#Need to draw the other half of the notion i like all the characters but signet tender and fourteen...

[comfiecore]

assorted twilight mirage sketches while i listened . very clear who my favorites art

[shiningqueen]

unraveled / sequel fic / sfw mihawk x afab!oc

I return with a sequel to this fic Rating: SFW / e for everyone. Notes: established friendship, fluff/comfort, pining if you squint, a lot of relevant backstory to my oc Fay. No specific gender pronouns used however. Can you tell Im really obsessed with this character? lol

The ocean is a blanket of silver black underneath the moonlight, eddies and currents glittering like diamonds cast over dark velvet and trapped in perpetual motion. The steady rocking of your boat and the rush of wind billowing into its sail soothes the aching storm still lingering in your chest. You have sailed the treacherous seas for most of your life and the waters have always brought you calm, even when everything felt unraveled and broken.

As Water 7 vanishes behind you, there is only the ghostly flames of Hitsugibune's candles to guide you onwards. They shiver and dance like will-o-wisps in the night, reminding you of tales of errant spirits lost to the wider world when there is nobody to guide them. You are also reminded suddenly that Mihawk had not specified your next destination, only that there was somewhere else you had to be.

A turn of the wheel and a shift of the sail hastens your small vessel through the waves, until it glides silently parallel to the swordsman's wider raft.

"What is our heading?" You raise your voice just enough to carry over the gap and it not be snatched by the midnight wind. The sea has done its work in soothing your nerves for the time being, so your voice does not tremble.

"Sabaody," he drones in reply, "I have business there and I recall you mentioning preferring the typewriter ink sold at the markets." For all the usual indifference of his tone, the fact he specifically sought you out to take you along for something you needed, was touching.

For just a few moments you cling to the endearing warmth brought by Mihawk's words, but the sting of bitterness from what had transpired on Water 7 creeps up like bile in your throat. You reach down and grasp a length of rope, draping it over your lap as you speak up again.

"Mind if I join you?"

Mihawk tilts his head slightly to keep you in his peripheral and extends a hand out, "Toss the line over." He makes short work of tethering your vessel to his and watches as you fix the sail so it did not cause too much drag whilst being guided by Hitsugibune. The two ships draw close enough for you to leap nimbly from one to the other, landing with a cat-like nimbleness on the deck of his raft.

He can tell you are still tense and melancholy from what had transpired on Water 7, despite how sailing usually lulled you into a sense of serenity. That the encounter had shaken you so much again draws forth the notion how little Mihawk knew about you. Well, how little he knew about the specifics of your past. It had crossed his mind occasionally but he was a practical sort. One's past may shape a person but who you were in the present and who you strived to become were far more important. Your dreams and ambitions were what he had invested himself in.

Mihawk tips himself slightly sideways to rest an elbow on the arm of his chair, cheek pressed into palm as he watches you settle down on the deck. He would not pry into your business and was content to wait for you to speak first. In the stretch of quiet, he merely admires the play of moonlight and ghostly candles flickering against the little sequins on your sleeves that made it look like you were covered in mermaid scales. The gold shine of cross shaped earrings dangling from your lobes were a subtle complement to his own iconography that he appreciated. It was entertaining how lately you had begun wearing patterns or jewelry reminiscent of his style.

You half turned towards him, eyes like quicksilver in the dark when they met his. There's something searching in your expression that he cannot quite pinpoint before it vanishes entirely.

A few heartbeats and you decide to fully face him while seated just a few feet from his legs, your own legs crossed and hands rolling the smooth sphere of your Log Pose between them. "Back in the bar, that was my best friend and for a short time, my girlfriend." Both terms come off bitterly, "We grew up together but it took awhile for us to really get close. It's a really long story," you sigh and stare despondently at the Pose in your hands. You couldnt hold Mihawk's stare and tell him this story, the ache in your chest was still too raw. This was not something you ever intended on him knowing but here you are.

"Anyway," a vague gesture made, "best friends, we supported each other through tough times. Shared a lot of good times. She was my writing partner too for a while, we had this whole series planned out." Your voice catches as the memories swim in and out of focus, "She was so creative and insightful and smart, she inspired me to do better as a person and as a writer." The words trail off as you fend off the swelling of emotion that threatens to drown you. Maybe it would have been better to have said nothing at all. It was perhaps too late for such a regret though.

As much as you tried to keep your voice even, how it wavered and the tension bleeding back into your shoulders told Mihawk plenty. How terrible of a betrayal could this person have caused to weigh you down so much? It made him wonder if what transpired was the sole reason for the melancholy that sometimes made you seem so withdrawn. He briefly pulls his gaze from you to watch the seas, nudging Hitsugibune mentally to correct her course.

You steel yourself to summarize everything, "At some point, we got around to admitting we had feelings for each other. But I'll be honest, I was in love with her for a long time before that already. I got really jealous when she was dating some other guy for a brief time." The memory makes you scoff a bit, for how foolish you had been back then. "We dated for four years, she was going through school and I was working just to support myself. Everything was great at first, we made it work when she left home  to study in West Blue."

Here is where the difficult part comes up and you swallow around the lump in your throat, "Near the end, things just started to unravel. For me and for her. I dont know exactly when or why it happened but she stopped telling me important things. I got frustrated with how I always had to bend to what she wanted to do, and it felt like she only placated my interests to keep me in line. I was depressed too, from work and not seeing my family. I felt like I was drifting from her, from everyone." You tip backwards now and sprawl out on the raft's floor, staring up at the star strewn sky and breathing deeply to combat the flush of emotion. Mihawk had been silent, attentive, you could daresay even a little concerned from how he shifted in his seat.

"I messed it up," the admission is soft and heavy with pain, "when she came to visit last, I asked her if we could take a break. I told her I felt like I wasn't good enough for her right then. We argued a bit, but I was so tired and I just wanted some space. Now I know that was wrong of me, I should have figured out how to explain my feelings better but I was not thinking rationally. So I fucked it up."

Guilt gnawing at your insides like the gnashing teeth of bloodthirsty fish, the sound of the ocean rushing in your ears or was that blood pounding in your skull from the turmoil within you? You lift your hands and press the heel of your palms against your eyes with a groan, “I fucked it up and she pretty much buster called the rest of our friendship. Turned all our friends against me, seeded rumors in the community, it felt like I was being outcasted for making a mistake. I ended up leaving entirely after a few months.”

That seemed to be the end of the tale. Mihawk considered everything you had told him and although he struggled empathizing, there is one thing that stands out to him. 

“They did not deserve you,” he said simply, “none of them did. How easily they were swayed by lies, than think critically of your behavior and ask questions, is a slight upon their own character. Not yours.”

When you scoff a little in retort, he’s annoyed at your dismissiveness to his assessment, “You are wise enough to recognize your mistakes in the past, it seemed to me your once love lacks the same self reflection.”

You’re still lying on the floor of Hitsugibune and still irritated with your wallowing, he reaches to grasp your arm and pulls you easily up into sitting. He’s met with wide glassy eyes and an expression he can only describe as vulnerable, which is a first for him to see. Mihawk has borne witness to many facets of your mercurial demeanor but he’d never seen you look so fragile. It softens the ire in him with almost laughable swiftness.

“I’ve never been good enough, not for her, not for anyone. That’s how it felt, as soon as I stumbled, I was worthless.” The way you unravel with fear and insecurity has him scowling, but not in any way that is disdainful of you. No, anger buzzes beneath his iron-wrought self control for the people who failed to see the truth of you. A clever, intelligent, utterly tenacious person with so much potential that was still blossoming.

Mihawk tsks and takes both your hands in his; delicate palms and fingers dwarfed by his larger ones, “You are allowed to stumble, to make mistakes, it does not make you worthless to fail. Not when you pick yourself up after and learn to do better.” His tone is calm and certain, steadying against the tremor he can see in your shoulders.

The affirmations sink into the hurting parts of you, and you struggle between digesting the conviction in his tone and the malignant insecurity poisoning you. Yet you knew Mihawk never wasted breath on meaningless words. He hated small talk and empty flattery. The warmth of his hands encompassing yours crawls up your arms and eases the chill touch of anguish.

When you find the breath to speak, you also muster the courage to meet the warlord's piercing stare. The intensity of his eyes never fails to spark electricity along the length of your spine, "I know you're right, but seeing her again so unexpectedly, just made all the hurt come back. I was so angry at how callously she treated me, and angry at myself too, for how foolish I had been at the time."

Mihawk hums and tugs you to stand, gliding a few fingers under the sleeves of your shirt to stroke the inside of your wrists. It makes your breath catch a little. Such casual touches were rare between you two, let alone ones that lasted as long as this. He was not a tactile person and there was always a sort of aloofness in his friendship with you, a distance carefully maintained so that the wider world wouldnt read too much into your association.

Yet here out on the open ocean without the risk of prying eyes and the softness you displayed for him, Mihawk thought it worth overstepping the unspoken boundary. He could tell you needed some manner of tangible comfort and he was fond of you enough to want to provide it.

"As I said, she and whoever else, did not deserve you. That is even more true now, for how you have blossomed in your ambitions without her." He reiterates, intent on how you slowly relax as the invisible weight dissipates bit by bit. The way your pulse quickens imperceptibly beneath his light touches is tucked away in some corner of his mind for later.

You breathe out slowly and reluctantly tug your hands free from his grasp, but not with the intent to draw away. If Mihawk took liberty to touch you so tenderly, you felt it was worth stepping closer between his legs and leaning forward to embrace him. Arms around his shoulders and burying your face against the high collar of his brocade coat. There is just a few seconds that he tenses up from your closeness but then you feel one of his own limbs carefully curl around you, allowing you to rest more fully into him. You inhale the salt, cologne and steel of him with relish.

"Thank you," a little muffled but Mihawk hears you, he just chooses not to respond in lieu of basking in the moment. The warmth of you against his chest, the citrus-sweet scent that clings to you, the contrarian thrill and peace he felt from the embrace.

Fatigue creeps its way into your bones after so long though and you intend on pulling away, going back to your ship and dozing against the wheel until dawn. Sensing the onset of your dropping energy levels, Mihawk surprises you as he scoops you handily up into his lap entirely. You squirm with a mixture of surprise and bashfulness, face heating up from the flurry of sensation that comes from being held against him so intimately.

"Hey-"

"You're tired," he interrupts coolly, "stay and rest for a bit." The curl of his arm around you is firm, and he tilts his head to peer at your flustered face. "Don't get used to it," he adds dryly, squeezing you in subtle emphasis to what he was allowing.

You cant muster any sort of response over the pounding of your heart, and decide to just stay silent. As your pulse settles, you rest your head on his shoulder and try not to read too much into Mihawk letting you doze in his lap.

Sleep is not far behind as you relax in the sense of safety and comfort found with him.

[your-divine-ribs]

Ice Cold Part 36

Words: 4.2k

Lyla's in serious trouble as she discovers the real truth about the traitor in the agency... 💙

Ice Cold Masterlist Main Masterlist

The atmosphere in the cottage was suffocating, and it wasn't just the heat emitting from the log fire. The creeping dread feeling which had been simmering in me since I first walked in had escalated to full blown paranoia, the low ceilings and thick stone walls seeming to close in on me as I stood, looking between the two men.

"Just us three then."

It was the first time Nick had spoken, and the deep timbre of his voice seemed to echo off the walls, chilling me through despite the stifling heat.

My eyes flicked to Billy. There was something about the way that he moved as he paced in front of me now, stealthy, predator-like, his lips curving into a sinister smile as he spoke. "Cosy..."

These weren't typical agents, it was plain to see by the way that they held themselves, an aura of menace emanating from them which made the adrenaline instantly filter into my blood stream. Sizing them up in any other situation I would have said that they were at best some kind of vigilantes, and at worst hired killers, assassins just like Van. One thing that I was deadly certain on was that they weren't to be trusted. But what the hell was Charles doing fraternising with such characters? Had he been duped? Did he really believe that these men would keep me safe? He was a maverick, that much was true, unafraid of using unorthodox methods to get results, but he was sharp and smart and not easy to outwit. The notion that he'd been tricked somehow just didn't ring true, and if he hadn't then what did that mean? My mind swirled with thoughts and theories, some ridiculous, some downright terrifying, and I couldn't grasp on to just one.

I regretted riling up Billy, my fiery temperament getting the better of me. Reluctantly I recognised that this was no time to provoke him. I had to be clever if I wanted to gain the upper hand and appeal to his better nature... if he even had one.

"So," I began, stooping quickly to pick up my bag and sidling towards the opening of the hallway, trying to adopt a casual tone even though my heart was hammering against my ribcage. "Charles might have said I'm in danger, but I can handle myself. You know how this goes... over-protective boss and all that..."

I let out a small tinkling laugh, purposefully feminine, trying to cover my nerves but it sounded forced. Billy just folded his arms across his chest, one eyebrow raised as if to say he could see right through whatever stunt I was trying to pull.

"Don't even think about it darlin'." He spoke with a smooth lilt to his voice, a contrast to the sharpness of his glare.

I widened my eyes, playing dumb. "What do you mean? Look guys... I'm sure there's been some sort of mix up here. I really don't need all this protection. It's just overkill. And I really need to get back to the city as soon as I can..."

The booming laugh that burst from Nick interrupted me and I trailed off, looking between him and Billy who stepped towards me quickly, the sudden movement unnerving me. I backed up instinctively, felt the stone wall against my back as I pressed into it. He was tall but slim and lithe, half the hulking width of Nick, but the wicked glint in his eye told me that I would be foolish to underestimate him based on his physical stature.

"Whitman warned me that you'd try and do this... try and slip away, run back to the city." He brought his face close to mine as he spoke, looming over me. "Well, I hate to break it to you love, but it's not happening."

He was close, uncomfortably so, one hand placed flat against the wall next to my head, the other on his hip, pushing his jacket aside where I could see the handle of a yet another blade nestled in the waistband of his jeans. I wondered whether he was doing it for my benefit, drawing attention to the weapon, reminding me that I was the vulnerable one here, the one who'd been left defenceless and unarmed.

I pushed myself up to my full height, undeterred, looking him squarely in the eye. "Thought you were supposed to be protecting me... or am I a prisoner? Is that it? I know something's going on here. I'm not fucking stupid. So why don't you just tell me?"

He backed away then, a low, throaty chuckle coming from him as he pushed himself away from the wall, glancing over at Nick. "Something's going on Nick. What's going on?"

"I don't know Bill... you tell me..." He smirked back.

I came across men like Billy all the time in my line of work, the archetypal alpha male, all testosterone and macho posturing, exerting control over those who they considered to be weaker. They liked to think they were complex but in reality their hardened exterior was superficial. At least that's what I hoped. Of course I could have got it completely wrong and he could be one of those particularly nasty bastards who actually got off on intimidating people and fully enjoyed any resulting conflict. In which case I could be in serious trouble.

"Just fucking tell me what's going on!" I suddenly cried, my voice sharp and desperate sounding, piercing the oppressive atmosphere. "You're not here to protect me, are you? Who are you really?"

Irritation and uneasiness swelled in me, the uncomfortable sense of threat mounting, the air thick with it, choking me, making it difficult to breathe steadily. I looked between them, saw the hardness in their eyes, the tension in their bodies. They reminded me of cobras, coiled and ready... just waiting to strike.

I dropped my bag at your feet, certain now that I couldn't make a run for it, knowing that making a sudden bolt for the door unarmed would only worsen my situation. I let my gaze flick between them and the rest of the room, small glances around to try and locate something that I could use as a weapon if I needed it. I noted the heavy brass pokers hanging from a small rack next to the fireplace, the full knife block in the kitchen, the wicked looking axe leaning up against the back door next to a basket of freshly chopped firewood.

"You ask a lot of questions," Billy said, that taunting smile of his never leaving his lips. "You know, for someone supposedly so smart you really don't have a fucking clue do you?"

"Well... why don't you enlighten me then?" I countered, sidling towards the kitchen area, hoping my small shuffling steps might go unnoticed.

"Quid pro quo," Billy replied. "I need something from you first..."

A sudden noise made me flinch and my eyes shot to Nick as he crouched down to toss another log on to the already blazing fire, the flames hungrily devouring it. The heat was overpowering, making me feel faint. I wiped away the beads of perspiration that had gathered on my brow with the sleeve of my coat, trying to formulate a plan in my fuddled brain. Nick straightened up, hands folded across his broad chest with an odious grin on his face, enjoying watching the confrontation. He was obviously the muscle behind the duo, brought in to deal with any physical threat, but leaving the bargaining and the demands to Billy. It was a perfect pairing to carry out an intimidation, and one which they were obviously used to, a frightening force to extract whatever information they'd been tasked with retrieving. Again I marvelled at how on earth the Director of the agency, a pillar of justice and crime-fighting, could be tricked by such characters.

"You know if Charles knew what was going on here..." I started, trailing off quickly as the two men exchanged a loaded glance, a quiet taunting laugh coming from Billy that sent icy tendrils of fear shooting up my spine.

And then I knew.

It hit me like a bolt from the blue, a gut-wrenching realisation that Charles' protection story was all a ruse, and with that realisation came the knowledge that I was no more than a pawn in his game, a disposable asset to be used as a means to a violent and bloody end.

"Fuck," I breathed. "This is all Charles isn't it? This is him. It's all him..."

I'd reached the kitchen now, the countertop at my back. I lent against it, panic simmering in me, starting to rise like icy flood waters.

The fog of confusion that had clouded my thoughts was clearing, revealing a truth so shocking that my whole world suddenly tipped on its axis. I shot my hands backwards, grabbing for the thick wood to steady myself, my legs feeling weak.

Billy's grin widened as he took in my reaction, bringing his hands together and starting a slow clap, a mocking round of applause as I tried to compose myself.

"Clever girl," he mused, his tone condescending. "You finally worked it out. Well at least now we can cut the crap and get down to the real business."

I watched as he raised his foot up to rest on one of the wooden chairs, slowly withdrawing the knife that I'd clocked earlier from his boot, holding it up so that I could see the spiky serrated edge. Nick grunted in satisfaction, rubbing his hands together in glee. I let my eyes flicker to him, the barest of glances, before my eyes were on Billy again.

I had to stall them somehow, think up a plan which would enable me to get a weapon and then somehow get out. It seemed impossible but I had to try. I'd been in perilous situations like this before and managed to get the upper hand. I just had to think sharp and act quick, push the nauseating thoughts of Charles' brutal betrayal to the back of my mind until I could pick apart the meaning behind his actions if I actually managed to get out of this alive.

"What do you want from me?" I said steadily.

It was a question I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer to, but I knew Billy would delight in telling me, and this might buy me precious time.

I surreptitiously raised my hands behind me as I locked him in a steady gaze, my fingers brushing the base of the knife block and then travelling nimbly upwards, dancing across the handles of several blades.

Billy was completely oblivious as I perused my potential weapons, too caught up in dragging out the tension, relishing watching me squirm.

"You could say me and Whitman have... a mutual interest..."

He tossed his own knife upwards with a deft flick of his wrist, catching it with a smirk, all arrogance at being the one in control whilst unbeknownst to him I was quietly arming myself.

"Van McCann?" I stated, my voice raising questioningly even though I didn't really need to ask. It was obvious now, and I berated myself for not suspecting a thing when I'd sat in Charles' office only days before, listening to him rant about how Van needed to be killed rather than captured. I should have known then that something was off. For months the whole agency had been focussed on bringing him in, positive that he was the vital link that would help to bring the whole organisation down. Paul had said it time and time again.

Paul...

The thought that he could actually be innocent now wrenched at my heart.

Fuck... how could I have got things so wrong in trusting Charles?

Not now Lyla! Focus! Get through this and then you can put things right!

"The thing is Lyla, wherever you seem to be, that fucker seems to just show up..."

Billy's smile was more of a sneer now, taunting me as he raised up his arms in a flourish. "Poof! It's like magic! He suddenly appears!"

"So I'm bait then am I?" I snapped. "Nothing more than fucking bait!"

My fingers closed around what felt like the largest handle and I tightened my grip, poised and ready to attack. I just had to hold back, wait for the right moment, restrain myself from wiping the smug grin off Billy’s face as he paced in front of me intimidatingly. But I couldn't quite hold myself back, fired up now on my adrenaline rush and the intense hatred that I felt for being betrayed so ruthlessly.

"Well your little plan's not gonna work Billy," I sneered his name, a sarcastically sweet smile curving my lips. "The thing is, Van's not gonna just show up this time!"

I laughed then, enjoying the grimace of vexation which twisted his gestures, ignoring Nick's grunted curses, using the slight distraction to carefully lift the knife out of the block and conceal it behind my back.

"For the first time, he doesn't know where I am. In fact he doesn't have a fucking clue!"

I kept the taunting smile on my lips, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, a steady stance should I have to swing out at him and keep my balance. I was ready physically, but my mind was crumbling. Despite the smirk I forced as I said the words, the truth of them was sinking into my bones, filling me with dread at knowing I was completely alone and if something went wrong then I would die that way. It pained me and terrified me.

I'd always thought that I wasn't afraid to die. It was the reason that I'd chosen this career and why I excelled at it. I took risks, I pushed myself to extremes, I didn't shy away from danger. Death to me was the only certainty in life so why worry about it? As long as I went down fighting I could face it fearlessly head on. But that was back when I didn't have anything to live for.

Billy stepped forward, his eyes sharp and unforgiving, his jaw set, malevolence rolling off him in waves.

"Well... in that case you're not much use to us then are you... Lyla?"

That was my cue to go, and I moved with stealth and precision, bringing my arm around in a tight arc, the knife that I had blindly chosen proving to be an excellent selection. It was an eight inch blade, honed to a deadly edge that glinted in the firelight that illuminated the dim room.

Billy's face contorted in surprise as he stepped back, but his shock was brief, too brief for me to gain the momentum that I needed to take full advantage of my surprise attack. In a flash he brought his right hand up, jabbing his own knife towards me, catching the side of my hand, slicing mercilessly through my flesh. I yelped at the sensation, a sharp sting that almost had my fingers opening to release my knife, but I gritted my teeth, cursing loudly as I brought up my left hand. I flattened it into a solid plane, driving it with as much force as I could muster into Billy's forearm. It wasn't enough to knock the weapon from his hand but it made him falter for a second.

"Stay back!" I shouted, the tip of my blade aimed right at Billy's throat, and I carried on pushing until it was puckering the stubbled skin just below his jaw, pressing deep. "I'll slit your fucking throat."

And just like that the tables were turned. Billy still towered above me but somehow I felt taller, more powerful, the fleeting panic in his eyes telling me that he realised that he'd underestimated me as he stepped back quickly, his back hitting the wall hard, the blade pushed firmly against his throat.

"Fuck!" He growled as he jolted, not quite dropping his knife but losing the firmness of his grip, his hand wavering as he glared at me, trying to determine how serious my threats were.

"I'll do it," I confirmed. "I'll do it in a heartbeat."

His breathing was coming hard and fast, his nose flaring, his lips curled into a snarl, furious and deadly. My eyes flicked to Nick as I caught movement in my peripheral vision to see him stooped over the sofa, a gun in his hand, the chamber open as he frantically tried to insert bullets.

"What the fuck are you playing at Nick? Put the bitch down!" Billy shouted, but I yelled louder, my throat scorched as the words erupted from me harshly.

"Drop that fucking gun right now or I swear I'll slit him from ear to ear! And YOU drop the knife."

I was trembling but not with fear, adrenaline and anger and determination all mixing in me to produce a cocktail of lethal force. The tip of the blade had broken Billy's skin but only just, a small trickle of blood serving to remind him that one wrong move would be foolish.

It was exhilarating but strangely calming, the power that I held, the decision to end a man's life in my hands. Nick could see it, immediately abandoning the gun, letting it fall from his fingers on to the threadbare sofa. Billy could see it too. I noted the sliver of uncertainty in his eyes although he tried to hide it, tried to cover it with another of his signature smirks.

"What do you think you're gonna do now then love? You think we're just gonna let you walk out of here, huh?"

"I said... drop... the fucking... knife." I spoke slow, carefully enunciating my words, strong and precise.

Billy hated it. He hadn't banked on this. Anger roiled under the surface, a seething ocean of rage he had no choice but to swallow down. I heard a metallic clatter as he dropped his knife, fixing me with the sharpest of looks.

"You're gonna regret this sweetheart, you mark my words."

"Yeah, well... we'll see about that," I replied, not taking my eyes off him as I slowly moved the knife from his throat, a trail down his neck to the top of his chest, keeping it flush against his skin.

"Billy man, if we let her go Tommy's gonna fuckin' slaughter us!" Nick's voice suddenly interrupted the tension, high-pitched and scared sounding.

"Don't worry, she's not going anywhere," Billy replied, self-assured. I just pushed the blade deeper into his chest, snagging at his shirt as it trailed down, ignoring his words.

"Oh I am. I'm going and you're going to stay right here. Get it?"

I looked up at him, a steady stare as the point of the knife moved down his abdomen, over his belt buckle, down across the fastenings of his jeans, coming to a rest between his legs. He sucked in a breath as I pressed the point firmly against his crotch, the blood from his throat staining the denim, a warning as I echoed his earlier words with my own twist.

"Why don't you do as you're told huh? Be a good boy, eh?"

His blue eyes flashed, dark and destructive, his teeth gritted behind his lips which still twitched with a hint of a menacing smirk despite his obvious fury. But he didn't reply, letting me have the last word as I crouched just low enough to grasp his knife off the floor, tucking it into the waistband of my jeans then rising to my feet. I kept the knife pressed between his legs, the threat implicit, effectively emasculating him as I leant in and demanded the keys to the SUV and his phone.

"Just you fucking wait," he hissed, passing them over and watching me carefully, his unfaltering glare never leaving mine as I jammed the phone into my jeans pocket and backed slightly away, ready to leave. "You'll be sorry."

I didn't doubt it, but I hadn't banked on feeling it quite so soon, caught up in my control of the situation, almost drunk on the power that I felt, blinding me foolishly to whatever Nick was doing across the room.

I didn't realise he'd picked up the gun again until I heard the metallic click, the chamber flicking up to engage, and by the time I turned to him he was holding it with both hands, teeth bared, demanding that I stepped back and dropped my knife.

The colour drained from me in an instant along with my control, my survival instinct kicking in and screaming at me to get out, get away, do anything to get as far away from these men whose sole purpose was to kill and maim.

The first shot rang out just as I lunged to the side, my agile movements saving me from what would surely have been a fatal hit as the bullet zipped past my ear only millimetres away, embedding itself into the far wall.

I shouted out, shocked and scared, a cacophony of noise erupting as Billy growled curses at me, reaching out to grab hold of me as I tried to escape. His strong fingers curled around my arm but then slipped as he grasped nothing of substance but a handful of coat, and I bucked and shrugged out of it as I twisted my body and started to run.

The cottage door was only a few feet away but it may as well have been miles as Nick fired again, this time the bullet finding its target, firing into my upper thigh, embedding into the muscle and sinew on its agonising journey.

I cried out again, a shriek of pain and desperation, my vision going white as my leg began to fold. To drop to the floor now would be my last move, I was sure of it, the hopelessness of my situation flooding me as the fear and agony started to overpower me.

"Again! Shoot her again!" Billy bellowed, and I heard his heavy footsteps echoing off the flagstones as he lunged towards me. "Put her down before she gets away!"

The adrenaline was my saving grace, giving me that ultimate strength, a kind of mind over body determination to lend me that final push of energy that saw me stumble forwards on my injured leg. I moved fast, faster than it took for Nick to line up his next shot, my eyes fixed on another door which stood open just to my left. I didn't know where it led, I didn't have time to wonder, it was just a door that I could reach and an exit from this hellish scene. Notions of escape and driving back to the city lay torn and trampled now as I dived through the doorway, fumbling and dropping the car keys as another bullet whistled past my shoulder.

I heard a cry go up, a vicious snarl and a thunder of footsteps, but I was through now, whirling and slamming the door shut, relieved to see a heavy bolt on the inside, sliding it firmly across with shaking hands.

"Get back out here you fucking bitch! I'll show you how to use a knife! You wanna play rough huh? Get back out here and I'll show you!"

Billy's voice came sharp and savage through the heavy door, dripping with fury and malice. I stepped back, wincing as the door shuddered under the weight of a body slamming against it. My breathing was coming in ragged gasps as I stepped back, grimacing at the pain in my leg, eyes darting around the room to figure out my next move. I could feel the warm stickiness of my blood coating my jeans, the white hot pain bringing tears to my eyes as I took in my surroundings, feeling frightened now, terrified and desperate.

I was in a bathroom, tiny and cramped, thick tiled walls all around me, an old-fashioned iron bath along one wall and a toilet and sink on the other. The grey winter light filtered through a small frosted glass window above the sink. There was barely room to move. A hopeless sob burst from me as my mind grasped at ideas, each one more fantastical and far-fetched than the last, desperate notions of how I'd get through this with my life intact. Each one I discarded with another sob, trying to concentrate and latch on to something solid, my hope slowly deteriorating each time the door shook as one of the men charged at it, their taunting cries permeating what was effectively my prison cell.

There really was only one option, and I was loathe to give in to it, knowing it was exactly what would be expected of me and what they ultimately wanted, but what choice did I have? I slumped down on to the closed toilet seat, digging into the pocket of my jeans, crying out as my fingers brushed the entry wound where the bullet had burrowed through my flesh, bringing out Billy's phone.

With trembling fingers I brought the screen to life, shaking my head as I reluctantly tapped in Van's number. He was my last and only hope.

[sharonisthebettercarter]

we need to talk about common comic opinion for the boys

so i read the comics.

was curious for a while, buddies wanted to do it, finally bit the bullet and MAN OH MAN~<3

there's common opinion that swirls around from people who *have not read the comics* need i remind, an opinion that they are merely *meaningless edgelord drivel* or the like.

i'm here to bust that misconception, smack it upside the head and drag it around the fuckin' town and kick it till it's caved in because it couldn't be more *wrong* if it tried.

first thing i'll say is that the comics *don't* compare in what you'd call 'gratuitous edginess' to the show. while they have their 'bit on the nose moments', they're drawings that go panel by panel. even what they *could* show wouldn't compare, and it honestly doesn't. (coming from someone who's also watched the show too many times over now and got a nice fresh read in)

robin's death is more brutal *in the show*. there is more blood and gore. *in the show*. the arguably edgiest thing between both of them is a guy exploding another guy from inside his urethra, which *only happens in the show*

and for those that have no clue about the big twist or comics homie and try to make blocks of analysis for a character they have zero actual information or decent research on.

homelander is worse. *in the SHOW*.

granted, both have similar enough structure with reversed character development/reveal, but i digress

butcher is just THE biggest fucking bottom by the way, lord satan i CAN NOT with that boi--

anywho~<3

the 'meaningless' part? well that's just a big fat lie and i'll say it up front. that shit needs to stop. this thing was definitely an emotional rollercoaster, and while it may be true that it's not for everyone, it was far from meaningless and actually brilliantly written and even researched.

it's raw, it feels real half the time, it teaches valuable lessons, and even when you're in the notion of 'okay, where is this going, it's sus', when you stick with it? you get rewarded fucking beautifully.

there are moments you'd disagree with the characters actions in a way that makes them feel humanly flawed. of course they might do the wrong thing or say the wrong thing, so do real life humans?? there are cross cultural miscommunication references and conversations that show ennis knew what he was doing and why he did it a certain way. and yeah, it can be too much to handle for some,

*but if you honestly feel that way you shouldn't be watching the show either*

and here's what it's not.

meaningless, ill-thought, pointless, edgelord drivel.

it *is* an intricate and well done, brutally *honest* creative critique of the *military industrial complex*, *corporate capitalism*, and a couple other things expertly squeezed in. even touching on *abuse* and hitting all the right spots for how it can psychologically fuck with people. the ending punches you in the fucking feels as you could appropriately expect it to with a hard side of begrudged satisfaction.

good fucking satan these things were an excellent read that compelled me to want moar from start to finish, and yeah, if you have watched the show then i *highly* recommend them because the important topics and themes touched on are presented much better in the comic, even with the sometimes wonky ass art in place of hawt actors to distract you, lmao

but seriously? the lot of you that keep spouting nonsense from your clenched up assholes without actually bothering to look at the source material need to stop. all you're doin' is actin' damn fools and showing off high and mighty opinions based on complete mis-education if not un-education.

and f.y.i.... also being the damn fools both the comics AND show make fun of.

so remember that line billy says?

'but the main reason you don't hear about it is cause the public don't want to know about it.'

that's y'all. legit, at this point. more specifically, y'all would be the 'public' that wants to live with rose tinted glasses instead of acknowledging that reality is more brutal than we often want to see or admit.

why else would you keep denouncing and dismissing the comics and source material of something you allegedly love?

because some other schmuck on the internet said a lie, gave you hearsay, or a rumor they heard through a grapevine on a game of telephone that said it wasn't worth looking into yourself?

well i'll call bullshit on that straight up but what are y'all so afraid of??

couple other things i will say, if you hate butcher for being the biggest worldclass cunt, you will absolutely feel vindicated and have your feelings or possibly lovehate boner (like mine~) completely validated with what happens in these comics (and if i'm being honest about the direction of the show, weeeeelllll...~<3 lemme not tho lmao<3 still def the biggest bottom, out bottoms hughie by far, i wanna see him get railed by vas/love sausage)

i will also say, billy is 100% wrong in the comic and the show is slowly but surely unraveling that truth there as well, if it's not clear enough by now. what he does isn't for becky/becca, and definitely not for ryan either. it never was.

it's for his father, no i will not elaborate cause read the damn comics. (but also, people need to stop fucking forgetting that HUGHIE is the *actual* good guy here, not billy... billy is a bad guy... billy is objectively worse than homelander in many MANY canon ways and remember that reverse character development i mentioned--.)

contrast, if you *love* butcher, you will likely be disappointed in the show, but the comics will help prepare you for it (they also make too many things CLEAR)

unfortunately, you do not get sweetheart noir in this and while i love his show counterpart, bearing with cunt 9000 noir is worth it. (it also sparked fic ideas for me cause why not both~<3)

LOVE SAUSAGE IS UNREAL AND PERFECT~<3<3<3 if nothing else, comics love sausage at least deserves your full attention.

homelander's as always is a fun boi, show homelander by comparison is basically *final stage* comics homie (full throttle evil berserk type shit/just before it hits) take everything you thought you knew about (comics) him, and throw it out the fuckin' window.

boi does some fucked up shit... and ALSO has fucking mental breakdowns and visceral reactions like throwing up to doing evil shit because he literally can't stomach it and is trying to convince himself that he is the bad guy because he's been gaslit--.

and i'ma stop there. read the fuckin' comic if you actually wanna know just how deep that homie rabbit hole goes.

and i will absolutely use the idea of him having legit *adverse reactions to doing evil shit* in a fic because FUCK. YES. that was a sad but lovely detail and would make for a perfect fuckin'a alibi<3

anywho~<3, if you recognize he's a victim in the show? the comics. read them cause OOOOOHHHH--.

[ally-holmes]

Battle Scars | Fili Fanfic

My Fanfic Masterlist | Multifandom

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Backgrown Thorin x Bilbo.

Rating: General.

Content Warnings: scars, canon divergence, everybody lives/nobody dies, spoilers the battle of the five armies.

Summary:  Fili assesses his current state, still not fully aware of how he'd ended up with that big scar on his chest.

Word Count: 1488

Also available on AO3

This work was created to be part of the Deanobingo2023 event by @deanobingo​ It fills the Character Card with Fili and the General Prompt Card with Scars. 

Battle Scars | Oneshot

The sound around him is intense and noisy but Fili perceives it muffledly, like whatever was happening was too far away to make a clear notion about it. A towel soaked in a warm concoction that smells incredibly flowery taps against his chest and he looks down. A sharp breath catches in his throat. The towel hesitates barely for a second before resuming its job of cleaning the rough skin on his chest. Fili can barely believe he's alive after what Azog did to him, yet there he is. Mahal must've helped him fight the loss of blood, the infections, the fevers… It was a miracle and the torn skin on his chest was screaming it to him. The flesh had been cleaned and pulled together before suturing it closing him, almost putting him together head to toe.

Fili isn't aware that he has stopped breathing until a gentle hand runs through his clean and unbraided mane. He follows the extremities attached to the hands that are on him and finds their burglar. Bilbo looks skinnier than ever, swimming inside dwarvish winter clothes with Thorin's pattern, pale with big bags under his eyes. Bilbo's tired and sad. Fili thinks he's sad too, but he's been sad before and this… this was more.

"We'll be done soon, Fili," Bilbo whispers as if he was afraid of driving Fili into a panic attack.

Well, probably it had happened before.

A quiet whine on the other side of the room draws his attention. Kili. Oin is soon next to his brother making him drink something that calms him faster than Fili would've thought. Bilbo calls for his attention again with a little tug on a lock of his hair.

"He'll be fine. It's a little infection, we're taking care of it. You know Kili, the moment he felt slightly better he decided it was a good idea to jump in to help others. He pulled a few stitches and… Yeah. He'll be fine."

"Have you slept?" Fili finds his voice hoarse and low, forming phrases and pushing them through his mouth is more difficult than it should be. He frowns.

"I did." Bilbo's tired smile and fake optimism yell at Fili that he's lying.

"More than half an hour?"

Bilbo snorts, "You sound like Thorin."

"How is he?"

"Answer me honestly first. Did you forget?"

Did he? Um… perhaps. What was the last thing he remembered? The battle, for once. Then, Balin took the reigns of the compart cart they used to march against the biggest mountain trolls and orcs. Thorin was heading to Ravenhill and they needed to move quickly. He remembers the goats. He had never ridden a goat until that day; what he did ride had been ponies and one time even a horse, all by himself, although he ended up falling and dislocating his shoulder. Kili's awed look was worth it. Oh, yes, Azog had obviously hurt him, swinging him in the air like a rag doll, then he had fallen. He remembers Kili's eyes. Everything went black for an undetermined period of time before a pounding pain pierced his skull; opening his eyes he had seen Dwalin.

"That's it lad, come on. Don't die on me, you rascal," Dwalin had said with a voice so broken with emotion that Fili could still feel goosebumps breaking into his skin.

What else? He remembers filling dizzy and not knowing where the ground was, he was manhandled by Dwalin until he sat him next to his brother; Kili was unconscious. Dwalin had yelled. Fili blacked out right before being pulled down from the huge beast he apparently had been riding with his brother and… and Thorin. Yes. Thorin was there, covered in blood, ashen as if he had aged a century during the battle.

That had been a long time ago. He remembers his agonizing pain during recovery, the few periods of sharpness in his feverish mind. Bilbo, always attending to him and his brother. Thorin was… Thorin was doing kingly things but he was… he was limping, wasn't he? What else?

"It's fine if you don't remember everything, Fili. But your mind needs the exercise."

Bilbo's soft voice brought him back. The hobbit was handing him a small bowl with a plaster that he was supposed to eat. Encouraging him into using his trembling and disused hands to feed himself, Bilbo sat by his side chatting about the current situation. Fili appreciated the distraction from the feeling of eating like a dwarfling. While Bilbo told him about the prorogue of the negotiations, agreed in order to survive the winter, Fili observed him with all the focus his tired eyelids provided him.

Bilbo's curly hair had certainly grown during the journey, and although now it was somewhat trimmed with style, there were two braids behind his left ear, both of them with silver beads richly engraved. One of them identified him as a dwarves friend, which wasn't given lightly as far as Fili was concerned. The other one identified him as Thorin's betrothed. Fili couldn't help but snort at the possessive behavior of his uncle, who not only gave Bilbo those amazing beads that their people would promptly identify, but he also dressed him in his own clothing. Thorin was smitten.

Fili also notices Bilbo's scars. For starters, his right pointy ear is missing a chunk, and then there's a scar across his right cheek as if he had barely dodged a blow. Judging the way Bilbo held his torso while sitting or standing, Fili is certain that there were more scars there, probably pulling at the seams with movement. He knows the feeling.

Bilbo lits up like a good fire in winter when he starts talking about the stubbornness of dwarfs and how it took him to put his furry feet down for them to understand that the best option to survive this winter and reinforce the former alliance between Erebor and Dale —"Especially with your uncle's stunt while being sick of dragon fever because let me assure you Fili that it was a bad first impression for a king. That much I know," Bilbo says— was to use the secure areas of the mountain as a shelter for the people of Laketown as much as the brave warriors that had followed Dain from the Iron Hills.

Fili snorts his food when Bilbo calls Thranduil a "ludicrous narcissistic piece of ass". Bilbo is smiling smugly for making him laugh when the door of what now Fili understands is the improvised infirmary opens silently; Thorin pauses his movement looking directly at Fili's eyes. The initial surprise melts into relief, the softest smile drawing itself in the stern brooding face of his uncle. It's been so long since Fili had seen Thorin at ease that he feels his eyes filling with water as he stubbornly refuses to cry. A soft pat on his thigh makes him realize that he's already crying and that it's fine to do so.

His uncle, the king under the mountain, approaches his bed with his innate majesty don't minding his slight limping. Thorin has a dirty scar across his right eyebrow that would compete gladly with Dwalin's; if Fili is remembering correctly, his limping was caused because Azog, pretending to be downed, had stabbed Thorin's foot right before taking advantage of the situation imposing his will upon his uncle's. Then Bilbo used his magic ring and stabbed the pale orc on his side. That's what they had told him anyway.

"I'm glad to see you in good spirits, Fili," Thorin beams clasping a hand on Fili's shoulder.

"Uncle Bilbo was telling me about the elven king," calling the hobbit uncle was a little license that he managed by being still on bed rest, but the deep blush suffocating Bilbo's face and the shy smile his uncle pulled were worthy.

"Bilbo's shown to be a loyal companion in more than one way. Our burglar is well versed in the arts of diplomacy."

The hobbit sniffed in good humor, "If you and Thranduil stopped behaving like childer the whole situation should be easier. But no, of course, elves and dwarfs are unable to accept that maybe, just maybe, they need to, Eru forbid it, yield in any sense. I'll be honest with you, Fili, there are times in which Bard and I just sit there watching those two arguing and snarling at each other."

"I'm nothing like that standoffish."

"I don't like elves either, but I'm prone to believe Bilbo on this, uncle."

"You're delirious," Thorin jokes pushing him slightly for him to lie on the bed.

Fili barks a laugh recklessly, which earns him a gasp of pain. Oin's immediately on top of him giving him some concoction he had created and all of a sudden, he feels sleepy. The last thing he recalls is Bilbo's encouraging voice promising he'll be there when he wakes up.

The end

[gascon-en-exil]

Do you think the Intelligent Systems favors Silver Snow as the "canon" or canon-pushed route over the others? It just feels awkward that the main theme song sounds like it's being sung from the position of Edelgard in Silver Snow and that it fulfills the self-insert fantasy of the avatar becoming ruler of Fodlan (with Verdant Wind also doing it) despite Byleth having 0 experience in governing or politics

Silver Snow is the skeleton on which the rest of FE16 is built. It's the rough draft as I've said before, which in part explains why it's so, well, rough in places. And it's not as though fandom especially cares, because it's the least-discussed and least-favored of the four routes by far. The only unique draws of SS pretty much are that it's the route for you if you want to 1) fuck Rhea and/or 2) brag online about what a hardcore tactician you are, because it's the most difficult route.

It's against IS's commercial interests to ever endorse a "canon" route for any of the games that have narrative splits, but it's especially evident with Three Houses because so much of its presence in Heroes - and literally all of it in Engage - comes from White Clouds. The student designs, school life sim antics, and vague notions of a war that may or may not be on the horizon in the future (and in which no one wants to take a definitive side, ever) are apparently much more bankable than any of the game's iterations of the series-standard war drama. I don't even think that's a recent shift, either; I still recall that all of Houses's pre-release marketing up until a month and a half before it came out was from Part 1. Fandom wasn't sold on that angle back then, since it looked so much like Fire Emblem trying to be Persona, but now everyone's mostly reconciled to that particular oddity. That might even be one of the reasons that Three Hopes saw such a dropoff in sales; it breezes past the marketable school stuff.

So in short: as indicated by assorted developer commentary, Silver Snow was the most important for building the game's framework in the early stages and thus gets a disproportionate amount of focus in major elements of FE16's narrative like you mentioned. However, once Nintendo/IS/KT needed to actually sell the game, and later the characters in other media, any notion of a canon route got tossed out the window in favor of "whatever answer gets you to give us more money."

[theliterarywolf]

You know, I have no race in the Bluey smut argument going around right now (I don’t watch Bluey and also I’m sex-repulsed so no smut for meee), but I will say that there are some really hypocritical arguments going around. One person I follow on Twitter for her mostly good takes on stuff was retweeting and posting about how people shouldn’t make Bluey smut… and not five posts before she retweeted a drawing of Kanga from Winnie the Pooh with fat tits and called her a milf. Like… what.

(Sorry, Bluey anon and I meant to include the 1 and 2) You know, me PERSONALLY I’d rather not see people making smut of cartoon characters for kids and it weirds me out a LOT… but I also recognize that A) this is the Internet. B) Rule 34 was a term coined for a REASON. C) You can’t stop people or not expect people to not draw porn of this stuff. So I honestly don’t care what people do just so long as it’s properly tagged and hidden away.

(Took me a while to get to this ask because half of it only appears on mobile and the other half only appears on desktop0

The thing of it that a lot of people either don't get or refuse to understand is that if you personally feel uncomfortable with the notion of R34 for child-friendly IPs? That's more than fine. Hell, more often than not you'll find people that agree with you.

However, it's the attitude and approach that some people have (i.e.: the 'this material has no right to exist!'/you're all perverts trying to prey on children!'/'Look at this groomer!') that more often than not causes the animosity.

Case in point: a few years ago when the first bubbles of the current fanpol environment started popping, I remember one person cajoling on and on because they were disgusted by people making R34 of The Loud House.

Interesting note, however? I was almost agreeing with them! I was personally squicked out by the idea of people lewding those characters and so I remember pretty much trying to tell them 'hey, let's ease back and stop attacking people so we can look at the issue again'.

Just for the person to turn on me and call me a pedophile because I ship Soriel (Sans and Toriel from Undertale) and SidLink (Prince Sidon and Link from Breath of the Wild). Which, 1. None of the characters in those ships are underaged (though I do remember some idiotic discourse about 'oh, Link is technically older than Sidon so it's grooming' and 'oh, well, Sans is short so that means he's child-coded).

So they successfully burned any bridge they could have had with me and even though I was more upset about them screeching to all their followers about me being a pedophile (since that was around when I still did writing commissions and I didn't need the bad publicity), in the back of my mind I ended up thinking 'Well, fuck you too then; I hope more people draw smut of Lucy and Lincoln [REDACTED] while Lora and Leni [REDACTED] each other in the corner!'

[fabdante]

If the reboot twins had angel and demon forms like the preboot twins have demon forms when they use DT or SDT, what do you think the reboot twins would look like in each form? Do you think the reboot twins would favor one form over the other, like angel form over demon form?

It seems like Nephilim get angel wings eventually, based on Assiel and the other dead Nephilim we see, but I like the idea that they could just switch between demonic or angelic wings if they wanted to, or naturally had more skill with one power set over the other.

I am about to ramble a lot about my headcanons about Nephilim and how they work and what not so excuse me asdfghjk

I've come to like that there's different subsets of Nephilim in the reboot universe. Since they're the offspring of angels and demons in the DmC reboot rather then the offspring of angels and humans, it almost kind of necessitates that there'd be like variations on Nephilim over time as they developed. Because like, the children of Nephilim in the reboot context are still Nephilim, they'd still be half angel and half demon, but their parents are not angel or demon. So on and so forth. Plus as a mixed race person, I like to ensure that mixed race people are allowed to exist in things, so that would mean a child of a Nephilim and an angel or a demon or a human is also still Nephilim in addition to being angel/demon/whatever but how that presents would then perhaps be different.

So, if we go by this notion, the twins are a unique case. Most of the Nephilim before the genocide were probably the result of Nephilim/Nephilim relationships or Nephilim and any other race where as the twins are the product of an angel/demon directly, which is bound to make their abilities a bit more raw, whatever that may mean.

I also tend to perhaps nerf the Nephilim in my own fanon and headcanons. They're just so powerful as presented in the reboot canon they just sort of like, need some draw backs. Like I know a lot of fans theorize or have headcanons about the twins perhaps being able to live thousands of years, but I've never personally liked due to this so I've adopted the thought that while in the human realm, Nephilim age normally. Little things like that.

Which then ties into this next head canon where I sort of like the idea that Nephilim are more or less 'trapped' in these more human bodies then their angel and demon counter parts. Like, these beings of immense power stuck in something that is very fragile, despite what their bodies do to try and counter act that (healing and stuff).

I think I've mentioned before but I tend to interpret the Assiel statue as just a statue possibly built in her honor so I've never really considered if Nephilim in the reboot do get wings or not. I suppose in my own line of thinking I've just always kind of liked them being stuck in the forms we see them in. It's an idea that we see explored a lot in the concept art to, like concepts of what an angel form Dante might look like vs a demon one and they're always just sort of him as we normally see him with some embellishments to make it clear what form he's in. (I am also one of the few who actually really like reboot Dantes devil trigger as is, I like the colors and it's useful asdfghjk)

That said I mean I'm an art kid I like character designs the prospect of the twins having angel and demon forms similar to the preboot demon forms is really fun and interesting.

The angel forms I think would be far more alien then the demon forms. This is probably because of my love for religious horror and what not but I like the idea of just scary angels and just angels generally just being so far removed from regular human understanding, just something very alien. So I imagine the angel forms would reflect this while still sort of being tethered to the twins regular forms. Something made of a lot of light and a lot of eyes and very large. Perhaps very gangly to. Perhaps even all of that and it's tethered to the human form some how.

Demon forms are probably much more comprehensible. It'd probably help if we saw Sparda's to know what we're branching off of but we don't, not really. I am a fan of horns though, and it'd be neat if they could have horns. I'm a fan of black sclera also give them that for funsies. I like the idea of the demon forms being more rooted in their human forms then the preboot counter parts but I also love monsters so the temptation to get really crazy with it is there asdfghjk

I think like how we see the twins and how the weapons work in game in game, Vergil might favor the angelic and Dante the demonic. Angel's seem like they'd be more adept for agility and ranged combat which is more in Vergils wheel house where as Dante tends to be a bit more close quarters and aggressive in his combat style and sensibilities which would favor the heavier blows a demon form would likely be able to deliver.

As for wings, I don't really often think about the twins getting wings so I don't really know. The idea is fun and there's a lot of canon to support the notion of them being able to switch between different wings with different skill sets so I think that makes sense!

[rosiecroz]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

whoever sent this, you are so kind! i haven't written in over half a year so this was a nice trip down memory lane <3

in order of posting (most recent to earliest):

a kiss this tender (bernardo/riff, west side story 2021, E rating)

Pins prickle behind Riff’s eyes. His body is not his own. He feels like he’s been doused in gasoline, and Bernardo is holding the match.

i'm sure most people will think this pair is Taboo(TM) considering canon events but this was the last fic i wrote in which i felt really good about my character voices. i'm particularly proud of the way i wrote riff's internal narration during the scene in the shop.

coffee break (keeley jones/roy kent/jamie tartt, ted lasso, T rating)

“What’s this?” Keeley asks. Roy wrinkles his nose when he makes out that familiar, tidy handwriting. “Says right there it’s from that prick, doesn’t it?”

if i don't achieve anything else in life, i can at least say i pioneered the keeley/roy/jamie tag on ao3. this fic is now in super AU land because i wrote it between seasons 1 and 2, but i'm astounded by how many kudos/etc i still get on it even though the series is potentially over. it's warmed my heart to see this ot3 gain its fans :)

rekindle (j. daniel atlas/dylan rhodes, now you see me, T rating)

Rhodes is an unknown variable in his system of chaos. Daniel wants to draw out that fire, extinguish it, then relight the dying embers with the sparks from his own torch.

a super niche pair in a super niche fandom but that's how i roll! i love these silly magician movies and i LOVE daniel and dylan's relationship. people who know me will know that i love writing fics that span canon events and incorporate them into developing (or established) relationships. this is one of those -- and i still love how i weaved mythology and the concept of heroism into this. one of my all-time personal favorites.

you're in my head, you're in my blood (joseph blake/lt. leslie, 1917, E rating)

Joe shuts his eyes. He already knew this was a ridiculous notion, but now that he’s trying and failing to explain it out loud, the absurdity of the ordeal has been cemented in his mind. What’s more, he didn’t even consider if Leslie was single or taken, had automatically assumed that it would be the former. He’ll apologise, hang up, show up by himself to the party, it’s not a big deal— “Okay,” Leslie says. “Okay,” Joe echoes. He blinks. “Okay…?” “You need arm candy to parade around at this party, right? So, okay.”

speaking of niche pairs in niche fandoms... it doesn't get any more niche than joe and leslie, aka the namesake of my url. 1917 is the fandom i fell in love with during the height of the pandemic. without it, i wouldn't have written so much, nor met so many treasured life-long friends. also, this is just one of many joe/leslie fics i've written but it gets a special shoutout because i was deranged and churned it out in one week (betsy can attest).

the long way around (steve harrington/billy hargrove, stranger things, T rating)

Steve turns around. He can’t believe his eyes. “Billy?” It’s weird calling him that, considering they’d never spoken more than a few words (and exchanged a lot of fists), but Steve is so taken aback that he blurts out the name without a second thought. Sure enough, it’s Billy standing there, still sporting the same blond curls, but they’re tied back and a bit longer than before. He still has those damn aviators. At least he knows how to button up a shirt now. “You’re a long way from Hawkins,” Billy says.

i was gonna link a will/tom 1917 fic for my last entry, but ultimately decided on this old harringrove fic. i haven't read it in a while so idk how well it holds up, but harringrove is the pair that made me start writing fic seriously. i had written just one fic previously (and it was many, many years ago), but then season 3 of stranger things happened and the rest is history. this is not the first harringrove fic i wrote but it is my favorite. steve and billy go on a road trip together ten years after the starcourt mall incident (obvious au timeline here) and i still remember constructing a google map for this fic to keep track of the places they stop at. this fic will always have a special place in my heart.

--

thanks to anon for letting me ramble a bit about my old fics!

[capriciousvisage]

I am the same way exactly! I'm not aspec whatsoever (though possibly aromantic?), but I think I am more so interested in "fun dynamics" than any sort of fanon validation. NeuviFuri (which is the tag I found this post in) is pretty much the only "big" ship I have liked in a long time and could actually stomach the majority of fanart for.

I do not read fanfiction usually (despite being a writer myself), solely because I do not want to risk weird characterizations or boring tropes the characters have been shoved into. Some of the other ships you've mentioned I actively avoid and hate because of fanon specifically (the other ships I'm just "meh" on and don't actively seek nor actively block those ones). Other honorable mentions for me include Kaeya/Albedo and Thoma/Ayato. I used to really, really love the former, found out a majority of fanon was incredibly off-kilter and OOC to the point they weren't even reading as the same characters to me, and now, more often than not, I can't stand the ship.

I also hate (for mlm pairings) the need to search two tags for "dynamics" when topping or bottoming, especially in SFW settings where they're doing neither of those things! I once stumbled upon a xiaother zine discourse where someone was trying to illustrate how whoever tops will affect a SFW scenario and it was genuinely the stupidest thing I'd ever read!

But I truly think my problem with most "big name" ships is how they've just been explored to death. You touched upon this already. Outside of Genshin, I'm in fandoms like Touken Ranbu, where there's very little "canon" interaction (even if you're counting things like the stage plays, musicals, and anime, and not just the original game) so one has to learn to extrapolate how characters would interact from either no interactions whatsoever or very little. As it stands, Touken Ranbu is one of the only fandoms I actually still enjoy talking to others in, which may or may not be related...

I have always said I'm contrarian for disliking "big" ships based solely on the fact they're highly popular. But it's true, and I'm not doing it just to be contrarian. Rarer pairings, even some where I'm the only one in the tag on AO3 (this is especially the case in Touken Ranbu), generally hold more appeal to me. In recent years, I've also pivoted to focusing more on Gen work (for instance, I really love imagining a friendship between Diluc and Klee, and Kaeya and Diona, but these are just two examples) because there's no pre-existing notion from "fanon law" about dynamics or whatever because it's just Gen.

I think another side of the coin is that many shippers of "big" ships refuse to see the characters outside of the context of the ship. They either only care for the ship or only care for one half of the ship. A very notable example in my experience is xiaoven. I have honestly never seen a Venti-first Xiaoven fan, which is already pretty concerning; the majority only care about Xiao and/or the both of them only when they're being shipped. (In my opinion, this ship is also one of the worst to be flanderized! I could fully see the appeal of the dynamic but no one explores the actual dynamic they could have!)

I often think about this post (which is no longer rebloggable). Namely: "it's a one size fits all of generic, pre-made tropes that will be forced into each and every piece of media that gets even a bit of attention, even when these tropes and scenarios don't fit the personality of the characters or are in any way related to the original story they are supposedly drawing from." I see so many people doing this! And I'm sitting here thinking, "You may be having fun, but if you're debasing the characters to such an extent they don't resemble the original whatsoever, then I think you may have even more fun writing with Original Characters!" And I think this is what happens with a majority of "big" ships, if not all (I have even seen it with neuvifuri plenty already, but thankfully I just love them too much to care).

Anyway, this has gone on long enough; apologies if it seems like I've highjacked the post! But I do agree with everything you've said. When you said you were interested in "the puzzle of figuring out what differing circumstances could potentially cause two characters who have seemingly nothing in common to become eachothers everything" I felt that deep in my bones.

yknow i say im a huge multishipper but i wouldnt actually consider myself much of a shipper at all. just open to the idea of trying everything once. the term has typically romantic connotations and follows the assumption that i think, and want, these characters to be good for eachother.

I'm, personally, less interested in the prexisting chemistry than i am in the puzzle of figuring out what differing circumstances could potentially cause two characters who have seemingly nothing in common to become eachothers everything.

This could explain my favorism towards rarepairs and more convoluted dynamics, and my aversion to popular, fluffy pairings that have already been explored a thousand times over, there's no work for me to do there.

Not to mention that when a ship becomes too popular it starts cannibalising itself, and lots of good, interesting characterisations are lost in the sea of people bending characters into pre-orchestrated, saccharine dynamics. alot of which are usually downright fetishy in nature, particularly in mlm pairings.

I mean i would say being able to get ooc and self indulgent is downright mandatory for making a good fic, but there's only so many times i have to read a fic about a big, overprotective, manly-man top who does all the work and the shy, small, swoony, softhearted femme-wifey-bottom before it starts to just be lazy.

I actively have to go out of my way to search 'switch' tags if i want true-to-the-character, mutual emotional reciprocation. which i really, really shouldn't have to do as an ace person who actively skips through nsfw.

And it's not that popular wlw pairings aren't guilty of these problems aswell, but those tend to lean more into the 'soft lesbians who can do no wrong' stereotype, which always completely (butch)ers all nuisance that makes the ship worth shipping in the first place.

As well as that's if they're even the focus of the story at all and aren't just shoved to the side by the main mlm couple. mlw pairings can be culpable of both these things, with the added risk that you find out the author made a twitter post with the characters in front of the 'super straight' flag.

Though i also wonder if me being aspec plays any part as again; im not as interested in the romantic aspects as i am in the possible hurdles they may face throughout the potential relationship.

Anyone else feel like this?

[leiawritesstories]

As I Am, 19

Summary: London, England, 1816, early spring. The opening of the Season is every year’s most anticipated event in high society, especially among the young ladies. This Season has been predicted to be one of the most promising yet, given that the debutantes include Miss Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, Misses Nesta, Elain, and Feyre Archeron, Miss Elisa Selvari, Miss Elide Lochan, and many more. Not to mention that His Grace Rowan Whitethorn, the newly ascended Duke of Doranelle, shall be in town with his companions. Where shall the Season lead? We have yet to find out, but as with all Seasons, there will be parties, promenades, dancing and dining, a profusion of flowers in each young lady’s parlour, and of course, scandal.

STORY WARNINGS: language, arranged marriages and other 19th-century problems, eventual fighting, eventual smut

Inspired quite a lot by Bridgerton and Pride and Prejudice. Unknown chapter count. Characters are from Throne of Glass and ACOTAR, as well as various other characters from various other authors. I’ll credit them as they appear, and if anyone is unfamiliar, please go check out their books!

CHARACTER LIST            MASTERLIST

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: language, overprotective Rhys, smut. Minors are advised not to read past “The Rockford ball.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Elisa has eloped.”

“Miss Selvari has eloped!”

“Elisa Selvari ran off with her intended!”

“Oh, the poor dowager countess, how livid she must be! Her only daughter, and she was such a credit to Society until…this.”

“With whom has the lady eloped, though?”

The gossip raced through the houses of Society like quicksilver, growing more scandalous by the hour. An elopement--a right proper scandal--and the Countess Selvari’s daughter, no less! How the fine mammas did whisper over their china teacups, and oh, how the Countess herself did pace her drawing room, half-wild with worry over her daughter’s whereabouts, not to mention the hit to her reputation. 

Rhys burst into his mother’s drawing room, his eyes wild. “Is it true?” he demanded.

“Yes.” Mother admitted simply. “Elisa has eloped.”

“With--” Rhys inhaled a quick, tight breath, tamping down the rage in his eyes. “With Lord Fenrys?”

Mother nodded, unable to speak any words lest her son fly off the handle altogether.

Rhys’s violet eyes went flat with vengeance. “I shall have satisfaction,” he bit out.

“Son,” the Countess admonished, grabbing his wrists before he could snatch up his pistols, “stay your course and think for a moment, though I know that is difficult for you to do. Nobody knows where Elisa and Fenrys are. For all we do know, they could be halfway to America by now. You cannot run off on a wild goose chase, you are needed here.”

“I must know if my sister is safe,” he growled, prying free from Mother’s grasp and snatching up his powder horn.

“Rhysand Matthieson Selvari.” Mother’s commanding voice rang through the room. “You are forbidden to run off on some rash notion of demanding satisfaction from Lord Fenrys.”

“I have the title, Mother, you cannot forbid me anything.”

“If you had the title, my son, you would recognize that the wisest course of action is to wait until we hear from Elisa with news of her whereabouts.” She stared him down, authority limning her posture.

Rhys sighed heavily, dropping his powder horn on the tabletop. “Very well. You are right, Mother.” He flopped into an armchair, his face still stormy. “I do not like it, but you are right.”

The Countess seated herself next to her son. “I doubt it shall be very long before we have news from her, Rhys, and in the meantime, you must remember that we are not the only ones touched by Elisa’s elopement. Think of your intended, if no one else.”

“Oh shit,” Rhys breathed, that piece clicking into place, “Feyre and her family shall be affected by all of this as well.”

“Language, my son,” Mother chided.

“Apologies, Mother.” Rising, Rhys kissed her cheek. “I must go and see Feyre immediately.”

~

Draining his brandy, Lorcan snapped his glass back atop the table. “This is exactly the type of rash behavior that Fenrys would exhibit,” he snarled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Damned fool, running off with the first lady that catches his eye.”

“Rather harsh of you, Lor,” Gavriel muttered, refilling his glass.

“Harsh?” Lorcan raised a brow. “Fenrys just caused the biggest fucking scandal of the season, and you say my judgment is harsh?”

“To be fair, Gav, he has a point,” Connall cut in, resigned. “My brother, sadly, does not often think before he acts, and look where that got him.”

“Into his intended’s skirts, at least,” Lorcan snorted, tossing back another brandy.

Connall slammed his fist onto the tabletop. “Salvaterre, I will not have you slandering Fenrys or Elisa like that.” His dark eyes flashed with anger.

Lorcan held up his hands. “I apologize, Con, that was low of me. I did not mean to insult your brother or Lady Elisa.”

“I am sure you did not,” Connall returned, albeit a little coldly. “Yes, my brother is an idiot and an immature little shit sometimes, but I believe he had a reason, however stupid it might be, to run off like this.” He tossed back his own drink, hissing at the burn of the liquor.

“You would not happen to have any idea where the two of them are?” Gavriel inquired.

Connall huffed a short breath, rolling his eyes. “None at all. Fenrys does not share his wild schemes.”

“Which is why he gets himself into this shit,” Lorcan scoffed.

“That may be, but it’s no excuse to be a dick,” Rowan commented from his stance against the fireplace. He’d been quiet throughout everyone’s arguing, sipping meditatively on a whiskey.

“All right, all right. I am sorry.” Lorcan drained his last drink. 

“I am sure Fen had his reasons to run off like this, however far-fetched they might be.” Rowan set his glass down. “We really ought not to make any judgments about it before he returns and is able to explain himself.”

“If he decides to return,” Connall snorted into his glass.

“Or perhaps he shall stay wherever the hell he is forever, enjoying the peace and quiet without all of us meddling in his life,” Gav snickered.

“That does sound like Fenrys,” Rowan chuckled. “If you’ll all excuse me, duty calls.” He left.

“Ah yes, the joys of dukedom,” Lorcan drawled.

“Shut the hell up, Lor,” Rowan called, laughter in his tone.

Connall knocked on Rowan’s study door a short while later. 

“Yes?” Rowan looked up from his writing. “Come in, Con.”

He walked in, closing the door behind him, and dropped into the chair opposite Rowan’s. “I’ve something to tell you, but you cannot share it with the others.”

“I swear I shall not tell a soul,” Rowan promised.

“Good.” Connall folded his hands. “I know where Fen and Elisa are.”

Rowan blinked. “You do?”

Con nodded. “I…may have witnessed their wedding last night. May have arranged a few things so they could have their wedding. May have purchased them tickets to their destination as a wedding gift.” He looked up, sheepish. “He is my brother, Rowan, and Lord knows he’s dealing with enough blowback against his courtship both from us and from Elisa’s overprotective, overbearing older brother.”

“I see.” Rowan steepled his hands, mulling all of this over. “Actually, Con, do not tell anyone I said this, but that was probably the best thing to do.”

“Truly?”

“Indeed. Like you said, Rhys Selvari is rather opposed to Fen, for some reasons he refuses to disclose, but Fen and Elisa are obviously very much in love and I, for one, see no reason why he ought not marry her.”

“So you would have supported their covert marriage yourself, is that what you’re not saying?”

Rowan pressed his lips together. “Well, yes and no. I fully support Fen and Elisa’s marriage, though I would have preferred that they have a proper wedding, not elope. But I understand why they chose this path.”

Connall smirked. “So he talked to you before he ran off, did he?”

“He did indeed.” Rowan chuckled. “Honestly, after speaking with Fenrys, I cannot blame him for choosing to elope. I only hope that he returns to London after a while, once the town shuts up about how scandalous it is that two fine young people ran off together because Society was too much for them to handle.”

“I believe he will want to return,” Con remarked, “if only for Elisa’s sake. I should not blame him if he avoids our company when he chooses to return.” He stood up. “Thank you, Rowan.”

Rowan clasped his hand. “Of course. And Con?”

“Yes?”

“Tell Fen I wish him and his bride every happiness.”

~

“Probably overseas?” Aelin gasped, eyes widening under the shade of her cobalt-blue sun hat, perfectly matched to her dress. 

“Indeed,” Rowan answered, daring to rest his hand atop hers where it clutched his arm. “Do not worry about him and Elisa, Aelin. I am sure they are fine. And most happy, if I know anything about newlyweds.” He smirked wickedly at her.

A pretty flush bloomed across her cheekbones. “You mustn’t say those things in public, Your Grace,” she chided in a silky-smooth tone, “lest the proper mammas hear and be properly horrified.”

“The same proper mammas who tell their daughters nothing of what happens on a wedding night?”

“Indeed,” she purred, her face a portrait of fake shock, “whatever will they think of a duke having…educated one of the fine young ladies on that matter?” She winked.

Rowan’s arm flexed under her hand. “Now who mustn’t say those things in public, love?”

She smiled angelically up at him. “I do not have any idea what you are implying, Rowan.”

They strolled along in comfortable silence for some time, both of them processing what they wanted to speak of but had been dancing around for the last few weeks--Aelin’s new freedom. With Perrington dead, Aelin was unbound, and still the most desirable young lady in town. Her parlor was filled with suitors every morning; she had to discard bouquets every evening to make space for the profusion of florals that each new day brought into her house. Rowan had called upon her a few times, and they had shared two all-too-brief midnight trysts, but as of yet, they had not discussed anything about what Perrington’s death meant for her.

“I must--”

“I have to--”

They spoke at the same time, their words a jumble. Aelin chuckled. “Go ahead, Ro.”

Suddenly nervous, Rowan cleared his throat. “Aelin, I have remained silent these last weeks, and I can do so no longer. I am completely in love with you, and I wish to court you properly.”

“Properly?”

“In the light of day, no more sneaking around at night. I want to be seen with you on my arm; I want to bring you gifts and spend each day in your presence without pretending that I am only being polite. I want to court you, Aelin. Hell, I want to skip the courtship altogether and take you to the altar right now, but I cannot do that.”

She was silent, staring at him, her rosy lips forming a soft little O. “Rowan, I…” She trailed off, collecting her thoughts. “I do not know if I am ready to accept serious suitors yet,” she admitted openly. “Do you remember when you discovered that Father had betrothed me to Perrington?”

“Of course.”

“I am still unsure, Rowan. The business with Perrington rattled me, made me realize that my future is not, in fact, in my hands, and I wish to know that I have control over who gets to court me before I am ready to accept offers for my hand.”

“I understand.” He slipped her hand into his. “Truly, Aelin, I do. Only…will you still allow me to visit you?”

“Yes. Rowan, of course you can still pay calls.” She squeezed his hand. “I need time to sort out my mind before I accept your suit. But I know your intentions, Your Grace, and I have taken them to heart.”

“There you go again with the title, love,” he purred, his voice sliding down to a gravelly rasp.

She just batted her lashes, the portrait of innocence. “Oh, how forgetful of me.”

“Do you require a lesson to help you remember, milady?” His eyes darkened, their green depths full of sinful promise.

“Perhaps I do,” Aelin hummed. “When might this take place, Your Grace?”

“I shall see you at the Rockford ball tonight,” he promised, kissing her hand. “And then we shall see just who you are calling ‘Your Grace.’”

A delightful shiver raced down Aelin’s spine. “Very well. I look forward to dancing with you, sir.” She smirked, catlike, and went to rejoin her mother.

~

Feyre paced across the parlor, the click of her shoes echoing angrily against the wooden flooring. “And how, pray tell, is our wedding going to survive all this?” she snapped.

Rhys reached for her hands, trying to placate her. “Your good name is unmarred, Feyre, I promise.”

She whirled away from his reach. “My good name is officially and publicly linked to yours, Rhysand, which by extension means I have been touched by your sister’s elopement.”

“Surely you are not angry at Elisa?” he asked, going into protective-elder-brother mode.

She paused and took a deep breath. “No, I am not. Given the opposition to her marriage--” she arched a knowing brow at Rhys--“her only option was to run away with Fenrys. I wish them every happiness. However, if we carry on with our plans to marry sooner rather than later, all of Society shall look at our marriage in a different light.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Rhys braced his hands on the back of an armchair.

“It means that everyone shall think that we had underlying motives to marry soon after Elisa eloped.”

“Underlying motives?”

“Scandalous ones.” Feyre looked him dead in the eyes. “Rhys, if we marry as planned, I am afraid that, because Society is all too willing to assume scandal, they will believe that you and I are trying to obscure the scandal of Elisa eloping, and potentially concealing a scandal of our own, and will never shut up about the disgrace of our family.”

Rhys chewed on her words, turning them over in his mind. “I see,” he said simply. “So then, what does this mean for our wedding? Must we put it off altogether?”

“No, of course not.” Her lips tightened, as if holding back emotion. “However, I believe it would be most prudent if we waited two or three more weeks.”

“You wish to push the date back and marry in four or five weeks, rather than two?” Rhys clarified.

“Yes.” Her eyes locked to his. “I wish to push the date back and let all of this blow over.”

He sighed heavily. “Very well.”

“You sound as if you disapprove.”

“I do not disapprove, I merely think that you give too much power to Society in believing that they will ruin our future together by questioning the date of our wedding.”

“As a woman subject to the judgment of Society, I do believe they have a lot of power.” She huffed a short, sharp breath. “I wish I was braver than this, but I do not want my wedding to be so judged that the fine mammas and other gossips extend their whispers to my sisters. Can you at least understand that?”

Slowly, Rhys nodded. “Yes, Feyre, I can understand that.” Crossing to where she stood, he reached once more for her hand. This time, she allowed him to take it. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of her palm. “Four weeks, and then we marry.”

“Four weeks,” she agreed. “Thank you, Rhys.”

When he had left, Nesta snapped her book shut. She’d been sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, reading and acting as chaperone, for her youngest sister was still unmarried and it would be highly improper for her to be seen alone with a man, even if said man was her betrothed. “Loath as I am to admit it, Fey, he did make a solid point.”

Grumbling under her breath, Feyre sank onto a couch. “Which point?”

“You are giving too much credit to Society, sister. Yes, the gossips will gossip, but you know how fast the Season moves. By tomorrow, even, they will have found something new to spread lies about.”

“I know I am probably being irrational,” Feyre admitted, “but I feel like I cannot control my fears about my wedding. I want everything to go smoothly, to go over without some nasty entitled mamma spreading lies about my wedding being hasty.” The words tumbled out in a rush. 

“Which I fully understand.” Nesta seated herself at the other end of the couch, feet tucked up, “but I also do not wish to witness you putting off your marriage out of fear.” She met her youngest sister’s eyes, the gray-blue twin to her own. “You will not allow that to happen, will you?”

“Of course not,” Feyre sniffled, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “I just…Nesta, this is all so much at once; I don’t know how to handle it.”

Nesta passed her a handkerchief. “Remember that you are in love, and love wins all battles.”

Feyre snickered. “Those romances you read have gone to your head, sister dear.”

“Who says romances cannot come true?” Nesta returned, grinning. “Yours and Lainy’s certainly have.”

Impulsively, Feyre hugged her eldest sister, who exclaimed in surprise and wrapped her arms around her. “Thank you, Nesta. For always making me see reason.”

Nesta hugged her back. “It’s what sisters do, Fey.”

~

The Rockford ball that night was packed with people, couples young and old spinning about the polished marble floor. Lord and Lady Rockford had gone all out for the occasion, even lighting their terrace so the dancing could spill out into the gorgeous evening. 

Rowan had located Aelin and her parents early on, had made small talk with Rhoe for a while before escorting Aelin to dance, and had slipped her a note when they parted ways. 

Here or afterwards. The choice is yours.

A wicked little grin curled Aelin’s lips. She returned the note when she brushed past Rowan fetching a drink. 

Who says I cannot have both?

His short, sharp inhale did not go unnoticed.

Some few hours later, Rowan approached Aelin once more, bowing politely to her and requesting another dance as she came off the dance floor on the arm of Lord Samuel Cortland. 

“Do me the honor, Miss Galathynius?”

She smiled demurely. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Rowan led her through a quadrille, barely restraining himself from kissing her as she fluttered her lashes and smiled her coy little smiles, giggling at his obvious discomfort. His hand burned through the silk of her gown, hot and possessive against her waist. Perhaps he partnered her closer than strictly necessary, but who was going to notice? 

“Walk with me, Aelin,” he purred into her ear when the dance ended, sliding her hand down to the crook of his elbow.

“Where to, Rowan?” she inquired innocently, laying her gloved fingers delicately atop the fine linen of his jacket. 

“Somewhere quieter,” he returned, dark heat in his gaze. “Unless you wish the whole of Society to hear you moaning my name.”

Aelin could not suppress the delightful shudder that shot through her at his words, at the sensual promise lacing them. “Perhaps the library would suit?”

“Do you know where it is?” 

“I do.” She smiled and nodded as they left the ballroom, redirecting them down a side hallway when they were safely out of eyeshot of the guests. “Follow me, my love.” Hand in hand, they hurried down that hall, took a few turns, and finally approached an ornate chestnut door. Aelin opened it carefully, poking her head in to check that the room was empty. “We are alone, Ro.”

“Perfect,” he growled, tugging her into the dark, quiet room and closing the door behind them, making sure the latch engaged. 

And then her back was pressed into the cool wood of the door, Rowan’s lips hot and heavy on hers, his tongue sliding between her lips. She matched the fervor of his kiss, gasping as he timed the strokes of his tongue with the plunging of two fingers into her dripping center.

“Gods, Rowan,” she moaned, her head tipping back, “don’t sto--ow!”

He pulled away immediately. “What’s wrong, Fireheart?”

She reached her free hand to the back of her head, pulling the decorative piece out of her hairdo. “Just my hairpiece smacking against the door.”

“We can rectify that,” Rowan purred, scooping her into his arms and striding across the room. He placed her down on the wheeled ladder attached to the bookshelves, kicking the brake into place. “Better, Fireheart?”

“Much,” she hummed, desire lighting her eyes, “much better.” She pulled him back to her by the collar, pressing her lips against his. Rowan tracked his lips down her throat, careful not to leave marks like he so desperately wanted to do. “Ohhh fuck,” she swore, her hips jerking of their own accord.

Rowan chuckled darkly. “Someone a little worked up?”

“You know I am, Your Grace,” she snarked.

His smirk turned predatory. “I see you still have not learned what to call me, love.” Raising her so she was a few steps up the ladder, he wrapped her hands around the rails. “Hold on, love.”

Aelin’s breath hitched as her grip tightened. “We...we don’t have much time, Ro,” she gasped as his hands tracked up her skirts, tugging her undergarments off.

“Then you must stay very still,” he rumbled, hoisting one of her legs over his shoulder. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Aelin whimpered, tensing every muscle in her lower body to keep her hips from bucking at the puff of Rowan’s hot breath across her soaked folds. 

“Good girl,” he growled. And he pressed his face into her center, his tongue sliding roughly up her folds and flicking at her clit. Aelin pressed one hand over her mouth, stifling her moans. She gripped the railing so tightly her knuckles turned white, holding on for dear life as Rowan’s tongue and teeth and lips hit every sensitive spot in her body. 

“Fuck, fuck, Rowan, wait!” she gasped breathily as she sped toward that peak. He pulled away, her arousal spread over his lips, his jaw. 

“Yes, love?” he asked, crooking one silvery brow.

“I need you,” she breathed, “please.”

Rowan crashed his lips against hers, claiming her mouth in a deep, heated kiss. One hand fumbled with the stays of his pants, freeing himself from the material and stroking. “Stay quiet for me, love,” he purred, sheathing himself inside her in one thrust.

Aelin’s head arched back against the ladder, her lovely eyes screwing shut at the finely-pain-edged pleasure. “Gods, Rowan,” she moaned, the hand over her mouth turning her words to a garble. He smirked, one hand wrapping around her hip as he moved, pounding into her relentlessly. Her little sounds mingled with his, both of them hurtling toward climax. Rowan’s other hand reached up and up, wrapping itself delicately about her throat. A keening whine escaped Aelin, her hand settling over his and tightening his hold. 

Are you sure? his eyes questioned.

Yes, hers read. Yes, yes, yes.

So he pinned her hand back against the railing and collared her throat gently, his hand flexing and tightening at the pure pleasure filling her body. His hips sped up, stuttering into hers, bringing the both of them to climax in record time as the hand wrapped around her throat squeezed once, causing Aelin to tumble off the edge, her face contorting in silent pleasure as she came. 

Rowan pulled out when they had both stilled, tucking himself back into his pants. He kissed Aelin softly, sweetly, helping her to readjust her skirts and lifting her off the ladder. 

“My hair is utterly a mess,” she teased, noticing her reflection, cast in soft moonlight, in the small mirror on one wall. “You shall have to help me fix it, Ro.”

She pulled a handful of pins out of her upswept waves, dropping them into Rowan’s hand with a plink and shaking her hair out. 

Gods, she looked like a goddess with her hair down. His goddess.

Aelin coiled her hair back up with practiced ease, holding out her hand for pins. Rowan passed the pins one by one, noting that a few stray curls had escaped her updo. Catching the strands, he gently tucked them into place, sliding the pins into her hair. Aelin’s breath hitched at the sweep of his calloused fingers across the back of her neck, at the tenderness of the gesture. Unable to stop himself, he pressed a soft kiss against the back of her neck. 

“I love you, Fireheart,” he murmured, his breath fanning across her skin.

“I love you, Ro,” she whispered, meeting his gaze in the mirror. Huffing out an exhale, she rolled her shoulders. “We ought to be returning,” she mumbled, leaning back against his chest. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her there in the moonlight, stealing this moment of peace. 

And then he opened the door, led her out, and walked back to the ballroom, back to the throng of glittering guests, none of whom had really noticed the Duke of Doranelle and Miss Galathynius slip away for a short time.

“Will I see you later tonight, my love?” he inquired in an undertone as they re-entered the ballroom. 

“I believe so, sir,” she answered, loving the way his eyes darkened once more at the term. “After all, we did not have enough time for all the things I want to do to you.”

Rowan’s breath hitched at her promise. Locking his dark, green eyes onto hers, he pressed a kiss against the back of her hand, his lips burning into her skin. “True,” he purred. “Also, my love, you shall need to recover your garments.”

Patting his pocket, he sauntered away.

It was then that Aelin remembered her underclothes were still in his pocket. And her core still throbbed, yearning for Rowan.

Shit. She was in so much shit.

~~~

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[pxper-cranes]

Winx Rewrite Worldbuilding Ideas

Ok so for a rewrite of Winx I was thinking about how the fairies and witches gain their magic and where it all comes from and how it could be streamlined to be more clear. (I wasn't going to include all the different transformations that is too convoluted for me thanks)

My Idea was that the reals of Magix were created by the Dragon Flame, or maybe some other all powerful beings as well, and once they had completed the creation of the realms, the people that inhabited them started gaining magic that corresponded to specific parts of the world. These people's powers manifested as basic things, such as light, nature, the elements and the like, with some people gaining specific magical domains, like lava, grain and rainbows. my the time the show takes place, magic has evolved to where a fairy's magical domain can be a kind of material occurrence (elements, parts of nature, etc) or it can be a more abstract concept (Like a fairy of the arts, mathematics, beauty or time). basically if something exists enough then there can be a fairy of it.

The specific kind of magical users who harness this natural magic are known as the World Fae, and the kinds of available magic come from the kinds of things that exist in the world. with an explanation like this, it explains the powers of Bloom, Aisha, Stella and Flora, but also gives explanation of Musa and Tecna, who's powers feel a little bit odd compared to the others. In the rewrite, Tecna's connection to the World Fae magic comes from the fact that, on Zenith, technology has become so ingrained that is is an abundant enough part of the world to be accepted into the magical weave of the world. Same with Musa, in the idea that Melody has enough musical presence for it to be accepted as a part of the world. with this explanation, there can also be more than one fairy of, say fire. I always thought that it was difficult to reason that each fairy's domain was completely unique, especially with the main six having such broad subjects.

Then moving onto the other magic users of Magix, the witches. for a long time, I thought of why they exist in the world, (other than to be antagonists) but then I thought it could be a different way of harnessing the same kind of magic. My idea was that fairies are born with their magic, they have it for their lives and it is specifically bonded to their soul and identity, while the magic of the witches has to be earnt. Inspiration for this dichotomy can be found in D&D, with the fairy equivalent being sorcerers, and witches being the warlock and wizard classes. Witches are people with no inherent magical connection, and so they learn how to draw magic out from the things around them, thus gaining a domain over time (Ice, storms and minds come to thought). with this kind of explanation, I feel like I get rid of the notion that for some reason almost all witches are malevolent or antagonistic, they just achieve magical feats through different means. though, with the setup, I can see a possible storylines where witches are possibly spiteful of fairies for their inherent magic, while they have to work for it. maybe there could be a villainous witch that siphons powers of fairies to fuel themselves, or maybe a fairy of some dark dangerous or malevolent force, like shadows or natural disasters, just to make some more interesting characters than "argh, I'm evil and I do x because of evilness!"

Anyway that was a ramble and a half, but just injecting another idea or two into the winx fandom, we all know they need a distraction from fate, and frankly the later seasons as well

[hematomes]

remember when i said i had the hottest takes of all? well that's it im gonna say it bc it keeps happening and it just makes me feel so bad im like,,, done

as a poc myself (mixed, african dad nd white mom just so yk), it really, really doesn't sit right with me when people edit light-skinned, existing poc characters' pictures to give them the most stereotypical black features. im talking big lips and nose, poorly-edited curly hair, obviously the dark skin etc.

im gonna have to develop a bit so it's kinda understandable? so here we go ig

i get the point. i get the need for representation, we are DYING to be represented and i fully enjoy seeing black characters in the medias i consume, every goddamn time. but i cannot understand how it's acceptable to erase other cultures AND gratuitously edit someone else's work in the process. im gonna take genshin as a simple example bc this is the only one that's affecting me right now, but im guessing it happens in other fandom as well

seeing characters from inazuma edited with the most stereotypical black features of all times just rubs me the wrong way. it's, in my eyes, like saying you think asians don't matter as much as blacks, because you're erasing one type of poc representation to favor another one, and that's not right. that's the opposite of right, even.

im not talking about blasians. they exist, im aware, they're gorgeous and valid and i do wish they had more representation in the mainstream media. but who's just as valid? light-skinned asians. (small edit: so are dark-skinned asians that aren't blasians, btw) i just came across an edited itto with half-assed curly hair, big-ass lips etc, like... the original picture was just edited. which is why i want to nuance it a bit; redrawing a character and headcanoning (is that even a word) them as blasian can be cool, why not, do your thing, it's nice. but just editing someone else's work to erase one representation and making it about something else entirely? yeah, no, doesn't seem right. the artists work their asses off to create beautiful designs, to represent a culture with details thrown around, every last bit of the character is carefully designed and... it's just so disrespectful to throw that shit away and replace it for clout?

i wish people would, idk, draw ocs, or even real fanart for that matter. but simply editing someone else's art is never ok in my opinion, and it always infuriates me because if someone edited xinyan with light skin (and claiming they headcanon her as a light-skinned asian) they would get crucified. in a heartbeat.

i might get crucified myself but im just sick and tired of seeing these edits so at this point im getting desperate.

and what pisses me off the most with them is that their notion of representation is picking the most stereotypical features, slap them on an already finished design and call it a day. im gonna be honest, this looks just as racist to me. reducing black people to big lips and nose, dark skin and curly hair is.. basically insulting. almost blackface, actually???? like, fr.

now, this is just my opinion, after going through these edits numerous times and thinking about it long and hard. once again, i get the point, but the execution is just so..? they're always, or almost always depicting black culture as the aforementioned features. im tired of seeing asian erasure and feeling fucking guilty over it as if it's my own fault.

[firelxdykatara]

Just because you've never heard a straight man admit to buying capital-R romances doesn't mean they never do, or even that it's all that rare.

It just means that they know they're more likely to be judged for it, and pretty harshly--especially by other dudes, but women can be catty about this too--and therefore are less likely to admit to liking "girly" novels. Doesn't actually mean that they aren't reading and enjoying Romance Novels, though, even they're statistically less likely to be doing so than women.

Part of the reason for that is this notion that Real Men don't like shit that's For Women. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy and all of this gender essentialist "straight men just can't comprehend that women have interiority and rich emotional lives and want to explore that in ficiton" stuff feeds it. What you really need to do is stop giving straight men an easy out to avoid admitting that they know full well that women are people too.

Also, it's a little weird that you draw such a heavy distinction between 'love stories' and 'romance', and align the former more closely with porn, when such a distinction doesn't actually exist, in my experience.

For a story to be a capital R Romance, two things need to be true: the primary plot of the novel needs to be the romantic relationship of the lead characters, and the ending must be happy, hopeful, or optimistic for the future. What that HEA/HFN looks like is heavily dependent on the novel. Nicholas Sparks gets away with killing off half of the main relationship in books like A Walk to Remember, but generally speaking, the main pairing must be alive and together and in love at the end of the novel for it to qualify as a romance.

The journey that takes them there can be literally anything. It can be a trashy (an adjective I use with utmost affection) bodice ripper where the heroine is whisked hither and yon by a big brooding alpha male pirate type before finally giving into her feelings, or it can be something much slower-paced and introspective that really digs into the inner lives and feelings of the characters, or it can be anything in between. The form these stories can take can be every bit as varied as every other genre, and will appeal to different people depending on what they want out of a story in general or a Romance in particular.

No, straight men aren't 'culturally encouraged' to like Romance novels--but that doesn't mean they don't or are incapable of understanding or relating to them. It just means they're more likely to be outwardly dismissive and/or feel ashamed of their interests, and that's something we should be trying to combat rather than reinforce.

I mean, gay dudes not being into gay romance written by womans is kinda the same vibe as straight men not liking hetromance by womens. Women like one way of romance, dudes like another, ain't nothing wrong with it, and nothing wrong with not liking it. Bet it's the same for dudes writing lesbian romance where lesbians not like it, or het romance and het women not liking that.

--

Yeah, I find a lot of dude-written f/f hot but unintentionally hilarious. That's just how it goes when you're hanging with different crowds who consume different media and have different influences.

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Epilogue

Summary: You and Ransom attend the launch of his book and the cover closes on your story.

Warnings: Bad language, Mature (NSFW, 18+) NON-CON situations, kidnap, violence. Blood. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER…READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED…YOU HAVE BEENWARNED.

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: The end! I can’t believe all this span from @jtargaryen18​’s Halloween Challenge last year. I hope you have enjoyed his as much as I have.

Word Count: 3.6k

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK series so don’t @me if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18 get off my blog!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 7

 The town car and it's driver took you to whatever swanky hotel Ransom and his publishers had decided upon, you not caring the slightest inwardly, outwardly only half paying attention. You glanced out the window watching the lights of downtown pass by as your husband of merely three weeks held your hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. 

It was a warm July evening, the two of you dressed to the nines in formal attire. Ransom had insisted the launch be an invite only, formal event. Therefore, he was dressed in a two-piece suit, black of course, with a crisp white button down, silken black tie, and you, you looked like an ice queen's slutty sister. The powder blue silk dress you wore tied together with thin straps on each shoulder, your feet already hurting in your nude six inch sandals. Your free hand tapped a neatly manicured finger over your clutch that matched your shoes. A delicate white gold and diamond tennis bracelet adorned your wrist whilst the necklace you'd been gifted at Christmas hung around your neck. You wore your hair the way he said he loved it, in a ponytail full of waves and wisps framing your face.

After the incident on Valentine’s Day, you’d spent another two weeks in the confines of the basement. All luxuries removed and you were used and abused in exactly the way you had been when Ransom had first taken you, until he’d once more sucked the fight out of you. Only this time you didn’t have the strength to find it again. 

You played the part you’d been cast in his sick little fantasy and became totally passive to his whims. You let him fuck you which, in all honesty, wasn’t an entirely unpleasant situation as he knew his way around your body and it felt good. You had given up denying it, and for the moments he was teasing those carnal reactions out of you, you escaped, let yourself imagine you were with someone who you wanted. And by keeping him sweet, you fooled him into thinking you were content. And things settled down, you had that halfway to normal life that you’d achieved before you discovered his manuscript.

But it was bullshit. A means to an end. And you deserved a fucking Oscar.

He’d had the audacity to propose to you, too. In a restaurant. Surrounded by people. He asked you the question, like you had a fucking choice.

Angry, desperate tears had filled your eyes as you’d simply gaped at him, tears the deluded cunt took for you being overwhelmed with happiness. With a smile he slipped the gaudily large diamond on your finger, sealing your fate.

It weighed as heavy on your hand as the grief for your lost life, and the despair at your situation did in your heart.

You’d had a small wedding. Attended simply by your parents and sister. He sent an invite to his mother and father but they didn’t show up. Your dad walked you down the aisle and as you walked towards the man you hated with every breath in your body, your father kissed your cheek and asked you if you were sure you wanted to do this. And no, of course you didn’t, but what could you do?

There was no way out. 

“You look as gorgeous tonight as you did on our wedding day.” Ransom’s voice slightly startled you and you turned to face him. 

You smiled at him, the smile you knew he wanted to see, as he placed a soft kiss to your cheek before doing the same to your hand, his lips ghosted over the top of the obscene rock and matching band on your finger which caught the lights of the city, sparkling with all the ferocity of a supernova.

Before you needed to reply with some half assed compliment back, the town car stopped as the driver got out and opened Ransom's door.

"Wait here," he instructed and walked around with the driver on the other side, escorting you out the minute your own door opened.

Flashbulbs fired off in your eyes, no doubt the press there for some absolutely ridiculous notion that this book was anything but its true nature of terror and disgust.

Ransom’s hand pressed into the base of your back as he guided you along in front of him, various members of the press calling his name, and you heard the excited shouts from some as they spotted the bands on both yours and Ransom’s hands, positively shrieking as they asked when you’d gotten married. 

The headlines flashed in your mind now, 'Grandson of the Great Harlan Thrombey Releases First Suspense Novel'. 'One of Boston's Most Notorious and Eligible Bachelors is Strictly Off The Market' . 'Trust Fund Playboy Sinks His Bunny'. 

It made you want to puke. 

In fact, as the press line faded and you stepped foot into the lobby, you swallowed back the bile forcing its way up. A tray with champagne flutes passed you by and you immediately snagged one.

When Ransom had been distracted for a brief moment, you quickly glanced around and swallowed back the entire flute of the bubbly drink. Delightfully enjoying the brief taste and quick head rush it gave you.

The further you walked into the event, his hand still against your bare back, the louder it grew and the more trays of champagne and appetizers were floating by.

As typical, the two of you were fashionably late so, you had little chance to take part in any nibble or further, a drink, because the supposed "man of the hour", more like terror of life, was due to give a speech.

His agent pulled the two of you aside and made mention that it was time for Ransom to greet his guests. He pressed a sickening sweet kiss to your lips and confidently took to the small podium atop a small stage nearby.

“First and foremost, thank you to everyone who came out tonight. But more importantly, thank you to my beautiful wife, without you Sweetheart, this wouldn't be possible.”

The smile he flashed you was loaded with meaning as the pair of you looked at one another, his eyes shining with the depraved private understanding you shared. 

And you hated him then just about as much as you ever had.

Excited muttering spread around the room as he had knowingly referred to you as his wife. It was the first time he’d announced your marriage to the world but, as he smiled and held his hands up, nodding smugly and confirming whatever people were asking him, you felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of nausea. To everyone else it was a sweet dedication, to you it was a sickening truth. This book was based on what he’d done to you. What he was saying was literal truth. 

And the fact that the people currently applauding whatever he had said would never realise the true nature of those words on the pages of his book made you want to vomit in your handbag.

Applause rang around the room and you realised everyone was turned in your direction. Drawing your shoulders back you stood tall and once more fixed that fake smile on your face before Ransom cleared his throat and began to speak again.

But you didn't listen, you drowned him out, the sound of his voice distant and murky like Charlie Brown's teacher. You allowed you mind to think of anything but the present, other than the fact that these people were in unknowing full support of the hell you'd been through the last nine months.

Eventually a loud, rapturous applause signalled the end of his speech and he stepped back, smiling and then turned to the man from his publishers who shook his hand furiously, before the pair of them posed for photos.

That was when he beckoned you to him, looking at you in such a way that made your skin crawl and your teeth seethe with each breath. This bastard expected a photo op from you above all this, commemorating this disaster.

On autopilot you headed towards him, indifference obedience now your specialty and his arm curled possessively round your waist, fingers splaying on your hip. You posed and smiled as the flashes went off, but as you stole a glance at the large, ornate clock on the wall, you suddenly felt your head beginning to swim.

Seeing a convenient way out of this bullshit, you made sure to falter just a little, placing your hand to your chest. It caused Ransom's attention to turn to you.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

“I’m feeling a little light headed and warm.” You looked up at him. “Could we maybe get some air?”

"Sure, yeah," he looked to his agent and they nodded towards a side door in the room.

His arm still round you, playing the doting husband, he led you towards it and opened it with a flourish, allowing you to step out in front of him. 

You emerged into the alley at the side of the building and took a huge gulp of air, steadying yourself.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

You were warm, flushed, your skin tingling as the now cooling air hit your slightly damp skin, your nipples perking at the temperature change were visible through the silk dress, and you didn’t miss the heated glance he gave them as you spoke. "I, I don't know. I think it's all the commotion."

“You do look a little flushed.” His eyes moved back to yours and he studied you for a moment, his large hands gently cupping your face as he kissed your forehead before his lips pressed to yours. “Wanna take a walk?”

Despite the fact you really couldn’t walk far in the ridiculous shoes you were in, you nodded. Anything to avoid going back in there and listening to all those sycophants kissing his ass.

He took your hand and started walking slowly down the alley. You were mid-way down when a man jumped out from behind the dumpster. You screamed and instinctively Ransom jumped to the side, pulling you slightly behind him.

“Give me the money and the jewellery, no one gets hurt.” The man spoke gruffly and you felt Ransom draw himself up to his full height as he glared at the dirty, dishevelled man, disdain on his face.

“Eat shit.”

“Ransom, just... please give him what he wants.” Your voice trembled as your body shook, your right hand already removing the rings on your left.

“I’d listen to your pretty wife, if I were you.” The man spoke as he reached into his pocket and when he withdrew his hand you swallowed at the unmistakable flash of metal.

“Fuck, Ransom, he’s got a knife!” You clutched his arm. “Please just give it to him!”

"Fuck, no," he started reaching for his phone but the man lunged toward him.

In the melee that followed, you were thrown to the side, your rings clanging to the floor somewhere along with your clutch, your palms and knees scraping painfully on the floor. By the time you’d pushed yourself up, you saw the man scrambling to his feet, Ransom’s watch and wallet in his hand. He turned to look at you and you backed away, stumbling once more to the ground letting out a blood curdling scream as he advanced. He stopped, picked up your rings and your bag, before he turned, bolting up the alley and rounding the corner, disappearing from sight.

"Y/N," the croaking voice came from your husband as he staggered towards you, a deep red seeping through his white dress shirt, his one hand attempting to stave off the bleeding. The other, cradling his phone. But he didn't get more than a few steps as he collapsed nearby. 

"Ransom!" You shrieked and heels be damned, you ran to him, looking around, "help!" 

"Call 9-1-1, Baby," he begged, trying to thrust the phone into your hand and you leaned over him. 

With a jittery hand you swiped over to the emergency call option and hit the first two digits before you glanced around again and hesitated, rising slowly to your feet.

“What...” Ransom’s chest heaved as he looked up at you, his face white with shock as you turned the phone in your hand and shrugged.

“Yeah, you see, I could call for help but...” with that you tossed his phone to the hard ground and crunched it with your stupidly high heel, rotating your foot to make double sure, the glass and metal grinding between the stiletto and the tarmac. “Whoops, looks like it got smashed in the fight.” You gave a little chuckle. “And of course, mine was in my bag which he took. Isn’t that ironic? I mean the first time you permit me to use it for something other than to contact you or my mom, I can’t.” You made a little tutting noise. “Guess I’ll just have to keep yelling and hope someone hears.”

With that you turned and screamed, a frantic yell. “Please, someone help us! Please, he’s been stabbed, call 9-1-1.” You slowly dropped back to a kneel, ignoring the sting of your grazed knees and smirked. “Dammed, I really am good at this acting shit, don’t you think, handsome?”

Ransom coughed a harsh and wet cough. His chest heaving raggedly as he struggled between catching a breath and bleeding out. 

“Y/N...” he spluttered, “you...please...”

"So many criminal junkies in Boston, Sweetheart. Plenty who will take the fall for a little hit,” you emphasised the 't' of the last word as you spoke the very same line that he had delivered to you months ago, the threat he had held over you and used to keep you in check whenever you stepped over that line. 

His eyes widened further as the realisation set in, you could see his brain working and it gave you a buzz, a sense of satisfaction to know that he understood this was your doing.

You wanted the last thing this bastard thought about to be how you were responsible for his death. But more so, his narcissistic and sociopathic tendencies be damned, you wanted him to completely understand exactly how it was his fault. 

And given the way he was bleeding and struggling for breath, you didn’t have long.

Another scream for help flew from your mouth as you pressed one hand on top of his which were now both clutched to the wound in his stomach, the other brushing his hair back slightly as you smiled down at him. 

“I told you when you threw me back in the basement that the way you treat people would come back to haunt you.” You gave a little shrug. “And, when you told the homeless guy looking in the bins on collection day a few months back to eat shit and get a job, well, he took it kinda personally. He didn’t even blink when I asked how much it would take to knock you off.”

"You..." choking on blood, "vicious..." choke,

At that you gave another loud hysteric yell for help before you turned your head back to look at him.

“See, once upon a time I thought you’d changed. But here’s the thing, a person like you doesn’t change, Hugh. You’re incapable of love. You take what you want when you want for no reason other than it pleases you.”

Another scream for help, and this time you could hear someone answering and a lot of yells as people started running towards you.

“Well, now I’ve taken your life like you took mine.” You bent down, your forehead pressing to his as you smirked. His arm reached up to grab you, his blood soaked hand curling over your cheek and side of your neck. "And you know what? It feels good."

His palm was warm and slick against your skin and his eyes blazed with anger as his fingers squeezed. You knew he was desperately trying to hurt you but you felt nothing. You smiled, as you placed a soft kiss to his lips, your words whispered as you pulled back ever so slightly. “Karma’s a bitch, and so am I. See you in hell.”

As the fake tears started to pool in your eyes once more, you allowed your lip to tremble for distraught emphasis. Blood was now trickling out of Ransom's mouth, along down his ear and to the tarmac. You pulled back just a little so as to see his eyes. You wanted to watch him choke on his own blood as he took that final breath. You started sputtering words incoherently as you amped up the hysteria, hearing the footfalls now just behind you. 

He didn’t even make it to the hospital. 

Hugh Ransom Drysdale was pronounced dead at 21:05 hours on Friday 17th July where he lay in a pool of his own blood, in that dark alleyway down the side of the hotel.

Leaving you a widow.

And free. 

***10 months later***

It was as simple as it sounded, closing your eyes and pointing to a spot on a map. Your finger ended up on Boulder. 

Colorado was far enough from the last year or so of your life that you could feel comfortable. You'd researched it, finding it to be something worth interest. Affordable. Breath-taking scenery. Incredible life altering activities and quaint little towns. The summers were supposedly warm but rarely did the temperature rise above ninety-five, the winters were supposedly very cold, dry and windy; rarely dropping below six degrees with partly cloudy skies year round.

The months following Ransom’s death had been as draining as humanly possible. The investigation had involved countless interviews before the police and authorities settled for it being a mugging gone wrong. But then there had been the months of wrangling and private law cases his parents had attempted to bring against you to prevent you getting his money, despite the probate law being fairly simple. You were married. He left no will. It was yours by default. 

Eventually, when the Drysdales had exhausted every last option, they were forced to concede and that was when you made the decision to leave, a decision of which your parents were highly encouraging. They practically talked you into this whole thing to begin with. Helping you leave your nightmares behind. Despite them not suspecting anything at first, you weren't blind to the fact that things still had not sat right with them. You knew they had suspected a level coercion, that maybe you'd had a manic episode of mental illness, but you never had divulged the full details and by the time he was gone, they hadn't cared. Your relationship with them had strengthened and healed and that was what you cared about.

Now, you were newly nestled in Boulder with a great condo downtown, a stone’s throw from the historic district that was filled with cliché shops and bars.  Whilst you didn’t need the money, you’d taken a job working in the media department of a private law firm. It was a far cry from your journalist days, but it suited you just fine.

The more distance you put between who you were now and who you had been, the better. 

You were at peace.

The May evening air was temperate as you crossed the street and opened the door to the designated bar in which you were meeting your new group of friends, mostly gathered from work, for a girl's night out. You’d been held up a little in the office so they were already waiting at a table. You waved and gestured to the bar, indicating you were going to get a drink. 

As you sidled up to the wooden counter, you were jolted a little into a man to your right. You turned to apologise and gave a little double take. You recognised him instantly. But you didn’t want to make that obvious and cause him to feel uncomfortable. You knew how it felt, to have everyone looking at you, hushed whispered comments as you went about your business, people trying to figure out if you were who they thought you were.

That was part of the reason you had moved, and you sure as hell weren’t about to subject the man next to you to the same, uncomfortable experiences. 

Recovering quickly, you hastily apologised and he smiled.

“Don’t worry about it.” His Boston accent was evident and you smiled.

“I miss that accent.” 

The man chuckled, his warm blue eyes creasing slightly as he looked at you. “You from Boston, too?”

“Concord.”

“Newton.” He replied, “well, I lived there anyway, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Should I? Know that, I mean?”

He studied you for a moment, and you kept your face as passive as possible. You could tell he knew that you knew, but you gave a shrug none-the-less and he smiled, a gorgeous smile that lit up his entire face, perfect white teeth flashing from beneath an immaculately groomed beard, as he extended his arm towards you.

“Andy Barber.” His fingers gently brushed the back of your knuckles, as you shook his hand, his grip warm and gentle.

“Oh, of course.” You smiled back. “One of our attorneys.”

“Our?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m Y/N. I work in the media department. I mean I only started a few weeks ago but...”

“Well, in that case, I’m pleased to meet you, Y/N, and welcome aboard.” His smile didn’t falter as he let go of your hand and gestured to the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

You paused for a moment before you took a deep breath.

And nodded.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

******

Sequel: Follow Andy and reader’s story in Consciousness Of Guilt. 

[pointnumbersixteen]

How do you see The Captain's coming out, and growth in confidence and self acceptance thereafter taking place?

I like this question! …and I’m probably going to elaborate on it a bit more than many people will want to read (I noticed back when I was regularly writing essay length posts that they did not get a lot of love) and it’s probably going to get even more ramble-y than usual (brain has not been braining as cooperatively as it should recently and the decision to drink half a bottle of wine right before answering this- sorry- probably does not help), but here we are.  

 About coming out scenarios, none of mine are particularly elaborate. While I do think he needs to come out for his story line to progress, I can’t imagine him making a big thing out of it (long or elaborate announcements, heart-to-hearts, emotional displays of bearing his authentic self or any of the like), either with the group, or person-by-person, for several reasons:

First off, that sort of a coming-out to-do is a more modern notion, and I doubt he was a particularly modern person even when he was alive, seventy-five years ago. His notions of privacy and propriety are probably much more conservative than ours, and I feel like that makes it unlikely that he’d go into any sort of detail, at least at early in this process, about his feelings/emotions or the specificities of his attractions. We’re talking about a man who doesn’t even use his own name. It’s difficult to picture him going into depth about his desires and love life.

Secondly, he’s a bit of a social coward. (He’s not a physical coward, of course, he jumped on that bomb in the garden without hesitation, and acknowledged after the fact that he gotten caught up in the moment, and therefore hadn’t really thought about how a bomb couldn’t hurt him.) And I get it, I’m a bit of a social coward, too, so no judgement. He probably faced a lot of ridicule in his life. Being a social coward is totally fair. But he doesn’t put himself into situations that might involve awkward interpersonal interactions if he can help it, and legs it whenever interactions he’s already in become to awkward for him. I feel like he’s probably quite desperate (although he’d never admit to it) to save face and protect what bits of his ego remain unscathed.

Think about it: he could have spoken to Fanny on his own about her nightly screaming disturbing him in s1e1, they have a clear association established at the outset of the show, they leave Heather’s room together at the end of the very first scene, but he doesn’t do so until he has the weight of the whole group to back him up about the screaming at their meeting. He had to buck up his courage and give himself his little ‘over the top we go’ pep talk before going to speak to Alison in Gorilla War. Also, if there was actually something wrong with his soldiers’ horseplay after hours in Reddy Weddy- if it was breaking regulations or even his own orders for quiet hours- and he heard it, he could have gone down directly when he heard it, confronted whoever was involved and order them to stop or put them on report. But no, instead he addressed the entire group of soldiers in a sixteen point morning brief. He even dispatched Pat to confront Alison about the party in s2e2, instead doing it himself… and spit out his apology/reconciliation with Pat at the end as fast as possible. And as for legging it when things get awkward, see his retreats following the group confronting him in Getting Out and after Alison telling him he wasn’t needed in the Grey Lady- and on a more figurative than literal level, but most relevantly, his quick turn from ‘I’ll miss you’ to ‘we’ll miss you’ with Havers in Reddy Weddy.

This is not a man who wants to be in awkward or embarrassing situations. And I think that coming out, at least at first, will probably be a bit embarrassing for him- it was scandalous in his time, and I think it will take him longer to get over that feeling and come to terms with himself than it will to finally acknowledge that he’s gay. So I doubt he’d make more of it than he utterly feels he has to, at least at first. And of course, he’d have to be a bit afraid that people would judge him or stop associating with him over it, as sadly, in his own time many people would have done, and most of the ghosts are from even earlier times than he was. So that might add more hesitation…

And thirdly, he doesn’t like and/or respect many of his house mates. The other twentieth century ghosts are the only ones he spends much time with. I doubt he’d go out of his way to communicate much of anything to the rest if it wasn’t “mission related” much less discuss his sexuality with them. He mostly disregards Humphrey. See his, “Oh, it’s you.” Mary obviously doesn’t like him and he only associates with her when it might be useful for his ‘missions.’ He clearly doesn’t think much of Thomas and doesn’t really even bother including him in his plans. These aren’t people he’s going to have heart-to-hearts with.

With those constraints in place, here’s a non-exhaustive list of possibilities by which I might see his coming out finally happening. They’re really just scenarios I made for myself on how I might see him coming out and I like to keep my options open (the first three are strategies he might go for, the last is an alternate scenario, presented in decreasing levels of directness on his part):

1) The ‘pull the bandage off quickly and hope it doesn’t sting too much’ strategy.

The Captain waits for the end of one of their various group activities or meetings, where all announcements seem to be made, gets up, clears his throat, stammers a bit, announces it tersely, using the most proper popular word for homosexuality that existed in his time (think: “Heh-hem. Er. Um. Well. It has recently come to my attention that I am- er- well- as it happens- gay. I, uh, thought it should be noted. That is all.”), and then beats a hasty retreat, so he doesn’t have to try to cope with the potentially negative aftermath. Of course, there isn’t a negative aftermath, because many of the ghosts already have guessed and the rest don’t really care. Someone, probably Pat, because he does the bulk of the emotional labor in the group, and more importantly, he’s Cap’s closest friend, would have to go after him. He would of course be initially defensive, and Pat would have to sooth his feathers a bit- or maybe just spit it out over his defensiveness- that he guessed a long time ago and so had plenty of other people, and they were just waiting for him to be ready, and really, it’s fine, and no one’s going to disown him for it.  

2) The ‘well maybe I should tell my friends with the hope they support me’ strategy.

He gets together with a small group, the people whose company he actually values, definitely Fanny and Pat, maybe Julian, probably Alison either at the same time or after he finishes with his ghosts pals, and says it in much the same way as the previous scenario, but waiting for their reactions rather than retreating straight away. Pat and Alison, I expect, would answer with something like ‘yeah, we figured that one out a long time ago, actually, and it’s completely fine’ and Julian’s reaction would probably be something like, ‘well, obviously.’ Fanny’s had a lot of character growth since season one, when I expect her reaction would have been very shrill and judgmental, probably still would be a touch less warm and/or nonchalant, but I picture it as something like a sigh, followed by a pat on the arm and something like, ‘well, I still like you better than everyone else here, anyway.’ Word would eventually trickle to everyone else by way of social osmosis. Or not. No one seems to care if Humphrey or the plague ghosts are well informed.  

3) The ‘I’m not brave enough to actually go through the process of actually telling anyone anything about me so let’s just drop hints and hope everyone figures it out without making a big deal about it’ strategy.  

The indirect approach (I’m rather fond of this one, but mostly because it was my own primary coming out approach)… he first sends out feelers to certain people on the topic of homosexuality, probably Alison, since she’s modern, hosted a lesbian wedding, and very much implied that she’d be ready to keep scandalous secrets for him in Reddy Weddy, and  possibly maybe also Julian, as he’s the most sexually experienced/knowledgeable, and after Alison spent a while inundating him with ‘it’s okay to be gay’ messages (along with a sudden and entirely unexplained influx of LGBT media) as she’s socially clever enough to see that’s what he’s looking for and after Julian spent a while telling him probably far more than he ever actually wanted to know about the potentialities of gay sex, that might boost the Captain’s confidence enough to let him start dropping hints to people, instead of telling them outright (consciously commenting on the attractiveness of men they see rather than occasionally accidentally blurting it out- see ‘the handsome one’- occasionally putting forth an opinion or stance on the LGBT world ‘it would have been nice if gay marriage was acceptable when I was alive,’ maybe occasionally mentioning how certain men would make cute couple), expecting them to meet him in the middle and figure out the point on their own… of course, many of them have already realized, so this isn’t a problem. It’s entirely possible, though, that Mary (world view not terribly grounded in reality) and Kitty (lack of life experience and/or instruction about life, see the how are babies made subplot) never pick up the hints on their own and someone else eventually has to tell them.

4) The ‘someone puts him out of his misery’ scenario.

Cap acknowledges to himself that he’s gay first and then, wishing to avoid embarrassment or lack of acceptance, obviously, awkwardly, painfully tries to disguise it and in doing so draws attention to it, until a third party decides to put him out of his misery and tell him that many of them figured it out ages ago and that everyone is fine with it. Maybe Pat. Maybe Alison. I kind of like the idea of it being Fanny (with her lovely character growth and her couple of suspicious glances his way in the Perfect Day), actually, by way of something like ‘You know, I was entirely prepared to continue on living with my husband, George, keeping his secrets, about the, uh, sort of person he was, and you’re at least one better than him, given that you at least never murdered me- or, for that matter, never married some poor woman you had no interest in to shield yourself from scrutiny… and so, what I’m saying is, I wouldn’t turn my back on you for being the, uh, sort of person you are, either, and maybe things have progressed enough that you don’t actually have to keep secrets at all.’ Cap would take all of this in with a mixture of mortification and relief. I’m rather fond of this scenario, too.  

 As for the second bit of the question, once his sexuality is out there, though, and no one judges him or hates him for it- and some are quite supportive- I do see him becoming more self-accepting. If no one’s judging him, does he need to judge himself so harshly? And also more confident. Because some of those things that he’s always felt different about and in the past has probably been ridiculed about in the past (even if he’s in denial about being gay, he and quite a few other people had to at the very least note that he’s not particularly interested in women), are, apparently just fine now. So he’s a bit more just fine now himself. And that weight of always trying to be someone else, someone who’s just right, can lift and he can relax a bit more. And that would probably help him a lot, too. I see it as a slow sort of thawing process. No matter what way he comes out, I still see Alison as very helpfully providing a variety of LGBT media to help this process along. And maybe he’d eventually get to the point where he processed enough and warmed up enough to be able to talk more in depth, at least with his friends, about what it was like being him in repressed pre-war Britain, and what sort of men he’s attracted to (I enjoy the idea of him and Fanny- gradually overcoming her own repression- scoping out hot men together). Maybe he’ll even luck out one of his male housemates will decide (or has already decided) that bisexuality is a valid option and he’ll get a date (insert whichever ghost y’all ship him with here). I bet Alison would totally help him set up a nice date, too, with her convenient still-functional-in-the-mortal-realm hands. And it would be nice to maybe see him get a taste of actual happiness.