#WHILE REFUSING TO ACTUALLY LAND ANY BLOWS ON HER

[bestworstcase]

your point about team rwby being the maidens’ liberators made me think - do you think blake is going to have a special connection to the summer maiden? I noticed that she’s the only one who hasn’t been close to a maiden yet

i think gillian asturias is the summer maiden (and this post is hysterical in hindsight. at the time i wrote it, the full-length v9 epilogue hadn’t been released yet so we’d only seen qrow’s section and about half of winter’s – hence my pausing to lay out the argument for salem going to vale next and making a pretense of hedging my bets on the crown being narratively central in v10. lol)

now! with regard to blake and the summer maiden, the common thinking here seems to mostly run along the lines of “…and that’s why summer maiden ilia,” or the more general speculation that the summer maiden will be a faunus character.

to this i say:

it’s a fallacy to conflate “blake will probably have a strong narrative connection to the summer maiden” with “the summer maiden necessarily is or will be blake’s old friend,” and the argument for ilia being due for maidenhood is quite thin otherwise, and

blake can and does have important narrative connections to characters who aren’t faunus, and it’s a weird to presume that in order for the summer maiden to have a meaningful tie to blake, she must be a faunus herself.

to expand on that first point, let’s consider the personal relationships between each of the maidens so far and ruby / weiss / yang:

pyrrha -> ruby’s friend

cinder -> ruby’s personal enemy

raven -> yang’s estranged mother

penny -> ruby’s friend

winter -> weiss’s beloved sister

the takeaway here – other than that if you’re ruby’s friend and someone offers you to become a maiden you should refuse – is half the relations between maidens and members of team rwby are antagonistic. (raven seems likely to at least try making amends with yang in v10, but as it stands in the narrative right now things between them are very fraught.)

it is just as likely that blake’s narrative connection to the summer maiden might develop through a personal conflict between them, rather than friendship. yes?

and, if i’m right about gill being the summer maiden, well—stop me if you’ve heard this one: a girl with a driving, passionate ambition to uplift her people from the ashes of centuries of conquest and subjugation is radicalized by a boy she loves who pulls them both deeper and deeper into violent, spiteful extremism that ultimately harms the very people they claim to fight for, until he finally crosses a line she can’t accept and she says no i will not.

that’s blake and adam but it’s also gillian and her brother. the difference between them is that blake’s red line was adam glibly revealing that the train heist was actually intended to be a massacre whereas gillian’s was jax stating his intention to commit suicide rather than retreat and live to fight another day; she helped yatsu subdue him specifically to save jax’s life, not because she had a crisis of conscience about their movement.

(there is a certain—really irritating—contingent of CFVY novel readers who project their own dislike of jax onto gill and insist that she turned against him because he demanded she ‘sacrifice her life’ to save him, which 1. he didn’t, he asked her to give him all her aura and then bodily shielded her because he’s physically bigger than she is so this was at worst a “if we’re going down together, i’ll make them go through me first,” 2. if gill only wanted to save her own neck all she had to do was rip her aura out of him and bounce, and 3. she explicitly says that the reason she did what she did is because he’s her brother, she loves him, and she couldn’t let him die.)

the point being, gill is still a radical; her soft betrayal of jax revealed her priorities in that she loves her brother more than The Cause, but in no way did it represent a break from her belief in the cause. if the epilogue is any indication, she’s just as committed to overthrowing shade academy as before. (and i think there’s a real chance that her actions will have improved her relationship with jax to some degree, because he believed she didn’t care about him at all! he thought she only stuck with him because his semblance compelled her to do so! and then gillian exploded his mind by revealing that his semblance straight up doesn’t work on her and she just loves him. which, if the twins are on the same page now, cuts down on the internal tension and likely makes them more dangerous adversaries to the coalition.)

but her history, the way she became like this, is eerily similar to blake’s radicalization in the white fang, and i think blake would certainly be able to piece that together. she’s also by far the member of team rwby i would say is most likely to recognize and relate to the genuine pain at the heart of the crown’s movement—vacuo has suffered.

vacuo wasn’t even a state until the end of the great war. it was a mistrali territory. its people were enslaved and worked to death in a systematic and horrifyingly effective project to extract every last speck of valuable resources from the region, and then even statehood was a slap in the face because they were left to fend for themselves in a barren wasteland whose ecosystem had been completely and utterly destroyed.

the crown is a mirror held up to the white fang; blake is insightful and empathetic enough to realize these similarities and see herself and her past mistakes reflected in gillian, but this time she’s an outsider to the movement—she can’t effect change from within or reclaim the true, important work from the vengeful extremists. so she’s limited in what she can do, practically, even as it’s going to be painfully clear to her that the crown is falling into the same trap adam did.

and at the same time, the new white fang will in all likelihood either be in vacuo or show up to join the coalition in v10, so blake’s part in her own movement, her place in her community, can be directly juxtaposed with her opposition to/empathy for the crown.

v9 sets up for this with blake’s advocacy for the afterans—v7-8 do as well to a lesser extent, because blake is still dealing with the personal fallout of v4-6 and thus is quieter about mantle than say, nora is, but like. blake draws a comparison between her experiences in the white fang and with adam and the moral compromises ironwood starts making after the election. it just seems… pretty clear to me that the narrative has been setting up blake to play a pivotal role in relation to the crown since at least v4 if not earlier, depending on how granular the vacuo outline was during v1-3.

so this is a narrative connection i very much expect blake to have with gillian regardless, but… if gill is the maiden…

well, she’s certainly not trapped inside ozpin’s vault/key maiden paradigm! so in that case what does it look like for a member of team rwby to fulfill this narrative role of liberation? probably something like de-radicalizing her and her brother by convincing them there is a better way forward than their divisive, violent, paranoid ideology. and blake is unquestionably the member of team rwby best equipped to get the ball rolling there.

further, blake’s semblance is a really strong counter to gill’s – that’s true of ruby and weiss as well, because gillian has to touch a person in order to steal aura and so agile, fast opponents are going to be tougher for her in general. but blake has two more things going for her beyond the basic mobility advantage, vis-a-vis making it personal:

the illusionary aspect of blake’s semblance will allow her to create decoys, which is a very powerful tactical advantage against an opponent who really wants to grab her, and

blake’s girlfriend is a hand-to-hand fighter, and an incredibly brave one with an intense protective instinct at that.

clears throat. we all remember yang getting possessed in rwby x jl part 2, yes? and blake clocking it instantly? well.

if blake and gillian are meant to be not just foils but personal adversaries in the vein of ruby and cinder—yang’s gonna get got. agile though she is, as a hand-to-hand combatant yang is unavoidably much more vulnerable to the twins’ contact-based semblances than the rest of her team, her personality will make it very hard for her to play it safe and stay back if it comes to an open fight, and there is nothing the narrative could do to lock in that personal enmity that would be punchier than yang being compromised.

even if gill as a personal adversary to blake isn’t in the cards i expect yang to get got anyway because, let’s be honest: do we really expect crwby to set themselves up with a golden opportunity to do a climactic love-overcomes-mind-control scene with the bees in v10 and then not take it? with how nuts the entire creative team goes for these two? after the climactic battle in ice queendom hingeing on yang being able to free blake from a nightmare with the mere lesser power of unrealized lesbianism? do we reeeally believe they would pass that up? lol.

[littlefireball]

ʏꜱ|ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ᴍᴇ, ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ ᴍᴇ, ꜰɪʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ (ᴍ)

ɢᴏᴅ ᴏꜰ ʙʀᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ ꜱᴀᴠᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ|ᴄʜᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ (ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏᴏᴅ (?) ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ)|ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴇx|ᴄʟɪᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ|ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ|ᴅʀʏ ʜᴜᴍᴘ|ᴏʀᴀʟ|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴋ*ʟʟɪɴɢ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.4ᴋ

Other members: ATEEZ as Fake Gods, Seonghwa

Masterlist

Rumors abound in the city about the miraculous powers of the holy water in the temple, believed to bestow fertility upon barren women. Little do they know, the so-called holy water is actually a disguise for the gods themselves. Concealed within the temple, the deity assumes the form of a male priest, carefully selecting his chosen women. His divine 'touch' brings forth new life for those he deems worthy, while others are left untouched by his favor.

And as usual, he was entrenched in the temple, looking for his favorite "prey".

You were compelled into a marriage with that pig in the urban center due to your family's financial ruin, or should I say that oily old man who was as corpulent as a pig. His conduct exuded disdain towards women, and his utterances lacked any semblance of decency. He demanded you to have children for him, but who would consent to such a disgusting request.

Whenever he attempted to forcefully have sex with you, you resorted to narcotics or simply delivered a blow to render him unconscious. Of course, it was not a long term solution. He brought you to the temple, despite your unwillingness.

"You better get pregnant or I'll just throw you to the brothel," The old man warned, gripping your wrist hard enough to leave a clear red mark. "Get off me! You fucking old man!" "How dare you talk like this to your husband?!" As he was about to slap you, a sudden deep voice stopped him. "Quiet!"

Yeosang walked out from behind the statue with a serious look on his face. "This is a holy land, how can you be allowed to cause trouble?"

"I apologize. My wife is trying to hurt me so I…" "Is it true? Why do I perceive a desire in you to strike her?" Yeosang maintained a stern face as he advanced, radiating an aura of authority that left the elderly man faltering. "No, no, my lord, you have misunderstood. I simply intended to catch her, not harm her."

"Catch her?" Yeosang tilted his head, gazing at the man with impatience and anger. "What a good husband?" Yeosang forcefully released the man's grip on your wrist and pushed his hand away with determination. The oily man's wrists bore the marks of yeosang's strength, as his fingers left visible bruises on the old man's skin. Despite the pig's cries, Yeosang remained resolute and refused to release his hold.

"Ah, say something to help me, explain it! Y/N!!" That fat pig bellowed in desperation, beseeching you to come to his aid. But how could you do this? Your delight in witnessing his suffering is beyond comprehension, as he was left in a state worse than death. "He is trying to hurt me, my lord." "You bitch─!!!" Without allowing the oily man to utter another word, Yeosang flung him to the ground like a piece of refuse.

"Leave. Before I changed my mind." The old man struggled to stand up and ran away without looking back. "You stay here, Y/N."

"Me?Stay here?" Yeosang nodded as he slowly walked back to his throne-like sofa. The sophisticated man reclined against the opulent throne, his demeanor exuding an air of refinement. "Come here," he beckoned, his voice laced with an unprecedented softness. You obediently knelt before him, a blush creeping onto your cheeks at the sight of his striking features.

"Tell me, my dear, do you desire to conceive?" Gently cupping your face, his thumb grazed your lips, applying a slight pressure. "I…" You found yourself captivated by his presence, rendered speechless. "Never, right?" He echoed your unspoken thoughts, causing you to flinch. "But what if the child is mine?" "What?"

"Don't worry, that man won't pester you anymore." He grabbed your chin to press his lips on yours. "It'll be good, I promise."

It was the first time your lips met. That fat pig had never shown you the same kindness as Yeosang. To him, you were nothing more than a fertility tool. There was no hint of aggression or intrusion in the kiss, only warmth and tenderness. A pulsating sensation coursed through both of your bodies, and you felt the heat spreading throughout your entire being.

"Are you feeling hot?" Yeosang inquired in between kisses, to which you shyly nodded. "Then you need to cool off." His hand slipped down your back, unzipping and slipping inside. You gasped at the chilly touch of his fingers, causing him to smirk.

He drew you nearer, settling you on his lap, encircling your legs around his waist as he trailed his kisses along your jawline and neck. Tilting your head back to grant him better entry, he nestled himself in the curve of your neck, exploring with his mouth everywhere he could reach. With a swift movement from Yeosang, your top slipped down, and after unfastening your bra and tossing it aside, he gently guided you down onto the plush sofa.

"Have you had sex before?" You shook your head as you trailed off. "I never let my…that old man touched me."

"Do you want me to touch you?" He hovered you, his tone tingled with a hint of desire. "Please…" "Say it again, Y/N." His thumb brushed your bottom lips, then sliding down to hold your chin. "Please, I want you to touch me." Yeosang smiled as his ego grew at your answer. "Do you know my name?" You shook your head. "It's Yeosang. No one knows but only you."

"Because you are special." His words ignited a blush on your cheeks, evoking feelings of tenderness and timidity. You sensed a new emotion blossoming within your heart. Could it be the sensation of falling in love? Oh, the irony of it all! How amusing to think that mere sweet words could stir such emotions. Despite your rational mind attempting to awaken you, the yearning within your being refused to be silenced.

You watched him leave a trail of kisses from your chest to the tummy. "That old man doesn't deserve you." Yeosang sat up straight to tear apart your dress, making you gasp at shock. He cupped your clit and moved up and down, giving a little hard press to make you moan at sudden touch.

"Gosh…" "You're so warm, honey." This was your first time to feel such pleasure. All the heat rushed to your clit and something flowed out, wetting your underwear. Feeling his fingertip went deep into your cunt, you arched your back as he gently caressed it. "It was your first time and I don't want to hurt you. Gotta prepare you well."

Yeosang buried his face between your thighs, sucking your fold slightly. "Yeo…Yeosang!" You arched your back and moaned at pleasure. Even though there was a fabric, you could still feel his tongue every move. The wet muscle shifted from the bottom to the top as he ate you out like a starved man. Gripping his hair lightly, you pulled him closer to your core as you wanted more.

Yeosang pushed your thighs to either side as he got your signal. "Hold it." You obeyed his words and grabbed your calves, feeling a cold touch on your clit followed by a hot, wet sensation as he pulled the hem of your panties aside. His tongue was tapping your fold at a quick pace, making you let out a choppy moan.

But it was not enough. You wanted, no, needed something more exciting.

"Yeosang…" "Be patient, doll. I know what you want but you have to wait." Dropping a kiss on your clit, he sat up straight again and took off all his clothes. You felt worried as you gazed on his big, long cock, not knowing if it fit you. "You can take it, don't worry. Let's adjust it first, okay?"

He guided his member to rub against your clit. Everything was slow and gentle. Each time his hard tip brushed your fold, you couldn't help but pant heavily as the numbness took over you. "How does it feel?" "It…it feels good." Covering your mouth to suppress the moaning, Yeosang rubbed faster and harder that made you wetter.

"Want me to thrust in? Words, honey." Yeosang asked, leaning closer to make a fast friction.

"Yes,yes, please, my lord." You cried. "Oh fuck!!" He plugged in with a smooth motion after finding your entrance, reaching the sensitive spot.

"Ah~yeosang~oh my god~" The alluring moan caused a flush of embarrassment to spread across your cheeks, yet it also further inflamed Yeosang's desire. He folded you up as a mating press, penetrating even deeper. His powerful thrusting resembled an unstoppable force of nature. Every penetration delved as deeply as could be, forcefully meeting your tender flesh. The combination of pain and arousal left you gasping for breath, your exhilaration expressed through high-pitched cries.

You enveloped him in your embrace, drawing him near to feel the warmth of your body against his. With each thrusting, the friction of your bodies created a thrilling sensation, igniting a new level of excitement. His cock nestled so deep in your cunt as if breaking through your limit.

Your nails dug into his back as he battered your sweet spot again and again. The numbness from thrusting made you reel and moan messily. "Gonna fill your pussy with my seed, it must be good." He huffed, trying to catch his breath. "Keep squeezing my cock to make me cum?How thirsty you are." Well, Yeosang totally forgot he was supposed to be elegant, gentle but not rough and dirty. Maybe his possessiveness was stirred up when he saw how that fat pig forced you to bear his child. No, he couldn't accept this.

Yeosang turned you over harshly, making you bounce on the sofa and shout in surprise. Aiming at your hole again, he entered you in one go and fucked you at an inhuman speed. "Fuck!!Fuck!!Fuck!!" He propped himself with both hands on your lower back, hitting your ass with his ball, causing a loud skin slapping filled the temple.

"Oh my god, fuck it." Yeosang's thrusting went faster and faster as if there was no limitation. He needed to cum, to fill your pussy with his hot seed. "Cum for me, Y/N. Let's breed. Carry my child." He drew back his hips until only his tip inside your cunt and bumped into you. As a high-pitched moan left your tongue, you came before the hot liquid creamed your wall.

Yeosang took a moment to catch his breath before thrusting forward twice and then pulling away. "Are you alright?" he asked, turning you around and giving you a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I'm fine," you reassured him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he leaned in to kiss you. Despite feeling conflicted, Yeosang couldn't resist the urge to show you care. Normally, he would simply bid farewell to his prey and erase their memories. Hence, they would never know the truth and he could breed again and again.

This time, however, he discovered a desire to cherish your memories, to hold you close by his side. He believed he was never alone, surrounded by those who sought his attention, yet they were never truly his. You, unlike the rest, were forsaken, seen as a mere instrument, left in solitude. Two souls adrift in loneliness made for the most exquisite partnership.

"Stay with me, Y/N." He whispered against your lips, leaving a kiss on it. "But I'm not divorced yet and the engagement…" "It's fine. Everything is fine." He pecked at you again. "What you need to do is just stay here and let me deal with it."

—---

"Where is my wife?!" As Yeosang expected, that oily man came back to the temple with a team of villagers the following morning. He cast a disdainful glance at the door from the corner of his eyes, but his gaze softened as he tenderly caressed your face. "Sleep well, honey." After tucking you in with the quilt, he made his way to the door.

"Everyone can see clearly that he is the one who kidnapped my wife!He is no clergyman, but a mere charlatan! You see, I was injured by him yesterday while trying to save my beloved wife."

Yeosang rolled his eyes, regretting that he forgot to eliminate the man's memories. But never mind, everything would be solved soon and he could go back to cuddle with you.

"Are you done talking nonsense?" Yeosang cut him off with impatience.

"Give me back my wife."

"Who?"

"I said Y/N! I know you are here! Come out you bastard!!" Yeosang immediately saw red as he heard how this disgusting man called you. Waved his hand, and the unknown force knocked everyone away.

"It seems that you have no idea who I am, human." Yeosang gracefully lowered himself to seize the man's chin, compelling him to meet his gaze. His power surpassed that of mere mortals; indeed, he was mightier than any being on Earth. As bones cracked, the man's mouth filled with blood, yet he was unable to expel it.

"How dare you to be impolite in front of a God?" He exerted his power, causing the man's facial muscles to constrict. "If you dare, kill me and take her back. Can you?" He said provocatively, his eyes shining a red, gold light because of anger. And the others dared not to save the man and just ran away.

"See? They leave you." Yeosang twisted the man's neck, resulting in an unintended fracture. "Oops. Gosh." He waved his hand in revulsion, as though he had come into contact with something unsavory.

"Yeosang?" As your voice rang in his ears, he immediately looked up and rushed to your side. "Did I wake you up? Are you tired? Want to sleep more?" You shook your head and nestled yourself in his embrace. "Just…a little bit horny." Smirked, he picked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist.

"Then let me help you, my wife." Oh yes, he forgot, again, this was the aftereffect of having sex with him. Who called him the God of breeding?

[myboipotterimagines]

Golden Pt. 2 - Weasley Twins x Reader

Thank you for all the love on part one. I genuinely love this AU and hope you all do too. <3

Other Parts: Part One

Your eyes flickered between the two Weasley boys, refusing to accept that you could have two soulmates - even though they were looking you straight in the face. "This is a joke, right?" you finally ask. "I don't think anyone could pull off a joke like this," Fred spoke, gently placing his palm back to the matching spot on your cheekbone. "Even us," George laughed. "And why would we? No one dreams of half a soulmate." You don't know why, but your heart aches at his words. "I didn't dream of having you as my soulmate, either," you retort, pulling away from both Weasleys. "Is that so, sweetheart?" He takes a step closer, smirking. "Because the rouge of your cheeks says otherwise."

"Back off her, George," Fred commands, pulling the two of you apart. "We have to get out of here now or Umbridge will kill us. Like actually kill us." "Alright, soulmate. You coming with us or not?" George asks. "Like she's going to go anywhere with us now, George," Fred scoffs. "You're a total-" "I'm in," you say, cutting him off.

Fred pulled you out of the broom closet before you could change your mind. He held onto your hand as the three of you ran through the halls, avoiding the blasts of light above you. Suddenly, curses mixed into the light of the fireworks. You risked a quick look back and saw Umbridge and the rest of her cult following you. "Shit!" you yelled, ducking from a bright red ray of light.

"Accio!" both twins yelled, and after a moment a broom hit each of their hands. They mounted the brooms, Fred pulling you right behind him. You clutch him closely while shooting a string of spells behind you at Umbridge. With a final toss of fireworks, you're gone - Hogwarts far behind.

It was no time before you landed down in Diagon Alley. "What are we doing here?" you ask. The town was a graveyard - each shop having been closed for what seemed to be months.

"Alohamora," George whispered, cracking open a door to a building near the end of the lot. "You are looking at the start of our joke shop - name still pending." "And our home for the next few days. If we told our mum we were leaving Hogwarts for good she would drag us straight back. So we have to wait her out here," Fred adds.

After spelling on the lights, George leads you in. The place was nowhere near finished, but you could see the bones of the operation. Half-finished products were strewn over the ground, haphazard notes that only they could read near each one. "This is really cool," you smile.

"I would advise you not to touch anything. There's a method to our madness and I really don't want you to accidentally blow yourself up," George says. You nod. "No touching. Got it." "Come on, bedroom's this way," Fred leads. You wish you could stop the heat from rising to your face, but George sees it immediately, smirking to himself. You ignore him, following Fred closely up the stairs.

"We didn't really prepare for guests," he admits, rubbing the nape of his neck. You enter the bedroom to find two beds on either side of the wall, an simple dresser by each one. And that was it. Not even a couch. The room was just sad. You laughed, "I can tell. If you can spare a pillow I'll sleep in the corner. It'll be cozy." "You are not sleeping on the floor," both twins immediately protested. "No way we're letting any guest sleep on the ground, let alone our soulmate," George scoffs.

"You'll have my bed tonight. We'll figure something else out by tomorrow," Fred adds.

You protested, of course, but the two fought back harder. You finally just gave in, heading towards the bed. You finally take off your cloak, aching to get out of your whole uniform, but knowing you would have to wait until tomorrow to get anything remotely comfortable to wear.

Fred immediately picks up on your discomfort. "You can wear these tonight," he says, pulling a sweater out of his dresser, then a pair of joggers. You retreat to the bathroom to pull on the clothes, and as you do you notice the golden F stitched into the sweater. You smile as the rub the end of the sleeve between your fingers.

The twins had changed out of their robes by the time you returned. George had already gone to bed, and Fred was waiting for you on his. You sat down beside him, finally taking a moment to rest after the insanity of the day. "Thank you for this," you said, nodding down to your sweater. "And for bringing me with you, and letting me sleep on your bed, and for not meeting me in the way I always feared you would."

Fred brings his hand to your face, holding you from your jaw to your ear, just as he had when you fell. "I don't think my hands could ever hurt you." He spoke the words quietly, but they filled your entire head. When you looked at him, you felt dizzy. It was all too much - his kindness, his brother's apprehension, the fact that they were both your soulmates. Was that even possible? In all your years you'd never heard of a person having two soulmates, let alone at the same time. But there they were. There he was, staring down at you with the kindest eyes you'd ever seen on a man.

"Can I kiss you?" Fred asked. His cheeks rouged as he asked, and yours followed. You couldn't speak, so you just nodded. And then the hand that had settled onto your skin, like it belonged there, pulled you into him. His lips were soft against yours, moving as slowly as a person possibly could. Still, his touch was electric and the shockwaves surged through you.

Your heart lurched in it's chest when he pulled away from you. "Goodnight," he smiled, pushing himself off of his bed. You quickly grabbed his hand, halting him. "Stay." Fortunately, he didn't require much convincing. He let you become comfortable before sliding into bed behind you, wrapping one hand around your waist.

"Merlin," George huffed, causing both of you to jump. "The two of you cannot fit comfortably on that bed. With a quick flick of his hand, his bed pushed against his brothers, the sheets melding together. You yelped as strong hands pulled you up from the outside of the bed and plopped you back down right in the middle. "I will not be cuddled by Fred in my sleep again. I trust you to keep your distance."

"With all due respect, Georgie. You are the last person I would want to cuddle in this room," Fred shot back, wrapping a protective arm around you. "I would sure hope so," he rolled his eyes, finally lowering himself into bed beside you. He didn't bother to face the other direction, instead studying your face. Against your will, you blushed once more - which only caused him to smirk. "Sweet dreams, princess," he teased.

"Sweet dreams, Georgie," you smiled back, finally causing his cheeks to burn.

***

Author's Note: I'm thinking about making this a series. Let me know what you all think. And if I do make it a series - would y'all want smut or no?

Next in the series: Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

[rita-repulsa-ke]

The Roast of Agatha Harkness

"I'll go," Jen said, rising with her arms across her chest. "Agatha, if you need any help with your skin care routine, let me know, because I've raised corpses that looked fresher than you."

Agatha yawned performatively. "Going for looks is so boring. Also, come on, Jen. Look at me. How is that ever going to land?"

Agatha slings some insults at the coven and they sling back, until someone goes too far. Also, there's kissing.

"So, Agatha," Jen asked, as they all sat around a fire on a Road that didn't exist. "I can't help but wonder, what insults would you use to get us to blast you?"

Agatha Harkness immediately came to her feet spreading her hands before her presumably enraptured audience with a showman's confidence. "Well, if you insist," she said.

Rio leaned forward, sensibly wary but with a hint of excitement, she'd always loved watching Agatha work. Lilia and Alice whispered complaints to Jen, while Billy crossed his arms across his chest, trying to look tough.

Agatha Harkness turned on her first victim and began the roast.

"Lilia, honey, you're so senile that half of your so-called clairvoyance is just dementia, I hope you can find a really cheap nursing home."

"Jen! Always going on about your magic being bound, as if any witch worth her broom couldn't have broken that binding years ago. Are you sure you were ever any good to begin with?"

"Let's see, Alice, I almost forgot you were here—so sorry to hear about your mother's tragic death, real loss to Woodstock revivals and tambourine sales."

"Teen, all the cute little notebooks of spells in the world don't disguise that you're a fumbling wannabe desperate to be part of something special."

Agatha took in all of their seething faces with delight, she never got tired of doing this bit. She only wished any of them were good enough witches to actually blast her, but unfortunately, she'd found herself in the company of a group of rejects.

"What about me?" asked a familiar voice, the familiar voice and she rounded on her final victim, meeting a set of narrowed brown eyes, watching the way Rio toyed with her knife like a cat flicking its tail. Good, she was nervous. She should be.

"Don't worry," she purred, stalking closer. "I always save the best for last." She crouched down, too close, watched how Rio's eyes widened slightly, reflecting Agatha back to herself.

"No one is ever going to love you," she said. "Because you're not worth loving."

Behind her former lover's eyes, guillotines fell, firing squads squeezed their triggers and executioners swung their axes for the final blow.

It was very satisfying.

"Wow," Jen said, trying to sound like herself, despite her voice trembling with anger. "Harsh."

"Why don't we try?" Rio asked, turning away from Agatha and toward the rest of the group, an unnerving rictus grin tugging up the edges of her lips.

"What?" Agatha said.

"You had your turn, it's only fair," Rio said. "Why don't we all give our opinions on Agatha?"

There was a moment of silence and then everyone spoke at once, competing in volume to try and be first. Lilia won out and gave Agatha a surprisingly savage smile as she stood.

"You—" Her face went slack, eyes looking somewhere far away. "—can't say that." She sat back down, still slightly too vacant, a puppet with its strings cut.

"Oh, Lilia, now?" Jen complained. "You're bringing down the energy."

"See?" Agatha told the others, with a contemptuous flick of her fingers in Lilia's direction. "What did I tell you? Maybe we can start one of those crowdfunding things for her."

"Shut up, Agatha," Billy said and the venom in his voice was enough to actually get her to comply, though she rolled her eyes about it, refusing to be chastised by some idiot teenager.

"I'll go," Jen said, rising with her arms across her chest. "Agatha, if you need any help with your skin care routine, let me know, because I've raised corpses that looked fresher than you."

Agatha yawned performatively. "Going for looks is so boring. Also, come on, Jen. Look at me. How is that ever going to land?"

"You've raised what?" Rio asked with a snarl, but before she could get an answer, Alice surged to her feet and slammed her fist straight into Agatha's jaw. Agatha stumbled back with a yelp, clutching it while staring at the other woman, who was cursing and shaking out her hand.

"I've been wanting to do that this whole time," Alice said, turning and stalking away from the campfire past Rio, who resettled on the log she'd been sitting on, pretending she hadn't sprung up like a jack-in-the-box the moment Alice had gotten close to Agatha.

"Wow," Agatha said, clutching her jaw. "You are all incredibly terrible at this, I'm actually embarrassed to be roasted by you."

"You want someone to be mean? I can be mean," Billy snapped, coming to his feet. "Whatever happened to your son, he didn't deserve you as a mother."

There was a moment of absolute silence, broken only by Lilia saying, "—are going to have to get over your mother not loving you eventually."

Agatha turned and walked away down the Road.

"Agatha, wait, I didn't mean that, I was just trying to—," Billy said, starting to go after her and almost running into the point of a knife. He raised his eyes to meet the gaze of its owner.

Rio gave him a smile too similar to a wolf in the dark, the threat display of a hungry predator. "Mine," she said, whirling on her heel and following after Agatha.

"….Tell her I'm sorry," he called after her. "…Please."

Agatha settled on a log with some a set of glowing green and yellow mushrooms, fingers absently picking at fungi that more closely resembled something out of a children's book than anything in real life. It was embarrassing, really, how readily everyone else seemed to accept that this was what the Witch's Road should look like, this gaudy facsimile of a place that had never existed at all.

"Nicky would have loved this," Rio said, suddenly plopping down next to her without ever having been in the intervening space. "Spooky wood and trials, just like the stories you used to tell him. He talks about them all the time."

Agatha looked away from her, blinking too fast, successfully fighting the urge to rub at her eyes. "Ah, there you are. Here to shove the blade in deeper? Got a few other good jabs you want to try?" she snapped, wished she sounded more in control, not so sharp and defensive, trying to pretend Rio talking about her son didn't make her feel like she'd drank curdled milk.

Rio's shoulder bumped hers, always too close, somewhere in Agatha's personal bubble. Once she had found that comforting. "Ags, listen. He talks about you all the time. All the things you taught him, and the games you used to play, the way you'd do silly voices for the stories and—"

"Stop," Agatha said, and it came out too much like begging, the words choked by the way her throat had gone tight, her eyes damp in a way that was probably due to an allergy to some magical forest plant.

"You were never anything like a bad mother," Rio said, her voice soft but fierce, anger that, for some reason, seemed to be on Agatha's behalf. "You know that. Don't let anyone make you think otherwise."

Agatha leaned forward and buried her face in her hands, stopped fighting the tears only because she didn't know how to win and let herself cry, near-silent sobs she'd mastered a long, long time ago. Rio leaned against her side, for once not trying to preen her or hold her, simply pressed close.

Finally, she rubbed her knuckles across the back of her eyes and got herself under control, straightening her coat. "…Well? You never got to do yours," she said. "Let's hear it."

Rio shook her head, a hint of malice tugging up the corners of her lips. "That's enough. I've lost the urge," she said. "You do sometimes bring these things on yourself, though, beloved." She started to get up and Agatha's hand wrapped tight around her wrist, making her go as still as a corpse, forget to even breathe.

"I want to hear it," Agatha said, a twisted, taunting smile finding its way onto her lips. "After all, I was terrible to you. You deserve a chance to get your shot in."

"Agatha, if you want me to hurt you so you'll feel less guilty, I'd be glad to stab you," Rio said, and the other woman shook her head.

"I want to know," she said, her eyes meeting Rio's, canny and sharp, slightly too mad. "I want to know what cruel thing you wanted so badly to say to me."

"…Fine, Agatha, have it your way. You always do," she said, words that carried so much history between them, history Agatha was currently desperate to ignore. "You aren't worth it either, beloved. But I love you anyway." Her lips curved up and up and up, a smile like a noose, a garrote, the promise of a slow, painful end. She pushed Agatha's hand away, started to stand—

And was pulled back into a kiss that caught her so off-guard that for a moment she didn't return it—and then she did, with the desperate hunger of a starving person offered their favorite food. Agatha slid her fingers into Death's hair and kissed her like a battering ram at the gates, forced her way in and conquered what was already hers.

"Liar," Agatha said when she pulled away, leaving Death, the great mystery, the last call, the final destination, breathless and trembling. "You know I'm worth all of it." She got up, smile fixed firmly in place, already readying what vicious retort she was going to need to make sure no one thought she'd been the least bit shaken by, of all people, Teen—

Rio caught her from behind, turned her and kissed her again.

Agatha often considered herself an aggressive kisser, but she'd forgotten what Rio could do when she was fired up, mostly because she'd avoided getting her fired up for centuries. This was not a battering ram but a siege engine, knocking down the walls, leaving nothing but rubble, until Agatha wasn't sure it was her knees or Rio's arm around her waist holding her up. When the kiss broke, leaving her lips bruised and slightly bleeding and her whole body one giant ache she was desperate to ignore, it took her a moment to remember how to stand.

Rio's eyes met hers from too close and there was no death in them now, but nature in all its verdant glory, jungles in full bloom, coral reefs teeming with life and sometimes Agatha did forget how beautiful—

She cut that line of thinking off before it got started, stepping back and looking away. "Right. Well."

"You are," Rio said. "Worth all of it, every last bit. I was only ever trying to hurt your feelings," she was smiling as she turned back toward their camp. "And I know you love me, Agatha and you know it too. …Oh, your familiar says he's sorry, by the way."

Agatha stared after Rio as she strolled away, then sunk to her still-shaky knees and let out a groan. "…I cannot wait to get off this stupid Road," she snarled at the universe, then with a deep sigh, got up and followed after the woman she loved.

Masterpost here or for some random recs, go read Death and Time or Rio the Shark

[aha-chuu]

Natlan Act II Spoilers

So we get to see the fight between Capitano and Mavuika, thankfully (I remember Hoyo robbing us of Dainsleif vs Abyss Twin before). I just wanted to share my thoughts on it a little because it's kinda wacky?

So obviously the fight itself is sick as fuck, and Capitano and Mavuika match each other blow for blow. Then Mavuika lands a hit and Capitano retreats (with aide). Pretty solidly this is a win for Mavuika, but Kinich expresses afterwards that they were quite evenly matched. This is something Hoyo emphasises, presumably for two reasons: 1) maintain the stakes, and 2) keep up Capitano hype.

Because here's the thing. Harbinger losses - especially outright losses - aren't that common. Just look at all the gnoses they've gotten. What's a lot more common is this thread of harbingers "losing the battle but winning the war".

Discounting Mondstadt for being sort of short and tutorial esque, every other region plays with this.

In Liyue, we defeat Childe, he summons Osial, we defeat Osial, but Signora planned all that anyway.

In Inazuma, Scara defeats us, we defeat Signora, but that Scara defeat left him with the gnosis.

In Sumeru, Dottore fakes a retreat to lead us into a false sense of security! We may defeat Scara-mech, but Dottore is around the corner with sleeping gas and his own deal to get two gnoses.

In Fontaine... In Fontaine we're kind of working with the Fatui the whole time, so this really only applies to Childe losing to the oratrice and then the narwhal but that still helping Arlecchino anyway.

The point of all that was to demonstrate this trend. But, there's a secondary link between all of those events - the way the Fatui come out on top each time is through a scheme. We have about 50/50 (ha) odds across all these actual fights, but the Fatui have their 100% win streak via trickery and bargaining.

The Natlan archon quest establishes that Capitano won't use these methods. It is a divergence from most other harbinger characterisations.

Capitano flat out refuses to attack Mavuika while she is weakened, preferring a fair fight. This is not a strategic choice, for one, but he is also still injured - waiting for Mavuika to regain her power would place Capitano at the disadvantage.

This combination of factors does do a good job of setting up Capitano as a character, but it leaves some weaknesses in establishing him as an antagonist. We're used to harbingers essentially having plot armour when it comes to gnosis hunting, via the trusty method of "oh well all that was their plan all along" and a hand off off screen. In this quest, Hoyo pretty much cuts that option off: Capitano's attempt on the gnosis is too brazen, his ideology too steadfast. But since he loses against Mavuika in a fair fight, Hoyo risks lowering the stakes. If Capitano couldn't beat Mavuika already, there's no way he will beat her when injured and refusing to attack while she's vulnerable. So why should we be worried about whatever "threat" he poses?

Hoyo brush this aside a little by having Kinich claim they're pretty evenly matched, implying Mavuika won more by chance than totally overpowering Capitano. It's also not unlikely that another harbinger will show up later and take over gnosis duty. But Capitano is No1... Is he really just here to show off how strong Mavuika is? And exactly how is Mavuika so strong?

According to Nahida, the top three harbingers are archon level powerful. She claimed to have no chance in a fight against Dottore, who is no2. Ofc, her combat strength is pretty low, whereas Mavuika's is obviously much higher.

Raiden was strong enough to incinerate Signora in one slash. With that context, Capitano putting up any fight against Mavuika seems impressive.

Narratively, there is no way to do a satisfying rematch with the current set up. Which makes me think that Hoyo aren't planning on a rematch at all - but a team up.

The event that took place in Act I can be broken down into three stages:

Group contest (Kachina & Mualani vs everyone else)

Solo fights (Kachina vs Mualani)

Actual war (group vs Abyss)

I think that this sequence will end up being representative of the Natlan plot, and more specifically reflect the dynamic between Capitano and Mavuika.

What if, 500 years ago, Capitano was part of Mavuika's group. Not necessarily in the big war against the abyss, even, perhaps before that. It would explain his ties to the Natlan of the past, at the very least.

Then the present: Capitano fighting Mavuika for the right to change Natlan's "rules", just a few days after the pilgrimage competitors used the same arena to battle each other for the right to protect Natlan against the abyss. Those "rules" he spoke about we know to be the methods and rituals that slow down the abyssal assault. That makes Capitano and Mavuika's duel also to decide who can protect Natlan from the abyss.

The future: team up. Maybe aligning with Mualani and Kachina, Capitano could appear to rescue Mavuika later on, despite losing to her in the arena. This doesn't mean they'd be besties like the girls are, rather that these same general actions could take place, regardless of individual motivation.

I just can't see another satisfying route with what we currently have

[drakaripykiros130ac]

I just have to say this: Aegon the Usurper flying off like an idiot in battle while Rhaenyra does not, doesn’t make this guy a hero, nor does it make Rhaenyra a coward.

We need to set the record straight: Women don’t have to be warriors in order to be worth something.

This is just another proof of classic misogynistic thinking of TG stans. But they also prove to be highly subjective since they give “poor sweet innocent” Helaena a pass for doing absolutely nothing and being less than relevant even as a dragonrider. And as the ringleader of the Greens, I don’t think Alicent sat on a horse and rode off to battle in order to further her own ambitions. She started the whole mess and then hid behind her sons. Even after Rhaenyra took King’s Landing, the only thing Alicent could say was something like “Just wait till my son Aemond returns bla bla bla.”

Rhaenyra is a girl’s girl. Those who read the book understand that. The canon version of her never wanted to be a son (unlike the stupidity induced in that show). She was very feminine: always choosing to wear the best dresses with the finest silks, many pieces of jewelry, and she is highly interested in men. She was always proud to be a woman. She embraced it. She never tried to act like the opposing gender as a way to make others look at her as worthy of the throne.

I repeat: Rhaenyra was a girl’s girl and she was proud of it.

She was not a warrior. She never trained with a sword in her life, unlike her idiotic half-brothers. She was not even the type (unlike Princess Rhaenys). Rhaenyra spent her time doing girly things and riding Syrax.

Shortly before the war started, Rhaenyra suffered a miscarriage which greatly affected her health. She needed months to recover. This is the reason why she didn’t ride Syrax in battle, as confirmed in the book. It was not because she didn’t want to or because she refused to fight her battles herself (as I hear many TG stans claim in spite).

And even if flying hadn’t been detrimental to her health, why would she fly into battle? You think that is a smart idea? It’s brave, but it’s also stupid, and the usurper himself proved that.

Aegon the Usurper rode his dragon into battle to show that he’s a man’s man, and what did that get him? Injuries which prevented him from being able to move well enough in order to sit on the throne he stole. The only battle he actually won was against a baby dragon, Moondancer. A baby dragon who inflicted deadly wounds on Sunfyre and caused his death.

So tell me again how ‘intelligent’ the usurper was to fly off into battle himself and what exactly he has accomplished with that. What exactly is so “heroic” about that? The fact that he shows off his masculinity on a big bad dragon?

And of course do forgive a poor woman for not flying her dragon into battle like a crazy person after a miscarriage and several psychological blows in one go like her father’s death, her daughter’s death, her son’s death and the usurpation through which a faction of snakes stole the throne that belonged to her.

Do forgive her for lacking any combat experience because you know…she was raised a girl and has a girlish personality!

And do forgive her for not being an idiot and getting herself disabled, like her half-brother did.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Call Mom

CW: PTSD/flashbacks, BBU in general, haunted, ghosts, reference to a murder, severe chronic panic

Jameson's Masterlist (scroll down)

-

Aw, crap. Hey, Johnny, do you remember where I put that girl's number? Like, Katie, or Caitlyn, or... do you remember? Hey! Johnny! Put down the fucking xbox controller for two fucking minutes and give me a hand, won't you?

Fingers snap right in front of his face.

Johnny!

Jameson jerks in a breath that sounds like a whine, sitting straight up. The fan blows cool air over his sweat-soaked skin and he shivers, cold inside and out. The air in his room is freezing, suddenly. Outside it's so dark you can't even see the trees - the power outage must still be going, there aren't any streetlights. Thanks to the clouds, no stars or moon, either.

Just darkness.

Wait, if the electricity's out...

He looks up. The ceiling fan is perfectly still above his head, even while ice-cold air keeps goosebumps rising on his arms, the hair standing up at the back of his neck.

See, was that so hard? It'll take like five minutes if we work together, I swear.

"Nat?" He mumbles. "S'at... you?"

Checked there already, actually. Checked the fridge, too, so where the hell did I put it?

He's the only person in this room.

Jameson goes from still half-asleep to fully, painfully awake and aware in a single breath.

The voice comes as clear as if it was right next to him, a voice as familiar as his own - but he has no idea whose it is. There's no one here but him - even Trash Cat isn't here any longer, probably hunting a tiny piece of plastic downstairs that he'll end up stepping on in the morning. So far she hasn't eaten any of them. He doesn't even know where she's finding them.

Johnny, come on. Let's, like, retrace our steps.

His head starts to ache more with every single word, the pain working like tendrils behind his eyes, a pressure trying to crush his skull from the inside. Something flashes, bright and almost like a spectrum of rainbow colors, in the corner of his right eye, but it won't resolve when he turns his head.

I got home from work, I told you we had a hot customer who gave me her number, and then... then what?

Jameson stares into darkness so complete it feels like it has weight. Like it's sitting on the bed next to him, like the mattress dips underneath it. A body made of memory, slowly pulling together the pieces of what's been hidden. Clawing them out but leaving deep weals across the inside of his mind, like a corpse's fingers digging into loose dirt to climb out of his grave.

"Caitlyn," He whispers, as the thought crystallizes. A memory, pure and perfect. Some sliver of whatever they broke the person he was into. Some small piece of the man who signed up. "Her name was Caitlyn, not Katie. She... wrote it on the fucking paper."

Right! Okay, so, clearly I told you her name, and then what?

Jameson turns his head, and there he is.

Hank.

His breath catches in his throat.

Hank is younger than he is, even though he was older then. The older brother, trapped in time, while Jameson - Jonathan - keeps aging. The rakish smile is still there and, Christ, Jameson had forgotten that he'd done that stupid thing to his hair - you forgot everything about him, you begged them to take him away from you so that it wouldn't hurt anymore. He's still got that one crooked tooth he'd refused to get braces to fix. That crooked tooth had been in his dental records. It was how they identified his body.

The fucking crooked tooth, the silver-colored fillings, then the DNA tests...

"No," He whispers, going for a vicious hiss, but what comes out is far too close to a whimper. "No. This is-... this is a flashback. This isn't real, this isn't-"

Maybe I left it in yesterday's pants?

"This isn't real, fuck off." Jameson shoves himself off the bed, forgetting his stupid fucking legs don't work. His knees buckle as soon as they have to take his weight.

He lands wrong on one arm and the pain spikes up through his shoulder, making him cry out in the hoarse, rasping voice that his life has left him with. "Fuck!"

He rolls onto his side, but he can't stop himself.

He looks up again. He doesn't want to remember Hank but he's desperate for one more look at his face. Just the one more time.

Just once more.

Hank sighs, raking a hand back through his hair, leaving it mussed-up and sticking out, looking ridiculous. He did that all the time. Bit his nails, too, and tried everything to stop but he never did. He wore those jeans with the ripped knee all the time, their mother had hated it. Hank, wearing the t-shirt for the band they'd gotten concert tickets for but never got the chance to see. Hank, dead for years, smiles to one side at a brother who isn't there.

The brother who erased him.

"Hank," He whispers. "Hank, you gotta-... you gotta go. You're hurting me-"

Damn. Man, it wasn't in my jeans either. Well, I'll find it sooner or later, I guess. Hank shrugs. His eyes are in shadow, not quite defined. Jameson wonders if it's because he's forgotten what color his brother's eyes were, forgotten it deeply enough that even this can't pull it back.

It'll be okay, Johnny. It really will. Hank looks right at him. Jameson's breath catches in his throat. The room is so cold the air burns as he breathes. It never gets this cold in California. It can't be this cold in California. I mean it. Don't cry yourself to sleep over this.

"I cried myself to sleep... all the time, but I don't now. I'm not-... that guy." He can barely speak. He sees his breath puff out when his lips move, and Jameson slumps back. His voice cracks, it creaks like old floors. He didn't stop crying for weeks. He didn't leave his bed. He did any drug he could find trying to not think about Hank, until he realized there was only one way to make sure he never had to think about what he'd done, by letting Hank walk home alone that one night, again. He didn't want to think about that pain anymore.

They had promised him he wouldn't ever have to hurt like this again.

They lied about that, too.

Jameson makes a sound he refuses to admit is a choked-off sob. "I'm not him, Hank. I'm not Johnny... not anymore."

Hank stands, and it's impossible. He's not here. But he holds out his hand anyway, and Jameson takes it without thinking. Hank's grip is so cold it burns, but Jameson lets his dead brother pull him to his feet anyway.

He smells like earth and ice.

"I'm not him," He whispers.

Right, like that argument ever works. Hank just grins, shaking his head. The man Jameson was - the one he had begged to leave behind - is the reason Hank will look like this in his memories forever. He's the reason there isn't another Hank, only this one, locked in the memories he wanted to boil and burn out of his own head. They're still there, though. They break through.

They never stop breaking through.

He would crawl back into Robert's cage himself if it only meant he didn't have to remember that it's his fault Hank is dead.

Tears run hot down his cheeks - the only thing in him that isn't frozen is his grief, wildfire in his chest leaving nothing but ash behind. Forests after wildfires are ghosts, Hank said once, when they were both high and everything sounded fucking important.

Jameson had called him an idiot - he remembers that now. But... he also thinks Hank was right. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can, focusing. He isn't here. Hank cannot be here. "I don't remember... remember you-... I don't want to remember you! It was my choice to forget!"

Hank claps him on the shoulder. His smile goes briefly gentle and soft. Jameson can see it with his eyes closed. Whatever you say, man. Just promise me you'll call Mom sometime soon, okay?

The pain is too much. If he can't pass out soon, he might die just from having to experience it, unending, never stopping, rising higher and higher. "Mom...?"

Yeah, dumbass. Mom. Our mother? Who gave birth to us and never lets us fucking forget it? I keep trying to talk to her, but I guess my signal's bad. Hank laughs, and Jameson's whole body breaks with the sound of that familiar laughter. The way Hank could throw his head back without the slightest bit of self-consciousness, how he'd hear that laugh across a crowded room and know it was his brother's, know right where he was.

Until he didn't.

Until nobody did.

Until the cops found what was left.

Until-

Jameson jolts again, and finds himself still lying on the floor next to his bed. He's burning up, boiling hot, pouring sweat until his sleep shirt sticks to his back and his arms feel slick with it, his hair sticking to skin. A droplet trickles down the back of his neck like a fingertip, barely touching. He rips his shirt off, then his pants, throwing them as far away from himself as he can, until he's naked on the floor but it isn't enough.

He's still sweating, still breathing in harsh gasps, fighting around the strength of his racing heart to get enough air to fill his lungs. He looks frantically around, but no one's here.

The ceiling fan circles lazily overhead.

He takes in a breath, his heart pounding. It feels like it's going to grow wings and fly away, up his throat and out of his mouth. He's still crying, he realizes only now. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can and fights tears back through sheer willpower and rage, curling his hands into fists. Just like they used to be, his fingers know - muscle memory of mittens that had kept him powerless, once. Now, he does it on purpose, and he forces them to curl through the pain.

Forces down the dream.

Wills himself to forget he ever had it.

"Four... f-four things you can see," he whispers to himself, slumping back down. His voice keeps trembling, catching, and it's everything he has to open his eyes again around the pounding headache in his skull and look. "The-... moon. Out the... window. The, my dresser... for my clothes... M-My, uh, the picture Nat p-printed of me and Allyn... fuck, the... the doorknob."

Every time he thinks he knows how much of his body can hurt at once, some nerves he didn't know existed decide to join the party. He has to breathe in and out, slow and controlled, trying to will his body to cooperate. He won't walk tomorrow, he can tell already. It'll be a day to spend in bed, or using his wheelchair. It might be a week until his body lets him walk again.

He fights back a new well of rage and despair at how well he knows the next way his body will fail him. He can't think about that right now, or the pain and the panic will spiral out of control. He might hurt someone. He can't hurt anyone, not ever again.

He won't.

"Three... things I can touch," He murmurs. "My, my... my shirt, fuck, gross, sweaty... my... my hair... the floor, feels... cold, feels good... the corner of my bed..."

It helps. He makes himself focus on this, on real things, not the nightmare of his brother.

He won't remember his brother.

He won't.

"Two things I can hear. Uh, the, there's... crickets or something outside, and-... and I can hear-"

Hank's voice whispers right next to his ear.

Call Mom.

His breath hitches.

"Not real," he whispers. "One... one thing I can taste..."

All he tastes is blood, and for one horrified half a second he's sure it's Hank's blood, until he realizes he bit his tongue in his sleep.

The blood is his own.

Call Mom.

-

[visenyaism]

i'm desperately interested in your lannister in the walls symbolism essay if that's something you would like to share

you know what i would. like all my summer 2022 notes app archival material it is both deranged and very informal. but i had just read cersei i affc for the very first time and i was convinced i was cooking something up. Here’s the intro the rest of it is under the cut so it’s not a scrolling nightmare:

so my like big tinfoil theory ab this so far is that the walls and tunnels of kings landing represent like the cataclysmic institutional rot that will destroy the city because said rot is also the truth of it. The little birds who convey the truth to varys while also representing how fucked up this place is because they’re child servants with their tongues cut out. Also like how the doom of valyria was in its walls because the enslaved were literally in there and bc that evil was institutional. Also like the rot that consumed tywin lannister whole cause he’s kings landing in microcosm or whatever. the doom of kings landing is quite literally in the walls cause of the wildfire, and because it’s wildfire it is also LITERALLY the doom of valyria. Just like the Doom was a lot of fireworks but it’s real downfall was the true extent of its rot filling every space in the walls and under the empire, the walls and tunnels of KL are also the Lannister Cognitive Dissonance Basement.

Tywin’s Hypocrite Tunnel reveals the truth of who he was the entire time. Tyrion learns the worst truth of his life in the tunnels, and then comes up thru the Hypocrite tunnel to kill his dad and also he decides to be evil while he’s down there because he thinks that’s the truth about himself, that the rot is also his. But that’s like our mini doom of valyria, that everything tywin hated about himself as well as the people he wronged he shoved underneath the city until it came up and explosively killed him.

Cersei starts her flop for crows arc by in tandem refusing to go into the tunnel or think abt its purpose while refusing to acknowledge any of her father’s flaws. The Tyrion in her head that’s taunting her about being in the walls is the same voice that’s confronting her abt the truth she is repressing abt her father. She knows her doom is in the walls and under the city, but she thinks it’s tyrion when actually it’s the threat of every single truth she has ever repressed to form her delusional worldview coming back to destroy her (the truth that the rot is hollow and pursuit of tywin’s kind of power means nothing but self destruction and also that her mirror was the one who might kill her and not the brother she thinks is different from her in every way). I dont think shes going into the walls until it’s time for her to blow the city up tbh. apocalypse!!!!

Side note: the tyrion in her head being cersei especially is so. like for the past three books we have been told that cersei lannister’s main trait is her pride and vanity. and then you get to her first POV and it’s immediately clear that everything she hates about herself, her father, and the world she attributes to tyrion and everything she likes about herself she assigns to something she inherited from her father, something jaime should be, or both. queenhood and womanhood and her own body are just coffins her family has stuffed her in to fit their own needs. For cersei, the body is a construct just like the Red Keep is, and it is a prison!!! it’s the cage they kept the lions in under Casterly!!! The power she’s constantly chasing after is just the ability to be taken seriously in her own right, respected as a person and not a woman (which to her are antonyms). What presents as her pride and vanity from the outside is actually just a constant battle against the reality that cersei lannister doesn’t really exist because she has absolutely no stable sense of identity and is just as empty as the rest of her family!!!!

Back to the walls: Jaime has a running theme where he can only speak or think the truth if he’s underground, like harrenhal bath moment or taunting catelyn abt bran and the incest in the riverrun dungeon or telling tyrion about tysha in the black cells or his dream in the cave with brienne where he’s like it’s dark out so i can tell the truth abt her being a beauty and a knight. It’s the same with the tunnels. He starts HIS flop for crows arc going in first to the Tywin Hypocrite Tunnel, and has to confront the truth that he doesn’t actually know his brother like he thought he did, or his sister, or his father, or himself really. Also that he’s kind of responsible for their father’s murder. ALSO he finds a dragon mosaic that he thinks is rhaegar, telling him “I know you, kingslayer.” He has SO many repressed truths come up in this tunnel, but he just comes out and is like lol who knows what’s down there not me whoever did this could still be down there look out.

Not that it would’ve been smart to tell Cersei the truth, but it definitely indicates that during Jaime’s feast arc he will not be confronting anything unpleasant because he doesn’t want to. Pushing the truth of yourself away and into the walls and under the city means you can be somewhere (the red keep) without really being there at all, which I think is the connection to Jaime’s dependence on dissociation and going away inside and his relationship to institutions. The details of why he didn’t say anything about the wildfire aren’t super clear but I think him hunting the pyromancers but leaving wildfire in the walls is representative of the fact that on some level deep down he believes in false knighthood, that you really can solve institutional rot if you are Good, if you do enough Heroic Sword Violence to the right people. Lady Stoneheart is in a cave or something I think so that’s his big underground inability to repress anymore-related downfall looming.

So anyway TLDR: Cersei’s right, there’s something those walls and under the city that’s going to destroy them all. It’s not tyrion lurking, but like the irrepressible truth that the rot and evil at the heart of the red keep has eaten it whole, and that the Lannister legacy and conception of power propped up by violence and intimidation is just hollow. That’ll get them because that singular truth is enough to crumple everyone’s self-concept and is too much to overcome even with the Lannister dedication to cognitive dissonance. Which is why I think Cersei blows it up when she gets to the point where she cannot lie to herself abt shit anymore. If twow drops and actually joncon ends up starting the Great King’s Landing BBQ of 301 AC i actually didn’t say any of this😌

[dracobrooklyn]

Wait, wait

That trope of human (or maybe dragonborn) sacrifice to appease the angry dragon

That with dragon!Durge and Tav

He refuses to eat them cuz they're too cute for that. Now they just sit on top of a pile of beautiful, soft cloth and bedding, his most precious treasure

Dragon!Durge 👀

|| MDNI || 18+ NO MINORS

Durge has been called so many names, The White Death, the Icy Tyrant, the bloody white wolf. But his real name is Durge.

His mother a white dragon that yes mated with Bhaal and she conceived her son. Named him Durge. Once he was old enough his mother was going to drive him out so he may take care of himself now but he actually left on his own. Sorry mom your not gonna get the satisfaction of kicking him out.

Durge found a Bhaal Cult in a city not in Baldurs Gate but in another part of the world. Though he had no problem proving he is the son of Bhaal, his red eyes gleaming with murderous intent. Killed a few followers just to prove a point and put the fear of god in them.

Just to add he is NOT a lazy dragon like Smaug from the Hobbit. He is very active. Yes he will sleep in his mounds of treasures and maybe clean his cave a little bit. He don’t mind a few bones here and there but he like to make an good impression to potential mates so he may spread his seed.

The Cult decided to start doing sacrifices, so they would steal virgin women (even though Durge could care less if they were virgins, just give him a poor sorry mortal he can feast).

Well… it backfired. Cause the first virgin sacrifice they saw was you. A young lady kidnapped in Baldurs Gate. You were so scared, frightened even. Crying that hoping someone would save you, perhaps a knight? An adventurer? But your stomach dropped hearing the wing beats of a dragon, a white dragon that looked as if he was stained with red on his scales as if blood was never washed from him. You had silent tears down your eyes and watch in horror, how he landed blowing cold air in your face, stalking towards you as his chest rumbles softly showing his red blood eyes glowing down at you showing nothing nothing but pure pride as if his face was saying “pathetic……” and his head tilts “and….pretty.”

The cultist chant praying for their Dragon god to take the life ready to be blessed… only for them to see Their mighty Durge snap the ropes free with his claw and snatch you away, while you screamed in fear leaving his cultists confused af… maybe he prefer to eat alone don’t like people watching him?

“So no Sacrifice?” One asked looked at each other

You on the other hand fainted. Thank Bhaal, he wasn’t sure if he could take anymore… then again it was amusing to see the fear and watch you pass out.

Later you would have woke up with fine pillows, silks, and a pile of dress’s that were just left for you. You thought maybe you could sneak out but Durge made himself known that he was curled around you staring at you as you stared back.

“Are you going to kill me?” You asked

“Do you want to die?” He ask bluntly

“N-no please don’t kill me.”

“Then I won’t, besides, I don’t want to already lose my new pet.”

New pet!!? Now you just realized that you were stuck here with a monster… who kills innocent beings. Oh gods she hoped someone come and save you…

I definitely took some inspiration from my favorite Dragon artist/Writer Ciruelo who made a book of Dragons and talked about how Dragons male Dragons would get Lonely easily since they mate once a year and it’s not easy for male Dragons to become friends since they are territorial. So they pick up favorites, women of any race to keep them company, tell stories, sing songs, and cuddle………… also Fucking but Ciruelo didn’t want to put that in a kids book which I understand but I honestly can tell that was another intention the dragons had.

Kinda wanna do more… send me more ask’s about this 👀

[ms-oswald]

if i had a heart | finan

author's note: this came to me in the span of a lunch hour. nothing supernatural this time, just regular finan during his kingdom era. lots of fighting and lots of angst. thank you to sweet angsti & @gemini-mama for being my betas! to whoever will read this, hoping you will enjoy! lots of love & stay safe 💕

      Another day, another war. 

Lost in the thickness of battle, in the midst of blood, dirt and agony, he fought primarily for survival and second for victory. 

There was no space for the mind, the body having taken control of all his senses; he became a puppet, guided by the strings of his master as his movements were met with agility, ruthlessness and hunger.  

The clashes of swords sang chaotically, the harmonies calling for Death with its mighty chorus articulating the choreography to its final spiral, tilt and jump.  

He fought with all his might, ignoring the soreness in his muscles, tiredness etching itself onto every inch of him. 

He had to go on - there was no choice in the matter. 

He met every opponent with brutal force, his arms swaying as he gripped his sword and dagger tighter within his palms, the handles encrusting themselves onto his skin; he kept moving on, following the steps of Death’s dance, entranced by the motion, until he took a tumble of his own. 

It was sudden, the harsh impact he met against the ground; he landed on his back, the air escaping his lungs at the sudden abrasion.   

It took him a moment to regain himself, shaking off the heaviness of the blow while he tried to move. 

He was stuck against the grass, unable to get to his feet. 

Only then did he notice he was being stared at; cold eyes locked onto his, shocked as they took him in. 

He mirrored the other’s expression, incapable of breathing as realization dawned onto him, the weight hitting him like bricks onto his head.  

The warrior furrowed its brow, left in disbelief at what they were seeing.  

To each other, the pull of their throats reached for one another, screaming amid the noise surrounding them within the short seconds they made contact. 

“Finan?!” 

“Áine?!” 

Both names spoken in unison, both drudging up a past from dust, the woman’s features swayed swiftly to an amused look. 

She smirked to his bewildered gaze, her lips letting out a soft scoff with a glint of the devil twinkling in her eyes. 

“It’s Katla, actually.” 

      It was bloody, and dirty; the screams of men - of her friends - covered her ears in such torment, she could only drown the noise out with the vibration of her weapons, her sword in one hand, her shield in the other. 

She was battered and bruised, just like the rest of them, her skin painted in mire and crimson, the war adding color to her disheveled braids.  

She kept moving, refusing to slow down at any cost. 

It was glory or it was Valhalla - the motto carved into her bones as she moved to the drums of footsteps, the quiver of swords. 

Men were falling around her, a praying mantis devouring her opponents with starvation trembling at her core. 

All went well, she stood taller by the growing ration until she met a worthy adversary - a man she had not thought about in a long time. 

It was only when she pushed him to his back, only when was she using her weight to ground him, did she finally notice who she was fighting.  

Her heart stopped.  

For a split of a second, she was back in Ireland - in the throes of unmitigated foolery, in the middle of lies and deception, in the center of lust and carnal depravity - until she was pulled back to war with a blow to her body. 

She met the ground, the mud staining her armor as he firmly held her, forcing her still though she did not listen. 

She never did. 

She started fighting him off, using her strength to push him off her. 

He had questions, so many of them, they grew and grew until they took over him, phasing him out of the sudden pain she inflicted on him. 

Unable to move her upper body, she used her legs; she used her knee and kicked him right between his legs inciting a wounded groan from his throat. 

She pushed him away and took a breath as she jumped to her feet, the Irishman taking his own moment before following her as well. 

Everything else surrounding them was gone; the cries of battles shut off as they stared at one another. 

He was looking at a ghost he thought, his eyes never wavering away from the woman that stood in front of him. 

He remembered her as an Irish maid working in his castle, a woman he had encountered many years ago when he was but a prince.  

The woman he had fallen in love with - Áine. 

But they were ripped apart by duplicity and illusion, and they never saw each other again. 

Not until today. 

He couldn’t feel his heartbeat anymore, the blood running cold through his veins. 

They were in a standstill, unable to speak as heavy breaths caught up to their lungs.  

She quickly picked up her sword, her shield left at her feet. 

She was about to take the first step and run away, to leave him without uttering another sound, when she saw Finan quickly glance behind her. It was almost unnoticeable. 

Almost. 

Katla turned around just in time to stop another man from hitting her. 

She met him with her blade striking the other, the contact trembling through her wrists and arms as they hung closely against her cheek. She noticed the pendant hanging around his neck, Thor’s hammer standing out proudly. She huffed mockery under her breath and pushed through, forcing him away from her with no harm to her skin. 

She engaged in a fight with the newcomer, the woman using her strength to defeat him; she was close to winning, the moment long duel was seeing its end just as she hit the other man, making him fall to his knees. 

She was to strike, her weapon famished for blood when Finan ran to her, stopping her from killing his brother in arm. The Irishman pulled her away, the sudden movement causing her to stumble backwards until she was caged within the man’s embrace, her arms stuck by the sides of her body, her sword fallen on the ground. 

She cursed at him while Sihtric stood at his feet, wiping the blood away from the corner of his mouth.  

“Let me go!” She was trying to fight her way out of Finan’s arms, her body moving against the tightness of his grasp as she yelled for his demise.  

She then saw Sihtric coming at her; once he was close enough, she used her legs and lifted them up high enough to kick the Dane in the face before she used the back of her head and knocked Finan, the impact violently echoing against her skull and his nose. 

She fell to the floor as she was released from his hold. She went for her sword and her shield and ran away without looking back, getting herself back into the battle she had fallen out from for the short minutes. 

Recuperating themselves from the aggressive blow they just met, Sihtric yelled at Finan while catching his breath. 

“Who is that?!” 

Finan couldn’t find an answer - he wasn’t able to conjure up the words as they died in the back of his throat, his gaze stuck to the woman disappearing within the mass of bloodied bodies. 

His shoulders depleted, still processing what he had just witnessed, what he had just gone through.  

He was lost in his thoughts, his mind drifting back to the mother land for just a moment; it was the hectic sound from the Dane that brought him back to the battlefield, the other man calling for him as he threw Finan’s abandoned weapon back at him. 

The Irishman caught the sword, startled as the noise came back to cover his ears. 

The second the handle nestled itself into the imprint of his palm, he fell back into the choreography, the dance steps swiftly coming to life at the motion of his body. 

      Time was lost amid the war that raged against the fields, its green decaying for ruby and clay. 

The fight was over, and King Edward’s army was victorious. 

Katla remained away from the crowd, not wanting to be found as she hid away within the woods. 

She sat on the ground against the trunk of a tree, her body numb and weak as she bled, the darkening red marking her with disdain. 

She attempted to steady her hands as she worked around her wound, which resided close to the right side of her abdomen; the Saxon sword that pierced her was unforgiving, unrelenting, determined to see her die. 

She was refusing to listen, to give in when she wasn’t done with her fight. 

She tried patching her bruise, tearing a piece of her clothes to cover and apply pressure in the hopes to calm the bleeding. She wrapped it around her and made a knot tight enough to occupy weight over the cut, freeing her hands. 

She leaned her head back, resting it against the tree, and closed her eyes.  

She took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the pain that seeped through her body, her skin sustaining several cuts and blues. 

She could feel tears lining across her eyelids; she refused to let them escape. She forbade herself from tumbling further than she had already, not wanting to accept such weakness that befell her. 

She had to get up to her feet, she had people to look for. 

She had a fight to finish. 

Her moment of silence then broke, shooting her eyes open in attention. She heard the soft crunches of branches break on the ground and stuck her back further against the trunk, carefully reaching for her sword while ignoring the tremors of her hand. 

Adrenaline budding in the pit of her stomach, she tightened her grip against the handle, her head slightly tilted towards the noise.  

She prepared herself for a duel - it was either the enemy or one of her own. The telling would be the appearance. 

“O-oh-” 

He froze in his steps, taken aback by the sight in front of him.  

She furrowed her brows, not recognizing the intruder. 

The young one examined her silently, noticing her state as he swallowed a shaken breath, holding his fear back. “Y-you’re hurt.” 

Katla didn’t answer. 

She remained calm, taking in the man’s stance. He had dirty blonde hair, light eyes and his armor only covered his upper body under his robe. 

A monk, she thought. 

She cursed under her breath, leaning her head backwards and looking away from him for a moment. 

The man in question slowly backed away, glancing between Katla and the view to the edge of the forest behind him, where everyone else remained. 

She heard his voice again, louder as he called for attention. 

She turned her head back to him, alarmed, and used whatever strength she had left to get up to her feet, her sword acting as an anchor. 

The adrenaline growing within her, she went after him.  

Taken by surprise at the outburst, he felt weight blowing right into his stomach, bringing him to his knees as he coughed. She roughly pulled him from the back, gripping at the collar of his clothes as she heard rapid footsteps approaching them. 

She then picked out her dagger and held it in front, the blade ghosting over the young monk’s neck. A slight fearful whimper escaped him, drowned by the upcoming noise that came for him. 

Finan had started running, hearing panic coming from the woods.  

His feet taking flight, he stopped suddenly when he saw Osferth with a sword hanging over him, ready for the kill. 

He looked up to meet the predator; the color drained from his face, his eyes wide in horror, in shock. 

Katla couldn’t move, the throbbing pain becoming the storm with heavy waves thrashing at her every particle. She pushed the discomfort aside the best she could, gripping at what she held, clenching her jaw and staring straight back at Finan with nothing but spite covering her irises. 

“Stay away or I’ll kill the monk.”  

Finan dropped his weapon, arms up in the air in surrender. He was cautious, careful not to provoke her. “Áine, be sensible. You don’t have to do this.” 

“F-Finan, she’s wounded!” Osferth’s voice broke through, the young one attempting to dissuade the situation; he didn’t dare move, knowing that one inch could get him killed. And so, he remained on his knees, afraid. 

Katla hit him in retaliation, making him groan at the impact while his head started pounding as a result. 

He spoke again, the tremors reaching his tongue, not yet ready to give up. “W-e can h-help you-” 

She hissed, speaking through her teeth as she leaned by his ear, tugging at his collar and slightly tightening it around his neck. “Shut it unless you want the knife in your throat, monk.” 

Finan stared in fright, his body frozen, his heart erratic against his ribcage.  

She had lost her accent - the sweetness of her Irish dying and dissipating from the illusion she had created so long ago. 

It all came back to him like a flood in the middle of the desert, sand turning to mud and growing heavy at the weight of their past. 

‘Katla, she said.’ Her real name resonated between his ears, his heart cracking with every letter. He still carried her after so long had passed - from the moment she had appeared when he was but a young prince, to the day they met across the Irish fields, his army against hers, to today - when they met again, years later. 

She had infiltrated herself into his life, manipulated his heart like a pawn on a chess board; each movements intricately thought from the lingering stares, to the soft touches, to the gentle hush of words and to the aching pleasures of the flesh - all done to encage the king, falling in front of his queen, powerfully seducing him to defeat. 

He had learned of her origins during battle - when his kingdom was in danger from Danes, from her, his treacherous beloved. 

Though his heart broke at the sight, when their swords met, when the clashing of metals reverberated through his bones - he was changed man. 

He needed to be, as he had his people to defend, his family to protect. 

“The fallen prince of Irland!” She muttered a chuckle, mocking him almost while still holding onto the monk. “You were meant to be dead. How did you survive your ship?” 

Rumors had spread of the prince’s liaison with his brother’s wife; how he fell in love, carried out a secret affair, ran away with the milk maid - and how he was disowned and sold to a slave ship.  

She hadn’t let the news phase her, even ignoring the little speck of ache that twisted her heart.  

She had done her duty, accepted the consequence and moved on. 

Finan swallowed the lump in his throat, still careful. “And what about you? The last I saw of you-” 

“I died?” She let out another rumble at the back of her throat. “Surprise.” She spoke in a light tone, antagonizing him.  

The last he saw of her was the moment she had been carried away by a horse during their duel; the impact should’ve killed her, her body flying from the animal’s breast. She had been so close to killing him but was saved by the grace of the beast. 

She had to be a ghost, he thought.  

A nightmare.  

He watched her, eyes wide, as she held onto her hostage, the poor monk fearful for his life.  

Finan took a step, a small one. She tightened her hold around Osferth’s collar, making the young man groan from the discomfort. 

“I told you not to move.”  

He ignored her words, remaining still on his feet. “Am I really going to fight you again?” 

She shrugged with no care. “You decide.”  

“Áine-” 

Feigning exasperation, she shook her head, displaying a farce of disapproval. “It’s Katla. Katla. Áine is dead. Your pretentious little maid is long gone.” 

He exhaled a breath, a saddened sigh toppling over the depth of him. “Why?” 

“Have the English waters dull your brain, Irishman?” She huffed, slightly bemused by his lack of thought. 

“Katla.” He pressed onto the letters, her true name straining at the edge of his teeth. 

She held her head higher, the taunting smirk carved into the right side of her lips. “Now, we’re learning.”  

A soft torturous groan escaped Osferth once again, putting Finan on his toes. “Let him go, I beg of ya.” 

“You’re begging now?” She shared a baffled chuckle, enjoying herself despite the tickling ache that bore into her. “Years apart and nothing has changed.” She slightly loosened her hold onto the boy’s throat, leaning on her good side as her eyes remained on Finan, dying for some entertainment. 

“Do you remember when you used to plead to me, darling? Begging for pleasure, swearing with that tongue of yours, imploring me to give you what you desperately wanted.”  

She was taunting him, the sound of her voice growing in degradation against the man standing in front of her. 

And the more she spoke, she used her words as armor against the throbbing pain that emanated across her limbs, the blood of her open wound seeping through the fabric of her shirt. 

She remained tall, firmly holding her knife against Osferth while she did not look away from Finan, ignoring the movements that slowly came to surround them. They were interrupted by a small crowd; other warriors having joined him in helping free one of their own from her grasp.  

She took a sharp breath, swallowing the lump lodged at the back of her throat, and quickly glanced around the new bodies trapping her like an animal. 

Terror filled her, submerging her under its weight as ache pricked like a needle, forcing her body to surrender.  

She still decided to remain ignorant, refusing to listen to the pleas. 

She was not going to let him win. 

Some of the men slowly approached them, just as Finan did once again. 

Though he remained alert to the situation, he knew she wouldn’t be able to hang on any longer; it was clear from the look in her eyes, from the growing uncertainty that tainted her pupils. She was hurt, her body at her mercy for rest. 

She saw them move and yelled, her voice booming across the distorted circle. “Do not get any closer, Finan!” 

One of the men dismissed the hostile words, noting that the injured Dane would not be able to hold her own. 

At the sight of movement, Katla fought back, proceeding with her promise. 

The tip of her blade grazed the boy’s neck, firmly enough to create a thin red line to appear against his dirty skin.  

He winced at the burn, feeling blood slowly flowing from the bruise. 

The contact agitated Finan as he yelled to the other men, his voice loud with authority and irritation. “Stop! Stop moving!” He looked around to make sure the men were following his orders before tilting back to Katla. 

Determination at his feet, he stared her down. “Let him go. You don’t want him. It’s me you want, love.” 

The words had slipped out unintentionally.  

She chuckled, shrugging it off as it held no meaning to her; Finan had regretted it as soon as had come out, old habits gnawing at him from cracks under his bones. 

“I don’t want you. I want my freedom.” She spoke through her teeth, her hand jerking the young man with one sharp wave, the fabric of his collar pulling at his throat. 

Finan raised his arms in the air once again, speaking attentively as he eyed his friend before looking up to the woman. “Then you’ll have it. Just let him go. Please.” 

A darkening smile reached her, almost stunned. “Again with the begging!” 

The second violent motion she did against Osferth was not as strong as he had expected; Osferth had sensed the warrior was growing weaker, the hold of her knife against him trembling ever so gently. 

The blood loss was apparent now that they were in a stalemate. 

Finan was about to speak once again, trying to reason with her when a sudden strike caught them off guard. 

She felt an abrupt searing sting on her left upper arm, forcing her to drop her weapon alongside her hostage; an arrow had been shot, the item penetrating through with its head sticking on the back of her arm. 

To the loss of contact, Osferth set himself free as he got up to his feet and turned while backing himself away from her. 

With Katla now defenceless, Sihtric ran and grabbed a hold of her, forcing her arms behind her back just as Finan followed, making sure Osferth was well. 

She struggled within her caged trap, her lungs burning from the ruthlessness of her voice as she screamed from pain and from anger. She was forced to follow the Saxon men as they dragged her away from the trees, her steps leading her to the edge of the forest. 

She met Finan in passing, the deadly glare sending shivers down his spine, his blood running cold once again. He saw red lining the inside of her dried lips, the color painting the inside of her mouth down her throat.  

She coughed a blood clot and spit it right at his feet in pure distain.  

Finan remained still, his heart shattered. Unable to look at her anymore, he turned away letting Sihtric take the lead as he pushed the woman forward. 

He did not move, running a hand from his hair down his beard as he took a breath as gentle panic made him tremble. 

This could not be real, he thought.  

She was meant to be dead, to have succumbed to brutal force the last time they had fought. 

He cursed, a short breath escaping him as his hands rested on his hips, taking in today’s events. She had stood in front of him, as alive as ever, as enraging as ever, as frustrating and as beautiful as ever. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised anymore; he should’ve learned from his past lessons. She had deceived him before, hurt him - so why not again? 

He found her sword a feet away, along with her dagger. He picked both of her weapons and trailed behind the others, his mind losing control within the traffic, his thoughts jammed one into the other. 

      She soon found herself forced to limp back to camp as the King ordered the death to the Dane survivors - including her. 

She was forced to stand on her knees in front of the man in question. She spat at his feet, blood reaching his boots, and spoke as she stared straight into his eyes, with all the malice in the world. 

She could tell he was close to snapping, her words irritating his ears; she found it amusing how easily it was to break him. 

But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. She smirked, brow arched as she harassed him, ready for the final blow. 

Instead, he remained unmoving, simply looking at her with his temper simmering at the edge. “You should be thankful your death will be swift. I might as well leave you here to suffer your wounds.” 

“Why don’t you?” She cussed at him once again, a spit of blood landing on the wet grass. 

Edward ignored her words, turning his attention away as he called for one of his own. 

Katla recognized the name, the letters having been cursed so many times, by so many people. 

She was finally going to meet the one they called the Dane Slayer. 

He walked towards them, his sword in hand and his back straight. She observed him as he spoke to the king, her focus placed on them without a care for what was going on around her. 

She clenched her jaw when a sharp pain throbbed on her right side. She took in a deep breath, clenching her left fist with her fingers digging into her palm while her right hand went for the wound, pressing gently and ignoring the uselessness of the movement.  

Her weapons were thrown by her side; she did not lift her head up to see the Irishman looking down at her.  

She picked up her sword with tremor coursing through her veins, using the ground as a reliable surface before adjusting herself back on her knees. She lifted her sword so the point of the blade pierced the grass, the body standing proudly in front of her, dressed in the blood and cries of its victims. 

She dismissed the ache that gnawed at her, from the bruised arm, the multiple cuts, the headache to the stab wound she had suffered from earlier on.  

Resting her hands on the pommel, she let go of her stomach, the blood trailing down from her waist while the one on her arm mimicked the flow; now open and freely escaping. The attempt at bandaging overthrowing its usefulness. 

She kept one knee on the ground, the other bent, and lifted her head to stare straight at her executioner, daring him with a glower, a sparkling of venom. 

“Do it.” She arched her brow, not wavering away from the blue in his eyes, the words spitting out of her with red tainting her lips. “Glory or Valhalla.” 

Finan stood on the sidelines, silently watching, completely disheartened. 

She was the enemy, so why did he care for her predicament? Why was he praying for her survival when he knew deep down it would have still meant nothing to her? 

Why hold a flame for the betrayal he suffered? 

He was but a young man when they first met. She had become a breath of fresh air sweeping him away from the suffocating life of a prince - she had become his distraction, titillating him with such sin within his castle walls and beyond, it had created friction with his former life.  

She was of the devil, they said - a danish spy that had infiltrated her way in as an Irish maid, seeking secrets from within. 

The truth of it all was only divulged across the field, the day they had fought. She had become the snake in the garden, an illusion of blissfulness to the morose life of a royal. 

She had torn him apart, deceived him, entrapped him in guilt and shame. Only when he met someone else had it all dissolved, dissipating from his mind as the warrior became but a ghost, death trapping her and pulling her away from his thoughts. Only when he met his brother’s wife had everything truly changed. 

Katla tightened the grip on her sword, trying to push passed the physical affliction coursing through her body, the blood swimming down like a quiet river, running away from the confine of its old vessel.  

Uhtred lifted his sword, ready to proceed with the King’s order in reluctance.  

The end of the blade was hovering above her chest, right under her pendant. 

She closed her eyes, took a breath as she finally welcomed Death, singing prayers to the gods for a seat at the table. 

It was over. The growing weakness hovering around her deafened her hearing, making her finally give up. 

She waited for the blow, the blade to push through and kill her. 

She had waited, and waited but nothing came of it. 

Too long seemed to have passed. 

She frowned as she opened her eyes only to find Finan standing in front of her with Uhtred walking away. The Irishman had quietly pleaded his friend to stop and not go through with the prosecution. 

She grew angry, she was annoyed. 

She was pissed off. “Are you going to put me through the sword?” 

Finan sighed, his shoulders dropping. “No. You’re free to go.”  

She was startled by his words but did not let it show, her eyes locking him in while trying to understand his surrender. 

He had the opportunity of a lifetime. To kill her and avenge what had happened with him back in Ireland. To get revenge against her betrayal.  

She could not comprehend why he was letting her go when a simple swift motion of his sword could give him everything he’s ever wanted. 

“What are you doing? Is this a trick?” 

He bit the inside of his cheek, taking a second before looking away from her. “No trick. Just go.” 

She was unrelenting, struck with quiet disbelief. “You sparing my life doesn’t change anything. I’ll find you in the next battle and kill you if I ever come across your sword again.” 

The bourgeoning anger boiling within the remains of her blood gave her strength, mitigating the pain within her weakening body.  

She leaned against her sword, a dark chuckle escaping her dry throat as she swallowed the clot that wanted out.  

Finan couldn’t stand this any longer. Mirroring her emotions, he became irritated. “What the hell is the matter with ya?!” His voice echoed with sudden acuity, catching her off guard for a split of a second, waiting for his loss of control. “It wasn’t enough you destroyed my life in Irland, you had to come after me again here?!” 

“I’m sorry, love.” The mockery in her tone, as she spat her words, sent shivers down his spine, the unwelcoming strain of syllables raising his skin. “Did I step on your crown again?” 

“Áine-” 

“It’s Katla.” 

He huffed, aggravated by the dissonance of her state. He was close to reaching his limits, standing right at the precipice of a cliff. “Who are you?” 

The right side of her bloodied lips curved upwards, an amused smirk gracing him. “I’m the woman you loved, remember?” A low chuckle escaped her once again. “Sweet Áine, a simple maid for the impressionable Irish prince that needed distraction from his duties.” 

Taking in her words, he dropped his head, his heart growing heavier.  

“Did you ever love me?” He spoke softly, a strenuous task grabbing him by the throat. 

He didn’t know why he asked when it had been ever so clear, but the words needed out, they needed to be spoken and thrown into the air for breath.  

She pondered, in mockery. “No. I never had the heart for you, my dearest. You know this.” 

“I do. Which is why I’ll sleep better knowing ya are about to die.” 

A small laugh out, the devilish snark across her face sent daggers straight into his chest. “You’re just as much of a coward as you were in Irland. Pity you couldn’t hold your crown.” 

He sighed at her words and gave her one last look of guilt before he turned his back on her, walking away and leaving her where she still sat on the ground. 

Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she pushed herself up to her feet, a groan from the back of her throat escaping her.  

She knew her body was betraying her; she felt weaker by the minute, her heart straining to keep her alive, desperate for eternal sleep. 

She coughed again, the strength of the disruption making her spit as a blood trail left her lips to reach the mud in front of her. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she eyed her old lover while he was already a couple of feet away from her. 

She was given mercy and she hated them for it. 

“I-I’m not done with you!” She struggled to speak, her voice hoarse as she tried to call for him. “F-Finan-” She grabbed her waist, her hand pressed over her wound while stumbling, falling on one knee. 

He ignored her, not having the heart to deal with her any longer; he had to give her up once and for all. 

Back on her feet again, she groaned from the pain, the rumble shaking her to her core, her eyes never looking away from him. 

She held her sword tightly and took a leap, running after him. 

She wasn’t done with him just yet. 

      Warrior instinct gripped at him, like a moth to a flame.  

He heard the rapid footsteps behind him, heavy and struggling. He made a quick turn without a second thought and grappled at the body that came to him. 

It took him a moment to realize what he had done – he saw heartlessness coated in darkness; it was cold and harsh, it was grey and callous. He was staring right into her eyes, his own wailing aghast. 

His left hand gripped her shoulder, the other one holding his dagger as the blade sunk right at the upper centre of her stomach. 

They remained frozen, simply staring at each other in shock and horror. 

Jolts of reality striking him, he slowly let go of the knife, catching her in his arms as she fell against him. He cursed to himself while rambling continuous apologies through his heavy breaths, his voice broken while whispering closely against her, lips to ears, his ‘I’m sorry’s’ with misery, the letters repeated over and over again like a prayer.  

A guttural scream ricochet across the field as Katla was cradled against him, his arms wrapped around her as he fell to the ground; the voice from afar held anguish and terror, shaking the earth underneath them. 

Tears in his eyes, he was succumbed under sorrow and regret, wondering why his heart wore him heavy when he should have felt lighter, content that she was finally meeting her end, hating her for what she had done to him. 

Yet, he seemed incapable of complying. 

She had died in Ireland. The woman in front of him was simply a ghost, a phantom. A shadow of the woman he had once deeply loved. 

Hearing the shattered screams, he turned his head to find a young woman freeing herself forcefully from some Saxons’ grasp before she started running towards him. 

Finan held tighter onto Katla, his gaze falling back to her as she was patiently waiting for her last breath. 

She could only watch him, no words escaping as her mouth drowned under the weight of her blood. She was struggling to breathe, his heart squeezing itself under his chest as he stroked her hair away from her bruised face.  

She found herself smirking at him, a light tug of her lips while she remained mute under his quivering touch. He was holding onto her wounds, trying to stop the bleeding even though he knew it to be a futile attempt at rescuing her. 

“No!” The heavy pants from the runaway reached him. “Mother!” 

It was spoken under her native tongue, but he still knew its meaning, the term evident to his eyes. The weight of the word shook him like a quake. 

The intruder fell to her knees and pushed Finan away harshly, forcing him to relinquish his hold onto Katla. 

The young woman held her mother in her arms, softly calling for her, soothing her as tears fell.  

Katla smiled - it was warm and loving; it was a smile he had not seen for a very long time. She then softly muttered her daughter’s name under her breath. ‘Rúna’. 

Finan was quiet, trying to approach them but the young one quickly grabbed her knife, holding it against him with the look of death in her eyes, coal painted around them. “You’ve done enough. Stay away.” 

He surrendered, hands mid-air. 

Rúna turned back, finding her mother’s sword next to her. She picked it up and gently wrapped the woman’s hands around the handle, making sure she was tightly grasping it. 

He was paralyzed, studying both women until he could only look at the newcomer. 

His gut screamed at him, knocking the breath out of his lungs. 

He knew she was his - it was the way she looked that had given it away; she held a ghostly resemblance to his own mother. She had Katla’s eyes but yet looked like his own. It was in the nose, in the way she furrowed her brows, the texture of her hair, though the colour was his own, that made it look like he was staring at the shadow of his late mother. 

Her soft sobs pierced through his thoughts. His daughter was leaning over her mother’s body unable to hold onto her tears any longer.  

Katla had quietly gone, finally caving under the song of the Valkyries, forgetting the man who’s heart she broke, for the sight of her own child. 

“May your journey be safe and swift... And may you find glory in the feast hall of Valhalla.” Rúna whispered under her breath, caressing her mother’s cheek, closing her eyes gently with her fingers. 

Defeated, he stayed quiet and watched, silently letting his own tears fall. 

      The scent of smoke filled the air, the flames of death burning bright against the darkening sky. 

Rúna stood in front of her mother’s funeral pyre, watching the flames burn her body.  

Finan approached her carefully and stood next to her, his head straight and watching the fire as well. 

She glanced towards him. “We thought you were dead…” She had spoken softly, a bitter aftertaste decorating the back of her throat. “You were taken to that ship-” She stood taller, looking away from him and back in front of her. “You are dead. You’re nothing to me.” She whispered her words under her breath, a mantra she tied around her heart. 

His own broke, the pieces unknowingly desperate for salvation. 

“Come back with me.” It was gentle, the tone of his voice carried to her ears in a cautious manner. “You don’t have to be alone.” Her shoulders tensed, her teeth stacked tightly within her jaw. “Come home with me.” 

She snapped her head towards him, letting the embers of the fire caress her cheek as the pieces floated with the small wind. “Home?” She scoffed in disbelief. “You took that away from me, and now you expect me to forgive you and come back to wherever it is, with a stranger?” She held his gaze, her irises darkening the longer she stared at him. “You are nothing to me. I do not want you. I do not have the heart for you.” Her words hit him like boulders falling from a cliff.  

He should’ve expected this. 

“You will always be known as the man who killed my mother, so don’t expect anything from me.” She leaned in slightly closer towards him, her words just as menacing as the glare drenching the colour of her eyes. “Next time I see you, I’ll kill you.” 

He tried to push passed the remark, but the gaze was enough to make him stop. She meant her words - she could kill him right on the spot. 

She had no love for him, nor for the ghost of him, nor for the part of her that was him.  

She had no heart to give him as it had died with her mother, the entity burning along her body in front of them. 

All over again, he could only mourn now, never thinking his past would have crossed the ocean to haunt him, let alone come to him in the form of a resentful daughter. 

Rúna bid her final farewell, holding onto her mother’s pendant as she placed it around her neck, in unison with her own, before reluctantly walking away, the sun setting just behind them. 

She turned her back on her father without even a word of goodbye, leaving the Irishman now to stare at the pyre burnt to a crisp. 

He was left with the ashes and embers of his lost love as they hung around him, following the breeze that shifted across the field, the creatures dissipating into patterns that held no true meaning - simply dancing alongside Mother Nature’s breath. 

She had broken his heart, the young maiden who had stolen it by the simple look in her eyes. 

He should’ve known they were held by malevolence, by trickery. 

She never loved him and he should’ve known this, but he was a foolish young man, stuck in a prison with a crown on his head.  

She had given him freedom - the illusion of it, a tainted love, and he fell for it, like Adam to the apple. 

He fell to his knees, the fire almost out as he succumbed to his grief, cheeks stained of tears and anger fueled in his fists as they rested on his lap, tackling the fabric of his pants.  

His head fell back, looking up to the sky, the discoloration inviting night into its warm embrace. 

Flashes of his past took over, pain striking him like lightening breaking into the skies, like a violent lashing strapping him into torment. 

He wanted to convince himself, with every fiber of his being, that she could have loved him; he could almost imagine it. The softness of her being, so enthralling, engaging, mesmerizing. Like a siren calling for her sailor. 

Had she not worked against him, tricking him, spied on him, she would’ve loved him the way he did for her. 

If she had a heart, any smudge or speck of it at all, she could've loved him.  

He was fooling himself, desperate to grasp onto strands of a lie to ease the pain of her perfidy that embedded itself deep into the marrow of his soul. 

If she had a heart, she could have loved him, he kept thinking. 

But even in death, she had no love for him - only depravity marinated her bones, her core yearning for simple primal desire. 

The wondering haunted him, a shadow stuck at his feet, a lonely companion. 

“Finan?” He turned at the sound of his name, the young monk calling from a few feet away with his gentle voice. “It’s time to go.” 

Without a word, he looked back to the pyre, the fire now almost gone. 

He wiped his tears and stood to his feet with great weight on his shoulders. 

He gave one last look to the lost woman and eventually found strength to walk away, turning his back to his past once again. 

God knows if he would ever see his daughter again.  

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

xoxo

[imtrashraccoon]

Here's another fic idea I had that I'll likely never actually write. This was my original plan for Bad Sansuary actually, but the prompts wouldn't have worked and I knew seven chapters for each of them wouldn't be enough to develop their characters. I also only got as far as writing down an idea for Killer...

It was inspired by @/popatochisssp 's fic, The Skeleton Crew, which I highly recommend!

Bad Sans Prison Oneshot Idea

The idea is there is a maximum security prison where monsters and even humans are kept. Monster's magic is suppressed with both a drug that they must take regularly and with an on site machine that makes a barrier that no monster can enter or leave without being allowed to. Only the worst humans are sent to this prison and it is basically considered a death sentence because even without magic, monsters are incredibly dangerous.

MC is journalist that is part of a crew making a documentary on several of the monsters in the prison. Generally she interviews the monsters and asks them questions. Although she is almost never alone with any of them, the documentary is taking several months to film and her coworker begins to get lazy, sneaking away during the sessions to meet with a member of staff they've been eyeing. While MC is frustrated at first, she lets it go because the additional privacy lets the monsters she's interviewing open up a bit more. She is particularly interested in three prisoners with almost no documentation but each have a rap sheet a mile long.

Killer

He was captured about a year ago and charged with the murder of twelve people, as such he was sentenced for life. Almost nothing is known about him though, such as the true number of his victims, where he came from, what his true name is, etc. Killer of course refuses to answer any of these questions, and often mocks the guards about his true victim count yet never admits to anything. He tends to make light of the situation and doesn't seem to believe, or maybe refuses to, that he'll be locked up for much longer. He claims his boss will come for him and then everyone will see.

Over time though, MC begins to see how frustrated he is becoming with being locked up. Despite what he'd let you believe, he is beginning to worry that Nightmare isn't coming for him. The thought is beginning to drive him mad too and while he may appear friendly, he is one bad day away from snapping.

Killer flirts relentlessly with Reader and often makes jokes, which really gets to her at first. She pushes through for whatever reason and eventually begins to see a different side to him. He is definitely a dangerous person and he definitely killed those people and likely thousands more, but she still feels a little sympathy for him. His charisma begins to get to her.

One day, MC is about to leave when a prison riot breaks out. She is caught in the middle and a monster attacks her. Killer shows up and defends her, although in doing so, she gets to witness everything he was rumoured to be. He doesn't even need to use his magic and nearly kills the monster, although hesitates in landing the final blow. He decides not to kill in front of Reader and sits with her until the riot ends.

This does change her opinion of him drastically and she makes an effort to keep seeing him, even outside of her work hours to get to know him a bit better.

[kaiicedragon]

Just some more QSMP purgatory thoughts and symbolism going into the final 2 days (almost done guys!)

Purgatory being a place to repent for sins and mistakes made for sinners to be given the chance to go to Heaven. Something about the two remaining teams. One team refusing to let go of what happened at the beginning. The other team trying to extend an olive branch (despite the actions of some of their own) but not being trusted. How one team made a home base and the other team has struggled with having a place to stay.

How one team leader wants to win and the other team leader was prepared to sacrifice his team for Green to win if need be. With one leader being known as the Angel of Death and the other leader being the youngest on the server.

How Purgatory is sometimes described as having a cleansing fire for souls, with one team being spawned in the cold and having their name be 'soulfire'.

How the cursed team may have been decided in the Egg Wars. How Blue Team kept to their promise and didn't hurt any statue while Red Team broke the deal and destroyed Green Team's egg statue. How that may have sealed Team Soulfire's fate as the cursed team. They kept to the promise and didn't touch or hurt any egg statue, out of concern that they could possibly be tied to the actual eggs. Yet, the only team to not hurt them may be the only team that may potentially kill all of the eggs if they lose. How Tubbo wants to play fair, wanted to keep things tied to make the cursed team winning thing easier. How he's agreed to things to try and make peace despite his team not being 100% on board. How their lives aren't not more important than the eggs.

Team Bolas may be cursed by the environment, in the sense that they let it get to them. Seep into their minds and drag them away from the safety of the eggs. How Phil is their leader yet he has problems knowing what is real or not, whether or not he is dreaming. How narratively Day 1 may not have been that bad and just exaggerated by Team Bolas (meta wise this can be because many weren't roleplaying, and lore wise it could be the land getting into their head). How they tried to talk on Day 1 but got beaten down, and they began to bite back when multiple olive branches were extended, all because they grew paranoid. How they broke promises yet jump to conclusions about the others. How they just want to survive.

This doesn't mean that this is why a team may be cursed, but more of a potential narrative point as Purgatory is stated to be canon and its effects will have lingering and lasting consequences and results.

Also, please let there be consequences for Purgatory. Even if one egg dies, it has been months, please remind the parents that life is fleeting. Maybe even one of Pomme's 2 lives. If not kill them, have the eggs be scared of their parents on Team Bolas. Have Chayanne and Tallulah see Phil and see the person who destroyed a statue that represented their siblings. Have the eggs see Bolas and hear their cheers as the statue fell. Have Leo look at Roier and see someone who attacked the statue looking like her, not killing it but her fearing that at any point he will turn and drive his sword into her. Have the eggs be hurt and damaged from every blow that was done to their statues, scared of what their parents have become and what they could do to them. edit: just some general consequences from the top of my head, but not the main focus, as I feel a lot more of Team Soulfire's consequences would be tied more to character relationships, broken trust and lying even among themselves. Though that isn't to say that the eggs will react positively to them either.

[maple-the-awesome]

We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 32

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 3,853

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

Series Masterlist 🤎 Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: GET LOW

You have to keep your priorities straight. There's a group of terrorist super soldiers running around while the serum to create them is apparently being created in the worst possible place for it, Madripoor. You only agreed to this mission to solve that problem; nothing else should be on your mind nor of your concern. The sooner you fix things, the sooner you can return home where you somewhat wish you would've stayed to begin with.

Despite your bitter and anxious mood, you keep strictly to your assigned character during negotiations. Standing behind Zemo with hands kept clasped in front of yourself, you pay close attention to every word said not because you care for the conversation itself, but so that you can be prepared if anything goes wrong.

As scripted, you only move when Zemo offers to 'trade' the Winter Soldier to Selby in exchange for information, at which point you briefly hold up a book for her to see containing the supposed code words (none that are accurate, as you made sure to confirm before even entering Madripoor).

Earlier when this part of the plan had been explained to you, you were hesitant, yet now you find yourself caring a little less, a petty side of you almost wanting to actually leave him here with this lunatic crime-lord since she seems perfectly willing to take him off your hands. It's not like you plan to ever come back to Madripoor anyway, so he'd never have to worry about seeing you again; a total win for him.

The good news is you get a lead from Selby: a man named Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the one making super soldier serum. The bad news? She refuses to say where you can find him, not even willingly to mention if he's in Madripoor. The worst news? Sam forgot one of the biggest rules to undercover missions: turning off your damn phone.

It's at this point that your facades begin to unravel like a cat's favorite ball of yarn. Based on the way Sam looks around the room nervously, you can tell it isn't a scam call or wrong number, yet there's nothing any of you can do for him once Selby demands he answer it on speaker phone. Despite his desperate attempts to maintain his role as Smiling Tiger, the woman on the other end doesn't get the hint, stubbornly remaining on line until delivering the final blow by referring to him by name.

"'Sam'? Who's 'Sam'?" Selby becomes enraged immediately, "Kill them -!"

Almost as soon as those words left her mouth, a bullet came crashing through the window, hitting Selby from behind and causing her to fall limp onto the ground. From there, you're only allowed a brief moment of surprise before a fight ensues.

Thankfully unlike the bar downstairs where there would've been a gun pointing at you from every direction, there are only two armed guards in this private room who are slow to react. Bucky and Sam easily knock them out while taking their guns for themselves which is enough of a threat for everyone else to flee without causing any further trouble, although that doesn't necessarily save any of you from this new situation you've landed yourselves in.

"We have a real problem now," Zemo complains, yet his behavior comes across as being no more inconvenienced than he would be if someone spit in his tea, "Leave your weapons and follow my lead."

You wish you could be as calm, too - which is the first and only time you'll be jealous of Zemo for something. Sure, you can act calm, but to truly be it is another talent. It doesn't matter how straight your expression is nor how casual you try to walk while still being swift on your feet; you feel like a deer walking through a shooting range the second you step onto the streets, senses heightened as you wait for any sign of danger directed your way.

You don't have to wait long. The lights of the street suddenly flash off, leaving you blinded by darkness soon disrupted by a flurry of gunshots aimed at your group. It's complete chaos after that. There’s no uniformed or planned attack like what you're used to. It's a city of criminals governed by no leadership or morals, only their own selfish interests in mind.

There's gunshots to your left and gunshots to your right. People screaming as they run for cover, people shouting as they chase after you through the many streets and allies. Now, you haven't been to the gym in months - Alright, maybe years, but practiced exercise is nothing compared to pure adrenaline. The mere thought of your life being on the line as motorcycles roar somewhere close by serves as the perfect motivator for your legs to keep moving, chasing directly behind Bucky who likely has no idea where he's going, but anywhere is better than stopping to ask for directions.

Your pace only slows when coming around another corner, at which point you foolishly duck upon hearing two more gunshots fired from somewhere ahead. When you don't feel the force of any bullets ripping through your body, you turn around to see the motorcycle drivers both hunched over lifeless.

“Well, this is too perfect,” A voice comes as a woman steps out of the foggy darkness, only removing a hand from her gun briefly to pull down her hood which reveals her face to the rest of you. If it weren’t for your excellent memory, you likely would’ve had a harder time recognizing her as Sharon Carter, someone you’ve only met once and under far different circumstances, but she’s an ally nonetheless.

This would be the point where you sigh if not for still trying to catch your breath and steady your nerves.

You're grateful for the opportunity to finally switch out of this stupid disguise you've been forced to wear all night and pleased to see Sharon has offered quite the selection of new outfits to choose from, although most look far too fancy for your taste, particularly the ones drenched in glitter. Not wanting to look like a walking disco ball, you pick something comfortable yet pretty and, most importantly, suitable for action since you highly doubt your game of dodging bullets is over just yet.

Glancing around to check on everyone else, you notice they all seem to be doing their own thing. Sam's trying to find his own change of clothes from the rack, Zemo's currently helping himself to Sharon's alcohol collection, and Bucky has simply plopped down on the couch with back turned to the rest of you (brooding, as you would assume).

"Is there someplace I can change?" You ask Sharon once she returns. She tosses her coat onto the couch next to Bucky and spares you a quick look as she passes by.

"What? Can't change here?" While her tone may have been teasing, that smirk on her face makes you question if she's truly joking, however you certainly aren't.

You'll confess that you've changed in the same room as Bucky before, however you'd also argue that the circumstances were very different then. To him, you had been roommates for so long that it didn't seem like a big deal to switch shirts or sleep in only boxers in your presence. To you...Well, you've always known that you had both done a little more than simply 'change' in front of each other in the 40s, so why be embarrassed about your roommate-once--fiancé catching a sneak peek?

The point is, while you're comfortable around Bucky, that doesn't apply to anyone else in this room. Sam's a friend you barely know, Sharon's a person you don't know, and Zemo's a liability you'd have to strangle if he so much as thought of saying anything remotely inappropriate.

"I'd rather have privacy."

Sharon rolls her eyes with a scoffed laugh, "Sorry, I didn't think you'd mind. You've never seemed that shy around men before."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Your voice alone warns her to answer carefully as does your irked expression, yet she still turns away from you with a careless shrug.

"It's just that you come across as someone who likes attention, that's all. What, with you going from Rogers, Barnes, Stark then Barnes again; you sure get around, but hey, props to you for having fun with your life, I guess."

"You know there's this thing called 'friends', right?" Sam interjects, unable to himself. He knows you all desperately need Sharon's help in finding Dr. Nagel, but he has trouble biting back the offense he takes on your behalf from her unwarranted comments.

For better or for worse, she isn't fazed by Sam's disapproval, instead responding sarcastically to it, "Really? Never heard of it."

"Like that isn't obvious," You roll your eyes then land them on Bucky who unlike Sam doesn't bother to show an ounce of concern for how Sharon's treating you, his back remaining completely turned to the problem.

Although his silence has been bothering you this whole time, you must say it especially stings right now. You understand that he's mad, but so much so that he isn't even willingly to say a single word in your defense? That he's just going to sit there and let her basically call you a whore? He knows the truth, all he has to do is say it. Who cares if it actually shuts Sharon up? At least he'd look like a decent gentleman by attempting to protect your honor instead of a total asshole wordlessly supporting her point!

Looking back at Sharon, you match her crossed arms and pair them with a disinterested stare, "I know you're bitter and shit about Steve leaving you for your aunt, but that doesn't involve me, so if you're that desperate to lift your ego, I suggest picking up a hobby or - better yet - moving on instead of pissing me off which I will only warn you once is a dangerous game to play.

"I'm sure you'll be pleased to know Barnes and I - we're nothing; not even friends. The sole reason why I'm right now is because Sam, a friend, asked nicely and I, for one, don't want anyone dragging the name of super soldiers through the mud; personally, I don't think Steve's legacy deserves that. Now is there somewhere I can change or not?"

Despite the bite behind your words, Sharon appears more impressed than offended or sorry as she nods her head towards the hallway, "There's a bathroom down the hall, three doors to your right."

"...Thanks," You brush past her with your clothes in hand, more convinced than ever that you'll never step foot in Madripoor again after this even if the rest of the world were to be on fire.

Seconds after you disappear through the glass doors, Bucky turns to send a glare Sharon's way, "What the hell was that?"

"What? ...Oh, come on! Did I really hit that deep of a nerve? I thought for Avengers, you'd all have thicker skin," Sharon's attempt at innocence crumbles under Bucky and Sam's intense glares, yet she merely sighs in frustration before going to pour herself a glass of alcohol over where Zemo's been watching the whole scene unfold while sipping his brandy in amusement.

"I highly doubt I'm the only one who finds it a little suspicious that someone who stuck their neck out for the Winter Soldier and Captain America was entirely forgiven when rich boy Tony Stark cried out in their favor only to conveniently fall right back into their former lover's arms after his death. I mean, last I saw they were practically your little lap dog seven years ago and honestly, I can't say it seems much has changed once Stark got out of the way."

Sharon finishes her little rant by collapsing on the opposite side of the couch as Bucky who shakes his head in disbelief, "Wow, you're kind of awful now, aren't you?"

"Look, Sharon. I'm sorry for everything that happened. I'm sorry no one ever called -" Sam starts.

"- You make it sound like it was just a missed date or something -"

"- I know that it seems like (Y/n) got off easy compared to the crap you've had to put up with after helping us, but it's not their fault how things ended. Stark was there to stand up for them while no one was there for you, so don't blame them, blame me. I should've called, but after the Blip, it was chaos and I -"

"- Oh, save your breath," Sharon shakes her head, looking back at Sam from over the edge of the couch, "...You know all this hero stuff is just bullshit, right? Deep down, you know it's all hypocrisy and that's why you gave up the shield."

"He knows, just not that deep down," Zemo asserts from the corner of the room, however Sam himself can't seem to say anything, only able to remain quiet while wishing he had your talent for snapping back. He wants to say something to disprove Sharon's allegations, yet he instead hands her the win with his silence, allowing her to go back to finishing her drink just in time for you to return, clearly still irritated and too much so to question whether the dim energy of this room is from your past conversation or a new one.

"Alright, so what's the plan? How are we finding this Dr. Nagel, hmm?" You get right to business, not even bothering to act cheerful or excited as you normally would; your will to do so for everyone else's sake is officially run dry.

"Are you guys still sure you want to get involved in this?" For once, Sharon doesn't show much confidence, in fact you would even say she sounds genuinely concerned as she sets her empty glass on the table, "For your own safety, I'd recommend that you don't. Nagel works for the Power Broker who, might I remind you, you're already in deep shit against after what happened with Selby."

"Free range super soldiers being produced under the management of a criminal empire? Yeah, for the safety of the world, I'd say backing down isn't really an option here," You argue, half surprised Sharon doesn't have some smartass comment to swing back at you which proves that while she might be a pain to deal with, she at least isn't stupid.

"To do this we need your help, Sharon. We can get your name cleared -" Sam adds.

"- Heh. Haggling with my life now, are we?"

"Not like that -"

"- Mmm, I don't buy it - you pretending to clear my name as your bargaining chip?"

"I can try," Sam walks around the couch, standing in front of Sharon with a hand outstretched towards her, "It's not impossible, after all, they already cleared the name of a bionic staring machine after he killed almost everyone he met -"

"- I heard that -"

"- I don't trust charity."

"It's not really 'charity'," You sit on an armchair and shrug when Sharon's glances around Sam at you, "Charity is the act of voluntary giving. We're not just 'giving' you anything, we're offering an exchange. You help us find Nagel, Sam here gets your name cleared. Can't be that hard. The government's views change like a flip of a dime. Catch 'em at a desperate time of need and they'll be more willing to pardon you for your help in the cause."

"...Nice to see someone here admits to seeing the hypocrisy of it all," Sharon inhales and exhales deeply, her words causing you to raise an eyebrow in confusion after having missed the context to them earlier. Nevertheless, it doesn't matter as she finally shakes Sam's hand and stands to her feet, "I sell to some pretty connected people, so just lay low, stay out of trouble, and enjoy the party while I see what I can do."

You're not a fan of crowds, but at least this suffocating party beats being cornered in a bar full of hostile, armed patrons. Here everything is more laid back, similar to any noncriminal run club. The music is blaring, lights flashing, and ground vibrating as guests dance to their hearts' content. All you have to do now is just look like you're equally enjoying yourself for a few hours which is significantly easier than your previous role as 'silent assistant'.

Leaned against a wall, your laughter becomes comparable to the booming of the bass and is contagious within the group of party goers standing around you. You just gotta keep this up - keep engaging in a few more conversations, tell a couple of funny jokes while downing a drink or two along the way, and soon that annoying, nagging voice inside your head will finally go mute, allowing you to sink deeper and deeper into your game of intoxicating pretend.

"Hey -!" You're suddenly pulled away from your new group of friends when Bucky grabs your arm, quite literally tugging your attention from them to him. While he's technically successful, you're hardly amused, immediately ripping your arm away from him with a glare and another swig of your drink.

"- What?"

Bucky, who was going to say something else, becomes distracted when his eyes flicker down to your half-empty bottle, "...Don't you think you've had enough?"

You huff, bringing the bottle back up to your lips while maintaining your glare, "I'm not going to get drunk if that's what you're worried about. I'm able to handle my liquor quite well, thank you very much. It's in my blood, after all."

Bucky sighs, half tempted to rip that bottle away from your stubborn hand, however he refrains from the urge.

"...Have you heard anything from Sharon yet?" Your question echoes within the glass as you survey the active party around you both.

"No. Last I heard, she's still talking to her 'connections'."

"Well hopefullyshe starts speeding things up. It's been a long enough night already," You'd blame it on exhaustion fogging up your mind, but in truth, it's probably the relief from Bucky's finally talking to you which seems to take some weight off of your shoulders, allowing you to relax and speak more freely in his presences - to be more like yourself unlike how you've been behaving around those other party goers...however you shouldn't have been so trusting to this feeling.

"Then you should go rest."

"Not until we find Nagel."

Bucky pauses, not even looking at you as he just stares at some other far off place in the room, "...I think you should stay here while we go talk to Nagel ourselves."

"There's no point in that," You sigh, "I came here to help you guys, not stand on the sidelines."

"It wasn't a suggestion."

"What?" You return your glare to him once more.

"It's not necessary for all of us to go. We don't need five people -"

"- Does my presence add that much to the equation? Three people is fine, but four's a crowd? In that case, why not have Sharon stay behind? She's the tag-along...Or is it just me?"

"It...It has nothing to do with you, okay? I just think -" Bullshit. He acts as if your accusation is nothing short of ridiculous yet never looks directly at you longer than an impatient glance. It is you.

"- Here's an idea: how about you just pretend I'm not there, yeah?" You put your free hand on your hip, feeling your blood begin to boil the more his words sink into your skin, "I mean, that's what you've been doing this whole time and you seem to have gotten pretty damn good at it, I'd say, so I doubt it'll kill you to do for a few extra hours."

Bucky inhales deeply while pinching the bridge of his nose, "...Look, we've already run into trouble and barely got out of it just searching for Nagel. Actually talking to him is going to be dangerous."

"Alright? And your point is?"

"You're at the most risk out of all of us. You don't have any formal training, you don't have any powers. Just - Come on and be reasonable. You'll only get yourself hurt -!"

"'Be reasonable'?" You can't help but laugh with a shake of your head, "I am being reasonable! In case you've forgotten, I protected your ass for two whole years and helped the Avengers fight Thanos twice! That's not even mentioning the shit I went through against HYDRA, either! For fucks sake, I've been shot at before, so training or not, the fear of dying isn't new for me!"

Your fury falters and you immediately regret your choice of words once noticing Bucky's reaction to them. Almost as soon as they're said, his expression becomes shattered and mournful, and a part of you instantly feels terrible seeing that, yet at the same time, your lingering anger - still fueled by your inner, unresolved pain - prevents you from outright apologizing.

"...You're a liability if you go..."

You grip your bottle, almost wishing it would just shatter in your hands to emphasize what you're feeling right now. Maybe then you'd have an excuse to cry in front of so many people - people who would definitely raise eyebrows if you were to completely lash out right now and confront Bucky with every swirling thought that's been burning hotter on your tongue following each drop of alcohol: 'What am I doing wrong? Why are you treating me like this? How come you don't love me anymore? Can't you see that it's drowning me?

You take a deep breath, calming yourself down a little before opening your eyes to look back up at Bucky with a false smile, "...You know what? Suuure. I'll stay behind. Whatever makes you happy, you fucking asshole!"

After spitting those final venomous words, you shove pass him roughly and storm off into the crowd, no longer caring if anyone heard your little 'lover's quarrel', as they probably all see it as. You have no idea where you're going or what you'll even do in the meantime, but Sharon's house seems big enough, so you're sure you'll have no problem finding someplace quiet to soak in all your self-pity.

Bucky almost calls after you, requiring every ounce of willpower not to chase you and give an apology, but what would that actually accomplish if he did? 'Sorry I hurt your feelings, but I'm still not changing my mind because I stand by what I said'...As if that would fix anything.

Maybe this is for the best, at least that's what he tries to convince himself throughout each second that his guilt eats away at him. For the price of hurting you, you won't be in danger if things go south talking to Nagel. Perhaps you'll even want to go home after this and you'll never have to be at risk because of any of this stuff again. Sure, you'll hate him as you probably do now, but if that's what it takes for you to be alive, then it's worth it.

...It'll be worth this heartache, won't it?

NEXT CHAPTER ->

<- PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Taglist:

@arunabrak,

[sleepy-otx]

Babysitter/Bodyguard AU

MCs: ZhongXiao & Qiqi

Zhongli who is at war with many other regions, including the one where Xiao is enslaved in, and who also has a child who is Qiqi. Xiao who runs into her in his master's land and realizes that oh shit, she's from Morax's land and she cannot be here!! Qiqi, of course, is like not worried because in her eyes her dad is very powerful and will always keep her safe, not realizing that she's not in her dad's land meaning he doesn't have any special powers there and she is in a lot of danger should anyone find out who she is. Xiao doesn't know who is her dad and doesn't give her the chance to explain and tries to get her to leave. Qiqi is still trying to collect plants for medicine and refuses to leave because there is a lot of plants there and she still thinks that she's home. She climbs up a mountain and Xiao is immediately noping out, but rushes back to save her when she's about to fall. After all, it's not like his master ordered him to not save the child and it's not like he's disobeying and she doesn't have to know he's technically helping the enemy

He saves her and gathers all the plants she wanted and gave her a quick blessing to protect her and help her travel faster into her land undetected and unharmed. It works really well to the point where it's still active by the time she arrives home and sees her family freaking out that she was missing for so long. She doesn't understand what the big deal was and just said that she made a nice new friend, but she never actually got his name. Skip forward where Qiqi constantly goes over to try and find her new friend and Xiao is like no, no, no, leave right now, but can't bring himself to be mean about it.

A party with all neighboring kingdoms/nations invited is held including his lady who is quite antagonistic about it. They will go but really it's more so an excuse for her to observe Morax's palace and look for any weak points. Of course, she nor any of her people could attack without starting a war, but it was better to have information just in case. While they're in a foreign kingdom/nation they would have to listen to that ruler's orders as a sign of respect but they needn't try to hard, just enough to get others off their case. Xiao immediately spots Qiqi from across the room and realized who she is. She's the reason why the party was thrown in the first place. The birthday party of the little lady of liyue. A party that went south when someone tried to take advantage of the situation. It's quickly resolved, but Morax notices how is daughter clinged onto one of his foes when she was scared. Xiao's master also notices it and considers this new information carefully.

The child seeks him out on other special occasions. He rebuffs each attempt. Acknowledging her and the little friendship they created would be equivalent to handing his master the spear to strike directly at Morax's heart and ending his reign. She was just a child after all. Easy to manipulate and easy to please. So he says harsh words with cold eyes. He says them even as his heart begins to hurt and says them even as she looks at him with tears in her eyes and says them when her family looks at him with such hatred for hurting her.

Later on, when his master goes against Morax, he cant bring himself to watch Qiqi get killed and takes a fatal blow meant for her. It's a stupid move, so stupid that everyone stops fighting for a second to process it. He passes out from the pain still holding her in his arms. When he is interrogated he lies. He lies because there's no point in trying to get out of this live. He just wants it all to end already. Eventually, Morax wins the battle against Xiao's master and Xiao is set to be executed, but Qiqi asks to talk to him privately first. She tries to interrogate him because she doesn't understnd why he's so nice one second then so mean the next. He can't hide the truth from her and explains as best he can so as to not leave her wondering after his death. Though he does not notice her father listening in on their conversation.

A few weeks later and it is decided that his punishment is to guard the little lady and the king after much persuading from her and a lot of thinking from her father. From there other stuff happens and Xiao is really confused as to why the fuck he's still alive and why they want him of all people to protect some of the most important people in their nation. Cue shenanigans and Qiqi using her big brain to get them together so she can have her perfect happy family.

[casliveblog]

Custom Toonami Block Week 197 Rundown

The Witch from Mercury: It’s the finale and ho boy is it a humdinger. In the aftermath of Starkiller Base firing at the Death Star the Aerial’s nearly destroyed and Suletta basically passes out in the cockpit of her suit from Gundam Soul-Sucking Sickness. Miorine’s group is captured by Prospera’s forces even though they literally have their boss at gunpoint and told to give them back Aerial so they can re-activate the plant (I mean it was at full power when the sun laser hit it and Eri barely survived so idk what you think another try is gonna do) Miorine just says “Oh don’t worry, Suletta’s a shonen-style protagonist, she’ll come to protect her family damn the costs any minute now” which is kind of a marvelous bit of character knowledge on her part. Prospera wants Suletta to plug Eri back up and Suletta actually disobeys her mother for the first time, not wanting two superweapons to duke it out and end up losing her whole family, even if Prospera admits she’ll lose control of her legs soon and was planning to die here anyway. Miorine makes one last big speech since that’s kind of her thing and announces that she’s dissolving the group and going with Shaddiq’s idea to give everything to Earth and let the individual companies basically run themselves, meaning Quiet Zero no longer has a shadowy pseudo-government behind it and Shaddiq takes the wrap for all the terrorism. Too bad the dickwad with the punchable face on Starkiller Base is like “cool story, gonna blow it up anyway”. Suletta then connects HERSELF to Quiet Zero and with the help of Ghost!Fake!Ceres #1 manages to dive deep enough into Gundam code to find the NewType Wave ghost control sphere which not only lets her shoot Quiet Zero’s control powers out to Starkiller Base, she also manages to bring everyone that’s died around so all the mournful characters can look wistfully at them and come to some form of acceptance. I’m not sure how this makes any logical sense since Ghost!Ceres says he’s only there as a remnant of being made there like Eri and everybody else just kinda shows up but given 1. The intention of Quiet Zero was to make a physical space for someone that’s half dead already and 2. It’s really just kinda cool and thematically resonant, I’ll allow it. Prospera gets to make up with Eri and apologize to Suletta and Suletta gets to struggle with the fact that she peaked in high school and was a deity for five minutes so what the fuck can she do now. Still we get an epilogue where everyone’s doing good, Eri’s in Miorine’s Siri device, Guel’s running his company while his brother and Petra have generic ending farm land with her testing medical prosthetics for her injuries, Secilia somehow got even MORE hot as a sexy businesswoman, Nika went to fucking jail but it’s okay since she’s back in school and got a good job. Chuchu became a space dockworker, Shaddiq’s still in fucking jail and Miorine is doing her best to mediate the still fresh tensions with Earth while Suletta follows her dream of both being married to Miorine and building a school, so basically the best ending, literally no one fucking died, like all the death flags in the world for some of these characters and this time just this once everybody lives.

Ranma ½: Ranma’s currently having existential crisis about a guy having a crush on him, meanwhile Kuno’s determined to pull a full Inuyasha and string along two girls at once, buying pics of both of them from Nabiki. No one just comes out and tells him the girl is Ranma and they keep stringing him along with metaphors and stuff so he keeps getting the wrong idea or just has a mental block where he refuses to accept it. Ranma ends up literally walking all over Kuno and beating him though getting some injuries in the process, and even more damage when Akane finds him with the pics and claims he’s hotter than her anyway (I mean to be fair the pics of Akane are just cute candid shots and Ranma’s are legit her with her tits out so yeah). They take him to Dr. Tofu (still can’t fucking believe that’s his name) and I like how he can seemingly tell which wounds Akane inflicts like an artist admiring a work of art except the art is someone’s broken body. He also apparently ships Ranma and Akane and orchestrates her carrying him home on their way back which is kinda nice since a lot of the gags in this show kinda work on Rule of Funny and end up being random for the sake of it but this one was a planned romantic moment. The next day the boys all claim they won’t fight Akane anymore since Kuno got his has beat so what chance do they have, but like Akane beat all their asses EVERY DAY and that meant nothing, guess she never beat Kuno until now so it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Shenanigans ensue and Akane ends up hurting Ranma again and she reveals that she doesn’t want anyone to know about her crush on the doctor because he has a crush on her sister Kasumi and has a gag of acting extra stupid whenever he’s around her, I mean he’s also like twice Akane’s age so that’s probably for the best but that always stings all the same. Still with Akane frustrated, Ranma does his best to cheer her up and it works to an extent but given their dynamic it doesn’t last long. Bro literally tells the doctor he doesn’t go out of his way to pick fights with her and then every word he says to her is just a random unprompted insult, like you can’t really be too mad about half the jokes being about him getting beat up when he just comes out the gate with constant insults about her appearance for literally no reason.

Castlevania: It’s not quite the finale yet but this episode does mirror the original attack on Dracula in Season 2 and that’s pretty neat. Trevor and Sypha join Alucard in defending the castle and they don’t have time to explain how they got there so they’re just kinda like ‘hey bro, sup?’ and proceed to fight all the mooks in the world and I think Alucard killed Kratos? Anyway Varney reveals that he’s Death and forces Saint Germain to continue the ritual anyway, basically changing nothing. Still I had this spoiled for me about 2-3 weeks ago by an Overly Sarcastic Productions video and yet it is kinda obvious when you think about it, Death is one of the biggest characters in the franchise, they mentioned him a bunch early on and otherwise it’s just Trevor, Alucard and Sypha in a room doing the Jojo kicking meme on a cockney vampire and that’s not much of a series finale, if anything knowing it was coming made it slightly MORE effective since it didn’t feel like it was coming out of nowhere, one of the few times spoilers didn’t hurt. Anyway the group fights the Priests of Death and it’s a really cool fight mirroring the Court of Dracula fight in season 2 and showing how they cover for each other’s weaknesses and shit. They do the ritual and Alucard has to watch both of his parents’ screaming souls be wedged into a naked intersex meat puppet because he didn’t quite need enough therapy yet. They beat said meat puppet when Saint Germain does… something… that weakens the spell (like he didn’t bring the barrier down or anything he just kinda moved the portal to catch their souls again?) and Trevor throws the wet shuriken of death into the human transmutation before it can become the eighth deadly sin. Death is pissed and Trevor knows it’s the end of the series so he faces off against him on his own for some reason (like both Sypha and Alucard can fly, like granted Alucard’s going through some shit right now but the fight lasts long enough they should definitely be able to get over there) but he has a cool speech about how things that can only kill have no place left in this world and does some cool Attack on Titan shit to ram the Dagger Ex Machina into Death with a huge explosion. Like I’m sure there’s more lore for that dagger and shit in broader Castlevania context but for me it just looks like the “this is the only weapon that can kill him’ shit, still the fight’s so cool I can hardly complain.  

Dandadan: It’s time for the introduction of resident GILF Seiko, because every major series needs a big titty badass to throw shit around. She has an intro that kinda reminds me of the beginning of Beetlejuice 2 where she has a low-budget psychic show that’s not highly regarded despite her predictions all being real. She comes home and traps Granny!Okarun in an anti-Sea Bear circle to beat the shit out of the evil spirit within, ready to kill the kid thinking he’s just another tough-looking scumbag Momo’s dating. But for whatever reason she decides not to and just seals him into the shrine, still taking the opportunity to fuck with Momo about it a little bit. She then enforces a training arc on the two of them to get strong enough to chase Granny out of town and banish her on their own which conveniently she can’t help with because she too can’t function out of town (I mean I don’t get why she can’t help along the way but okay) still the timetable is moved up when an ill-fated bathroom visit has Granny reveal she can transfer death curses to whoever she looks at through Okarun’s eyes (also side tangent but how does Okarun pee without his dick? Like they establish the bathroom visit is so he can poop but I imagine peeing may be an issue, does his small intestine just stop absorbing the moisture and he has constant diarehhea or is it magic and his pee just goes to his dick spiritually and he pees without peeing? I’m probably thinking about this too much but it is a central conceit of the show to be fair) but yeah now they don’t have time to get past their base powerset and have to do the confrontation right now at the place where she’s her strongest back at the tunnel where she fused with the tunnel spirit that was already there. Seiko gives Momo an emotional goodbye and some spiritual armor to help them which Momo quickly discards, still they get on the train and I get Momo’s logic of saving stamina by not walking and Okarun’s armor does block his eyes but it seems like a bad idea to have him walk into a crowded place when we’ve established Granny can curse people by looking at them with his eyes, idk maybe I’m worried over nothing but they seem to be going into this half-cocked and without half of their safeguards.

Gleipnir: With their baptismal conflict done, the duo decide to get some practice in with what has to be the darkest version of Ratatouille, turns out Shuichi can still move while Claire’s piloting him but Claire kinda has a movement override like that scene of Maria inside Al in FMA. They go to look for Claire’s sister since it’s their only lead and try to bloodhound track her down with her old uniform and despite Claire’s hopes the scent reveals she’s killed a LOT of people. This isn’t a particularly subtle show but I do kinda like the way they show Claire’s opinion of her sister changing her whole personality, like calling her sister a slut for no reason and showing that before her family was murdered she dressed more conservatively and had her hair braided shows Claire’s probably projecting a weird amount of purity bullshit and processing her damaged self-image and shattered view of her sister with outward promiscuity-signaling while taking pride in being a virgin, it’s a lot of fucked up shit and I don’t love the implications of some of it but it’s an interesting character dynamic for a show that’s 90% panty shots. The two hang out and have a date dynamic going with looking for Claire’s sister and eventually stumble right across her only to find out she has FMA Pride powers and can turn into shadow ash and shit but because she’s yandere for Shuichi she doesn’t even think twice about them shooting her (also a gun goes off in the middle of fucking Japan who the hell’s not noticing these gunshots in one of the most gun-regulated first world countries?). But yeah Claire’s main character syndrome kicks in and she thinks her sister can sense her inside Shuichi but really she’s just apologizing to Shuichi for turning him into a furry and fucking rips his mascot head off once she finds out another girl has been pegging him with her whole body. He’ll probably be fine since this is basically FNAF and he’s a springlock suit but it is a dramatic way to end an episode.   

Revolutionary Girl Utena: Utena’s kind of in a comatose state after losing to Touga and having Anthy move out. She takes Touga’s advice of ‘be a normal girl’ to the extreme and starts wearing the girl uniform and basically moping around like Smooth Normal Spongebob. Wakaba is a good friend and does everything she can to snap her out of it, even picking a fight with Touga and accidentally splashing Anhty. Meanwhile Touga’s gloating to the rest of the student council about having reached the endgame and the other two are sore losers for him getting there because of a Naraku-style plot so they’re just kinda grumpy. Even Anthy despite reverting to her blank slate personality still has lingering yearning for her time with Utena. After a lot of pushing, Wakaba finally tells Utena that normal isn’t normal for her and being weird is what makes Utena normal and if she’s not weird then she’s not normal and then gets through to Utena about how much of her true self she’s lost in her despair. She immediately goes to challenge Touga not just for Anthy but to reclaim the lost courage and boldness she gave up for the sake of normalcy and compliance, Juri even gives her a new sword to fight with so that’s pretty cool. Touga reveals he’s read the sacred texts and has Anthy do suggestive things to his waist-height sword to make the sword basically a lightsaber so he cuts right through Utena’s new sword and is about to win when Anthy’s lingering concern and wishes for Utena’s safety causes the power to leave him and the final clash results in Utena’s victory even with like one eighth of a blade left, how do these guys keep letting her get that close in a fencing match. Anyway Anthy’s back with Utena and Utena tells her to cut out the ceremonial crap and let them just go and hang out.

[twistedtummies2]

Year of the Bat - Number 14

Welcome to Year of the Bat! In honor of Kevin Conroy, Arleen Sorkin, and Richard Moll, I’m counting down my Top 31 Favorite Episodes of “Batman: The Animated Series” throughout this January. TODAY’S EPISODE QUOTE: “This used to be a beautiful street. Good people lived here once.” Number 14 is…Appointment in Crime Alley.

Much like “The Forgotten,” or the Honorable Mentions “See No Evil," "Paging the Crime Doctor," and “A Bullet for Bullock,” this is an episode that shows that some of the best Batman stories aren’t necessarily tales of him taking down mad supervillains or going on grand, sweeping adventures. Sometimes, the best stories are the most down-to-Earth, simple, and unsettlingly real. “Appointment in Crime Alley” is the introduction of Leslie Thompkins – one of the more unsung members of the “Bat-Family,” in my opinion – and is based on the comic “There is No Hope in Crime Alley!” I’ve never actually read the comic this episode was based on, so I can’t judge it as an adaptation in any way (unlike previous similar instances, such as “Joker’s Millions” or “Never Fear”). Thankfully, this episode stands up so well on its own terms, that’s not really an issue.

The plot focuses on Batman/Bruce Wayne making an annual pilgrimage to Park Row, a.k.a. Crime Alley. It’s a lonely, largely abandoned section of Gotham; once one of its more prosperous areas, it has, over time, descended into ruin, becoming a broken slum where derelicts and degenerates propagate. The primary reason the sorry place remains standing is because it’s been sanctioned off as a historic site. On top of that, there are still people who live in Crime Alley, and they refuse to see their home bulldozed. This isn’t enough to stop recurring antagonist Roland Daggett: a crooked businessman who wants to destroy all of Crime Alley, so that he can use the land for his own ends. To this end, Daggett hires an explosives expert and arsonist called Nitro, who goes about setting time bombs across the area, with the intention being to blow up the whole place – people and all – and make it look like an accident on account of faulty gas pipes. When Bruce’s friend, Leslie Thompkins, is kidnapped by Nitro, Batman must try to save her and Park Row from inevitable doom, all while dealing with a gauntlet of other problems that keep getting in his way during this race against the clock.

“Appointment in Crime Alley” is one of the most suspenseful and gritty episodes of the series. The direct ties to Batman’s tragic origins are a big part of what make it so memorable; Bruce goes through all of this with the simple and sad purpose of laying flowers on the spot where his parents met their untimely ends. It’s a ritual he treats with great reverence, and what’s interesting about all this is you’d think he’d hate Crime Alley as much as anybody else, given both its reputation and his history with the spot. Instead, Bruce strives to save both it and Leslie. Of course, this is expected; he’s the hero, and Leslie is someone very close to him: she is one of his mentor figures, a sort of surrogate mother in the same way Alfred is often perceived as a surrogate father. Also, he can hardly let dozens of innocent people die because of Daggett and Nitro.

However, I think there’s more to it than even that: there’s a lot of talk in this episode about the state of Crime Alley, comparing its despoiled status with its former glory. In a way, the place seems to be a microcosm of Gotham itself: this little spot of crime, corruption, and rampant poverty, which many in the city see as a seeping, infected growth that needs to be amputated. It’s made clear, however, that Crime Alley ISN’T just a den of thieves and lowlifes: the people who live here aren’t all bad people, with Leslie being among them. Bruce recognizes this better than anyone: it’s one of Gotham’s darkest corners, but Leslie represents hope and warmth there, someone who wants to save lives and make people happy in a place where those things seem almost impossible. I can’t help but feel there’s a subtle indication there of where so much of Batman’s personality and philosophy came from: he, too, is someone who seeks to do these things, in a place that, overall, many would argue is the same, but he works on a more grandiose scale. It’s an interesting parallel, and gives us some unique looks into Bruce’s mind and heart alike. Tense, dark, emotional, and layered with ample nuance, “Appointment in Crime Alley” is an episode that matches its namesake: one small, black moment in an already dark show, yet with some surprising light hidden in its depths.

Tomorrow we move on to Number 13! Hint: “Without Batman, crime has no punchline.”