#WHERE IS IT EVEN STATED THAT THEY FIGHT EVER. WHY ARE WE SO HELLBENT ON THIS

[gardenofgods]

i think the pokemon company should let me rewrite the diancie movie. i will make it 1000% more gay and have 0% fighting at all. she really is just there to take psychic damage depending on what part of her dads relationship it would take place in, and i think it would be objectively funnier and more cool for it to just be idiot sandwich: the movie

[seriouslysam8]

can I ask why you don’t like hermione?

I find Hermione’s character completely insufferable (to quote one of my least favorite characters.)

She has a superiority complex. She legit thinks she’s the smartest person ever. Sure, she’s got book-smarts. But she often dismisses and talks down to Harry and Ron (her supposed best friends) so imagine how she talks to someone like Lavender who is the complete opposite of her. She often dismisses Harry’s ideas because she thinks her way of doing things is better.

She lacks sympathy, especially if she thinks she’s right about something. Look, she was right about the DOM. And Harry was in a highly emotional state because his literal only family was in danger. She just comes off as so self-righteous and uncaring in that scene. In contrast to Ginny who is very much like “I care about him too!” And you know Hermione already doesn’t like Sirius. You can tell in OOTP that she dislikes him.

She’s an annoying friend. I would not be friends with Hermione in real life. In POA, she’s right the Firebolt was from Sirius, but the way she goes about telling McGonagall behind Harry’s back is just not being a very good friend, especially in the realm of a teenager. Hell, even as an adult, that would annoy the hell out of me. Voice your concerns and suggest checking out the broom, but don’t go tattling behind your friend’s back.

She’s so hypocritical. She’s so hellbent on following the rules but yet she does the most unhinged shit like scarring Marietta and trapping Rita in a jar. Sure, those characters are annoying but that’s a bit extreme. Not to mention, she can date Krum but Ron can’t date Lavender? She has to send a flock of birds to attack him? Like sit down.

You see other characters have growth in the series but she never does because she already thinks she’s the best and she’s always right. It’s hard to even find a fanfic story where she doesn’t swoop in with all the right answers and being obnoxious. Like can we just celebrate that Harry and Ron are smart too? Why is that so hard?

The total way Ron pushed back so Hermione can shine is annoying as well. Hermione is always highlighted as Harry’s best friend. She wasn’t. Harry was literally annoyed with her all the damn time. He didn’t care when they fought in POA, in contrast to him being depressed and acting like he lost a limb when he fought with Ron in GOF. In DH, when Ron was gone, Harry and Hermione barely talked. There was no dancing scene or the two being close. Harry only stared at Ginny’s dot while Hermione cried. Hermione was, arguably, a better friend to Harry than Harry was to Hermione. She doesn’t even realize that. She’s always on him and annoying him.

But here’s the thing. You don’t have to agree with me. You can love Hermione all you want. But I’m also allowed to dislike her character. I’m not obligated to write her character or to write Romione or anything. I find it so weird that I am a Hinny writer, but people get upset about the lack of Hermione. If I never had a tumblr, nobody would even know I dislike her character because I don’t fucking bash her in my writing. I find bashing characters lazy writing. Just because I’m writing Harry and Hermione fighting in Brumous and not talking so therefore do not write Hermione scenes is not bashing. Just because I was going to have Romione get a divorce in Legerdemain is not bashing. I didn’t even want to kill her in Legerdemain but I was stupid and listened to people on tumblr saying that was better than a divorce for some reason and felt pressured into it. So blame the Romione fans and not me for her death who thought death was better than divorce.

But I am so sick of people coming at me for literally not writing Hermione or complaining about it. I am the writer. I do this for free. I am not obligated to write anything or anyone I don’t want to. If you don’t like, don’t read. And don’t bash a real life person over a fictional character. Like it’s weird. I just want to write my silly little angsty stories but the Hermione bullshit is so frustrating. I don’t understand the love.

If you don’t agree with me, that’s fine. I’m not arguing in the comments and will ignore/block you if my comments are filled with hate.

[cherrycola27]

Nevermore

Part 4: Only this, and Nothing More.

Paring: Rooster x OC Skylar "Raven" Blackwood

Warnings: Language, fighting. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI

"So, that went well" Maverick states when he and Raven exit Admiral Simpson's office. "Better than I thought it would have, though I was a bit concerned that he immediately went to the negative side of things when he saw us." She states.

"Tends to happen almost every time I'm in an Admiral's office. I seem to piss them off a lot." Maverick shrugs as if he doesn't care, unbothered by the situation.

"I can't say the same, I buzzed the tower one time on a dare and got chewed out, never did it again" Raven tells him as they walk towards the classroom.

"Must be your mother in you. Buzzing the tower is one of my favorite things to do." Maverick grins. "But I will say, you remind me a lot of myself when you fly. You react, you do"

"I've always done that, I have this sixth sense in the air, I always have. Guess I know why now, I must have inherited it." Raven says as they walk into the room. It's still early, they have an 90 minutes until everyone is supposed to report.

"So, would you mind if I asked you some questions, got to know you a little better?" Maverick asked her.

"Only if I get to as well." Skylar replies. "Deal" He agrees.

After about 30 minutes of learning things about each other, Maverick turned to Skylar and asked her something that had been weighing heavy on his mind: "What happened between you and Rooster?"

Raven was taken aback by the question, she hadn't expected it to come from his mouth.

"I only ask, because he hasn't been himself since you've been here. He has gone back to some of his old ways, things I thought he had gotten past." Maverick continued.

"I broke his heart." Skylar said plainly. "I lied to him at the end of flight school. I was given the chance to pick my station, I could have gone with him. But then I was offered a covert mission, the one where I earned my first kill and my call sign. I was so hellbent on proving myself that I took it. And I told him that I didn't have a choice." Raven explained to him.

"Wow, that's, does he know?" Maverick asked.

"No, he doesn't, and that's not even the worst part." She sighed. Maverick looked at her with heavy eyes as she gathered herself to tell him more.

"He asked me to marry him. Told me he loved me, and if we got married we could stay together... and I told him no."

"Oh.... fuck....are you serious?" Maverick was baffled at her confession. "I told him I wasn't ready for that kind of commitment, I loved him but, that wasn't what I wanted. We decided to stay friends. But we lost touch, until I came back here." She finished

For once in his life Pete Mitchell was speechless. "Guess you're more like me than I thought."

"What do you mean?" She asked him

"There were a few women in my past, your mom and Penny for example... I left them because I was focused on my career too." He told her.

"Penny like the bartender?" Raven asked him. "Yup." He responded.

"Now the thing is Mav, I don't know if I could ever tell Bradley the real reason I said no. Because I did love him, even though we only were together six months, I've never loved anyone besides him. I still love him if I'm being honest. But, if I tell him what really happened, that I chose my career over him, that I've lied to him all these years, he'll never trust me again. And if he doesn't trust me, I can't fly this mission." Skylar states, her voice heavy with despair.

"Can I give you some... fatherly advice?" Maverick asks her. She shakes her head.

"You have to tell Rooster the truth, it's the only way either of you can move forward, and the only way he is going to be able to get out of his head." Maverick tells her.

"Tell me the truth about what?" Rooster's voice cuts through the classroom. Both Maverick and Raven jump up, startled by him.

"Rooster, you're early." Skylar stammers out. Panic flashes across her eyes.

"I'm always early, but what do you need to tell me the truth about Skylar? Maverick already called me last night about your situation so I know it's not that". He states as he walks futher into the room

"Oh wow I didn't know he told you. We just talked to Cyclone this morning about it, we were going to tell the rest of the team today." Skylar says avoiding his question.

"Cut the bullshit Raven! What do you need to tell me the truth about?!" Rooster yelled while slamming his hand down on the table. Skylar jumped at the sound. She didn't like the way he used her call sign instead of her name.

"About my orders after fight school." She whispered out.

"What about them?" He asked, his voice still thick with anger.

"I didn't have to go Asia if I didn't want to. They gave me a choice of where I wanted to go, or if I wanted to fly a covert mission. I chose to got across the world instead of staying with you." She confessed.

Rooster stood there for a moment processing, Maverick looked between the two of them, not sure if he should say something or not.

"You could have went with me. You could have stayed." Rooster spoke. A statement rather than a question.

"Roosie, I" She tried to defend herself

"Don't 'Rooise' me!" He shouted at her.

"I begged you to talk to them, to try and change your placement. I held you when you cried and you told me everything would be alright! I poured my heart out to you! I asked you to fucking MARRY ME Skylar because I loved you and I didn't want to lose you! But you lied to me! You could have chose me but you DIDN'T! I've never loved anyone besides you, and it was all what? A game to you? Did I even mean anything to you?" Rooster screamed. His face was flushed with anger.

"Bradley I..." she tried to interjected but he cut her off.

"I can't believe how selfish you were Raven! How could you! Maybe I've should have seen that you were Maverick's kid from a mile away because just like him, you always chose your career over everything! Did you even love me? Did you even care?" He yelled as a few stray tears slipped down his cheeks.

"Rooster, of course I cared. And I did love you.... I still do." Skylar whimpered out her own tears fell.

Rooster clenched his fist and grabbed his things.

"I don't even know who you are anymore. I thought you were my friend Skylar. I thought you loved me. Guess I was wrong." Bradley spat as he walked towards the door.

"Where are you going we have training?" Raven asked. He paused and turned around. "I earned a day pass last week for shooting down Maverick. I'm using it today." He seethed before going to open the door.

"Oh, and have fun with your little 'daddy- daughter training job today." He said before pushing past the rest of the squad who had arrived just in time to hear his last comment and watch him storm away.

The rest of the team filed in and sat down in complete silence until Hangman finally spoke up. "So do either of you want to tell us what the fuck that was about?" He asked looking between Maverick and Raven.

She tried to regain her composure, but it was no use. Skylar quickly grabbed her bag and ran out of the classroom.

She had to get to Bradley, she had to make things right. She recalled what Maverick had said to her the day before, you can't change the past, but you can fix the future.

She scrambled into the parking lot to find that Rooster and his Bronco were gone, thankfully she knew where he was living.

She sped to the house he told her he had purchased not long ago and was relieved to find his car parked there.

She jumped out of hers and bounded up the steps. She pounded on his front door until she head his heavy footsteps behind it and the lock turn. When he opened the door, he tried to slam it right back in there face, but Skylar managed to wedge her boot in the frame.

"Bradley please, let me explain." She begged him. He sighed, knowing she wouldn't leave until her point was made, he begrudgingly opened the door.

Skylar rushed in a poured her heart out to him. She told him how sorry she was and that she was scared when he brought up marriage. She was afraid of losing him or worse losing herself. She had to fight to get where she was in life and she always felt like she had something to prove.

She begged him for his forgiveness, because she didn't want to lose him again. Tears streaked her face as she plead her case, and when she was done she told him something he had longed to hear for ages. "I still love you Bradley, I never stopped."

After she finished word vomiting her feelings she stood there in his living room panting, waiting for his response. Rooster's face was expressionless.

"Well I guess that's all then, see you on base Monday." Skylar said after a few more moments of silence. She moved to walk past him and leave, but Rooster reached out and grabbed her by her bicep, halting her movements.

She looked up at him and then back down to where he was holding her. It wasn't a tight grip, she could easily break free if she wanted to. They both knew that, but she didn't, she wanted to know what he was going to say.

But instead of speaking, Rooster pulled her closer and crashed his mouth into hers.

The kiss was hot, heavy, and demanding.

He yanked her body into him as their mouths moved together. Their kisses were filled with anger, emotion, a longing, a need that both of them had burning inside them for the past seven years.

Ravens arms wrapped around his neck as she fisted his curls. She tugged on them hard, causing a growl to escape Rooster.

He moved them backwards until Skylar felt her back make contact with the wall. Rooster continued to assulat her mouth, it was a messy mix of lip, teeth, and tongues.

He peeled his lips away from hers and moved them across the column of her throat as his fingers unzipped her flight suit and pushed it off her body. Skylars hands moves to push his pants off his hips while Rooster stripped himself of his shirt. Both articles of clothing were tossed somewhere in his living room.

He pressed Skylar back against the wall and grabbed her arms, pinning them above her head. She struggled in his grip but he held her firmly in place.

He tapped her hips and she jumped to wrap her legs around his waist. She could feel his hard cock grinding into her core.

"Bedroom" she groaned against his lips. Rooster must have agreeded, because soon he was peeling her away from the wall and blindly stumbling towards his room. He didn't account for his long forgotten shirt to trip him up. He slipped causing him to roughly drop Skylar on his sofa.

Without missing a beat, she pulled him down with her and straddled his waist.

She ground her core down on him, her panties were already soaked through she knew he could feel her wetness between them.

Her pulled her sports bra over her head and tossed it behind the couch.

She took the opportunity to seal her lips on his pulse point causing him to let out a low moan and jolt his hips upward.

"Fuck" She cursed under her breath at the sensation.

Using his feet as leverage he flipped Raven into a sitting position and knelt to the floor infront of her. She gasped at the sensation and groan at the sight before her.

Rooster was kneeling between her thighs, his lips coated with their mixed saliva, cheeks flushed, and curls askew. He leaned down and sucked her clit into his mouth over her panties. She cried out at the sensation as he repeated it again.

"Shit Rooster." She moaned out as he fisted her underwear and ripped them from her body.

She didn't have a moment to protest before his lips were on her core.

Skylar ground her center against his face, his mustache supplying a delightful friction that she had been missing.

"Fuck Bradley just like that. Feels so good." So moaned out throwing her head back.

Skylar tasted like heaven to him, and Rooster would be lying if he said he didn't miss the way his name sounded when it left her lips or the way she pulled at his hair while his fingers and tongue worked in tandem. He was painfully hard straining against his boxers but he so desperately wanted to make her scream for him like she used to.

He pushed a second finger into her and curled them up in a way that he knew would have her seeing starts. The traced his tongue over her swollen, throbbing bundled as she bucked faster and harder against his face.

"That's it baby, take what you need from me. Cum for me Skylar, need to taste more of you." He groaned into her center.

Skylar chased her as she writhed above him on the couch. Her eyes screwed shut as he curled his wrist and his nibble fingers hit her gspot. She screamed Bradley's name as he worked her through her high.

It was incredible, she hadn't felt that good since the last time they were together. None of her other partners could work her like he could.

Soon his lips became too much and she pulled his face away. The trail of spit that dangled from his mouth and connected to her core had her clenching around nothing.

She may have just had a mind blowing orgasm, but she needed more.

Skylar pushed Rooster onto his back, he hit the living room rug with a thud and she climb on top of him, kissing him with fervor.

"What happened to the bedroom?" He asked in-between kisses.

"S'been seven years. Don't want to wait seven more seconds." She groans out as she pulled his boxers down and his cock sprang free.

God it was still just as glorious as she remembered it.

She wrapped her hand around him and gave him a few strokes. He thrust up into her fist and groaned at the sensation.

"Fuck Sky, need you now." He moaned. She removed her hand and straddled him.

"C-condom?" He gritted out as she slid her wetness over his length.

"On the pill and clean." She replied. "Clean too." He groaned.

That was all she needed to hear before grasping onto the base of his length and sliding down on it. When he was filled seated in her she paused for a minute to get used to his size.

No one she had been with in the past compared to Bradley. He was surely the biggest she had ever been with. The stretch he provided toed the line between pain and pleasure.

She flexed around him causing him to be pulled deeper into her if that was even possible.

After a few moments. She could feel Rooster stirring under her, desperately trying not to drive up into her.

She placed her hands on his torso and and rose up almost completely off of him and sank back down on him.

"Fuck" He hissed out. Skylar repeated the motion starting off slow and building up her rhythm.

Rooster's hands found her hips and gripped them. She felt the blunt tips of his nails dig into her flesh and she was certain she would have finger print shaped bruises on her for weeks to come.

Throwing caution to the wind Rooster planted his feet and began to drive up into her. Meeting her thrust for thrust.

"Shit Sky, you feel so fucking good around me. Forgot how good this little cunt felt taking my cock. He groaned as he continued to drive into her.

Rooster sat up, changing the angle at which he was meeting her. The head of his cock found that spongy area deep inside her.

"Oh fuck Bradley, right there!" Skylar cried throwing her head back. She wrapped her arms around his torso. Her hands clawed at his shoulder blades, surely leaving evidence of their romp behind.

In a moment of hazy desire Rooster flipped Raven under him. Her back hit the floor with a soft thud.

Rooster took a moment and leaned back on his calves. Raven looked back at him... took shocked or too far gone in her pleasure to argue with him.

He picked up his movements at a much slower pace than before earning his a groan of dissatisfaction from her.

"Rooster.. Rooster... please." She whimpered

He picked his pace up slightly. God he loved it when she begged.

"Please, please, harder, faster, I need more!" Raven called out from under him.

"Rooster!" She moaned trying to meet his thrust to get herself to that much needed peak.

"Say my name and I'll let you cum." Rooster purred to her as he drove his hips into her.

"Rooster please let me cum!" Skylar begged.

"That's not my name princess. He retorted.

"Bradley... please!" She cried out again.

Rooster gave a disapproving tsk as his finger began to circle her clit. "Still not the name I'm looking for Baby Girl.

In the back of mind Skylar knew what he wanted her to say, but she was trying so hard not to break.

"Lieutenant Commader Bradshaw, please sir let me cum!" She panted. God she was so close, yet so far away.

Rooster's larger hand snapped forward and wrapped around her throat. He leaned down close to her. "Skylar, you know who I am, you know who the only person is that can make you feel this good, quit being a brat and just say it." He whispered in her her.

Skylar couldn't fight it anymore. She knew he was right.

"Daddy!" She screamed. "Daddy, please, please, please let me cum.

"Good Girl." Rooster praised her. He pushed one of her legs over his shoulder and quickened his pace. He was relentless against.

"YesDaddyYesYesYes!" Skylar babbled out as her orgasam slammed into her. Bradley fucked her through it before following suit, spilling hot and deep into her.

His body collapsed on top of her.

He rolled over onto his side as to not crush her with his weight.

Rooster pulled Raven onto his chest. They both lay there sweaty and panting.

Neither of them spoke. The only other sound in the room was their breathing and their erratic heart beats.

They both looked at each other for a moment before Skylar sat up and spoke.

"I'm sorry I hid the truth from you all these years. I never wanted to hurt you Bradley, because I do love you. I spent so much of my life not knowing who part of me was. I felt like I always had to to prove myself. I lost sight of what was important."

"I'm sorry too Sky. We were kids back when flight school ended. I was just afraidlosing you. Everyone I ever loved I lost. I was scared of that happening, and I came on too strong, and I pushed you away. I lost you." Rooster spoke.

"I think we both made some mistakes. I think we both have regrets, but I'm willing to try again... if you are." Skylar looked at him with hopeful eyes.

"Yeah. I'd like that too." Rooster replied before kissing her.

Their sweet moment was short lived thanks to a knock on Rooster's door.

"Rooster, Raven, I know you two are in there, both of your cars are in the driveway. Can I please come in?" Maverick called to them.

An oh shit look crossed both of their faces as the two pilots scrambled to get their clothes back on.

"Just a minute Mav!" Rooster called out to him.

"Shit!" Raven cries as she caught sight of herself in the mirror in his living room. Right above her collar was a red mark, a piece of evidence of their encounter.

"Um... go to the bathroom and see I have some bandaids to cover it up?" Rooster suggested as she looked to him for advice.

Skylar quickly ran out of the room while Bradley attempted to hide any trace of the sex he and Raven had just had.

Now that Maverick knew he was her father, he didn't want to get on his bad side.

He opened the door. "Hey Maverick." He greeted him nervously.

"Hi Rooster. Is Raven here?" Maverick asked taking a skeptical step in.

"Yeah she is in the bathroom." Rooster replied scratching his next. Moments later Raven emerged.

"Oh hey Mav—Da—um" She trailed off honestly not sure what to call him.

"Hi Raven." He greeted her. Raven went and stood next to Rooster. Both of them with nervous grins on their faces.

"So I take it you two worked everything out?" Maverick asked looking between them.

"Yes Sir, we sure did." Rooster answered quickly.

"I see." Maverick responded. "So... you're good? Everything okay? Nothing I should be worried about?

"No sir, everything is fine." Raven smiled.

"Okay, well... I'll see you on Monday then." Maverick stated before walking out the door.

Both Rooster and Raven took a deep breath before Rooster's phone pinged.

The blood drained from his face after reading the message.

"What does it say?" Raven asked. Rooster turned the phone to her unable to speak

Maverick: Rooster, just a reminder that any...marks... visible in uniform can result in a citation for destruction of government property. I don't care what you and Raven do, just be safe and smart about it.

Raven turned red as a beet once she read the message. She then looked at Bradley and saw the exact mark her father and texted him about.

"Well... its a good thing we have the weekend off!" She laughed before kissing him.

Tag List: @dreamingathighaltitude @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @mak-32 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @rosiahills22 @thedroneranger @itsdesireexx @eruannaaa-blog @roosterforme

[ragingbookdragon]

These Words You Should Always Remember: To You, My Heart I Surrender

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 4.6 Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence, Angst

Author's Note: This wasn't supposed to be 4K words y'all. I swear. But y'all better love me for it. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

There were the occasional sounds of fists meeting faces and shins hitting sides echoing in her ears, but she paid them no mind, eyes trained on the screen before her. She was content to let her brother and oldest friend beat the ever-living shit out of each other if it meant they’d eventually put their feelings aside and make up. Of course, it was a long-shot pipe dream and one not so easily reached—she could hope though.

Over the sound of the continual fighting came footsteps, followed by, “Aunt (Y/N). How’s it hangin’?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at her second nephew. “Jason,” she greeted warmly, and he bent down beside her, letting her press a kiss to his temple. “What are you doing here so late? I thought you and Roy were going to Panama City tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

He shrugged. “Plane leaves in the morning. Figured I’d hang around here for the night to say a couple ‘see you laters’.” Jason’s eyes followed the screen. “Is that the human trafficking ring out of Saint Petersburg?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) answered, turning to click at the mouse. “Some lawyers from the courts around here got caught in a hotel room with a few of the girls.”

Someone new appeared in her peripheral, two people actually, Tim and Dick. “Didn’t they arrest everybody in the hotel room?” Tim asked, propping his chin on her shoulder.

She reached up and scratched his scalp the way he liked. “They did. The girls were sent to a secure facility for treatment and the lawyers have unsurprisingly lawyered up. None of them are talking.” (Y/N) clicked on the screen, opening a tab that led to an interrogation room. “Gordon’s not having any luck. Whoever’s running this operation is obviously terrifying enough that none of these guys are cracking. Even with the threat of getting sent to prison for life.”

“Want some help?” Dick offered and she shook her head.

“Nah. We adults have it.” (Y/N) looked at them and smiled. “You guys go do what young people do. Hang out with your friends, drink, party, be young.”

“I feel like you’re saying that to the wrong trio,” Tim said. “None of us drink except Jason and even then, none of us party.”

She shook her head again, this time in shame. “God, you people need to live.”

Jason happened to glance over her head, and he frowned. “Speaking of needing to live…you might wanna stop Bruce and GM from killing one another.”

(Y/N) turned in the direction of her friend and brother and sighed. “Am I a terrible person for considering letting them punch each other unconscious?”

“Nope!” came unified response and she chuckled, rising from her seat.

“Thought so,” she said, walking over to where Bruce and Ghost-Maker were about to go at it again.

She stepped in between them, gracefully dodging a throw punch and a kicked-out leg, shoving both of them back in return. “Hey, enough.”

“Move.” Bruce commanded and she glared at him.

“I said, enough.” Her head turned to Ghost-Maker. “We all know this little sparring match has gone a bit farther than just training.”

“No one’s getting hurt, (Y/N).” Ghost-Maker said, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Maybe not right now, but someone will get hurt and we don’t need that.” She pointed to the opposite ends of the room. “Separate and cool off. Both of you.”

Seeing that she wasn’t going to budge, Bruce let out a puff of air and turned, striding into the showers, leaving her and the other man on the mats. (Y/N) sighed quietly, rubbing her temples, and griped, “I swear you both make it so difficult to be around.”

“Only because he lets his emotions get in the way.”

(Y/N) looked up at him, watching as he wiped the sweat from his face. She caught his hand. “You busted your knuckles.”

“I’ll be fine.” He started to pull away and she tightened her grip.

“Don’t even start with me, Ghost.” She tugged him to the med bay and shoved him towards a seat. “Sit.” He obeyed, though she could tell he was probably making a face at her, and she busied herself with finding the antiseptic and some wraps.

Turning back around, she perched herself on the desk and placed his hand in her lap, gently wiping the blood and dirt away from the wounds; then she set the rag aside and wrapped his knuckles with the fresh gauze, carefully, as if he were made of glass.

When she was finished, she couldn’t help but do the childish thing she’d come up with all those years ago during their training; (Y/N) softly rubbed her thumbs over his knuckles, blowing quietly, then she murmured, “There. All healed.”

A rare smile came over his lips, though she could tell it was more of a sneer than one. “You’re still doing that?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and shoved his hand off her legs. “Yes. How do you think I managed to heal all the wounds me and the family have gotten over the years?”

“Hmm, stitches and alcohol.”

“Smart-ass,” she grunted, rising to her feet. “You hungry?”

Ghost-Maker stood from his seat. “No. I have to get back to The Haunt.”

“Hot date waiting?” (Y/N) cracked, elbowing him in the side and he snorted.

“No. I need to read up on the information Icon’s run through since I’ve been gone.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, gazing at him. “You know I’m doing that right now with our scans, right?”

“Of course, I do. But you’re not Icon.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Great, I’ve been beaten by an AI.”

“An AI that I designed.” Ghost-Maker added, and she glared at him for a moment before chuckling.

“With fear, so I’ve heard.”

He shrugged. “I figured I would give him the one thing I lack.” He looked over at her. “Do you want to come with me?”

She wanted to, but she sighed heavily. “I can’t.” her eyes found the shower room door. “Someone needs to stay behind and talk to him.”

“I’m not surprised you’re staying.”

It was all he said before he disappeared from her sight and (Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek as something aching tugged deep in her chest. She hated how easy it was for her to understand when Ghost-Maker was disappointed in her decisions. How easy it was for him to impact her feelings. It’d been almost two decades since they actually held real conversations and every memory of the time they’d spent together, her, him, and her brother came back to her. Every moment of watching the two boys go head-to-head, and her torn between her family and the man she loved—it’d always been that way…and sometimes she wished she were like Ghost-Maker, unfeeling of love and empathy.

She shook herself from her stupor and walked into the locker room, leaning against the wall of the closed shower door; she could see his feet beneath the door. “Why do you always let yourself get so angry when it comes to Ghost?”

“You know why.” Bruce retorted. “You know how he is.”

“And I know how you are,” (Y/N) countered. “Yet you refuse to admit that on some level he’s got good points.”

He stuck his hand out from the opening of the door. “Towel.” She waited. “Please.”

Handing it over, she said, “You and I both know the longer we do this the darker it gets…the darker we get.”

“I’m not killing people, (Y/N).” Bruce griped as he stepped out of the shower, the towel around his waist. He’d busted his eyebrow and lip.

“I’m not saying you have to, Bruce. I wouldn’t expect you to. All I’m saying is you won’t admit that Ghost is right about things.”

“About what!” He shouted, turning on her. “That I should just start slitting throats up and down the street! That I should give up what we started as children! What (Y/N)!”

She merely stared at him amidst his yelling and then she calmly stated, “That you can’t save everyone.” He didn’t react, just looked at her as she explained, “You are so hellbent on the idea that everyone can have a moral redemption arc, but the truth is that not everyone has one nor does everyone deserve one.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Sometimes I think Ghost was right. Trying to save everyone? Giving up every part of myself to make sure everyone lives? He was right. It eats until there’s nothing left inside you.”

“So what? You’re going to stop saving people?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Bruce.” She gave him a sharp look and said, “I’m going to stop saving the people who don’t deserve saving. And if that means I let someone bad die? I can live with that.” Walking off, she ignored him as he called out for her to stop, leaving him alone.

***

The little hovering tray floated into her peripheral and she blinked, turning to look at it. “Good evening, Miss Wayne. Refreshments?”

She smiled, plucking a champagne glass off along with a few grapes and cheese slices. “Thanks Icon.”

“You’re welcome.” The tray wandered off and she walked over to where he was sitting down, silently reading through the reports.

“Find anything interesting?” she asked, popping a grape in her mouth as she nudged his elbow off the armrest to perch on it herself. His arm unconsciously rested around her waist, fingers brushing the side of her pants.

“Leonidovich is having a party tonight.”

(Y/N) hummed, watching as he clicked through the pictures of the party’s setup. “Big place. Open. Good for plain clothed security to get around in.” she narrowed her gaze. “This is the ball room of the Winter Nebula Hotel. Who’s renting out the penthouse?”

Ghost-Maker smirked. “Our host for the party.”

She nodded. “Then that’s where the real party is going to be tonight.” Glancing at him, she asked. “Any big ballers on the VIP list?”

“Oh, a few internationally wanted arms and drug dealers.” He looked at the screen. “Leonidovich picked up a new shipment of girls earlier. He’s probably going to make a deal with the dealers tonight in exchange for them.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I guess it’s time to put our noses to the grind then.” She shimmied off the seat and started towards the closet. “Have any dresses back here?”

“You’re going inside?” he questioned, almost sounding surprised.

“Well, you can’t go it,” she retorted. “Your wily ways of fucking and flying means that people know your face.”

“Half of it.”

(Y/N) stuck her head out from the curtain, neck, and shoulders bare. “You’re not going to go in without your mask on. We both know that.” She pulled back in, grunting and shuffling around until she was finished.

Pulling open the curtain, she stepped out in a thigh length white heart-bodice dress, form fitting to her body and off the shoulders. (Y/N) slipped in the black metal teardrop earrings. “Part of me wants to ask why you have female clothing in your closet, but the other part wants to ask why on God’s green earth do you have to buy everything in white.”

Her face pinched. “It’s sterile. At least paint some gray in here somewhere, Jesus.” Ghost-Maker merely chuckled at her complaints and stepped behind her, gently placing something around her neck. “What are you—”

He let the black necklace fall to her chest and gently grabbed her chin, the other plucking a small device from the tray that Icon had next to them. Maneuvering her head to the side, he reached up and stuck it behind her ear, snug and out of sight. “Your hair should cover it,” he said.

“What is ‘it’?” (Y/N) asked.

“Listening device.” Ghost-Maker nodded to the screen, and she looked over, seeing a black box on the screen with a marker that was ticking. He raised his fingers to her ear and snapped; the blue marker etched with the sound, and she couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“Nicely designed, Ghost.” She remarked, glancing back at him. “Get my invitation?”

“It’s printing.” He met her eyes. “You need to be careful.”

(Y/N) knew he was being serious, but she couldn’t help but mess with him a bit. She smirked. “Why, Ghost, are you worried that I can’t handle a bunch of international criminals by myself? Me? That mighty Widow-Maker?”

“I’m not worried about you.” He said, and it hurt a lot more than she expected it too. “But I’d be down a sparring partner if you got yourself killed.”

She blinked at him. “I’m not sure what’s more upsetting—that you only think of me as a sparring partner or that you legitimately think I can’t do this by myself.” (Y/N) tipped her head. “Ghost, I’ve got this.” He opened his mouth to say something, but she turned away, walking to the door. “Where will you be tonight?”

He watched her back. “I’ll be doing what I do best. Surveying until you get into the penthouse.”

“You can’t bust in until I get enough on Leonidovich to have him arrested.”

“I’m not going to arrest him, (Y/N).” She turned, staring at him, but she said nothing, and he cocked a brow. “You’re not going to stop me?”

Her gaze fell to the tile floor, and she shrugged. “I don’t think I can, even if I tried to.” She let out a breath and turned. “Good luck tonight.”

***

To a novice, the party would’ve just been a normal high-class function, but to her knowing eyes, both from her own billionaire life and her vigilantism, this party was crawling with criminals. She’d caught at least seven drug deals go down in the past five minutes since she walked in, and at least nine men went off with escorts.

She inconspicuously grabbed a champagne chute from a waiter’s tray and sipped it lightly, scanning the room for Leonidovich. He was in the corner of the room, sitting next to a few women who (Y/N) recognized from the missing persons in Gotham.

His eyes flashed to hers and she gave him a flirty wink, disappearing to the bar, knowing he was going to take the bait. Sure enough, a hand touched the small of her back and she hummed as his lips brushed her ear. “I wasn’t expecting a goddess like you to come to this party tonight.”

She smiled and leaned back into his chest. “This goddess goes where she pleases.” Tipping her head slightly, she caught his eye. “And where her boss will find the best deals.”

“Deals, hmm?” he hummed. “What kind of deals are you expecting?”

(Y/N) smiled. “Oh, the ones where lots of money is involved…and merchandise.”

He gazed at her for a few moments then murmured in her ear, “The code word for entrance to the penthouse is ‘подземный мир’.”

“I’ll remember.” Leonidovich pulled from her with a smile and disappeared into the crowd. Something made her want to shiver from disgust, but she concealed it, watching and waiting for him to enter the elevator.

When he did, she waited another few minutes before walking over to it; the security stopped her and she cocked a brow, muttering, “подземный мир.”

The two guards looked at each other then stepped aside, letting her into the elevator. Another guard was inside, and she smiled politely as she stepped in, glancing at the little panel as it blinked.

It dinged, signaling their arrival and when the doors opened, she was greeted by an extravagant penthouse. To her surprise, there weren’t many people inside, just Leonidovich and his personal entourage.

“Ah, you’ve come,” he greeted, holding out a hand.

She took it, letting him place a kiss to her knuckles. “I told you, this goddess goes where she pleases and where she’s needed.” Looking around, she murmured, “My boss would prefer our business done alone. Is that possible?”

The guards seemed to turn even frostier but Leonidovich merely chuckled, nodding his head as he let her go and gestured to a side door. “The office is just through those doors. We can draw up a contract.” He turned to his thugs. “Wait here.”

(Y/N) nodded, following him as he led her into the office, noting how he locked the door, and he motioned to a chair in front of the desk. “Please, sit.”

Taking her seat, she crossed a leg over her knee. “You wouldn’t happen to have something to drink, would you?”

“What can I offer you?”

“Vodka.”

He chuckled. “Ah, a woman after my own heart.” He waltzed over to the bar and poured them both glasses, walking back to hand her hers. “Here you are.”

(Y/N) took it and clinked her glass to his. “ваше здоровье.”

They both downed their glasses and for effect, she held her façade. “You speak and drink like a true daughter of Russia.”

She smiled. “I’ve had more than a few drinks with many sons of Russia.” Glancing out the window, she added, “My boss is interested in your inventory. A few of them actually.”

Leonidovich hummed, turning back to wander over to the drink counter. “Tell me about your boss.”

“He’s a multi-billionaire out of Hong-Kong. Made his fortune by building cell towers and selling opium on the side.”

“Opium is a highly sought-after drug.”

“That it is,” (Y/N) agreed. “He’s been branching out into Kolkata, wanting to get into the spice trade.” She gazed into her empty glass, staring at her reflection. “But the men over there want something in return…more than money, if you catch my drift.”

“I do.” He said, matter of factly. “Perhaps I can offer them something better.”

“And what would that be?” almost there. She thought, but she never expected—

“You.”

(Y/N) turned her head just as he swung his arm as hard as he could, the vodka bottle in his grasp. She barely even had time for her eyes to widen when it collided with her temple, shattering into a thousand shards, cutting deep into her skin.

She fell out of her seat and hit the ground, dazed and in a massive amount of pain. Reaching up, she felt the blood pouring from her head and she sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to wipe away the fluid from her eyes so she could see.

Of course, he didn’t give her time because he was pressing his knee into her back, fingers yanking the listening device from behind her ear. Leonidovich glared at it and smashed it between his fingers. “I know who you are working for. I’ve seen this tech before.”

(Y/N) rolled onto her back, throwing out her elbow, which to give her credit, she did catch him in the jaw, but he was quick to respond, punching her across the face. Blood pooled in her mouth, and she spat at him, then his hands were winding around her throat, squeezing tightly. It reminded her of the training in the Amazons where she had to learn to uncoil anacondas from her body.

His grip became tighter and tighter just like the reptiles and she bared her teeth as she tried to suck in air, digging her nails into the flesh of his hands, his wrists, anything she could scratch at. He was heavy enough that she couldn’t flip him and with the dress tight around her thighs, she couldn’t cock her legs up to his shoulders or waist to get any distance between them.

She gasped when he put his knee in her stomach and that was the last bit of air she had to hold in. Her lungs started burning, begging her for air she felt the panic starting to rise in her as she thrashed beneath him, trying to throw him just an inch, but nothing was working.

Dark spots started to ebb out from the corner of her vision and like the phrase had come alive, she saw every moment of her life flash before her eyes. Every wrong decision, every right one. Every goodbye, every hello. Every person she’d ever lost and every one she’d ever saved. Her nephews’ and nieces’ faces darted across her vision followed by Bruce’s and then his.

She didn’t want to die now. Not since he’d come back to see them after so long. She wanted to stay. Wanted to tell him she loved him, even if she knew he would never be able to feel the same. She wanted to live.

Gunshots sounded from the outside, but they were like whispers as her eyelids started to droop shut, brain fogging from the lack of oxygen. Her hands started to go slack as the door was kicked in and as her arms went limp, something damp splattered across her face and the weight of Leonidovich’s body fell away.

(Y/N) sucked in a lungful of air and rolled, with what strength she’d received from the freedom, over onto her side, coughing violently. Her head was swimming with pain and her brain felt like someone had taken a mallet to an overripe melon.

Someone gripped her shoulder and she screeched, flailing on them when they grabbed her wrists. “(Y/N). It’s me.” They pulled her against them, folding her to their chest and placed a hand to the back of her head. “You’re safe.”

Sandalwood and metal oil wafted up her nose and she heard the familiar hum of his suit. “K?” she breathed, terrified to pull away and look at him.

His thumb caressed the back of her head. “It’s me, (Y/N).”

Something broke inside her and she buried her face in his cloak, sobs wracking her body as she clung to him. Words passed her lips, and she wasn’t sure what she was saying but it didn’t matter because all she could think about was how he’d saved her in the nick of time. The man she’d turned her back on at twenty to go home with her brother, had saved her again.

***

When she awoke, she sat up straight in the bed, vaguely unaware of how she’d gotten there in the first place. She started to move when she heard, “I wouldn’t get up if I were you.”

Stilling, she looked over, seeing Ghost-Maker with a book in his hands. Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, one of his favorites. When they used to train together when they were children, they used to lie under the stars, and he’d tell her all about how each chapter in the book had been devoted to a different art of warfare; she loved how passionate he would get when he talked about it.

“What happened?” she asked, fingers twitching against her side where it had started to ache.

“You were found out and almost strangled to death in penthouse suit.” He snapped the book shut. “When the bug went down, I moved in and took care of the criminals in the suite before killing Leonidovich and saving your life.”

(Y/N) frowned as he set the book down and leaned over, checking inside the bandage that was wrapped around her head. “Thank you.” Her eyes found his behind his mask. “What happened after?”

“You don’t remember?” he inquired curiously, and she tried to shake her head, but his grip was firm, keeping her in place.

“No. I remember you saving me but everything after that is a giant blur.” Suddenly she felt too transparent and pulled from his hands, turning her back to him as she threw her legs over the side of the bed. She rested a split second and stood, though his earlier warning rang in her ears as her knees buckled beneath her, head swimming.

He was there in an instant, arms wrapped around her waist as he caught her, lowering her back onto the bed. “I told you not to move.”

(Y/N) grunted at him and when he moved to pull away, she held on, resting her head on his shoulder. “Just…wait, K.” She whispered softly. “Please, just a moment.”

Ghost-Maker didn’t move though she felt the way he tensed at the first letter of his name. “You called me ‘K’ back there too.”

“I was relieved to see you.”

“And what you said afterwards?” She fell silent. “You don’t remember, do you?”

(Y/N)’s lips pulled downwards. “I have an idea of what I said. But I doubt you’ve been oblivious to it all these years.”

“Why do you love me?” he inquired, and from the tone of his voice he was either genuinely curious or completely baffled, she was hoping for the former and not the latter.

She turned her head, ignoring the prickling of pain as her temple brushed his shoulder, and pressed her forehead into his neck. “Because you saw who I was when no one else did.” Tears started swimming in her vision, and she reached up, curling her hand in his suit jacket. “I love you because you’re you, K. Because you’re my oldest friend and the one who’s always known me.”

Ghost-Maker closed his hand around the one in his suit and fell silent for a long while and (Y/N) stayed quiet too, simply letting the tears fall from her cheeks to the skin of his collarbone, her lips quivering against his skin.

“I can’t love you the way you love me.” He finally admitted.

(Y/N) blinked the tears away, whispering, “I know.” She started to pull away from him, reaching up to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry, K.” It was hard to look at him, but she managed it, barely. “Just…give me some time and let me work through all,” she gestured around herself, her heart, and her head. “This.”

“You’re not angry at me.” He remarked and her brows furrowed.

“Of course not. Why would I be?”

“Because I don’t feel what you do. Love.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh despite the heartache. “K, I’m not going to get angry because you don’t feel love.” She reached up and placed a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing against the fabric he kept covering his nose and eyes. “I know that in your own way you do care. Even if it’s not love.” Her hand shifted and she ran her thumb over his lips. “I can live with that.”

Ghost-Maker slid his hand up the side of her neck, pulling her to him; he pressed his lips to hers and she closed her eyes, letting herself be lost in the bliss of the moment, if only for a moment, then she pulled away and opened her eyes, gazing at him.

She offered him a sad smile and managed to find her feet again, rising from the bed, leaving him there. “I’ll see you sometime soon, K.” she said, walking to the door.

“Do you want me to call Bruce to pick you up?”

“No. I’ll walk for a bit.” (Y/N) got to the door and stopped, pausing to look back at him. “K?”

He glanced over, meeting her gaze. “Hmm?”

“Do you know what my biggest regret is?”

“I don’t.”

(Y/N) grimaced. “It was leaving you.” Even behind his mask, she knew the surprise was in his eyes; she knew him that well. “And if I could do it all over again…I’d stay with you instead of getting on the plane that night.”

Ghost-Maker looked shocked for a moment, then it gave way to a smile. A real smile. One she hadn’t seen in years from him. “I think I would liked that.”

“Goodnight K.”

“Goodnight (Y/N). Stay safe.”

[butwhatifidothis]

But...Byleth wasn't unemotive because they were a mercenary, they were unemotive because of the fact Sothis hadn't woken up. Like I said, you're injecting a negative viewpoint where there isn't any.

As much as people would LIKE for it to be Crimson Flower is NOT a villain route, as villain routes usually have you as the bad guy. The villainous actions are addressed. Instead you're potrayed about as much (if slightly less with the whole conquest thing) of a hero as the other routes, complete with the Black Eagles becoming the underdog and being short on troops, and Edelgard fighting directly on the frontlines. Sure we can call it the villain route since Edelgards the villain in all the other routes, but it isn't played as if it were one. There's no "Look at the horrible thing you've done!" or "Edelgard's empire crumbled and she was killed in a coup after TWSITD were defeated". or even a "Edelgard's lies get exposed' moment. She's just potrayed as the hero the entire time.

Also, Edelgard doesn't think Byleth is completely without emotion, she thinks byleth is DETATCHED. As in, not showing emotion often. She also agreess if Byleth says that Edelgard is also detached. That entire part of the conversation is brought on because Byleth says they are jealous. The entire thing of "Edelgard thinks Byleth has no emotions" is from a conversation in which Edelgard is GLAD that Byleth os showing emotion.

"I'll admit, I think of you as rather detached, so to hear that you have emotions such as jealousy is... something of a relief."

Also I forgot to ask...where is it STATED or SAID that Byleth WANTS to be a guiding hand for Fodlann? Like I'm not sure where that came from since it's not as if Byleth actively pursues a position of power, it's usually something they just sort of get given at the end of the other routes since Rhea either gives them said position, or is dead and Byleth ends up filling that role

Imma ask this: if being a mercenary was completely fine, if that had absolutely no negative impact whatsoever on Byleth... why didn't Sothis wake up earlier? Why did she only do so right before the lords - who give Byleth the chance to grow - meet with them? If they don't want to be a guiding hand in Fodlan, why don't they reject the leadership position given to them - especially on AM, when Rhea and/or Seteth could take over as archbishop?

It's because being a regular mercenary isn't good for them. It's because there's a consistent theme with Byleth that leadership as well as the Church are good things for their character, as well as for Fodlan - it's in the routes the Church is standing and Byleth earns a leadership position that Fodlan is at its most peaceful in the endings. It's not me being negative when it's this consistent within the game itself that being a leader and having a purpose beyond being a sword hand is what is best for Byleth.

To give the short answer to the "CF isn't a villain route" idea, here's this post I made detailing many of the ways CF is by far the most morally bankrupt route of the four of them, regardless of surface level framing. CF isn't a villain route in that "oh ho look at you, being evil!" It's the villain route because you are actively helping the villain get what she wants. You are the reason Fodlan falls into tyranny. It's your fault, as the player, that Fodlan is engulfed in war again when that isn't necessary in the other routes (where TWS are just taken care of with no need for a "long, arduous, bloody war"). It's because of you that the people of Fodlan must live under Edelgard's cruel leadership, being spied on by the secret police and having any rebellion they try to muster be put down in secret by Edelgard's evil butler.

You say CF isn't the villain route because Edelgard's villainous actions aren't addressed, but I'm sorry, I have to disagree with you with what qualifies as a villain route. You help plunge the continent into war by backing an imperialistic warmonger. You help spread outright lies about the Church. You keep up these lies even to your friends and let them believe the Church just nuked Arianrhod, without ever setting it straight with them. You work with a murder cult hellbent on killing as many people as they can. You comply with someone who is keeping an independent country (Brigid) under her thumb by keeping Petra as a hostage, which she herself refers to herself as on CF. You use Demonic Beasts as "war assets." You invade a neutral nation that's kept out of the war entirely. You help try to finish a genocide against the Nabateans - or, at best, work with someone who wants to finish it. You are the villain.

CF has you as the underdog despite it always being the one with the advantage in the beginning of the war phase because it is deliberately breaking from the worldbuilding of 3H, as said by the developers. Byleth is supposed to stand against Edelgard, not walk with her, hence the warping of the story when they do. It doesn't have to directly, explicitly say it's the villain route for it to be clear that you are not the good guy here.

Like, "you're portrayed about as much (if slightly less with the whole conquest thing) as much as a hero as the other routes-" no! Not slightly less! That is in large part what makes it villainous! You aren't fighting to defend yourself and to take down the one who plunged Fodlan into war - you are the conqueror! You are the one doing the plunging! For completely selfish gains, at that! There's no explicit "wow bitch you fucked up here" because the sign of you fucking up is the state your actions leave Fodlan in. It's Byleth losing the Crest Stone and going back to the beginning of their character arc. Edelgard, the villain, won - she got to have her happy ending on the graves of countless innocents lives she deemed less worthy than her ambitions, and it's all because of you. Edelgard getting exposed and her empire crumbling down is a good thing, which CF is not. You don't get to have Edelgard face the consequences of her actions like you do on the other routes where she dies, because she won. The bad guy won. You helped the bad guy win, so no, you aren't going to get the satisfaction of watching Edelgard fall - you play the other non-villain routes for that to happen. Why should there be? This is what you as the player wanted! You chose to side with Edelgard, even after being shown her involvement with nearly every bad thing that happens in WC, because you wanted her to win! You’ve reapt what you’ve sown!

And imma just ask... why is Edelgard relieved to hear Byleth has emotions such as jealousy? And why does she insist that Byleth is detached if you try to deny it? Why does Byleth have to directly tell Edelgard about them feeling emotions for her to know it - why doesn't she just know already? You never hear this sort of doubt come from Seteth, Claude, or Dimitri on SS, VW, and AM - hell, Claude will even outright say that Byleth has gotten far more expressive lately during tea time conversation! Why is Byleth detached in CF - why aren't they closer to the lord? Why is the lord doubting the connection between Byleth and others in their A support? Why is it only on CF that Byleth is ever called detached during post ts? Why is Byleth not showing emotion often? Enough to make Edelgard question whether they have emotions? 

It’s because Byleth is regressing on the progress they’ve made in being able to emote - they act in ways that are similar to how they act in the beginning of the game because CF is a negative influence on their character. Edelgard calling herself detached like Byleth is not a good thing - Edelgard’s detachment from other people is what lets her sacrifice innocent civilians for her goals. It’s what let’s her believe that her imperialistic dreams are worth the bloody path needed to make them come true. She is not connected to those around her, hence her being able to justify killing anyone to get what she wants, up to and including her Black Eagle classmates (Bernadetta on Gronder). Byleth being compared to someone like that is far from a positive thing, especially when all other routes have them have that connection with others and all other routes having a more positive, peaceful ending for Fodlan than CF. 

I will say though, it seems as though Byleth never seems to explicitly say that they want to be a guiding hand - that's a fuck up on my end and I apologize for that! But it's almost undeniable that that is the intended good path for them, versus CF where they don't have that happen. In the ending cutscenes of AM, SS, and VW, Byleth and the lord of that route (+ Rhea for SS) are bathed in the light (with Rhea being able to live on SS if she is close enough with Byleth), and Edelgard dies in the light. In CF, Byleth and the lord of the route are shrouded in darkness, with only the flames of destruction lighting them, and it's this setting that Rhea dies in. Edelgard can't survive in the light, and Rhea can't survive in the dark - and then the endings that correspond with these two scenarios match as well. The endings where Edelgard dies in the light and Byleth rises to become a guiding hand for Fodlan are the ones where peace is achieved, and the one where Rhea dies in the darkness (the one time Rhea always dies, unlike SS) is the one where Fodlan is fucked.

[cinnaminsvga]

Taming of the Bridezilla | Seokjin

→ summary: Picture this: You had been (not-so) cordially invited to the wedding of your least favorite cousin—a woman who had been hellbent on making your childhood a living hell. Now older and wiser, you would think that you would put aside your differences and attend your cousin’s special day without any hard feelings, right? You wouldn’t seek revenge, now would you?

→ genre: fake dating!au, i2l, humor/crack, fluff  → warnings: seokjin and oc paradoxically have big yet small brains, fake proposals, not-so fake mutual pining, thinly veiled baby-making jokes, terrible family members, ass slapping (no worries it’s consensual) → words: 6.3K → a/n: first of all, no this is not a horror fic; i just thought the title was funny. unless you consider the stupidity of the characters to be mildly horrifying, then sure you can count this as a horror fic. this insanely ridiculous fic was commissioned by @breadoffoxy!! anyone who loves chaotic jin is an angel in my book. yes, this comm is a bit longer than expected but what can i say... i love me some jin. anyway i hope you guys enjoy!

“You got the ring, right?”

Seokjin pats his left breast pocket and gives you a quick smirk. The bump where the ring should be is fortuitously hidden by his large and garish boutonniere, looking to all the world like he had pinned a whole head of cabbage to his suit. Even then, he still somehow manages to make it work. “Of course I did. This entire plan would be useless if I didn’t have it,” he says.

“What flavor did you get? I quite like the watermelon one,” you muse, smacking your lips in anticipation. “Though it’s hard to remember since I haven’t had a ring pop in years.”

Seokjin laughs loudly, startling a group of aunties gossiping in the corner. They all shoot glares at him, though the effect has lost its novelty as they’ve already been glaring at you from the moment you arrived. You suppose that they have a good reason to, considering that you both arrived at the reception an entire 30 minutes late. You can imagine them cursing you under their breath, saying something like, “You’ve brought dishonor to us all!” or whatever it is that aunties like to say these days.

“I could have gotten you all the flavors available at the convenience store if you wanted, but then we’d be 40 minutes late instead,” Seokjin sighs, pretending to be anguished at the thought.

You snort in the most unladylike manner that you can, grinning wildly when you hear one of the aunties gasp in horrified disbelief. From the way they’re reacting, you might have thought that you just flashed them your Borat-inspired neon green thong.

“I do love a man who can treat me well,” you giggle, earning a soft pinch from him.

“Oh, hush. I know you love it. You nearly burst into tears the other day when I bought you a McFlurry because your broke ass was a dollar short,” Seokjin teases. You squawk indignantly, unable to come up with a retort.

“Whatever! Just because you’re a trust fund baby doesn’t mean you get to bully my impoverished state. Just you fucking wait ‘til I get hit by a wealthy 77 year old’s BMW and then I’ll be made for life,” you huff, your illusion of annoyance quickly shattered by the large, dumb grin on your face. “Hey, would you still love me if I broke all my limbs but had a massive bank account?”

“I’d rather buy you McDonald’s for the rest of your life than see you in pain,” he answers simply, patting you gently on the head. “Though I suppose helping you inject thousands of calories into your bloodstream would also cause you pain later on in life, but hey, at least you’d go down doing what you love.”

“Oh, yes. Keep talking dirty to me. I love it when you talk about the ways you’d kill me by association.” You laugh, casually looping your arms together as you walk past the slowly growing crowd of aunties and entering the reception hall to find your seats. Almost everyone is already in their seats, with a few guests milling about and greeting one another with tight-lipped smiles and hollow laughter. The sight brings goosebumps up your arm, bringing back terrible memories of having to make niceties with these people despite knowing that they despised you and your less affluent family.

Remember, you’re only here as a representative for your parents, you tell yourself. You’d rather bear the brunt of the thinly-veiled insults than to have your parents have to experience this hell. Besides, you have big plans for today, and they would only be brought to an end if your mother ever found out what you wanted to do in the first place.

“As they say… We’re here for a good time, not a long time, which I suppose is our philosophy for tonight as well,” he quips back. He taps you lightly on the hand, wrenching your gaze away from the magnificent chocolate fountain on the dessert table and back to his somewhat less magnificent face. A straight-up lie, but it is the only defense mechanism you have in your arsenal that can keep you from staring at how gorgeous he looks in his suit and tie like a braindead idiot. Denial, after all, hasn’t failed you during the last five years that you’ve been in love with your own best friend.

“What is it?” you ask, curious when he furtively points out one of your cousins near the front of the hall. “That’s Namjoon. Do you know him?”

“Know is a strong word,” Seokjin hums, winking at your cousin when he happens to turn towards the two of you. Namjoon’s eyes light up when he sees him, but his excitement immediately vanishes when he notices who Seokjin has beside him on his right arm. You could see the mental cogs going on inside Namjoon’s head as he stares at the two of you, but you don’t get to see him reach a conclusion before Seokjin is pulling you away, walking in the opposite direction.

“Seokjin? What was that all about?” you ask, though you have to admit you’re kind of afraid to know the answer to your own question. As much as everything about tonight’s scheme had been your idea, you can’t help but think that Seokjin’s intense enthusiasm to help you isn’t merely out of his own desire to help you as a friend, but rather due to his innate calling to cause chaos wherever he goes.

“I have a secret bonus surprise for the bride and groom once we get kicked out from this joint after we do our thing,” he says. “And, dare I say, it’ll be quite a treat for all the guests here.” The smirk on his lips is downright heinous, only exacerbating the frantic racing of your heart. There must be something wrong with you, not with how badly you want to do unspeakable atrocities to him and his evil-looking ass. Or perhaps he was simply put down on Earth to test your slowly fraying sanity.

He snaps you out of your dumbfounded, horny stupor when he continues, “If everything goes according to plan, then we’ll truly end this night with a bang, no pun intended.”

“What was even the pun there?” You raise a brow, slightly disconcerted by the way Seokjin was struggling to keep his laughter (at his own joke) at bay. “You know what? Don’t even answer. I guess I’ll just have to find out later tonight.”

After some pointless meandering while the two of you locate your seats, you are finally able to locate your table, unsurprisingly situated near the farthest corner of the hall where no one would have to see you. You’re honestly more surprised that your newly-wedded cousin had even remembered to give you a seat, though you suppose that it must have been at the behest of your uncle. While your devil of a cousin has always been rude and cruel to you, you have to admit that at least her father knew some manners, though that only begs the question as to what happened to his daughter along the way. Genetics and expensive etiquette classes can only help so much, you suppose.

“Thank you again for doing this with me. You really didn’t need to,” you say when you take a seat, nearly elbowing him in the process. Your chairs are wedged right beside the emergency exit and a grotesque ice sculpture of the bride and groom, forcing the two of you to sit so close that you could feel Seokjin breathe directly into your ear. If you shifted just slightly to the right, you’d basically be sitting on his lap (which is a prospect that intrigues you greatly, but you refrain from voicing it in fear of creeping him out… for now).

“How could I ever resist the offer to ruin your cousin’s wedding? This has been on my bucket list for years,” he winks cheekily at you. “Besides, you’re my dearest friend, Y/N. You could ask me to fight a bear naked, and I’d gladly let it eat my dick in one chomp!”

“I wouldn’t let a bear eat your dick,” you say kindly, patting him gently on the back. “You can’t afford to lose an inch when you only have two to offer.”

Before you could laugh hysterically at Seokjin’s howls of betrayal, your attention is pulled away when the soft violin music stops playing abruptly. From far away, it’s hard to tell what’s going on until you notice a bright light reflecting off of the sea of attendees, the balding head of the reception’s host bobbing up and down as he makes his way to the front of the hall.

“Attention esteemed guests! We will now begin serving dinner shortly. Please remain in your seats as our waiters attend to you.” The host speaks into a crackly microphone just as a few scraggly-looking underpaid teenagers in black dress shirts come out with the first course of the night.

Seokjin cranes his neck, trying to see what the food is. “What the hell is that? Why does it look like green shit in a bowl?” he murmurs, loud enough so that only you can hear. “I didn’t know your cousin was a Dr. Seuss fan. Are we being served green eggs and ham?” Before you can guess, you watch as his nose crinkles in disgust, a vile stench making its way to your area even though none of the waiters were even close to your table. “Oh my goodness, is that stench what we’re supposed to eat?”

“Smells like a barnyard,” you comment, though you aren’t as surprised as he is by the revolting smell. “Well, my cousin always did like making atrocious vegan recipes on her shitty WordPress blog, so I wouldn’t put it past her if she made up the menu for her own wedding.”

“She’s a vegan and a bully? What are the odds,” he says drily, cringing when he watches one of the guests begin to dry heave the moment a spoonful of the green stuff enters their mouth. “Christ. I didn’t know I was signing up for a life or death mission.”

“At this rate, I don’t think we’re getting served until the end of the night anyway,” you say, observing as the understaffed employees tried their best to get to every table while insufferable aunts did their worst to hinder their progress by nagging and complaining. Why were they so adamant about eating the food anyway? Were they itching to get diarrhea on a Saturday night? You do admit that it would probably be better, so then at least you’d have an excuse to leave earlier. “Though I suppose... Do you think eating the mystery goo while it’s cold would be better or worse?”

“It’s okay, I’ll treat you to McDonald’s when we finish up here,” he says, smiling sweetly at you. Never in your life has the mention of greasy fries and chicken nuggies made your heart race faster than it did at that moment, but then again, it could also be your high-blood pressure kicking up. Either way, you can’t ignore the way your face heats up at his offer, now more excited than ever for the reception to be over.

You and Seokjin chat as you wait for everyone around you to finish eating, not even bothered when the waiters forget to bring your food. You’re in the middle of debating the pros and cons of cock and ball torture when large dark shadows loom over both your heads, much like a solar eclipse. A cold shiver runs up your spine when you look up to find the reptilian faces of your aunts, the fumes of their designer perfume creating a cloud so noxious that you could feel your lungs shrivel into prunes.

“Hello, Y/N. It’s nice to see you after such a long time,” your Aunt Sohee greets, her tone indicating that there was nothing pleasant about seeing you at all. Your aunt, who had gotten so much botox done that she was reminiscent of a plastic balloon ready to pop, has her entourage of fellow aunties behind her, all of whom looked ridiculous in their fake designer dresses. You swear you can see that one of them had forgotten to snip off the Made in China tag before wearing it to the wedding.

“Aunt Sohee, you’re looking… young,” you say after a moment, deciding to settle on lying for now. Even though your main plan for this evening is to create chaos at your cousin’s wedding, your one condition is that you wouldn’t cause a scene with your aunts. While you are hardly in the running for favorite niece, there is still a 1% chance that you could get some inheritance from them once they hit the grave, so you’ll have to grit your teeth and bear the incoming barrage of personal questions coming your way lest you lose out in the long run.

“Why, thank you. I can’t say the same for you,” she huffs, shamelessly grabbing my cheeks and squishing them like stress balls. She peers sourly at your disfigured face, trying to squint judgmentally at you but failing due to her horrendous plastic surgery. “How old are you? Why do you have so many wrinkles?”

You feel your eyebrow twitch involuntarily, unable to respond even if you wanted due to the gorilla-hold she has on your face. You side-eye Seokjin, who is looking back at you with a blank and calm expression. You had already told him beforehand that you wouldn’t be arguing with your aunts, but that doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to be an asshole.

Being an asshole, after all, is Seokjin’s favorite pastime.

“Hello, Aunties. My name is Kim Seokjin, and I’m Y/N’s long-term boyfriend. She’s told me many good things about you,” he says with a polite smile, his hamster cheeks puffing up in that adorably boyish way. The surrounding aunties all begin to coo at his handsome face (unfair!), but they’re quickly silenced by a sharp glare from your Aunt Sohee. She appraises him, giving him a once over with a pursed lip.

“Long-term boyfriend, huh? Are you sure you aren’t paying her or something? Y/N hasn’t had a boyfriend in years. Her cousins have told me that she’s been too busy with other… extracurricular activities to bother sticking around,” your aunt says snidely, her sneer deepening. She lets go of your face, crossing her arms when she spies the expensive watch on his wrist. “Ah, I see that you’re well-off. I just can’t possibly see why else you’d be staying with her if not for other reasons.”

You can feel your blood pressure rising, the veins on your forehead undoubtedly bulging as you try to suppress your rage. Screw your cousin for spreading a rumor that you’re a whore! It’s as if you were the one sucking guys off in the locker rooms when the two of you were in the second year of high school and not her. You haven’t even had your first proper kiss, for heaven’s sake!

Instead of getting angry, Seokjin’s expression hardly changes at all. His serene smile is still plastered on his face, but only you can tell that he’s even remotely bothered by their rude remarks. You can feel the air around him turn frosty, but your oblivious aunties are still too busy tittering amongst themselves, exchanging insults at your expense.

“Oh, are we that obvious?” Seokjin tilts his head, feigning innocence. Your head jerks towards him, your eyes bugging out of their sockets. What the fuck? “You are so right, Auntie Sohee. I’m sure Y/N must have informed you about our predicament. You see, we’ve—”

“Your predicament?” Aunt Sohee scoffs, interrupting Seokjin mid-speech. “I can’t believe the nerve of this girl, bringing her little boy-toy to the holy matrimony of her cousin—”

“—been trying to produce an heir to the Kim Line for months now,” Seokjin sighs heavily, looking off into the distance with glazed, dreamy eyes. You nearly cough out a lung at his sudden proclamation, about to interject and ask him what on earth he was talking about. Your words die on your tongue, however, when he grips your hand tightly underneath the table. He taps three times on the back of your hand: an old sign that you both made back in high school whenever he was busy bullshitting his way out of trouble.

Luckily, none of your aunts notice your blunder, all of them too occupied trying to wrap their heads around what Seokjin had said. Multiple mouths drop open in surprise and disbelief, including your Aunt Sohee. Her penciled eyebrows arch comically high, her smoothened forehead wrinkling infinitesimally (a feat in itself, for you were sure she had long since lost any ability to move the skin on her face.)

“I beg your pardon?” she whispers, staring daggers at Seokjin.

Then beg, you think to yourself. Judging by the way the corners of Seokjin’s lips lift slightly, you have a strong feeling that he was thinking the same thing to himself. Instead, he says, “Yes, Aunt Sohee. You see, I come from a long line of businessmen. Ever heard of Kim Enterprises.”

Her face turns pale. “You mean… the Kim Enterprises? The one that owns—”

“South Korea’s largest chain of department stores? I’m flattered that you’re familiar,” he winks. He leans forward, gesturing for your aunts to come closer, like he’s imparting state secrets to them. “My older brother, who has been married for quite some time, has chosen to remain childless at the behest of his wife. For that reason, my father put me up to the task of producing an heir for the company.”

“An heir?” your aunt repeats, dumbfounded.

Seokjin nods, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, it’s quite unfortunate, but it’s a responsibility I’m willing to take. My family is notorious for planning our lives, even for the next 50 years, so I am forever grateful to have Y/N who is willing to bring me multiple potential heirs to my family.”

“Multiple heirs?” Your aunts shriek in unison, causing a few nearby guests to look over at your table in curiosity. You wave at them awkwardly in apology, hoping to get them to ignore the absolute clusterfuck happening right in front of you.

You feel Seokjin kick you gently in the shin, urging you to say something as well. You clear your throat, channeling all the pent-up Seokjin energy that you had indirectly absorbed over the years of being his friend. “That’s right… My Jinnie has always been so lonely, living in his gigantic mansion with his piles of money. He may have never felt the loving touch of his father, but I’m certain that we’ll be great parents to our children. Why, we’re almost like a pair of rabbits when it comes to—”

Aunt Sohee clears her throat abruptly, a deep flush coloring her cheeks as she glares daggers at you. She looks absolutely peeved, and it takes all your mental fortitude to restrain yourself from jumping up in triumph. Take that, wench!

“I have to admit that this is somewhat… unexpected,” your aunt says carefully, pointing a tight smile at Seokjin. He beams back, positively delighted.

“Y/N is quite the catch. I’m grateful to have her in my life,” he says, his tone growing soft by the end. He looks at you then, and you find a mysterious emotion floating in his eyes that you can’t quite name. When you blink and try to get a closer look, his careful façade is back in place.

Eventually, your aunts lose interest in you once they realize they can no longer bully you, not when you had an incredibly rich boyfriend to back you up. “Must be nice being a rich boy, huh?” you snicker, teasing the blushing boy beside you. Thanks to his hair growing longer than usual, the tips of his ears are miraculously hidden away. When you brush his hair back, they are as red as a baboon’s ass.

“Oh, shut up. You know I hate flaunting my dad’s money,” he whines, pouting cutely. He fingers the watch on his wrist, staring at it uncomfortably. “This isn’t even my watch. I had to borrow one from my brother.”

“Well, you did it for me, so I suppose it’s not all bad,” you laugh, pinching his cheek lightly. “Plus, it was funny watching my aunts shut up for once. They’re just mad that you’re richer than the groom.”

“Really? What does he do?”

“He’s an entrepreneur.” You snort, emphasizing the word with air quotations. “Honestly, he just calls himself that while he waits for his self-made business to pop off or whatever. No such luck so far, if what I heard was right.”

“Lucky for you, you’re stuck with my devastatingly handsome face and stinkin’ rich bank account,” he jokes, contorting his face into a funny expression until you’re left snorting at his antics. Little does he know, you still would’ve l***d him even if he wasn’t any of those things, but that’d be too cringey to say. What are you, some sort of romantic lead protagonist?

It takes a little bit over an hour for dessert to start getting served, by which point the bride and groom decide to make their rounds to greet the guests. “Don’t you think this is the perfect time to put our plan into motion? The dance floor is open and we should be able to make it to the center without anyone noticing,” he whispers, his breath tickling your neck.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you say, but just as you’re about to get up from your seat, a flurry of white blocks your path in an instant. You startle slightly, falling back to your chair and hitting Seokjin in the chest with a soft grunt. “Shit, sorry about that Seokjin—”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my dear cousin,” a voice cuts you off, the disdain in their voice dripping like acid down your ear canals. Your blood freezes instinctively, years of past trauma crashing down on you as your childhood bully stands just inches away from you, her blood-red lips stretched into a broad smirk.

“Kairi,” you greet.

“Y/N,” she responds.

“Seokjin!” Seokjin adds helpfully.

Your cousin turns to him slowly. “Quite right,” she hisses, eyebrows pinched together in thinly-veiled annoyance. “I’ve heard through some whispers that my baby cousin finally managed to snag a rich kid for a boyfriend and I just couldn’t help but let my curiosity drag me over here.” She looks you up and down, snorting at what she sees. “You would think that having a chaebol as a boyfriend would mean you could at least afford a proper dress.”

You glance down at your dress: a hand-me-down from your mother because you couldn’t be bothered to buy a new one, not when you’d rather choke on Satan’s hot fiery balls for all eternity than spend any amount of money just to attend your cousin’s wedding. Despite this, you can’t help your cheeks from heating in embarrassment, an automatic response after years of bullying and torment from that spoiled bitch.

When you don’t reply, Kairi’s smirk widens. “Oh? Cat got your tongue? Sugar daddy couldn’t even be bothered to buy you a dress? While you’re at it, maybe you should ask for a new car too. I’m surprised you even made it here alive in that old metal deathtrap of yours. You’re lucky you were just late to the reception instead of dead on the street.”

You can sense Seokjin staring at you from your right. Your fists are clenched tightly on your skirt, your nails nearly tearing the fabric in your searing rage. Slowly, carefully, Seokjin slips his hands underneath yours—he pries your death grip open until he can lace his fingers in between yours. At once, your anger melts at his tender gesture, your focus pulled away from your cousin and back to him. He thumbs the back of your hand, as if assuring you that he’d handle this himself.

He smiles at Kairi, not a single ounce of kindness in his eyes. “Yes, indeed. It is my mistake entirely for not ordering a dress much sooner. Y/N is so incredibly humble; she’d rather wear a vintage outfit than wear one of those paper-thin dresses from YesStyle that you and your bridesmaids seem to favor,” he sighs, pretending to be pained.

“Paper-thin? YESSTYLE?” Kairi screeches, her voice breaking the sound barrier. You watch in fascination as her skin turns an unflattering ruddy shade.

Unperturbed by her murderous aura, Seokjin prattles on. “Quite right,” he mocks her with her own words, smirking ever so slightly. “Though, I must apologize for being late to the reception. That was my fault as well. My father had a general meeting this morning for all the employees at the company, as he had wanted to announce that I would be the Vice President starting next Monday. We tried to leave sooner, but everyone had been too busy congratulating us,” he apologizes, though not apologetic in the slightest.

Your cousin could cosplay as a walking crack pipe with how much steam was puffing out of her ears. She’s livid, so much so that her fury was preventing her from formulating any sort of comeback. “You—how dare you—I swear on my—” she stutters incomprehensibly, her vulture-like nails tearing her dainty paper-thin skirt into shreds.

Just as she looks about ready to blow, her father comes around to your table. He places a hand delicately on his daughter’s shoulder, immediately understanding the situation when he sees you. “Kairi, I think it’s time for you to greet the rest of the guests. Uncle Iverson said he has a gift for you that simply cannot wait,” he says, doing his best to appease you. He gives you a genuinely regretful look; you shake your head, waving off his concern.

“It was nice seeing you, Kairi. I hope you and your husband will have a wonderful year together,” you say. You gasp exaggeratedly, holding a hand to your heart. “Oh, sorry. I meant to say I hope you have wonderful years together. Pardon my mistake.”

Before the scant amount of brain cells in your cousin’s brain could process your words, her father pulls her away, dragging her to the next table over. Once they’re out of earshot, you heave a sigh of relief. Beside you, Seokjin lets out a laugh that he had been undoubtedly holding in the past few minutes, sounding like a fish gasping for air with how much he is shaking with mirth.

“Fuck, that was hilarious. Did you see how angry she got? Beautiful,” he says, wiping away a stray tear. “Love that for us!”

“Damn. I knew you were good at bullshitting, but even your acting skills almost convinced me,” you whistle lowly, impressed. “You sure you’re not a con-artist in disguise?”

“All good businessmen are con-artists, my young padawan,” he snickers, winking at you. He shrugs. “You get used to dealing with assholes like her when you attend enough rich people parties. Besides, all good lies are rooted in the truth, after all. That’s what my father taught me when I was seven.”

“You must have been a terrible child, then.” You laugh, before realizing what he had just said. “Wait. Rooted in the truth? What does that mean?”

“Oh. Well,” he clears his throat, giggling nervously. He rubs his neck, embarrassed. “I am the vice president of dad’s company now. I just lied about the meeting being this morning. He announced it a day ago or something. Not that it’s a big deal or anything…”

You gawk at him, speechless. Not for the first time in your life, you are once again stunned by the absurdity of the man before you. How did men like him exist outside of cheesy k-dramas? He’s handsome, rich, funny, AND well-mannered? It’s almost like some love-crazed author had penned him into existence for their entertainment.

Seokjin breaks you from your reverie, tapping you thrice on your shoulder. “Shall we go? The dance floor is still empty. It’s now or never.”

You nod excitedly, standing up to head towards the center of the hall. This time, there is no one stopping you as the two of you make your way towards your destination. The lights near the dancefloor are still dimly lit, as most of the lighting is currently focused on the guests as the bride and groom make their rounds to greet everyone. Even if Seokjin got onto his knees right now, only a few people nearby would notice, so you’d have to do something to catch people’s attention.

“This is going to be moderately to highly embarrassing for a few moments, but I think that’s the atmosphere we’re going for, isn’t it?” Seokjin whispers, his mouth embarrassingly close to yours as he holds you gently by the waist. There isn’t a need for him to stand so close to you, but you have to admit his presence is mostly calming—minus the fact that he’s been your crush for five years and he’s going to be fulfilling one of your deepest fantasies in front of your entire extended family. No biggie.

“I suppose so. What are you gonna do to get their attention?” you ask, palms beginning to sweat. Despite this, Seokjin still takes your hands into his own, a small smile on his lips.

“Just watch,” he whispers, before slowly getting down on one knee.

Ba-dump. Here we fucking go.

“My dearest Y/N… The apple of my eye, the straw to my berry, the con to my dom,” Seokjin says, projecting his voice so that it can be heard even above the music. One of the violin players is even startled long enough to stop playing, further causing more heads to turn in their direction. You hear a gasp coming from your left, but you force yourself not to look. Instead, you stare right back into Seokjin’s sweet brown eyes, your heart beating a mile a minute.

This isn’t real… This is just a prank, bro. Get over yourself, you hiss internally, but your heart refuses to listen.

“You’ve been in my life for almost half a decade, and not a day goes by wherein I don’t wonder what it would be like to live the rest of my days with you. In many ways, I wouldn’t be the person I am if it hadn’t been for your presence in my life,” he says. If you look deeper into his eyes, you can almost trick yourself into thinking that they looked wetter than they had just a moment ago.

“Y/N, you are the person I’ve loved for years now. I used to think you didn’t like me as much as I liked you, so I was always scared to pop the question. I had many opportunities to ask, but I suppose tonight just felt like the right moment. I was afraid that if I didn’t do it now, I might never get the chance to ask again, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you slip away out of cowardice.”

For some reason, his words seem almost too real, like he was speaking the truth. You have never doubted his acting skills, but would you be willing to wonder if there was even a small possibility that there was some truth to his tale? You swallow thickly, the need to ask just dangling on the tip of your tongue.

He rifles through his jacket pocket, procuring a small velvet box. He thumbs it almost reverently, his hands shaking slightly, but you can blame that on the nerves from hundreds of people watching you. He takes a deep breath, opening the box with a soft click. “My dearest Y/N… Would you give me the honor of spending the rest of my days with you?”

You feel your breath get knocked out of you in an instant, the genuine adoration in his eyes too much for you to handle. You stammer slightly, too busy staring at him to properly register the loud claps, screams, and hollers all around you. “I… Seokjin… This is…”

“MAKE THEM STOP! SOMEONE KICK THEM OUT RIGHT NOW!” You dimly hear your cousin screaming obscenities somewhere, but you are still too caught up in the moment to care. The world only consists of you and Seokjin—nothing else matters right now.

When you look down at the box in his hands, fully expecting to see a comically large ring pop nestled in its cushions, but instead you find—

You gasp, nearly doubling over in surprise. “Oh my god, Seokjin. Is that a real fucking diamond ring?!”

He shrugs, smiling wryly. “Only the best rocks for the girl who rocks my socks off every night,” he jokes, but his nervousness is palpable. He’s sweating, a drop trailing down the side of his face despite the strong air conditioning.

Oh shit. It hits you right then that his proposal is real. The damned idiot is fucking proposing to you in front of your most hated family members, and he’s proposing to you for real.

“Kim Seokjin, please fucking explain yourself—”

But before he can have the chance to open his mouth, you feel rough hands grab you by the shoulders, pulling you away from him. “I’m sorry I have to do this, ma’am. Bride’s orders,” one of the waiters says, awkwardly escorting you to the exit. When you turn back, you see another waiter pulling Seokjin away as well, the box with the ring still clutched tightly in his hand.

The two waiters deposit you outside the hall, bowing stiffly before heading back into the room. You’re still breathing heavily, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Seokjin isn’t any better, bent over with his hands on his knees. From your vantage point, you can see how red his entire neck is, his blush reaching even past the collar of his shirt.

“Seokjin…” you trail off, unable to say another word. You’re completely flabbergasted, elated, annoyed, and mostly just mind-fucked because when on earth did Kim Seokjin ever have a crush on you?!

“I’m sorry. That must have been quite a shock,” he coughs out a laugh. He rubs his face, embarrassment rolling off of him in waves. “I just… It was sort of a last-minute decision I made. I’ve been into you for years now, and I know I’m kinda putting you on the spot by proposing like that, but I knew if I didn’t do anything soon, you might just slip away before I can say anything.”

“Wait. So are you really… proposing to me?” You squeak out the last bit, your face mirroring his reddened state.

“No!” He shouts suddenly, before covering his mouth with his palm. “S-sorry, what I mean to say is, it wasn’t really a marriage proposal. It was more like… just a general proposal? I do want to live with you forever, but I know that thought must be daunting and—oh god, I don’t even know if you like me like that, so this must be incredibly weird and out of line. Please excuse me while I shove a cactus up my ass—”

“Seokjin,” you interrupt, silencing his rambling. He clamps his mouth shut. “Are you… asking me out?”

He nods his head. “Yeah…”

“And what you said is true? You actually like me?”

“No, you don’t understand. I love you,” he says, before getting shy again. He looks down at the ring box. “Fuck. This isn’t a real engagement ring, by the way. It’s more like a promise ring, so you don’t have to feel bad for rejecting me.”

“Oh my god, I’m in love with an idiot,” you groan, pulling him into a hug. You nestle into his chest, giggling hysterically into his shirt. “I fucking hate you.”

“Wait, I’m getting mixed signals over here,” Seokjin says, gasping when he feels how tightly you embrace him. He doesn’t complain, however. He returns the gesture in kind, nuzzling deep into your neck. “So, does that mean the feeling is mutual?”

“Yes, you idiot. Now give me my ring.”

“My pleasure, princess.” He laughs, drawing away slightly so that he can slip the ring on your finger. The diamond shines brightly under the fluorescent lights, but nothing brings you more joy than having the boy you love in your arms.

As the two of you are sharing a sweet moment, it takes a second for you to realize that the commotion from inside the venue still hasn’t stopped. When you crane your heads, you spot one of the doors had been left ajar, allowing you to slip your heads through the crack just in time to see Seokjin’s beautiful bare ass being projected onto a large screen.

The musical notes of Rick Astley’s most popular song play loudly on the speakers, drowning out the sounds of the bride screaming bloody murder as the IT people tried their best to sort out the mess. The Seokjin on the screen slaps his ass in time with the tune, his glorious moon-shaped globes shaking mesmerizingly for all to see.

When you look to Seokjin for an explanation, he merely shrugs his shoulders. “They really should do background checks on the people they hire for these things. Taking that one video editing course in university really does pay off, huh?”

“Sure does,” you grin, linking your arms together. “Now let’s get some fucking McDonalds.”

And so, you lived happily ever after—the end.

[firelord-frowny]

sad about The World and the fact that violent racists live in it

can you fucking imagine driving 300 miles to FIND some black people to fucking murder? 

you leave your happy little white neighborhood to FIND some n****rs to shoot at, because for some pathologically evil reason, your disdain for the existence of black people is SO CONSUMING that just being white and being surrounded by other white people isn’t enough. you have to get your ass up every day and plot and carefully consider when and where you’re going to TRAVEL to fucking slaughter random ass black people you’ve never met, and wouldn’t have ever met if you’d just stayed your evil ass the fuck at home. 

can you imagine???

i mean damn, everyone knows EXACTLY where to go if they wanna find some violent racists to attack. nobody needs to google that shit. we KNOW where klan country is. we KNOW where people fly their confederate flags and their ~don’t tread on me~ pissbaby bullshit. 

but you don’t see me or anyfuckingbody else takin a road trip over to cumberland or wherever to go pick fights with racists, because literally WHY would we do that when there’s, I dunno, anyfuckingthing else to do ??? 

get a fucking hobby. learn to knit. go for a hike. try therapy. i dont fucking know. 

i don’t fucking know how any white person could live in a world that is still so blatantly and so pathologically protective of whiteness and white supremacy and yet STILL feel the need to go around spree killing ~racial minorities~. 

like bro you’re ALREADY WINNING THIS GAME. what the FUCK are you so fucking MAD about???

we already have shorter life expectancies. 

we already earn less money. 

we already have limited access to food, let alone nutritious food.

we already struggle to afford ~higher education.~ 

we already struggle to be seen as professional, intelligent, and capable. 

we already live in communities that are gerrymandered into silence so that the votes of fewer white people carry more weight than a higher population of black people in the same state/town/whateverthefuck.

we’re already majorly segregated from ~white america~ with such thoroughness that there are millions of white people in this country who go their whole lives without ever even knowing a black person, let alone just seeing them in passing in day-to-day life. 

we’re already afraid to travel to certain regions, or even just leave our own neighborhoods, because we know that the more ~conservative~ a majority-white region is, the more likely we are to encounter someone who may pose a racism-based threat to our safety.

we already live our lives walking on fucking eggshells to try to preemptively prove to every white person we encounter that no, we’re not shoplifting, no we’re not going to mug you when you walk past us on the street, no, we’re not on drugs, no, we’re not selling drugs, no, we’re not barbaric chimpanzees hellbent on forcing your kids to listen to Inappropriate Rap Music Full Of Sex Drugs And Cussing.

we already get thrown in prison at disproportionately high rates, AND for shit we didn’t even do, and for longer periods of time than white criminals who are actually and unapologetically guilty.

we already are HELLA more likely to be killed by cops even if we’re unarmed or at home or sleeping or in our parked car or at walmart or jogging or walking back from the store or lying helpless on the ground while begging for our lives or or or or or OR OR OR OR OR 

it would be so fucking easy for any racist white person in almost any place in this country to curate a life where they never have to see, hear, or even think about people of color. there is no shortage of tv shows and movies with all white casts. there is no shortage of radio stations that only play music by white artists. No shortage of neighborhoods to live in where 0 black people are present. No shortage of schools - at ALL levels of education - where the black population is literally 0. no shortage of grocery stores with no black customers. no shortage of white doctors and nurses to go to for medical care. no shortage of white plumbers or electricians or contractors or whoever the fuck you need to call to fix your goddamn sink. the white supremacist fantasy land you keep crying about ALREADY EXISTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU’RE IN IT RIGHT NOW, YOU FUCKING MORON! do you KNOW how fucking STUPID you look?? 

Unless you live in a big city, or you just happen to actually live in a majority black region (UNLIKELY), it requires VERY LITTLE time and effort to live a life completely devoid of blackness.

but you’re so fucking grotesque inside that rather than enjoy the fact that you already own the world, you decide that you should TRAVERSE THE LAND IN SEARCH OF THOSE PESKY N****RS just to take their lives...

when you could have just stayed the fuck home and watched Friends.

[rrickgrrimes8]

The Purpose ~ Jacey Grimes

Chapter One - Repercussions

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"What did you want to do?" Jacey asked. 

"What do you mean?" Addie answered the girl. 

"Like when you grow up? Before all this happened?" 

"I can't tell you," She blushed, "You'll laugh."

Jacey looked down at the beauty who had her head resting in her lap, "Why would I laugh, you dork?" 

Addie smiled slightly, "You just would... it's embarrassing." 

"Would it make you feel better if I tell you what I wanted to be?" Addie nodded her head at Jacey's compromise, "A cop." 

"Like your dad?" Jacey grimaced at his mention, although she saw it coming. 

"Yeah... he was so brave. Even if it led to him getting shot, that's still what I wanted to be." 

"What? Brave?" Addie tilted her head, still blessing Jacey's eyes with her wide smile. 

"Yeah, that and I guess I wanted to make him proud, I wanted to protect people like he did," She paused, frowning softly, "But I guess that's impossible with everything that's happened." 

Addie beamed at the girl wanting more than anything to take her pain away, "You protect me... you'll always protect me." Jacey stayed silent, so completely happy with this moment. "And for what it's worth, I'm proud of you, and I'm sure he was too. I mean how could he not be," the dark-skinned girl admitted, "Look at you, you're a badass." 

"Thank you, Addie. And I will protect you, I promise," the younger girl let herself fall back onto the grass, Addie remaining on her lap, "But I can't help but realise you've yet to say yours." 

Addie groaned, lifting slightly to look her into her blue eyes, "I uh... I wanted to be in the navy." 

"No shit, I did not expect that, but I can see it. You're quite the badass yourself," She paused, "Any reason why?" 

"Uh yeah, my older brother was," Jacey felt the girls' mood suddenly change, "I always thought he was so cool... 'Fighting bad guys and living the dream,' he always used to say." 

"Where is he now?" She inquired. 

"God knows he was overseas when it happened so your guess is as good as mine. He's alive though I bet he is." 

"What was his name?" 

"Jaeden," She replied, "You would've liked him. He was so awesome. I remember once back before he joined my dad was out for the weekend some business trip or something. Jaeden decided to invite the entire block for a party at ours. I for one was extremely against it but he insisted. He said to me, 'Addie you gotta get your shit together and live or it's all gonna pass you by. I'm doing this for you, so you can have fun, so you can make a memory,'" she reminisced smiling softly, "It was actually a going away party but he just didn't have the heart to tell me." 

"Your dad ever find out?" Jacey simpered. 

Addie nodded, "Oh god you should've seen his face... he was so mad but Jaeden took the blame like he always did. I miss him." 

"You're right," Jacey acknowledged after a few minutes, "I would've liked him."

Jacey was yet to move from her seat in the RV. In fact, she was yet to do anything at all. She hadn't eaten, hadn't slept and she certainly hadn't spoken. The funny thing to her was that she didn't feel angry at her father for stealing that opportunity away from her, she didn't feel the pain of Addie and Mitch's deaths or even most recently Jacqui's at least not to the extent she did days prior and despite what her group thought she was staying silent because everything was too much for her. She was staying silent because she simply felt nothing at all. Jacey was in a state of nothingness, oblivion hell even numbness whatever you'd like to call it. For days her feelings were everywhere, she screamed, cried, laughed. Christ, she even tried suicide and now she was completely and utterly exhausted. So exhausted in fact that she almost felt free without the weighing pressure of her feelings. Jacey wanted to say it scared her but she knew it would just be a lie, nothing scared her anymore. Not even the walkers that roamed past them every so often could scare her. She truly felt nothing at all. 

"Baby you gotta get up okay?" Jacey heard someone tell her, "Or at least eat something please." The voice was pleading with her now and she pointed out to herself that they sounded so close to tears. She knew the voice belonged to her mother without even looking as she'd tried this same thing 5 times already, the sadness in her voice vaulting every time she did so. 

"C'mon, Jace, talk to me. You can't ignore everyone forever," Lori huffed knowing well enough that her daughter did have it in her to ignore everyone forever, "Please, baby." 

This time, however, Jacey did move. The young girl lifted her small fist at her mother bringing her middle finger up towards her. She apprehended that Lori had stomped away angrily and fed up, which almost brought a smile to her face - almost. 

"Jesus, kid, you hell-bent on everyone hating ya?" This time she recognised the accented voice as no other than Shane Walsh. Jacey lifted her finger once more this time in his direction, "Oh you're doing it to me now, great." She imagined he would've rolled his eyes at this probably distracting himself with something with his shotgun. "You know she's only trying to help ya. You don't got to be such an ass about it," She could tell that Shane was tired with whatever she was doing but it didn't matter to her and she wouldn't stop because her bitch of a mother asked so politely. 

Shane looked out of the RV window, spotting Carl, who was half-ass playing with Sophia and frowned. "You know you're breaking their hearts right, Jace? Carl hasn't smiled in days, your dad hardly saying a word. Do you even know what you were going to do?" He pressed, waiting but still knowing he wasn't going to get an answer, "Suicide, Jacey! Death... you would be gone. You would've left them all behind. Does that not bother you at all?" 

Jacey waited a second before shifting her vision towards him, "No." Her words were sharp, not an ounce of regret coming from them. "No, it doesn't. Not at all," This time she laughed, a small one but it was clear what it was. 

"Are you fucking kidding me, Jacey? What the hell is wrong with you?" Jacey was certain that the man was angry even though he wouldn't allow himself to show it. 

"Too much," She smiled, "Too fucking much. A-and I knew that. I got that and I told dad. I told him and yet he still forced me to live... he took my choice away. I'm a sick person, Shane, I know and you can hate me, all of them can for all I care but that's not going to change the fact I don't give a fucking shit." The former police officer didn't say a word, too stunned at her upheaval. 

"Rick should've left me there," Jacey added bitterly. 

"It would've been wrong. You're just a kid. Leaving you there would never be the right thing to do no matter how much you begged," Shane brought his hand to his chin, "It would've been wrong." 

Jacey chuckled fakely, "So's fucking a married woman but that never stopped you." 

The RV fell silent and Shane was so glad that it was only them who occupied it right then, "You don't know what you're talking about." 

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Walsh." 

Now the man grew nervous, which wasn't necessarily a familiar feeling - had they been that obvious? Shane sat back into his chair, sighing as he did, "How did you know?" 

"I didn't, not until just now," Shane deadpanned, "I just witnessed a little too many longing stares." Jacey laughed at his tough demeanour shattering as he once again looked out the window at her mother. 

"You can't tell no one, alright?" 

"Why? Thought you'd love to break my parent's marriage up," The strange girl brought her legs to her chest and observed how the man struggled to answer. 

"You just can't, Jacey. Promise me you won't?" he said fearful, knowing the father and daughter were close. 

"Yeah, yeah whatever Walsh wouldn't dream of it," Jacey swore, "But just know I have a habit of breaking promises." 

"This isn't a joke, kid, don't say nothin'." 

"Alright, jeez Walsh get off my back," She joked but Shane remained unimpressed, "As much as I'd like to hurt Rick, you don't deserve to get hurt in the process, neither does Carl." 

"Thank you, kid," Shane smirked, "Now will you please go outside and catch some sun you're looking paler by the minute." 

Jacey looked out of the window to the place they'd had stopped for a break and sighed, "Only if you join me." The officer nodded at her request and followed her out of the vehicle. 

Lori was first to notice the pair. She was surprised and almost angry that he had done the thing she'd attempted to do the last few days. Rick was next but he could barely meet her eyes. A familiar feeling arose at the sight of his partner with his daughter, a feeling he first felt way back in camp when he held her back from fighting him. A feeling of jealousy. He didn't like it, god no he didn't. He hated feeling so envious of the man for having some sort of relationship with his daughter compared to the broken one they shared. Carl was last to see as he looked up from playing Sophia's checkerboard on the floor of the small clearing. He was furious with the girl, which wasn't something he could hide, not like he wanted to anyway. Carl hated how she abused the power she held over him. He hated how she would go from being his sister to being a stranger, someone hellbent on getting herself killed. 

"Do I look tanner yet?" Jacey joked as they sat against some tires. 

"Like a shining star," Shane chuckled adjusting his hat before taking it off completely preferring the feeling of the sun shining straight on his head. "Here take this," He handed over his cap to the girl, "Don't want you getting sunstroke after being holed up in there for days." 

Jacey smiled at his almost fatherly actions and planted the black hat, that held the word 'police', on her head. "What are we doing now, by the way?" She inquired. 

"Making our way to Fort Benning," Jacey scoffed, "What? It's our safest option." 

"I don't know why yall keep lying to yourselves. Fort Benning is gone, so's the government. We saw that with our own eyes at the C.D.C." 

"Where do you suggest then, princess?" Jacey said nothing, "See... anyways that's the plan we're going with so suck it up, alright?" She merely nodded before leaning further against the stray tire. 

"You alright?" Jacey didn't respond though, not having it in her to find the words - was she okay? Was this what okay felt like? 

"Are any of us?" That shut Shane up as he peered off, overlooking the group. "I should uh... I should probably go talk to Carl," the girl mumbled standing up and dusting off the dirt from her pants. She walked off before Shane could answer which he didn't care much about. 

Jacey felt relatively nervous as she proceeded towards her family. She saw Rick look at her with hopeful eyes, which she avoided and grew closer to Carl. "Can I talk to you?" Jacey appealed. 

Carl gazed up to his older sister, "No." 

"No?" 

"You heard me right," the boy muttered looking back to the game they were playing. 

"C'mon Carl, don't make this harder than it needs to be," She challenged. 

"I said no," Carl insisted not bothering to cast his eyes back to her as he spoke. 

"Please," Jacey pleaded with the young boy and bit her lip as she saw his hands clench into a fist. 

"What don't you understand about no?!" Carl snapped, "Why can't you leave me alone? Like we all know you want to," Jacey didn't reply confused, "Don't look at me like you don't know." 

"I don't know what you mean, Carl. I want to be around y-" 

"No, you don't! You made that clear enough," Carl halted, breathing heavily, "All you do is leave me, Jacey, and I don't want to talk to you, to let you try to explain yourself b-because I know I'll believe you." The girl looked to his brother motionless, "I'll believe you and you'll leave again! You'll break every promise you make to me so I'll save you the bother of even making them. Just leave me alone." 

"I'm sorry," she undertook now looking into the boy's bloodshot eyes. 

"No, you're not... If you were you wouldn't have left me when all of this started, you wouldn't have left me to go back to that girl and you wouldn't have tried to stay with Jacqui and that doctor," He cried standing up, ignoring the stares he got, "I wish you stayed at the C.D.C."

 Carl marched off into the direction of one of the cars while Jacey wouldn't move an inch. 

"Well, I wished I stayed there too!" She screamed back at him after getting over her initial shock. The teenager roughly pushed past her father, who had now moved in her way and entered one of the cars. 

"Jacey come back here!" She heard a male voice shout to her. Jacey ignored him, of course, and took her seat in the same car Carl had just entered. 

"Leave her, Rick, she needs time," Rick looked to his wife disapprovingly. 

"She just tried to kill herself, Lori, and you want me to let her run off feeling God knows what," He choked, the reality of the statement settled in with the pair shortly after. Their daughter had tried to end her own life. "Hell if I'll leave her alone again," Rick tried to leave his wife but she held him back. 

"Give her time, alright? Carl and her need to talk they can't do that with you around," Lori told him. 

Carl refused to look at his sister as he continued to stare out of the front window. "Talk to me please," The older girl begged. 

They stayed quiet for a long time until Carl spoke up, "I don't want to wake up tomorrow and you to be gone." 

Jacey sighed, "You won't-" 

"Don't. Please don't lie to me," He shuddered, "You're my best friend, Jacey. How do you expect me to be okay without you? How could you even dare to try and do what you did at the C.D.C.? Did you even think about me? About what would happen to me?" 

"I thought I was doing you all a favour," she watched as her brother cried, unable to comfort him in any way. 

"You're selfish Jace. That's all you are and I will never forgive you for that." Memories flashed to Addie's words, words that pained her to hear but it hurt more hearing them for her brother. 

"I'm sorry."

[genesisrose74]

Thoughts on the Pogtopia Traitor - My Tubbo Theory

THATS RIGHT, STRAP IN FOR ANOTHER ONE OF MY CONSTANT DRABBLING SESSIONS FOR THE ROLEPLAYING BLOCK PEOPLE-

I’ve been hearing a whole lot lately about conspiracies for who the “unexpected” Pogtopia traitor is gonna be, who will likely be revealed on the 16th during the big Dream SMP stream event. While there are lots of advocates for people like Tommy, Wilbur, or Techno, below is my explanation of why I wholeheartedly believe that Tubbo would be the most perfect choice for the traitor, and who I hope will end up being said mole in Pogtopia’s operation.

And here we go: why Tubbo is the perfect, unexpected, most reasonable possibility for the traitor.

I definitely think that Dream’s word choice of “finding out” about a traitor among Pogtopia’s ranks is significant. It’s a direct reflection of who ended up recruiting the person - and the only rational remaining option for who the recruiter was is none other than Jschlatt. Now, I get it: “Why would Tubbo side with the man who just tried to execute him in front of the entire Manberg population?”

You know why? Because Tubbo understands. Here’s the layout:

Although the two seemed to have an incredibly strained set of relations following the festival events, recall what Tubbo said to Wilbur and Tommy before he gave his speech: he never explicitly stated that he wasn’t happy in Manberg. All he said is that it would be better if Tommy and Wilbur were there as well. Yet, his desire to be with his friends in that sense takes a massive hit when Wilbur soon thereafter calls Tubbo a “yes man”. And if you’ll notice, Tommy never blatantly disagrees with the notion before Tubbo takes his place on stage.

When delivering his speech, there was a clear delay in Tubbo saying the words for Wilbur’s explosion activation, only ever bringing them up hurriedly at the very end when Schlatt asks if he’s done talking. When I watched the stream, I legitimately thought he wasn’t going to say them at all because he felt hurt by his two closest comrades. It was a blatant sign of his hesitance to go through with the plan, and therefore hesitance in his loyalty to the current ideals of Pogtopia.

Despite the fact that Schlatt tried to expose Tubbo at the festival for conspiracy, he still ALWAYS listened to Tubbo and his ideas to improve the nation whenever he proposed anything. He always complimented him and gave him power to do what he wanted. Tubbo was a very crucial part of Schlatt’s cabinet as his right hand man, keeping the nation organized, productive, and growing. And you know what?

Even though Schlatt had his moments of lashing out and all, Tubbo was one of his most valued acquaintances - and Tubbo knows this.

When he wasn’t getting outed for helping Pogtopia, Schlatt was always with him on his ideas and things he wanted to do to help improve. It was consistently, “Great idea, Tubbo.” “You are so important to this team.” “Thank you for your input.” “Where would we be without you?”

You know who never truly expressed that same sort of mutual respect for him? Wilbur.

“Tubbo, I want you to promise me that you’re not going to speak to Tommy.”

“Wilbur said he wasn’t going to hurt me.”

Let’s remember that Wilbur could have easily communicated with Techno that he should not go through with the execution. He had the time, with how much Techno was stalling to protect Tubbo. And with Tommy being subservient to whatever Wilbur says, despite the fact that he TRIED TO BLOW UP MANBERG, his trust in his friends’ decisions are brought into jeopardy.

Tubbo also knows, with his vast understanding of the government that he practically kept afloat half the time, that Schlatt technically did the disciplined and reasonable thing to maintain the nation. There was a traitor looking to take down the government, so to consequently prevent it, he took it out effectively. I think secretly, Tubbo gets that and respects it in a way.

Now lets look at some of the other proposed Pogtopia traitors that I’ve seen, and compare them to Tubbo’s circumstances.

Here we have the most obvious option with Technoblade. Techno is a clear option for traitor material. He’s said it before that he likes being the outnumbered one and that’s why he sided with Pogtopia in the first place. Even Wilbur himself claimed that it was very likely during the recent stream. However, Dream stated that this time around, the traitor is going to be a more surprising shock than Eret back in L’manberg’s fight for independence. Could Techno still technically decide to fight with Schlatt and Dream when the fight arises? Sure. Do I think this is who Dream was referencing when he was talking about a mole in the ranks? Absolutely not.

On the other hand, we have Wilbur. He is unpredictable, clearly unstable, and very hellbent on getting vengeance. But what I think many are forgetting is that Schlatt is everything he despises about Manberg. He’s the one who started Wilbur’s thirst for revenge in the first place. He exiled him, cut him off from everything he’s ever worked for, and has never once held any semblance of remorse - only rubbing it in that he’s always one step ahead. No matter if Wilbur is off his rocker at this point, it’s a reach to think that he’d side with Schlatt, especially if Schlatt has apparently made a deal that “neither Wilbur or Tommy would have ever agreed to” regarding the fate of L’manberg territory. And just to set my reasoning in stone for this one, Wilbur’s surprise when he discovered that the TNT was gone from the bunker did not seem falsified or played up to convince the others. It felt like a genuine reaction. That’s why I don’t think it would make sense for him to be the traitor.

Finally, as for Tommy, he’s too much of the protagonist role for his sole betrayal to make much sense. I feel like it would leave a lot of people a bit lost. While people think that there’s an incentive hidden there with Wilbur telling Tommy that he would never be president, I feel like his betrayal would have happened much earlier on in the storyline, and the fact that he stayed with Wilbur despite his harsh words and psychotic ideals to blow up Manberg leads me to believe that he would not leave Wil behind. My idea that Tommy would never side with Schlatt is only emphasized by the fact that Schlatt legitimately tried to execute his best friend, Tubbo, in front of the entire Manberg population. He would never take a side with him after that point...

...unless, he had some persuasion.

Tommy and Tubbo are very frequently a package deal. Everyone saw Tommy’s response when Tubbo was shot by Techno at the festival. The two even joked about running away from the entire conflict before, just the two of them. They would clearly protect each other with everything they had. So what I think could happen is Tubbo announcing his betrayal to the rest of the SMP and attempting to persuade Tommy into joining him. Tubbo isn’t gullible, stupid, or assuming. He’s incredibly organized, very observant, and a very reasonable person. I don’t think it’s hard to believe that he could convince Tommy to see his side of things.

Just as an extra note, everyone absolutely loves Tubbo, no matter what side of the conflict you’re on. Who in their right mind would say no to him? No👏freaking👏body👏 - he’s a solid negotiator, can be serious and silly, and has the creativity to find solutions that would make everyone happy. If someone finally saw that potential in him and offered him a place at the table, I think he would grab at it for sure, especially at a point in time where he doesn’t know who else to turn to besides himself.

So yeah, I think Tubbo’s the traitor. Send tweet. His role in this entire situation is so underrated despite the amount of sway he could have, so I really hope my thoughts come to fruition at some point. To be completely frank, he’d make an outstanding leader as well, so it would be super interesting to see how that sort of twist would play out.

Thank you for coming to my rant :p

[silverwhiteraven]

Wings of Broken White - Ch.9

Tag List: @marichatmay

[ Posted on A03 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 8 ] [ Chapter 10 ]

“I don’t want to be scared any more,” Mylène whispered gently to the curious gazes. Ivan, out of the Dragon costume, had one of his wings wrapped around her protectively.

Chloé, decked out in a formal suit and cape, scoffed, “It’s just a costume, Haprèle, pull yourself together!” Adrien, dressed in one of Chloe’s blue and white ballroom dresses, nudged her with his shoulder and gave her a deep frown, shaking his head. She scoffed again and looked away. “If it will make you feel better, just pretend you can still see Bruel behind that ridiculous costume. It will be less scary that way.” She then turned and walked away, her regal red caplet fluttering behind her.

Ivan sent a thankful look to Adrien for the interference, and he smiled back reassuringly. Mylène giggled a bit, looking perplexed but a bit better. “Did she just try to be nice?” Adrien only shrugged, his smile turning knowing, and the group laughed lightly.

They tried the scene again, and Mylène did better, but couldn’t make it through to the end of the stage-fight. Something about imagining Ivan getting stabbed with a sword, even if it was fake, really didn’t help the situation. No one could find her when she ran off again, and that was when the Akum came. She reappeared, but no longer herself.

Rather, she was nor a very real, very large version of the class’s fairytale Dragon. And just like how their costume didn’t actually breathe fire, neither did Mylène’s. Instead, it was very much a blast of glitter.

Marinette found herself to be the first one hit by it when she was trying to herd the class to safety. She didn’t realize anything had happened to her until the class was barricaded in a room together, sans the Akuma Dragon, and everyone was staring at her.

“Uh...What? Do I still have some glitter on me?”

Adrien had broken the silence with a suppressed giggle and a shake of his head. “No, uhm, I think the Akuma did something to your armor?”

She looked down, only to realize it wasn't cardboard and foam. It was heavy, and shiny, and- “Is that-? Oh no, Adrien, your fencing rapier! She turned it into- into a broadsword! M. D'Argencourt is going to have my head if he finds out I got it involved in an Akuma attack!”

He patted her on her armored and caped shoulder and shook his head with a fond smile. “Don’t worry about it. Ladybug and Chat Blanc will have it back in no time. In the meantime, I don’t hear the Akuma at the door any more. I wonder…”

The class moved to glance out the windows of the classroom, only to gasp in unison and see their school’s courtyard transformed in a wave of glitter-fire.

Markov, wielding his still-recording camera, let out a whistling sound. “Now that's what I would call a perfect set for a medieval movie. Do you think we can get Ladybug to not cast Miraculous Ladybug until we finish filming?”

The class broke out into an even mix of disbelieving groans and agreeing hums.

All that was left now was for the Heroes to figure out how to get out there and fix this.

Surprisingly, the civilian heroes managed to get out of the classroom rather easily. It became clear that the Akuma had very little interest in actually hurting anyone. It seemed to simply be making itself at home in their school-turned-castle. It made sense that a Dragon would find comfort in being in a medieval fantasy setting of its own making.

The real problem came when the class tried to leave the building itself. Akuma-Mylène, just like any other Akuma, had her mind set on a task and was hellbent to keep at it. So the entire class was captured and became the Princesses in her dizzyingly tall Tower. Anyone not already in costumes got put into extravagant gowns, makeup, and even jewelry when the group got caught by the glitter-fire. The costumed students got the same treatment as Marinette, their characters brought to life in more detail.

Marinette did a quick headcount of the class, then did it again when she noticed something was off. “Hey, has anyone seen Kim? He was with us when the Akuma caught us, wasn’t he?” Everyone looked around the tower chamber they had been locked in, only for confirmation of his disappearance to pass back to her. That is, until their ever-composed King looked up, screeched in terror, and smacked a few faces when her Swan wings spread out.

Everyone looked up to see a small dragon in the rafters, looking down at them with a wide smile and a wagging tail. It dawned on them, then, that Kim, who had kept the prop dragon head with him the whole time, had probably ended up turning into this adorable baby dragon when they were captured.

His wings spread and he jumped into a glide. Clearly, the wingless boy was enjoying a temporary change in wing-status.

After a few circles around, he landed on Marinette’s shoulder, making her stubble. Her Crane wings flared out to balance her, and she froze. She saw the eyes of the class on her and her breathing stopped in panic.

My wings aren't bound. The Akuma got rid of my bindings- They were hidden under the cape until now- Oh gods everyone can see them, they’re-

Her thoughts were halted as Adrien spoke up.

“Huh, I guess Mylène pictures Knights to have wings! She did get you twice with that glitter-breath thing she does, right?” Marinette sucked in a breath, realizing that he was giving her an out, whether he knew it or not. “Those wings weren't there the first time she got you. Maybe the more you’re hit, the more you're affected? In that case, we should really keep dragon-Kim away from Dragon-Mylène, he might just get bigger!”

Marinette swore she would have kissed him out of thanks for this if she hadn't been weighed down by Kim. Alix and Nino, the only ones besides Kim who knew that the wings were not Akuma-made, added themselves to the kiss-list by echoing Adrien’s words and adding their own reasonings for why someone without wings would suddenly have them.

While the attention was off of her, she tucked her wings back into the cape and straightened up, dragon-Kim content to curl around her shoulders like a monkey. She went to a window and peered out, seeing nothing but the skyline. Curious, she leaned out and looked down.

“Huh,” she pulled herself back inside and turned to her class. “Hey, I think we can escape.”

“Escape?” Alya joined her, looking curious. She glanced out the window as well, and her eyes went wide. “Oh…”

“Exactly!” Marinette grinned.

“Care to fill us in, please?” Nino looked between the best friends nervously.

Alya beamed, “Look outside; the Akuma isn’t watching us. No circling of the tower like a vulture. She expects us to stay put and play our role.”

Max hummed in thought as he joined them at the windows. “This appears to be true. Traditionally in Fairy Tales involving dragons, they are not confronted in the sky, but rather on the ground. Usually outside the gates or somewhere inside. Perhaps Mylène is waiting for Ladybug and Chat Blanc to come as the Heroes of the tale?”

Marinette nodded, glad her classmates were catching on. “Exactly! I saw her down at the base of the tower, and she wasn’t looking upward. We could rescue ourselves and fly out!”

An excited buzz went through the class at the prospect of being their own saviors.

“Yeah, about that,” Chloé spoke sharply, hands on her hips and looking a tad annoyed. “Some of you can’t actually fly, remember? That includes you, Dupain-Cheng. You and Lê Chiến may have wings, but you have zero experience with flying. And not to mention my dearest Adrien! And Sabrina, too, I suppose. That’s four people who can’t leave this tower. And last I checked, none of us winged students are grown enough to carry a whole other person.”

They had to admit, Chloé  had a point, and a big one. They couldn't just leave a chunk of the class behind, stuck in the tower.

Ivan cleared his throat. “I could- I could carry Sabrina and Kim? I have practice flying while carrying things. Mostly gliding, but that’s all we need, right? Just enough to get us to the ground safely?”

“That sounds like a good plan!” Adrien smiled, interrupting Chloé as she was about to retort. “Don’t worry about me, though, I think it might actually be a good idea if I stayed. Dragon won’t be too happy if he finds out the original Princess isn’t in the tower where he belongs, right? Besides, I found a closet full of blankets and cushions. I was thinking I could build a pillow fort while I wait for the Heroes to defeat the Akuma.”

“As cute and brave as that sentient is, Adrien, what about Marinette?” Alya interjected protectively.

Marinette smiled reassuringly and set a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I should probably stay, too. I’m the Knight, remember? A Knight always protects her Princess,” she winked at Adrien, who smiled back with a dusting of pink on his cheeks.

Chloé practically growled, displeased, but a look from Adrien had her huffing and turning away. “Fine! Stay if you want! At least your sacrifice will be noble or whatever.” And with that, the class’s King was hopping up onto the windowsill and diving into open air.

It took several rounds of reassurances and encouragement, but eventually, Marinette and Adrien were able to herd the rest of their class out the windows after Chloé. Nino was the last to go, and before he did, he gave Marinette a soft smile and a glance at Adrien who gave a wave before dashing for the closet.

“What is it, Nino?” She asked curiously.

“He protected your secret,” he stated plainly.

“Oh- Yeah, he did…” She looked at Adrien, too, watching as he pulled blankets out.

“The literal model son of a winged fashion designer. There’s a chance that, well… Marinette, I think he knows.” She tensed where she was, but said nothing to try and disprove her friend’s theory. He continued, “Don’t you think he would be able to recognize the use of wing-binders, considering his life? And the thing is...I’m worried about you. We all are, those of us who know, that is. Maybe just, start by sharing your wings with someone else. One person at a time, ya know? Adrien would be a good start. And who knows, it might get you out of this tower, too,” he added with a teasing tone. “I know you can hold a lot of weight on those wings of yours. Be a real Knight and consider giving him a Princess-carry, yeah?”

Marinette snorted and bumped him, causing him to stumble and laugh.

“Just sayin’, dudette! See ya!” And with that, he was out the window with the rest.

She considered his words as she walked over to Adrien where he had started building a pillow-and-blanket fort, just like he had said he would. He beamed from between two of the makeshift walls when he saw her.

“You’re really calm about still being stuck here, Adrien,” she noted softly.

“Are you kidding? This whole project has been the most fun since- well, in a while. Akuma or not, I like being here. Also, I just made a blanket fort. Blanket forts make everything better.” He grinned wide and went right back to building.

Marinette laughed and shook her head. “Fine, move over then. I’m going to help.”

Their fort was flimsy and fell over several times, but they both had to admit, it was a fun thing to do. It also revealed that the closet hid a trap door to a staircase leading downward.

“Who knew having fun would be the answer to our conundrum?” Marinette mused, amused.

“You sure do get caught up with a lot of Akumas that can have fun, huh?” Adrien jokes, causing her to chuckle and fluster at the realization.

“I mean, you're right, I guess. Nino, Nathaniel, Mylène- Everyone just wants to be happy. Makes me wonder what Hawkmoth is doing,” she trailed off, pondering on his own.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Adrien sat back, looking perplexed. “His power is so...big, but he does so little with it. I could swear he even stops himself from going too far. Why does he even attack Paris and ask for the Miraculous?”

“And what’s holding him back?” They were quiet for a little bit as their thoughts continued on silently, unknowing that they were both thinking along the same lines due to their masked partnership.

The blanket fort fell down on top of them, knocking them out of their thoughts and back into joint fits of giggles. Once they escaped their soft prison, they made their way to the window, looking out. they admired the view, but used it to remind themselves of their duties to do.

“Adrien?” He answered with a hum. “Thank you for speaking up, distracting everyone.”

He smiled gently and glanced at her. “When the wings came out? It was nothing. No one should be stared at like that if they don’t want to be.”

She wryly smiled back. “Thank you anyways. You’re a good friend and I, I trust you, a lot.”

His eyes went wide, “You do?”

She nodded, her smile growing in amusement. “Yeah, I do. Enough to tell you that I appreciate you keeping a secret you didn’t even know you just learned.”

“You mean-” he glanced at her Crane wings as they peaked out from behind her cape. She looked at them, too, noticing for the first time that they had a layer of armor on them as well. She smiled, stretching them out more.

“Yeah. Besides one person, I haven't told anyone about these in almost four years. I’m not exactly...proud of having wings. It’s hard to explain.”

“And you’re okay with me knowing?” He asked, his voice low in awe.

She smiled, a bit embarrassed, and nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

He beamed like she had just handed him the stars, and somehow, a twinkle in his eyes made it seem like she had already given him the sun and moon in the past, too. Just to get him to stop looking at her like that, she declared it was time to exit the Tower, and she scooped him up just the way Nino had suggested. After delivering him to safety, she ran off as fast as she possibly could. Not long later, Chat Blanc and Ladybug had Paris and Mylène back to normal.

[tenmillionwhumperflies]

Febuwhump ‘21 #4

#4 Impaled

Avizon whump anyone? This one is set a fair way into the future and will show a bit of a different side to our dear mean Avizon. I hope you like it.

WC: 1900

Avizon knew the secret tunnels would be in a bad state, he knew the traps hadn’t been maintained, but that wasn’t the reason he didn’t want to be here. It was because of the memories. The memories in these halls hurt him more than any injury ever could. He wiped a tear from his eye as he rounded the corner where he and Ro used to hold each other and kiss and love one another. It had been their own private area, safe from prying eyes, whispering lips and hurtful hands. Now it was cold, empty, and filled with spiderwebs, much like his heart.

He sighed and pressed on. Ihuka and Dyan were waiting at either side of the tunnel, by the hidden paintings in case something went wrong. He licked his dry lips and continued on, the burning torch in hand made his face uncomfortably warm, but it lit the way. He struggled to remember where the traps were. Why King Halve had thought it a good idea to put traps in these tunnels was beyond him. No one ever used them, save for Avizon and Ro.

He stopped walking and paused. Was that the reason? He tensed his jaw and tried to put those thoughts aside. Halve was dead, there was no point angering himself over ghosts now, no matter how much they still hurt.

He was so distracted by his thoughts, he miscounted a step. The floor suddenly caved and Avizon scrambled to try and not fall, but the rocks were old. He yelled as he tumbled back, he felt a sudden pain in this thigh and then everything settled. Avizon looked down in horror. He’d been impaled through the leg. If he’d fallen back, it would have killed him. He shuddered. This was not good. He forced himself to stay calm, but this was not going to be easy to fix. 

He bit his lip and tried to get up. He screamed, but he made no progress, he needed help, but that meant risking the cloudwalker’s lives. Dyan was closest, and there were no more traps on this side, of that he was certain. He closed his eyes and sent an orb out toward Ihuka, and he let it guide him to Dyan and then brought it through the painting, back towards him.

It was hard not to sob as the pain started to make itself known. This was going to need magic healing, something he was actually terrible at. He’d have to send a message to his old mentor Orrien. It was his best and only chance and keeping his leg, if not survive. “Master?” Dyan called. “Go slow!” Avizon exclaimed. “I… I’ve fallen, my leg is stuck. I need your help, you will have to lift me up but there are spikes. You must be careful or you’ll end up like me.” “Can we climb down, or should we get ropes?” “Ropes won’t work I’m afraid, but you do need bandages. You’ll have to climb down in the pit, but I should be able to melt at least some of the spikes if I can reach.” Dyan spoke quickly to Ihuka before he heard Ihuka run off. Avizon groaned, feeling sick. This wasn’t going to be easy, he could already imagine the pain it would cause. He heard soft shuffling and soon Dyan came into sight at the top of the hole. “Master, I-” he froze, seeing the metal. “Keep calm. I just need to melt these and give you space.” He groaned as he reached behind him to melt one away. His hand tingled with the scalding heat it produced but soon the metal fell to the side. He did it again and again, but it was hard work, especially pinned as he was.

Ihuka returned triumphant with bandages. “Master? Could you melt the spike you’re on?” Dyan wondered. “It might be easier but I don’t know if it will burn you. I don’t think Ihuka and I will fit down there...” He had a point, and only a fool would ignore good advice. He just felt stupid for not thinking of it himself, but Dyan was right. The burning would hurt him.

There was a good chance this was going to brand his wounds and that hurt even more, but it was the better option. “I… I need one of you down here, to help me stay up while I work.” Ihuka was smaller than Dyan, and strong, so it was quickly decided he would come down. He stood in the shaved area Avizon had made. Avizon struggled to keep himself composed. “Lift me enough so that I can grab the bar.” Dyan translated, and then Ihuka carefully did so, lifting him up like he was about to carry him. Ihuka clenched his jaw and strained as he took Avizon’s weight. Avizon cried out in pain, but he had to focus. He grabbed onto the spike and let the heat do its work. It was getting more and more painful as the metal heated. It was burning his skin, enough to bring tears to his eyes and make it difficult to breathe. He clenched the bare as tight as he could until finally, it gave. Ihuka lowered him carefully, panting for breath. “G.good bird… help me up.” Ihuka did so, helping him to his feet, taking as much of his weight as he could as limped towards Dyan. The pit wasn’t deep, so Dyan was able to heave him up. Avizon screamed as the spike hit off the floor. “D.don’t… remove it. Bandage around it.” Dyan did so, the worry clear on his face. It was hard to help Avizon walk out of the tunnels. They just weren’t big enough for creatures with wings. He had to limp forward on his own, leaning against the walls. Ihuka led the way and Dyan was behind him, ready to steady him as needed. He had to get to the mirror. If he could get to the mirror of minds he’d be able to send a message.

Ihuka climbed out of the tunnel and bit his bottom lip anxiously before he helped Avizon down. He couldn’t bite back another cry of pain. The pain was only getting worse. He limped a little longer until he collapsed into a chaise.

Dyan knelt by him, “What should I do, master?” “The mirror… the black mirror… go and fetch it.”

Dyan nodded and took off sprinting, leaving Ihuka with him. He smiled softly as Ihuka propped his head up with a pillow and got him a blanket. He knelt by his side wringing his fingers together, so unsure of what to do. “Good bird,” he mumbled. He was tired, but he had to wait until he spoke in the mirror. Dyan returned, cradling it in his arms and held it out for him. Avizon grimaced as he took it and tried to sit up. Dyan offered to help but instead, Avizon gave up. He murmured a spell, as soon the shiny black revealed a face: Orrien. He’d aged since last he saw him, his blond hair and beard had gone almost fully grey, the wrinkles were clear under his tired blue eyes, but they still carried that usual glimmer of hope, of happiness that Avizon could only ever be in awe of. “Avizon?” he greeted, but his voice was full of concern. “You are in need of me?” “P.please… teleport here. I… my leg...”

“You’re wounded? I’ll be right there- don’t do anything foolish.” Avizon almost dropped the mirror but luckily Ihuka was able to catch it. He smiled softly at him, he could feel the sweat on his body. “A. a man will come to the castle, his name is Orrien. He is a friend. He will save me. You must be good for him.” “We will, master,” Dyan promised. Avizon nodded, but he felt awful. He heard a familiar swoosh of a teleportation spell, a screech of alarm from Ihuka, but then things settled.

Soon a familiar face was standing over him. “Do I dare ask how you ended up in this state?” Orrien said gently. “Fell,” he grimaced. The pain was blinding at this point. His leg kept twitching and bringing all the pain back at him in a bigger and bigger wave. “Do your… companions speak?” “Dyan does. Tell them what you want from them, they’ll do it.” “Dyan? Yes, I need you to both come here. We need to move him.” Avizon couldn’t help but groan, and Orrien put a reassuring hand on his chest. Avizon bit back a scream as he was picked up and lowered to the floor, but turned around. He lay on his front, but putting his leg down had started to push the metal out of his leg. He screamed and tried to get up, to get away from the pain. “Hold him still!” Orrien ordered.

They did so, and Avizon could only endure as Orrien settled a knee on his back and pulled the metal out. His cries echoed across the room and he tried to fight against Dyan and Ihuka, but they were heavy and stronger than him in his position. The pain only got worse when Orrien clamped a hand over the wound. He opened his mouth to scream again, but then there was nothing… _____ He woke in bed with a feeble groan and an aching body, but his leg felt good all things considered. Orrien was sitting at the side of his bed. “Master,” he mumbled. “Ah, he lives. Welcome back, my student. You’ll be glad to know your leg should fully heal. It took a long time, but my healing magic hasn’t failed me yet.” Avizon nodded sleepily. “I really should learn light magic...” “Yes, yes you should. It is a good skill to have, if only you weren’t so hellbent on destruction these days.” Avizon sighed softly. He paused seeing Ihuka and Dyan curled up in the corner fast asleep but smiled. “Things have changed...” Orrien looked down at the two cloudwalkers and back to him. “You found something worth protecting?” “Yes… they helped me find my purpose…. They could never replace Ro, but they did help me find my conscience again...” Orrien patted his arm, “He would be happy to hear that.”

Ro’s death had hurt both of them so badly, the grief would never fade, but it helped to know Orrien understood. Avizon had lost a lover, and Orrien had lost his son. Orrien cleared his throat. “I will stay awhile, make sure your leg is healing as it should. Would you like something to eat?” Avizon nodded. True enough he was starving.

“Master?” Dyan said softly from his spot. Ihuka was awake now too. Both of them looked at him with curious concern. “I’m alright, little birds. Come here if you wish, you can share my bed.” The two of them climbed on, but they stayed on his good side. Avizon chuckled and ruffled their hair one at a time. “You’ll both get a good reward for helping me. Thank you. You should go back to sleep, you look tired.”

Avizon watched them drift off until Orrien returned with a meal. Yes, things certainly had changed.

[knight-ingale]

Chapter 1, Leaving the Sun

A/N: hey, it's Knightingale! This is the first chapter of my Twilight fanfiction I started writing this year. I edited this after I posted on my laptop so hopefully it looks better. 2020 is a mess and I just wanted to write some garbage fanfiction. Let me know what you think of it!

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You looked out the open car window into the wide expanse of Arizona’s cloudless open sky, a backdrop of perfect blue against the tall buildings placed in the desert of your home state. Soon, your new home would be in Forks, Washington, which differed very much from here. The open sky in Phoenix was ever-present, only gracing the dusty ground and perpetually dying lawns a few times each year with rain an average of 33 times. Yes, you had checked. In Forks, the sky was framed by tall trees when you looked up into the shaded clouds that were nearly always hanging in the air. The rain was just as present as the greenery that covered the trees, raining nearly every day. Phoenix was where you had lived with your sister and mother for all your life. Forks is the home of your father, Charlie. You call him “Dad” to his face, of course, but you had fallen into the same habit as your older sister Bella when addressing him to others as “Charlie”.  Last you had been to Forks was three summers ago when you had made your month-long summer visit to his little home in the rainy forests. Bella, your elder sister, who detested Forks, had put up enough of a fight to convince both your parents to let the two of you stay in Phoenix for the summer, bringing Charlie up instead for a mere two weeks in Cali. Now you and your sister were moving to live with him there!

You were much more excited about your leaving compared to your sister. You hadn’t been to Forks since you were 12 years old. You had often enjoyed your trips every summer, living with your dad for a month felt like a fairy tale. The large forests covered in green was like an alien world compared to Phoenix, as if you had stepped through a faery gate and was transported to another dimension. One filled with trees that held up the clouds, a place full of desaturated buildings full of cozy warmth and forgotten smiles.

You’re mother, Renne, broke you out of her daydreams with her voice, 

“Bella,” she sighs to your older sister, “You don’t have to do this.” She glances at you through the rear-view mirror, “Neither of you do.” she looks back to Bella, her main concern, with her sweet, childish eyes. You can see Bella’s face tighten with nervous anxiety in the car doors outside mirror. You knew why she was anxious. As much as you loved her, Renne could be a little… absent-minded sometimes. She wasn’t dumb or dull-minded, quite the opposite, actually. Her mind was always in so many places at once; like a box of little bunny rabbits, hopping energetically from place to place. Unfortunately, this caused her to forget things sometimes. Like having a bag of marbles, but the bottom seam of the bag is ripped and marbles keep spilling out. You can catch them and try to open the pouch and put them in, but you’d still keep dropping marbles. That’s why you and Bella were around, you caught all of the marbles and put them back in the bag before she ran off to a new idea, leaving her little thoughts behind. Bella sighs herself before finally speaking, 

“I want to go.” she lied. Everyone in the car knew that was a blatant lie, but she had said it so often lately, someone who didn’t know her would have believed it. Luckily for you, you had spent the last 15 years with her, you knew your sister and her habits better than she probably did. Your mom looks up to the rear-view again, but you just smile, 

“I’m actually excited to go to Forks, mom!” You playfully glare at Bella as you lean towards her shoulder of the seat, “Besides, I’ll consider this making up for Bells throwing a tantrum and keeping me from Charlie’s place for three years.” Bella scoffs as she rolls her eyes, but she can’t keep the smile off her face, 

“You say that like I’ve forgiven you for pretending to be ‘Bloody Mary’” she jokes. You laugh. You lean back in your seat, letting the relative silence continue, the only hearing the quiet melodies on the radio and the rushing of wind as you neared your first destination, the airport.

When you had reached the airport and gotten your suitcases out of the back. Even between the two of you, there wasn’t much, only a few bags per person. Due to the near-polar-opposites of your parent’s climates, not much of your wardrobe was suitable for Forks’ usual weather forecasts. You and Bella actually had to go out and buy the warmest clothing possible manufactured in Phoenix, which wasn’t much, due to the near insufferable heat of the summer and mild heat that still hung around in the dead of winter months. Once you both had your bags out of the car, Renne turned to you both, looking equal parts loving and anxious.

“Tell Charlie I said ‘hi’” You smile, 

“We will,” You both answer. Your mom grabs one of your and Bella’s hands, 

“I’ll see you soon,” she insists, worry burning in her eyes, “You girls can come home whenever you want- I’ll come right back as soon as you need me!” Bella almost noticeably winces, she knows your mom really loved you both, but she was in love and wanted to spend time with your traveling step-father, Phil.

“Don’t worry about us,” She urges, “It’ll be great. I love you, Mom.” You smile and pull your mom into a hug, entrapping Bella into your cocoon of love with you.

“I love you, Mom.” you murmur into her ear. 

With that, you and Bella set off into the airport’s main building, taking the path familiar to you, one that you had taken with your sister every summer until three years ago.

Going through customs was easy, the only three carry on items being a pair of cheap earbuds, an iPod mini, and a parka. The parka for the predictable forecast of rainy weather, and the iPod to keep yourself entertained during the 4-hour flight. You were delighted when no one was sitting in the third seat in your row, but it was only to be expected. There weren’t many people coming from the blistering heat of Phoenix willingly leaving for the downcast rain puddle that is Forks, Washington.

Once the plane had landed, you and Bella stepped out into the rainy sky of Port Angeles. Charlie, your father was waiting for you both in the police cruiser, like he had every year you visited before. Charlie, being the Chief of Police in town, only drove the cruiser, instead of getting his own car. It made sense to you, why buy another of something you already have that works perfectly? Bella however did not like the idea of being driven around in it. Something Bella had adamantly refused to endure was riding to school in the cop car, “Nothing slows down traffic like a cop,” she complained. Because of this, she was hellbent on buying her own vehicle to drive to school in, regardless of her smaller-than-desired budget.

Charlie welcomed you both as you boarded off of the plane, well, Bella more stumbled. That’s why you had come off first, grabbing her arm to keep her from having a personal encounter with the asphalt landing beneath you. Charlie awkwardly hugged you both.

“It’s good to see you girls,” he says smiling at you both as he pulls away. “You haven’t changed much, Bells. Y/n, you’ve grown taller, kiddo!” he laughs, “How’s Renee?” 

“Mom’s fine, It’s good to see you too, Dad.” Bella answers. Of course, she doesn’t call him Charlie to his face. You smile, 

“Mom says ‘Hi’” Charlie nods and helps you both with your luggage. All of Bella’s things fit into the trunk, as well as most of your own, you only needed to put your biggest case of clothing with you in the back. As soon as you all strap into the cruiser, Charlie makes an announcement,

“I found a good car for the two of you, really cheap.” A car? 

“What kind of car?” Bella asks suspiciously.

“Well, it’s a truck actually, a Chevy.” Oh, a truck. Maybe then it’d be more durable. God knows you’d need it. You didn’t have your license yet, so Bella was the only option to get you to school. If you didn’t want to be brought to school behind the separation grate of a cop car, that is.

“Where did you find it?” Bella asks.

“Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?” La Push was the little Native-American reservation down at the coast if you remembered right. Billy, Billy… You let out a little “oh!” before Bella can respond.

“He was that guy we’d go fishing with, right?” You remembered him faintly. He lived on the reservation with two, no, three kids. You remembered two sisters, twins, and a little boy. Man, you hadn’t thought about them in years! Of course, that couldn’t be helped, since Bella treated Forks liked it was cursed with the plague for years, enough to stop your summerly visits.

“Yup, that’s him,” your dad confirms, “He’s in a wheelchair now, so he can’t drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap.” Bella, ever suspicious of this vehicle, prods further, 

“What year is it?”  You can see Charlie make a slight face at Bella’s question, 

“Well… Billy’s done some work to the engine- it’s only a few years old really,” he tries vainly. 

“When did he buy it?” Bella continues. 

“He bought it in 1984, I think.”

“Did he buy it new?” Charlie sighs at the question, 

“Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties- or late fifties, at the earliest,” he admits. Bella sigh herself, 

“Ch- Dad,” she starts, “Neither Y/N or I know anything about cars! We wouldn’t be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I can’t really afford a mechanic-” she rambles anxiously before Charlie stops her, 

“Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don’t build them like that anymore.” Bella stews in her thoughts for a moment, you break the silence, 

“I mean, if anything, I’m more than happy to get to school in something other than the back of a cop car,” you laugh easily, “I mean, can you imagine, coming to school on the first day in the back of the Chief’s cruiser like a criminal? Talk about a first impression!” Charlie is able to laugh at your light humor with you before Bella asks another question, 

“How cheap is… cheap?” she asks, quieting your laughter quickly. 

“Well, girls, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift.” you can see Charlie peek over at Bella before glancing at you through the rear-view hopefully. Already… wow, was the truck free?

“You didn’t have to do that, Dad, I was going to buy us a car myself,” Bella says. Charlie looks straight ahead at the road before answering, obviously trying to get his emotions out without his usual awkwardness.

“I don’t mind. I want you to be happy here.” His last sentence was obviously more pointed at your sister than you. She had never really hidden her… distaste for Forks. Charlie seemed rather pleased the two of you had willingly decided to come live with him for a more permanent amount of time.

“That’s really nice Dad,” Bella says, looking straight out the front window, just like your dad. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.” You smile at the two in front of you, 

“Thanks, Dad!” He makes a gruff sound of affirmation, slightly awkward, but mostly pleased at your positive reaction,

“Well, now, you’re welcome.” You settled against the window and car door and pop your earbuds in their place as you press play on your iPod. You look out through a rain covered window, alternating between watching the terrain run behind you and focusing on the water droplets streaking across the glass, seeing which ones met the bottom first.

Eventually, you made it home. You recognized the curve of the road, seeing a peek of the washed-out color of the white house and dark roof through the brilliant green of the trees. What was the most eye-catching about the scene was the contrasting red truck in the driveway. Bella hopped out of the front with almost excited energy. 

“Wow Dad,” she exclaims slightly louder than her usual, quiet volume, “I love it! Thanks!” You climbed out of the back, pausing your music and stuffing the earbuds into your pocket as you made your way beside your sister. Despite being the complementary color of green, the washed-out fade of the red paint made the truck look perfect in the surrounding environment. It was big and old, but it was sturdy looking, like a little tank. This was definitely one of the trucks that could get in a collision and crush the opposing vehicle like an empty soda can. At least if Bella managed to crash the two of you, you’d probably live!

Charlie calls you both to the back of the truck after accepting your thanks and words of appreciation as best as he could, helping you both unpack your luggage from the cruiser. It only took one trip. Bella carried her luggage upstairs with your dad’s help, and you dragged your own into your room on the main floor of the house. 

Originally, you and Bella had shared the nursery, but around 11 years old, the two of you convinced (or complained, depends on who you ask)  your dad to let you and Bella have separate rooms. Your little room was wedged between the stairs and the living room, the smallest room in the house. It wasn’t bad though. The walls were painted navy blue with old glow in the dark stars stuck all over the popcorn ceiling and tops of the walls. You still had the white garlands of Christmas lights tacked up the to corners of your ceilings, and the lace curtains still hung over the window. Your window faced the back of the house directly into the forest behind. There was enough room for your twin-sized bed and a small desk and bookshelf shoved into one corner, your dresser snug in a corner on one side of your bed, and nightstand on the other. There was an old computer upstairs in Bella’s room, the nursery. Your mom had all but demanded it be there for easy communication. You missed her already.

You didn’t set to really putting your room together, other than putting clothes in drawers and hanging what little you had in the closet. You decided you’d unpack all personal items later, but dug out your backpack. A white canvas backpack with two bottle pockets on the sides and a smaller, extra on the front. You had doodled on it with markers last year, but it hadn’t fallen apart yet so you had been using it this year too. Your now emptied folders and binders took up space in the main pocket; your pencil case and an extra pencil case full of period products housed in the smaller one. Your backpack was set. You decide on what to wear for tomorrow, familiarizing yourself with your new set up in the process. By the time you had busied yourself with the small tasks you could, the sun had fully set behind the cover of clouds.

You made your way upstairs to your sister’s room, peaking your head through the door. Bella had put on her pajamas and was sitting in bed, gazing out into the night. In the low light of the lamp she had on, you could see she wasn’t feeling great about tomorrow.

“Hey Bells,” you call softly. She looks over to you, not bothering to change her expression. She already learned she couldn’t hide how she felt around you, so she stopped trying quite a while ago. “Not excited for tomorrow, huh?” You slide into the room fully, gently closing the door behind you. She sighs as you set down across from her.

“Not really.” She admits. “Forks Highs-school only has three hundred and fifty-seven students,”

“Now fifty-eight,” you interject. She nods and closes her eyes, 

“Exactly. Everyone around here has grown up together- their grandparents were toddlers together! We’re the new girls from the big city-”

“A curiosity,” you agree tiredly, 

“A freak,” she grumbles pessimistically. “I mean, we don’t look how girls from Phoenix should, I know I don’t. I should be tan, sporty, blonde- a volleyball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps- everything people think about when they think of living in the valley of the sun!”

“You know neither of us should ever be let in a quarter-mile vicinity of a volleyball, first of all-” you joke, “and second, I don’t think being sporty or tan would really help anyway. If Phoenix is the ‘valley of the sun’, then Forks in “the valley of rain clouds’. I don’t think a lot of the other white people here are going to be very tan.” Bella manages a genuine, albeit small, laugh. “I don’t think we’d fit in anywhere, Bells, not unless we find people like us.” She sighs, 

“Other people with glitches in their brains.” You shrug, 

“I don’t think its a glitch. We’re just wired differently. Besides, our brains are literally meat-jello full of electricity, some of them are bound to work a little strange, right?” She laughs, louder this time. You give her a side hug before standing up. “Alright, I’m heading to bed. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight,”’ Bella says un-enthusiastically. You exit the room and call down the short hallway to Charlie’s room, 

“Night, Dad!” He pokes his head out of the door a moment after, 

“Night honey, see you in the morning.” He goes back to his room and closes the door. You trail your way down the stairs and to your room before crawling under the blankets. You were going to need your sleep for tomorrow. After all, you were starting your first day at a new school. Forks High, now at a population of 359.

[trustsalvatorewriting]

wasteland, baby! | kol mikaelson - chapter ten

Summary: Kol makes a deal with the Hollow to revive the first woman he ever loved. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go as planned.

Trust’s Note: Please like and reblog! I hope you enjoy. I added some Rebekah and Aniya content for y’all <3

Word Count: 2,708

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten

❝ kiss me on the mouth and set me free ❞

TO BE CLEAR, Aniya Grover had never been talented at confrontation. Quite the opposite, really. Growing up, she’d been caught between her mother’s culture and that of the Vikings. Regardless, they’d both valued two traits in a woman: submissive, and quiet. She wasn’t to speak unless spoken to, not to act even when acted against. She was meant to cook and bear children for her husband -- something Rebekah had always rebelled against. Aniya, however, had learned to give into these ideals; and it was now, in the twenty-first century, that she was learning to lose them.

    Aniya looked up at Kol, staring daggers at him from across the dining table. It had been several hours since they’d left the diner and returned to the Abattoir. Aniya had left first, refusing to say her goodbyes after nearly murdering the witch that suggested Henry’s sacrifice. It had been Kol that stopped her, claiming that she ‘was only trying to help.’ It was then that she left without another word. Kol followed shortly after.

    When they returned, Kol called for his siblings to have a family meeting in the dining area. He excused Hayley and Hope, and gave Freya an open invitation despite not having met Aniya when she was alive. The two sat across from each other in the dining area, the air growing thicker with each second. Finally, they heard the sound of heels clicking against the pavement, and internally let out sighs of relief as Rebekah took her place next to Aniya.

    “Now, what might this be about?” Rebekah asked, pushing her chair in. “Have you come to ask for a custody agreement, Kol?”

    Kol smiled tightly at her, eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’ll have to say ‘no’ to that offer, sister. I wouldn’t want to run off with your only friend. After all, no one else seems to like you.”

    “Yes, well, at the very least, I have a friend,” Rebekah pointed out, a sickly sweet smile on your face. “You haven’t had a friend since the 1800s.”

    “1700s, really,” Niklaus cut in, taking his seat at the head of the table. He smiled smugly, and folded his arms in front of him, blue eyes glimmering with delight. “I’m afraid he was daggered for most of that century.”

    “That reminds me, I haven’t had the chance to return the favor,” Kol sneered and stood from his chair. Aniya’s brows furrowed at the harshness of his voice -- the way he seemed to growl the veiled threat at his half-brother. Slowly, she began to feel the weight of a thousand years on her chest. Whatever human version of Kol Mikaelson she’d loved had died centuries ago, and she began to wonder if all her suffering had been the result of pining after a person that no longer existed. If perhaps returning her memories would do more harm than good.

    Subconsciously, she reached hand up to touch the ring around her neck. Kol noticed and glared.

    She watched as Elijah placed a calming hand on his brother’s shoulder, suggesting that he take a seat. Kol clenched his jaw at his elder brother, but obliged, sitting back in his chair. Elijah nodded and took his place between Kol and Niklaus. He took a moment to adjust his appearance before giving a polite smile. Even this Elijah seemed foreign to her. More confrontational and protective, compared to the mere child he’d been before. He was well put-together, calm and a perfect mediator; and, in Aniya’s eyes, a perfect stranger.

    “So, what did we need to discuss?” Elijah asked, looking around the table. Rebekah and Niklaus shrugged in unison, and it occurred to Aniya that Henry’s life would mean nothing to the Mikaelsons so long as they had what they wanted. It would be Rebekah who would be most eager to have her memories returned to her, and Niklaus who would want Vihaan resurrected and return to -- somewhat -- mortal life.

    “It seems that Kol and a New Orleans witch have found a way to return your memories,” Aniya spoke slowly, watching for negative reactions among the siblings. Elijah and Niklaus had reacted the fastest, their eyebrows furrowing in confusion at her statement. Rebekah’s eyes widened as she turned her attention to the young witch. Aniya continued, “As well as a way to resurrect my brother.”

    “Kol, the last thing we need to do is be involved with the witches again,” Rebekah spoke quickly.

    “The witches have lost their link to their ancestors, and are being forced to practice Earth magic. They are at their weakest, meaning they will be willing to deceive and manipulate anyone who is foolish enough to play into their games,” Elijah explained. “In case you don’t remember, they were willing to sacrifice four teenage girls not ten years ago.”

    “As if we’re any better,” Kol shot back. He paused for a moment, his gaze flickering in Aniya’s direction. “If it hadn't been for you and Freya, Davina might still be alive."

    "If it hadn't been for me and Freya, the Mikaelson family line would have been murdered before your very eyes," Elijah corrected. "You may have loved that girl, but she was not your family."

    Rebekah placed a hand on Aniya's hand, which had been resting in her lap. "That's quite enough from both of you. I'm sure there's a way Aniya can return our memories without having to confide in the witches."

    "On the contrary, I have heard of her brand of witches less than a dozen times in my immortal life," Kol argued. "She refuses to practice magic unless provoked, so we aren't even sure she can do simple spells--"

    "You do not speak for me," Aniya cut him off, narrowing her eyes at him. She turned to the Mikaelsons, wringing her hands as she spoke. "I possess an offensive magic. It's a finite source, depending on the state of my health in order to be put to use. As of late, I have combined it with defensive tactics, in which I essentially use nearby resources to protect myself against the attacker."

    "And what the bloody hell does that have to do with memory erasure?" Rebekah questioned.

    "It seems that when I was sacrificed, all traces of my brother and I's existence was wiped off the face of the Earth," Aniya responded. "According to Kol's little witch, I can return your memories by erasing the memories of others."

    Nik spoke up finally, though his face remained blank as he processed the information. "And why would you need the help of New Orleans witches to achieve this? We have a witch, too. One who is not hellbent on returning to power at this very moment."

    "Our dear sister practices earth magic, Nik," Kol said with a sickeningly sweet smile. "She's only practiced sacrificial magic once, she's barely familiar with the concept."

    Aniya raised an eyebrow at his behavior. "Why are you so willing to hand me away to them? I'm not a New Orleans witch. They have no motive to help me."

    "Their motive is that they are indebted to me, and this is their way of paying it off," Kol said with a shrug. "It only cost a few dark objects."

    "You're interested in our marriage," Aniya stated. A light scoff left her lips and she crossed her arms over her chest. It had only taken a few short years of friendship to learn when Kol was lying. She'd recognized it in most of the Mikaelsons, outside of Niklaus. Each time, she'd been kind about it. Smiled politely and calmly asked for the truth. She took no interest in doing so now.

    If he'd simply asked, she might have shown him the memories herself. It might have hurt his head, the way it had done the night before, but at least then she might have been able to prevent the wall of ice building itself around her chest. Not only as a result of Henry, but of his doubt. She wouldn't need a grimoire to teach her the spells she'd spent eighteen years memorizing. She wouldn't want it.

    In her later years, her father began to teach heavier sacrificial magic. Spells to return or take away memories; to ensure the misfortune of an enemy; and spells to take a life. Her father had never taught her to return it, stating it wasn't the job of a witch to interfere with the will of the god's. It had been a pathetic excuse, of course, but she and Vihaan had kept their mouths shut.

    "And you're interested in a human," Kol remarked. "How did he know about Tyaag witches? Perhaps he's a New Orleans witch himself."

    He hadn't been. Henry Pearl had been perfectly human -- a tall, gentle mortal. He wouldn't have survived living in the village a thousand years ago, and she was afraid he wouldn't survive now. Perhaps she should have said goodbye after all.

    Kol watched the pendant that hung from her neck, its velvet ribbon covering the darkened scar she'd refused to heal. She might have gotten hurt if she'd tried to return the memories on her own, and there was no telling whether she would know where to begin. Every time he so much as thought of her within Death's grasp, an aching pain seemed to spread through his body. Some part of him would have rather died than see her get hurt, and he was no longer sure how to fight that side off.

    Turning his attention to his brothers, Kol pointed out, "You two are being ridiculous."

    "And you are being reckless," Rebekah snapped. "I want my memories of Aniya back as much as you do, but I am not willing to risk the life we've built for Hope. Are you?"

    He didn't answer. Instead, he clenched his jaw and turned to walk out of the room. Rebekah let out a sigh and stood behind Aniya's chair, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

    "I'm not sure why, of all people, you chose to marry one of my brothers."

    Aniya nodded, a look of defeat crossing her face. "He's the meanest boy I've ever met."

    Elijah and Kol made their way out of the dining room after saying their farewells to the two girls. Rebekah accepted a forehead kiss from Elijah before taking her seat next to Aniya, a gentle smile forming on her pink lips as dark waves fell over Aniya's face. "Let me know when you want me to plait these. I'm sure you're quite famished after a night out with my brother."

    "Quite," Aniya chuckled. "He was never like this."

    Rebekah's smiled dimmed a bit. "No, he wasn't. I suppose it's a difference between who you are and the person you need to be in order to survive; and in the presence of Niklaus, whilst running from Mikael and fighting bloodlust, we all changed a bit. Tell me, have I always been this way?"

    "Yes. I did admire you," She admitted. There had been a time during a bon fire, where she had chosen to stay indoors and help the women prepare food, while Rebekah stood outdoors and sat by the cattle. "Your father should have considered you a Viking."

    "I am sure I have always been a Viking," Rebekah said with a small laugh. "I can't think of other people that traveled around the world on ships; but then, we were running from our father, so I suppose we were more pirates than anything."

    Aniya's lips turned downward, her gaze falling to her hands. "The years not have been kind to you."

    "They were not, but what of you? A thousand years of sleep?"

    "Of nothing."

    She recalled having woken up to nothingness. She was met with a cold, dark silence, as if someone had locked her in an endless room and shut the lights out. She remembered waiting for Vihaan, who'd been killed two minutes earlier, and screaming when she realized he wouldn't come for her. She could recall the pang in her chest, and the sobs that had wracked her body as she bargained with the gods to bring her back.

    She'd been given someone who would observe her silently, capture all of her habits and flaws and loved her despite. Someone that had gotten lost in all of her features, and it had been ripped away from her. She'd been given a taste of freedom with each Mikaelson. Even little Henrik had been a chance for her to escape into a life she would never have: one where she might have raised a child.

    And she'd been left with nothing.

    After a moment, Aniya reached for Rebekah's hand shut her eyes, opening her mind to the Original. Rebekah fell into the void, and a few moments passed before her sight was able to adjust to her environment. She blinked, and notice a frail Aniya sitting a few feet away, her arms holding tightly onto her knees as she stared at the ground. She appeared to be the same way they found her: covered with dirt and dried blood. The blonde pursed her lips at the sight, and pulled her arm away from Aniya.

    "There's no need to worry now," Rebekah assured her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're immortal. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

-

"WHY AM I HERE?" Aniya huffed as she stood at the gates of Lafayette Cemetary. Kol had promised her a milkshake. "Nik and Elijah agreed that we weren't to seek help from New Orleans witches."

    "Nik and Elijah are not my fathers," Kol remarked, pushing the doors open. He stood and held it for her, causing her to stare blankly at him. "All of your problems would be solved if you did two simple spells. Both of which you would have aid in, if you only asked."

    "They threatened Henry."

    "And they shred the soul of my former lover. Everybody makes mistakes."

    "Then why trust them?"

    "Because we haven't a choice in the matter, and at worst, we double cross each other," Kol said, as if it were obvious. "I am well-versed in the art of massacres."

    "Lovely. All the more reason to trust you," Aniya muttered and begrudgingly took a step into the cemetary. She hadn't returned since the night she was resurrected, though the Mikaelsons had dealt with the Hollow shortly after. They's done something with a parallel dimension or Geminis -- truthfully, Aniya never paid much attention to Nik's coffee chats.

    "I feel caught," Kol snickered as he walked alongside her. He looked down at the shorter girl, his eyes barely glancing at the path in front of him despite the graveyard's sharp turns.

    Aniya scoffed at his response, taking a moment to think before asking, "Do you want to know what I honestly think of you?"

    "What?"

    "I despise you."

    It was his turn to scoff. "You despise me. Why do you despise me?"

    "With every chance you have to do the right thing, to be kind and selfless and caring; you are nothing but conceited, selfish, and miserable," She listed, despite the mocking look painted across Kol's face. Aniya rolled her eyes at his response. "I feel sorry for you, I really do. I just wish you'd bear it better."

    "Well, you wouldn't understand, now would you? You've never had to watch who you thought was the love of your life, truly die."

    Aniya stopped and turned to face him. She analyzed his every feature, his brows twitching in anger and eyes filled with spite as he looked back at her. His lips were somewhat pulled behind his teeth, as if baring them at her in defense. Even his posture looked as though he were ready to pounce, despite the fact that they'd only had a verbal argument.

    She smiled tightly at his statement, fingers reaching for the old wedding ring before she remembered the previous night. "No. I'd move on if I couldn't be loved. I suggest you do the same."

[dark-wicked-marvel-fics]

A Warriors Defeat

Warnings! Heavy Non-con and Dub-con (it kind of switches back and forth), magical roofies, loss of control, very dark Loki. If rape offends or triggers you please don’t read this. 

Blurb! You mistakenly decide you are strong enough to capture Loki alone, aware he has set a trap for you. He doesn’t want to just beat you, he knows exactly how to break you. 

 It was most likely a trap, in fact it clearly was. An anonymous tip-off from a ‘civilian’ who had spotted the God of Mischief, an address in Manhattan. Loki had been known to frequent Earth, causing havoc where he could, destroying lives wherever possible. The Avengers had fought him many times now, sometimes winning but never quite defeating him. You had faced of against him with the team and had infuriatingly never managed to defeat him.  Well that ended today, because trap or not, you were going to that address and you were going to annihilate the bastard. You should have waited for back-up but there was a scar along your hip that the god had gifted you in your last fight against him and you wanted to repay him for it.

 Call it hubris, call it stupidity, it didn’t matter. You went alone, racing to the address for the penthouse he was supposedly holed up in, breaking down the door with one swift kick.

 “You came.”

 Loki’s voice slithered through the darkness, stating the obvious. Clutching a dagger in both hands you narrowed your eyes and searched the decedent apartment for him, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at the lavish and gaudy décor. The large ornate fireplace burned with green flames, casting an eerie glow about the place. The sharp scent of rich incense wafted through the air, tickling at your sinuses. Black marble floors that echoed every step you took, golden gauzy curtains that fluttered along the open balcony doors, your shadow painted on emerald green walls… It was all as over the top and dramatic as he was.

 “Of course I came, how could I resist your invitation?” You hissed.

“You couldn’t. We both know that you can not resist me, that you would rush here alone, determined to be the one to finally take me down. It’s been there since the beginning, this pull between us, has it not? This desire to do bodily harm.”

 “Do you have a crush on me Loki?” You mocked, turning slowly as you tried to figure out where his voice was coming from.

 His laughter echoed around you, sending a shiver down your spine.

 “A crush. Such paltry things are beneath me, as you will soon be.”

 “You’re even more insane than I thought if you really believe that’s possible.” You snarled, your stomach churning at the very notion.

 “Insane, yes, but I am not foolish. You however… I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist coming here, so hellbent on destroying me that you still haven’t even realised that you are the one who is going to be destroyed.”

 The shadows behind you moved, the hair on the back of your neck prickling and on instinct you moved. You spun around with superhuman speed, the tail of your coat fanning out behind you. Even as he appeared you were poised to strike, your dagger at his throat before your eyes had even adjusted to his presence.

 And then you just… stopped. Held in stasis, your blade against his neck.

 “But it will not be your body that is destroyed, not yet, not until you beg for it. It is your mind that will break and bend to my will, it has already begun.”

 He wasn’t afraid, he barely glanced at the dagger. His eyes brimmed over with malicious amusement and his lips twisted up into a vicious smirk. He was a like a dark angel, terrifying and beautiful in equal measure.

 Wait, beautiful? You had never though of him as beautiful before. Of course he wasn’t ugly, objectively speaking, but you had never been objective when it came to Loki. His looks were insignificant because he was dangerous and evil. So why now were you realising just how stunning he was? And why had you never admitted it sooner?

 He calmly placed the tip of his finger against your wrist and guided it away, removing the dagger from his throat. You let him.

 “I haven’t been a gracious host, allow me to take your coat.” He said pleasantly, neatly stepping behind you.

 You felt his hands on your shoulders as he slid the coat down your arms, tugging it off and tossing it aside. It landed in a heap, the bright Avengers symbol that was sewn in above the right breast pocket drawing your eye. It seemed to be mocking you.

 “Breath deeply my pet, let the magic run through you and strip away that pesky free will.” He whispered, running his hands across your waist.

 “No.” You gasped.

 The incense. It was some kind of spell, something that was infecting your mind. You grit your teeth and held your breath, fighting desperately against his influence. You just needed to break through for a second, long enough to plunge your dagger into his chest and… and…

 His hand slithered across your stomach, fingers trailing along your waistband. Icy tendrils of fear wrapped themselves around your heart, squeezing it. You knew now what Loki had planned for you, what would happen if you didn’t find a way to fight back.

 “Breathe.” He ordered, lips ghosting across your neck in tandem with the rapid descent of his hand.

 He cupped your groin, your mound resting easily in the palm of his hand and you instinctually gasped, little tremors of pleasure running through your body.

 “Loki.” You whimpered softly, what had meant to be a hateful warning coming out a needy beg.

 “Yes, that’s it little pet.”

 He tugged the dagger from your limp fingers, inspecting it thoughtfully before he looked you in the eyes, grinning at the last vestiges of defiance in them. You wanted to scream as he traced the tip of your own dagger across your cleavage, the cool metal almost a balm to your burning skin.

 “Before you are completely lost to this spell I want you to know what is going to happen to you my pet.” He taunted, slicing through your shirt with the dagger and tearing the material from your shoulder, discarding it on the ground.

 “I am going to ravage you and you are going to let me. You will beg for me, beg for my touch like the pathetic little whore you are.” He hissed, trailing the dagger back up your stomach and between your breasts, cutting through the front of your bra.

 The already stiff peaks of your nipples hardened even more in the cool air as you were bared to him and his ravenous gaze, his eyes hungrily drinking in the sight.

 “I am going to crawl between those luscious thighs of yours when you spread them open for me and I will fuck you, like only a god can. I, Loki, who you despise so much will claim your body and fill you with my seed.” He snarled, teasing your nipples with your dagger.

 You had faced off against all manner of threats, fighting against monsters and aliens, and you had never been afraid. You had left all your weakness and humanity behind years ago when you were injected with a knock-off super soldier serum that had against all odds worked. You were a trained warrior, a super-hero. But as you stood helpless in front of him, hearing his wicked promise of what would happen to you, you felt like a scared little girl.

 You wanted to tell him to fuck off, to scream and rage and kill him but what you did was whimper softly and arch your back, presenting yourself to him. He made a low hum of appreciation in the back of his throat and you hear the dagger clatter to the ground.

 “You’re slipping pet, you’re almost there.”

 You knew he was telling the truth, you knew it by the growing heat in your blood, the distant ache in your pussy. Your mind was utterly repulsed by what was happening, by the knowledge that Loki’s cock would soon be inside you but that same thought was what was making you wet, you slick starting to seep through your panties. He wasn’t mortal, he would fuck you like you had never been fucked before.

 You weren’t worthy of being fucked by a god, but you were so so lucky that he had chosen you.

 “No!” You managed to spit out, trying to remind your infected brain that you hated him, you weren’t lucky to be raped.

 “What was that?” He asked, amused by your pathetic attempts at fighting.

 “N…nn…o.” You stammered.

 He didn’t answer with words, only with a salacious smirk. His eyes slowly trailed down your body and he circled you like a vulture, coming to stand behind you, his cold lips brushing against your ear, his breath tickling your hair when he spoke.  

 “Tell me how much you don’t want this.”

 His hands slithered over your skin, pulling the remains of your tattered bra from you, tearing into the material of your trousers. You didn’t fight, in fact you helped, moving robotically to wiggle your hips and rid yourself of the pesky material that was covering you, kicking your shoes off. His fingers lightly traced the scar on your hip and he chuckled as he remembered the day he had given it to you.

 “I don’t hear you.” He hissed lowly in your ear, taunting you for losing control over your voice.

 Your entire body was held captive by him, submitting to his will. Only your mind knew this was wrong, only your mind argued against it as he slid his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, teasing the soft curls that lay beneath.

 His finger slid between your lips, delving between your fold and discovering the ample wetness there. Shame, fear, embarrassment and loathing burned through you but they were all shoved aside when he inserted two fingers inside you, without care or tenderness. You were dripping, gushing, wetter than you had ever been as the torture truly began in earnest and your worst enemy laughed at the deep throated moans of pleasure spilling from your throat as he fingered your cunt.

 “Yes! Oh god yes!” You whimpered, spreading your legs and leaning back on him.

 His withdrew from you and snatched at your waist, his fingers digging into your hips as he used his hold on you to spin you around, your bare chest slamming into his. Even through his clothes you could feel his body, and it felt good. Your eyelashes fluttered as your eyes rolled back in your head, the sensation too much for you to take. When you opened your eyes again, it was to see him smiling down at you and the green embers of the fire flicker dangerously before they abruptly died out and reverted orange and yellow flames, the magic complete.

 You smiled back.

 “There we are.” He cooed, his voice like velvet.

 “Loki” You whispered breathlessly, his name like a prayer on your lips.  

 Caught in the devils heated gaze and victim to his razor sharp smile, if you believed you had a soul then you would tear your body apart to retrieve it and gift it to him. The god before you had made a believer and a sinner of you in one fell swoop, he could not have more thoroughly owned your heart if he had carved it from your chest and held it in his hands. All you had ever been, all you were was lashed away and in the bleeding wounds left behind, all that remained was what you would be.

 His.

 A whisper in the back of your mind tried to fight through the walls he had put up, tried to remind you to whom you really belonged, but it was washed away by another crashing wave of false lust.

 “Tell me who you belong to,” He ordered confidentially, not a trace of doubt in his voice.

 “You, My God, you,” Your own voice answered, filled with surety.

 “Then kiss me, my faithful acolyte, come and kiss your god.” He demanded.

 You gladly obeyed, surging up with towards his gorgeous mouth. Your lips crashed into his with frenzied hunger, and grateful devotion. His lips were cold but his kiss was not, his kiss was like fire. You lost yourself in it, in him. Your entire world narrowed down to the feel of his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, the taste of blood in your mouth, his tongue claiming your mouth. You hands tugged helplessly at his clothes, fuelled by the overwhelming desire to feel his bare skin against yours. You needed him, if you didn’t have him then you would just die.

 “Please, please my god, please.” You whimpered into his mouth, your needy little please being eagerly drunk down by him.

 You felt lightheaded from lack of oxygen, high from his presence. Reality swam out of reach and you found yourself in a wonderful fuzzy kind of world instead, one where flashes of green blinded you, his clothes disappearing under your fingers and his cold marble like skin pressed against your overly warm flesh. It was all divine, too divine for words. You were utterly bespelled by him, completely lost in at all. It was like you were drunk, or high. You didn’t know when you had lost your panties, or how, you didn’t notice they were gone until his thigh found its way between your legs and you shamelessly ground yourself against him, riding his thigh as he laughed at your eagerness. You didn’t want foreplay, you didn’t need it. What you needed was to be consumed, obliterated, taken over and fucked by him and only him.

 When you felt the edge of the bed against the back of your knees you happily let him push you down onto the mattress, scrabbling backwards until you were laid out in front of him in the hope he would take the invitation.

 He stood at the foot of the bed, his pale skin almost glowing in the moonlight. His eyes glittered with satisfaction, his grin so feral his teeth were bared. Dark hair fanned out over his shoulders, like tendrils of ink caressing his skin. You whimpered as your eyes drifted down, across his toned chest and stomach, your gaze following the dark trail that started under his bellybutton and led down to his groin. He was even more blessed than you had expected from a god. You didn’t even think as your legs fell open whoreishly, spread for him.

 “And there it is, the beginning and end of your fall from grace.” He growled, climbing onto the bed and crawling along your body.

 Your hands automatically reached for him, drawing him into you arms like he was a cherished lover as he settled between your quivering thighs. His words didn’t make sense, and it didn’t matter, you were so close to what you needed.

 The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, a promise of the pain and pleasure that was about to follow. His fingers dug harshly into your skin, surely leaving patterns of bruises along your thigh as he held your legs wide open for him. The tip of him slid easily inside you, aided by your wetness. He was barely an inch sheathed inside you, moans spilling from your lips and bleeding into the night air when he pulled back out, a dark chuckle rumbling from his lips when you whimpered.

 “Fuck me, please, my prince, my god, my Loki, take me.” You sobbed, desperate for the aching emptiness in your cunt to be filled by him and only him.

 You repeated the plea over and over again shamelessly, until he slammed his hips forward and speared you with one swift and painful thrust. You screamed in agony, sure he had ripped you apart, and you absolutely relished in it. He was buried so deep inside you that there was no room left for anything else, no room for air in your lungs. You were stretched wide, his girth almost too much for your fragile body to bear.

 “So responsive, I wonder…” He mused, reaching between your bodies to lightly brush his fingers across your swollen clit.

 The primal shriek of pleasure that his action drew from you was inhuman.

 “Only true pleasure can wash away the effects of the potion. Once you have what it makes you want, the spell fades.” He whispered wickedly, pressing his fingers down and using them to push you over the edge.

 Your cunt pulsated around his cock as the searing orgasm burned through your blood. It felt like it lasted for eternity, the pleasure fed by the burn between your thighs and the almost unbearable fullness inside you. Your orgasm raged, forcing wave after wave of spine bending ecstasy through you, and with every wave the magic that made you compliant was washed away. When the pleasure died from a raging inferno to a smouldering blaze you were once again in your own mind, while Loki was buried deep inside you.

 “Welcome back.” He whispered in your ear, teeth nipping at your earlobe.

 “No.” You gasped breathlessly.

 His cruelty knew no limits. He had tortured you with the knowledge of how you would be used, and then he had woken you up to bear witness to your desecration when it was too late to stop it. You were already trapped beneath him, spread wide open and impaled on his cock.

 “Oh yes.” He chuckled, grabbing your wrists as you tried to push him away, tried to save yourself.

 He pinned your hands above your head and rested his forehead against yours, forcing you to look into his eyes.

 “Such sweet screams of pleasure, how sweet will your cries of horror be? I have had your compliance, now give me your defiance.” He ordered, releasing his hold on your wrists.

 An unwilling gasp was ripped from your lungs as he pulled out of you almost all the way, caressing every sensitive and tender spot inside you as he withdrew. Against your better instinct you looked between your legs and froze at the sight of his cock glistening with your juices sliding from you. The spell was still lingering in your blood because it still felt good, it still felt divine.

 “Fight me.” He growled.

 “Fight me, or I will fuck you until your body breaks.” He warned when you didn’t move.

 You met his eye, terror coursing through your veins. He had already laid you bare, forced his way inside you and even made you beg for it, made you scream his name in pleasure. You had already been violated, how much more could you take? You tried to sit up, tried to scramble backward and free yourself from him but he only laughed at your pathetic attempts. The palm of your hand connected with his cheek, your nails raking across his face and drawing blood. He hissed, but not in pain. His eyes fluttered closed, dark eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and for a very brief second you thought how beautiful he looked. Like a work of art carved from marble, a depiction of the devil himself given life by Michelangelo.

 And then his fingers closed around your throat and you were pushed back onto the bed as he slammed his hips forward, thrusting back inside you, your breasts bouncing with the force of it. The only thing that stopped you screaming was his fingers on your throat. He squeezed tightly, nearly crushing your windpipe before he abruptly loosened his grip and let you breath. You gasped and coughed, trying to force some oxygen into your lungs but he didn’t seem to care. A drop of blood dribbled down his face, splashing onto your chest and it unlocked something feral in him. His pupils dilated as he watched it fall, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he growled, the sound animalistic and horrifying. His fingers tightened again and  choked the life out of you as he fucked the hope from you. Every thrust of his hips shredded another little piece of your soul, every inch of his cock inside you chipping away at your sanity.

 You were still wet from the forced orgasm so he met no resistance as he slammed into you but god, it still hurt. Every time his body met yours the slapping of skin made you wince, followed shorty by a sob of pain as his head brushed into your cervix. There was no rest, no respite from his brutal and unflinching pace. You tried to struggle, tried to push him away, your nails carving lines into his arms as you fought, but it only spurred him on. For every miniscule drop of blood you drew he grew more frenzied. His fingers alternated between squeezing and loosening just enough to let you draw in a single breath, keeping you on the precipice of unconscious. He didn’t even have enough mercy to let you pass out.

 “Is this not what you craved all along? The freedom to give in to your deepest desires without having to bear the burden of the guilt?” He hissed, releasing his hold on your throat in favour of wrapping his fingers around your hair and forcing your head up so you were forced to watch the way his cock slammed into you over and over again.

 It wasn’t what you wanted, you wanted no part of this, and if your pussy was still gushing it was because of the magic. Your legs wrapped themselves around his waist because you were under his influence, not because you loved the way he moved inside of you. Your hands slid up his arms because you weren’t in control, not because you were a willing slave to his cock. Your nails dug into his shoulders because you were spelled, not because he was working your body like a finely tuned instrument. You moaned his name because he had forced you, not because you fucking loved the way he slammed into you.

 “I hate you, you monster.” You sobbed, holding on for dear life as he pistoned in and out of you.

 “Oh I am a monster, and you may hate me but you don’t hate this.” He mocked, his point illustrated by the obscene squelching coming from where your bodies joined.

 Your head thumped back onto the pillow as the will to fight completely drained out of you. He was right, your body didn’t hate this and fighting against both him and yourself was too much. You gave in, squeezing your eyes closed and trying to pretend this wasn’t happening. You tried to convince yourself that it wasn’t him between your legs, wasn’t him buried deep inside you, wasn’t his mouth on your throat, wasn’t his teeth grazing and nipping at your flesh, wasn’t his hand squeezing your breasts, wasn’t his fingers pinching your nipples. Your body jolted, your hips being driven down into the mattress with every thrust and you knew if you were anything less than a super-soldier then he would have broken you by now, mangled your body.

 Tears leaked out of the corners of your eyes, sliding down your face and into your sweat soaked hair when you felt that pressure in your groin begin to build again. He was going to force another orgasm from your abused body, and this time there would be no magic to lay the blame on.

 “Please, please don’t do this.” You whispered, broken from a strong warrior to a pathetic whimpering mess.        

 But even as you begged him to stop, your hips rose up to meet him, chasing the mind bending pleasure only he could provide. You had never felt like this, never had your body held so carefully between pain and pleasure. It was killing you inside, but it felt so good, it felt so right. You were torn apart, scattered in all directions, coming apart at the seams and though it was his fault, you clung onto him in the hope he could somehow put you back together.

 “Have I finally broken you, pet?” He chuckled as your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers entwining themselves in his hair.

 You opened your eyes, your desperately sad gaze meeting his victorious one and you nodded, finally admitting defeat. He grinned savagely, wrapping his arm around your waist and holding you close as he sat up, settling back on his heels so you were straddling him.

 “Then prove it, and perhaps I will show you mercy.”

 You couldn’t have hesitated if you wanted to, your hips were already moving, sliding up and down on his cock of your own free will, chasing the delightful friction of having him inside you. The last vestiges of shame were wiped away as you fucked him, your thighs working overtime as you lifted your body up and back down, impaling yourself on him with reckless abandon. He kept his arm around your wrist, supporting you as he helped you move, drove your pace form fast and hard to superhuman.

 Every tender and sensitive spot inside you was massaged with every thrust, your clit dragging over his groin every time you sunk down on him and it all quickly overwhelmed you, propelling you to the point of orgasm.

 “Don’t forget to scream for me.” Loki warned, just as you approached the edge of oblivion.

 Just before you toppled over there was an almighty crashing sound and you looked over Loki’s shoulder, your eyes immediately meeting the shocked ones of Steve Rogers as he stood in the doorway, shield raised high.

 And then your vision went white as you came, unable to fight it off, your body convulsing in Loki’s arms as you screamed his name over and over again. Your second orgasm blew your first out of the water, your cunt convulsing almost violently around him and your spine almost breaking from how far back you arched it. His teeth sank into your shoulder, drawing blood as his cock twitched inside you, his seed filling you. It lasted an eternity, a glorious eternity, and when your soul returned to your body you collapsed back onto the pillows, completely spent.

 It wasn’t until Loki spoke you even remembered you weren’t alone.

 “My apologies Captain, I know she belonged to you but I don’t think she does anymore.” Loki drawled wickedly, his eyes glittering with mirth as he stretched his body alongside yours, draping his arm over you possessively.

 “Babydoll?” Steve whispered, finally finding his voice, calling out for you desperately, hoping what his eyes were showing him was some kind of trick.

 “Tell him who you belong to now, pet.” Loki hissed in your ear, loud enough for Steve to hear.

 You blinked back tears, too ashamed to even look at the man you supposedly loved, choosing instead to look at Loki. He wasn’t giving you a choice, not really. And you were thankful for it.

 “Loki, I belong with Loki.” 

Note - If you feel up to it, please like or reblog, or leave a comment (anon messages are switched on if needed). I'm still very nervous about posting these kinds of works and am trying very hard to resist the urge to flee into the night, never to be seen again. 

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

My Melancholy Blues (Good Omens One-Shot)

Summary: 1923. When Aziraphale bumps into a rather drunk Crowley for the first time after their fight at St James's Park, he's hellbent on helping the poor dear. Pun not intended. But maybe it isn't just Crowley who needs help. After all, what is it we say about coincidences?

Warning(s): alcohol, swearing, cigarettes, angst

Word Count: 2.1k+

A/N: I’m back! I’ll be quick because this is for the DTIYS from @whiteleyfoster and it needs to be up by the end of September to be considered and September in the UK ends in 2.5 hours. Classic me leaving this until the last minute. Anyway I hope you enjoy, sorry about the angst but it just kind of happened. Whoops. Also the title comes from My Melancholy Blues by Queen! The song isn't a perfect match to this fic but the vibe is similar enough for me to like it.

"Hey, 'ziraphale," Crowley slurred from the rooftop he was perched precariously on, waving like a lunatic, "Cooee!"

He watched as the small white blob that was hopefully the angel in question stopped dead in his tracks. Something not all that dissimilar to astonishment washed over his face, before looking up warily, almost scared of what he would find. Shock soon turned to concern when he saw that Crowley was, in fact, sitting on the roof of the Ritz with a ridiculously lopsided grin on his face. Honestly, he thought to himself, a little over sixty years and not a single word, and then I find him drunk in the middle of London. Typical. He shook off the thought with a hardly noticeable eye-roll before calling back, "Crowley? What on Earth are you doing up there?"

Crowley made a face at him, "What does it look like I'm doing?" He waved the bottle of wine he was holding in Aziraphale's vague direction before taking a swig of it.

"I can see that," he said, speaking a little more slowly when he started to realise just how drunk Crowley was, "What I meant was why are you drinking on the roof of the Ritz?"

"The view up here's great! You can see Buckingham Palace from up here!" he said, quite keen at defending his choice of location.

"Surely there's a nicer place to drink in, though? Perhaps somewhere warmer?" he suggested, really quite worried now that he could see how little Crowley was wearing.

"Nah, I was in this club in the East End but the music was a bit shit so I left," he shrugged.

"Right," he nodded unsurely, "And it never occurred to you to go to another bar?"

Crowley suddenly looked very offended, pouting like an extraordinarily petulant child, "Why are you so worried about where I drink? I thought you didn't care about me or something. 'S a bit suspicious if you ask me."

"No, no. Curious is all," Aziraphale said, blatantly avoiding the issue they hadn't got round to resolving yet. No matter how annoyed he was at Crowley, and how the latter must feel towards him, he didn't think he could bear to fight with him again. He'd much rather dance around the truth for a little while longer.

Crowley, even in his not quite sober state of mind, seemed to understand, though the tension was so thick it wasn't exactly difficult. He quickly changed the subject, "You should come up here, angel, you'd like it. Promise."

He looked so hopeful and even vulnerable, as if his whole world was about to come crashing down and Aziraphale sitting with him was the only thing that could stop it. If he'd refused then that would have made him very heartless indeed, and that simply wouldn't do. Though luckily for him, he didn't have the time to even briefly consider the proposal before he found himself sitting by Crowley's side, staring down at where he'd just been standing. He shifted himself so he opposite him, with his back leaning against the chimney post, feeling considerably steadier than he was before.

"Well," Crowley looked at him expectantly, "What do you think?"

Aziraphale blinked before murmuring, "I think you look lovely, my dear. The blue of your dress really compliments the colour of your hair-"

He was cut off by Crowley's undignified snort, "Well, thanks, angel, but I meant the view. Not my dress. Though I'm glad you like it," he reassured him quickly when he noticed his mortified expression.

Aziraphale's tense expression softened like melted butter when he finally looked at the breath-taking landscape surrounding the two of them, encompassing them in the odd security that comes with strangely empty cities. Crowley was right, you could see Buckingham Palace from the rooftop, as well as St James's Park and Berkeley Square and the rest of Piccadilly. Incandescent lights shone from the streets below, but they were nothing compared to the forget-me-not blue of midnight skies above them, dusted with millions of stars like icing sugar on a cake. "Oh," he sighed softly, wholly content and at peace with the world, "Oh, Crowley, it's beautiful. It's, well, I never realised London could be so..." he trailed off, left speechless from awe.

Crowley grinned up at him, "Just wait until the sun comes up. Won't be long now."

Aziraphale's smile faded ever so slightly, "You say that like you've been up here before," he said gently, trying hard not to come off as accusatory.

Crowley's face morphed into one a child might wear when caught with their hand in the cookie jar, but he quickly shrugged it off, leaving it for Aziraphale to mull over by himself. "Drink?" he offered, holding out the bottle of wine.

"Oh, a drink would be lovely, thank you," he smiled, taking it cautiously and sipping at it, letting the alcohol seep in and ease his aching mind.

"What are you doing out this time of night, anyway?" Crowley asked innocently as he took the bottle back from him.

"I-I fancied a walk. Been spending far too much time indoors recently. Needed some fresh air," Aziraphale stammered out, passing the bottle back even though he could have easily finished it off right there and then.

Crowley hummed in response, deciding not to question it even though his gut was screaming at him, screaming that he was lying, he needs help, he needs someone, anyone.

He needs you. Just as much as you need him.

He decided to ignore his intuition because ignorance was far easier than the truth. It slid down like honey and soothed your soul, however temporarily.

"So, the nineteen-twenties," Crowley mused, letting his eyes dance over his surroundings, "'S been an interesting decade so far, hasn't it? Great nightlife. And the fashion, ooh. I've really been enjoying this whole flapper thing. What d'you make of it all, angel?"

It took Aziraphale a moment to respond, "I-I can't say I'd noticed much," he murmured, eyes hellbent on avoiding Crowley's.

Don't look into my eyes. Don't look into them, my love, because if you do, you'll know everything. I'll have no more secrets left, none at all. And I don’t think I can handle that.

The alarm bells in Crowley's head were deafening by that point, even he couldn't ignore them any longer. "Noticed what?" he asked, cautiously placing the wine bottle behind him, deathly terrified of the answer.

"Any of it," he said, voice no louder than a whisper, "I haven't noticed any of it."

Crowley's eyes widened as he tried his best to push down this rising tide of dread inside of him, "Angel-"

"Don't, Crowley," he pleaded, voice breaking but desperately trying to hide it. It was when he finally dared to glance at him that Crowley could finally see the vulnerability and the fear and the anxiety and just about every other emotion that humans had a name for. "Please, don't make me explain, I can't-" he stopped midsentence, inhaling deeply, desperately attempting to pull himself together, "I don't want to talk about it."

Crowley momentarily looked like he was about to object, and Aziraphale’s heart would have skipped a beat if he had one, but he didn’t, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish. He let himself wonder, for a fleeting second, if perhaps he hadn’t been alone in his weird and confusing feelings. For he had felt this strange sense of loneliness for decades after their fight back in 1867. He’d spent much longer than a few decades without his angel before, but that time had been different, had stung in a way that struck him to his very core. Maybe there was a chance that Aziraphale had felt much the same way. Maybe they were more alike than he thought. He brushed off these thoughts as quickly as they’d arrived; it was unwise to ponder these things while in the presence of others. Instead of making a comment that wasn’t likely to be welcomed with open arms per se, he nodded deeply, oozing with understanding.

Crowley would be a hypocrite if he said that he wouldn’t mind being interrogated like that if he was in Aziraphale’s position, and he was sure he’d already worked most of it out.

Aziraphale softened in relief, the unshed tears in his eyes glistening like gemstones in the glow of the sun that was just starting to rise, creeping slowly up his face as it peered over the London skyline. Crowley couldn’t help it if his eyes lingered on the angel’s face. The logical side of him knew that angels were ethereal by nature, but only now was he starting to understand why. He seemed to literally glow gold with the dawn, outshining the sun and putting it to shame. His ivory suit had been dyed champagne by the sun’s rays, champagne, the colour of the drinks people downed with ease, the colour of the streetlights below them. His eyes were sapphires buried behind a veil of melancholy, framed with the wrinkles that came with centuries upon centuries of things to find joy in.

Oh, the irony, Crowley thought sadly to himself. He forced himself to cast his eyes away, feeling Aziraphale starting to squirm under his stare, instead looking at the Marlboro Red which had materialised in his hand miraculously, or not, depending on how you looked at it. He lit it with a click of his fingers, taking a drag and offering it to Aziraphale. No words had to be said; they’d known each other for long enough, they could say anything with no more than a look.

He eyed it nervously but only for a second, vulnerability taking over and impulses kicking in, and it was in his hand and he was breathing it in before he could even register what he was doing. The smoke waltzed circles around them before leaping away in the early morning breeze. Sparks flew off the cigarette as Aziraphale passed it back, glowing crimson in the sunrise, dying embers of a phoenix blowing away in the lapis blue of the sky.

They sat in the strangely comforting silence for a few moments, the dawn bringing with it its own eery peace. It wasn’t until the cigarette had nearly burnt away completely did Aziraphale finally murmured something, “Will we be okay, Crowley? You and me? Will we be alright?”

Crowley blinked back at him in surprise for a second before mumbling, “I don’t think I understand.”

“I think you do,” he said, voice filled with the spirit of the clouds above them, sweet and gentle and oh-so-soft, “Will we be alright?”

Crowley took advantage of the now burnt out cigarette to think of a response, leaving it to fall out of his hand and onto the pavement below, watching the ashes scatter over the London streets as if he was mourning them, “Yeah. I think we’ll be okay. Do you?”

“I hope so,” he said, voice no louder than a whisper but speaking volumes all the same. A single tear escaped, a drip of molten gold running down his face.

There was a lump in Crowley’s own throat just at the sight of his angel, and at the overwhelming meaning of those three simple words. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and brushing the tear away and my, hadn’t they gotten rather close. Aziraphale melted like butter under his touch and Crowley’s heart could burst just looking at him. Suddenly he was pressed up to the demon’s chest, arms hesitantly snaking around him, leaving Crowley speechless in shock for no more than a second. He quickly wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, resting his chin on the top of his head as the angel buried his face in his chest. They fit like two pieces of a puzzle that had remained unsolved for far too long, both of them internally sighing in relief and shouting for joy because they knew that this was where they needed to be. Neither let go, for neither wanted to, and they held each other as the dawn sun watched over them, casting its protective glow over a moment that deserved to be shielded from prying eyes.

And in the years to come, they would both act like that fateful night in nineteen twenty three had never happened, tucking the memory away in a far-flung corner of their minds and putting the whole thing down to alcohol’s wicked influence. But, no matter how much denial they would put themselves through in the next century or so, they both remembered in the depths of their hearts the words that had been said and the words that had been buried deep between the lines.

[aalt-ctrl-del]

I'm still kind of in a state of shock still.

One of the case studies I keep an eye on contracted covid, and there was a death.

I have what my fam refers to "Case studies". People that vlog and post videos on youtube, I monitor their VAL status and health. We track the covid spread like a weather forecast, predicting which geographic regions - states to counties within - by these individuals. I usually go with those I have firm understanding of which state they live in.

As predicted, the white demographic seemed immune or resistant to the covid spread in early 2020 and many reached the end of 2020 without reporting covid infection. A few of my case studies I anticipated and called a "covid infection", which is me declaring they have covid and then observing. I have a 65% accuracy rate, because each and every vlogger I anticipated to contract covid, came forward with a "covid story" and talked about their experience. All of these vloggers were white - but given the disproportionately effects of a covid infection between white and poc, the poc demography likely took essential precautions to insure none infection.

I've made a lot of hypotheticals and assessments based on virology and biological comprehension, through how the immune response behaves under distress or to the initial threat based on how the body behaves on studied and current viruses - rabies, HIV, meningitis, ebola - these are a sample of my reference sheet. Viruses have simple behavior patterns - infect, replicate, eat, spread. They need host cells to replicate, which destroys the host cell and makes it incapable or fulfilling its functions for the body.

Today, with the wave of delta, I am seeing so many of our current case studies contract the delta variant. And become very sick. And one of my case studies, I have an extensive list of their VALs (values, attitudes, lifestyle), insisted it was the flu. The couple was very religious, qAnon believes, their fan base was swamped with qAnon supporters and overt christian/evangelic believers. Not vaccinated.

The partner was not high risk, retired, devoted religious. The partner did not last a week.

I've had a theory, not a new one but it pertains to delta as well. That covid does not grant immunity or antibodies to some individuals, or in the least will not grant reliable antibodies. This is based on individuals immune competency. But I have a theory that those that contracted covid, may be more susceptible to the delta variant.

And on that, I've mentioned it could take months, even years to recover fully from a covid infection. This sounds extreme or a dramatic assessment, but covid is not a flu bug, it is viremia. It damages the blood tissue, and purging viral presence from the vascular tract can be extremely difficult. That is why the vaccine is so critical to those that are long-haulers or have persisting symptoms. They may have viral presence persisting.

That was really my only fear when the vaccines were available to the public. Would long-haulers or those with previous covid infection have a relapse? Or would the vaccine trigger a reaction from the immune system.

Turned out, they were fine. Better when they got the vaccine. The vaccine didn't cure them, but it benefitted their health. Likely triggered their immune response to create antibodies that could deal with the infection. Time will tell how long it takes an extent of that infection to allow them a full recovery.

And now we are receiving these reports of these conservative radio voices, anti-vaxx, contracting delta and dying. As it was pointed out, faux news anchors and staff are ALL vaxxinated. These people, the anti-vaxx, are dying for a lie.

Really, there are still people out here "i DOnT knOW wHAts iN The VaCCinE, I wOnT pUt THaT iN My BoDy"

So you'll invite this completely unstable, feral, viremia virus into your blood to melt your lungs, give you liver failure, because nicki meningitis said her sisters cousins best-friend, heard through a crack in the wall from this guy in the bakery, that someone's fiancé got swol balls from a side-effect to the vaccine?

My mom and I, she's a retired nurse btw, we were reviewing reports from medical staff and the EMTs looking after the ones that fell into covid shock from delta. Their lungs developing pulmonay fibrosis, basically the lungs rot to death and fail. She said it's like ebola.

Delta a very aggressive and replicates at a much higher rate than covid original. As such, it's incubation prior to presented symptoms is a much short elapse, a week. A week. I can identify covid in someone a month in advance, because covid original has ot a very distinct time period before someone falls into covid shock. I can primarily identify those who are 'asymptomatic' - basically, anyone who has contracted covid original WILL present some symptom, that is why I refer to the healthy carrier as a myth.

Basically, a lot of white people contracted covid original but were not aware, and either fell into covid shock (presented symptoms) or their immune response was adequate enough they didn't realize they were ever sick, IF viable antibodies produced.

Delta doesn't do this. You get sick with it, YOU GET SICK.

So what we have right now, from my case studies, is we got a lot of white people who thought that the virus wasn't real or wouldn't infect them, either because they are healthy or low risk, or they already had a covid original.

But delta, for those not primed or unvaccinated, it absolutely destroys them. So many of these healthy people have gotten sick, most have made a recovery because they were actually healthy and had a legitimate immunity response to the delta before it overwhelmed them completely.

But so many of these people believe "I'm healthy and my immune system is good." Those really are not factors here. It DOES NOT MATTER how healthy you are or your immunity history with other viruses. Delta is a different variant, it is aggressive, volatile, and very hungry.

The life cycle of a virus, by a hypothetical example, demands that a strong and successful pathogen must alter itself - evolve - at least five times every six months. Every six months, because that is when we have classes resume, companies higher fresh staff or interns from college, people move and carry variants to new areas, where they begin to mingle and spread with a new population. Of the five variants that are produced, only one or two might be viable as replicators. The others die out due to insufficient population density, where they feed and grow, and thus build momentum.

As in the case of the delta variant. It is only highly successful as a spreader, because it is intentionally spread, and has a relatively wide window of movement before it's host becomes incapacitated. Due to misconceptions that the covid is a case of flu, or individuals have immunity after contracting covid original, the severity of the delta is dismissed. Usually in the case of the white demograph case studies.

So going on with this "I dOnT NeED vaCINnes iN Me," is absolute suicide. Unless for a legitimate medical reason your doctor is cautioning you about, you need to get vaccinated. The delta is dangerous and it is going to survive, and it will use you to do so. And when it is done with you, your body can no longer replicate its children, it will kill you.

And when it runs out of one food source, it will evolve and move on to the next. Right now there can be a new variant testing the waters for its infection rate, but we won't see it, not until February of the 2022.

I don't have sympathy for these people, but in a way I pity them. To be so disconnected from the world and our society, so defiant and assured of their immortality. All these people, like hannity, fucker calrson, mayo failor gangreene, THEY ARE VACCINATED. And they are fighting against vaccine mandates, or telling people "you don't need the vaccine. The Dems are trying to control you. The vaccine is bad."

They are misleading stupid, gullible, idiots that will gargle iodine or huff oxyclean. And I don't care. They are stupid worthless people, so hellbent on their religion and god saving them, they'll kill their own children to get into the fabled paradise. And they've fallen for these con people, praise them as their prophets. It's just so pathetic. I'm so tired of these news segments - "Guess wo got covid today!"

Probably a true believer with a saune hannity shrine.

They don't have to die. I am so tired of hearing how "stupid person died because anti-vaxx". It's pitiful. All it is now, is a waiting game. We can argue about vaccines and covid all day, but in the end, delta will be laughing in your lungs.