#WHICH IS ALL TO SAY. her house is worth a lot. even if its some monstrosity built up by the dojo students or hasnt changed since the 70s

[weirdbabs]

do you think that the guerra household has money now? i dont mean like rich kind of money but enough to be comfortable? to own beachfront property, right off the shore of a popular tourist town (and probably vacation destination) is expensive, even if her grandfather owned it and its been passed down. would the rewritten narrative be that fransisco and his wife decided to splurge on a plot of land on the beach or perhaphs an old lighthouse and he built the house himself? do they have people make offers on the house to the tune of millions that they keep turning down?

[moonyasnow]

Sleeping Beauty's Tentative Prince.

PROMPT : They kiss you in your sleep

CHARACTERS : Ace, Jack, Malleus, Sebek

CONTENT : fluff and angst, pre-relationship, they are PI-NING, the fae have…strange priorities. or maybe it's just Lilia in particular(Malleus' part), internalized racism (Sebek's part)

—

I do NOT condone doing this in real life to someone who hasn't consented. But this is fiction so fuck it we ball

While you were awake, he could not show the affection to you that he wished he could, caught up in his own fears it might not be reciprocated and could strain your current relationship.

But in sleep, you would never know. In sleep, he could more easily deliberate upon his fondness for you, as much confusion, anxiety, fear, hope and longing as they brought him.

Ace

Ace Trappola portrayed himself as a 'coaster extraordinaire', gliding only where turf is smooth, dancing through life without a care in the world for anything besides goofing off with his friends. Stuff like 'love' and 'romance' wasn't on his radar, deciding he'd rather steer clear of it after an experience dating in middle school that left him feeling so utterly...bored, not really there, as having to live up to some ideal decided by his partner. Was that what all those books and songs and movies was hyping up? He felt lied to! It wasn't fun, and he couldn't understand how his now ex-girlfriend, or anyone else for that matter, really thought of any of that stuff as desirable!

The 'ghost bride', Eliza, was really just a personification of everything that made him want to steer clear of it. After she finally decided to shuffle off this mortal coil for good, along with her equally ghost— to Idia's utter relief— husband, too tired from all that fighting to really feel like it was worth it, he decided he'd rather crash at Ramshackle than walk all the way back to Heartlsabyul.

You declared you'd make it a sleepover, which was why he was laying in a sleeping bag on the musty living room floor of the ancient, decrepit house, creaking and groaning from the wind and its own whims. You laid next to him, on a mattress(unfair of you not to bring a second, by the way), sound asleep. He was kinda envious of you in that moment, you know?

Despite how dead tired he was after not only all the battle stuff but cleaning up the cafeteria on top of it, sleep just wouldn't bless him with its embrace. And desptire how much he didn't want to, especially not after all the other first-years— including Deuce, the bastard— made fun of him for the thought he'd already put into it...he found the topic of 'love' spinning around his head again.

He sure as hell didn't want the kind that Eliza'd idealized it to be. The others claimed that he, out of all the other suitors, did at least seem to know what he wanted. "...someone you can laugh with, and cry with...someone who'll stick with you through all the hard times..." He felt flustered and like an idiot recalling he'd said that for the entire room to hear, even more so due to the fact they'd caught on he was actually being genuine.

Then for some inexplicable reason he got an urge to turn his head to look at you. You looked about as tired as he felt. By that meaning you looked terrible. Or so he'd say if you were asking him why he was staring. Why was he staring? Probably because he was concerned. Just a little bit. Crowley already threw enough shit your way on the regular anyway, now you have to deal with this, too. And he never understood why you still tried so hard.

You, while not even having magic, had still given it your all during those battles, throwing rocks and twigs and even a goddamn wall-mounted candlestick— or well, that used to be wall-mounted, though apparently not as well as anyone thought they were if you could just pull it off the wall— at the ghosts. It phased right through them, obviously, but it'd annoyed and distracted them enough to make his and the others' job a whole lot easier. It was long past time for him to take back everything he said about you the first day you met by the school's Main Street.

You really had become an all-in-one janitor, photographer, therapist, and law-enforcer in one in the time you'd been here. It really wasn't fair. But you'd once told him it was easier since you had him and the rest of the braincell squad around. And he had to admit, it was the same for him. When it came to you in particular. Sure, he liked Deuce, and maybe Grim too just a little bit, but having you there was...special. He's not sure how he would've dealt with the incident at that one absolutely horrible unbirthday party and his Housewarden's total freak-out if you weren't there...or if, before it, he'd have had to spend the night in Ramshackle all alone with just the ghosts for company.

His eyes widened. Wait... He started to feel warm from top to bottom. He didn't mean it like— you weren't— y-you were just buds! You know? Friends. Just friends. And then he wanted to strangle someone when he realized those words tasted bitter in his mouth. Getting up on his elbow and looking at your sleeping face he couldn't place every thought whirring through his head. He thought you were kinda pretty or whatever, sure, but it's not weird to think your friend is pretty! And maybe...

No. Try as he might, every new excuse he came up with for why that couldn't be the case was just that; an excuse. He liked you. As more than just a friend. Maybe he kept trying to deny it because of how different this felt to his middle-school girlfriend. He thought she was cute and all, but he felt so alone when he was with her. Like she was seeing some boyfriend-shaped cut-out in place of him. He never felt alone when he was with you. And he sure as hell would never take a whole day's worth of public transport to school on a break for anyone else.

But it's not like he was planning for this. It felt strange, the way you went from 'best friend' to 'best friend I wanna be with' in his mind. Because, those categories weren't supposed to intersect, were they? Or could they? It just felt weird.

…But when he got past his initial shock, he realized that, thinking of you that way felt…natural. It was strange. Strange that it wasn't something he had to psyche himself up for. Maybe he was more like Eliza than he initially realized, in that way. Not noticing that kind of love when it was right in front of him. Maybe he'd also gotten caught up in that idealization of love, never realizing before that love actually could be with someone like that…someone he cherished like a best friend.

Laying down again and turning his whole body to face you properly, he stared at you. You really were pretty. Not in that way where you see someone and can just tell whether they're pretty or not. Not in the attraction kinda way either. Well, there might have been a little bit of that too. But mostly, there was just something...special, about you.

About your face, and your eyes, hair, shoulders, nose, chin, neck, hands and just— everything. Just looking at you made him feel warm. It usually did. But especially in that moment. It was weird, how just thinking those things seemed to jump-start his heart like some old motor, because now it was racing in the night. He found himself leaning closer, until his breath fanned at your lips. Looking at you from such a close proximity was weird. Sure, he might wrap an arm around or lean it on your shoulder pretty often, and do things like flick your forehead or your nose to see you pouting at him, but you'd never really been this close before. The tips of your noses were touching.

He was planning on moving away. He really was. But then you shifted in your sleep and your lips brushed softly against his.

As quickly as he could, he almost leapt backwards and turned his back to you and hoped to the Seven you didn't realize. Not then, not the next morning— not ever.

He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, and calm his racing heartbeat.

Sadly for him, he laid awake all night thinking about it and didn't get a lick of sleep.

He kinda hoped he could do it again one day. With you awake this time, of course. Yeah...with you, it might not be so bad. The Underworld would freeze over before he ever told you that though. Well, that was hyperbole. He just wanted to make sure you wouldn't like…laugh at him for it, or something.

…Maybe accidents weren't so bad sometimes.

Jack

Having grown up knowing that his parents, his grandparents, and most likely their parents and grandparents too, were mated for life— that they found each other and that was it— Jack Howl had always been sure that's how it would go for him too. That when he found 'the one' everything would be easy, and make sense instantly. And when he started to feel a strange new pressure in his chest around you, a desire to protect you more than even his other friends, he was sure that this was it. Yet something happened which he hadn't considered.

The person he fell for wasn't another wolf beastperson, nor any other kind of beastperson or mer who mated for life. You were human. And humans very much did not mate for life, as much as some might claim they would like to. For the first time he started to feel a bit of doubt about his future life plan. He was sure you were 'the one' for him… But now he had to start to contest with the fact that, he might not be 'the one' in your eyes.

So, he thought…he would try to court you in some way. Make it clear he could be a good partner for you.

During the second night at Vargas' training camp, when Grim hadn't returned from going to get blankets with the others, you had become so worried that you tried to run off to go looking for him. And Jack felt like he had no choice but to go with you; he would never risk you running into the shadow while alone. It definitely wasn't the smartest decision, and he had tried to stop you. But you had argued against him, insisting you wouldn't just leave Grim behind, no matter how much danger it put you in. That was something he had always respected about you; you always looked out for those in you pack. And he agreed to go with; he'd do the same for you— and then some— if you went missing, after all. But an hour of walking later, and you both realized that…you were lost. Now, not only was Grim gone, but those who remained at camp would think you both were gone, too.

You two had been walking for hours searching for the way back to no avail, when you had given up, swaying on your feet, saying you couldn't take another step. His eyes shot up in surprise, having been too caught up in getting you both back to camp to consider you didn't have anywhere near his levels of stamina, his ears flattening against his head with both guilt and a bit of embarrassment— guilt at not having realized you couldn't keep up, and embarrassment at not remembering the way back well enough. More like shame, really. He felt sure camp was the safest place for both of you right now, yet in his haste to follow you to make sure nothing jumped out at you, he'd neglected to keep good enough track of the scents around you both to be able to lead the way back. That wasn't how a good partner was supposed to behave! He was supposed to be able to make sure you were safe.

You were the one to suggest, with the night being so cold, that you sleep close to one another. He balked at the suggestion once it left your mouth, trying to hide the furious blush he knew would overtake his face if he let it— letting you see him like that would be way too embarrassing to consider; he was supposed to be cool! So you'd know he could protect you! Not act like some lovesi— o-overly affectionate— puppy! But when you reasoned that it was to conserve heat, to make sure neither of you ever became cold enough for it to be truly dangerous, he had no argument against it, and so was forced to go along with it. He didn't want you to freeze, after all. And no, don't misunderstand him! His tail did NOT just start wagging! And if it did, i-it was just nerves! N-not at being close to you— the shadow! NOT TO SAY HE COULDN'T TAKE ON THE SHADOW IF IT APPEARED—

He had to force himself to keep quiet, lest he put his foot in his mouth again.

He'd assumed you would just be sleeping next to each other. So when you slotted yourself right in his arms, your head on his chest, he froze in place, begging for dear life that you weren't hearing the way his heart was now racing. No matter if you did or not, you soon fell asleep. But Jack, like a protective guard dog (a comparison he didn't like but couldn't exactly deny at this moment) stayed awake for a while longer to make sure the area was truly safe, leading to him becoming lost in his thoughts.

He was confused why you were here at all. You weren't even part of a sports club! Or any club at all, for that matter; running errands for Crowley ate up too much of your time for you to be able to join one. But you were still here. You had claimed it was better than spending that time in school figuring out a way for a magicless student to succeed in magic assignments, Grim not often being fond of cooperating if there was no tuna involved, much to your frequent frustration. But it still really didn't sit right with him that you got caught up in all this when you were only meant to be there to take pictures. He thought Crowley should definitely compensate you for this, since you got caught in danger due to him making you go along with them. But by now he'd wised up enough to realize that was never going to happen. The thought began to really get on his nerves.

It was insane, how Crowley treated you like some slave with no mind or will of your own. Even worse, a disposable one he kept throwing at problems— dangerous problems...he still wasn't over how close you'd come to being seriously injured in the fight at the Mostro Lounge— that should have been CROWLEY'S job to handle. He almost began to growl just thinking about it. The mere thought of you, his m— friend...his good...friend...being hurt in the slightest scared him. Enough that his arms unconsciously tightened around you. The scent of your hair, a reminder you were currently not in danger, put him at ease. He exhaled in silent relief.

…If…

After you both graduate, if he asked you to come with him back to his home in the Shaftlands, what would you say? He'd be able to keep you safe. Make sure you never had to live like this again. What with your status as not being from this world and thus having no legal identifying paperwork, getting a job would probably be hard for you. So he'd get a job and support both you and him. And Grim, of course— if Grim was your pack, he was Jack's, too. He was already sure his family would love you, and welcome you with open arms. And then one day down the line he'd—

He couldn't bring himself to finish his thought, face having grown far too red. But his tail wouldn't stop wagging. He might have thought of it before, but that was when you weren't literally sleeping in his arms. You being so close just...made everything feel too real.

He took a deep breath to clear his mind. What mattered right now was that he would keep you safe. Take care of you. Now…and hopefully, you'd allow him to do the same in the future.

But the fuzzy, excited feelings brought on by the thought he didn't finish didn't leave him, them and your scent lulling him further into a comfortable sleepiness. So close to sleep and overflowing with affection, he didn't even notice, let alone have the sense to stop himself, from placing a kiss to your forehead, snuggling up closer to you to make sure you kept warm, unconsciously smiling against the top of your head as he, too, was claimed by sleep.

It just felt so...right, to hold you.

…The next morning you were confused by why he refused to look you in the eye.

Malleus

Malleus Draconia, crown prince and heir to the fae Kingdom of Briar Valley, was used to spending his time alone. Used to having only his guards and mentor for company. Used to spending hours wandering through empty stone hallways and rigorously up-kept gardens where none but he, his beloved gargoyles, and the occasional critter dared wander.

Perhaps that was because of him.

Though he came to Night Raven College to 'broaden his horizons', after the first few months or so of classes in which he was left to work alone even on group projects, smelling the fear of his peers in the air, he had all but given up on finding an actual friend. Someone who would stay by his side not out of duty or necessity, but purely out of desire to.

The way you haphazardly seemed to stumble into his life and make a home for yourself in his hollow ruin of solitude had still not caught up with him, even months later.

It was late in the evening, the old decrepit clock in Ramshackle had just struck 12. You were on the couch, leaning against him, asleep on his shoulder as he read a book. Or at least, he had been trying to. For all of five minutes. The soft pressure of your body leaning against his arm had made him lose all focus for anything not related to you. So here he was, staring like a fool at your sleeping figure.

That you, so small and fragile compared to him, were not afraid of the dragon by your side— the horned beast with power enough to destroy most of the school with less than a snap of his fingers— never ceased to amaze him. Yet it was on nights like these, when you were too tired to go for your usual evening walk with him yet still wanted him near, that left him most awestruck. Not only did you say, with your own words, that you wished to be by his side despite your lack of energy…you trusted him enough to fall asleep in his presence. Leaning against his shoulder, no less. It intoxicated his heart with pride, peace and longing in equal measure.

Yet, it only occurred to him the first time it happened that he had never seen another's sleeping face before. At least, not with their knowledge. He had seen you resting through your window on his late-night strolls before. Yet this was different. You allowed him this. If he did not already think you were the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever bore witness to, he did once he saw the gentle, peaceful expression on your face so close. He couldn't help but liken you to the sleeping princess in the old story of the Thorn Witch from his homeland. Sleeping so peacefully…all whilst leaning against a dragon.

His heart ached with feelings he had no words for as he stared at your face, streaked with moonlight, book long since forgotten. Cupping your cheek, he cursed the leather gloves keeping him from truly feeling your skin. In the back of his mind he harbored a fear he dare not put into words: that were he to feel your skin against his, it would be a point of no return, and he would never be able to go without it again. A curse to one such as him, who— his logic was much too aware for his liking— would be forced to grow accustomed to losing the touch of all things in time.

Yet his emotions, not bound by logic of any kind, wondered if you would like that. If him discarding his inhibitions and letting his gloveless hands roam every inch of your body would delight you the same way the mere thought did him. One part of him told him that 'yes, you would'; he was the fae prince, one of the most talented mages alive. He could keep you safe, give you anything you could ever desire. Yet another part of him said 'perhaps not' with barely any hesitation. He was a dragon, feared by man and fae alike for his power which could wipe out whole nations, should he desire to. The conflicting answers left him with a confusing sense of whiplash, not knowing which to trust. Yet, since you were not, unlike many, afraid of him, he found himself hoping your answer would fall more in line with the former…

Heart filled with trepidation and yearning in conflict with one another, he searched his mind for that always comforting anchor of knowledge that was Lilia's words. All that came to mind regarding the matter of kisses was that 'it was not to be done once the sun had set', which to him was good enough reason to force himself to abstain. Or at least, so he'd hoped. He wished to listen to his mentor's words, clung to them when his own young mind felt overcome with what he wished to do instead of what he ought to do…yet found he could not. At least, not fully.

Holding your warm hand in his which was cold beneath his gloves, the heat still slowly seeping from yours to his, yours appeared so small. As Malleus resisted the urge to rub his nose against yours, he felt his pulse beat in his throat. A metaphorical fire lit in the candle of his heart, flaring higher as he slowly neared your lips.

At the last second he managed to force himself to place his gloved hand gently over your mouth, placing a light, chaste kiss to the back of it.

He yearned to traverse further, to not have this self-imposed barrier in his way, to truly know if your lips were as soft as he imagined them to be, if they tasted as sweet. It was difficult to draw a line for himself. But, despite pouting through it, he still did. Once more recalling Lilia's words of wisdom: it would be impolite to steal your first kiss— or at least, so Malleus assumed it was— without your knowledge, after all.

After that he made up his mind to keep himself in check. That was enough for tonight, he thought and tried to return to his book. But his thoughts never stopped drifting to you.

It equally unsettled and enthralled him.

Sebek

The son of a human father and a fae mother— a fae mother who went entirely against the norms and expectations of her people and culture to marry a human man, a man whose people had hurt hers, and whose union with her had barely been accepted, much less understood— to say that Sebek Ziegvolt feels many conflicting emotions interacting with humans would be an understatement.

He, having seen the scorn his parents' union brought his mother, had vowed as a young child that he would 'never be stupid enough to choose to marry a human'. For he, at his young age, fully believed it was something he had control over. And he still did well into his teens, Lilia's explanation that love cared not for what people had decided, while he admired, revered and respected the older fae greatly, was still not quite enough to persuade him that there could ever be a possibility of him, Sebek Ziegvolt, proud knight of the Lord Malleus Draconia, deigning to fall for a mere human. He couldn’t understand the appeal in any way, shape or form. Human were weak. Fae— he— were strong.

What use had the strong for the weak?

But when you saw him freezing in the cold winter air, you wrapped your scarf around him. He, predictably, began to chastise you, claiming through a runny nose that as a human you were weaker than he and that he could handle this cold, and would not lose to mere weather— which was evidently not the case, as his own words were cut off by a big sneeze, to which you simply laughed. What nerve you had, he thought, for you, a mere human, to laugh at him, Sebek Ziegvolt. To laugh at his weakness! But his thoughts stopped dead in their tracks when you removed the hand covering your mouth and he saw your smile. It was...dazzling. A depiction of beauty which he had only heard described before.

In his daze he almost missed you taking a napkin out of your pocket and wiping away the mess under his nose, still smiling at him the same way.

Though he chided you, claiming to not need it, he was powerless to stop the stutter in his heart at your gesture. The tip of your finger grazed his jaw for a fraction of a second as you withdrew your hands, and it haunted his dreams for weeks. And the gentle smile on your face, showing, as far as he knew, nothing but sincere care for him, was enough to make him feel as though he didn't need the scarf at all.

It was...dizzying.

He saw his displays of weakness as just that: weakness, not vulnerability. In his eyes he must not have either to be able to be a good, no, even passable knight to his Young Master! Deep down he knew his Lord Malleus was already strong enough to not really need a knight. But he could never shake the worry it was on him, that he didn't need a knight because Sebek wasn't knightly enough. That was why he worked so hard. His position, with Lord Malleus, in life, had to mean something. Make him mean something.

But you never seemed to care for how he thought of it, showing him small gestures of kindness over and over again. In time he found he had begun to expect those small gestures, despite how he might still had insisted they were unnecessary. That you continued them despite his insistence...warmed him, just like when you lent him your scarf— which he always returned to you each day, knowing you would wrap it around him again the next.

At first he was sure you must have bewitched him, cast some manner of curse upon him— forgetting the fact that you, as magicless, would not be capable of such a feat— for he could find no other logical explanation for what the feeling of full-body lightness and heart-stuttering you brought upon him could be. At least...none he wanted to listen to; none that made sense to him.

You were human.

What he could never let himself be.

And he, the knight of Malleus Draconia, couldn't make the same strange choice as his mother, no matter how highly he respected her.

Yet whether he wished to or not, they'd taken hold of him, struck his heart like lightning, leaving a permanent mark of you on his very being.

It was shortly after that incident that he had, one evening, come to Ramshackle in search of Lord Malleus, and instead found you on one of the Dorm's benches, looking moments away from sleep. For a moment, thoughts of his search for his liege left his mind. When he asked what you were doing out alone this late at night, interrogating you like you'd broken some kind of curfew Ramshackle didn't have, you smiled and said you were waiting for Malleus to go on your usual evening stroll with him. Something about that gave him a sour feeling in his chest. For you or for Lord Malleus, he couldn't say.

Huffing, he said he might as well wait with you. You said nothing at that, just smiled and patted the spot next to you. Reluctantly, he did.

You sat in silence for a while, him trying to ignore the way so many feelings he couldn't figure out the meanings of stung at his chest. He was so caught up in his mind that it was only once he'd finally figured out something to say to you and took a deep breath that he realized his shoulder felt heavier, and he looked over to see you leaning against it, sound asleep. He was about to begin to scold you for falling asleep while waiting for his Young Master! It was bad enough his Lord Malleus had to endure the tardiness of Silver on acount of the latter's propensity for falling into slumber at any given moment! But when he looked at your face again, the words, for once, froze in his throat and fizzled away.

The way your mouth was left slightly agape, leaving a small trail of drool running down your chin, really should have appalled him, been seen as something pathetic, left him feeling distaste of some kind. But when you'd still smiled at him when he had snot running from his nose, how could he?

Maybe it was fine to…let you sleep. You didn't fall asleep like this often anyway…

As gently as he could, so as not to wake you, he lifted your body up and sat you in his lap, shifting and angling himself to allow your legs to still hang over the edge of the bench, now exchanged for his legs. He looked up at your sleeping expression in reverence, bringing his thumb to wipe away your drool. In his other hand he took yours, which had been hanging limply at your side. With his other arm around your waist to keep you from tipping over, he leaned his head, cheeks burning, against your shoulder, yours falling atop his as he did.

Closing his eyes, he pressed a tender kiss to the back of your hand.

His heart fluttered with a novel tenderness...yet not one he found he minded. He would guard you as you slept. Care for you in your 'weakness', just as you had him in his.

To love a human might not be something he was yet capable of. But, if you would extend to him the same, not a half-fae, but him...

...he might be able to love you.

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

First of all I just want to say: Thank you thank you thank you SO MUCH to everyone who engaged at all with my last (and first) writing post! > <

Knowing people like my writing was such a massive motivation-boost to me! I tend to struggle with perfectionism and feeling like my writing isn't good enough by my own standards, so all that stuff is very, very appreciated!

I also wanna say sorry if any of them seemed OOC— aside from Malleus, I don't feel as confident in writing these characters as I do for the characters in my first post, since I don't know them as well yet. A big thank you to @yuurei20 for their TWST character fact sheets (found here) for the help! And also to the people who contribute to the the English TWST wiki!

Lastly: A reminder if you didn't already know, that I do, in fact, take requests! Coming up with WHAT to write is usually the hardest part for me; when I get past that I have a blast! ^^

...Also I think doing the research for this has skyrocketed Sebek up my 'favorite TWST characters' list because damn. That's rough, buddy. And honestly same in a way. His part was definitely my favorite to write.

[gatitties]

War & crack II

—Task Force 141 x young!reader

—Summary: more headcanons with your team as you being chaotic

—Warnings: none

Part One / Halloween special

yeah, I didn't finish my brainstorm and I bring more things from this sudden idea 🫣

─ Listen, you have a lot of problems.

─ And we are not talking about your jokes about death biting your ass anymore.

─ Price's going to go bald before he retires, how the hell are you still alive today? It is a mystery to them.

─ Everyone noticed during a mission where they had to stay in a safe house for a few weeks that you had the same concentration as a fly, empty thoughts behind your eyes lost in a distant point of reality.

─ You looked like another person when you were a simple civilian, Gaz had to pull you so you wouldn't get run over a couple of times for not looking at the traffic lights.

─ Price needs to put on videos of crunchy slime or Subway Surfers so you could hear what he was saying, (Soap won't admit that it also helps him focus).

─ They discovered that you can sleep in any position, seriously, whether it's standing up, in the bathtub, your body bent in an unusual way, now they understand why you complain so much about back pain.

─ Everyone looks in silence when they give you little impulses to do stupid things, like, last time you were walking to see the area and you found a woman walking her dog, you asked her if you could pet it and when she said yes you pet the woman instead of the dog, Ghost dragged you away murmuring an apology.

─ The following days they decided that you would stay at home, they simply fed your stupidity, every time they arrived you received them with the phrase 'where have you been, loca?' while playing a wolf howl in the background.

─ Luckily it was time to return to the base, during the trip you were listening to music, despite having your headphones you had the volume so high that everyone could hear it, Soap stuck to you because he liked what you were listening, the others decided to drown out the noise with some light talk.

─ Once you returned to the base you relaxed, returning to your working state, you focused again, which relieved all.

─ One day they decided that you needed a nickname since everyone had it except you, so they began to investigate your record as a cadet and even your years in the military school.

─ You kicked and fought because you were something else a while ago, but it was inevitable to find an old report where it said that you were violent with some classmates.

─ And in your anger for probably some nonsense, you ended up biting the ankles of a guy, or a group of guys, or even one of your lieutenants...

─ Soap and Gaz cried with laughter because there was a video of what was evidenced and you looked like a rabid chihuahua attacking its worst enemy.

─ Nibbles, at least it was temporary because you didn't entirely agree with the nickname.

— Since you were now known like that, you went from friendly punches to friendly bites.

─ Once you got kidnapped and you returned to the base the next day because your captors couldn't stand having you sing old Justin Bieber songs or listening to you talk about all your obsessions, they tried to cover your mouth but you just kept making too much noise, the information was not worth it.

─ You arrived in the middle of the meeting they had to prepare the rescue, having the courage to enter the room asking who they were trying to rescuing.

─ Price casually replied that they were looking for you until he did a double take, realizing you were there.

─ You were buried in a mass of muscles after the realization.

─ When you're depressed at random times (because you don't understand how your brain works and you feel bad out of nowhere), everyone will quickly notice, like even though you're not the most talkative person all the time, you usually drop some stupid comment, but on your bad days you are simply a piece of flesh and bones that walks without knowing where it's going.

─ The first time they saw you like this they tried to do something to cheer you up, Price gave you a few days off hoping your mood wasn't due to work overload, he even wrote some of your reports.

─ Soap bought stickers and decorations to your liking to decorate your prosthesis, he also told you that he could draw you a design to have your personalized arm.

─ Gaz tried to talk to you but you just didn't want to open your mouth, he chose to just keep you silent company, maybe you hug him, you need a little physical support.

─ Ghost will leave objects scattered around knowing that you would find them, knowing that they were things that you liked or had been looking for (because the poor guy always has to pick up what you forget around the common room).

— Nothing seemed to work until a stray kitten snuck in and lit up your face, so the easy answer was any baby animal would brighten your day, it was free therapy.

— You once dyed the boys' clothes pink by accident, but at least you told them that now they could go see Barbie with you.

— You promised you'd take them to see Oppenheimer, and that's why they agreed.

— You created a group chat just to send shitpost and teach them the meme path.

— Price just leaves it on seen, Ghost has the group muted, Gaz answers from time to time and Soap is the most active, he learns fast about today's shitpost.

— You really resist the urge to trim Price's beard to make it heart-shaped.

— You use the radio to sing parts of songs when you take too long to jump into action, Price scolds you for it.

— You complain that he seems constantly in a bad mood and you open a profile for him on every dating app you know, even on Grindr.

— You found Ghost's profile browsing Tinder and Soap's profile on Grindr... you decided to use it as a weapon in case you needed any favors.

— Gaz caught you red-handed, but you made a deal and he wouldn't say anything if he can profit from the manipulation.

— You hide it like you're hiding war crimes.

— Why does Price have so many likes from single moms?

[writermani4c]

Wise Man - Willard Russel x Reader

@pizgif

Summary: He waited for her for a long time, but she was much better than his fantasies. A wise man knows when he has found his wife.

Warnings: English is not my first language. Not the second or third, I'm sorry. I'm just a Brazilian woman with Bill Skarsgard fever who likes to write to relieve tension. I hope you like it and that the BIG mistakes don't bother you while reading. With love, me.

It's romantic, kind of fluffy (if you like men who are madly in love) and with a slight spice of obscenity. Carefully follow along.

She smelled like lilies when she walked into the cereal aisle.

Every man prepares for that moment. The moment when your life will be turned upside down, all because of a peculiar smell that makes you turn your neck without any concern other than finding its source, then you come face to face with a woman. Your girlfriend, your wife, the mother of your children, the warm hand on your shoulder after a dog day, the smell of lilies on the pillow on the other side of the bed, the soft voice that will say “honey, is that you?” when you get home or “why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” in the morning.

Willard was waiting for her. Even though he didn't like to admit it out loud, he hoped there was someone like that in that strange, inhospitable hole in the world. And when she turned the corner, holding a bag of flour and some eggs, smelling of lilies, with dirt-stained fingernails and a yellow dress that had seen better springs, he knew that this would be his wife.

She looked up only subtly, acknowledging his presence because he was tall enough to block the view of some items on the small shelf, but not tall enough to notice that he was losing his breath at her handsome face.

Beautiful eyes.

Her eyes burned into a particular corner of his brain, coming into his dreams like two headlights. Willard never liked sleeping, seeing it as necessary as eating and pissing, but much more boring. He slept and felt paranoid about being so vulnerable. But when he started dreaming about her eyes, sleep became a pleasant escape.

Small town, people talk. They said that her father had left early, so it was just the mother and daughter in a house falling apart. The mother was sick and the daughter took care of keeping them alive and fed, took care of the family garden and sold flowers to the local flower shop, also repaired worn-out clothes and cleaned some houses. Willard brought shirts and she took them like treasures, pressing them to her chest before thanking him for thinking of her for the service. She didn't know that he himself cut some holes in his shirts and stopped buying some items for the house to have an excuse to see her. It was worth it when your shirts came back sewn and smelling of fresh earth, tulips and daisies.

Someone needed to take care of her. Someone needed to keep her warm at night and scare away the strangers who followed in her footsteps when she make your purchases.

Most of them started to cower when she started waving at Willard when she saw him on the street. He almost chickened out himself, thinking about what chance she had of seeing him with some affection, and took a while to return the wave, which gave her the confidence to do so more often.

'Good morning, Mr. Russel' and ‘Good afternoon, Mr. Russel’, always with a sweet voice and a small smile at the corner of his mouth, that corner that made him want to lean over her, hold her face and run his index finger across her lips, because they were beautiful, they looked soft and smooth. He told her to cut the formalities, but she always called him that, changing to her first name only when he went to her house with clothes to mend.

─ You have a lot of clothes to sew." She smiled and Willard thought she might know.

She was beautiful in a disconcerting way. She had that face that made the day seem less depressing, with a smart smile and sparkling eyes, and that body that made him wish ─ and then feel even slightly guilty for letting his thoughts go so far ─ that he could travel with his mouth, kissing her curves. as he breathed in the scent she must have had beneath her clothes, that skin as smooth as silk at his mercy. She wasn't stupid, though.

─ It's as if termites do their damage whenever I take my eyes off them. Sorry for bringing you so much trouble.

─ No, you don't need to apologize for that. But you spend a lot of money on me.

─ It's money well spent.

─ I… ─ She breathed in, batting her eyelashes as a gentle rebuke to whatever was in her brain. Without meaning to, Willard took a step forward. Don't beat yourself up, my blossom, that's what she wanted to say, but she stopped herself from taking that step inside the screened-in porch of her house. ─ You…

─ Willard.

─ Willard. ─ He waved with a resigned smile. ─ I don't want to be rude.

─ Please be. Be rude all you want, I won't care.

─ Do you want to stay for dinner?

His heart became a nearly dead muscle beneath her words, only to start beating full force again, skipping beats like a runner in a marathon. He couldn't believe it. A huge smile spread across his face. It would be the first time she invited him in. This gave him hope. He gave him a duty.

─ I want it.

Once inside her personal space, the place where she lived, he felt enveloped to the core, because the entire house smelled like her. Soft earth and flowers.

Her couch was warmer and more comfortable. The table at home, although small, was warmer and the chairs were comfortable. The smell of his food made him feel a dormant, wild hunger, something that was more inside his head than his stomach, roaring and digging with sharp nails into his flesh. He went to the bathroom, with the window facing the backyard. A small window, but one he could sneak through, and he left it open from the inside.

That night, he had dinner with his future wife and her mother, a lady so laughing and talkative that she filled him with questions full of ulterior motives.

If he was married, which he gladly answered no, looking at the flush-cheeked girl at the other end of the table. If he intended to get married, he said yes. What he worked with, whether he drank, whether he was baptized, whether he was up to date with his church obligations. Willard maintained a helpful smile because he knew she heard all his answers and, somewhere, evaluated everything he said.

Later, when they said goodbye, she walked him to the door.

─ Thank you for staying. We don't receive many visitors.

─ Thank you for dinner. No one has cooked for me for a long time.

─ You can come when you want to be questioned over a plate of food.

Under the yellow light of the screen porch, the world seemed very small and very simple. There was nothing but him and that woman. Nothing but the way she looked at him, her face lifted to meet his eyes, and the way she breathed, how she filled her lungs all at once and emptied them more slowly. Her cheeks were warmer in the yellow light, the glow in her eyes was like the gravitational force making him yield to her, and the flutter of those eyelashes stirred Willard's heart once again.

He waited for her, but he couldn't believe that reality could be so good.

His right hand touched hers, gentle but lewd, and he leaned in, consuming the air between them, to kiss her left cheek.

He didn't apologize or look back before walking through the balcony door, hearing the thud as it closed behind him. He walked through the garden and disappeared into the darkness, but he didn't go away. He watched her touch her cheek with her fingertips and take a deep breath, then a smile spread across her face.

Every night for two months, he climbed in through that bathroom window in the middle of the night and walked silently around the house. He touched the notes she signed by hand, her grocery list or some reminder on the refrigerator door, ran his fingers through the clothes on the line at the back of the house and went through her things. He defiled her space because he felt a certain comfort in it, in walking through the house and pushing open her bedroom door, watching her sleep peacefully in the narrow bed. She looked peaceful and carefree, as she should be. She looked fragile, small (and that had nothing to do with her height) and defenseless against all the dangers of that land, a little sparrow that he wanted to hold in his hands and keep, because flying around would get him into trouble.

Every time he was invited to dinner, which started to happen more and more frequently, he allowed himself to leave a kiss as a farewell.

A kiss on the cheek, on the back of her hands, on her knuckles, on her forehead. It was like a small dose from a bottle that he hoped he could take a bigger swig of. Holding her face and bringing his lips to her temple, breathing in the scent of her hair as he enjoyed the feeling of his own lips on the skin of the one who stole his heart, because he couldn't take her mouth and, by the good Lord, no part underneath that yellow button-down dress.

One night, when he turned his back, she followed him outside.

─ Willard! ─ The urgency made him stop in place, but it took him a while to turn on his heels, finding her outside with him, away from the yellow lights.

Outside, the world was different.

The darkness of the night was infested with dangers and evil men. The world smelled not just of soft earth and flowers, but also of gunpowder and blood, ambition, power and unbridled pleasure, suffering and bitterness, things that didn't feel like her but were familiar to him. She came after Willard and he waited for her because she was too small to be alone. She didn't need to be alone. Never again.

─ What was it?

─ I don't know.

─ Yes, you know. ─ She needed to know, because the wait wasn't just exciting. It was heartbreaking too. Each night watching her from afar, unable to run his nose along the delicate curve of her neck or cover her when she moved in her sleep and made the blanket slide, slipping away to reveal a pair of breasts covered only by a soft nightgown. The things he did to himself imagining having those breasts in his mouth... ─ It's dark out here. Whatever you say will remain in the dark.

─ What if it’s bad?

─ Nothing good is said in the dark, my dear, that's why we only talked alone on your balcony.

She nodded.

She was barefoot. Most of the time, she stayed barefoot inside the house, limiting herself to wearing lace-up boots over socks when she needed to go into town.

─ I want to be your darling.

─ You are. Always has been, ever since I laid eyes on you.

─ No, not like that. I want to be more than I am now. ─ She took a deep breath. ─ I want you to come and have dinner here every day and not have to pay for me to fix your clothes, because it gives me great pleasure to do so. I don't want you to have to leave after you kiss me.

─ Be my wife then, darling.

That time, she was the one who held his hand. Her fingers were smaller than his, knotted from working with the earth and sewing threads, and that only made her more perfect. She intertwined her fingers with his and leaned forward on the tips of her toes, seeking him with that warm, inviting mouth, her breathing quickened beneath her dress.

Willard married her twice.

The second time was in the church where she was baptized, with God's blessing. He gave her a white dress and a veil, only to move it away from her face and kiss her when the priest gave him permission. Few people went to the ceremony and neither of them cared, they didn't have a party, they just went home and he carried her to bed.

The first time, however, was in the dark, outside the house. And it smelled like soft earth and lilies.

Willard married his wife the moment he lay on top of her, hearing her soft giggle as she hugged his waist with her legs, squeezing her thighs around him as the tip of his cock entered the folds of that tight, wet-as-hell pussy. heaven should be. He wanted to give her a good bed, but they didn't need that while they were numb with passion, their lips locked in a kiss full of voluptuousness and promises.

You'll never be alone again, he promised as he ran his fingers over her face, removing the strands of hair stuck to her sweaty skin, hitting that pussy.

You'll never be afraid, he gasped, because she was holding him tight and moaning against his neck, trying to contain herself. I didn't want her to have to hold back those sly, tearful, sweet sounds, but I didn't want her mother to suspect that he was between her only daughter's legs, so she whispered, between smiles, so that she would make less noise, and she would also smile, but he couldn't contain himself.

You'll never have to worry about anything in the world, he slid his hand between their bodies, while he felt his dick invading her, and he slid his finger over her folds, on that pulsing beam. He rubbed it just for pleasure and indulgence, watching her squirm, biting her right hand to keep still, as beautiful and ethereal as angels must be. Then he brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting her on his tongue.

Every day and every night, my blossom, I will be the devil that guards you, her taste was like the best of drinks and the best of drugs. An addiction he would maintain with devotion.

She ran her fingers through his hair, tugging as her walls clenched so tight it was unbearable. He let her cum, kissing her neck and collarbone lovingly, running his hands over her soft breasts. Every day and every night, you will be loved like a goddess and a slut, my blossom, because you are mine.

[quietblueriver]

**Update: now 1k longer, edited, and with two additional nights' worth of obsessive CR thoughts. Much like how to hit post/publish without going back to change a million things, I have yet to figure out the line between rb and "so different it deserves a new post" and maybe never will!

Also now on AO3.

----

Three cheers for the surprisingly lengthy, emotionally complex conversation in Ep. 96. Still thinking about that devastating rooftop moment, and never not thinking about Imogen Temult, so here's this, in which Imogen visits her favorite place without her favorite person, gets a surprise visitor, and has some thoughts about Laudna and their future. Some light spoilers for Ep. 96.

-

There was a cool breeze ruffling the fabric of her skirt against the skin of her leg, and Imogen took a moment to bask, eyes closed, face turned up to the warmth of the sun. When she blinked open her eyes, she found exactly what she expected: the old oak that took up a corner of the sprawling yard, a faded-white bench swing hanging from one sturdy branch; the little shelter for firewood, empty at the moment, a green wheelbarrow parked just beside it; the raised garden beds bursting with color that framed a pathway to the porch steps where she sat. The most familiar place she had never been. 

Home. 

“Of course,” she breathed out. Her mind’s decision to bring her here was at once almost unbearably cruel and a kindness she was surprised she could grant herself, and tears burned at the back of her eyes as she ran her palms over the smooth, dark-stained wood of the step next to her hip.

The sound of her own voice made her realize exactly how quiet the world around her was–no birds chirping, empty hitching posts, bees gone from the thriving patch of wildflowers. The house behind her waited still and free of the whistle of the kettle and shuffle of stockinged feet, missing the absent-minded humming and chorus of mundane thoughts that made Imogen feel most at home.  

 “Of course,” she said again, a little louder and a lot more resigned. 

It didn’t seem right, that the chasm in Imogen’s stomach, already bottomless, could somehow grow deeper, but that was what was happening, her mind returning to Laudna’s skin under her lips on that rooftop, Laudna’s body wrapped in blankets and shifting quietly away from Imogen. 

She felt like a coward, letting her go again, flying back through that window, turning her own body into itself in bed. She could’ve stayed, should’ve stayed, should’ve pushed. But then, it was Laudna’s choice. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Giving Laudna the choice, the control, the autonomy she’d had taken from her for so long? 

This wasn’t the first time she’d prepared herself to lose Laudna. She had watched FCG, well-intentioned, try to force her back to them at Whitestone. She had understood, even as she’d wanted to kill them a little. But when it was her turn, Imogen made sure Laudna knew it was her choice and that Imogen would never try to take that from her. It was still true. Imogen loved Laudna far too much to try to force her hand. 

Now, though. Now there was the green ghost of Delilah Briarwood, sharp voice chasing Laudna’s like a wolf after its prey. Closer and closer and closer. 

It felt less and less like giving Laudna a choice and more and more like leaving her to be eaten. Imogen worried, always, about what that bitch was saying to Laudna, what she was doing to Laudna. She worried about how much influence she had and about whether Laudna could see it. 

But then Laudna had been the one to say that she didn’t know if there was much point in distinguishing between them anymore. 

That was it for Imogen. It was one thing if Laudna couldn’t see Delilah, couldn’t understand that her choices might not be fully her own. But Laudna knew. Laudna knew she wasn’t alone, knew Delilah was more than just a passenger, and Imogen had done all she could to be clear about Delilah’s lies and Laudna’s own power, to offer Laudna perspective on who she was to Imogen without Delilah. 

And with all of that, she had made her choice. Imogen didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how Laudna could see Delilah for what she was, for what she wanted, and still believe she could control her, still choose to try. Then again, of course she didn’t. It was so fucking messy and it had been for longer than Imogen had been alive, and anyway, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t her choice to understand; it was her choice to respect.

She could do that. It had broken her, was still breaking her, but she would always, always respect what Laudna chose for herself. She had nodded, cracked open on that rooftop. She had accepted what she heard and what it meant, for Laudna and for her and for the future she had thought they both wanted. 

I’m going to miss our little cottage, though.

She hadn’t meant it as a shot. It was grief over something she thought, hoped, Laudna might be grieving, too. It’s not like Imogen thought Laudna’s decision had been easy. 

Still, she hadn’t expected the look she received in return, the surprised, broken stare, the shaking sob and flood of ichor that Laudna tried to stem. It was like Laudna hadn’t realized that their future was there to lose. Maybe she hadn’t. Laudna never did seem to understand how much Imogen loved her, no matter how clear Imogen tried to make it. Maybe she’d heard Imogen’s very real dreams as passing thoughts. Maybe Imogen’s concession of their future had been the first time Laudna had seen it clearly. 

Or maybe things were right fucked up, and Laudna needed to cry about it. 

Either way, Imogen wasn’t fool enough to expect that Laudna’s possible moment of comprehension would change anything. Sure, she’d sounded different with the Hells, less like she was expecting death, a dead end, and more like she wanted to take back control, but Laudna also knew the rest of the Hells were less likely to respect her choices than Imogen, that any hint of her willingness to let Delilah take control, even on a suicide mission, might lead them to push Laudna away. Imogen had no doubt that Laudna loved her, had no doubt, really, that if she was right about Laudna’s realization that it meant something, but Imogen wasn’t hanging her hope on that. 

Laudna had made her choice.

“So,” she said aloud, voice soft as she took in the green grass stretched before her, the fence line separating their cottage from the forest, Laudna’s thriving tomatoes and okra, supported in their little cages. “Just me then.” 

And wasn’t that a dangerous realization. 

Because Imogen’s whole life was about control. Her mind, her body, her emotions, she knew all of them needed to be held tightly, that letting go meant danger for anyone around her. But here, now, all alone? The small, steady voice of reason inside of her lost to the reality of her isolation. “Just me,” she whispered, and in a snap, her scars burned, light flashing under and around her skin, tears falling hot down her cheeks. A storm of fear and anger and desperation and hurt let loose. The bursts of lightning that crackled around her did not set the house on fire. She might be alone, but she could never, would never, hurt what was theirs.

Instead, she stood, still burning, and walked to the top of the stairs, staring at the post that ran from the tin roof through the floor of the porch. She considered, watched little bolts strike out harmlessly at the porch and the railing. 

She’d been six years old the first time she wrecked the cleaning station in the barn, tiny, furious body pushing buckets and tack and brushes, flipping the table in a show of strength that followed her for years through drunken stories from the other stable hands. At her daddy’s hard order, she had stomped her way to her room, slamming the door with tears streaming down her face.

Imogen’s daddy hadn’t understood a lot of things about her, but he’d understood her that night. Relvin, who had all of her anger and none of her magic, had come to get her from her room and taken her to the back of the old storage barn, where he’d used a rafter to hang a densely packed sack of hay at her height. He’d taken her hand, still small enough to fit fully in his, and shown her how to make a fist. 

Now, just like he’d taught her, she curled her scarred fingers and folded her thumb across the outside, squared up to a cut of wood that was absolutely going to win this fight, and swung as hard as she could. Sure enough, with a grunt and a flash of pain, Imogen pulled back to find her knuckles bloodied and the wood smeared with dark red but as solid as ever. She contemplated her unblemished right hand, and it was only the sound of rustling grass that stopped her from another round. 

Her head shot up and toward the corner of the house and the source of the noise. She was in her own mind, her own dream, but that didn’t mean shit, really. She wiped at her eyes, hissing at the pain and glad for it and for the blood now surely on her cheeks, and she let the heat crackle the air around her. She was ready and out of patience for any bullshit. No matter the evidence of her weakness now marring the wood next to her, this place was sacred, and she was going to be pissed if somebody had come here to fight. 

Imogen relaxed, air cooling, as she took in the figure that loped toward her. He was horrifying, a mass of patchy dark hair and exposed bone, dripping ichor and torn flesh. His eyes glowed and his deadly teeth showed through his half-torn jaw. As Imogen walked down the steps to wait, she felt deep fondness at the wagging tail and lolling tongue that felt so incongruous to the rest of the hellbeast. Fun scary. 

“Hey, baby boy,” she said affectionately as he got closer, and his tail wagged harder at her voice. She leaned forward when he made it to her, cupping his face to scratch behind his jaw, wincing at the pain in her hand. His fur was mostly intact under her fingers, although the jaw itself was a blend of bone and ichor and random thin patches of hair against Imogen’s palms. “What’re you doin’ here?” 

As if in answer, he pulled back and whined, licked at her cuts and the forming bruise, the familiar sticky, black liquid cooling and covering the split skin. 

“I’m okay,” she reassured, aware that even beyond the evidence of violence, the intermittent purple static around her body probably wasn’t particularly convincing. She was right, it seemed–the tilt of his head was skeptical, and he huffed at her loudly, but his eyes were fond. Imogen saw Laudna in him so clearly in that moment that she lost her breath for a second. 

“Fuck.” 

Another whine, another lick, and Imogen conceded the point. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Maybe I’m not doin’ so good. You come all this way just to check up on me?”

He moved forward and pressed his head into her thighs, and she scratched at the parts of his back and ribs that she could, stopping when she noticed the pain in her hand was gone. Flexing, she pulled it back to look more closely, wiping the blood and ichor off carelessly on her shorts. Sure enough, the skin was healed, and Caviar was staring at her, tongue hanging from the open side of his mouth. 

She could’ve healed it herself. This was her mind, after all, and it wasn’t one of those dreams where she felt like a passenger. She could’ve stopped the pain entirely, stopped it before it ever started. She hadn’t.

Not as herself, anyway.

It wasn’t a surprise, really. It only made sense that the kindest, gentlest parts of herself would manifest this way. It had been Laudna who taught her how to love herself, and it was Laudna she wanted with her now. 

Big eyes blinked up at her, and just like the cottage, just like her knuckles, Caviar’s presence was a welcome wound, and one she’d inflicted on herself. 

Imogen fought a sob, only half successfully, and Caviar whined again. “Kinda fucked up, sweet thing,” she rasped. A drop of ichor fell from his tongue to the packed dirt in front of the stairs. She wiped her eyes again and sighed, reaching down to smooth the hair between his eyes with her thumb. “How about a little walk in the garden, yeah? And then maybe a snack?”

-

It took a minute to pull off her boots, toss them a little carelessly on the uncharacteristically empty shelf inside the door. She had nothing to hang on the shiny, empty brass hooks that waited above it, and she didn’t dwell, following Caviar through the living room to the little kitchen in the back. The kettle rested on the stove, and she filled it and set it to boil before moving to the shelves on the opposite wall. 

“Okay, Cavvy. Let’s see what we’ve got, hmm?”

There was a glass jar filled with cookies that Imogen knew were for Cav; they were fresh, and they smelled like pumpkin and cinnamon. He scarfed down two happily while she found the tea leaves. She turned to the shelves near the window where she knew her favorite mug was waiting for her next to Laudna’s. Her hand fell back to her side as she took them in, her mug and Laudna’s and the small collection of others, all in a neat and tidy line with their rims up. Imogen stared until the water boiled and the kettle whistled, stared until Caviar bumped her leg.

She put a hand absently on his head, felt bone under her ring and pinky fingers. “Your mama did that,” she said evenly, blinking and looking down at him. “This is our house.” He pressed up into her hand, and she scratched obligingly. “This is our house.” 

She ignored her own mug and pulled Laudna’s down, setting it on the table and filling the strainer in the yellow ceramic teapot. She poured the water and waited for the leaves to steep and then sipped her tea in silence as Caviar settled by her feet. A blue tea towel embroidered with a small white oleander in the corner rested over the top of one chair, smudged with orange-tinted batter and smelling of cinnamon. 

Imogen never had been a very good baker. 

-

“I think Orym was lyin’ to her.” 

Caviar’s head rested on Imogen’s thigh, just above her knee, as she lay with her arms spread wide on the worn blue and gray rug in their living room. He lifted it slightly at her words, and she brought a hand down to finger the tip of his good ear, the one without a chunk missing, the way that he liked. 

“I know he loves her,” she assured, and Caviar pushed himself up on his massive paws and shifted so that his body was pressed into hers, Imogen’s arm resting on his surprisingly dry, largely exposed ribs. “I don’t mean that. I just,” she traced bone with her index finger, staring at the wicker basket full of yarn beside the chair that Laudna favored, a cousin to the one at Zhudanna’s, “I heard them talkin’ about her, about trust, and I think Orym…He knows Delilah won’t let him close if she doesn’t trust him. He knows she’s listnin’ whenever she can. It’s about Delilah. Always fuckin’ Delilah.” 

She rolled onto her side, moving her arm so she could rest her head on her bicep and curling the other across Cav’s body. He huffed out a sigh, breath a harsher reminder of death than his mother’s, decomposition to her sweet decay. Imogen didn’t mind it. 

“He doesn’t wanna hurt Laudna.” Goosebumps formed where his cold body made contact with the exposed skin of her legs. “But he will.”

A low growl started in Caviar’s chest and Imogen made a soothing noise, noticed a stray sock under Laudna’s chair. “I know, baby. You’re a good boy.”

He was a good boy. He’d come as Delilah gained a better foothold, Imogen knew, a manifestation of Laudna’s anger and fear and hurt and power, her desire to protect.

And maybe Laudna saw him as further evidence of Delilah’s power and usefulness but Imogen knew better. Delilah would protect them only as much as it benefitted her, and it was a complicated balance when weighed against the need for Laudna to give her as little trouble as possible, sure, but one that definitely would’ve left at least a few of the Hells dead and buried several times over.

There was no calculation for Laudna. Caviar sprang readily, her body literally tearing itself open to be of use, and he snarled and snapped for the people Laudna loved. He was Laudna’s beast. 

His hackles now were built from Imogen, from love and a desire to protect that Laudna did not often extend to herself. She liked the look of it on him. The growl continued, a comforting rumble, as Imogen spelled Laudna’s name against his fur. “We’ll keep an eye on it.” 

-

She hadn’t wanted to go upstairs, but Caviar made the decision for her, interrupting her carpet brooding and disappearing around the corner to the staircase after a pointed look back at her. She followed, resigned, but stopped halfway there, eyes stuck on the pair of boots next to her own and the one now-occupied brass hook. She knew them, boots black and worn and scarf maroon and soft, big enough to use as a shawl if she wanted, Laudna’s frame so small it wrapped around her easily. She took a half-step toward them but at the impatient bark from upstairs, she tore herself away and started to climb.

He was waiting for her by Laudna’s bedside table, which was exactly as it should be–a paperback novel, spine bent so many times the title was hardly legible between the yellowed cracks, sat waiting next to another wicker basket, this one containing an embroidery hoop and some fabric. A small pin cushion peeked out of the top, clearly custom-made, the glinting metal protruding from the stuffed rat skull making Pate look even more disturbing than usual.

A white quilt with an intricate pattern of overlapping rings covered the bed, the green and gold and blue and purple striking but not garish. She sat on her side, smoothed a hand over the fabric, felt the dips and ridges of the stitches in the pattern. Caviar’s deadly claws clicked against the wood as he made his way to her, and she bit her lip for a minute before scooting over onto Laudna’s side, breathing in the smell of her on the pillow and patting the bed next to her. With menacing grace, Caviar joined her and spun once before settling, nose tucked under his tail, the curve of his spine just touching Imogen’s torso. 

She watched the rise and fall of his body, eyes moving across the ragged realities of him. A hound of ill omen, and he looked like one. He was fierce and violent, a weapon, but Laudna, who knew what it was to be used and feared, who didn’t seem to be able to see him fully as herself, had given him a name, opened her chest for him and fussed over him and, at one point, asked Imogen whether putting him in a sweater would be “undignified.” 

“Your mama’s ridiculous,” she said quietly, gratified when he remained still and unbothered. “I’m very in love with her.” A beat, her palm scrunching the quilt at her side. “I thought she knew, y’know? I thought she heard me when I…” 

She flattened the fabric again, traced one of the rings with two fingers and thought again of Laudna’s face on that rooftop. What had she thought Imogen meant all those times? What had she meant when she said Imogen could have this? That they could have this? 

She turned her head, ear against Laudna’s pillow, and stared at her own bedside table. It didn’t have anything on it aside from a small lantern, but it wouldn’t, would it? Laudna would hand her the book, and Imogen would read aloud as she worked on whatever project or rested her head on Imogen’s stomach. 

The chasm widened this time, maybe finally out of depth to reach, and its growth brought along the urge to reach over and shatter the lantern. Instead she turned her head to the other side, took in Laudna’s dresser pushed under the window, the pitcher and glasses, the glazed speckled bowl full of feathers and small bones, and a lonely sock waiting for its pair forgotten under Laudna’s wingback. 

“Real subtle,” she said to herself, less quiet than she had been with the annoyance seeping in, because what the fuck was she supposed to do about it anyway? Caviar remained undisturbed. 

Rolling her eyes, Imogen took a few deep breaths and took stock. She very well might wreck herself again, thinking about how she couldn’t have this, trying to understand why. On the other hand, she was laying in an imaginary bed in an imaginary cottage next to an imaginary version of the monster that sometimes jumped out of her girlfriend’s chest, and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to leave this place or the little pieces of Laudna in it, so it seemed more likely than not that the wreck had never actually stopped. 

She did not fight the turn from that thought back to Laudna on the roof. 

I’m a dead end. Laudna had said that phrase several times in the last few weeks, and Imogen hated it, scoffed at it every time, but she should’ve understood sooner that nobody calling herself a dead end really believed she had choices. Not real ones, anyway.

The only thing that was certain for Laudna was Delilah, and at the root of it all, she believed her choice was Delilah or nothing. 

And Imogen had been clear about how she felt about Delilah.

You told me once that you hate the idea of her watching you, watching us. I’m guessing that hasn’t changed?

She hadn’t heard that question for what it was: Can you really love me this way?  

Imogen shifted on the bed, hot and anxious, and Caviar whined lowly, displeased at the movement. She ran a hand through the fur at his shoulder and then stood, pacing the space between the bed and dresser.

Laudna, shaking and unable to believe that Delilah had chosen her for a reason. Laudna, crying slow, black tears as Imogen told her she hated that Delilah was there, watching them, when just a few minutes before Laudna had admitted she wasn’t sure how to separate herself from Delilah any longer.

Imogen had let this go because she thought Laudna had made her choice, had all the information and chose her own path, and Imogen didn’t want to try to take that, but she also should’ve known that for Laudna it hadn’t felt like a real choice.

“It’s not takin’ her choice to help her understand that she has one.” Her voice was an agitated murmur, and she heard the shift of Caviar’s body on the bed, saw that he had uncurled and was watching her, still mostly relaxed but attentive. 

Fuck. Fuck. Of course Laudna couldn’t imagine their future, because she couldn’t imagine herself without Delilah, and Imogen hated her, openly and vocally and with all her heart. Delilah, who was there all the time, who had been there for thirty years, and for most of that had been Laudna’s only constant, her only company, her only protector. Delilah, who’d had all the time in the world to convince Laudna that she should be grateful to have her, that she was alive only because Delilah let her be, that she was walking around purely on the luck of the draw. 

Of course she thought her value was Delilah, thought the best she could do would be to try to take as much of Delilah’s power in service to her friends, to Imogen, as she could, even if it meant she herself would disappear. Imogen knew Delilah must love that, must love Laudna’s thoughts about self-sacrifice. The bitch.

A growl issued from the bed, and Imogen turned again to the hound, whose eyes were on her, his body now in a rigid, ready line and his lip raised in a snarl. Sighing, Imogen sat, offering her hand for him to sniff.

“I know. I know. I hate it, too.” The growling slowed although he remained tense, ready, teeth glinting. “I don’t think this is somethin’ we can fix on our own, baby. We can’t scare her away from your mama.”

But she had to go. Or, they had to give Laudna the option, a real option, to live without her, so that she felt like the choices in front of her were more than just smoke and mirrors to Delilah’s stone.

“But we’ve got help, don’t we?” She kept her voice gentle and flipped her hand slowly until his cold nose was moving along her palm. “Lots of people who love your mama. And lots of people who hate that woman.”

No matter Orym’s fears, Imogen knew Fearne had spoken for all of them when she said they’d kill Delilah as many times as it took. They just had to figure out how.

Imogen could work on that.

Well.

There were some things they had to do first, but if they survived Predathos, surely the Tempest, surely all of those people at Whitestone who hated Delilah so much, would jump at the chance to help get rid of her for good. Lord Percival was kind of a dick, but Lady Vex’ahlia seemed to have him under control, and if they couldn't help, they had to know people. Someone could help, and Imogen would absolutely fucking leverage Ruidus and Predathos and everything the Bells had done and sacrificed to get what they needed. 

They could make a plan, and Laudna could decide how she wanted to live her life. Yeah, it would hurt badly for Laudna to choose Delilah again, but at least then she and Laudna could both be sure it was a real choice. Laudna was worth the risk. Always. 

In the meantime, Imogen could hold onto this for the both of them. She wanted this, and she was ready to fight for it if Laudna wanted it, too. The spark of hope she'd tried to snuff out earlier flared back to life, and she let herself start to believe that Laudna did want it, would want it, would fight right beside her if she believed it could be real. Maybe she just needed a little hope too. Imogen could share.

Caviar licked at her, and she let him, moving to lie back down as he moved away from the edge of the bed and relaxed a little.

She put a hand on one of his front paws, and he raised it up, laying it over her arm, the rough pads scraping her skin. “We’re gonna try this again, okay? I’m gonna try this again.” Hard bone and wet sinew pressed against the inside of her elbow as he lay his head and neck over her, a comforting weight. “For Laudna.”

A bird chirped happily outside their window, and Imogen closed her eyes. 

She woke in their bed, still facing away, still curled into herself, and she turned immediately, reached out to Laudna as she stared at the sharp point of her shoulder and the plane of her back. 

Laudna? 

The response was immediate, concerned. Imogen? Are you alright? 

I love you.  

Laudna turned, and Imogen watched her eyes take her in, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip in a way that made Imogen itch to reach out and soothe her.

When their eyes met, Imogen put a hand between them. 

I love you so much. No matter what. Even if she’s with you forever, with us forever, I don’t care. I want you, okay? If you want that, want me, I’m yours. 

She was crying, dark stains moving down pale cheeks, and she was still bundled into herself, small and in her own blankets. Imogen eyed her hand between them and thought about choice. 

I…I’d like to hold your hand, if that’s something you want.

Nearly immediately, Laudna’s hand was out of her blankets and on Imogen's, cold and perfect. 

It is. It is. I…I thought you would want space. After…

Imogen shifted so that their fingers laced, traced her thumb over the skin at Laudna's wrist. 

I don’t want space from you, darlin’. I want…

She stopped because it wasn’t the time for a full conversation, but she shifted closer, lifted their hands to press a kiss to the back of Laudna’s, did it again when she heard Laudna’s small sound of relief. She laced their fingers again, thumb over knuckles this time, and moved closer still, until their feet were nearly touching, sighed happily when a cold ankle moved to rest on hers. 

Caviar came to visit in my dream. 

Oh? Laudna lifted her eyes from where they’d been fixed on their joined hands. Tell me about it?  

We went explorin’, she offered, and started with Laudna’s garden.

[multi-bookworm]

Why does nobody in this universe want to learn Greek like me :( making me sad, and bored, so I've made a list of all THE BENEFITS TO LEARNING GREEK:

1. The writing is really sexy. For example, even saying "you are a fish with a large forehead" looks beautiful

είσαι ένα ψάρι με μεγάλο μέτωπο

(even insulting someone is now gorgeous)

2. You could read Homer's odyssey or iliad with much less confusion since it will make more sense in the original language. Also you seem smarter reading the iliad or odyssey.

3. You seem really cool, this honestly comes with learning any new language, but Greek is connected to English, making it easier to learn, often, despite its complexity.

3. Understanding English itself will be easier since a large amount of the english language stems from Greek, as well as Latin, but Latin writing isn't quite as sexy (my own personal opinion, this is probably just because it is so similar to English, which is boring to me)

4. It is still spoken, as opposed to learning Latin, a dead language, making it easier to learn since you are more likely to have a conversation in it with somebody else.

5. The alphabet is interesting, as all foreign languages are, but the use of certain letters, how there are two different s's, three different i's and two different o's.

6. Interesting etymological origins from words. Some words came from myths, such as the man Narcissus, and particularly my favourite is when something is καλλίπυγος (Callipygious) which originated from an association with Aphrodite calling her Aphrodite Kallipygos, as well as roman reference of callipygian Venus. Callipygian means "one with/of beautiful buttocks," which I find to be quite hilariously accurate in addition to the common reference to Aphrodite in this manner.

7. If none of this enticed anybody and you dont think youll even go to greece so why bother, here are many things in Greece worth seeing:

A) THE MUSEUM IN ATHENS: multiple museums in Athens houses more history than the British Museum (that's saying a lot) with 11,000 artefacts in just the Natural Archaeological Museum in Athens alone (the British Museum has only 2,000 artefacts). Unlike many societies, they docked down much of what they did very early on so we have so much unscripted and crazy history from the Greeks alone in writing, and even moreso in their abundance of beautiful, detailed art. Even if you hate the Greeks (every country has done some bad things) it's still worth checking out the museums there just for historical knowledge and context, it will teach you a lot, i promise you that.

B) THE COASTAL WATERS: just look at the Mediterranean water, does that NOT make you want to jump in??

C) there are cats everywhere, particularly in Crete.

D) there are thousands of sites related to greek myths such as: the cave and temple of the Oracle of Delphi, which actually existed, and are still sometimes praised to Apollo today; Mount Olympus, the largest mountain in greece and worth a climb; the site where the Spartan Society thrived (my favourite society of all time, whom you should seriously check out here if you do not know already, if you do know... you should check it out also bc Weird History in yt really explains it accurately and in such a cool way).

E) greek culture. An ancient custom is to be kind to travellers, which was a belief that the traveller could be a God in disguise, so one always must treat them like a king and invite them into their home. (Again, this was an ancient custom, I'm not sure how prominent it would still be but it is a nice thought and the general public say that Greeks, particularly rural, are the loveliest people you will meet, for they have the strongest connection to this culture.) If you see blue roofs in greece this was a cultural belief as well, thought that rhat particular shade of blue would ward off evil spirits and protect the home from disease and impurity. Greece's long history of celebrated gods which are now well known worldwide through the many tales told about them and worship in their names.

If you still aren't enticed, that's okay, I am not offended, I'm just passionate I hope I didn't hurt anybody's feelings, and pls tell me if i have offended anyone who is greek themselves, because I am not greek, just heavily in love with your culture, so pls do correct me. Have a lovely day everybody :>

[acapelladitty]

Around The Water Cooler

Summary: Working at Arkham Asylum, Dr. Jonathan Crane crosses paths with a certain Dr. Harleen Quinzel as they begin to see the other as they truly are.

(My half of an exchange with the absolutely delightful @cooldreamyfox who requested some Scarecrow & Harley having some back and forth in Arkham Asylum.)

Fic Masterlist /// Link To AO3

Taking a hearty gulp of the freshly poured coffee which sloshed its way into his mug, Jonathan fought a grimace at the thoroughly bitter taste which stained his tongue. It was the cheapest coffee the arkham staff were willing to collectively chip in for and it had definitely long overstayed its welcome within the cheap pot which housed it.

It had been a long day and the shitty coffee really did nothing to improve his even shittier mood.

"If it's that bad, why not just bring your own in from home?" A soft voice chimed in from his side and Jonathan turned just in time to see Harleen Quinzel pouring herself a healthy cup of coffee from the same pot.

Well, healthy to a point as she essentially only half-filled the mug before topping it with a frankly ludicrous amount of creamer and sugar, the final result looking more like a milkshake than anything resembling coffee.

Unble to hide his distaste for her concoction, Jonathan sniffed at the simple suggestion as he forced another acrid sip down his throat.

"I put twenty dollars into the coffee committee at the last collection. I will see that I get my moneys worth out of it before I admit defeat."

"Okay, tightwad." Harleen laughed, but unlike many of the others her laugh was one which encouraged him to join in with her rather than appearing more directed towards him. "So how's your day going, doc?"

"Three appointments with paranoid schizophrenics and one with a borderline catatonic patient who, despite my repeated warnings as to the possibility, chose to relieve themselves on the carpet rather than engage with any attempted therapies."

"Yowch. That's a hard day." Harleen grimaced, rolling her palm across her blonde hair to ensure it was kept tight to her scalp until it flared up into a sensible ponytail. "My day has been a little better than that. I've finally spoken to Dr. Mair about being assigned to the new Joker case."

"Is that so?" Not quite recalling asking how her day was, Jonathan didn't mind the information as Harleen was one of the few of his colleagues to have some personality to her that amused him when it came out to play. "And why would a junior doctor be so determined to be assigned to such a high-profile case? Lots of room for failure."

"And lots more for potential gains. This case could make me."

Leaning on the counter of the staff room worktop, Harleen held Jonathan's eye with a fearlessness which made his lips quirk into a smirk. Having never worked directly with her, he had heard rumours from the others of her ambitions and her ability to get ahead where others seemed to fail.

"Make you academically or make you millions? The rumour mill is ablaze with the potential of a tell-all book from one Miss Harleen Quinzel showcasing her work on such a notorious case and ones like it."

Harley to her credit, didn't flinch, but a blush crept high onto her cheeks and refused to shift as she narrowed her painfully blue eyes at him.

"And who's been saying that?"

"I don't indulge in workplace gossip."

"Hmm," Harley smiled and the curve of her lips held danger within them, "then you won't be too upset if the rumour mill starts to whisper of strange and spooky goings on in the solidarity wing? Lots of patients there seem to be experiencing similar difficulties."

Heart skipping a beat even as his face betrayed nothing, Jonathan tightened his grip on his coffee as he met her angry expression with his own cold gaze.

She couldn't know about the experiments.

He had covered every track and only selected patients who were unreliable narrators at the best of times. He had even limited his use of his developing toxin to ensure that it would not appear in any drug screenings.

"The solitary wing?" Jonathan asked, his expression stony and unyielding. "Not my department. If you have concerns then you should take them to your team leader."

"I would rather discuss them with you." Placing her cup down on the unit, Harleen stood to her full, if unimpressive height, as she made her point. "I don't see a good reason to bring anyone else into this. Do you?"

"Very professional of you, Miss Quinzel." A trickle of relief touched at the suspicion which stiffened his spine and Jonathan made the split decision to drop all pretence. "And what do you want? I'm not much of a dancer and this back and forth boxstep is tedious. You clearly possess a similar ethical code to my own so speak your mind and let's be done with it."

Her eyes flashing, Harleen took the sudden coldness in her stride - appearing unsurprised by the change.

"I want your support in being assigned to the Joker case. You have the respect and power which I don't have yet and if you give the say then the others won't have shit to stop me on."

Her ambition radiated from her like an aura, her blue eyes narrowing into something almost predatory as her plump, reddened lips widened into an inviting smile. Suddenly more interested in her than ever, Jonathan took in her angelic appearance - only now seeing the devil which lurked just below the surface.

Very interesting.

"If I give you the endorsement you're seeking, then I will expect something in return. My experimental work within the solitary wing would be easier facilitated with a second body able to sign off and manage certain documentation."

It was an offer, the only one she was going to get if they were to come to an understanding and Jonathan watched her expression smooth out as her mask slipped back into place.

"Of course, Doctor Crane!" Grinning widely, Harleen snatched up her coffee cup once more and inclined it to him with a coquettish wink. "I would be honoured to help out with your work. Get me in that room and you can count on me."

Without anything else to say, Crane peered down at her with his hawk-like gaze and attempted to ignore the nagging voice in the recess of his mind that told him she was too much of a loose cannon to be counted on.

[chefwhatnot]

A Too-Close Analysis of the Double Exposure Treatments from Duskmourn (2/2)

We return to the Double Exposure cards from Duskmourn! This post will be going over all the cards I didn't talk about in the first part, which is all the legends that don't appear in the main story (not including Altanak, Norin, and Arabella since they're all at uncommon so none of them got Double Exposure printings). Now, because we don't know much about most of these characters, this part will include a lot more educated guesses. Quick shoutout to wotc for posting the "Legends of Duskmourn" article a little bit earlier than they usually do so I have a little bit more to go off of. Away we go!

(Oh, and if you missed Part 1, you can find it here)

Toby, Beastie Befriender-

A creepy Jack-in-the-Box looms behind Toby's profile. Could simply be that kids are afraid of clowns, or perhaps something more? A Jack-in-the-Box is startling, and even though Toby says he has his Beastie friends to protect him, that would not make him immune to a brief startle, would it?

The Mindskinner-

A hand. Who is its owner? Unclear, but the clawed motif on the gloves make it almost look like it belongs to a Razorkin. From the Legends article, the Mindskinner is the fear of Razorkin, and employs a much more gradual and insidious methodology compared to the rest of the nightmares in the House. Based on this double exposure, it seems that not even Razorkin are immune to being targeted by its cruel whims. Plus, the only way to drive off the Mindskinner is to have your glimmer nearby, meaning Razorkin, who've already given themselves in to maddening pain make for easy prey. It might have enough intelligence to find this delightfully ironic, to torture that which first gave it form.

Kona, Rescue Beastie-

Overlaid on Kona’s profile is a set of canine jaws, facing the same direction as her. Two interpretations: one, that the prey instincts that were within whatever animal later mutated into Kona are still active and alive, that she still fears being snatched up by the jaws of some greater creature and devoured. Or, alternatively: those are Kona’s teeth. Beasties are, at the end of the day, as monstrous as anything else in the House, their masks being their attempt to conceal that fact. A beastie knows that if a survivor sees its true face, they will immediately flee in terror. The biggest fear of a Beastie is that its monstrous nature will be revealed, that for all its efforts it will terrify and lose those it seeks to protect. Or worse, that it will be the one to take them away, slipping back into bestial instincts.

The Jolly Balloon Man-

I've spent so fucking long staring at this one trying to figure out what the fuck that even is and I honestly have nothing. A kinda fucked up looking balloon animal? Some kinda I got nothin’. I will say, though, that I think the JBM's rictus grin is a very good demonstration of the way Razorkin have fully fucked up senses of pain/pleasure and such. But yeah I don’t like this one. Pass.

Rip, Spawn Hunter-

A skeletal hand, reaching upwards towards Rip, who has her back turned towards the viewer. Rip used to be a member of the Doorblades, the group of survivors who dedicate themselves to fighting back and eliminating as many of the House’s monsters as possible. Which, we know from the planeswalkers guide, is a group with a very high fatality rate. Turn your attention now to the flavor text on Came Back Wrong and the Duskmourn printing of Pyroclasm. Rip has a practice of burning bodies of those who fell in the line of duty. The skeletal hand is that of one of her former comrades, whose body she had to burn and leave behind. It represents doubt, doubt that she’s doing the right thing by cutting off any chance of grim revival for those who’ve passed, doubt that the human toll of spawn hunting is worth it. No wonder she prefers to work alone.

The Swarmweaver-

Ahh! The Bees! Not the Bees!! A living scarecrow beehive, with a giant bee layered on top. Insects, crawling within its being, beneath its wooden skin and throughout its spindly form. The Swarmweaver is a wickerfolk: maybe in life they feared what they now wholly consist of? Not a huge amount to go off of here- is what I would say if the Legends article didn’t confirm that the Swarmweaver can indeed still feel the corpse bees crawling around beneath its wooden skin, that they are constantly in pain and the only way they have to relieve that is to send the bees to attack others. Do you think they’re still aware enough to feel regret, for sending the source if their pain towards others?

Victor, Valgavoth’s Seneschal-

In front of his face is a moth, symbolizing his total devotion to Valgavoth. In the flavor text for the Special Guests printing of Sacrifice, they describe a ritual where cultists allow their fears to be fully consumed by the house, allowing themselves to be reborn. Victor has apparently undergone this process dozens of times, no trace of his original self remaining. The chain of eye-marks on the moth’s wings connect to Victor’s glasses. His fears are now inseparable from Valgavoth’s being: in a way he has made himself part of the house.

Marvin, Murderous Mimic- Another hand! Now, originally I assumed that this was the hand of the Razorkin who used Marvin as an intimidation tactic and possessed him, but according to the Legends article, Marvin isn’t possessed at all, and merely “quickened” when the Razorkin grabbed him by coincidence. Which is… not what I expected from the Chucky analogue and makes it a lot harder for me to explain what the skeleton hand means. Cool. I do still think the hand might represent a lack of agency, a vague memory of being used as a puppet by whatever ventriloquist originally owned him. Beneath all of Marvin’s psychotic behaviors is the fear that he might still be no better than a puppet after all.

And that’s all folks! I hope you enjoyed this writing exercise and all my philosophical wankery about this silly card game. I’m literally in the middle of my prerelease event so I gotta go now. Also plz read my magic the gathering fanfiction i have a lot of it and crave comments

[slutt4ellie]

Sacred Hearts Entwined

PT2 Faithful Whispers

Ellie Williams x Reader

masterslist

Part 1 -> ✞

Part 3 -> ✞

What do you do when you’re falling hopelessly in love with your best friend.?

Summery: Ellie was supposed to be a friend, are the feelings that are corrupting you worth it? Why did you kiss her, why even risk it. Now you’re going to lose her.

Warnings -> A lot of Homophobia / arraigned marriage/ angst / Controlling parents / d slur is mentioned! / (lmk if I missed anything else!)

Tag list: @a-little-bit-of-everybody @bready101 @lenaloveslesbians

WC: 3.8k

(Not proofread)

(Ellie)

My mouth tastes like iron and everything is numb, it went from pure lust to rage and anger in a matter of seconds. I just keep thinking, “Could I have prevented it?”. Should I have pushed her back as soon as our lips met, tell her this is wrong, everything that my parents would have strongly preferred. Am I the one who fucked up in the end…? It’s not like it matters anyway, I can still hear the muffled yells coming from downstairs, he's arguing with my mom, she's against the boarding school idea, she believes I was corrupted or something, she fully believes they can fix me, no correction system needed. My dad on the other hand wants me gone, he can’t even bear to look me in my eyes. I’m like some foreign alien that just snuck inside our house and took its place as me, I know for a fact as of now he wishes he could just find the “Real me”.

(30 minutes previously) 

As I heard the door swing open I quickly pushed Ellie back, wiping my lips, my eyes now meeting with her father. Shit. I step back looking at him wondering if he even saw us. He quickly talks, his voice strained, filled with anger “What were you guys doing?” Ellie looks at me, her eyes already filled with tears, all I wanted to really do was just hug her, he quickly yells “I SAID WHAT WERE YOU GUYS DOING!” I just shake my head and spit out “Nothing!” My voice is filled with nervousness and it feels like I just embarrassed myself. “I should have known, you guys were always too close, having sleepovers and sleeping in the same bed!” Ellie just spits out wiping her own tears “There’s nothing going on dad! We’re friends!” Then his attention fully shifts to me, he steps closer to the point where I need to step back in order to not make any contact. It’s like something just shifts, like he figured the “truth”.

“All those sleepovers, were you guys-” I almost immediately shut down what he was about to say, my voice now more stable. “No!” And as I finish my sentence he grabs my collar which makes tears instantly form in my eyes. “You ruined her. Ellie wasn’t like this before you.” I hated that argument, we met at six, nothing was even there, none of those feelings were even formed until almost 9 years later. It was bullshit, and for some stupid reason I spit that out “Thats fucking bullshit!”. I covered my mouth right after finishing the sentence, I just dug my own grave and that realization was becoming apparent. His grip on my collar tighten and he gets uncomfortably close to my face “You’re a fucking dyke, and you had to drag Ellie into that.” I can see Ellie step forward, her head peeking over his shoulder, tears still streaming down her face as her eyes get puffy and red “Dad let her go! Please” I can’t help but feel like I ruined Ellies life, I was the one who leaned in and kissed her and now- now we're both going to be sent away.

Unlucky for me Ellie's dad doesn't even pay attention to anything she's saying all his attention is fully focused on me “You’ll never see her again.” The way he says it sticks to the back of mind, because I know it's true, the chances of me and Ellie ever even being friends again is most likely over. So now I start crying. It feels like I just lost everything in less than an hour. Ellie grabs him and attempts to pull him back, but as soon as she even lays a finger on her he turns around slapping her with no hesitation. 

Ellies nose starts bleeding and her cheek glows red, and once his attention isn't on me and his grip is loose I run over to Ellie as she cuffs her nose. I quickly rolled up my sleeve to wipe the blood from her nose. I talk stuttering over every word “fuck- are- Ellie are yo- are you okay?” I’m now starting to hyperventilate on the brink of a panic attack but Ellie just nods fast. Ellie’s dad immediately rushes over to us, and no not to help Ellie, he rushes over to grab me by the back of my shirt to pull me away from Ellie. “LEAVE” He yells at me, but this time I don’t budge, Ellie is still fucking bleeding and all his attention is still focused on me, he won’t even look at Ellie.

I push him back literally just trying to make sure Ellie is okay but before I even can, she spits out “Just leave..” her voice is quivering and cracking, I can tell she just doesn’t want me to get hurt. So I finally stepped back. I can tell just by the way she's looking at me this is goodbye, at least for a while..

(Present) 

I get home and just by the way my parents are watching me I can tell Ellie's parents called them, I assumed they would, at the end of the day as soon as we got caught kissing I knew everything was fucked. “You and Ellie, you’re fucking sneaking around dating” My dad says stepping closer to me, my energy just completely gone and I sigh tiredly not being able to take this outdated homophobic shit. “Me and Ellie are frie-” My mom talks fast, not even allowing me to finish my sentence “YOU WERE KISSING HER, YOU. SNUCK. OUT.” She yells at me standing beside my dad, I can’t even defend myself. What do I even say “We were hugging!” I can’t do anything in this situation. My dad talks again “Pack your bags, we’re leaving in the morning” as my dad finishes my sentence I start tearing up once again. “Where am I even going!?” I yell at them, my respect is now gone, there’s zero point if I'm being sent away. Instead of answering my dad holds out his hand, his palm laying flat. “Phone” I look at him “What?” he now yells “PHONE” I pull it out of my pocket throwing it in his hand before going up the stairs quickly before slamming the door shut. 

I open my closet finding the box with all the stuff I don't want my parents EVER finding, pods, weed, vapes, etc. The one thing that was genuinely the most important thing was my pink Ipod touch mini from when I was 8. I always had it in case I got grounded and wanted to talk to friends, the good thing was I knew Ellie had one too, a blue one she got to match me, so for that reason as soon as I unlock it, I disregard everything else and just start texting her.

You

4:17 - Ellie, are you good??

4:18 - Pls answer 

Ellie 

4:19 - Parents r arguing, i think i'm gonna go to a boarding school

You

4:19 - I’m being sent away

Ellie 

4:20 - What?! 

4:20 - Where??

You 

4:20 - idfk they won't even tell me

4:21 - im so fucking sorry

Ellie

4:21 - why are you even sorry??

You

4:22 - because i started the whole thing

4:22 - If i didn’t kiss u we would be fine rn

Ellie

4:23 - dont fucking talk like that

4:23 - if u didn’t kiss me then i would have been overthinking everything rn

You 

4:24 - well we’d still be able to hang out

Ellie

4:24 - well we can figure it out? 

You

4:26 - Ellie I don't even know where the boarding school is

4:26 - chances r no service, and i wont be able to bring my phone theyre definitely gonna search my suitcase 

Ellie

4:26 - then we’ll send fucking letters idfk

You

4:27 - send letters w no address? 

Ellie

4:27 - js stop??

4:27 - we’ll figure something out dude???

You

4:29 - Ellie..

Ellie

4:29 - stop

4:29 - dont fucking add “…”

4:29 were gna be fine?

You

4:30 - u know love you

Ellie 

4:30 - i know that 

4:30 - i dont wanna lose u

You

4:31 - It’ll be alright, we’ll meet each other again and it will be fine

4:32 - promise. 

Ellie

4:32 - I love you 

Once you see that final message the gravity of the situation becomes way more tense, the last time you saw Ellie she was bleeding from her nose crying . You start packing your bags wiping tears trying to silently cry, not wanting your parents to come in. You caused this whole situation, you knew you did. If you never called her that word, you would have never snuck out, you wouldn't have kissed her, her dad wouldn’t have caught you, and chances are everything would be “perfect” at least to a degree..all you could do is stare around your room now just realizing how half of your room was covered in her

And not pictures, just resonances are her, pictures she drew of you, stuffed animals she bought, clothes you stole that still have her scent on it, everything around you had Ellie in it, she made you who you are. And as you look around your room, your eyes land on that polaroid picture. The picture was of you two, the sunset in the back and you’re just both smiling shoulder to shoulder. 

(Summer, 15 years old) 

The wind was blowing on your skin as your hair flew all around the back of your neck, Ellie was in front of you riding on her bike “Come on we're gonna miss it'' She yells trying to usher you to bike faster “The sun won’t set that fast relax!” You groan trying to push faster. “I don’t care! We’re going to miss it so push fucking faster!” She pushes faster than you so you now have to try and match her pace. “Holy shit! Can you slow down” She shakes her head and just goes faster until you guys finally make it. It’s actually really beautiful, the sun setting reflecting off the water as the pink sky illuminates all their surroundings. “Shit..” You sigh fully out of breath and Ellie just smiles at you barely watching the sunset, then you finally turn to look at her “I did not bike all the way here for you to stare at me Ellie” Her whole face turns red and she looks away “I’m not even looking at you, I just think you look gross when you’re all sweaty” The words were

slightly harsh but you try to laugh it off “Ha ha, when did you become such a comedian!” Ellie looks back at you “Oh fuck off” You smile and walk closer to the water “Wait- what are you doing??” she says looking at you quickly running up beside you  “Well you said I look sweaty so i'm going to go into the water?” Ellie sorta nods at the response “Well we don’t have bathing suits” You smile at the response “Okay?” You say taking off your shirt leaving you in just a bra. Ellie quickly turns around not looking at you. “I-uh, people” Ellie says and you just shrug “No one comes here like ever, it’s backroads?” You take off your jeans throwing them on the sand and shortly after Ellie then does the same as you not turning around since it’s awkward. “Are you looking?” Ellie asks nervously unbuttoning her own jeans “Oh yeah, hardcore staring actually!” You joke not even batting an eye towards her.

Ellie walks into the water immediately saying “Holy shit! Dude its so fucking cold!!” You laugh and impulsively splash her, getting her whole face wet. “Fuck you!” Ellie laughs jumping forward in the water taking you down with her getting you and her both fully soaked “Stop!” You laugh trying to tackle her in the water when you grab her shoulders and you both just stop trying to fight, only focusing on each other. It’s filled with silence, not awkward silence though, just the sound of the waves splashing against the shore and the breathing coming from both of your mouths..neither of you even broken eye contact..

You move your hand on her face moving a loose strand of hair out of Ellie's eyes, her whole face turns red just by the touch of you plus the intense eye contact doesn’t help. Ellie slightly leans in, not enough for it to be deemed weird but enough so now your faces are closer. You basically naturally do the same, so now at this point you're just mere inches from each other's lips. The moment comes to a short end though when a loud honking comes from the street causing you to both flinch back. The honk leads you to talk to fill the now awkward silence “We should head back, suns basically down” You smile backing away from Ellie moving your hands off her shoulder, Ellie just nods not speaking. You didn’t know it but Ellie felt like a complete idiot that day, she just simply wished she leaned in closing the gap between your lips..

(Present) 

You just fully start crying all over the polaroid, the memories flood back and you start to wonder why you guys didn’t just kiss. Let alone act like it happened, even though you guys didn’t talk about that moment you both had a mutual understanding that it would be weird to talk about it again? There was no point. You were always so dumb with your feelings, that's why it took so unbelievably long to finally start to accept that maybe you don’t think of Ellie as just some friend. Your mind is rightfully scattered and you start to think things like “If we kissed then would everything be different right now?” “Would we be together?”. You quickly shut down those thoughts, it’s not what matters right now, you don’t have a time machine and you can’t go back, plus right now you’re way too focused on the fact you have to somehow keep in contact with Ellie you guys talked almost everyday and now there’s a chance that there might be a forever absence of her presence..what are you even supposed to do?

Pack up the 10 years of friendship. Find a guy to marry just to get your parents approval, it’s not fair that way. You can’t just lose her..So found your mind was wondering the whole night thinking

of ways you could be together until you ultimately fell asleep, praying to wake up in an alternate universe where Ellie is holding you, a world where it’s just you and her. 

You wake up feeling groggy and out of place, the sun shining on you through the sheer curtains hitting right on your left eyeball. You groan and sit up not even having a minute of peace before your mom comes into your room, not even knocking. “Get dressed, the taxi is going to be here in 20 minutes” You look at her, reality finally setting again. “Where am I going..?” You try again, looking at her when she finally answers “Boarding school in Europe.” Your heart immediately sinks..”Europe?” Your voice shakes, you make eye contact with her, you want your mom to see how this is hurting you, the tears settling in your eyes. “It’s furthest away from here, so yes.” She looks at you, not an ounce of pity in her voice, she doesn’t care what you think, and there's nothing you can say to change her mind. 

“All this because I kissed Ellie..?” It’s the first time you’re actually saying it out loud and you hate yourself because it feels so wrong, and it's not because you don’t like Ellie, or you completely regret kissing her, it’s because of the look your mom gave you after you finished the sentence. It’s a look that has disgust and utter disappointment lingering all throughout it. It made you feel like you're some monster, who just wished death upon her or something. She replied her voice is still filled with disappointment. “There’s something wrong with you, and these people will fix you sweetie, I promise.” She takes a step forward and rubs your cheek yet you don’t hesitate to push her hand off. “Nothing is wrong with me!” Your mom steps back and looks at you trying to talk to you softly but realistically it was just some condescending tone that tried to convince you that you were in the wrong “Hun, Ellie and you, you guys are both sick, and it’s okay, once you both get help you’re going to understand where all of us are coming from.” You feel like you’re going to explode “Sick” she’s acting like this is some cold that will blow over and a fucking week.

“Can you get out.” You say no longer making eye contact with her, you can't bear to at this point. “What?” She says almost confused, probably thinking “I didn’t even do anything wrong”. So you talk again this time standing up “Well I need to get changed, so can you get out” You say looking at her. She just nods while walking out. You quickly get dressed and grab your suitcase, it hurts to know you won’t see this room for at least a year. 

As you're walking downstairs your dad doesn't even look at you, he just holds open the door and grabs your suitcase, throwing it into the taxi. You look at both of your parents, your mom gives you a hug but you're pity so you obviously don’t hug back. Your dad will not even look at you, it’s like you’re a fucking disappointment in his eyes..

And as you get into your car and drive away, it can’t help but hurt leaving your childhood house, neighborhood, friends, but most importantly Ellie. All the memories would fade and be replaced with new ones. It all sucked, and what was worse was that you didn’t know it now but it would be 3 years till you went back. 

I was sixteen then and now I'm nineteen. As soon as I saw “Welcome to Westborough” it almost felt eerie, my smile just instantly faded . “You okay?” My fiancé chuckles holding my hand. I quickly nod “Yeah of course” I give a simple smile. James. It was all my parents' idea. When you were 17 your parents came up with the golden Idea to get married. It would get you not so focused on her. So that's when that's where he came in. It was my moms friend's son. You’ve met him a few times. He was always nice but marrying him?! Marrying him felt so out of place. You didn’t even know him..so you just kept on denying him and it came to the point where my parents ended up forcing you, they said if you didn’t they would cut all contact, they would start telling your family the real reason why you went to Europe and you would end up losing everyone. So you agreed and at 18 he proposed and you two have been living in Europe for the time being. You felt like you just couldn’t go back to Westborough, too much has happened. 

So when the ones who forced you out of Westborough wanted you to come back to have your wedding you were silently fuming. “Soo you’re going to show me your childhood home?” James asks, smiling lightly, kissing your neck. You just sorta smile “Guess so?” You say looking out the window as you guys pull up to your house with your parents already standing on the porch. You don't even want to get out, you know Ellie most definitely has her own life and it’s probably a low chance she still even lives here but everything about being back seems so scary. 

You get out of the taxi and James goes to get your guy’s luggage as you walk up hugging your mom. You look at your dad and sorta smile, your guy's relationship has never been the same since the situation. You still believe he thinks of you as a completely different person. James walks up and shakes his hand “Hey son!” Your dad smiles at James. You walk into the house and James follows you “Where’s your room?” He smiles looking at you “Just upstairs i'll show you” He follows you upstairs walking in as he puts down your suitcase.  

You look around yourself noticing they haven’t touched anything, it looks like your parents didn’t even go into your room once. James walks over to your desk noticing the polaroid flat on your desk, you turn over to look at him and he softly says “Who’s this?” You walk up to him looking at the polaroid of you and Ellie on the beach and you shrug. “Just an old friend” He looks at her “Were you two close?” You sorta hate yourself for what you're about to say “No not really, just friends for a few months.” You only say this simply because you don’t wanna say why you never told him about a friendship that lasted 10 years, it would be too much for him..and you.. 

It shortly faded into the night, James and your dad went out to bond or something? You don’t even really know they just said that they’re heading out for a little. You look at your watch rubbing your eyes while yawning  “10:47pm” you mumble under your breath standing up..As you walk outside of your room you hear the tv going off from the first floor so you quietly go downstairs to see your mom passed out on the couch.

It sucks because you feel like you should hate her. Your whole life has constantly been controlled by your parents, they sent you away at 16 because you were “sick”. You just try to remind yourself her parents probably made her like this, so you grab a blanket and put it on your mom. You sigh walking to the front door and start putting on your jacket, you just need to walk. So that's what you do for the next 10 minutes until you make it into town, stuff has stayed the exact same, which works out in your favor because you know where the closet bar is! You open the door and there's only like 5 people in now 6 including you..And as you look over at the front bar you notice the bartender isn’t even there, you sorta just groan but reluctantly walk over and sit down. You're just looking down at the bar table when you hear the kitchen door open and a girl says “Sorry to keep you wait-” You wonder why she stopped so you decide to look up.

The girl is no other than Ellie..

A/N -> ts took so long for actually no reason 😭

again there will probably be another part since it ends on a cliffhanger, just lmk if u wanna be in the tag list and i’ll add u!!

I will also probably be making another story, i have a rough draft for it right now but i don’t rlly no what to do with the plot, that story will again also most likely have more then one part!

[grisha-brain]

Six of crows as adults

Nina and Matthias:

-They don’t know where to settle because she wants ravka and he wants fjerda and they both also want to stay in kerch

-they stay in kerch for a while and matthias learns to make waffles and other desserts

-they open up a shop

-very cheap (but good) dessert

-cheap because matthias didn’t want to rip people off

-even though it’s literally ketterdam

-when nina becomes pregnant they move away from ketterdam and settle down in the mountains on the fjerda-ravka border

-they stay there but travel to ketterdam a lot

-also they have TWINS

Nina and Hanne/Rasmus/Ilya:

-Ilya and Nina marry and become king and queen eventually

-They start off as Mila and Rasmus, but by the end Nina’s chosen a new name (it’s just Nina again) and Ilya has a saint name which he uses instead of Rasmus

-Then they decide to get Genya to start tailoring her back, really subtly

-They start with the eyes over the course of a few months

then start making her hair darker and wavy

and finally the face structure

it takes a few years but its totally worth it

They are the king and queen of Fjerda, and have to have enough kids to have a worthy heir

They have 4

Their eldest is Matthias, supposedly named after Sankt Mattheus

We all know who he’s really named after, but Fjerda is fooled.He’s basically Matthias reincarnation. He has blue eyes blond hair (from Yvla) which he wears long, and a similar personality (the first to die vibe. except he doesn’t die. He does not inherit grisha abilities

-The second is Hanne. Nina absolutely insisted on it. Named after the queen’s old friend who died. Totally not named after her father.She’s bold and loves combat. Also otkazatsya. She has russetish hair (no-one know where that’s from) and green eyes.

-The third is Joran. He’s a healer, and he plays a key part in the Drusje revolution (basically the fjerdans coming to accept grisha) He has brown hair and green eyes.

-The youngest is Ylva. Ilya chose this name. She has blonde hair and copper eyes and is a alkemi. She loves working with poisons and such.

-In this version (my main headcanon. i’m sorry but my mind just doesn’t like undead matthias. it’s heartbreaking but its so beautiful to read i can’t just undo that) she ends up dating Addi van Eck after many trips to Ketterdam spent with her.

-yes the royal fjerdan family take regular trips to ketterdam to see some of their *criminal* friends. Nina and Ilya grow old but don’t, because they’re grisha and both live to well over 100.Everyone knows theyre grisha and love them for it because they have that much influence.

-when they do die, they pass fjerda onto matthias and his partner (his partner is agender. why? because I say so) and the grimjer line stays strong for centuries after that

Kaz and Inej:

-They don’t think physical intimacy is too important

-They try to heal, but it’s not the main goal

-They do get married, though

-Kaz signs off all his letters and stuff as KGB and no one actually knows what it means

-Kaz stays in ketterdam and becomes a really successful gang leader. He establishes a new gang, the Silver Crows, instead of taking over the dregs

-Meanwhile Inej hunts slavers on the wraith and absolutely heeds kaz’s advice to make herself a legendpeople fear her and love her

-she stays anonymous the whole time though, only the crows, the crows kids (when they’re old enough) and the crows parents know.

-They never have children

-Eventually they decide that she spends 3 months on the wraith and 1 in ketterdam and it works really well.

-After a few years in this schedule, they decide to end pekka rollins once and for allthey start by destroying the dime lions, which is easy because they’d already shaken the foundations and had weakened them quite a bitthen move on to rollins

-They know that killing him is too merciful

-so they buy the house that was a hertzoon household and lock him in there.

-just stuck in that house.

-they even get him a silver dog like the one hertzoon had and get it to attack him regularly

-badly

-in the end, pekka rollins kills himselfyes i just grinned while writing that

-Inej dies first (sorry I have to write this)and it’s like criminal romeo and juliet

-because kaz brekker no longer has a reason

-and the rumors of him not needing a reason are false.

-so he dies while waiting at the harbour for her to come back from her travels (yes he just sat there waiting not eating or sleeping)

Jesper and Wylan:

-They get married before they even reach adulthood. it’s legal.

-Jesper Van Eck

-Yes they keep Van Eck. for the sake of business.

- Colm is a bit disappointed but gets over it.

- jesper jokes its to disgrace the name

-Wylan is a successful mercher. he does everything but jesper reads for him

-jesper helps wylan write letters full of insults to the van eck in his prison cell

-and they burn all the responses without reading them

-they really want children but they want to adopt the perfect one

-and they find her

-just before the wraith eneded the menagerie, the zemini gave birth to a girl. the father was some anonymous kaelish client

-the girl was put up for adoption and it was like they knew as soon as they saw her

-yes, jesper is also kaelish-zemini, but it showed a lot more on the baby.

-she had skin too light for zemini or suli but too dark for the other races

-and bright red hair

-she actually looked like she could be their child.they named her Aditi (Addi) Van Eckshe grows up to be tall and pretty and there’s a bunch of boys who try to get her to date them.

-but she turns them all down

-because wesper ain’t raising a straight girl

-she’s a really good fighter and a tidemaker and she joins the silver crows as soon as Kaz lets her

-wylan and jesper don’t let her but jesper’s a bit too scared to say no to kaz and wylan secretly think she should definietely learn to fight

-In my slightly more canonical universe where matthias does die, she ends up dating Yvla Grimjer.in the one where matthias lives, she ends up dating *trans* alby rollins (lol redhead couple)

-yes i definetely headcanon alby as transfem (but she keeps her name because it’s kind of androgynous)

-Jesper dies first (yes i am going into this sorry guys(

-and it’s so wrong because jesper is grisha and should outlive wylan

-when it’s just wylan and addi wylan doesn’t see the point any more and quits his job

-they move to lij and stay there

-addi stays with wylan to support him even though she has a life with yvla

-when wylan dies, yvla and addi live in that property and stay in Lij for the rest of their lives.

[gingersnaptaff]

It's me again. Back to bore this shit out of u all with More Welsh Shit Nobody Cares About. (Is that a good title? Probs not.)

Gonna do a quick one about Hywel ab Owain Gwynedd today. He was a poet-prince of Gwynedd (so a Prince of the House of Aberffraw) and eight (possibly nine if the Gorhoffedd is actually two separate pieces that were fused during the transcription process) poems of his have been handed down to us.

His dad was Owain Gwynedd, also known as Owain Fawr, who was King of Gwynedd and self-proclaimed Prince of Wales from 1136 until he died in 1170. He fought against the Normans to ensure that Gwynedd was afforded its independence, and was successful right up until his death when everything went up the shitter.

Now, Hywel's his second-born bastard son according to Wikipedia BUT Y Brut y Twysogion suggests he was the THIRD-born bastard son. (Remember if u were a bastard then u could inherit land if ur dad recognized u as his.) I'm making this point because both Rhun - Hywel's oldest brother - and Llywelyn - Hywel's second oldest brother - were struck down by illnesses in 1146 and 1165. This meant that Hywel, under Welsh Law, was seen as the Edling (Etifedd in Welsh.)

Not much is known about him or his early life. Records are scarce about when he was born, where he was raised, or who exactly his mother was. His birth year has been estimated as being 1100 right up until 1125, but we can't say for sure. We do know that, judging by the fact he was set to deal with his pesky Uncle Cadwaladr in 1143, he would've reached his majority by then. (14 was when u were legally considered to be a man in Welsh law, and Hywel was under his father's orders and given land once he'd dealt with his uncle so it's plausible.) For what it's worth I'd say he was about 23-24 during the events of Cadwaladr Being A Tit.

Hywel's mum was an Irish woman referred to in Welsh texts as 'Pyfog,' or 'Fynnod'. Nerys Ann Jones in her book 'Hywel ab Owain Gwynedd: Bardd-Dywysog' has suggested that his mum's name might be Fionnait, but we don't know anything about her. We don't even know if Rhun, Llywelyn, and their other bastard brother, Cynan, are brothers or if they were born to different mothers.*

As for Hywel himself, he's quite an interesting character. In 1143 he was sent to deal with his Uncle Cadwaladr after his uncle had killed the Prince of Deheubarth, Anarawd, before he could marry one of Owain Gwynedd's daughters to aid in an alliance between three two kingdoms.

Again, we have NO IDEA (I'm gonna be saying that a lot) why Cadwaladr did what he did. Perhaps it was over a land dispute, considering that Cadwaladr held Aberystwyth which had been a Deheubarthian territory* but we can't quite say. Cadwaladr himself was married to a Norman wife, Adeliza, the daughter of Richard de Clare, and so perhaps that helped to spark tensions between the two.

Either way, with Anarawd dead by his brother's hand Owain Gwynedd knew he needed to dispense justice.

And so, Hywel was picked to ensure it was done. The Brut Y Twysogion states: 'Then Hywel son of Owain, seized Cadwalader's share of Ceredigion, and burned a castle of Cadwalader which was at Aberystwyth.'

This being done, Owain then set Hywel up with his uncle's lands while Cadwaladr hot-footed it to Ireland where he fell in with the Danes. Desperate to reclaim his lands his nephew now held he entreated the Danes for their aid, which they gave, and so they landed at Abermenai in 1144. Now, Owain Gwynedd - and Hywel, presumably, as he was his father's right-hand man - had raised an army in response and so the two brothers met.*

Cadwaladr presumably entreated Owain for his forgiveness which Owain granted, yet as for the Danes there would be no mercy. Once again the Brut y Tywysogion states: 'Owain ... became outrageous against them, and attacked them without mercy; and when some were killed, and others taken and confined, they ignominiously escaped by flight to Dublin.'

Hywel then remained in Ceredigion until 1146 when he and his brother Cynan* waged war against their uncle (again. Seriously, lads, get a better hobby.) Cadwaladr held the cantref of Merionnydd in North-West Wales and Owain, intent on further ridding Cadwaladr of his influence instructed his sons to fuckin Get Him Out which they did.

Cadwaladr would remain a thorn in his big brother's side for the rest of his life, essentially. He loved to undermine Owain because all princes were afforded land within their kingdom which led to power struggles. (Don't worry, this will have NO CONSEQUENCES LATER. NONE.) He'd do some dodgy stuff again in 1157 but then after that, he'd spend his days at Henry II's court, presumably in luxury.

Now, Hywel's life at this point boils down to being a warlord enacting his father's will. In 1146 his oldest brother Rhun died, causing Owain Gwynedd to fall into a deep depression. It would only be lifted when he heard Mold Castle had captured the castle from the Normans. Rhun by all accounts was the quintessential golden boy prince with the Brut y Tywysogion eulogising him thusly: 'fair of form and aspect, kind of conversation, and affable to all... tall of stature and fair of complexion, with curly yellow hair, long of countenance, with eyes somewhat blue... he had a long and thick neck, broad chest, long waist, large thighs, long legs which were slender above his feet; his feet were long and his toes were straight'

This means that he is the only one of Owain Gwynedd's kids to have a contemporary description accorded to him! Crazy!

After this, Hywel would zigzag between his lands in Ceredigion(what little there were. Deheubarth re-gained a foothold and Hywel's cousins: Cadell and Rhys BURNT DOWN HIS CASTLES) and Gwynedd. Now, I am fast-forwarding for the sake of enjoyment but in 1170 Owain Gwynedd died. Now, you'd expect that Hywel as the designated heir would have an easy time.

You would be wrong.

Dafydd, Hywel's pesky LEGITIMATE half-brother*, claimed the throne! Hywel did a Cadwaladr and hot-footed it to Ireland, which, was very silly of him but Hywel wanted his throne. This meant the two brothers met in Ynys Môn and fought a battle. Hywel had Irish mercenaries with him but they couldn't help him. Dafydd speared him in the chest which, as Hywel's foster brother, Peryf ap Cadifor states: Buant briw ger eu brawd-faeth’ (‘They were injured beside their foster brother’). Suggesting that he saw Dafydd kill Hywel ‘with a spear’ (â gwayw), he curses him, calling him ‘false’ (enwir).

We only have eight extant compositions of Hywel's that survive today, sadly. All are pretty fuckin cool though.* His topics included war, love, Gwynedd, and he used both Welsh mythology and classical mythology to great effect in his compositions. Hywel's Ode V concerns Ogrfan Fawr and Gwenhwyfar and is partly what Dafydd ap Gwilym later took inspiration for his poem 'Y Ffenestyr' or The Window.

Now, onto Hywel's poetry. He, unlike other poets and bards that occupied the Welsh courts, did not need to make a living from it and so he's purely indulging in art for art's sake. A bit like Arthur in Culhwch and Olwen then although his compositions are MUCH better. His Gorhoffedd is the most well-known which praises Gwynedd and its beauty, as well as the beauty of his lovers*. However, it defo has a political context. Seriously it starts with: 'Caraf, trachas Lloegr, lleudir Gogledd heddiw’ (‘I love the North’s [or North Wales’] open land today, England’s great hate’) and from there list what he loves about his father's domain with a kind of Ovidian bent because of its geographical immediacy.

A lot of his poetry inspired later poets like Dafydd ap Gwilym, Goronwy Owen, and T. Gwynn Jones.

Now, this legend is lost for the two men to both allude to Gwenhwyfar either directly (as in Dafydd's case, or indirectly as Hywel does), but as the author states in my poorly translated Welsh: 'The essence is preserved in 'Chrétien de Troyes' 'Le Chavalier de la Charrette,' where Lancelot breaks down the iron bars/window to get to Gwenhwyfar in her room.'

Furthermore, in contrast with Hywel's putting himself in Arthur's shoes, Dafydd does so with Lancelot, only this time rather than saying he and Lancelot are the same Dafydd highlights, 'the contrast between his failure [at opening Gwenhwyfar's window] and the legendary hero's success.'

Now, Hywel himself also gets a fair few praise poems that compare him to Arthurian / Welsh mythological figures. Several praise poems were made about him during and after his death including the one I mentioned earlier from his foster-brother, Peryf. Cynddelw Brydydd Mawr also sang praise poems of Hywel that mention his generosity comparing him to Gwalchmai, and Arthur. These poems are called 'arwyrain' which means 'elevating in/by/with praise.' You can kinda see the Gorhoffedd as being perhaps an extension of this if you so wish.

* Wikipedia says Rhun, Hywel, and Cynan ARE Owain and Pyfog/Fynnod/ Fionnait's kiddies, whereas Peter Bartrum in his 'Welsh Genealogies' says that Hywel was the uterine twin of another brother, Einion. 🤷🏻‍♀️

* To fully go into it: Aber WAS Deheubarthian territory UNTIL the Normans captured it. During 1136, Owain and Cadwaladr captured Ceredigion for Gwynedd and DID NOT GIVE IT BACK. Cad held all of Ceredigion right up until he was A Silly Bastard and murked Anarawd, thus necessitating Hywel having the North Side of Ceredigion to Cadwaladr's South until 1144 when Hywel yoinked all of it after his uncle provoked Owain's wroth.

* You should all read Ellis Peters' Cadfael book: Summer of the Danes if u haven't already. It's honestly great.

*I KNOW I said Cynan wasn't his full-blooded bro but it is EASIER. Plus Cynan is FASCINATING IN HIS OWN RIGHT. He was imprisoned by his dad in 1147 /48 and we DONT KNOW WHY. Some speculate it was because Hywel was going to gain Meirionnydd (he was the Edling at the point) and Cynan took offence to that. Presumably, this is why he fought on Dafydd's side in 1170 and helped slay Hywel.

* Dafydd was the first-born son of Owain Gwynedd and his wife/cousin Cristina. He and his brother Rhodri once they'd defeated Hywel ruled Gwynedd together for a few years before Dafydd backstabbed Rhodri and took the throne for himself. Llywelyn Fawr eventually defeated him.

*I am heavily biased.

*And the man fucked. Presumably, he was following his father's example because Owain fathered upwards of twelve kids. He had two kids that we know of Gruffydd and Caswallon. Idk if they were legitimate or not but we know that after Hywel was killed in 1170 by his half-brother, Dafydd, they were cared for by Hywel's brother Rhirid.)

READ DAFYDD AP GWILYM IMMEDIATELY. HE IS SO FUN. TALKS ABOUT HIS DICK BEING 'A ROLLING PIN.' Also, he IS a contemporary of a sort to Gwerful Mechain and you should read her click poem.

[littleandless]

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON SEASON 2 FINALE: MY THOUGHTS

i mean, wow.

tyland getting some screen time yay. also, i was glad to see the trend of dyed beards represented on screen FINALLY. game of thrones shied away from that.

aegon and larys running away together…doomed yaoi</3

honestly i’m glad they made aegon’s broken dick part of show canon. first of all, he deserves it, but also…it means he’s about to get perverted in a different way. maybe larys will introduce him to voyeurism.

jacaerys has gone full-on bratty failson, which is kind of pathetic and sexy of him tbh.

ulf went from harmless idiot to dangerously irreverent soooo quickly. i know he has a dragon or whatever but he should at least pretend to kiss ass for the moment. like hugh! he knows the value of appearances.

how the hell did gwayne even find out about alicent and criston fucking? am i meant to assume he extrapolated that from the intense sniffing of the handkerchief?

i love how nihilistic criston cole has become. no more shiny white veneer, just a bald-faced suicide mission. he doesn’t fear death. the only thing holding him back since that night when alicent found him was her. and now he sees the futility of it all. so yeah, let’s embrace death! yippee!

this episode added so much to helaena’s character. after we see her and daemon interact in his weirwood vision, it cuts to her in the next scene, in the same outfit with the same facial expression. we’ve had 2 seasons of helaena making prophetic statements, but they were always full of metaphors, and her dreamer status seemed more like something that happened to her rather than something she did. but this episode turns that assumption completely on its head.

the weirwood vision was INSANE! BLOODRAVEN! DAENERYS! THE WHITE WALKERS! it reminded me that we’re being told this story for a purpose. grrm didn’t write a spin-off just for the sake of making a few extra dollars. it’s all connected. we’ve been hearing about the dance since shireen baratheon taught davos seaworth about it in season 5 and joffrey spoiled the ending in season 3 of game of thrones. and when ser duncan and baby egg finally appear on screen in a knight of the seven kingdoms, witnessing the blackfyre rebellions amd interacting with brynden rivers, things will be recontextualized yet again. the impact of all of these characters reverberates for centuries. you see it everywhere in a song of ice and fire. even if you’re not much of a reader, i implore you to read them anyway. and i’m not just saying that. even if grrm never actually finishes the series, i will die swearing that it was totally worth the read. if you have any love for these characters at all, give it a shot.

back to helaena: her scene with aemond was fucking fantastic. away from the eyes of their mother, each of them is more themselves than ever. aemond isn’t just an incel a wounded aggressor and helaena isn’t just a wounded dove. they both have a clarity of purpose, and they are in direct opposition to the other’s. aemond “come with me, help me defend us and all we hold dear” and helaena “it won’t change anything, it’s over, you’re already dead” it had me on the absolute edge of my seat. i felt like a dog in need of a stuffed animal to annihilate with my teeth. THIS IS CINEMA.

back to daemon: from his first scene in the episode, we see a resignation that wasn’t there before. he accepts the maddening nature of harrenhal, he accepts alys hovering over him at night and leading him to the weirwood tree, and he doesn’t brush off her words. he embraces the power of this place as well as the finality of what it reveals to him. there will be no more yearning or grasping, at least not for his own purposes. he knows what he must do. he submits to rhaenyra as he submits to his impending death.

the scene between alyn and corlys was so powerful. idk maybe it’s because i have daddy issues too, but it moved me a lot. watching your father forsake you for his trueborn heirs while you toil ceaselessly for survival, and then witnessing the downfall of everything he holds dear, and then finally…finally he acknowledges your value. knowing that all your success as a ship captain is attributed to the man who didn’t or couldn’t give you shit else. trying to compensate for decades-old wounds. all of this and he can still barely stand to meet your eyes. GOD.

another illicit rhaenicent scene! so much sexual potential and they just keep squandering it!

but seriously, that scene was insane. alicent has completely given up. “here, have the castle. take king’s landing. i’ll open the door for you. fuck, take my son too, take it all.”

all of their relationship encapsulated in a single conversation! everything boiled down to its base essence: i clung to honor and tradition and resented you because you didn’t, and now i’ve done some of the same things i always judged you for and i’ve realized it doesn’t matter. i just want this all to end.

that’s it, guys! that’s their whole dynamic! hell, that’s the whole show basically! but it’s too late! it’s too late! it’s too late! it’s too late! it’s too late! it’s too late! it’s too late! it’s too late! it’s too late! it’s too late! it’s too late!

someone redesign the sigil of house targaryen as a dragon eating its own tail and wrap this shit up

[modelbus]

YOOOO MODDLEE

yeah I did it again.

(Help I have a problem of disappearing into thin air)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR PART THREE OF CUT CHAOS SHEBSJNSUH

you said you would write 500 chapters.. but like obviously exaggerating..? (Kiddinggg)

tho a few more couldn’t hurt..

juuuust saying if you ever feel like it I will eventually see it and it will eventually make my week. <3333

BUT THATS NOT WHY WE ARE HERE! (I’m sorry my requests are always so long and dramatic bro I just brain like that)

Actual request:

ok so like I knowww cut chaos started from rumours but like rumours are an easy way to start plot lines k? (Also I use she pronouns out of habit but they is pog too)

the friends in question: Tommyinnit (duh), Wilbur (moosic boi), Ranboo (generation loss trauma guy), Possibly Slimecicle?? I know he’s not someone you do requests for normally buttt if you’re okay with it that would be POG, or if slime is a no, tubbo!

SO a few months ago Y/N started working on an SMP with some minimal custom mods, some fancy texture packs, maybe some data packs, and its like this BIGGG project, BUT its not public and its taking a lot of her time, so she can only really do a few streams and most of the time because her schedule is so full its hard to work out streams with friends so, she is alone. with the internet being the internet people started to think something was up, some annoyed viewers made a few rumours and people kept making things up and escalating things until people were saying she did all sorts of horrible things to “lose all her friends” but one of the most popular theories was that she was emotionally abusing them (??? Internet wildin ig) she ignored them while mostly finishing the stuff for the smp, but decided to address it in a very- y/n way. Getting four friends to come to her house and hide slightly off camera while she made a purposefully bad apology video only for them to jump out at the end and her to stand up and be like “YALL REALLY THOUGHT I WAS SOME MASTER MANIPULATOR?! I’M JUST A FUNKY LITTLE CHAOTIC MINECRAFT GOBLIN N’ I’VE BEEN WORKING ON AN SMP THIS WHOLE TIME!! ITS GONNA BE SUPER COOL AND THESE FOUR PLUS ALOOOOT MORE PEOPLE ARE GONNA BE THERE I’M POSTING THE CREATORS SOON AND ITS LAUNCHING IN A MONTH!, SO STOP ASSUMING I’M A BAD PERSON AND GET PUMPED BITCHES!” something along those lines, maybe at the end a little peek at what people are responding with. (Obviously no pressure, but like id be cool) (thanks for considering deity of the busses and models.)

HOW WE LIKING THE SILLIES?!?

P.S I’m not always an angst gremlin (just most of the time..) - ✨🌌🌙 Annon

I DO BE LIKING THE SILLIES (and thank you for elevating me to the level of deity, my ego has been inflated)

Pairing: Cc! Wilbur, Tommy, Ranboo, Charlie Slimecicle x Gn!Reader (platonic)

Roaring Rumors

Life was all about sacrifices.

Or, that’s what you keep telling yourself when you’re up at 1AM working on your server. Putting together an SMP is harder than it sounds; texture packs, data packs, comparability, world-building, even the (seemingly) simply act of contacting people to play on it. For the amount of time you spent on your computer, your hands might as well be part of your keyboard.

Sleep wasn’t the only thing you sacrificed. Streaming, even just fun ones with your friends, had quickly became rare. Although you loved to hop on a call while coding still, your online presence had severely receded.

You just keep telling yourself that sacrifices are necessary. That the payoff would be worth it.

And it really would be, but you just had to get there first. Which was proving harder than you had thought.

At the very least, you still had your friends. Wilbur sitting silently on call with you while you work, Tommy dragging you out of your room, Ranboo always willing to get excited over your progress. Every day you woke up with a text from your groupchat—typically Charlie—just filling you in on the latest internet trend by a meme.

Today, your news comes from Wilbur and Tommy.

“I think they’re canceling you.” Wilbur says casually while you’re in the midst of detailing the hunger bar for a texture pack.

“Ooh, you’re a wrong’un!” Tommy yells in the background of Wilbur’s side of the call.

The three of you had been idly chatting while each doing your own thing. Wilbur and Tommy were engaged in some Twitter competition, as far as you know.

“Canceling me for what?” You ask, deciding to ignore Tommy’s shouting.

“Existing, I think.” Wilbur answers.

“So the normal.”

“The normal.”

Although the conversation stops there, you can’t help yourself. Later, during one of the few hours you dedicate to getting sleep to stay alive, you pull open Twitter on your phone. Your last tweet was nearly two weeks ago, so it’s been a minute.

But you just want to make sure nothing horrible happened while you were busy. You’re a content creator, this is normal. Definitely. You definitely aren’t just justifying this so you can do it.

You swipe through tweets, heading to trending and searching your name. Tweets load, making your mouth run dry. Wilbur wasn’t joking.

All you can do is scroll, reading as the messages get wilder and wilder. From people saying they were missing you to theories on why nobody was streaming you. Each one seemed considerably more implausible, and before you know it you’re glaring at your screen like it’s to fault.

Some thought you had grown apart.

Some thought you had a falling out.

And, apparently, a lot thought you were emotionally abusing them. Or, depending on the tweet, manipulating them.

Quite honestly, you didn’t even know how they got the idea. The long threads of explanations did nothing but send you into a spiral, biting your bottom lip so hard that it bleeds.

You were so close to finishing the SMP. It needed just a few things, then you'd be able to start scheduling to get it up and running. You didn't have the time nor mental capacity to deal with whatever the fuck is going on right now.

Is it a good choice? Maybe not. But do you still ignore the accusations? Hell yes.

-

By the time you get even closer to finishing the preparations for your SMP, you've come up with the perfect plan to address the (quite stupid) rumors. It'll be a two-in-one; you address the rumors and announce the SMP at the same time.

"How long do I have to lay on this floor?" Tommy asks, stretched out behind your chair.

"Nobody asked you to lay on the floor." Wilbur points out, standing next to your computer. Charlie, on the other side, laughs.

"Yeah man, you wanted to be down there."

"Besides, I'm doing great down here!" Ranboo chimes in.

You roll your eyes, grinning. "I'm about to start stream, so it won't be for much longer. Just wait for my cue, yeah?"

Tommy grumbles, but shuts up. You take that as your chance to start the stream, switching it off your waiting screen and waving to the camera. Your chosen stream title has brought in a bit more than your usual casual steam view number, "Talking about some serious stuff," leading people to believe there will be drama. And if it's drama they want, it's drama you'll give.

"Hello, hello!" You smile, leaning back. "So I've decided to talk about some things. Namely, the Twitter shit. I am so sorry for everything, and I mean that. A lot. Sincerely. There's meaning in it."

Tommy snorts, and from the corner of your eye you catch Wilbur kick him to shut him up.

"What am I sorry about?" You ask rhetorically, acting like you read it off of chat. "Oh, you know. People have been saying all types of stuff. The things about me manipulating my friends?" There's a pause while you let that sink in. "So, I'm sorry."

It's a purposefully shitty apology, but you sigh and act like its heartfelt for a few moments, nodding towards chat. Their messages are mostly confused, especially because it isn't one emote-only.

"Sorry you guys are so gullible!" You shout, and Tommy practically tackles you.

Wilbur's the one to fix your chair, Ranboo and Charlie appearing next to you within moments.

"You guys really thought this one could manipulate me? The master?" Charlie asks the stream, pointing at you.

"Yeah!" Tommy shouts, way too energetic for someone who complained five minutes ago about being on the floor. "We're the master manipulators! Get fooled!"

"I, for one, haven't manipulated anyone-" Ranboo starts, but Tommy slaps a hand over his mouth and nods empathetically.

"Yeah, I don't know what you guys were thinking, but I've just been playing fucking Minecraft for the past few months nonstop." You laugh.

"Nonstop. It's a problem." Wilbur nods.

"It is not a problem!" Pause. "Anyways, I made an SMP! And that's where I've been! Not because I've been manipulating my friends or some shit, stop being dumbasses."

"It'll be super cool!" Ranboo adds in helpfully.

"These four-"

"That's us!" Charlie points around at himself, Wilbur, Tommy, and Ranboo.

"-will be on it, plus a lot more. It'll be posting those people soon! As in, check your Twitter obsessively guys! The SMP will be in about a month, too, so get fucking excited! I want to see some hype!"

"WOO!" Tommy screams, making everyone cringe at having their eardrums ruptured.

"So that's all I wanted to talk about I think. Anything to add, guys?" You glance around at the four surrounding you with a grin.

"One thing." Charlie nods, leaning in really close. "I have a secret. This SMP, it's actually-" He hits your end stream button mid-sentence. "And that's how you keep 'em interested."

-

Ycgmaenthusist NEW SMP NEW SMP NEW SMP NEW SMP

Mammalianeighingreflecenthusiest We are dumb as fuck aren’t we

Poabsenthusiest i will RIOT IN THE STREETS if any of yall be mean to MY STREAMER -> Cmwylenthusist FR I GOT TWO FISTS AND A CAUSE

[allwormdiet]

Gestation 1.2

There's such a specific pain that comes from the person you trust the most stabbing you in the back, I don't know if it's the worst pain in the world but there's really nothing else with that... I dunno, that feeling that the ground's gone out from underneath you. And knowing about Annette's death, and that I think Emma becomes this way as a kind of idolization of Sophia... it's just a bad situation that gets worse with context and over time. Utterly miserable.

Two hundred pages of notes on your own powers and training as a superhero is like. So fucking much. I don't think I'd manage that one, I don't know how many people could match that one. Is this a side effect of Wild "7000 page novel" bow being the author here? Is this what he considers normal?

Bless Taylor for making even a token effort at trying to look at the bright side of a shitty situation, I don't know how long that's gonna last but even now she's still trying.

Also, okay, the dismissal of Taylor's power isn't just textual, it's coming from inside the house. Kid, your power is great, that's the self-loathing talking, you're gonna change the world with that shit.

Also lmao @ Taylor's lack of killer instinct, how long does that last I wonder.

Is a little interesting that Taylor doesn't even necessarily get the full factual information of a bug under her control, but I guess that's not really necessary for her power to do its thing.

Also interesting to note that Taylor still has nerves about her bugs, considering how much art I've seen of her absolutely crawling with the things. Guess that attitude doesn't last super long.

Okay so I think there's actually a lot to unpack in this section so I'm gonna get into it

There's an immediate and sharp divide between independent capes like Taylor and the big dogs who have people to take care of things like costumes for them, and that divide is only going to become more stark over time. I don't even know what the solution for such a thing would be, you can't exactly do small loans to anonymous capes for this kind of thing and any kind of neutral third party that could do this would be an immediate target for stealing customer information. It's a logistical concern, and a thorny one at that.

The cleverness with the spider silk and the subsequent roadblock of realizing that it's hard as fuck to make a costume out of spider silk are both great. Awesome idea that's immediately undercut by a complicated execution, I wonder if that's gonna come back up at any p

I'm a little curious about the exact decision making on Brockton Bay's location. Not to say that it's a bad call off the bat to put it where it is, more that Wildbow seems to have immediately made a call, realized it was going to complicate some things, and then made a workaround. I dunno how different the story would be if it took place further south, if at all, but it stands out to me at least.

(It is also a little funny to imagine that Brockton Bay is more popular with capes because it's easier to wear silly costumes in the local climate, I don't think it's true but not-trueities are fun)

Taylor's resourcefulness is an immediate standout trait in this chapter, I think this is the first time I learned that the armor plating was literally made from reinforced exoskeletons but wow what a cool and slightly gross detail.

I'm sure this will be the only time that Taylor feels a bridge has been burned beyond the point where it's worth mending and move to take decisive action in whatever direction doesn't involve that bridge, yessir. This will definitely not be a recurring behavior in this character.

Immediate Thoughts

More time spent getting to know Taylor. The plot isn't so much moving forward as getting into position at the starting line, which gives us time to get used to her perspective and her thought patterns. What I wanna know is how she thinks being an independent superhero is gonna, like, work? The likely answer is that she hasn't thought that far ahead and is just gonna like, wander around looking for random encounters. She's still too square (and broke) to get a police scanner or something like that, that's for sure. Wait to see what happens, I guess.

[mercurytrinemoon]

my very VERY impromptu Trump-Kamala thoughts

I wanted to have a proper look at both of their charts and analyze them with respect to the elections and so I thought I'll share with you guys some notes that I'm making in my head.

So if you're not familliar with Trump's chart, he was (kinda famously among astrologers) born on a lunar eclipse in Sagittarius - his a Gemini Sun is conjunct Uranus and north node (which helps his leadership qualities) and Sagi Moon conjunct the north node (which brings misfortune to women around him… in one way or another). He also has Mars on his Leo ascendant, which just makes his Gemini self be even more yappy and arrogant know-it-all.

Currently he's in his Saturn profection year and I've talked about it in my previous post but his natal Saturn is in the 12th house of secrets, loss and succlusion. We still don't know what his felony conviction in September will be but what I will say is that Saturn, not only in the 12th but also on exile in Cancer is like double banishment - it's not only themes of being isolated because of the 12th but planets that are in the sign opposite to its domicile often act like rejection of some sorts - and it's either something that rejects you or that you reject yourself, depending on the topic involved.

On the election day, Jupiter will be right on top of his north node and Mars will barely enter his 1st house, giving him more energy and power (mind you that Mars will later retrograde back to his 12th!). Saturn will move away from t-squaring his luminaries but it will still quietly do its malefic job from his 8th house. What's also worth noting is that Uranus will still hover over his MC and square his Mars. So that disruptive energy will linger and Jupiter's influence over his planets might just blow it out of proportion even more.

Interestingly on November 5th we'll have two major transits: Venus opposite Jupiter and Mars opposite Pluto. This is a very strong push and pull and kind of like a battle of the feminine and masculine.

Kamala on the other hand, was also born during a lunation - she has Libra Sun directly opposite Aries Moon (feisty lady she is indeed!). So she's also a full Moon baby. Not an eclipse one but her nodes are just as prominent with the north node right on her Gemini ascendant - she's here to evolve and to do things for the people. And make silly remarks about coconuts Gemini-style.

There we have it guys, the battle of Geminis!

She's currently in her 12th house profection year, where her natal Jupiter is placed. Funnily, her Jupiter is where Uranus currently transits and where Trump has his MC - the Mars-Uranus conjunction surely affected her in a good way. Because she's a Libra, at the time of the elections she'll already be in her 1st house profection with Jupiter transiting her 1st, elevating her as a person. So both of them have support from the benefic.

The beginning of November will also be a notable Saturn transit for her with it opposing her Uranus, Pluto and Venus. As well as Pluto and Mars making a grand square to her luminaries (and to her ascendant ruler, Mercury!) This is a make or break kind of transit but will it give her enough clout and power to push through with the votes or will it bring her defeat?

What's worth noting with her is that soon she'll start having eclipses in the 4th-10th houses, which can bring changes in her living situation and career - but again, it's hard to really guess if that change means stepping down and leaving the White House or upgrading her status.

One thing that is for sure is that starting next year, the US will go into its Uranus return, which historically brought a lot of upheavals and wars every time so no matter who wins, shit will most probably go down.

My guess is that'll happen under potential Trump presidency - somehow he may be that trigger whether willingly or not or some other shocking stuff happens in the meantime and THAT will be the root of the american shitstorm???

Another interesting point is that on the inauguration day Sun will conjoin with Pluto - so we have the theme of forceful power and leadership or some other unpleasant things yet again. Venus will also just move past Saturn, which makes me think of the defeat of the feminine - OR maybe because Venus is exalted in Pisces this is the feminine stepping into authority and a moment of a metaphorical cease-fire and ease.

[acowardinmordor]

I'm never going to write it, so here, enjoy some suffering as I combine multiple fics and tropes into a bouillabaisse of angst.

----

Eddie isn't quite dead when Steve, Robin and Nancy get back to them. Since the gates are starting to weaken, it's a mad rush to get everyone through. Steve gets Nancy and Dustin through so they can at least sort of help catch Eddie -- who is entirely unconscious and lacking a lot of blood. The gate is narrowing, the Upside Down is trembling, and Steve doesn't ask, just hefts Robin up and gets her through.

She makes it, but by the time she lands and looks up to yell for him to haul ass, everyone can tell that Steve won't make it through. The gate is too narrow and they don't know, they won't risk finding out what happens if the gate closes on him.

It's closing with exponential decay, so the slow creep it started with becomes a rush, and he yells for them to get to the damn hospital.

Then he's gone.

And look, they're furious and horrified and yes, they want to go after him right this second, but Eddie is dying and Dustin's leg is broken, and they don't even know if Max is okay. Besides, its not like they know how to open a gate.

It's a few days before Team Cali gets to Hawkins, and everyone, including Max in three casts begs El to open a gate.

And she can't. Something about how Henry died, something about the hivemind and the interconnection to the whole world. She knows it's still there, but she can't reach it. She can't find Steve either.

So a few days becomes a week, and Will won't answer questions, because he knows what its like to be alone there, and telling the others when there's no hope of rescue is cruel.

Then Eddie wakes up, coherent for the first time after the infection and the fever and the pain meds. They tell him, and they try to prevent the survivor's guilt - which was already awful - from destroying him. Robin gets it. She was the last through. Steve could have gone first and left her there, but they both know he never would.

They bond over it in the next few weeks as he recovers and leaves the hospital with a few hundred stitches.

After a month, they hold a small memorial, even though they haven't reported it. Without a body, it would take more paperwork than any of them can bear to complete.

The G-men took the Munson trailer, so he, Robin and Wayne are at Harrington's place for now. And if Eddie snoops a little when the others are at work, learning more about this idiot that died instead of him, its understandable.

The way he has all the scraps of his relationship with Nancy, dwarfed by the notes and dumb gifts and mementos of the gremlins. The enormous first aid kit, right next to the enormous supply of hair spray. The box of things from before '83, shoved in a corner, but not forgotten. Post its with important dates. A bank statement showing that his parents left him the house, but no money to cover upkeep or taxes. A scratchy budget where Steve so obviously prioritized his friends over himself.

Eddie learns about Steve Harrington and wishes he could trade places. Eddie is selfish and an asshole and a failure, and he isn't worth what it cost to save his life.

No matter what Robin says about being last through, Eddie knows it must have taken longer to move him, so if it wasn't for Eddie, Steve would have made it. If Eddie had died instead of clinging to life --

When Eddie develops a cough, everyone winces in sympathy as his still achy wounds protest the movement. When his cough gets worse, they consider contacting Owens about Upside Down pathogens.

When he has a coughing fit while the others are out, and ends up with a few blood stained petals in his hand, it takes a few seconds for him to understand.

It takes a few more for it to really land.

He spends the next hour over the toilet, first vomiting, then dry heaving as he sobs.

Because see, Hanahaki might be rare and a remnant of ancient magics, but it's well studied. The sufferer has to be in love and pining. They have to have no hope of the person they love ever reciprocating.

It isn't always fatal. If they confess, and they're rejected, they'll die within a day. If they confess, and it's reciprocated, the flowers fade within a day. If they fall out of love, the flowers fade within a week. If they stay silent they'll live another month from the first petals.

There is a surgery that can remove the affliction and the affection. It's safe, it's a priority treatment in every hospital, and the only side effect is emotional disconnection from the person who caused it.

But none of that is what has Eddie sobbing.

Cause see there's another thing that science knows for sure. Hanahaki will not, does not, absolutely cannot bloom if the person they love is dead.