#It was so important that he learned what his father did

[madwomansapologist]

★彡 synopsis: kento wasn't to blame. it was never his intention to hate you. the blame was completely on you for being the most irritating omega he has ever met. kento's only fault was his inability to ignore your presence.

content warnings: no curse au, omegaverse, alpha!kento x omega!reader, co-workers, meet cute, hate at first sight, one sided (delusional) hate, scent blockers.

word count: [1.3K]

First day into elementary school, blonde hair combed to exhaustion and round glasses with thick lenses, Kento wrote down everything that sounded important. Languages are ancient, his meticulous handwriting occupied the very first line of the notebook. Black ink, underlined twice.

Annoyingly meticulous handwriting, since Kento remember being mocked by a taller boy for ripping out one of the pages after a misspell. He also remembers that it was something about words as evidence of how long mankind survived—by the time he didn’t know what mankind meant. His teacher was too old and far too poetic, but learning new words made Kento excited for mondays.

Weeks later, Kento had a secret: he loved studying. He despised school around his friends, but Kento always knew what chapter the teacher finished off last class or what pages to read for the next exam. First week of school meant discovering the semester’s mandatory reading—which Kento would devour in a month.

His family praised him for being smart, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that Kento wouldn’t believe them once they started saying words can lose meaning if not used correctly. That’s the opposite of what his literature teacher spent the entire year explaining. Kento has his notebook to prove it.

“If they did”, Kento reasoned with his dad as if he was the adult. “Not a single language would have survived. You yell my name all the time and I still answer. It has the same meaning it ever did.”

“Some words, if used too often, will lose meaning inside of your heart”, his dad sighed. “Hate is one of those words. One you use way too much, puppy.”

That made Kento snarl. “I’m eight and a half!”

“On that we won’t argue”, his father grinned. Messing up the hair Kento combed for ages, he went back to slicing vegetables. Without washing his hand first, Kento quietly judged him. “You’re just like your mom. I bet you’ll be an alpha.”

Kento pretended to agree since he planned on not eating green bell pepper at dinner. His father should be grateful that he isn’t an adult already, because Adult Kento wouldn’t fear disgusting food as punishment for saying the truth. Adult Kento wouldn’t be ashamed for being right.

As if presenting as an omega or beta would stop him from questioning what doesn’t make sense. And that whole story about losing meaning inside his heart? If I forget the meaning of a word, Kento cursed inside his bedroom, I can just read a dictionary.

His father was being unfair and Kento absolutely hates that.

He thought adults didn’t need to agree with illogical arguments, but years later Adult Kento was made aware of his past self’s mistake. The countless times he heard that hate is such a strong word without uttering a word. One that he shouldn’t be so casual about. Otherwise, they always warn, it’ll turn meaningless.

Needless to say, Kento hates illogical arguments. And he hates his neighbor’s predisposition to loud music. Not charging his phone at night, working overtime, stumbling on a stair at night. Green bell pepper, as one does. And you. Recently, Kento hates you the most.

Better wage, same workhours, different boss: it was a good offer. Good enough for Kento to submit his resignation letter and start as an accountant in this firm. Annoying tasks, tense meetings, coffee machine out of order: with that salary, nothing would be a problem for Kento. But you had to ruin it.

After a quick meeting with the manager and being introduced to the financial team, Kento placed his briefcase on the desk designated for him. That is, on what little space was left for him. Kento sighed for the first time that day.

Frames lacking pictures, empty perfume flask, crumpled post its. There was a cup filled with pens and a hairbrush, but most of them were all over the place. Who even needs that many pens nowadays? Who even uses pens nowadays? The pen-hairbrush cup even had lipstick marks on.

Kento sighed for the second time when he looked at the desk besides his.

It’s clear his colleague doesn’t know the basics of a keyboard, considering the bag pressing P onto an open document. Neither do they understand that one shouldn’t pile used plastic cups and folded science magazines on top of a printer. A vase of magnolias was a surprise amidst that mess, forgotten once his right eyelid twitched at the sight of acetone and nail polish.

“Morning.” Trying his best to contain a snarl, a low voice scared Kento off his thoughts. “You’re the new accountant, right?”

He expected you to be embarrassed but turning around all Kento saw was an omega far more interest on her coffee than his face. As if something with that much whipped cream could be considered coffee. Staring at your eyelids, he didn’t notice the third sigh.

What he noticed was your fully exposed throat. No adhesive patch over your glands or collar around your neck. Golden bracelets covered part of your inner wrists but the pendants tinkling only brough more attention to your bare glands.

Thankfully, there was no nauseating scent—a side effect of his suppressants. Your scent wasn’t absent, only hidden by a faint touch of magnolia and acetone on the air. For that he was grateful. It would feel like a bad omen to throw up on his first day at this job.

Kento could never go out like that. His dark blue collar covered the base of his neck, both glands fully concealed as thick bracelets did the same beneath his sleeves. He had spares on his briefcase and a flask of black pepper perfume―the strongest Kento ever found. He would never go out like that.

That doesn’t mean he judges you for not using anything to cover your scent, specially since it’s delicate enough to go unnoticed. Kento uses them because he wants to cover himself, anyone that doesn’t desire the same shouldn’t do the same. Still, he would bet money that you simply forgot to put them. And for that Kento does judge you.

“Yes, I am”, he bent down, trying to remain polite. “Nanami Kento.”

“No need for formalities”, you yawned, gesturing for him to stood up. Posture fixed, Kento watched you unlock the second drawer of your desk. In quick movements, you put all your mess inside the drawer and locked it once more.

Sitting down, you smiled. It reached your eyes, baring your fangs to him. “Welcome.” After telling him your name, you took a sip from the so-called coffee and grabbed your bag. “I’m here if you need any help.”

Kento made a silent promise to never ever come to you if he needed help.

Erasing everything your bag pressed, you searched for something inside it and quickly forgot about Kento’s existence. He grabbed a few ignored crumbled papers and, after finding a trash can, came back to his desk to find you holding a headphone.

Not only you didn’t care about the organization of your workplace, but you were unable of apologizing or even collecting all your things on your own. And as if it wasn’t enough, you offered help just to immediately make sure Kento wouldn’t be able of talking to you.

Adult Kento realized that, to a certain extent, his father was right. Inside his heart, the word hate lost its meaning. You and loud music can’t be described with the same word. Maybe he really shouldn’t have used it so often…

No. Kento realized that wasn’t the problem. This isn’t about a word losing meaning, but simply about it not being the correct choice to describe what Kento feels about you.

Within knowing you for less than two minutes, he knew. Kento loathed you.

What a nice alpha, you put the noise canceling headset so you could finish the presentation for today’s meeting. Making a mental note to search on your folders for the introductory material to send him, you smiled once more. He didn’t even made me feel bad about all this mess. I’ll get him some coffee later.

TAGLIST: @aviesnapkindoodles @starry-eyed--dreamer

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[twig-tea]

The Fragrance You Inherit Remained Gentle and Kind

The Fragrance You Inherit was such a gentle and kind show. I loved so many things about it: The performances, the music, the colouring, the pining, and above all, the kindness. I've said before and I will repeat: this is a show about good people who love each other doing their best to be kind to one another, and it was a pleasure to watch. Run don't walk to Siiri's blog @isaksbestpillow to download the show with her subs. Spoilers for the finale to follow.

The interpersonal relationships were the star of this show: The mother/son relationship between Toki and Sakura, Sakura's friendship with On-chan, Toki and Kanae's budding romance and learning what it means to be in a relationship together, Sakura and Mone as reunited old friends and how they immediately regress into giggle-fits in each other's presence, Kanae and her father and how Hoshii-sempai remained a lovable and supportive dork through the whole series, Sakura and her own mother, and even Toki and On-chan and the loving uncle/nephew-like relationship they build...all of them were perfect, loving, and sweet. And the relationship parallels were used well to move things forward--Mone sees the parallel between herself and Sakura in the past with Toki and Kanae in the present; Mone draws from her relationship with Toki to understand her relationship with her own mother better; and Toki draws from his experience with Kanae to understand his mother better (and vice versa, he draws from his mother's relationship to understand his own better too).

I said after ep 1 that my expectations for this show were that we would get closure for Sakura and we did, in a series of beautiful scenes. I love how the series is bookended by two very different weddings that Sakura attends with very different emotions, and how much support Sakura has around moving on and seeking happiness for herself. Though we didn't see the scene, we got enough of Toki and Kanae's relationship that I believe that Kanae also knows about Sakura by the end of ep8, and her giving Sakura the flowers is tacit approval for Sakura to go out and date (a woman).

In addition to the confession scene, I absolutely loved Sakura's coming out scene with her mother; the way this was done to underscore the importance of a child's happiness to their parent was well done and was a good message to send. Generally the message about coming out in this show was that it is not something you owe anyone but is a gift you give the people you love so that they know you better and as a benefit, by knowing more about you, their world expands. I liked this message.

I had also said in the same post-ep1 post that this show seemed gearing up for a teenage boy meltdown, but I did not predict how sweet and loving this meltdown would be. Toki is the most thoughtful and caring teenage boy of all time. The scene with him and his mother on the phone in episode 7 made me cry so much! I really appreciated that the show was clear that Toki had absolutely no reason to ever doubt that he was loved by his mother, but that the evidence of his life and their history was not enough to break through the teenage melodrama when it hit, and he needed to hear it from her directly. I have to stop and give kudos to Sakura's actor Hoshino Mari, who did a phenomenal job. I felt her desperation and concern for her child so strongly, as well as her relief.

While I'm giving shout-outs, I also need to shout out Takeda Kouhei, who was perfect as the sardonic and empathetic gay bestie On-chan. I was so happy to see him every time he appeared, he always gave excellent advice, and his presence was so soothing.

And while Toki and Sakura were the core of the show, I really appreciated that all of the characters felt like they had their own motivations and drivers. It would have been easy to have made Kanae one-dimensional or without agency, or to have made Hoshii-sempai a distant or unsupportive father, or Mone the passive recipient of Sakura's feelings. But the show balanced all of these characters as distinct people who each had their own perspective.

Thank you again to Siiri for subbing this series and making it available for all of us to watch; this was another gift of a show. And thanks to the giffers who giffed this show, especially @easterndelights !

[tarareindeer]

Part 1: A Royal in Ruin

{vander x fem reader}

The cell stank of mildew and despair, the walls dripping with condensation that pooled on the floor. You wrinkled your nose in disgust, fidgeting in your chair.

This was not supposed to be happening.

You, the darling of Piltover—with your silks, jewels, and that enviable life of champagne-fueled galas—reduced to sitting on a rickety wooden chair in a Zaunite prison? Outrageous. Yet here you were, arms crossed and glaring at the iron bars, your golden bracelets confiscated by some greasy guard. The damp air tugged at your curls, and you cursed under your breath. How had things gone so wrong?

Oh, right. You decided to "slum it" in Zaun, all for a laugh. Your friends had egged you on, saying you wouldn’t last a day without your private steamcar and imported coffee. The challenge had felt exhilarating, until you… accidentally got caught in the middle of a smuggling operation. And now, this.

The heavy metal door creaked open, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped in, his presence filling the dimly lit room. His graying beard and weary eyes should’ve made him seem older, but there was something about him—maybe the way he carried himself, unbothered and commanding—that made you sit up straight.

Vander.

You’d heard whispers of him, even in Piltover. The unofficial "savior" of Zaun, with fists strong enough to crush steel and a reputation larger than life. And now, those piercing eyes were fixed on you.

"So," he rumbled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "Piltover’s spoiled little princess caught dabbling in Zaunite affairs."

"Excuse me?" you shot back, standing to your full height, though it didn’t do much to diminish the height gap. "I don’t know what you think I did, but this is a misunderstanding. I don’t belong here."

His lips twitched, almost like he was amused, but the cold steel in his gaze never wavered.

"You don’t belong here, huh? Could’ve fooled me, running with smugglers."

"I didn’t know they were smugglers," you retorted, though the petulant tone in your voice betrayed you. "I… I was just curious about Zaun. Wanted to see what it was like."

"And now you’ve seen it," Vander said dryly. "Welcome to the Undercity, sweetheart."

Your glare intensified. "You can’t just keep me here. My father… he’ll have the Council on you so fast your head will spin."

"Ah, the Piltover privilege," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "You think your fancy connections matter down here? No one’s coming to save you."

You faltered at that, the realization sinking in. But before you could retort, Vander pushed off the wall, his towering frame now far too close for comfort.

"You’re lucky we’re not worse," he said, voice low. "But I can’t just let you waltz back to your shiny city after sticking your nose in our business."

You swallowed, trying not to show fear. "What do you want from me?"

"Simple," he said, a devilish glint in his eye. "You’re staying."

Your heart dropped. "Excuse me?!"

"You’ll work off your trouble. Right here, in the bar," Vander said, his tone brooking no argument. "Think of it as a… community service."

"You want me to be your… your barmaid?" you spat, horrified.

"Maid," he corrected with a smirk. "Let’s start with cleaning. Can’t have you spilling drinks on my regulars."

You gawked at him, utterly indignant. "You can’t do that!"

"Oh, I can," Vander said, already heading for the door. "You’ll learn to fit in soon enough. Welcome to Zaun, princess."

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving you in stunned silence. The nerve of that man. As if you’d ever stoop so low…

But as the hours dragged on, the reality of your situation became all too clear. Vander held all the cards, and you? Well, you had a mop and a very uncertain future.

Zaun was about to become your new home, whether you liked it or not.

[goorehound]

Silco / Viktor Chapter 2

chapter 1

ao3

Still workshopping how I want this to look, so if anybody has any feedback please let me know! And for the people who showed interest in chapter 1, I’m voluntelling you to read this (and share your thoughts if you’d like!) @hextechdystopia @eyeofclaws @greaseofficial @dubiousbread488 and the last person it won’t let me tag lol.

Summary:

Silco, a newer (and far from proud) resident of Piltover, is struggling to raise his freshly teenage daughter Jinx in the uppercity after a messy divorce. Teenagers are difficult, and a new school is always an adjustment.

Viktor, a begrudging and very overqualified high school teacher (after a falling out with his old business partner) is desperately trying to keep his promising student afloat. If only her father were not such a stubborn bastard that refuses to work with him.

Lately, broaching certain conversations with Jinx had become more of an art form, learning when to apply pressure and when to offer her space to fill the silence of her own volition. And Silco had been waiting patiently, until all that remained in Jinx’s bowl was the dregs of her overly sweet cereal. Perhaps the time to apply some pressure, then. “I asked you a question.” He prompted quietly, eyes examining her expression.

Surprise graced it first, brows raising high - then confusion, as they lowered back down into a furrow. “Oh. I forgot.” She spoke as he brought a spoonful of porridge to his lips, exhaling an amused breath at her absentminded behaviour. Often, she had more important things going on to bother focusing on measly breakfast conversations.

“Vandalism. At school. Have you done any?” He asked, giving up on his breakfast. Eating in the morning only ever made him nauseous, but he’d learned the hard lesson that if he skipped a meal then Jinx would follow suit and it was really not worth the bickering. Modelling certain behaviours and healthy habits was sometimes the only way to encourage Jinx, which he’d grown accustomed to. She loved to mimic. He recalled her, chubby cheeked with wide eyes, following his every footstep. Trying to brush her teeth exactly like him, giggling whenever he smiled, copying how he built his blocks into a tower. His little shadow. Oh, simpler times. It was cute the small ways in which that fixation lingered.

“Sometimes.” Jinx shrugged noncommittally, pulling him from his reminiscing. “When I get bored, I guess, doodling on the wall or whatever.” Minor, then - but she did have a very specific art style, and colour scheme, unique enough to be noticed. Not worth the hassle it could turn into. Jinx partaking in graffiti was not alarming in and of itself but the fact that it was at school? He thought he had warned her thoroughly of the risks of being placed in a Piltover school. Jinx slurped loudly from her bowl as he pondered this.

“I see.” Silco brushed a hand through his hair before rising from his chair and collecting their dishes, once she had drained the remnants of her own. “Perhaps we should be more cautious at school, hm? Like we discussed.” He spoke calmly and with an air of finality. “It isn’t worth the risk, you know how uptight they get about their decor.”

Clearly this did not sit well with his daughter, and he heard her irritated groan above the droning sound of the sink as he rinsed the silverware. The sound alone told him exactly with what level of dramatization that she had rolled her eyes, and he braced himself for whatever complaints would follow. “Who cares? I don’t even want to be at this stupid school.”

This had become a recurring theme of conversation over the last two months, and there had been an uptick in frequency as of late. Silco could admit that he was tired of this back and forth, he did not feel he’d had enough hours of sleep to handle this once more. He only hoped his patience would win out.

“You were excited to start. It will take some adjusting, but the opportunities at this school will be a benefit.” Silco scrubbed the washcloth within the bowl in a soothing rhythm, focused intently on it. It was already pristine.

“I don’t need it.” Jinx barked back, and Silco could feel the daggers she was glaring into the back of his head. Scrubbing the lip of the bowl, there could be food caught in the chips.

“You don’t need school?” Silco asked incredulously, fingers hesitating in their compulsive cleaning. That was new. The complaints had only ever before indicated that she may want to be in a different school, perhaps back in Zaun - but no school at all was an interesting development.

“No. Vi hasn’t done school since she was 15,” Jinx pointed out, proud of her statement. As if she’d caught Silco out in some way with this fact. “And Pops is fine with it, he even helped her get a job.”

When the bowl clattered to the bottom of the sink, Silco knew he would not be proud of whatever words flowed out next. He was a man of great restraint, but there was something about a teenager that tried the patience in a way nothing else could - especially when the teenager was your own. It seemed as though she had a sixth sense for what the most aggravating, skin crawling thing she could say next to push him to his limit.

“That is because your sister lacks any potential to be anything besides a hired muscle, or a mindless drone in the mines, and she is as witless as your Pops.” Silco bit out ruthlessly as he dried his hands off, already feeling the regret curdling in his stomach. These were not helpful things to say, and he knew it. “I will not hear another word about you not needing school, child.”

The silence was suffocating. Exacerbated by the drip, drip, drip of the sink in front of him, and he really must fix that. Jinx could fix it, if he asked, but somehow now did not seem like the most opportune time. He should really turn around and face the music, much as he loathe to admit he’d made a glaringly obvious mistake. Akin to a bull in a china shop when it came to parenting he was recently developing the outstanding talent of shoving his foot in his mouth.

Jinx’s expression was as devastated as he had imagined, pinched somewhere between distraught and wrathful. Being the cause for such strong and conflicting emotions on her face felt like a swift blow to the kidney.

“Grab your bag, please, you will be late for class.” Silco spoke quietly, watching her lip tremble to hold something back. Either tears or a shouting match, he was sure. “We can pick up whatever snack you would like on the way over.” He added to hopefully balm over some of the anger.

“You suck.” Jinx said with finality as she threw herself out of the chair, hands balled into fists and body jittering with restless energy. He hoped he could talk her down before she unleashed this rage on some unsuspecting student. Or teacher. Silco had made quite a mess of this morning, hadn’t he?

“I’ll meet you in the car.” Silco replied without acknowledging the minor outburst, going about adjusting his vest and hair as he snatched his keys off of the ring. The walk down from the top floor of their apartment would give him time to calm, to simmer down until guilt won over frustration. He would take the morning off, he told himself soothingly, and he would get in some more sleep.

—————

After picking up an ice cream, without a single comment from Silco about how that was a terrible way to start the day, they drove with Jinx’s music blaring at an impressive level. It eased her nerves, he thought, noises reflecting back the chaos that was her beautiful mind. Also, it proved useful to drown out Silco’s voice entirely, which he assumed was a big part of the reasoning behind it.

When they pulled up to the lot is when he turned the music to a tolerable level, making an attempt to meet Jinx’s eyes. She was putting very good effort into pretending he was not present.

“I’m sorry for what I said about your sister, and Vander.” Silco watched some tension seep from her shoulders. Normally not a man to often make genuine apologies, but Jinx was ever the exception. “Your sister struggled with school, and it wasn’t fair of me to use that against her.”

“She is smart.” Jinx finally conceded and looked over, no longer existing in a realm where Silco was a buzzing mosquito with nothing important to say. “And I don’t want to be here.”

Silco heaved a breath and reached over to fix a flyaway hair in the sea of blue atop Jinx’s head. “We can talk about that more later. Play along for now, hm? Check out the library. Take advantage.”

Jinx did not seem necessarily happy in regards to the fact that he did not immediately bend to her will and withdraw her from classes that moment, but she no longer seemed to be trying to make him explode with her thoughts when she deigned to acknowledge his presence. So, that was progress.

Some form of assent was muttered as she left the car, and Silco gratefully unpaired her phone from the stereo system to play something a bit less abrasive on the ears.

Absolutely he was due for a nap, as much as that aged him to say, he could not wait to be wrapped in his duvet and dead to the world for the next few hours.

[bumblesimagines]

Imagine:

Comforting Tara after night terrors

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical Scream warnings, mentions of massacres, survivors guilt, PTSD and PTSD-induced nightmares, soft angst, loss of a parent

~~~

Bundled up beneath a thick blanket and listening to the sound of raindrops pelting against the glass window, (Y/N) felt himself being slowly lured into the embrace of sleep. There was a subtle weight in his chest, an anxiety about closing his eyes and reliving the memories he so desperately tried to keep buried in the form of vicious nightmares.

Nearly a full year had passed since the murders in Woodsboro, since his father chose to sacrifice himself to save the lives of the Carpenter sisters. Even though (Y/N) knew his father died doing exactly what he spent his whole life doing, the pain barely eased. Grief was a tricky thing to navigate. Sometimes, he wanted to break everything in sight until his palms were raw and bleeding. Sometimes, he did break things: glasses, mirrors, phones, lamps, snapping things until his mother cradled him in her arms through her own tears.

Other times he stared at the ceiling, his body slumped in his bed but his mind drifted along in a sea of numbness without a single thought, emotion, or desire cracking through. Time passed him by quicker during those days. He'd blink and suddenly the clock would read 5 PM instead of 9 AM, his memory left with gaps as he tried recalling what he had done throughout the day. It never made him feel any better.

A gentle buzz came from the nightstand and he grew still, half-lidded eyes dragging away from the window to gaze at his charging phone. He reached out, albeit reluctantly, and picked it up, eyes screwing shut when the screen lit up and almost blinded him. (Y/N) gave a heavy sigh and rolled over onto his back, the rustling of the covers lost to the noise outside.

Tara Can you come over? Tara I need you.

He blinked the bleariness from his eyes and forced himself to sit up, his back hunching uncomfortably as he reread the messages until his tired mind finally processed them and prompted him to slip out of bed to get dressed. He changed into casual clothing because he'd be damned if he'd go out into the dirty streets of New York in his favorite pajamas, and stumbled a bit as he wiggled sockless feet into his sneakers before shoving his phone in his coat pocket. He glanced at the clock. 11:39 PM. It didn't matter. Tara needed him.

He quietly moved through the penthouse on light feet he'd perfected through the years of sneaking out (or attempting to), his eyes locking onto the doors when he reached the end of the hallway, only for his nose to crinkle at the sight of his mother still awake and on the couch with her laptop resting over her thighs. He stopped and took in a deep breath before stepping out into the large living room, bracing himself for whatever unpredictable chat his mother wrapped him up in.

Gale barely looked up from the screen as she spoke, blue eyes half hidden through a squint. "Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Out where?"

"Tara's place."

At that, she stopped typing and raised her gaze to look at him, her perfectly plucked brows shooting up so high they nearly met her hairline. Gale lifted her reading glasses onto the top of her head and folded her arms across her chest, her face morphing into a look he knew well. "I don't know if you've noticed, sweetheart, but it's raining. I'm sure it can wait 'til morning." 

(Y/N) rolled from his toes to his heels and shrugged casually, hoping the way he slowly inched toward the doors wasn't noticeable. "It's important. She said she needed me." He offered an explanation, which hardly ever helped his case when it came to Gale.

"In what way, exactly?" She asked, subtle amusement finding its way into her tone and making him cringe. Sometimes she felt less like a mother and more like a begrudged aunt far out of her depth. Parenthood was Dewy's idea, (Y/N) had learned that when he was a child.

"Mooom." (Y/N) groaned and heat erupted across his face that definitely wouldn't help him. "It's not like that, I swear." 

"Well, most people your age are already pretty sexually active, so you can't blame me for asking." She mimicked his shrug and resumed her typing, speaking casually as if she hadn't just insinuated he'd be willing to walk through pouring rain just to hook up with his girlfriend of a couple months. "It's expected, sweetheart. Girls and guys are going to be throwing themselves at you now that you're off to college. You're my kid, after all."

(Y/N) blew an exasperated raspberry and rolled his eyes at the seriousness in her tone despite the way his lips threatened to twitch up. "I'm just going to check on her, that's all. Nothing else, I promise. Sam would kill me." He assured her and flashed one of the charming smiles he'd inherited from her, one hand curling around the cool metal of the door handle. 

Gale hummed. "Take condoms, just in ca-"

"Mom!"

The streets of New York City were still bustling despite the late hour, with many older residents walking to or from work while the younger residents walked the streets in search of a new bar or club to spend part of the night in. The rain stopped for no one so no one stopped for the rain; New York never failed to live up to its name of the city that never sleeps. Maybe that was why his mother loved it so much.

He hailed a taxi to escape the rain and slumped back in the backseat with his head lolled to the side to watch the city lights pass by in a blur, laughter and chatter and music coming and going as they traveled through busy streets and less populated areas alike until they stopped in front of Tara's apartment complex. It was somewhat run down and in an alright area but the rent was cheap and it was close enough to Blackmore that Sam felt comfortable enough letting her go to school alone. 

Thanking the driver and handing over the money, he tugged his hoodie over his head and stepped out into the chilly air, listening to the squealing of tires and the occasional splash of someone stepping on a puddle as he contemplated how exactly he was going to get to Tara without alerting Sam and listening through another lecture. He hardly blamed her for growing overprotective- her mother had accidentally fallen pregnant with her after all- but it really complicated things for him when he simply wanted to spend time with his girlfriend. 

Taking a deep breath and stepping into the alleyway, his eyes tracked the fire escape until he spotted familiar curtains shielded behind a closed window. "Alright.. let's do this." He muttered, releasing the breath through his teeth and reaching up to pull own the cold ladder of the fire escape. The things he did for those he cared about.. he never expected it'd lead to climbing onto a fire escape close to midnight in the rain.

The rickety fire escape trembled under his weight and shook lightly with each step, squealing and groaning despite his best attempts at moving quietly to avoid rousing the neighbors. He winced at each little noise and quietly grumbled under his breath until he reached Tara's window and gave a few small knocks, hoping and praying Sam and their new roommate had already gone to bed. His shoulders sagged with relief when a light flickered behind the curtains, the smile on his face fading when he took in her appearance.

Her eyes were red and puffy and streaks of tearstains went down her flushed cheeks. A nightmare, no doubt, one of many that plagued them nearly every night. He'd seen the look plenty of times before on his parents; a look of pure exhaustion, fear, anger, and even sometimes guilt. Her pulled-back hair looked messy as if she'd spent at least an hour tossing and turning, and her fingers subtly trembled while she flipped the locks on her window to open it. 

(Y/N) ducked inside, keeping one hand on the windowsill to avoid stumbling and making noise before he pushed the window back down. Tara swayed forward but caught herself, hands growing clammy whilst she waited for him to shed his drenched coat. "Hey-" She threw her arms around his waist and buried her face in the nape of his neck, a shaky and shallow sigh escaping her lips. "It's okay, Tara, I'm here."

Her arms only tightened around and she sniffled, his skin growing wet from the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I-I had a dream.. about Wes and- and Amber. I couldn't- I couldn't save him in time, (Y/N). He- He needed me and.. and I couldn't-" 

"It's not your fault." (Y/N) cooed softly, running his hand along the top of her head as her body began to tremble and shake with each choked sob. His eyes flickered toward her door and lingered at the bottom, ears waiting to pick up the creaking of someone walking but finding none. Good. Sam and the roommate were probably asleep, tuckered out from their days, and oblivious to the world. "What Amber and Ricky did is not on you."

"But there had to have been signs." Tara peeled back to look at him, her brows knitting together in frustration. "Amber was my best friend, (Y/N). How could I not have seen that something was wrong? I didn't even- I didn't even know she had a boyfriend or that she was a Stab fanatic- there are always signs. And I was so blind and now Wes and Liv and-"

"Tara, hey, come on." His hands cupped her face and he delicately brushed his thumbs over the corner of her eyes to wipe away the dripping tears. She sniffled again and averted her eyes shamefully but he gave her a gentle nudge to bring her eyes back to his. "It's not your fault."

"But Dewey-"

"It's not your fault or Sam's fault, if anything, the hospital and police were at fault for not taking it more seriously. You should've been guarded more securely and- and those assholes should've been caught sooner." (Y/N) curled his arms around her and stepped forward, gently pushing her toward the bed and taking a seat. Tara nuzzled into his side and slumped against him, her eyes beginning to droop. "None of this is any of our faults, Tara. We don't pick what bad things happen to us, and I know your friends wouldn't want you to blame yourself for what happened to them." 

"I know," Tara mumbled, her body slowly growing limp in his hold.

"Get some rest. I know you need it."

[entitled-fangirl]

My strong girl.

Bjorn Ironside x reader

Summary: After learning of his uncle's betrayal in Paris and the defeat between the towers, Bjorn comes back to their settlement- which was attacked while the men were away.

A/n: SPOILERS FROM SEASON 4!!!!

Masterlist

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She couldn’t hear anything over the sound of Bjorn screaming her name.

The settlement had been attacked while Ragnar led the second raid on Paris. 

Helga was on the brink of death, and Y/n had managed to get Ubbe and Hvitserk into the trees for safety, Yidu following behind.

Y/n stepped from the trees, a guilty and teary look in her eyes. The boys followed, running past her to their father and Ragnar embraced them with a relieved sigh.

She saw Bjorn’s entire body relax once his eyes found hers. He met her halfway, his mouth pulling up in a smile. His arms engulfed her.

“Thank the gods you are alive,” he breathed against her hair. He gave her a firm squeeze and pulled away to cup her cheeks. “Are you hurt?” His thumb rubbed a firm line across her cheekbone, trying to rub the blood off and his head dipped a bit lower in earnest. “Are you hurt?” He repeated.

“‘M fine,” she finally told him. 

“Are you?” He questioned hurriedly. He was always a worrier.

“I am,” she persisted. “What about you? You are back so soon, and all wet.”

His face hardened. “My uncle betrayed us. He’s becoming one of them. We were outwitted on our ships.” He pulled her against him by her hips. “Did you fight today?” He asked softly.

“There was no fight,” she pouted. “They slaughtered us. The children-“

“-You protected my brothers. For that, I am forever grateful.”

“I only led them away from the men.”

He took her by the jaw and spoke in a low tone. “And that was brave. Would you have died for them?”

She only stared but they both knew she would.

He ran a hand over her cheek delicately, the feeling tickling her. “I was worried.”

"I survived. Others were not so lucky."

His lips pulled taught. "It is the same for me." 

The two stood amidst the remaining smoke wafting into the air. Amidst the chaos. 

"I will kill him," Bjorn spoke, though it was not very much directed to her.

She pushed up onto her tiptoes to kiss his jaw. "Who, sweet Bjorn?"

The man had killed a bear with his bare hands. Killed a berserker. But still, he remained her 'sweet Bjorn.' And those who dared to mock it were met with the glare of said 'sweet Bjorn' who could kill without much thought.

"My uncle," he reminded her, his eyes focused on the water. With a small nip from her on his neck, he finally tilted his head down and met her lips with his.

"Oh," her small voice reconciled. "Was there no remorse?"

His brows twitched up. "I do not care if he begs, I will deliver him to death. I vow-"

"-Do not vow," she mumbled against his lips. "Do not vow things when you are upset."

He knew she was right. He was just annoyed by it in this moment. He huffed and grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her in for a bruising kiss.

She kissed back fervently before a small squeak came from her when she remembered something. She pulled away, only to have Bjorn follow and capture her lips again. She tried again, and Bjorn followed once again. Finally, she giggled and had to arch her back away from him to create enough distance. His hand on her neck pulled her back to him. "Bjorn," she pleaded with a laugh. 

His teeth pulled at her bottom lip before he finally rested his forehead against hers with a hinted smile of his own. "Kiss me."

"It is important. Plea-"

He kissed her again, a full fledged smile now evident as he manhandled her against him.

It became a game, running from Bjorn's persistent kisses.

Her hand snaked up to her neck and around the twine holding the ring. "B-" she tried again. "Bjorn, the ring."

That finally got his attention. He leaned away with a fallen face. His eyes slowly moved down her face to her chest where his fingers brushed the skin before holding the ring up between them. The ring. The one from the Berserker.

"What of the ring?" He asked.

"I spoke to Torvi of it." Her eyes took in each of his micro expressions. "She recognized it."

His pupils dilated at that. But he silently waited for her to speak.

"It was King Horik's. Passed down to Erlendur."

She felt Bjorn's entire body tense. He leaned in and spoke lowly Into her ear. "You are sure of this?"

"Torvi recognized it well. Here." She took it off, holding the twine out to him.

He watched the ring wave in the air, mocking him, before nodding and taking it from her. His free hand brushed her chin, "Thank you. For keeping it safe."

"When will I know of its meaning?"

He sighed and kissed her temple. "When the conflict has resolved itself."

Revenge would be had but he was much like his father. The long game was always worth the payout.

Bjorn pulled her in for a long hug, relaxing once her body rested against his. The rest could wait. For now, he had this. And he wouldn't take this for granted.

"My strong girl," he spoke in her hair. "My strong, strong girl."

.................................................

[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

All of this!

Two additions noone asked for:

The fairly lukewarm critical reception to TDW contributed to this, (...)

Though that had to do with a lot of things, none of them was becasue Thor „wasn‘t funny enough“ or „not relatable enough“

First, as far as I know teh script wasn‘t finished by the time principle fotographie started

→ That was also teh case for Ironman 1 and 2, and Thor (2011)

Which makes production a shitshow from teh get go and was one of the reasons why keneth Branagh was not keen on returning.

And while 1 and 2, and Thor (2011) turned out pretty well, that was more despit the unfinished script and less becasue of it

Second, as far as I recall, a lot of the disapointment aktually came from Loki fans who had hopped that there would be some working through a) The fuckt up famiyl situation Thor (2011) had left us with → After all the movies where marketed to the audience as interconnected so one could expect for relationships to evolve more intricately then they could in a stand alone movie

b) What exactly Loki had been up to, in the 2 yeasr since he went AWOL → all the audience knew was that he had at some point struck a deal with Thanos.

Now there was some agnowledgement of teh fuckt up famiyl situation and IMHO opinion it was rediculous to expect that Odin would apologize HOWEVR I did expect him to do some interrogation, since his reaction as father aside, as a king he should be interested what exactly his wayward son was up to in teh time he couldn‘t see him and where the fuck he got that army from and the infinity stone. But Odin clearly sucks as a king as much as he sucks as a father, so he had zero interest of getting teh detaillsof this tranwreck.

Loki is teh culprit, Loki is in jail, problem solved ...

→ Marvel made the classical blunder of assuming that audience knowledge is character knwoeldge

And sure, you can argue, that this is afer all called „Thor TDW“ and not „Loki TDW“

But the interrogation didn‘t have to take up more time then the scene we did get. Also, monatges are a thing …

It‘s not about allotted time, it is how you use it …

Chris Hemsworth clearly had issues with the way Thor was treated in Age of Ultron in particular and I can't say I blame him. His brother was the reason the Avengers formed in the first place, they're searching for Loki's sceptre at the start! Clearly Asgard is being set up as important in future and then...nothing. Thor gets to do nothing. Regarding that suggested importance for Asgard, he gets a vision in a cave which was ALSO cut down because test audiences are incredibly stupid and/or Marvel is incredibly stupid and didn't construct Thor's journey or that scene properly to underline it wasn't suggesting Loki created Ultron somehow.

I have argued before and argued again that the big problem of TDW is, that Thor and Loki never talk/yell/punsh/hug it out

That forcing them to work together via fridging Frigga, was a bad desicion, becasue it means there si zero reason for Thor to learn about Thanos or the infiniyt stones

Which makes it necessary for Bruce to akwardly spout exposition at the 11th hour.

Something that would not have been necessary if Thor had talked to Loki Again, Loki was clearly willing to spill the beans to Bruce of all people, I am sure he would have given Thor the cliffnotes version. It‘s in his own bets interest if nothing else.

If Thor and Loki had talekd about Thanos in TDW, then Thor could have told the Avengers about Thanos in AoU, which then would have been a much better catalyst for Tonies paranoia going in to overdrive.

AND would have given Thor more to do

AND a reason to leave half way through teh movie AND would have helped peopel without media literacy to not automaticaly jump to te conlucion that Loki was responsible for Ultron

etc … It also would have raised teh stakes significantlyin CW, becasu eof course Tony would want to close ranks, with a warlord waiting in teh wings

etc …

TL;DR Thor TDW was a very important movie in terms of setting up for future projects and did not deliver on that end much to the detriment of teh movie itself, the characters arcs and the overall arc of the MCU in, back then, present and future projects

I'm thinking in terms of actual real life experiences I've had when I say this, but I'd imagine part of what makes being a Thor enjoyer so frustrating in 2024/MCU's phase 4+ era is that... you're effectively not allowed to enjoy your favorite superhero.

I once had a conversation with a close friend of mine during a casual outing, and without going into very many details, this particular person is an enjoyer of Ragnarok, and enjoys Tailka's work overall. Now, I should say right off the bat: there is nothing wrong with these opinions. Everyone is entitled to like what they like and enjoy the work of creators just the same as other people are allowed to dislike them. For this particular post, I'm not here to get into fandom wars or "reasons why taika waititi is a terrible director" beef. I have other posts in line for that. But what I will say is that I already knew this about my friend, so it never surprised me when the topic of Thor came up that it would be a point of disagreement.

The issue I've found that continues to circle in the general space of "being a Thor fan" came when I expressed that I don't like Ragnarok, I do think Thor was funnier (and just better overall) before Ragnarok and therefore Taika's involvement, and quite frankly Taika had very little business taking on the mantle of director of a superhero franchise he has never liked or understood in his life just because he had mouths to feed. (There are other opportunities to fulfill that. And filmmakers know going into this industry that it's all gig-based and - if they're smart anyways - work around that.) I hadn't even gotten a chance to go through all of the reasons WHY I feel that way, of which I have had before compiled an organized list of about 16 talking points off the top of my head, so as far as that particular discussion goes... it didn't go anywhere. We were busy at the time.

But namely what I want to talk about is this:

The response I was given, in summary, was something along the lines of "well I think Thor was boring, and he wasn't my cup of tea, so I'm glad he changed."

But, you see, there's just ONE small issue with that: Thor isn't meant for everyone.

In fact, no character is meant for everyone. So why is it that Thor needs to change to be "for everyone" and be the MCU normies' "cup of tea" when no other character has to? Why does he need to lose his core identity (both as a character, as a franchise, you name it, it's been done) just because people like my friend don't understand him as well as Tony Stark or Spider-Man? And why should Thor fans have tow watch their favorite superhero get stripped down and turned into something completely divorced from the character, world and cast we were first involved with from the beginning?

Nobody at any point has been able to answer me that besides "well just because I didn't like Thor personally."

Iron Man won't appeal to everyone. Neither does Captain America, neither does Spider-Man, beloved as even Spidey is. They have their own quirks, their own villains, their own storylines... Every superhero has a core to them that their stories revolve around. He's from DC, but Superman, for instance, has the core of: love, justice and the American Way. Therefore, his stories revolve around challenging that core, and making Superman prove it. Steve Rogers/Captain America has a similar core. Justice, freedom and the American Way, is what I'd mostly boil his core down to. Thor's is "love" all around. I've written about that '(here)' in my post about his 2011 themes. Maybe it's different for other fans, but for me personally? I adore that about Thor. It's one of the many reasons I'm drawn to him over any other marvel Super besides Spider-Man. (not you tom holland ... yes you andrew garfield...)

So when I go to Thor for entertainment, I'm going to him above the other superheros because I want a story that revolves around HIS core and how Thor goes about reckoning with his challenges. I also go to MCU Thor specifically for his quiet, kind, regal nature. I come to him for his gravitas, his passion, his relationships with his cast of companions.

I go to him for high-sci-fi action/adventure, or for the "what if we took norse mythology and made it an alien superhero" route they took him in for the MCU. I go to Thor because he IS different from the rest of the Avengers... and that's the point.

So when someone says to me: "Well Thor wasn't for me so I'm glad he changed", or "Well I really liked Ragnarok because Thor kind of become more in line with the other Avengers"... they're fundamentally missing the point of why Thor has a fanbase at all.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 39

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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: Born Of Fire

Notes: /

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  39/47

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The journey to this cursed castle continued. Merlin and Lancelot rode together and you couldn’t help but keep an eye on them. Lancelot said few words to him, but Merlin carried the conversation between them without a problem. Of course you were curious to know what was being said, but surely he would tell you if it was something important.

Percival was clothed well against the colder weather, he had wrapped the scarf around his neck and it covered half his face, the cloak kept him perfectly warm. Some of the crew were singing a sea shanty a little to your right and you grew to like it, while Pym was encouraged by them to learn the lyrics too and join in.

Gawain came to ride beside you, something had caught his curiosity. “I have not seen you wear a ring before.”

It was so obvious that he was fishing for information, the statement was just to breach the subject.

“It was a gift.” you bit back a smirk.

“Oh?” He acted like he wasn’t eager to be nosy. “From Lancelot?”

You learned that the Green Knight was terrible at pretending. “Yes.”

“Any special reason?” He was still acting like he did not know exactly what it was.

“Gawain.” You looked at him. “Yes. It is a wedding band.”

The knight was happy to hear it. “He has spoken of his regrets on how it began between you. No vows taken, no ceremony. It has left a scar within him.”

You had no idea Lancelot had spoken of it to Gawain. “The past doesn’t matter now-”

He interrupted. “It matters to him, y/n. He was raised by the scriptures, he may no longer be a monk but the spirit of a marriage holds a great value to him. And he feels guilty for how the choice was taken from you.”

It left you half shocked. “I carry no resentment anymore for how this marriage came to be. Marrying me off to him was probably the only good thing Father Carden ever did.”

Gawain knew it to be true. “But he knows that the joy of experiencing a wedding, or joining, was stolen away. It bothers him, I know it does. I could hear it in his voice when he spoke of it.”

“It was not his fault…” you sighed quietly. “He has to know that.”

He got quieter. “Part of him knows, but the guilt he feels is making it difficult to see where his faults and those of another are. He is making amends, righting every wrong he sees, and that ring is part of it.���

You looked down at the ring. “Do you think he might ever be free of the guilt he feels?”

He thought on it for a moment. “Only if he lets himself be in time.”

In time… and until that time the guilt would continue to scratch at his soul. “The world’s burdens is not his to carry alone.”

The knight nodded in agreement. “Be not concerned, y/n. He is not alone in this, we are here to help.”

It was a comfort to know. Lancelot was beginning to find his place among the group, and after years of having to hide his heritage in solitude he could now be himself.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Merlin had announced not so long ago that the cursed castle was near. And indeed the group came to a halt in front of a large and high rock formation that stole the sunlight from the forest beneath it. The castle was ingrained within the rock formation, as if it was a part of it. The entire place was overgrown by vines that held it in an unbreakable hold. Arthur and Red Spear, along with some of the crew, tried to cut through them but as Merlin had told the vines did not yield.

“How do we get inside?” Lancelot asked Merlin.

Merlin pointed to a spot nearby that was covered in bushes. “There should still be an entrance there.”

Upon closer inspection, the magician was right. There were stone steps that leaded down to a heavy wooden door covered in the strange vines.

Merlin spoke his plan out loud, “We must proceed on foot from here, and enter through the dungeons to find our way to the ground floor. If the curse can be broken, we will return for the horses and bring them to the front of the fort.”

“Why not ride to the front entrance now?” Red Spear was impatient.

Merlin dampened that impatience. “The front entrance of the castle is completely overgrown by the vines. We cannot cut through them, their destruction must come from within.”

“Then how do we even get in?” Pym chimed in.

Merlin looked towards Lancelot and stepped aside to make room to let him pass. “We follow him.”

Lancelot felt all the eyes on him, swallowed thickly, and went to to the door. You could see how nervous he was when he reached for the door. But the vines retracted from his touch, letting him proceed. He got the door open, although the rusted hinges made it difficult and some rubble was at the foot of the door. He held it open, letting the rest of the group in first. Percival, you and Pym were the last to enter. Percival easily slithered inside. Pym looked at the rubble with distrust, which Lancelot noticed. He held out his hand for her to take, intending to help her step over the rubble.

Her mouth fell open, eyes went wide, it lasted only two seconds before she said, “I’m not clumsy.”

It made him chuckle, still he did not revoke the offer of helping her and after some hesitation she took hold of his hand to help her safely over the rubble that indeed decided to move under her feet. None of the others had seen the flicker of concern in her eyes, but he proved himself perceptive again. She uttered a quiet ‘Thank you’ and hurried inside after the others. He held out his hand again, for you this time, tilting his head down a little in respect. You took his hand to step over the rubble in case it would move under your feet too. Such a chivalrous and considerate gesture of him. And then you felt the unnecessary hand on your rear, as if it would help in case you fell. He made it look so casual, so normal, while you snapped your eyes to his face with burning cheeks. Not a speck of regret for his actions, not one, there was only confidence to be found in his eyes.

You confronted him, “I didn’t see you do that with Pym.”

He looked so smug. “Should I correct that?”

A warning look was send his way. “She looks like the sort of person who would make you regret trying, and I wouldn’t stop her.”

He moved around your back, briefly leaning in to whisper, “I recall you telling me that I am permitted to appreciate your behind.”

You squinted your eyes at him, vaguely remembering telling him so back at the inn. It felt impossible to scold him for it when he had such a smoldering look in his eyes just for you.

Gawain spoke for all to hear. “Let’s form pairs and search these grounds. See if it is safe.”

“No.” Lancelot interjected. “There is strength in numbers and we do not know what we are facing in this cursed place. We remain together until we know it is safe.”

“I agree with Lancelot.” Arthur said.

“I did not ask.” Gawain told Arthur.

Even Lancelot winced at how icy the knight could be towards the Manblood. There was a certain competitiveness between Arthur and Gawain, two different characters that could work together and clash just as easily.

Pym scrunched her nose. “Why wouldn’t it be safe? The place is covered in vines that won’t let anyone in.”

Lancelot took no offense to her question. “If this curse can keep this whole fort from the world outside, who says it is all it can do?”

“There is nothing wrong with wanting to be certain.” Merlin said to all. “Let us find the forge we seek here first. If we end this curse we will have time to explore.”

They all looked at each other, Red Spear was the first to agree to the plan and the rest followed.

        The exploration of the castle began. Vines covered every wall, every door, everything. You could feel the presence of the Hidden, but there was something else, something that surpassed them. Torches had been taking off from the walls and lighted to see in the dark halls. The windows let in no sunlight, inside it was as if everything was frozen in the past. You avoided touching the vines, worrying that they formed a threat. The whole thing made you feel on edge and you stayed in the light of the torches as much as possible.

“Do not be afraid.” Merlin noticed your growing anxiousness.

You spoke quickly, “I feel strange.”

He hoped to calm you. “The Hidden were not the first gods, Festa and Moreii worshiped those before them. You may feel their presence here.”

“Are they dangerous?” you asked.

“Dangerous? No.” he said. “But they will let themselves be known if they see it necessary.”

“Let’s hope they don’t find it necessary then…” you mumbled.

He found it almost amusing to see you uneasy towards something he had decades of knowledge and experience with. “Your clan began here. These walls have heard the first cries of babes for many years. Have faith that the spirits residing here welcome the Ash Folk.”

You took it to heart. “I hope so.”

As the walk through the castle continued, you often felt like you had seen the vines moves in the corner of your eyes, only to find them completely still when looking their way. Something older than the Hidden lingered in these halls, it did not feel threatening only very odd and unfamiliar.

You heard your name be called, a whisper that somehow sounded loud. Lancelot spun around, drawing his sword, having heard it too, he first looked to where you were and then his eyes scanned his surroundings.

“What are you doing?” Percival looked up at him as if he were a madman.

He did not understand why the boy was not alarmed. “Did you not hear it?”

“Hear what?” Gawain was close to drawing his sword too.

“That whisper.” Lancelot realized no one else but the two of you had heard. He took hold of Percival’s jacket and brought the boy closer. “Y/n, walk beside me.”

By the tone that he had used, it was not up for discussion. And you had no argument to put forth against it, hearing your name be called by something that didn’t sound like the Hidden was frightening. You approached him, stopping a few steps away and he took hold of your jacket too to get you closer.

His eyes betrayed worry, his voice a command, “Stay close. Tell me if you hear anything out of the ordinary again.”

You nodded.

He turned to Merlin. “Have you been here before?”

Merlin had a mysterious smile on his face. “Just once. Years ago.”

Lancelot must have suspected that that was the case. “Then you know where to find this forge?”

“I do.” Merlin confirmed.

“Lead the way.” he told him.

Merlin walked passed him, taking the lead of the group, guiding them from hallway to hallway. Large steps leaded to a higher floor, into a wide hall. Two large doors reached the ceiling of the place. It took two people at each door to get them to open, their rusted hinges croaked under the weight of the wood. A large fire pit stood in the midst of the room and was at least seventeen foot across.

Merlin approached it, the height of the fire pit reached his middle. “Here is where they forged the Sword of Power. Fey Fire once burned within this very circle.” He reminisced on that knowledge and reached into the empty fire pit. “If we bring the Fey Fire back to this castle, it might shed it’s vines.”

Then all eyes were on Lancelot, while his went to yours. It didn’t need to be said that he did not want to do this alone.

Merlin turned to him, sensing the nervousness within Lancelot. “Creating the fire is one thing, making it last is another.”

You remembered how when you and Lancelot had touched that the flames were stronger. This fire needed to burn and keep on burning, to live as the Ash Folk lived. The rest of the group moved aside to let the two of you get near the fire pit.

“Such magic is awakened by strong emotions and can also be controlled by it.” Merlin said. “Return the fire to the Fey.”

Lancelot took over the torch that Gawain was carrying and put it down into the fire pit. That one torch inside such a large fire pit seemed far too little to be helpful, but it offered something for him to focus on. He had never practiced evoking the green fire.

Percival watched with great curiosity, standing a little on his toes to see it all better. Pym kept a few steps behind Gawain. Arthur and Red Spear tried not to show how much anticipation they harboured.

You saw Lancelot stand motionless, eyes set on the flame of the torch. All eyes were on him and he must have feared failing this task. One time he had awaken the fire, just once, and it had happened beyond his control after having seen Aldith strike you down. This moment held his future and he knew it. You went to stand beside him, watching as he reached for the flames and you almost pulled him back before remembering it could not burn him. His hand was unsteady, the flames licked his fingers. The others gawked at the sight of him touching the flames without a sign of discomfort. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on completing the task, trying to find the feeling inside of him that had caused it the last time. Seconds passed, the whole room had become so silent. His features had tensed, a look of frustration growing on his face. And then the fire grew a green hue, slowly but surely.

“It’s working!” you beamed with pride, your voice reached a higher pitch from joy. “You are doing so well!”

When you placed your hand onto his lower arm, the fire erupted with force. Bright green flames filled the fire pit, sending the group a couple of steps back in awe of the light it emitted. An unseen force was unleashed from the pit, an invisible magic explosion that went into all directions. It blasted the vines to ashes, and as the force traveled through the castle at high velocity the torches on the walls all lit aflame. It was life itself that surged into the castle again, tearing down the curse that held it in it’s power.

A pattern of leaves spread throughout the skin of Lancelot’s hand rapidly and traveled up to his neck, the veins of the leaves glowed like the fire that had awakened them. In the marks beneath his eyes a fiery glow ignited, mere seconds later you felt your own marks rise to the surface of your cheeks. From the stares, you knew your own marks were glowing too and never before had so many people seen your marks. Slowly you slid your hand along his arm, joining his own in the Fey Fire.

“You could have done this too.” he whispered, eyes glued to the flames

Your hands were intertwined. “This was yours to create. The Hidden were waiting for their kin to return, and here you are.”

The sunlight fell back in through the windows that were freed from the overgrowth of vines outside of it.

Merlin was content, his eyes were filled with wonder for the flames. “The castle returns to the eyes of the world, much like the Ash Folk. Once the Fey learn of this, it will give them renewed hope. What was lost is now found.”

Lancelot moved his hand out of the fire with your own, the glow on his skin was slowly dimming. “Did you feel that as well? When you touched me…”

“I felt it too.” It had been the spark that ignited the flame inside, for him and for you.

“You’re green.” Arthur bluntly pointed out, earning half a glare from Lancelot when he saw the Manblood’s shit-eating grin.

Percival hadn’t noticed that yet, he was too busy looking at the flames and trying to get closer but Gawain held him in place by the back of his jacket.

“It looks like leaves are in your skin.” Percival said upon noticing it.

Lancelot looked at his hand, seeing the pattern start to disappear. “It are just Fey markings.”

Pym tried to look at your hands. “Do you have those too?”

“Not right now.” You had went to stand a little behind Lancelot when you could feel that the marks beneath your eyes stayed visible. It had to be the presence of such strong Fey Fire causing this. You felt the others stare at them and discreetly put the hood of your cloak over your head in the hope that it would let a shadow fall upon your face. Lancelot had noticed how you went to stand a little more behind him with your head tilted down, self-conscious about your markings being seen by everyone, but he did not comment on it.

“Shame.” Pym blurted out. “Sorry…”

“The vines are gone. Does that mean the curse is broken?” Red Spear asked Merlin.

Merlin walked around the fire pit to admire the flames. “The curse was no match for the magic of the Ash Folk. The home of the Hidden is now in the hands of their heir.”

Lancelot frowned. “What?”

Merlin explained the situation, “This castle is yours, Lancelot. It thrives only under the possession of those who keep the flames alive.”

Lancelot shook his head. “The Fey will never accept that I am warden of this castle. This is to be a sanctuary for them- "

Merlin interrupted him, “Regardless of your past, the Fey need the magic of the Ash Folk if they wish to survive or even win this war. And the Hidden will not be kind to those who harm the last of their lineage.”

Gawain wasted no time moving the plan along. “We need to send news to Gramaire that the castle is under our command now.”

“I can call upon one of my messengers.” Merlin offered.

“Messengers?” Gawain asked.

To the magician it was a completely normal thing. “An owl, a dove, whichever one of them chooses to come when I call upon them.”

Gawain needed a second to process that. “Well… that would be helpful.”

“There is one more matter that we need to attend to.” Merlin gestured to Lancelot. “The sword. Before Nimue’s death I had wished to return it to the fire and destroy it, but now doubt has grown in me. The sword has chosen you, and you must choose what you do with it. I can no longer touch it, as you have seen. The choice now falls to you.”

Arthur sighed. “We need the sword.”

“The sword will not be what wins this war, it will be our choices that do.” Lancelot told him.

“But the sword will help.” Gawain was against burning the sword, that much was clear. “Destroying the sword is a mistake.”

“It was changing Nimue.” Pym chimed in. “It’s dangerous!”

The different opinions on the fate of the sword filled the room, making it impossible to make a well-thought through decision.

Lancelot drew the sword out from the sheath, the mystical tinkling sound filled the room. “If we cannot decide, then let the sword choose it’s fate.”

Gawain was wary. “What do you mean?”

He approached the fire with the sword, holding it near the flames. “If the Hidden gave us the power to create this fire, and by this fire the sword, then the fate of the sword is now in their hands.”

Gawain took a step closer. “What does-”

Lancelot let the sword fall into the flames, the voices of the Hidden let themselves be heard. Burning ashes rose above the flames and danced around the room. More and more burning ashes filled the room, causing alarm in those who witnessed it. The Hidden did not appreciate that their kin had thrown the sword into the flames, yet their kin was not intimidated by it in the slightest. Lancelot did not falter, not even when the ashes circled around him, he watched the flames lick the sword.

“Decide.” he demanded of them, an arrogance that none other would dare to have towards the old gods. “Or I will let it burn.”

Their whispers grew louder, frightening some of Red Spear’s crew and even herself even though she would never admit to it. Gawain and Arthur were seconds away from drawing their sword in defense of a power no one present could match. Percival ran up to you, grabbing hold on your lower arm. And then the Hidden whispered something that was not incoherent.

    ~“Dark angel…”~

    Everyone, even the Manbloods, had heard it be spoken. Most took a step back when the sword rose out of the flames on it’s own, levitating above them. The sword suddenly flew through the air and landed back at Lancelot’s feet, clattering loud against the tiles. Still, Lancelot did not pick the sword up, he just looked down at the responsibility thrown at his feet once more. The symbols engraved into the sword that translated to ‘Take me up’ still glowed that bright green glow of the flames. The Hidden had decided, their opinion on the existence of the sword was made clear.

Merlin stepped closer to Lancelot, seeing the doubt in the Ash Man. “The gods have spoken.”

His eyes did not lift from where the sword laid at his feet. “Why me? After all I have done…”

“Because they know what is yet to come, what you will still do.” Merlin said. “Their faith lies in you.”

Lancelot knelt down, the sword quietly tinkled in anticipation. “Gawain?”

Gawain was almost amused by it. “The gods themselves have made their decision known. Why still seek my approval?”

He looked at you, he looked at Percival, seeking the confirmation he needed that finally made him pick up the sword. He rose to his feet, the sword glowed brighter for a moment then slowly dimmed. Arthur approached him, nodding to himself, accepting that the sword was in the hands of the former Weeping Monk.

“Do good by the Fey, by us all.” Arthur told him with sincerity, then held his hand out.

It took Lancelot a few seconds to realize that Arthur was not silently asking him to hand over to sword, but to actually shake hands. It was not something you expected to see, them shaking hands, and yet that was exactly what happened.

Then Arthur turned to Merlin. “Can this fire be used to forge weapons for the Fey?”

“None as strong as the Sword of Power.” Merlin informed. “But yes, with Fey Fire weapons can be made of excellent strength.”

Gawain was quick to action again. “We need to ready this fort. Ensure it’s structure is intact and safe, explore the grounds and area, prepare it for when the Fey from Gramaire arrive.”

“Agreed.” Lancelot said.

They discussed the tasks and who would do what. Red Spear and her crew were send to scout the area surrounding the castle to see if it was safe and if there were useful matters to be found. Arthur and Pym paired up to walk around the castle to see if it was safe to inhabit, and to make sure it was not on the verge of crumbling apart. Merlin, Percival and Gawain were to search for anything useful or of interest in the castle, so were you and Lancelot. Finding weapons would be of great help and that was the main objective. Maps of the area were wanted, just anything that offered some aid. When they all went out of the large room to attend to their task, you and Lancelot stayed behind a moment longer. He reached for the hood of your cloak, but you caught his hand.

“My marks won’t go away.” you told him.

“It must be the fire.” He was concerned to see how you shied away because of it. “There is no reason to hide them, we are among our people.”

Years. Years you were forced to hide them from the world, from your own father and brother, and now they were on display for all to see. “How do I make them stop showing again?”

A frown set on his forehead. “Why would you want that?”

You shook your head, gaze falling to the floor. For so long they had been a threat to your existence, had Aldith or Cassian ever seen them whilst you were still living with them… you wouldn’t have survived long.

He stepped closer, leaning in to whisper with as much charm as he could manage. “They suit you so well.”

Your eyes snapped up to his face, a smirk curved his lips. “It’s just strange to not have to fear anymore that they will show.”

He could see that the compliment had a positive effect. “I enjoy seeing them out of hiding.”

It was blatant flirtation now and you shook your head a little, chuckling quietly. His confidence was growing daily.

“Come on, we should be exploring this place.” You moved past him.

He was quick to pull the hood of your cloak down again, you turned on your heels to glare at him for it.

“Don’t you dare hide from me.” he chided. “Nor from the world’s light. I will not allow it. You do not return to the shadows they caged you in.”

Out of pure spite you put the hood back on again. “I am not hiding.”

By the time you had turned, he was behind you, arms wrapped around your form to keep you in place.

“You cannot claim to be cold near such a fire.” He tugged the hood down again, slowly this time. “This castle is where our clan began, if there is anywhere in this world where we can be our truest selves, it is here.”

You let him free you from the coverage of the hood, his fingers curled around your throat softly.

His voice was breathy and warmer. “There you are.”

You tilted your head, feeling him brush his nose just below your jaw. He was intoxicating, as if the magic still ran through him and heightened every feeling that he stirred in you.

He released you from his hold, touching your lower back. “Come. Let us not give the Green Knight a reason to reprimand us.”

And just like that, he started walking, as if he had not just caused your legs to tremble.

Now that all the torches were aflame, and with the sun coming in through the windows, it wasn’t needed to carry a torch to light the way. Together you explored the place, marveling at it’s appearance. The sun bathed the halls in it’s light, enhancing the beauty that had been hidden by vines. Every room was inspected and there were many.

“Do you think this place has a cellar?” you wondered out loud.

He clicked his tongue. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Like two children excited to explore a new place, you wandered through the halls. He opened the door of a room that was filled with old furniture, while on the other side you opened a door to a large room with all sorts of weapons hanging on hooks on the walls.

“Uh… Lancelot?”

He peeked into the room, flashing a smile. “Good find.”

Another door not much further seemed to be blocked and you put your shoulder against it, trying to push it open. Lancelot watched you try for a bit.

The staring got on your nerves. “Aren’t you going to help?”

He had been waiting for a reaction from your side. “Not if you cannot ask politely.”

You saw the grin on his face and proceeded to fully ignore him while trying to get that door open. He was stepping closer, you could hear it and you heard that click of his tongue.

“You stubborn woman…” He put his shoulder against the door too.

Still, the door budged very little even if you pushed together. It got quite comical after a while.

A whine slipped out of you, “Gods! Why won’t it open?!”

“It will open.” He kept trying. “Push harder.”

“I’m pushing as hard as I can!”

“Are you?”

He got a playful smack to his shoulder for that jest. What you didn’t expect was the tap he gave to your rear in return.

He answered that surprised look he was given. “Consider it motivation.”

You turned to him a little more, hands still pushing the door. “You-”

All of a sudden the door went open, the hinges did not make a single sound to warn you of it. Neither you or Lancelot had expected it to be a door that opened to a descending staircase of stone steps. You only realized that when you were too late to stop pushing and the door opened inward, sending you to fall down into the dark staircase.

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[kwikquik]

“Well, who should help her? She does not have any male relatives.”

Struck by how Colin could’ve really used the help of his father too, to navigate his coming of age. 🥺

[hsslilly-blog]

when she’s 13 claire gets an injury from going on pointe too early (at 9) and that’s when her father tells her mother claire is not doing ballet anymore

[m00sebaby]

just having a bit of a ramble dont mind me

[crookedfandomquill]

This is very situational, and sadly may not be realistic for everyone, but I need y’all to understand that a very important part of political activism is fucking talking to your conservative or moderate friends and family.

My dad voted for Trump in 2016. He’s a middle class white evangelical from Arkansas. He raised me with conservative Christian values, just like his parents raised him. When he voted Trump, he was holding his nose, but he didn’t feel too bad about it, and went on to vote red down the ticket in the 2018 midterms, as well.

But I started college in 2017. Higher education and independence changed everything for me, and I went home over holidays and summers with fire in my belly and a thousand arguments ready at the drop of a hat, to my father’s dismay.

I remember crying in my room after emotional, intense arguments with him. I told him over and over that I felt betrayed by his choice to vote for a man who admitted to sexually assaulting women, who built his platform on dehumanizing immigrants and the disabled, who spread overtly-racist rhetoric, who flouted the values of kindness and self-discipline that I’d been raised on. And my dad always had some justification about the “greater good”: fighting against abortion, bolstering the economy, getting other Christian politicians into office.

But over time, as we grew further apart and I lost my will to discuss anything with him at all, he softened. He started asking me why I thought the way I did about the things we disagreed about. He would listen to my answers without interruption, and mull them over afterward instead of expressing his own opinion. And all the while, he watched the Trump presidency become cruel and absurd and devastating.

The first time he openly expressed regret to me, I had come home for a weekend after Kavanaugh was confirmed to SCOTUS. My dad realized he had helped elect a man who preyed on women… and that man had opened the door to more predators. I can’t tell you what it felt like for him to admit that he’d made a mistake, not just in voting for Trump but in defending him for so long. We kept arguing, but it was more debating than fighting. I knew he was capable of seeing my side of things, even if it took a while, and he knew I wasn’t just a sensitive college student with shallow new ideas about the world.

And then 2020 hit. Specifically, George Floyd was murdered, and the events that followed played out on the national stage. My dad was incredibly shaken by it. He asked me if I had any books from college about racial issues. I loaned him The New Jim Crow, one of the required readings for my Race and the Law class. Then I gave him Just Mercy. Then he watched the documentary 13th. Then he joined a racial harmony group he learned about through one of the few Black families at our church and insisted our whole family come. He held up signs at a protest against Confederate monuments in our conservative southern town. In three years, he went from defending Trump’s comments about “Black-on-Black crime” to publicly advocating for racial justice and opposing the death penalty.

We went together to vote in the 2020 primaries. I couldn’t help asking who he’d voted for; I didn’t even know if he’d asked for the Republican or Democratic ticket. He admitted he’d voted for Bernie. fucking. Sanders, then made me promise not to tell my grandma he’d voted liberal. When the election rolled around in November, he voted Biden. I’m sure he held his nose to do it, just like he held his nose voting in 2016. But I know he doesn’t regret it.

I am, of course, unbelievably lucky to have a parent who loved me enough, and was empathetic enough, to choose his relationship with me over his strongly-held opinions. He kept searching for truth because, as much as he’ll deny it, he’s a very smart and curious person. No degree of intelligence or curiosity makes you immune to propaganda, especially if you were raised not to question the party line. It’s easy to dismiss our conservative, conspiracy-pilled loved ones as stupid, hypocritical, and cruel. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they will bend to keep their relationships from breaking. Sometimes, if they can be made to understand that their beliefs and actions are harming someone they love, they will make concessions. And sometimes they just need one person in their life to put a foot down, to be vulnerable and assertive and argumentative, to bring the impact of their politics close to home.

As the most important election of our lifetimes approaches, do not put peace over progress. If you have someone like my dad, someone who is good-willed and smart and loves you more than their own opinions, tell them how you feel. Tell them what their choices will mean for you, for your friends, for your community. Tell them what they could lose: your trust, your affection, your respect. Don’t avoid conflict if it could be productive. Because my conflict with my dad didn’t just win him over–it won over my moderate mom and one of my conservative brothers. And it put us in community with other like-minded people and led my parents to a healthier and kinder faith.

All of this to say, there is hope in conflict. There is hope in our relationships with people who think differently from us. There is hope in exposing your fear and anger and pain to people you love. And hope is a form of activism.

[maruyaaya]

AJDHDKDHDU UR GONNA MAKE ME SOB OH MY GOSHHH IM SO GIDDY RN

odysseus and neo are soooo antagonistic in this their dynamic is so fun to write bc neither of them will hesitate to take a cheap shot.

obligatory agamemnon slander it always has to happen i can’t resist it. it’s always so funny to me he’s such an easy target. AND ODYPEN GIGGLING OVER WAR PLANS IS SO REAL TO ME like they flirt by talking abt how they’re gonna destroy their enemies

NEO IS SO FUCKING DOWN BAD it’s so special to me that he is very bad at social interaction. he’s very socially awkward and he struggles with social cues (i’m definitely writing him as neurodivergent even if that will never be like explicitly stated in the fic) and he really struggles with figuring out how telemachus in particular views him. he sees that telemachus’ opinion of him doesn’t actually change when telemachus finds out who he is and he finds that really interesting; it’s one of the reasons why he’s so attracted to telemachus—he feels seen for the first time ever. he doesn’t even mind it when telemachus hates it bc telemachus hates him for who he is rather than for what he did during the war. neo’s also just crazy pathetic wet cat he’s my little freak <3

PTSDYSSEUS LMFAO I SNORTED

u absolutely clocked me YES the love and a slit throat paragraph is one of my favourites because it really encompasses neo in this. his view of love has been completely skewed by his time in the war; he views himself as being incapable of love if it isn’t violent. and then you can contrast his viewpoint with telemachus, who grew up surrounded by love from his mother and he views love as something gentle. they play off each other really interestingly in this regard. telemachus really likes it when he gets to see neo being soft. he feels the most loved when neo is being gentle around him, baring parts of his soul that nobody else gets to see. he wants neo to confess secrets to him and touch him with reverence. on the other hand, neo really likes it when telemachus shows his cruelty. neo likes to see telemachus angry because he feels it’s a more genuine show of who telemachus truly is. and to him, he thinks that everybody else can have the telemachus who is kind and soft, but only he gets to see the one with fire in his eyes and a thirst for blood. the crux of both of them is that they want to see the parts of each other that they hate in themselves.

THE UNDERWORLD BIT WAS SO FUN TO WRITE i love achilles sm and his dynamic with neo is so important to me despite achilles literally never physically appearing in this fic LOL. so much of neo’s actions were influenced by what he thought his father would do and then to learn that achilles regretted the things he did makes him wonder if everything that he did was wrong.

AHAHAHA OH THE POLITES THAT TELEMACHUS REFERS TO ISN’T THE greet the world with open arms <3 polites. the polites referenced is one of priam’s sons and neo kills him during the fall of troy. iirc polites was known for being very fast and during the battle, neo shoots him with an arrow and polites nearly manages to get away, attempting to escape to priam’s palace, but neo follows him and when neo catches up to him, polites prays to the gods to punish neo but neo kills him before anything happens.

HONESTLY UR TOO KIND TO ME i’m blushing kicking my feet twirling my hair rn i’m so happy you like this fic it genuinely means so much to me I APPRECIATE ALL UR ARTS AND SUPPORT SM THANK YOU SO MUCH <3

(ALSO FABLE AND TRUTH IS PROBABLY MY FAVOURITE CHAPTER TITLE it comes from fable by gigi perez and most gigi perez songs are very neomachus coded to me ESPECIALLY sailor song because of the line ‘i don’t believe in god, but i believe that you’re my saviour’ and i just really love gigi perez HAHAHA)

HELLOOOO EVERYBODY!!!

chapter one of my neomachus fic, someday i know you’ll come to your senses, is finally up!! you can check it out HERE!!

[blog-names-are-overrated]

Y’all remember that scene in SoN when Percy punched a bookcase cus he remembered smth abt annabeth and then forgot it and got frustrated? I just realized how fucking scared hazel and frank must’ve been in that scene, like at that point in time they didn’t know him very well, they’d only been with him for a few days + he had amnesia so even he didn’t know much about himself. So all they saw was this scary, strong, godlike 16-17 year old with a weird and frankly disturbing fighting style punch this book case out of no where while looking pissed and (probably) breathing heavily, so just imagine what they were thinking, they probably thought Percy was about to fucking murder them or flood the city bc he got some super important memory about his life that told him they were his enemy or something, I mean hell the lares at camp Jupiter were calling him “graecus” from day 1 and his father was basically a walking red flag, also at this point in time neither frank or hazel were very strong, frank couldn’t shapeshift and was relatively new to fighting as a whole and hazel hadn’t mastered her powers as much or learned how to use the mist, so if Percy did attack them they were most likely fucked

There’s probably a better smarter way to word this thing but it’s like 4 am for me rn and I’ve had this on my mind for months and just needed to get it out

[timmydraker]

Tim Drake is a selkie.

No one outside of Janet Drake knows this, and she ensure it is kept a secret purely for the fact that if it gets out people will quickly realise that neither she nor Jack is a selkie themselves.

They would realise that Janet had an affair.

The man she had met on their trip overseas had gotten her pregnant and then vanished, seemingly disappearing into thin air.

It wasn’t until Tim was born that she was sure it was the other man’s child, if not for the distinctly black hair than the smooth pelt like band around his wrist.

His father had one similar and he refused to take it off.

The first time Tim transformed was luckily when Janet was still sure she wanted to be a mother and was bathing him at just four months old. When the little boy with bright blue eyes suddenly went quiet and then rolled over in the bath, she watched as he turned into a small baby seal.

Janet had screeched and backed up in shock, only to watch as the seal looked at her with big black eyes and seemingly start to cry before he shifted back into Tim.

The band around his wrist came off and was the perfect shape of the seals pelt from earlier, sitting in the tub like it hadn’t just shifted Janet’s entire life out of balance.

Naturally she hid the hide and made sure Tim never saw it again, especially when there were no more shifting incidents.

Tim was nine when he found it and well accustomed to his parents lying to him about a range of things, all varying in importance. They lied about when they would be home, about stocking the fridge, about being at his science fair…

But when Tim was sneaking into his mums closet to try find one of her spare credit cards, he found the pelt and something in him felt whole.

Tim had always felt like something wasn’t right about him. He felt like his very body was missing, or maybe his soul, and no matter what he did he couldn’t find a way to fill that gap. Being in water helped, so did showers and sunlight, though it was never enough.

It was why he started skating and stalking Batman and Robin, just to distract himself.

Photography worked best though.

Yet as he reached a tentative hand out to touch the pelt he swore he could feel himself being put back together like a puzzle.

Tim didn’t shift straight away, not when he was left stuck in the blissful feeling of his skin feeling right for the first time he could recall.

It was when he watched the pelt shift to wrap around his bare arm like a sleeve that he shifted.

The seal form he took wasn’t what he expected, but of course it wasn’t.

From then on Tim would spend every chance he got with the pelt, learning to control both the shifting of his skin and how to disguise the hide on his person. He usually kept it as some kind of band that covered his arm or waist, keeping it close to his hand at all times so he could check that it was safe.

He never wore it when his parents were home, just in case.

Naturally, he did research and learnt what he was as best he could.

By the time Janet realised he was taking the hide out of its hiding spot he was thirteen and almost finished his Robin training. He had kept it hidden from Batman if only because he was scared and not even sure if his mother really knew what it was, but when he came home to find her in his room he knew it was over.

She had held out her hand and said in the calmest voice she could, “hand it over, Timothy.”

Tim didn’t.

Janet had stood up and gripped his wrist, quickly finding the pelt around his arm and yanking it off of him.

Tim had cried, not out of physical pain but mental. It was like he was being put under some kind of spell and he found himself unable to move to snatch it back as Janet held the now pelt in a too tight grip.

“You will not touch this again, you hear me? I’m going to burn it.”

And she tried, she really did, but then Tim started to scream. The loud, echoing wails rang through the entire mansion until Jack rushed to his son and tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

Janet only stopped when Jack started calling for her to call an ambulance and she came up with the badly damaged pelt to find her son seizing on the floor with his skin burning red.

Tim calmed down quickly once she put it under water, but he was still shaking and sobbing wildly.

He never found out how she managed to convince Jack to not call for an ambulance or to leave them alone, and Tim tried not to think about how little Jack had to care for him to accept so easily.

Janet had given him the pelt back and watched him sob as he held it to his chest and wailed.

The next trip they went on lasted seven months and in that time he spent as much as he could in his seal form to focus on healing his damaged skin.

It was still burnt, ugly scars covering the bottom and entire left side of his fur, but he learnt to maintain it.

After that he kept the pelt hidden under armour in the Robin uniform.

When Jason attacked him he cut the pelt through his armour, not knowing it was there. He managed to not cut it in half and in a twisted irony got right over where it wasn’t scarred.

Tim managed to hide it from Batman but at that point he was sure that Alfred suspected something.

Yet it wasn’t until Damian that anyone found out.

At that point Tim felt safe enough to have his pelt kept as a thick band around his wrist, out and open but only in the manner.

As much as he wanted to hate him, Tim couldn’t blame Damian when after a year and a half of him being there and the two working out a few differences and issues, he noticed. Tim hadn’t worn it visible since he first arrived and tried to kill Tim, but he had subconsciously felt safer around Damian and the boy was the best at spitting changes in others appearance.

“Oh.”

Bruce had looked up at Damian while Tim minded his business stirring his tea, “what’s up, chum?”

Damian pointed to Tim’s wrist, “I was not aware you were a Selkie, Drake. I apologise if I damaged you pelt in my attacks.”

Tim had tensed so badly that he was sure that Superman could hear his joints locking even though he was off planet.

Naturally Tim started to hyperventilate when Bruce asked with genuine confusion, “What?”

Tim bolted to his room as quickly as he could and shut the door before sliding down it and clutching his pelt-band to his chest with his free hand.

It could have been a few seconds or minutes, but it felt like a whole hour before Tim heard a knock at the door and the calm, gentle voice of Bruce talking through it.

“Tim? Can you open up for me please?”

Shaking his head even when the other couldn’t see, Tim let out a whimper and crawled quickly to the bathroom as his panic took over.

By the time he heard the door open he was in his preferred form of a half seal, his lower body only and the skin of his back shifted, and clutching his inhuman lower body.

Bruce came in and stared at him in shock for a bit before swallowing.

Coming to sit beside the tub, Bruce reached over and turned on the tap to let water begin to run into the tub.

Tim was grateful if not a little confused by the action and finally got the courage to look up at him.

Bruce looked awkward as hell, but was clearly trying if the small smile on his face was any evidence.

Reaching a big hand over, he held it palm up for Tim until the young man reached out to accept it and placed his own now damp hand in his.

“I… I don’t know what exactly you are, but I do know that you are my son. Damian seems to think I should know already and maybe I should, but not because you didn’t tell me. As much as it pains me to say it, I get why you wouldn’t trust me.”

Tim shook his head, “I trust you, Bruce. I just… the less people who know, the less likely I’ll loose my pelt again.”

Bruce frowned but said nothing about what that implied , though Tim knew he’d be asked about it later. It didn’t help that his lower half showed the most of his burn scars.

“I’m sorry, Tim. I can’t change what has been done, but I can promise you I will never, ever take you pelt form you. I don’t know ow exactly what it means, I’ve never heard of a selkie before, but Damian seemed to think it was important.”

Tim smiled even as he wondered how Damian knew what his pelt was.

Bruce gave his hand a squeeze, “He seemed to gain a lot more respect for you because of it.”

Damian spoke from where he was at the door, making Tim jump and Bruce inhale in a way that showed he was taken off guard, “Of course I have. Selkies are nearly extinct and Timothy had survived to almost nineteen without loosing his pelt.”

Tim fully shifted in his shock.

[backinmyphase]

Not your husband

Summary: You are going to marry the Satoru Gojo. A dream come true right? Well when he doesn't even show up to the meetings to arrange your marriage, it becomes clear that it's more a nightmare.

Or: Satoru Gojo doesn't even know how attached he will grow to his wife yet.

Pairing: Gojo x reader, 3040 words

Next part Masterlist

Sane Geto AU (I am an Angst writer, but not like Gege. Please excuse any errors in my writing)

The world of Jujutsu was never a world for you.

Born into a clan, which only saw your value in your technique. Born into a family, which only saw your mistakes. Born from a mother, who had the same problems but still resented you.

Born into a world full of curses but still being told you were the biggest of all.

"Don't daydream, you will make a bad impression. And you really can't afford that."

The woman in front of you isn't pleased. She isn't since she knew she wouldn't give life to boy.

It's hard as woman in a Jujutsu clan.

It's not about how your technique can help you, it's about how your technique could help your son at exorcising curses.

"Yes, mother."

She frowns as she looks at you. Displeased she fixes her posture a bit, signaling you to do the same. You obey.

"You can't afford to make any mistakes today. Just do as I told you. I can only hope you have learned anything."

As you nod you realize what all this means. The dress kimono you are wearing. The expensive tea that is ready to serve. The hairpin you have gotten from your mother, who did your hair today.

All of it becomes so real.

Your husband has been decided.

"You won't say anything, until you are being asked." The woman hissed. "And please keep a smile on your boring face, then it at least looks not so simple."

You never discovered your technique and what you could do with it. It wasn't easy. Knowing that everything you did would result in you being married of.

And as you sat here in this big room with your mother, you could only wonder.

Who would your husband be? Could it be someone who understood you?

Someone you could love?

As the door opened you saw your father who looked onto the ground as he spoke.

"They are here."

Your mother only nodded, as your father closed the door. Just a few minutes later the door was opened again.

And a beautiful woman stepped inside.

She smiled at your mother as she took a seat in front of her. But the smile was the same as the smile of your mother. And maybe the same of your own.

As she sat down on the opposite side, you served the tea. The best tea your clan could afford.

For a man that didn't seem to have come.

The woman gave an apologetic smile. "My sincere apologies, but my son... Well he is in a bit of a rebellious phase, which lead of him disappearing before this meeting."

Your mother's smile faded a bit. "Does he know of what importance this meeting is for our clans?"

The woman laughed. "Oh, he knows." She slightly eyed you before she spoke again. "He just doesn't care."

Silence flodded the room. It was like a cold hand slidded down your back as you realized.

"I hope the Gojo Clan will show more interest in our connection. We will be very disappointed if not." The smile of your mother was just as cold as the hand that seemed to choke you.

This was Mrs. Gojo. The mother of the strongest.

Gojo Satoru.

The one who seemingly stood above anyone. The one who jumped at every opportunity to mess with the higher ups.

Who will be your husband.

And he didn't even show up to meet you.

"Of course. He will learn." The woman sighed as she spared you a glance again. Then she smiled that smile again.

And you mirrored it.

"Your future husband isn't the easiest person." The woman sighed as she looked at you. "Even as a baby he knew what he wanted and how to get it."

Not knowing how to react you just nodded.

The woman laughed at that. "But no worries! Even though he is... Difficult, you will love him. He has that effect on people."

Your mouth dried up at the mention of love. How could this woman talk about love at the table your arranged marriage would be discussed? How could she talk about love when you didn't even have a saying in this arrangement? How, when you will marry the strongest?

Satoru Gojo?

"I really hope that he will learn." Your mother smiled while taking a sip from her tea. "He should know that his actions are what keep the Gojo Clan still important. He shouldn't throw that away."

The tension grew a lot, as Mrs. Gojo mirrored the smile and took a sip of the tea. "Well at least I brought him to our Clan. In the end that's the biggest thing a woman could achieve right?"

It was sick. We lived in modern times, but the Jujutsu Society was still so far behind, floating under the radar, with the excuse of making the world a better place.

"It's true." Your mother sighed as she lowered her cup. "The strongest really is the biggest achievement you could have ever accomplished. Being the parent of such a child... But I wonder..."

Your mother now didn't even try to hide her distain. "Why does his mother not have him under control?"

Klirrr

"Because." Mrs. Gojo's hand shook as it held the broken cup. The sharp shards cutting into it. "As a boy, he can have this freedom."

The black tea in your cup grew cold as long with the atmosphere in the room. Your mother stood up and left the room without a word. Her steps filled the silence in the room. And as she closed the door the woman in front of you sighed.

"Difficult woman, isn't she?" Mrs. Gojo let go of the cup shards while hissing. Her mask no longer in tact as she didn't smile anymore.

"Well who isn't?"

She looked at you surprised and then chuckled. "I guess you are right."

On the same day the arrangement was consolidated. It was official.

You will marry Satoru Gojo.

~~

"Suguru, how could this happen? To me?" Satoru whined as he complained to his best friend. "It all has to be a bad joke, right?"

"No, it sounds like a normal thing in jujutsu clans. I'm just confused why you didn't have any saying. You know, as the strongest." Suguru didn't look up from his book as his best friend groaned.

"That's what I'm saying! I don't give a damn about this whole clan thing."

As they were sitting in the park near their mission, they of course already finished not even breaking a sweat, the sun slowly set.

"It is a really bad system. How the clans only strive after power and never consider the lives of their toles." Suguru muttered as he turned the page.

"And now I have to marry a random girl I don't even know!" Satoru groaned again and buried his face in his hands.

"And she has to marry you." Suguru sighed.

Satoru looked at him slightly annoyed. "What do you want to say? Just say it."

"Well, I am sure, she is just as horrified as you at the sound of marriage. I'm just saying you could at least try to get to know her."

"I'm not going there." Stubbornly Satoru shook his head. "Never. I'm not giving them that satisfaction."

Suguru looked up at his friend and now he shook his head. "I pity your soon to be wife."

Offended, Satoru turned to his friend. "Hey! I'm your friend in need here!"

Suguru placed his bookmark gently in his book and then closed it. "Just promise you will show up to the wedding."

Satoru grinned. "Why? You scared of the higher-ups for me?"

"Not for you." He stood up as he looked down at his friend.

"For your wife. If an arranged marriage isn't going well, you know who gets blamed. And what you're doing is just cruel to her."

Gojo didn't say anything as he put on his blindfold.

~

"Do I look pretty?"

You didn't dare be louder than a whisper. "Mother?"

Her sigh gave you confirmation that she wasn't pleased. As she looked you up and down, her frown never disappeared. "As long you don't make that face, it's passable."

She stood up. "For a wedding you look... I just hope your husband will like you at your best."

"Soon to be husband." you corrected her quietly as you looked in the mirror.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She raised a brow but nodded slowly. Then she paced through the room impatiently. "That woman still hasn't given us any signs."

"Mrs. Gojo is probably seating the guests." a little part of you wanted to defend this woman. Your future mother in law.

"Or the groom makes problems again." your mother shook her head, like always when she spoke about the young Gojo.

After he didn't show up to a single meeting, she was sure that Mrs. Gojo didn't raise him right and that she as his mother should be blamed.

It was so pathetic. How you already felt his displeasure, his hatred towards you.

"Mother?"

"What is it?" she was annoyed.

"What was your wedding like?"

...

"Just like this one. It's tradition in our clan." her face was stone cold.

And you felt sympathy for her. She also had an arranged marriage. A wedding in which she didn't have any saying. A husband who she never chose.

"It's the bride's moment." The voice of Mrs. Gojo halled through the room.

Your mother smiled at you. You smiled back.

"Just don't mess it up."

~~

There were too many guests. Mostly people you didn't know. And all of them looked at you, while you made your way to the altar.

Under their stares you felt small.

But there was also this man. This guy with white hair, that stood at the end of your path. This boy that refused to even meet you before the wedding.

He gave you a glance and then continued to stubbornly look straight ahead.

As you stood before him, he didn't seem to be here with his thoughts.

And at this moment you knew he didn't want to marry you. No, you knew that before. But you knew that he would never open up or try to make this work.

And you didn't want that.

"I do."

No, you really didn't. And as he spatted the same words you knew that he was lying too.

~~

"Oh, you lucky girl!" The old woman, you didn't even know, said.

The after ceremony was not nice. All the guests wanted to talk to Gojo and some, not many pestered you. What really stung you was that they made more effort to talk to you than your own husband did.

"To marry such a handsome man." she looked at you and smiled knowingly.

"Of course it's an honor to marry Gojo Satoru as he is an important figure for the jujutsu society." Everything you said sounded like a broken record that lost any meaning.

She chuckled. "You can be honest with me. An heir will be on the way shortly, right?"

You hated this talk about an heir. Hated, hated, hated this people that keep telling you to hurry up and sleep with this man that didn't even look at you.

"We will see."

She laughed at that. And somehow you managed to excuse yourself from the conversation.

The rest of the evening was torture, but you somehow survived. Gojo didn't talk to you. He just disappeared at some point, leaving you alone in the cave of the lions.

His mother was right. He was a difficult person.

You hated that you had to ask around to be driven to his estate. Hated, that he didn't open the door, it was the personal chef that was going to leave. Hated, that you stood alone in this cold house.

He seemed to like to leave you alone. To just go.

You didn't want to sleep at this house. You didn't want to, but where should you go? Where could a place be, where you could hide?

Gojo had places. Not you.

You slept on the couch that evening. Your wedding dress was still on, as you didn't know what in this big house was to wear for you.

~~

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Satoru didn't like to hear that from his best friend, as he stood at his doorstep.

"I just need a place to sleep."

"I said to go to the wedding." Suguru felt like babysitting a toddler.

"And I did."

"Then why are you here? And not with your wife at your house?" Suguru slowly began to lose his patience.

"Can you just let me in, you ass?"

After shaking his head, Suguru opened his door wide enough to let Gojo in.

"Why are you here?" he wasn't going to make it easy for Satoru to forget he left you there.

"Had enough."

"You're such a child." Suguru shook his head. That's what ticked Gojo off.

"Stop it!" He threw his shoes on the floor.

"You can't judge me! Not when you don't know how it feels to have your future stripped from you just because you have been born in this family!"

Suguru kept silent this time.

~~

Your things were shiped to this mansion you should now live in. It wasn't a lot but your necessary clothes. Finally.

Finally you could take the dress off.

The clothing that reminded you that this was real. That your reason in life was already fulfilled and now you should just cease to exist.

No, that wasn't true, was it? You still had to bring an heir.

Will you ever get used to this new prison? You doubt it.

It was so big and cold. So many things but it didn't have this personal touch. It felt empty, unloved. Did Gojo even live here?

Well it seems like he wouldn't if you were here.

It was stupid. You didn't know him, just saw him yesterday for the first time in person. And still it was so clear he wouldn't make it easy for you.

You felt unloved.

"A letter, Mrs. Gojo."

The sudden voice blew you away from your thoughts. Another thing you wouldn't get used to. There were servants for the Clan leader. Like this girl. They were only needed in the kitchen, but it still felt wrong.

And something felt so wrong with being called this name.

"From who?"

The girl before you had a pitiful look. "Your mother." She cleared her throat. "She said, it's about your arrangement."

As you looked down at this paper, it felt like cursed energy was coming from it.

"Oh. Alright, thank you." Hesitating you took the letter.

The girl just nodded and made her way to the kitchen. The silence in this house was haunting.

Again you looked at the letter in your hands, and wished it was only paper. What should you do from now on? How would you spend your life?

Well obviously not with your husband as he wasn't even here.

And you would make sure that he didn't see the letters from your clan.

~~

"You're here." Satoru Gojo didn't seem pleased to see his wife in his house at this evening. Rather displeased, the way he frowned like a little child.

'Well.' you thought. 'That's to damn bad. He should have come to the arrangement hours.'

"Yeah. I have to be."

He didn't even look at you. Humiliation after humiliation. What would your child self say? Seeing that your own husband didn't even look or smile at you? The hopeless romantic would be crushed.

And now they definitely are.

"I see." His voice was barely audible. Oh, what a humiliation this must be for him! The strongest! Not even in control of his own marriage.

You really should pity him. Be understanding. Like the good wife your mother wanted you to be.

But you didn't have the strength to do that. No, you didn't sympathize with this man, that stood in front of you. The one who had the privilege of doing what he wanted till now just because he was blessed. Because he was born a boy.

And you were not.

"My things were brought this morning and Hina showed me around. I already-"

"Who is Hina?" Gojo sounded confused.

"The servant girl. The one who helps to cook?" you couldn't believe him. She even told you that she was working here since 3 years!

"Oh, yeah she. Continue."

You didn't like his tone, you didn't like his attitude, you didn't like that you didn't knew anything about him BECAUSE HE DIDN'T SHOW UP TO ANY-

"I already have my own room. I won't bother you." While trying to keep the bitterness down you started to whisper.

"What?"

As you looked up at him, your mind went blank. For the first time Satoru looked at you. With his big blue beautiful eyes, he looked at you. So mesmerizing that you almost forgot about your bitterness towards him.

Almost.

"I already have my own room. I won't bother you in any mean. We can also eat separately. In fact I would prefer that."

He snorted. "That's childish. Not even eating together."

And that broke the straw. The straw your patience was hanging on sooooo desperately.

"You." you poked his chest with force. "Can't tell me what's childish or not."

Your voice grew a bit. "You can't, not after not attending any meetings, actively trying to get away from me on our wedding day, leaving me alone for our clan people, leaving me alone for the night way to a new house I have to call home now!"

He kept silent. Like all the times you saw him.

"SO EXCUSE ME." You made your way to your room, shouting to make sure he knew what you said.

"IF I THINK MY HUSBAND DOESN'T WANT TO SEE ME AT ALL! AND IF I DON'T WANT TO HAVE MYSELF SUFFER THROUGH IT!"

You slammed the door with force.

You don't think your husband will ever even like you. Or if Gojo would ever even be your husband.