Meeting him in person…threw me off-kilter. He was charming to me in front of Rosie, of course, but he never stopped being charming to me. Even when I got up in his face. I assume he finds me fascinating because of, well, you know.”

“The secret you’ve painstakingly kept hidden from the entirety of Pentagram City?” Rana rolls her eyes. “Of course I know, and of course he would find that fascinating, but it seems to me there’s more to the story you’re not sharing.”

“He…took me on a date?” You pick up one of the cookies and stare into the eyes in your cup instead of looking at her.

“He what?” She nearly screeches. Someone yells at her to shut the fuck up, and she flips them off. You’re so proud. She’s come so far. “Elaborate immediately.”

“So I was running out of eyeballs that I’d bought from Rosie and Charlie gave us the day off. I decided I’d pop in and thank her for giving me the push I needed to join the hotel, make view lens. Since I can’t use the network to travel in and around most of the hotel, I had to walk to the front doors. Alastor was there waiting for me. When I told him where I was headed, he insisted he’d take me out to lunch, and then we’d go to Rosie’s to buy more eyes. I reluctantly agreed.” You munch on a cookie.

“And?” She hops excitedly in her seat.

“Well, I thought it was going to be a diner, right? I was sightly overdressed for a diner, but that wouldn’t have stopped me from enjoying any good place, especially if they’ve got fried eyes.”

“You and your obsession with eyes.” She rolls hers, amused.

“You and your obsession with eyewear.” You smirk back, gesturing to her.

Just to spite you, she takes off the hot-pink frames and fishes into her pocket, pulling out a pair of neon-yellow ones shaped like daisies to put on instead. “We all have our quirks. Now, tell me about the diner.”

“That’s just the thing, Rana. It wasn’t a diner. It was Tourniquet.”

“The fanciest restaurant in Cannibal Town? The one you’ve never actually eaten at because it’s intended for couples?! How romantic!” You are struggling to take her seriously in those glasses.

You nod and finish off the cookie. Sipping your tea, you continue, “I’m getting ahead of myself, though. So on the walk over, I ask him eye he keeps calling me ‘my dear’ and ‘my darling’. He refuses to call me ‘Theia’. Did I tell you that?” Rana shakes her head, and raises an eyebrow. She sips her tea so you continue. “He won’t call me ‘Theia’. When I asked him why, he told me he knew it wasn’t my real name, so he didn’t have to call me by it, and that he likes how it flusters me when he calls me ‘my dear’ or ‘my darling.” You sigh, letting it shudder through you as you pick up one of the mini cakes. You take a bite, sip your tea. “Rana I can’t take you seriously in those frames. Can you put anything else on instead?” She switches to the librarian chain ones around her neck. “So to escalate the situation because I’m apparently a glutton for punishment, I ask him what he’ll do to further fluster me when these little pet names cease to rile me up in a manner he’d intended, ask him if he’ll whisper nonsense in my ear or shower me with useless trinkets to see me flush, or if that’s too much for him to handle.”

“You didn’t!” She exclaims, and immediately flips off the imp who’s been yelling at her to shut the fuck up, doesn’t even glance his way. “What did he say to that?”

“That’s when he leans in so close I can feel his body heat. We were already walking arm in arm at this point, so it wasn’t far, but still.” You take a breath, and she leans in closer, practically halfway onto the table at this point, completely enthralled by your story. “He whispers in eye ear about how he doesn’t care for romance or love, that he believes it’s all a waste of time, and that he doesn’t give gifts, but if he did, they’d be the most interesting, captivating, useful items I’ve ever owned, that if he’d decided to woo me, I’d be ‘smitten, drunk, obsessed, addicted’ and that I’d crave to spend every waking moment with him.” You drink your tea, and don’t bother to hide your flush. “And then he told me he’d tell me that he doesn’t love me, that he never has, and he never will.” You grimace.

“That bastard. Of course he would!” She exclaims again, finger already raised in the objector’s direction as she does so. “What did you do then?”

“I didn’t have time to react before he declared that we were there at the restaurant. I was so deep in thought I didn’t even realize where we were until we were already sitting down in a secluded booth. So there we are, sitting only a foot or two apart from each other in one of the nicest restaurants in all of Hell. There’s a candle on the table, and all the couples around us are looking into each other’s eyes, smitten with each other. I can’t help but wonder eye he’s doing this. Surely he knows this place is for couples? I ask him why he decided on this place, and he says something about any excuse to try a new place with a lovely lady?” You raise your hands to emphasize your shrug, then finish off the mini-cake. “So I drop the subject for the moment. The waiter offers blood wine for the table. He accepts it, and I barely manage to not down an entire glass as soon as it’s in my hands, I’m so nervous. Then we order. I’m punning up a storm, of course, to try and keep myself calm. It’s not working, and he starts punning back. The worst part is, it’s not my puns that help me calm down. It’s his.” You emphasize this by picking up one of the sandwiches and biting into it. “So I decide fine, I’ll let myself relax. He can’t win if I decide to relax on my own, right?” You sip your tea, not buying your own product you’re trying to sell. “So we start chatting. He says he wants to know about me, and I tell him that I won’t share anything about myself if he won’t talk about himself.”

“Fair, fair.” Rana nods. She picks up one of the cookies and starts to nibble. “So, how did he take that?”

“The usual response. Denial that he had anything to share, that what I see is who he is. I called him out on it, of course. I rattled off all this knowledge I’ve acquired about him from all the time I’ve spent watching him and listening to others talk about their encounters with him. I point out that all the things about him that he lets the world see are just the mere surface traits, that if he wants to understand more of me, that I’ll need more from him. Seeing my point, he concedes, and asks what kind of peek into his real life I had in mind. So I tell him I want to see inside his radio tower.”

“Ooh, bold move. How’d that go?” Rana asks as she finishes her cookie and reaches for a sandwich.

“Well, my soup just arrived, so I made sure to emphasize that we’d finish our meal and still go to see Rosie as planned, that we would go see his radio tower afterwards, and in exchange, he could ask me a question, that if I didn’t like the one he asked, I’d let him pick another. He liked the idea, tried to make a deal with me over it. I couldn’t help but laugh. A deal, over such a trifle thing? I might have talked smug about how everyone warns others about deals with the Radio Demon but they never warn them about deals with me. I didn’t elaborate because his venison dish arrived, along with my main course. So I of course I get distracted. The soup was good, sure, but the grilled eyeballs? Marvelous. They had tapetum, Rana! Tapetum! While I’m experiencing the closest thing to Heaven I’ll ever get to witness, I see he’s enjoying his meal too. He catches me staring and offers me a bite.”

“Really?” She raises an eyebrow again. “He likes his food raw, right? Did you try it?”

You blush as you nod. “He cut a piece and held the fork up for me to bite off of, and it was surprisingly good. Not usually to my tastes, of course, as I prefer mine cooked, but full of flavor and the texture was interesting. So…then I offered him some of mine, and he tried it too, wrapped his stupid tongue all the way around it before he ate it. Told me it wasn’t spicy enough for his liking, and that he should make me his Jambalaya some time.”

“He said he wants to cook for you?” Rana is causing all sorts of a ruckus. You’re lucky this is Hell, and Imp City at that.

“He said it was his mother’s recipe. So I latch onto that. I say that he loves his mother very much. This led to him asking about my relationship with my mother.”

Rana raises an eyebrow. “So what did you say?”

“As little as I could. Told him that my mother wanted what was best for me, even if her actions didn’t always match her words, that she didn’t get along with Dad much but that Dad’s word’s law. I deflected and mentioned that it was basically the average family dynamic, then turned it back on him, focusing on how I suspected that he was an only child, raised by his mother. He was surprised by that, of course, asked me if I was a psychiatrist when I was alive.” You laugh, amused. Rana laughs too. “I told him that it doesn’t take a psychiatric degree to be observant, that he acts like an only child, and that part of the reason I act the way I do is because of my three younger siblings. He made some comment about how my parents were awfully busy, which I think was the closest to a sex joke I think he’s ever made? I elaborated to explain that while my dad was desperate for a son, he ended up with three girls before Mom got pregnant with my younger brother, and that my family was always a little archaic. Then I focused back on him, that he was never married, that he was a bachelor, and that his mother was always begging for him to settle down with some pretty girl but he’d had no interest in anyone of any kind in life or in death. He was surprised by this too, of course. I told him that just because I didn’t live in the time when he was alive doesn’t mean that I’m not aware of what the expectations for people back then were, and that it was just expected for him to marry and have children, even though he never did.” You sip your tea.

“So what did he say to that?” Rana asks, hands cupping her chin, tail swishing with intrigue.

“He asked me if I was ever married. I told him no, that I’d run from an arranged marriage.” You sip your tea and let one of the eyeballs fall into your mouth.

Rana is mid-sip when you say this. She spits half of her mouthful out, and it nearly hits the tray of food. “You told him about Lloyd?!”

You shush her emphatically. “Not by frame! I managed to get the subject to drop because the waiter came by to ask us if we wanted dessert. He told the waiter no, that we were going to get dinner elsewhere, and requested the check. So…I told the waiter to get two checks.”

“You didn’t.” Rana looks amused.

“Of course I did. I told him that if he didn’t let me split the check I’d tell Rosie he took me on a date. So of course he’s all guarded, and tries to negotiate, tells me that I won’t tell Rosie about our meal and that I have to pay for the next one we share together.” You sip your tea and snag one of the cookies. “I ask him what’s stopping me from telling her anyway, and he says that he’ll order the eyeball pudding and I’ll pay for the next meal if I won’t tell her. So I tell him that I’ll pay for the next meal we eat together, he orders the eyeball pudding, and I get to tell Rosie we ate together but don’t say where. The eyeball pudding was quite delicious.”

“You devious little minx! So then what happened after Tourniquet?” Rana asks as she polishes off a mini cake.

“Well, Rosie could tell we smelled like fancy food and wine as soon as she got a whiff of us, so she immediately suspected we were on a date. I tried to brush it off, but it was hard to with her. She can be rather persistent, after all. So then Alastor asks me what I wanted for my shopping, but he calls me ‘Theia’. I give him a strange look, but don’t say anything. I’m a good sport after all, and as much as I’d like to tease him about him finally choosing to call me by what I’ve been practically begging him to call me, I really want to see inside his radio tower. So I explain to Rosie that I was just hoping for another jar. She tells me she doesn’t have any more, but that I can see what else she has while she waits for another to come in next week. As I’m looking at the options, Alastor decides he’s going to tell Niffty, the maid of the hotel and a new friend of mine, to move my room in the hotel to one with a suite, so I’ll have my own kitchen to cook in. Then he summons Niffty and tells her to move all of my things into the new suite. Niffty then looks at me and asks about the subspace portal.”

“The maid knows about your subspace portal?! And now he knows about your subspace portal too?!” Rana practically shrieks.

You shush her again. “It’s one of eye minor powers, Rana. It’s fine. Niffty found out because she was scurrying through the vents and saw my hand going into the jar. She thought I was a thief. So I explained that I use it to have better access to my eyeballs. I explained to Alastor that it’s a minor ability of mine and that I only have the one and that I’m quite comfortable with it, that I would probably have more if I had more souls, but that I’m comfortable with how many I have and have no intention of becoming an overlord someday, despite what Vox might say.”

“Ooh, bringing up his rival. Don’t let me forget to ask you how that’s going, by the way,” Rana pokes you in the side. You wiggle away a second too late, “but sticking with the current story, how did he handle it?”“

“There’s nothing to tell about Vox, Rana. We fuck when he can’t get Tino to put out. Which happened to be a few days ago. I left a note covered in eyes on his desk and he put it next to his monitors so now I can see into his office while he’s hooked up to his display.” You shrug, and Rana widens her eyes and her smile is manic with glee. “As for how Al reacted, he accidently slipped and called me ‘darling’ instead of ‘Theia’ in front of Rosie, who immediately jumped further to the conclusion that we were on a date, and he knew there was nothing he could do to deny it, that it would only make it worse. So then he asks me if I’ve decided what I want to order and when I say no, that he’d been so eager to move me into a suite with a kitchen, that I hadn’t had a chance to decide, he insists that I get one of everything and then graciously allows me to pay for my own food, but only if I cook and share a meal with him. I get snippy at first of course. How dare he allow me to pay for my own food, and I have to cook? But then I realize, if I pay for this food and cook him a meal, it will count for the meal he also wants me to pay for next time. So I agree. I pay, and we leave Rosie’s.”

“So then what happened at the radio tower? What questions did he ask?” Rana asks as she sips her tea.

“I’ll get there. There’s more first. So we’re walking back to the hotel, and I’m stupidly infatuated. I have a problem, Rana, and my problem is stupidly tall attractive sinners who have no interest in me beyond my secrets. I want them to like me for more than what knowledge and abilities I have, apparently, and it’s going to get me in trouble someday. My idiot brain starts imagining what it would be like to kiss him, and then I’m realizing that he wouldn’t want me to kiss him, and then he notices that I’m thinking too hard and asks me what I was thinking about. I don’t answer him, determined to change the subject, when I notice the most beautiful knife I’ve ever seen in all of my existence in a shop window.” You pull out the knife for Rana to see. “I wore it and the belt it came with today. I take it with me everywhere now. Pure angelic steel, genuine Carmine, and look at it, Rana. It’s like it was made for me.”

“It’s a magnificent blade, and it certainly suits you. So what did he want in return for it?” She asks as she polishes off another cookie.

You sheathe the blade again and reply, “He pulled me close and whispered in my ear that he wanted to watch me tear apart its first victim in front of him.” You shudder, blushing at the thought.

“Theia don’t get horny in front of me. That’s just plain gross and rude. You know my love life is dry right now.” Rana shoots you a half-hearted glare.

You just roll all of your eyes at her. “That’s your problem, Rana. There are plenty of imps and other species out there who you could consider sparking up a relationship with.”

“And when would I find the time for that in between managing the imbecilic behavior of my boss and the rest of his employees while also wrangling your souls when they get out of line, hmm?” Rana raises an eyebrow at you.

You shrug. “I suppose I’ll be in better spirits soon and I’ll consider taking the souls off your hands for you?”

“You? In charge of your own souls? That’ll end well. Not. You need me managing them.” She huffs out a laugh.

“You like having this much to do, Rana, I know you too well. You’d get bored otherwise. You could easily make time in your schedule if you found someone who sparked your interest, and I know someday you will, if you allow yourself to consider the possibility.” You place a hand over hers and squeeze it gently.

She squeezes back. “Thanks, hun. Now, tell me, what happened next?”

“So we get back to the hotel and he uses his shadows to make us appear in his radio tower. There are eyes on the lamp behind his broadcasting desk, so I can look out on him working at any time.” Your eyes sparkle with mischief as you continue. “So I take a look around the space, and he comes up and wraps an arm around my waist, just above the belt he’d just bought me. He startled me, and tells me he didn’t mean to glare me. I pun back in surprise, asking him if he’s eyeing to peep me off my feet. He asks me if it’s working, and I ask him if that’s really the question he’s going to ask me. So then…he asks me what my powers are that Vox finds so intriguing. So I glass, of course. No thanks. So then…he asks me what I was thinking before when I pointedly refused to answer him when he asked.”

“When you were thinking about kissing him? What did you say?!” Rana squeezes your hand so hard it hurts for a second. You’ll never get over how surprisingly strong she is.

“I told him that I think he’s quite good looking when he’s smiling genuinely, which is the other half of what I was thinking at the time. So not a lie.” You sip your tea.

“He didn’t buy that.” She states, as if she’d been there. She’s known you for so long that it’s easy to understand all the little nuances in your expressions.

“No, he didn’t.” You agree. “He asked me if I was considering kissing him.”

“OH MY GOD DID YOU GUYS KISS?!” She screams, startling the other patrons. You’ve never been more grateful that you’re outside.

You shush her even louder. “No of course not! Rana, he asked me with disdain, not affection! He was doing all of this to get me to tell him eye secrets, and I fell for it! So I let him have an earful instead, going off on him about how he didn’t have to pretend to woo me to get access to my secrets, that I would have been more than willing to make a deal with him to know what I could tell him, in exchange that he would never be able to tell anyone or write down the knowledge that I’d given him, if he had something worth my time in trade. I told him that now he’d never know, that someday I’d tell someone, and the only way he’d ever find out was if all of Hell itself knew, and by then he’d be unable to use any of it to his advantage. I decided to keep the knife and the rooms, despite the intent he’d put behind them. He moved me to the suite right next to his, by the way.” You huff. “I said I’d keep my promise to share a meal with him, but that I’d cook and we’d eat a single meal together.” You sigh, then stare into your mug. “That’s not even all of it.”

“There’s more? Well, what are you waiting for, Theia? Tell me!” Rana is back to that death grip on your fingers.

You try not to wince. “So I got drunk last night because of what happened. There’s a bar in the lobby of the hotel, and the bartender is the former gambling overlord, Husk? Apparently Alastor owns his soul now. Anyway, Husk and I have a bit of an understanding after Charlie and I paired us together for a bonding exercise. Angel was there too. We’re not close yet but after all he’s been through I’m hoping we’ll be friends someday.”

“Angel?” Rana raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, right, my bad. Angel Dust, Tino’s soul contracted employee?” You sip your tea and chew and swallow the second eyeball.

The plate is empty so the two of you are just staring at each other, fiddling with your empty teacups. “He got away from Vee Tower? Good for him!” She smiles happily. She knows about the mistreatment you’ve witnessed through the eyes in Tino’s studio.

“So I told Husk and Angel about what Alastor tried to pull with me. I tell them both about how I got to make Alastor uncomfortable when I told him that I fuck Vox sometimes–”

“–way to bury the lead!”

“And then I thanked Angel for leaving Vee Tower and pissing Tino off so I could get laid–”

“Why do you always leave the best parts out until last?!”

“Who’s telling this story, me or you, Rana?”

“You.”

“Thank you. So then I get wasted. Completely sloshed. Had way too much to drink. I carry one up the stairs with me as I go, and I know I’ve probably had too much and that it’s going to be a very long walk up to the top of the building. And I run into Alastor. I am my usual drunk self.”

“Swaying heavily and punning nonstop, yes.” Rana nods.

“He is the perfect gentleman, picks me up as I fall, and I pass out.” You smile, fiddle with your teacup.

“You did that weird thing where you look through the eyes around you when you get passed out drunk didn’t you.” Rana leans in further, positively intrigued.

“Yep.” You pop the ‘p’ as you emphasize it. “He had Niffty dress me in my nightgown while he wrote me a note. He wrote two, put one by my bedside, and one in the trash under my desk. He also came and sat beside me, brushed my hair off my face, apolog-eyes-d for not telling me what all of his intentions were, and then told me that I captivate him?”

Rana practically screams again. It’s unintelligible.

“At first when I woke up, I thought the part I saw in my passed-out-seeing-through-the-eyes-in-the-walls state was a dream, but then I noticed that my room mirrored what I saw.”

“So what did the note say?” Rana asks curiously.

You pull the notes from out of your pocket to hand them to her. “Tell me what you think.”

With speed, she is done in only a minute or two. She’s always been an incredibly fast reader. “HOLY FUCKING SHIT THEIA, HE LIKES YOU!” She screams. You snatch the notes back from her, fold them back up, and slip them back into your non-subspace pocket.

“I mean I know I intrigue him, but—”

“No buts, Thiea! C’mon, ‘You captivate me?’ The way he wanted to call you pet names even when you told him he didn’t have to in order to learn your secrets? The way he said he wanted to explain his true intentions? The way he wrote about discussing your future together? AT BARE MINIMUM HE LIKES YOU.”

“Enough of this bullshit.” A voice you don’t recognize cuts in, and next to Rana stands the tallest imp you’ve ever seen. “You gonna fuckin’ introduce us or what, Rana?”

Rana glances next to her at the imp who she’d been flipping off this whole time. “Oh finally decided to join us instead of just spying from over there, huh, boss? Good. Theia, this is Blitzø, my boss. Blitzø, this is Theia, The Demon of a Thousand Eyes.”

“The ø is silent.” He says, which confuses you for a moment, but he barrels on as if he hadn’t said anything. “Well, shit, I’d say you’ve got less than a thousand. Why do they call you that?” Blitzø smirks.

You smirk back. “Piss me off and find out.” You flash all of your eyes red for a moment.

He laughs. “How the fuck do you two get along? Little miss buttoned up over here wouldn’t even flip me off or drop a swear when we first fuckin’ met.”

You shrug. “I tend to keep the swearing to a minimum myself, but that doesn’t mean I don’t drop one now and again. Rana’s mentioned you before, though, says you love to get into trouble and chaos. Sounds like a fun time. She never mentioned what you do, though. Always so tight-lipped about work, this one.”

Blitzø rolls his eyes. “That does sound like Rana. Wouldn’t even fuckin’ tell me why she was headed all the way over here so I had to tail her and find out for myself.” He takes a chair from a nearby table without asking and sits in between the two of you. “I run I.M.P. You might have heard the commercials?”

“Immediate Murder Professionals? That’s your gig? Color me impressed. I don’t have any beef with anyone alive but I appreciate your work. Rana, eye didn’t you tell me you were working for I.M.P.? I’m happy you’re helping with freelancing.”

“You’ve got enough on your plate, Theia. Why would I want you to worry?” Rana looks nervous.

“Wait, I thought view were their secretary. Are you going topside too?” You look between her and Blitzø, who can’t pull a poker face to save his life. “You are? You’re killing humans? Damn, girl, good for you! I never thought you’d have it in you!”

“Wait, you’re…okay with this?” Rana asks carefully.

“Okay? I’m thrilled. You need to loosen up a bit more, get out of your shell. Hell, maybe you’ll finally meet someone because of it, who knows?” You grin at her. “Now of course, be fuckin’ careful.” You turn to Blitzø. “If she so much as loses a hair because of some stunt you pulled, I will rip your eyes from your skull and eat them in front of your family.” You flash your eyes red and let a silhouette of your tentacles emerge from your back. The thousand eyes blink at him threateningly. You let them retreat.

“Thousand eyes. Fuck, now I see it.” He gulps. “Course. Nothin’ will happen to her. M&M do most of the work anyway.”

You raise an eyebrow. “M&M?”

“Moxie and Millie.” Rana explains easily. “They’re Boss’s other two employees.”

“Hm, okay then, now the nickname makes sense.” You smile, then catch the time from the clock on the wall. “Well, I’ve got to be going. I have shopping to do and a roast to make.”

“You’re going to make him a roast?” Rana smirks and narrows her eyes. “You like him too.”

“You knew that already.” You point out as you shrug and stand.

“Making a roast means something, though, Theia, especially to someone as old fashioned as himself. It’s practically a ‘see how good of a wife I can be for you’.” She smirks harder.

You freeze, a blush coloring your entire face. “Fuck, no wonder Niffty said I should make a roast. I should have known she was plotting something!”

“Wait, the maid suggested you make a roast?” Rana asks, perplexed. Blitzø just watches you ping pong dialogue back and forth.

“Stop calling her that. She’s more than just the maid, especially to me. She’s a friend.” You smile weakly. “She told me the same thing, that he likes me. She knew I made a promise to make him a meal and suggested the roast.”

“She sounds like a great friend, and she clearly knows him well, too. Go make that roast and go get him, Theia. You’ll get your man yet.” Rana grins manically at you.

“I still don’t—” You try to argue, but she cuts you off again.

“—Just go!” She shouts, and stands to shove you. “I have to get back to work and you have a roast to prepare!”

You nod, chuckle, and wave. “It was nice to meet you, Blitzø. Remember what I said about keeping her safe.” You flash your eyes red once more.

You notice he gulps again, this time quieter. “Nice meetin’ you too, Theia, even if it did take fuckin’ forever. Good luck with your man or whatever.”

“Don’t you start, view.” You roll your eyes. “You don’t even know what you’re getting into.”

“Sounds like you want him to get into you though.” He smirks at you.

You roll your eyes harder, but can’t help but smirk back at him, and give another wave. “Funny, but I don’t know what I want.”

You walk down the street back the way you came, and walk into the once again empty alley. You close your eyes, open the ones in Hell, make sure no one is around to observe you, and then manifest a block away from Cannibal Town. You have some deer sinner meat to acquire and a roast to make.

A/N: THAT'S RIGHT RANA WORKS FOR I.M.P.! I had so much fun writing for Blitzø. I *adore* him so much and love Helluva Boss, so of course I'm working to incorporate it into this story! I hope you all like Rana too. She's a sweetie and a fun character to shake things up a bit. If you want to see a glimpse of what she looks like in this chapter (minus any of the glasses; the picrew didn't have eyewear as an option, the *heathens*), you can see it on Theia's Tumblr: the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes.

So Chapter 13 will be Theia meeting with Rosie again (after Rosie straight up gatekeeps her from her sinner meat unless she has a talk with her about what happened in the radio tower with Al the other night, because of course they've talked already) and then discussing with the rest of the residents of the hotel about your plans to have dinner with Al the next evening (much to some of their amusement and others' alarm).

First || Chapter 11 || Chapter 13

[sholiofic]

Helloo I love your fics a crap ton and was inspired to start writing again after a couple years bcs of your fics and how great they were. The one I’m working on at the moment is a bit of a monster in terms of length and complexity but I would reAlly prefer if it wasn’t. I find that I get bogged down by detail a lot and have trouble streamlining the plot. Do you have any tips for resolving main plots/conflicts and sort of trimming the fat, so to speak? Once again, excellent fics, keep up the good work, thank so much

Hello! I'm so delighted and flattered that my fics inspired you to write. I hope you keep it up!! <3333

Honestly, I don't know if I'm the best person to ask for helpful advice because I have this problem too. 😂 But here are some things that are helpful for me:

Subplots can always come out and be their own fics. So can individual events (like, say, if you have a whole digression with someone getting a fever right after they broke their leg, you could just take out the fever and let it be its own fever-fic so it can grow and expand and not be taking over this one where it doesn't really fit). Sometimes when I'm really struggling with a fic that feels floppy and bloated, or like the different subplots are disconnected from each other, it's actually that it needs to have some parts of it taken out and made into their own story or incorporated into other ideas that I have. This is also psychologically easier than simply cutting them, because if you feel that it's this fic or the delete key, then you don't want to cut out things you genuinely like - but if you're only cutting them to put them somewhere else, it's easier.

Aftermath can also be its own fic. One thing I struggle with often is that simple ideas just get epic at the end, but actually, as long as the main plot is tied up, you can just cut it off at some kind of punchy ending, take all those bits of aftermath and dump them into a fic where the aftermath is the entire story.

It's also helpful to go back and look at why you wanted to write this fic in the first place. If it's a specific emotionally punchy scene, an image, a casefic idea, etc - then this can help you see where you might have gone off track and started writing a story that isn't really the story you wanted to tell. Then you can cut out the parts that aren't getting you to the part you really wanted to write (perhaps saving them for something else in the future).

You don't have to know the end when you start (although it helps, but tbh I often don't), buuuut if you are starting to flounder, that's a good time to stop and decide what the ending is going to be, and then start gearing the rest of it towards that ending. If, say, you've decided now that you've thought about it that this is all headed toward a dramatic confrontation at the Eiffel Tower, and they've gone off on a side trip to Mozambique, can you just have the Mozambique thing happen in Paris so they're already where they need to be and you don't need to spend extra time getting them there?

Oh! That reminds me of a useful trick, which is making sure (within reason) that you don't have characters do the same thing twice when they only need to do it once. Going to and from locations is a particular source of dragging down your plot. Basically - you have a character do a thing at their apartment, and then they have to go somewhere else for more Plot Stuff to happen, but then they need to pack for their upcoming trip (or deal with a Plot Thing that's at the apartment, or whatever), so you realize they have to go back to their apartment and do that. You can actually cut a *lot* of plot deadweight by minimizing scene changes, within reason, of course, but it feels tighter and more streamlined if you have the character do everything they need to do, or have everything happen to them that needs to happen, while they're already in the location, rather than going back to it later. This also applies to similar scenes of other types - like, if you're going to have two knife fights, can you combine them into just one knife fight that does everything the two separate scenes needed to do?

I hope you come back and see this, anon, and I also hope it helps! Good luck with your writing. :)

[nrc-broadcasting]

Hello Yuu,

It's Sahil again.

I'm here to ask a few more questions and also answer how I became housewarden.

First, I'll ask my questions.

I think you might have some experience with a certain vacationing headmage, but I've sent him a letter with my concerns for how he keeps transferring out the rare female students - or even some fem-leaning afab students - out of Night Raven to different schools. It doesn't seem to be with their permission - they don't seem to be unwell, so there's some good part to it (I think.... .) So how should I bring it up the the staff (because Professor Crewel will kick his ass and I will film it). He even tried to transfer me out when Kalim found out I was a girl - and that was a whole sh*tshow... .

I also wanted to ask - how do you tell a girl you're fake dating that you like her? I've been fake dating some one I would say is a sort of rival and friend of mine, but I've realized I like her, but I don't know how she feels about me - just that she's sapphic like me.

Now for the housewarden story. You might not know this, but as Kalim's personal bodyguard, I'm quite tough.

I challenged Malleus to a duel for the housewarden position a few months after the S.T.Y.X. incident and asked if we could use our physical strength as well - he agreed. I also have a pretty deadly UM - it's similar to King's Roar, but simply put I can break ...things.. and turn it to treasure. So it was a close match and I might have lost, but physical fighting was alowwed and Malleus put a magic limiting spell on me that I reflected, so --

Long story short, I won just barely and we were both in the infirmary for about a week or so. As for how we get along, Malleus is quite kind to me and chivalrous in general - I guess I'd call it that, but he thought I was a guy all through our duel until I corrected him with my pronouns - so, we're fine. He never made fun of me for being a tiger shifter.

I also wanted to say thank you for the previous response and tell you the conversatio that me and Jamil had with Kalim worked well - but we just shared the bare bones. I don't think I'll be ready to tell him everything anytime soon... .

Anyway, I'm sorry for how long this response is. I hope you're having a good day, Yuu.

…Can I Ask You A Question

﹥━━━━━━━🎧━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Okay, at this point I’m already too invested in Sahil’s story, so if it’s fine with you, anon, if you ever write/have written anything about Sahil, can I please get tagged? Only if you’re okay with revealing yourself, that is! But please, do consider, I find it very interesting, so cheers to your creativity! Anyways, wrote this at school so bare with me, I don’t want my phone confiscated.

Open. Close.

Another attempt to say something, but they can’t seem to find the words.

That was all Yuu’s mouth did.

“Uh,” Yuu stuttered, scratching their head at the length of this particular message.

“Where to start, where to start…” They mumble, their voice almost drowned out by Grim’s loud purring as he sits in Yuu’s lap as they pet him.

They rest their elbow on the table, planting their head in their hand.

“For, uh. Easier distinction, let’s take this message and separate it into parts. I’ll verbally say when we move onto the next thing.” They waved their hand in contemplation, still processing everything.

A cough, the muffled sound of Yuu shifting in their seat to sit up straight.

“Alright. Here we go: let’s address the whole Crowley situation.” They insert the confidence back into their voice and push away the fog of disorientation that lingered before.

“I’ll help you on that, physically. Drag him back from wherever he is right now. We all know he’s kind of a meathead guy.” Yuu sighed, hand moving to their head again as they feel the familiar migraine that always accompanies the very mention of the ‘gracious’ Headmaster.

“Let the people who were transferred out know about this, then bring them with you when you confront him. If they’re upset about it, of course. It’s fine if they don’t mind.” Crystal clear, the plan starts formulating in their head.

“As you know, I can and will be a petty person, so to take this a little further, summon the staff and the other housewardens to witness your confrontation. Then you can see what they think about it.”

“Riddle would be perplexed by it; Leona, as he comes from Sunset Savana, will not tolerate such behavior towards women. Azul is, well…probably upset at such discrimination. Kalim just won’t agree, Vil is quite feminine himself, NRC wouldn’t want to lose such a high profile student, would they?” An innocent tilt of their head.

“Idia probably won’t have any opinion, but Malleus? He seems to respect you, much more than he probably ever will respect the headmaster.” They rambled.

“What I’m saying is, you’ve already got him outnumbered. All you have to do is bring it up and let sh-t go down.” A dark chuckle.

“Anyways, I’ll be there myself. Who knows, maybe I can blackmail a pay raise out of him.” They shrug.

“If they were chosen by the mirror, what reason does the headmaster have to transfer them out? They should only be transferred out when they give confirmation that yes, they do want out. Otherwise that’s just dabbling in someone else’s personal affairs.” Yuu says.

“Now,” they once again read the message and unconsciously scratch their head.

“Y’all do realize I’m single as a f-cking rock, right? But despite that, let me try to help you unfortunate souls.” They joke.

“Moving on, let’s address the fake dating thing.”

“Plan a date first? She won’t think much of it because you are ‘fake dating.’” They blink at the lights as they flicker.

“Then just tell her. Be straight forward. Hinting at it won’t do anything.”

“If she agreed to pretend to date you, you must be someone she’d be fine with as a partner. Being rivals don’t necessarily mean you have to hate each other, it’s just that you recognize each other’s skills and respect that.” They say knowingly.

“And you’re welcome, glad everything worked out between you, Kalim, and Jamil.” They give a little smile.

﹥━━━━━━━🎧━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Our fairytale has come to an end.

[kierreras]

i have 6+ hours to waste at the railway station cause guess what? my train got delayed and it’s so lame

well, so this amazing post by @hepaidattention made me think about how i would want pogues to look like after the time jump. it’s pretty obvious that most teen dramas use time jumps as an option to somehow evolve their characters’ styles. so i think that there’re pretty good chances that the same thing might happen with obx. 

okay, we’ll, so what would i want to see for pogues post time jump:

john b. i can actually see them going for something less chaotic with john b’s hair. like maybe something that’s similar to his season one hair, not as blond as it’s now definitely. maybe lighter that chase’s natural color, but not blond [please don’t make him blonder that he is 🤡]. 

as for his style, i actually see him still wearing his hawaiian shirts, but with calmer prints. like stripes or dots. also i definitely see john b wearing more denim. he’s the only pogue i can see being excited about the denim trends.

jj. well, i’m actually pretty excited to see what jj’s going to wear post time jump cause previously we saw him wearing shirts from places where he worked mostly, so i think him going shopping after they got el dorado money would’ve been top tier comedy, really. anyway, i think jj’s style evolves to something edgy. i’m pretty sure that obx’s weather doesn’t allow him wear his leather jacket often, but i’d be down to see more of it. also, him having so many white t-shirts is something i’ll fight for. i can see jj coming from cloth store with ten white t-shirts explaining that laundry sucks and he’ll just wear new shirt every day. going full kook, right? also i think he also is going to wear more jeans and denim shorts, but i can totally see him still wearing his signature cargo shorts as often as possible. AND CUTOFFS. i’ll never forgive obx wardrobe department if they’ll remove cutoffs. maybe some merch of his favorite bands also?

as for hairstyle i really think that they’ll leave rudy’s regular hairstyle this time. it’s not chaotic as jj’s and now jj really has money to  go to barber, sooo 

pope. okay, post time jump pope was the easiest for me. it’s pretty clear that in the third season pope’s looks were influenced by jd himself. and i can see the same thing happening in the next season. actually, pope looked so great, i wouldn’t change anything about him.

sarah. where to sign a petition for sarah’s hair to not be so blond? i love how her hair looked in season one, and i absolutely love madelyn’s hiatus hair. the cut, the color – those things suit her so much! still, i’d want them to keep the color and give madelyn the extensions cause i think sarah would wear long hair, you know. and also i love her wavy hairstyles! i need more of them! 

as for her style, i can see them trying something more chic. i loved how they gave her flowery tops in third season, so i think she’ll wear something like this after the time jump as well. also, i can’t see girls wearing any dresses in that show cause they’re also on the run, but i would absolutely be on board for them to stop putting those poor girls into those extremely short shorts! i know that it’s how teenagers dress now, but i can only imagine how uncomfortable those things are. maybe put sarah in more denim middle length shorts? 

kie. i want them to bring back dark hair for her! it’s something i’ll never stop saying cause bleaching curly hair can totally ruin hair in the first place. and madison has such a great hair color now, so i really hope that they’ll not make her bleach it again. it’s the only thing that i’d change in kie’s hairstyle. everything else is just perfect 

as for her style, i think that i’d want to see more of madison’s style for her. like her cloth is still comfy and all, but a little bit more mature? the costume department can totally use bailey’s insta for inspiration. her regular fits are gorgeous! also, there’s a thing in my wardrobe that i absolutely adore, so i would definitely want kie to wear some jumpsuits! i just love jumpsuits, sorryyyy

cleo. i’m really excited to see how they are going to play with cleo’s looks after the time jump. cause this whole season we don’t see cleo wearing any accessories at all, her only accessory is one bracelet on her hand. however, after the time jump she looks so chic and fabulous, that i don’t know what they’re planning to do with her style. maybe she goes for something more chic? 

what i would like to see is cleo being the fashion killa, you know. like i can totally see her wearing trendy cargo pants or even parachute pants with some crop tops. idk, she just has rihanna vibes for me, so i would totally want her to be the trendiest one here! 

also, i absolutely adore her post time jump hairstyle, so i’d leave it like that. 

anyway, if you read to that part, thank you! again, i’m so interested in fashion nowadays,