#and partially because she has something else to focus on now

[zahra-hydris]

I was kind of thinking previously that the ameridan revelation would knock daewen out of her (unfortunately naive) belief that her position as inquisitor and her actions would genuinely improve the position of elves across southern thedas.

but now i'm thinking that - after her initial shock and grief at how ameridan, his friends, and his love ended up (both in terms of their actual fates and their bleaching from history) - it ultimately leads her to double down.

she cannot let that happen again. she won't.

she's gotta ensure that her legacy remains intact.

ameridan was right. they've taken so much from her. she can never go home. she's changed. her clan has changed. she's still playing the game and while she was so proud of how she'd mastered it, she feels increasingly like she's just dancing to the chantry's tune. and she's so alone. she finds comfort in briala's arms now, as well as others when she can, but she still feels... isolated, especially as her companions slowly leave.

so she actually goes into the exalted council intending to fight for the inquisition. it all has to be worth something. if she lets go now, who takes care of her legacy? what she's built for the marginalised across southern thedas, for her people? for herself? she can't trust anyone with that.

[p0orbaby]

Strike a Pose

summary: you give alexia a spicy Polaroid during your wedding

warnings: SMUT 18+, oh look, more bathroom sex… it’s a classic

a/n: based on this request !

word count: 2.3k

-

The venue is perfect. Alexia has already told you this, oh, about seventeen times today. The twinkly lights are perfect, the cake is perfect, the flowers are perfect. She even said your hair is perfect, which, let’s face it, might’ve been a stretch considering the stylist’s idea of “loose, romantic waves” was more like “windswept hedge.” But Alexia’s riding the high of a woman who has convinced herself that everything, down to the uneven icing on the cake, is divine. And you, well, you’re just trying not to spill champagne on your dress.

Your bridesmaids are a hot mess, but that’s part of their charm. Patri, bless her, has already lost her bouquet twice, and Frido has been flirting shamelessly with the DJ since noon. But it’s Mapi who’s your real MVP today. She’s got nerves of steel and an expression that could sell used cars to the Amish. Which is why she’s perfect for the little mission you assigned her.

At the top table, you and Alexia are sitting side by side, smiles plastered on your faces as endless speeches go on about how “they always knew you two would end up together” and how “Alexia used to be such a heartbreaker before she met you.” You’re listening, but only partially, because out of the corner of your eye, you spot Mapi making her way up to the table, weaving through guests with all the grace of a ninja.

She reaches Alexia first, the Polaroid palmed in her hand like she’s passing state secrets. “A little something from your bride,” Mapi murmurs, too quietly for anyone else to hear, sliding the photo under Alexia’s champagne flute before giving you a conspiratorial wink and melting back into the crowd.

Alexia looks down at the Polaroid, then at you. You give her your best innocent face, which is probably more mischievous than you intended. She raises an eyebrow but picks up the Polaroid anyway, keeping it just out of sight from the prying eyes of the table. You’ve angled your body toward her, ostensibly to hear the speeches better, but really to watch the precise moment when Alexia sees what’s in her hand.

It’s a shot of you from earlier this morning, topless with just the garters on, your lip caught between your teeth in a way that, if the lighting weren’t so flattering, could almost be described as goofy. The photographer, i.e. Jenni, had said something about “capturing the essence,” which apparently means trying to look seductive while fighting back a laugh.

Alexia’s eyes widen just the slightest bit. Her lips twitch, trying to suppress a smirk, and then she bites her lower lip—a move you know all too well. It’s her tell. The one that says, Oh, you’ve done it now.

But she’s got a room full of people waiting to see her reaction to her sister’s speech, so she has to keep it together. She clears her throat, sets the photo back down like it’s just a casual wedding program, and reaches for her champagne. But her hand’s shaking just enough to make the bubbles fizz a little more enthusiastically than usual.

You lean in, your lips barely brushing her ear, and whisper, “Enjoying the view?”

Her eyes snap to yours, and you can practically see the struggle as she forces herself to stay composed. “Are you trying to kill me?” she murmurs back, voice husky in that way that makes your stomach flip like a gymnast on Red Bull.

“Maybe,” you reply, your grin wicked. “Consider it a wedding gift”

Irene’s best woman speech is up next. She launches into a story about how Alexia once tried to cook for you and almost burned the kitchen down. Normally, Alexia would be red in the face, laughing and shaking her head, but right now, she’s got that Polaroid tucked under her leg, sneaking glances at it like it’s the last portion of Pan Con Tomate on earth.

You try to focus on the speech, but you’re too aware of the way her fingers keep creeping back to the photo, brushing it like she’s memorising the feel of it. Her breathing’s shallow, and when she turns to look at you again, there’s a heat in her eyes that could probably set off the sprinklers.

“You know,” she says, her voice a low murmur, “I’ve never been more grateful for tablecloths”

It takes everything in you not to burst out laughing. “I thought you’d appreciate it”

“I’m going to appreciate it later, believe me,” she mutters, a wicked glint in her eye. “But right now, I have to give a speech, and all I can think about is you in nothing but those garters”

You take a sip of your champagne, the bubbles tickling your nose as you try to keep a straight face. “Maybe that’s a good thing. Your speech will be memorable”

“It’ll be memorable because I’ll be stammering like an idiot,” she retorts, though the smile on her face says she’s not really that mad about it.

“Good,” you say, letting your hand brush against her thigh under the table, just enough to feel the goosebumps rise on her skin. “I like you when you’re flustered”

Her hand clamps down on yours, stopping you from going any further. “You are so lucky I love you”

“I know,” you reply, batting your eyelashes at her.

She takes a deep breath, clearly trying to pull herself together. You watch as she glances one last time at the Polaroid before tucking it safely into her pocket, giving you a look that promises payback later.

The rest of the speeches go by in a blur, and Alexia’s is as smooth and charming as ever, though you can see the faint flush on her cheeks, the way her eyes keep flicking to you like she’s trying to figure out how fast she can get you alone.

As soon as the last toast is made, she turns to you, her voice a little rough around the edges. “Bathroom. Now”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Whatever for?”

Her eyes narrow playfully. “You’re asking for trouble”

You lean in, lips brushing her ear, and whisper, “Good. I’m counting on it”

She grabs your hand, pulling you up from the table with a look that could melt steel. “You’re in so much trouble, Mrs. Putellas”

And as she drags you toward the exit, you can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing through the reception hall, turning a few heads but mostly just making you feel like the luckiest person alive.

Because really, who wouldn’t want to marry a woman who gets flustered over a Polaroid and calls you “Mrs. Putellas” like it’s both a promise and a challenge?

-

The bathroom door closes with a soft click, and Alexia’s hands are on you in an instant. The room is too small, too warm, and suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of everything—the rough edges of the sink against your back, the rustle of your wedding dress as Alexia’s fingers grip your waist, the rapid beat of your heart as her mouth finds yours.

You’re both still fully clothed, or nearly, but there’s something about that—the heat, the urgency, the sheer madness of trying to navigate all this fabric—that makes it even hotter. Her kiss is fierce, all tongue and teeth, like she’s trying to devour you whole. She’s never been particularly good at hiding how badly she wants you, but right now, it feels like she might actually lose it if she doesn’t have you right this second.

You pull back for air, breathless, and she’s already moving, her hands on your hips lifting you like you weigh nothing at all. “Up,” she mutters, and you don’t even have time to respond before she’s hoisting you onto the sink, your wedding dress bunching up awkwardly around your thighs. The skirt is a massive thing, all tulle and lace, and it spills over the counter like a waterfall, brushing the tiled floor in a soft whisper.

“Alexia,” you gasp, but it comes out half-laugh, half-moan as she shoves your legs apart, her hands rough but deliberate as they hike your dress up higher. There’s no room for subtlety here, not with the way she’s looking at you—eyes dark and ravenous, like she’s two seconds away from tearing through the fabric with her teeth.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” she murmurs, almost to herself, as she presses her face into the bare skin of your thigh, inhaling deeply. The contrast between the roughness of her actions and the reverence in her voice sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. You bite your lip, trying to keep it together, but she’s already got you half-undone and she hasn’t even really started.

You reach down, tangling your fingers in her hair, and she looks up at you, her eyes locking with yours, and the intensity of her gaze alone is enough to make your breath hitch. She grins, that wicked, lopsided grin that always makes your stomach flip, and then she’s nudging your legs even wider, her hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks.

“Keep quiet,” she warns, her voice low and dangerous, and before you can even think to argue, she’s pushing your underwear aside and pressing her mouth against you.

The first swipe of her tongue makes you see stars, and you have to bite down hard on your lip to keep from crying out. Her tongue moves in slow, deliberate circles, teasing you, building the heat inside you until you’re squirming against her, trying to get more, but she’s having none of it.

She’s torturing you, you realise, taking her time, drawing it out, because she knows you can’t make a sound, knows you’re trying so hard to keep quiet, and that’s exactly what she wants. Her fingers dig into your thighs, holding you in place as she works you over with her tongue, and all you can do is grab onto the edge of the sink, your knuckles white as you fight to keep your composure.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your voice eoigh and strained, but it’s enough to make her chuckle against you, the sound sending vibrations through your entire body.

You’re getting close now, your legs trembling as she speeds up, her tongue flicking against you with more urgency, more precision, and you can feel that familiar tension building in your core, winding tighter and tighter until you’re sure you’re going to snap. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your chest heaving, and you’re trying so hard to keep quiet, but it’s getting impossible because she’s just so good at this and you’re so close, so close—

And then she pulls back, her breath hot against your slick skin, and you actually whimper, the sound escaping before you can stop it. “Please,” you breathe, your voice shaking with need. “Alexia, please”

She looks up at you, her lips glistening, her eyes wild with lust, and there’s a wicked smile playing on her face. “Say it again,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with power, with dominance, and you know she’s not going to give you what you want until you do.

“Please,” you beg, because you’re barely holding together. “Please”

She makes a satisfied sound low in her throat, then leans back in, her mouth latching onto you with renewed intensity, her tongue moving faster, more focused, and it’s too much, you can’t hold on any longer. You bite down on your lip to stifle your cry, your body convulsing as the orgasm rips through you, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in her arms.

She doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until she’s wrung every last shudder from your body, and by the time she pulls back, you’re a panting, quivering mess, barely able to keep yourself upright on the sink.

She’s grinning up at you, looking impossibly smug, and it’s all you can do to glare at her weakly, trying to find some semblance of dignity. “You’re terrible,” you manage to say, though it lacks the conviction you were hoping for.

“Hmm,” she hums, clearly unconcerned by your accusation. She presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another, softer one to your hip, and the contrast between her earlier roughness and this sudden tenderness almost makes you want to cry. “But you love me anyway”

You can’t argue with that. You reach down, your fingers brushing her cheek, and she leans into your touch, her eyes softening just a little as she looks up at you. “I do,” you whisper, your voice still shaky from the aftershocks of your orgasm. “God help me, I really do”

She laughs at that, a warm, rich sound that makes your heart swell in your chest. Then she stands, pulling you into her arms, and you bury your face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of her.

“Think they noticed we were gone?” you mumble against her skin, your voice muffled.

“Definitely,” she replies, and you can feel her grin against your hair. “But I doubt they’ll care”

You pull back, just enough to look at her, and she leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “We should get back,” she says when she finally pulls away, though neither of you make any move to leave.

“Yeah,” you agree, your voice tinged with reluctance. You glance down at your dress, now a little rumpled but still intact, and give her a wry smile. “You think anyone will say something?”

“Not a chance,” she replies, her voice full of that easy confidence you love so much. She brushes a stray strand of hair out of your face, her touch feather-light. “But even if they do, I don’t think they’ll want to know“

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, and press one last kiss to her lips before finally, reluctantly, slipping off the sink and adjusting your dress. Alexia helps you smooth out the wrinkles, her hands lingering on your waist longer than necessary, and when you’re finally presentable, she takes your hand in hers, lacing your fingers together.

“Ready?” she asks, her voice warm and full of love.

“Ready,” you reply, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

[mentally-gone002]

lovers in the night

summary: steve sneaks into his girlfriends room at night in secret so that they can be together.

steve harrington x henderson!f!reader. secret relationship!!!!

can be read in its own, or with this part 2 here, and part 3 here

a/n: reader is dustin’s sister so obvi. she’s gonna have like curly hair but no color is specified. also i L O V E a good henderson!reader with steve!! like idk why but it’s just a great pair since steve and dustin are already my fav duo in the show!! i love them sm😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

———————————————————————

cicadas buzzed endlessly beyond the open window and cotton curtains swished back and forth like a chest heaving with slow breaths along with the late night wind. 

goosebumps rose on her bare arms as she sat with her back against her bed frame on the carpeted floor, slowly flicking through a book that dustin had forced into her hands earlier that day. it was actually really good, not that she didn’t trust her brother’s judgement on literature or anything, but some books he has lent her had been not worth the read. she should’ve read this earlier.

“hey,” a sharp whisper broke her focus on the words across the page and her eyes flew to the door. it was still closed. her eyes went back to the page, only to be interrupted by quiet tapping on glass. 

she turned her head and grinned widely at the barely visible sight of steve behind the glass. “what’re you doing here?” she hissed, still sporting a smile while she got up to place her book on her nightstand and then stand on her mattress and slide the window open wider. steve didn’t answer as he hoisted himself through the window which was far above the ground. he grunted and then fell through the window to land on his back on her bed, making her step back on the mattress with her hands covering her mouth to suppress a laugh. 

he sat up, huffing a little and pushing back his chestnut hair from his forehead as he watched her sit down beside him. “i missed you.” he answered and his hand snaked to hold the back of her neck, pulling her forward into a soft kiss. 

she laughed softly into it. “you saw me a few hours ago.” she whispered, trying to hint that they needed to be quiet. 

its been months they’ve been together and nobody knew that they were dating… yet. she was worried about how dustin would react, along with everyone else in his party; partially because they didn’t like steve until a few months ago. steve agreed with her, with some shock due to the fact that her brother and his friends only just started to like him, but wished he didn’t have to wait until they were alone to be as close as he wanted with her. 

steve shook his head slightly, honeyed eyes holding hers in an intimate stare. “i know, but we weren’t alone.” his fingers gently tangled in the hair on the back of her neck. “sorry dustin booted you to the backseat by the way.”

she chuckled at the remembrance. “it’s okay, he rides shotgun in my moms car too.” her voice was filled with fondness. “what isn’t okay is dustin almost catching us!” she whispered through a toothy grin because she can’t help but feel all giddy at the rush of secrecy with him. 

“well, what can i say? you looked really pretty.” steve whispers, leaning close to capture her lips with his again. he felt his heart race under his ribs the longer he kissed her.

she pulled away. “you can say ‘i’m sorry i almost jeopardized our secret relationship. it won’t happen again.’ or something like that.” her smile showed how she was teasing him while she spoke. 

steve shook his head, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “it won’t happen again.” he repeated back with a cheeky smile, playing along with her. 

she smiled back and brushed her curls back from her eyes. “good.” 

steve lolled his head to the side so he could just keep looking at her. he liked how her hair looked right now; it was all wild because she took it out of its previous style from earlier and didn’t seem to have tamed it. “how are you?” he wondered. 

she looked away from his eyes with an accompanied smile. her eyes landed on dustin’s book on the edge of her nightstand. “good. just enjoying the night, y’know?” she shrugged a little with a small grin. “dustin lent me a book earlier.” her eyes found steve’s again.

steve nodded and laid down on his back, stretching his arms above his head so that his hands bumped the wall. she stared at where his shirt had ridden up, the soft skin of his stomach was on display. “what’s it about?” he asked, looking over at where she was still sitting up. 

her body slowly settled beside steve’s before she answered. her head was resting on his chest. “it’s about a bunch of fantasy people going on an adventure.”

“is it the hobbit?” steve lifted his head a little to gaze down at her face turned on its side.

she looked up at him when he named the book just based from her description of it. “yeah, have you-“ a knock on her bedroom door had them both jumping in surprise to sit up.

“hey,” it was dustin. “can i come in?” he asked, voice slightly muffled by the door. 

steve looked at her and she put her index finger over her lips before pointing to her bed, intending for him to get under it. he did as she silently told him to do before she left walked to the door and opened it. “what’re you doing up this late?” she rubbed her hand to her eye, giving dustin the impression that he woke her up. he didn’t seem guilty as he walked passed her and into her bedroom, going to her closet and opening the doors. 

steve swallowed thickly, glad he didn’t hide there. it would’ve been cliche and embarrassing.

“i’m looking for batteries. my walkie died.” dustin explained, walking to look at the things littering the top of his sisters dresser after not finding any batteries. “jesus, why do you have so much jewelry?” he asked, lifting up a glass dish housing her rings. 

“i don’t have batteries, dustin.” she sighed and let her eyes slip to steve’s hiding place while dustin’s back was still to her. “why don’t you have spares anyway?” 

dustin faced her with a seemingly exhausted sigh. “i did, until i used them all. there’s been a lot going on, in case you forgot about the upside down.” he sassed with a tone. 

she rolled her eyes at him and gave her own exhausted sigh. “i didn’t, and like i said before, i don’t have batteries.” her eyes once again flashed down to the gap under her bed when she thought she heard steve shift or move around. 

dustin looked with her in confusion. “are you hiding a demo-dog?” he joked lightly. “why do you keep looking down there?” he stepped closer to her bed and she stiffened. 

“something probably just fell from how it was weirdly placed. you know… gravity.” nervous laughter ended her sentence. dustin cast her a look saying ‘you’re lying’ all over his face. he got down onto the floor on his hands and knees so that he could look under her bed. “dustin! get out of my room!” she hissed, kneeling on the floor beside him and tried, and failed, to moved him. 

he was too far into his investigation to be told what to do. he moved a box or two aside and then paused, redrawing his hand. “steve? what the hell are you doing under my sisters bed?” he asked, almost too loud. steve smiled with his teeth awkwardly and crawled out from under the bed to sit beside his (secret) girlfriend. dustin’s eyes traveled to his sister. “did you know he’s here?” 

she nodded. “yeah, he’s been here for a while.” her hand lifted to settle on steve’s shoulder. that was her way of silently telling him that it’s gonna play out fine. “why are you such a snoop?” that question was directed at dustin of course, who scoffed and stood up. 

“i’m not. i was checking for monsters so i don’t wake up tomorrow and find you dead.” he widened his eyes and shrugged, as if his reason was obvious from the start. he walked to the door after receiving nothing but an eye roll and her forceful ushering out oh her bedroom. “oh, and don’t like… do stuff.” he made a disgusted face at the thought. 

steve laughed with his hands over his face. he was still sitting on the floor. “we aren’t together, henderson.” steve covered. 

he nodded with half lidded eyes. “sure. and why would you be hiding under her bed then?” 

steve shrugged. “didn’t want the interaction with the other henderson. one’s enough.” 

she slapped the side of his head after she’d walked back to stand beside where he sat. her lips were pinned into a smile. “asshole.” 

dustin rolled his eyes and walked out of the room. “just be quiet.” and then he shut the door. 

steve stood up after the door shut and pulled her into him in a hug, still laughing slightly. “my hearts beating so fast.” he panted. “he knows.” 

“oh, he most definitely knows.” she nodded, pulling away. “might as well come out and tell them, but he’ll beat us to it with his radio system.” a shrug came from her shoulders. 

steve pursed his lips with a hum and a nod. “how much you wanna bet the group has bet on us?” he wondered. 

she blew out a breath in exasperation at the thought. “i can already see them all exchanging money with stupid smiles.” her gentle laughter filled the room. 

————————————————————————

dustin didn’t knock before he opened his sisters bedroom door the following morning, and he wasn’t surprised to see that steve was still there. 

steve was flush against her as they both slept on well through the morning, his arms were wound tightly around her waist to keep her from moving away. 

dustin only shook his head with a sigh and maybe the smallest smile before leaving the two alone. he wasn’t going to tell the party about it, not until his sister was ready to because he respects her. but the party does already think that steve and her are together, so it won’t come as a shock. 

he’ll let him sleep a bit longer before he interrupts the peace. 

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

HI SWEETIE I HAVE A REQUEST!! i hope you dont mind!

so, bucky and f!reader, maybe married and they have a baby together. after that time of recovery reader is a bit shy of her own body cause it's been a while since they did it and she isnt back at her pre-pregnancy weight and bucky is absolutely like mind blown by her beauty? like, nearly drooling? and please can you add body worship on this?

i seriously hope it's okay for you, but if it's not please ignore this!

HII BBY!! I love love love it. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

DEFLECTION.

​bucky barnes x fem!reader (married & parents) — comfort

word count. 1031

disclaimer. the hair colour and type has no significance to the writing. the gif just suits the theme of this fic. also please read the ask carefully

Only a few short months ago, you gave birth to a healthy baby girl - a daughter you shared with your husband, Bucky. Very quickly she became the sole focus of your attention, neither of you having much time to do anything like you used to. 

Consequently, your sex life had taken a hit, and not because of the significant decrease in quality time, but instead something far more complex.

So far, motherhood has been a slight struggle to adjust to - the differences in your life between then and now are almost stark. You've been trying to adapt to all the changes that come with it, the main being your new body. You've been feeling shy and insecure with your new shape, often feeling like the weight will never drop off to what you looked like before.

It was hard to digest the change.

You were in the bathroom to freshen up, your eyes looking back at you in the mirror almost pitifully - your gaze travelling down, honing in on your stomach through your once baggy tee.

"They're here," Bucky calls from the other room, his voice putting a hold on the thoughts in your mind.

You step out of the bathroom, meeting your husband and daughter by the front door, a pink baby bag slung over his shoulder.

He notices the downcast direction of your eyes, seeing the way you tried to pull away from his attention. "Everything okay?" he asks you, rocking his little girl in his arms, bouncing her when she makes a noise.

You hum, walking closer to say goodbye to your baby - running a finger over her soft cheek. 

He doesn't believe you, though he waits for it to be just the two of you before he can question it. He doesn't want to create a situation before your parents arrive to pick up your daughter. They offered to have her for a few hours to give you both some respite.

The second the door closes, and it's just the two of you again, he turns to look at you - his brows curled up inquisitively.

"Now, what's really going on?" he asks, referring to all those times you shut yourself off from him - primarily that one a few minutes ago.

You turn away, heading to the kitchen to get a drink. "Going on with what?" you deflect, trying to avoid the topic.

He follows you, standing behind you at the sink - his arms wrapping around your middle, chin resting over your shoulder. 

But he's too close to where you don't want him, so you flinch at his touch, moving his hands away from your tummy and stretching the hem of your top - pulling on the fabric.

Bucky rips his hands from you, your avoidance of his touch making things whirl in his mind. "You don't like that anymore?" he asks, stepping aside to face the side of you.

"I do... just— just not right now," you reply, taking a quick sip of water before moving across the kitchen - heading towards the fridge. "Tired, feel gross," you shrug, trying to ease the tension you accidentally created. 

"That's not it," he softly shakes his head, eyes focused on you even though every glance goes unreciprocated. "It's something else."

"Just need a nap and shower," you partially lie, pulling out two apples, handing him one.

He doesn't accept your attempt at deflection, instead turning it down. "No, it's something else," he continues, his eyes glued to the side of your face. "And you're afraid of saying it."

"I'm not," you softly protest, voice quiet.

"So it is something else," he mutters, the unknown confession of you making things easier for him, harder for you.

You're cornered. You sigh and nod faintly, closing the door of the fridge. 

"What is it? Please talk to me," he reaches for your hand, fingers wrapping themselves around yours. "It's just the two of us, no distractions... what's been going on?"

"It's hard to get used to," you start, pausing to think of what to say next.

"What is? Being a mom?" he asks, noticing your focused gaze on the baby stuff on the counter. 

You nod, pausing once more. "Not just that," you exhale, shrugging. "Everything's changed."

"With us?" he asks, hand tightening in yours. 

"With me," you correct, looking down at your hand in his. "I've changed, and I'm not used to it... I don't like it."

"How have you changed?" he questions, trying to prompt more answers from you. 

"My body has," you softly reply, trying not to squirm at your confession. "My boobs, tummy, my hair. The weight is taking longer to come off than I thought, and I feel— I feel like a..." you go quiet, not wanting to finish your sentence.

However, Bucky's not done coaxing words from you. His face softens when you finally meet his gaze, his features inviting and knowing. "Feel like a what?" he whispers.

"I don't know," you shrug again.

"'You are not your thoughts'," he says, reciting those words you've said to him countless times after his nightmares. Though now he's repurposing them to someone else who needs them, you. "I repeat that saying in my head all the time. Do you know who taught me that?" he asks, his gaze honing in on you - trying to stop you from looking away.

"Me," you whisper. 

"That's right," he nods, bringing his spare hand to cup your cheek. "You need to use that same kindness to yourself. And right now," he starts, pressing a kiss into your lips. "You have never looked more beautiful to me."

You softly frown, the rest of your features relaxing.

"Your body gave us a daughter," he smiles. "You made her. You may or may not get your ‘old body back.’ But the one you have now is perfect too.”

"Thank you," your voice cracks, the sweet words of your lover soothing all the doubts in your mind. You envelop him in an embrace, arms hugging around him in the ways you've recently longed for. "I mean it."

His arms wrap around you just as tight, one hand running up your spine. "So do I.”

[featherandferns]

gamble (alternative ending)

after some feedback from the original fic, I've decided to share the original ending to gamble that I had to change/cut because of Tumblr's post-size policies!

gamble - a jj maybank x fem!kook!reader 22k word fic - can be read here!

BBBRRRINNNGGGG. BBBRRRINNNGGGG. 

You startle awake, shooting up in bed like you’ve been electrocuted. It’s one of those feelings when you don’t remember where you are or when you fell asleep. As you rub at your eyes and let them focus on your surroundings, illuminated by the soft glow of your bedside lamp through the darkness, you remember. You’re in your bed, in your room. Your mom must have left you to sleep after you nodded off, finally at some semblance of peace to get some rest. The sleep you fell into was dreamless and well-needed. 

BBBRRRINNNGGGG. 

Blindly reaching for your vibrating phone, you squint at the bright screen and make out Kie’s contact picture and name. You swipe to answer. 

“Hello?” you mumble, half-asleep. 

“Hey! Can you hear me okay?”

“Yeah,” you yawn, rubbing at your eyes again. “What time is it?”

“I don’t remember. Like ten, maybe? Eleven?”

“Hmngh.”

“Are you busy?”

“Not really,” you sleepily reply. 

“I think you need to come over,” Kiara says. Something about her tone has you awake like a shot of espresso. You push the covers down off you. 

“Is everything okay?”

She sighs and that does little to ease your worries. “Look, I know you and JJ are in a bit of a fight-thing right now - I don’t know, maybe that’s why he’s acting the way he is, at least partially but–”

“Kie? What’s going on?” you interrupt. 

“I just…” She sighs again, then finally says, “I just think JJ really needs you right now.”

“I’m on my way,” you reply, hanging up. You climb out of bed and don’t bother getting dressed past pulling on a sweatshirt. The clothes on your body are three days old; you changed once since the conversation with JJ. A pair of mac and cheese stained sweatpants and an old tank top. Ranger wakes as you make your way down the stairs and you decide to let him join. It’s disorientating as you sneak out the house into darkness, considering that you fell asleep in the daylight. The two of you load into your car and you’re leaving your house in record time. In the rearview mirror you check your hair and cuss, trying to smooth it down. Your skin is makeup free and body empty of jewellery, save from the bracelet that twins JJ’s. It makes you feel somewhat naked. As if he heard the whole conversation, Ranger whines from the passenger seat. You murmur reassurances and pet his head as you drive down the deserted roads. The Chateau beams into sight from your headlights. But there’s something else. Some other light, bright and illuminating, from the yard that wasn’t there before. You park your car and climb out, Ranger quick to follow, and walk into the yard. Your eyes widen as they land on a hot tub. 

“What…the…fuck?”

“Oh, thank God,” Kiara exhales in relief, appearing in the doorway of the porch. She rushes down to you and wraps you in a hug, and you’re happy to return it. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t want to get involved in whatever it is going on with you and JJ, and I never really know if we’re friends or just circumstance friends but–”

“Kie! It’s fine, it’s fine,” you interrupt with a small laugh, a tad concerned. You pull apart, hands on her shoulders, to meet her gaze. Your smile melts with unease, eyes heavy with worry. “What’s going on? Is JJ okay?”

She sighs and shakes her head. She takes a step away from you and rubs at her head. “He got in a fight with his dad. Some stuff went down after you two had your…talk. I don’t know…It might just be better to ask him.”

You purse your lips and nod slowly, contemplatively. 

“He’s inside,” Kiara tells you. With that, you make your way up the porch stops. At the front door, you falter and stop. Would he even want to see you? Was this somehow breaking the rules of your ‘non-break’; not giving him the space he needs to think and function away from you? You recount the past three days of your side of the non-break. How you’ve spent them hiding in your bed, crying at the oddest moments, feeling the lack of JJ’s company like you lost a limb. Ranger rubs at your leg, whining, and you decide to trust your gut. If he wants you to leave, all he has to do is say, but you’re certain Kiara wouldn’t call for just any old thing. 

The spare bedroom door is shut. Ranger whines and whines and scratches at the door. Your hands wrap around the handle and you take a steady breath in. The rickety handle creaks as you slowly push it open, the hinges protesting loudly. One of your hands leans down to grab at Ranger’s collar to keep him by your heel. On the bed is JJ, slumped as he sits, his back to the door. 

“Kie, I told you to jus’ leave me alone, a’right? I’m fine,” he mumbles. His voice is thick like he’s been crying. You swallow. 

“It’s not Kiara,” you quietly confess. JJ whips around. His lips part and eyes gape and he stares at you as you stand awkwardly in the doorway. You probably look just as much of a mess; days-old clothing, unruly hair, make-up free and irritated skin. Funnily enough, a diet of purely Reese’s Pieces is not the best for keeping spots and blemishes at bay. 

“What are you doing here?” he says in a tone that you can’t quite decipher. 

“Kiara called me,” you reply, shrugging as you add, “she’s worried about you and thought I should come over.”

“Oh, uh, right.”

His head slumps and he stares at the blanket atop of his bed. You purse your lips and feel the awkwardness and unease consume your entire body. Contemplating leaving, you glance behind you, into the silent hallway. But then Ranger somehow manages to slip from your hold. He races over to JJ like a rescue dog in the mountains, clambering onto the bed, ambushing JJ. He laughs at the onslaught of slobbery kisses, letting Ranger imitate a lap dog. His fingers scratch into the coarse fun on Ranger’s neck and he chuckles. 

“I missed you too, boy,” he murmurs. You smile at the sight. JJ glances over at you. 

“I figured you might need a puppy-pick-me-up. He missed you like crazy.” You then take a shaky breath as you go on to admit, “we both did.”

A look flashes across JJ’s face then. His smile lessens as if in thought, and he nods. “I missed you too.”

“I can leave if you want me to leave,” you tell him. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“No,” JJ blurts, quick like a cat running from a loud bang. “No, don’t���don’t leave. Please.”

You nod. You’d stay forever if he asked you to. You’re not sure there’s many things JJ could ask of you that you’d protest to. Closing the door behind you, you wander over to the bed and sit sort of opposite to him, on the side nearest the door. Ranger settles half laid in JJ’s lap, appeased now that he’s in the company of perhaps his favourite person in the world. Your eyes survey JJ’s face for new injuries and am relieved to find none. The old have healed completely now too, thank God. That’s a relief at least. He’s unharmed. Or so you thought.

“Do you, uh…Do you remember when we went fishing, just last week? I don’t know, it feels like a lifetime ago now but…” you cut yourself off nervously with a laugh. JJ nods vaguely. “D’you remember what I said to you?”

“That you’re an armed woman, now?” JJ wonders, quirking a brow, that cute, playful smile trying to break out. 

You laugh quietly, shortly, and dip your head for a moment. “Not just that though. D’you remember that I told you that you can always tell me anything, and that I’m always gonna be on your side?” 

JJ nods again. 

“It’s kinda ironic cause I think that’s when you started putting up these walls,” you say. Another small breath in and then you continue, “and I don’t blame you for it, JJ. In fact, I think I understand it.”

His brows tug together, unclear, and you’re not sure you’ve ever known him to be this quiet before. 

“I can’t relate to you, JJ. I have my own struggles with trivial kind of stuff but I don’t know real struggle. Not like you do. So, I don’t blame you. I mean, why would you let a rich, stook-up Kook into that?”

“I ain’t mean it like–”

“--No, no, I’m not mad. I’m not saying that to be all ‘woe is me’ or whatever. I mean it. Like…I get it,” you interrupt, fighting to hold his eyesight. “It just hurts, y’know? Cause the thing is, I love you. I love you no matter what. No matter the ‘bad decisions’ and the stupid choices, like the Midsummer’s fiasco or whatever. But I can’t love you, JJ, if I don’t know you. If I don’t know these things about you. I don’t like being left on the outside. It makes me feel like I don’t matter to you, and I don’t know if I can take that feeling, y’know?”

JJ licks his lips nervously and clears his throat. He nods, glances around the room, uncomfortable by your candidness. JJ doesn't come from a place where conversations like these were encouraged or common and so, as if to reassure, your hand finds his on the blanket. You softly envelope it with your warmth. He stares at that small gesture for a long while. 

“I just don’t want you to think less of me,” JJ confesses quietly. “I’m a scumbag, a’right? I make dumbass choices and get myself into dumbass situations and I’m not good for you.”

“Yes, you are, JJ. You’re a good person.”

“No, I ain’t,” he quickly dismisses, meeting your gaze once more. And he means that. It hurts you so bad because he means it. “I ain’t a good person.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re a good person to me, okay? I don’t care about all that other noise–”

“--Well, you should, alright?” JJ snaps, losing his tether. His hand slips from your comfort to flail out into the air in a wild gesture. “I mean, Jesus! I just fuckin’ robbed a drug dealer and blew the money on a hottub, for Christ’s sake - and you’re sitting here telling me I’m a good person?”

You look down with that. JJ catches his anger and sighs, shakes his head, disappointed. “I’m sorry, I just…This is what I mean. I can’t let you get that close to me.”

“I get it,” you mutter. “You don’t love me, JJ, that’s okay. That’s not your fault.”

“No, hey - what? I never said I don’t love you.”

“You never tell me that you do,” you whisper, eyes stinging with tears yet again. You look at him and offer him a shaky smile. “I don’t want to force someone to be with me, JJ.”

“I don’t want you to tie yourself to me,” JJ out-right states. As if surprised by his own truthfulness, he’s spurred on. “I don’t want you to say you’re okay with these things now and then look around in three months time or whatever, and realise just what a fuck-up you’re with.”

“I’m never gonna think that,” you tell him. “I’m never gonna think you’re a fuck-up.”

JJ looks unsure of whether to believe you or not. Your hand finds his again, the other landing on his thigh. “I mean it, JJ. I’m in love with you. I don’t care what batshit, crazy stuff you get yourself involved in, as long as I’m in it too. I’m in, okay? All of it. I’m in. You just gotta stop shutting me out, yeah?"

JJ shakes his head slowly. But he’s easing up, coaxing open like a conker from its spiky shell. His tone is joking, lighter like buttercream, as he says, “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” you say, smiling sweetly. “But I’m your baby.” 

He smiles at that. 

“So, will you tell me? All of it? Please,” you request.

And he does.

It’s hard at first, like he’s forcing the words out syllable by syllable, but then it gets easier. The stories. The reasons. The motives. It starts with the hurricane - hurricane Agatha - and then with the white boat that they found. That’s where he got that gun - the same gun that you used to save him from Rafe and Topper - and you distantly recall his story. Then bits and pieces continue to crop up surrounding the Royal Merchant: the compass, the package…Then comes the grocery run and the jump on Pope, and the revenge. How Pope sank the boat, not JJ. That’s when the scruff up happened at the outdoor theatre, with you wielding the gun and saving their asses. Soon after came the arrest, originally intended for Pope but JJ gladly taking the fall. The pictures in the interrogation room of those men, bludgeoned and killed with a fishing spear before being left for shark bait. How JJ was terrified of that happening to John B but, more importantly, of it happening to you. First Rafe's ever-looming threat over your head and now this, and JJ felt like it was all because of him.

So he started to shut you out of it. Wanted to keep you at arms length. You couldn't get wrapped up in the Royal Merchant madness if you knew nothing about it.

"Cause I have to keep you safe," JJ mumbles, gazing into your eyes. "You're the most important thing in the world t'me, y'know? If something happened to you...and it was because of me..."

His voice trails off as if he can't bare the thought. Your heart swells. You squeeze his hand reassuringly and it prompts him to go on. JJ returns to the story. To how his dad beat him when he came to pick him up, and that’s why he was black-and-blue when he came to your house for dinner with your parents. God, if only you knew. After, with Midsummers, with John B dating Sarah Cameron (hence the secret note) and the meet-up at Rixon’s surrounding the Royal Merchant and the gold. How you weren’t invited because above everything else, JJ had to keep you safe. Then, they found it. They actually found the gold, under the Crain house, and they were going to be rich. Stinking, fucking, stupid rich. That brought them to today.

“So we melt the gold down,” JJ recounts, petting Ranger’s sleeping head. “And go to this pawn shop, a’right, way up town in like dodge-ville. I’m the one who’s gotta pawn this hunk of crap ‘cause I’m the best at bullshitting, so I go in and spin this whole yarn about my dementia-crazed mom or some shit. The pawn broker sends us out to the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, and we get jumped by this random guy with a gun. He held it to our heads and made us give up the gold, but John B got the upper hand, right? You following? And I lost my shit, okay? Like things just felt…With you and the whole ‘break that isn’t a break’ thing, and the gun…I lost me shit, and I wanted to get even. An eye for an eye and all that crap - I mean, you know, you’ve read the bible. So we go to his shitty ass trailer and I steal the twenty-K that I owe for that boat Pope sank. But the others weren’t, uh…they weren’t super cool with that, so I went off alone, a’right? Cause I don’t need anybody but me, yeah? And I go to my dad and give him the money to settle up with the cops. But…But he don’t wanna do that. So this whole…thing starts and…”

JJ loses his momentum. His lower lip starts to tremble and this infuriates him. Huffing, he presses his hand over his mouth. You frown, worried, brows so closely knit they might as well be one. A shuddering breath that’s so deeply unfamiliar to hear in JJ lets slip. A tear trickles tellingly down his cheek. 

“Oh, JJ,” you murmur. 

“I nearly fuckin’ killed him,” JJ gasps. More tears fall. He stares you down as he repeats, “I nearly fuckin’ killed him and I-- I just couldn’t take it anymore, y'know? I couldn’t take it–”

You throw your arms around his shoulders and pull his shivering body into you. JJ rests his head on your shoulder, burying his face in your collarbone, and he sobs. Your own eyes well at the feeling of his pain leaking onto you, and you press your nose against the collar of his shirt, breathing in the only smell that can bring you calm. Your own personal brand of nicotine. His arms raise to cradle your back, holding you close just as you do him, and you let him cry. With every tear, it’s as though another brick has been pulled free from the walls he’s been building in the past two short weeks.  

Even when the headfirst sadness has passed, you hold him. It’s safe here, in this corner of the world, once again lapped in moonbeams and darkness. 

“I do love you,” JJ says against your skin. His breath is warm as it fans across the flesh. “It’s jus’...my family, we didn’t do the whole talking thing. I’m not used to really tellin’ anybody anything, let alone how I feel. It’s easy enough saying it to my friends but with you, like that…It scares the crap outta me.”

“Why?” you breathe, pulling back to be able to meet his gaze. Your head shakes as you gently say, “why is it so hard when I say it to you all the time? You know I’m never gonna turn you away or shoot you down for saying it.”

“I don't’ know,” JJ admits. “I don’t know, I guess I just have this thing that tells me I shouldn’t ever tell anybody.”

“In case you ever want to take it back?” you wonder. 

JJ swallows thickly like taking medicine. He shakes his head. His eyes look so sad you could weep. 

“No. In case you ever want me to.”

Lips parting, something clicks in your head. You think about the past two weeks. How your parents welcomed JJ into their house with open arms, whereas JJ is lucky if he can stay in his for a week without a blow-up. How you lean into your mom for comfort, whereas JJ can only find that in the bottom of a bottle. You’d only ever been met with love and grace and forgiveness. JJ? He knew betrayal and abandonment and disdain. You said you understood before, the first time he told you that he loved you, way back after the fight at the outdoor movie, but you didn’t. Not until now. 

“I drove past your house everyday, y’know?” JJ mumbles. “I wanted to call you so bad but I know you wanted this space and that I'd already fucked it up with the whole Ashley thing. I don't know...I guess I just didn't wanna push you. But I wanted to come over, so bad.”

A laugh bubbles up your throat and you can’t swallow it back. Shaking your head, you admit, “I thought about you everyday.”

JJ smiles, then starts to laugh under breath. “Wow. We’re really good at this, huh?��

“You should’ve come over,” you tell him, a teasing smile on your lips. “That’s what the guys do in the movies.”

He scoffs, shaking his head, grinning. “Now that just ain’t fair!”

The two of you sit in your laughter. It’s heavy like it holds stones in the pockets, but with each giggle you feel yourself becoming lighter. When the humour dies down, the two of you are left with sated smiles, gazing at one another. But JJ’s smile begins to fade. That same look of sorrow comes over his face. 

“I don’t wanna lose you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I shut you out. I just...I just never wanna lose you.”

You shake your head. “You’re not gonna lose me, JJ.” 

“You promise?”

“On Ranger’s life,” you say with a flicker of humour. He smiles, small, and nods. His hair is still damp and sits sticky on his forehead. 

“I should’ve told you about Ashley. I thought I was maybe saving you, or somethin’, by not but…You deserve to know. You’re entitled to know,” he affirms. “I’ll tell you anything you want. I swear.”

“I don’t need to know about the others, JJ,” you reply, meaning every word. Your hand squeezes his tightly. “I trust you.”

Both of your gazes drift down to your interlocked hands. On yours and JJ's wrists sit your handmade bracelets; the beads of your initials press against one another as if embracing. 

“Fuck,” JJ breathes out in a dying laugh. “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

Your head darts up. The words hang themselves in your head like bunting. A girlish, giddy smile breaks out on your lips. JJ begins to mirror it. 

“You do?” you giggle. 

His head bumps against yours. The smell of chlorine and prosecco comes and goes like the tide. Your lips want to chase his but something keeps you at bay, waiting for him. You found him first: now it was his turn to find you. 

“I can’t promise that I’m not gonna keep fuckin’ things up. But you came into my life and fuckin' turned my world of grey into colour. And I don't...I don't know if I can see those kinda things without you."

And somehow, someway, that's deeper than 'I love you'.

"Promise to let me in, now?"

Despite your closed eyes, you can see JJ's smile clear as day.

"I promise. You're officially a Pogue."

JJ’s lips find yours like a migrating bird returning home, and you feel as though you can finally breathe right for the first time in three days. Your fingers slip into his hair, combing through the strands, and JJ’s palms and fingers caress across your figure, as if tracing your body back into his mind. 

And as the two of you kiss, you realise that this was all it ever had to be. It was never that complicated, never that layered, because all that mattered was JJ. Wonderfully, recklessly-imperfect, Pogue through-and-through JJ. 

[incorrectbatfam]

Types of obnoxious batfam stans

Written by an obnoxious batfam stan

Not really a rant but something I've noticed over the years interacting in different spaces and I've decided to make your problem now.

Please note that I'm not saying there's any "right" way to be a fan because we all suck by virtue of being comic nerds, but there are certain kinds of batfamily fans that stick out to be in particular.

Anywho, here are 12 kinds of annoying batfam stans that you've probably run into and you better get a laugh out of it *points gun to your head*.

1) The Newbies Who Never Heard of Google

There's no shame in being new to something. It's a phase that we're all guaranteed to go through, whether we're 11 or 101. However, in this day and age, so many things can be easily googled that you don't need to shout every question you have into the VVorld VVide VVoid. If you need comic recs or a reading list, google it. If you wanna know a character's origin story, google it. If you need to know the color of Batman's underpants in a particular issue in 1965... well that's probably too specific for Google but Reddit will definitely have an answer.

2) The Middle School Authors

Before the 13-year-olds get up in my notes, I'm not saying everyone that age writes like this. Middle school is a state of mind. These fanfic writers usually stand out in a few ways.

They're oftentimes first-person POV or reader-insert. Give Y/N a break, she's tired.

The grammar is stunningly atrocious. I get if you're inexperienced or if you're writing in a second language, but we are in the prime era of autocorrect. If you need help, it's right there. Also, fuck c*nsoring b*d w*rds and fuck "unalive."

The characters do things that are out-of-character because the author is projecting their own personality. Bruce Wayne is a lot of things but he does not listen to the fucking Mountain Goats.

There's a lack of experience or research when it comes to certain topics. That's not how physics works. He can't walk that injury off. And that's definitely NOT how you do the horizontal hokey pokey.

3) The Neckbeards

Unfortunately, these basement-dwelling mouth-breathers tainted the image of what a comic fan is, though that's been changing recently. Still, we've all seen them. They gatekeep via pop quizzes, 'cause obviously you're not a real fan unless you know what page 10 of Batman #138 smells like. They give unsolicited commentary on people's cosplays, nitpicking the guys and being gross toward women. And heaven forbid the comics add a little diversity.

4) The Moviegoers

Nothing inherently wrong with getting into the fandom via the movies, nor is there anything wrong with sticking to that. I just feel like we're two different species of Galapagos finches, you know?

5) The Christopher Nolans

Separate from casual fans of the Nolan movies. I'm calling them the Christopher Nolans because these people have a tendency to reach for the grimdarkest thing possible. It's like they cannot fathom Batman having any other emotions besides punching and gargoyle brooding.

6) The Canon Purists

Wanna share a fun headcanon? NO, because Stephanie Brown never used cherry lip balm in the comics so therefore that must be the absolute truth. These people are a stickler for comic accuracy to the point where it's like... why bother interacting with the fandom in the first place? The worst part is when they're adamant on following a single continuity and refuse to consider anything else. This is comics we're talking about. Everything either has been or will be canon at some point.

7) The Fanon Worshippers

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have the people who base their entire perception of the characters on something either they pulled out of their ass or that their mutual with 16 followers came up with, despite evidence directly contradicting it. I love WFA, but I feel like that's partially responsible for further perpetuating certain popular myths. Also, these fans tend to focus solely on the batfam/their ships. It's one thing to have some people in the foreground vs. background, but put some respect to Bart Allen's name you goddamn cheesecakes.

8) The Golden Age Dads

These guys aren't really obnoxious. I actually find it kind of cute how they think Jason Todd is still dead.

9) The Chronically Online

I have a rule of thumb when it comes to discourse: if it's not something I'd hear about at a bar, it's not worth my mental energy. Some people haven't gotten the memo, though.

These are either the well-intentioned but misinformed teenagers or grown-ass adults beefing with children because they don't have a life. They have takes that are oversimplified, rage-inducing, TikTok algorithm attention-grabbers that no one cares about in real life.

Don't get me wrong, we've got a bunch of issues in comics and fandom that are worth discussing. However, there comes a point where you're splitting hairs and need to go the fuck outside. I'm not gonna link the post 'cause I don't wanna call them and their 7 notes out, but the other week I saw someone saying Stephcass was a racist ship because something something colonialism parallel. You gotta be Elastigirl to have that kind of reach.

10) The Corporate Simps

I love comics. I appreciate the writers and artists. However, you will find my carcass in a ditch before you catch me licking the boots of DC/Warner Bros. Basically, these fans, fewer as they are, can't seem to fathom that their favorite franchise can (and does) put out some steaming motherfucking garbage.

11) The Hot Cosplayers

Not actually annoyed, I'm just a little jealous. Stop being hotter than me, please and thank you.

12) The One With A Punchline For Everything

Wait–

[trippinsorrows]

I feel like this is another multiverse type question. But say Solana wasn’t in the situation she was in and Roman was very much so attracted to her as he is now. How do you think Roman would have approached her ?

this is such an interesting question!

hmmm.

under the read more cause this got longer than i intended lol

roman was bored, ready to go. functions were never his thing. he always attended out of obligation and necessity. never want. and considering he's been present for an hour, he more than feels he's done what he needed to do.

he pulls out his phone to text paul to have the car pulled for him, ready for his wise man to foolishly try to convince him to stay when a body collides into him.

soft is one of the first things to hit him followed by a sweet, vanilla almond scent that's more than pleasing to all of his senses. his arm naturally reaches to brace the person who collided with him, a person he right away knows is a woman, both by the soft curves of her body but also the fragrance.

"oh my god." the voice. so soft and sweet, almost too sugary, too angelic for such a function, full of the world's most dangerous people. such a stark contrast. "i'm so sor---"

she's silenced, and roman is momentarily taken back as the two of them lock gazes. beautiful, big brown eyes widened in alarm that's most likely due to her recognizing who he is. "mr. reigns...."

roman is partially paying attention to her words but mostly taking his sweet time taking all of her in. her face is absolutely stunning, and roman can tell it's not just because of the beautifully done makeup. he can see natural beauty beneath that. her hair is pulled up into a fancy updo, but her full lips snatch his focus before he rakes his eyes over her body, even curvier than he realized. cleavage on full display in her red dress that hugs her perfectly. she's a tiny little thing. a good foot shorter to him, but there's no denying it.

she's fucking stunning.

and she's still fucking apologizing. "i'm so sor---"

"it's fine." anyone else, and it wouldn't be. but there's something about this woman with the soft voice, light eyes, and alluring body that has him not as irritated as he normally would be. "it was an accident."

she nods, clearly nervous, when she looks over her shoulder, as if looking for something. or someone.

suddenly curious, he asks, "who are you--"

"oh no," she interrupts him, an unintentional thing, as she offers what looks like an apologetic look. she holds up the bottom of her red gown to move past him. however, roman finds himself moving his arm to bar her, holding her. he has to stop himself from thinking too much about the almost natural feeling he experiences in and with touching her.

"i---"

"there you are."

roman breaks his stare with the woman to see none other than ethan fucking page. he scoffs. no wonder she's running.

this bastard is insufferable.

page clears his throat and gives roman a nod. "mr. reigns, i apologize for the interruption." his gaze falls on the woman who almost moves closer to roman, practically holding onto him. it's obvious she's uncomfortable as hell. has to be for good reason too. "just need to speak to---"

"she's with me."

it comes out without much thought, both page and the unnamed woman looking at him with equal surprise.

page removes his glasses, looking at her, "solana?"

solana

unique. pretty. fitting.

she swallows. "i---" and just like that, she seems prepared to ruin this save roman has provided her, though he hasn't the slightest idea why he's giving her a save. yet, here he is.

"get lost, page." roman's tone shifts into something darker, something that's very reminiscent of the reason that he's easily the most feared man in the room. "i won't repeat myself."

i.e. get lost, or i'll snap your neck. an unspoken threat that's clearly understood, because page murmurs something that's probably an apology. and then he's gone, leaving roman alone yet again with this solana.

looking back at her, she gives him a small smile. roman is quickly realizing she's even prettier when she smiles. "thank you."

roman nods, asking, even though he doesn't know why, "what's the story?"

her smile drops into a frown that roman finds himself wanting to wipe off her face. "ethan....he doesn't know how to take 'no' for an answer." she shakes her head, scoffing quietly. "he shows up to my store at least once a week just to ask me out, even though the answer is always no."

"where do you work?" it's not that roman necessarily wants or even needs to know this piece of information, but there's a thought of breaking both page's knees and providing specifics when he does as such, such as the name of the place he's never to step foot in again, which could be....helpful.

roman is thankful when the smile returns, not as bright but still present. he'll take it. "i own a bookstore in town. nina's." his curiosity must be visible. "my mother's name. we share a love of books."

he makes a sound. everything he's learned in the less than twenty minutes he's known about this girl makes all the sense in the world. of course, her name is different, unlike any name for a woman he's heard of. of course, she has trouble fending off an asshole like page. and of course she likes books.

she clears her throat, finally breaking away. roman didn't even realize he was still holding her. "thank you again, mr. reigns."

"roman," he corrects. "call me roman."

she swallows, voice softening, "roman...."

he's not sure he's ever enjoyed hearing his name as much as he likes hearing it on her mouth. he'd love to hear it even more if she was screaming it, moaning it as he fucked her, kneading those beautiful, soft breast of hers.

fuck

"why are you looking at me like that?" she asks in that same sweet, almost innocent voice.

his eyes twinkle with mischief. "do you really need to ask?"

solana shifts bit, playing with her hands, hinting at some nervousness. "i'm not like that."

roman is almost certain he knows what she's saying, but he makes sure, regardless. "and what is that?"

her mouth shifts into a small smirk. "do you really need to ask?"

and for the first time tonight, roman smiles.

this girl is unlike any he's met before.

continuously intrigued, he asks, "what's your last name?"

she answers, "miller."

recognition dawns after a couple seconds for him. "xavier and nina...you're the daughter?"

he's always heard they had another child other than wesley, but he'd never seen her at one of these functions. didn't even realize it was a daughter.

a beautiful daughter at that.

she nods. "i don't typically attend these sorts of things."

"you should," he finds himself suggesting. roman isn't the biggest flirter, doesn't need to. women flock to him like moths to flame, but there's something about this woman... he steps closer to her, hand reaching out to run his finger along her cheek. "how else am i going to see you?"

she seems taken back, cheeks turning pink, but she takes him by surprise with her reply, "you could come see me."

his chuckle is dark and his tone suggestive. "oh, i don't think coming will be an issue."

and her cheeks deepen in color, as she announces, "i should go find my brother."

eyes falling to her chest, he asks, "should you?"

solana smiles and diverts her gaze, slightly disappointing him when she steps back. "goodbye, roman."

he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his custom suit pants. "not goodbye," he correct. "just goodnight."

because there's no doubt in roman reigns mind that this was the last time he'll ever see solana miller.

far from it.

[a-substantial-trash-pile]

mouthwashing responsibility au rambles below cut 🫡

(spoiler warning for the actual game obviously)

- even though jimmy got deservedly knocked out by anya and thrown into the cryopod early on, the crash still does happen. it's a freak accident this time, like maybe a piece of space debris just happened to hurtle right into them without time to dodge. it's like the tulpar is destined to crash. but this time it's a story about a group of people finding hope and strength in each other and finding what they themselves can be capable of in a time of crisis. btw i just mean curly, anya, swansea, and daisuke. i am NOT repenting jimmy. he ain't "fixing" shit.

- i'm sorry for frying curly again even though this is supposed to be an au with a happier ending 😭 the way his loss of autonomy reflects anya's own loss of it, making him feel firsthand the suffering she went through in a way, felt too important to just remove. curly's injuries aren't as terrible as in the original timeline since swansea rescued him earlier. and by "not as terrible" i mean he only loses a leg and not all of his limbs. he will get some function in his hands eventually and anya teaches him sign language to help him communicate (she teaches the others too).

- speaking of anya, she really shows her stuff as a nurse (even in the original timeline she does, managing to keep curly alive like that). she treats curly and swansea and is much more of a pillar of strength for the crew than she herself realizes. pre-crash and post-jimmy-getting-fired, she was able to relax and open up more with everyone, building a stronger bond. when the crash happens, anya is of course terrified and hella stressed, but now she knows she has people who have her back, and it helps. she can be more confident in herself without a certain someone being there to belittle and hurt her. this time when she has to deal with something difficult, something traumatizing, she has people to support her. in this au, she is not pregnant because if she was, i don't see how keeping the baby would be a good thing for her. and i don't want her to have to deal with that situation without the proper medical supplies on top of everything else. she's been through enough.

- btw there is no shipping in this au. i personally really don't see how it could happen between anyone on the crew. if there was some sort of spark between anya and curly, it's definitely gone now and won't happen again. the most they'll be are friends (although the friendship/trust will have to be built from the ground up again after everything that's happened with jimmy). the only ship here is the tulpar.

- i know daisuke is seen as a "dumb kid" but i really don't think that's the case. we are seeing him thru jimmy's perspective mostly after all and jimmy is the definition of an unreliable narrator. i headcanon daisuke as having adhd like me who tends to lose focus on tasks easily because your brain is just going 102929 miles a minute and wandering to all sorts of places like me. he feels like someone who doesn't exactly know where they want to go in life like me. also he's definitely a hawaii kid born and raised and talks pidgin sometimes like me except i lost the pidgin :(. i'm totally not projecting my asian ass on the asian boy or anything. BUT ANYWAY i wanted to give daisuke more stuff to do and a chance to prove to himself that he can do these things, he can step up. so that's partially why i made swansea burn his hands rescuing curly. daisuke can now be filled with Determination and be swansea's hands in repairing things as he heals. it's going to be hard and it's going to be frustrating for both parties and sometimes they'll get upset at each other. but it will inevitably be a great bonding experience for the two. i cannot resist the call for more father-son moments.

- swansea my beloved. i am so sorry for burning your beautiful hands please forgive 😔🙏 i have to make my faves suffer a little. swansea's hands will heal up eventually and he'll be able to use them again, but there will be scars. i think him having to guide daisuke with doing repairs n stuff on the ship as his hands recover gives him a mission. something to distract him from completely falling into despair and alcoholism. that man is hanging on by a thread but by god he's going to help get these kids through this. they've all grown closer since jimmy was sacked and swansea feels a sort of responsibility towards protecting anya, daisuke and curly as the oldest one there. it's the dad instincts y'know? on the real hard days, sometimes swansea thinks about cracking open a bottle of mouthwash, but he holds back because he feels he needs to stay strong for the crew. however he does have to learn that he can't shoulder everything and that he can rely on others. him having no choice but to have daisuke take over his tasks is a good way for him to learn that, i think. swansea is definitely a pillar of strength in this and the rest of the crew have a lot of affection for him (and vice versa even if swansea won't admit it). can you tell i really like swansea. he is such a foil to jimmy—a guy who has fucked up a lot in his life but actually acknowledges his mistakes and is trying his hardest to be a better person. aghh swansea i love you 💛💛

- after the crash happens, the cryopod room becomes inaccessible, so nobody is able to check on the state of jimmy in there. so they don't see that the crypod he's in eventually fails from damage and he escapes. this happens a couple weeks into the crash. jimmy is still pissed about everything and still can't see how he's done anything wrong (this is because he is a delusional asshole). in fact, he feels like he's the one who's been wronged and betrayed by everyone on the crew and he wants revenge. there will be a final confrontation between jimmy and the crew. spoilers: jimmy loses. i'm just undecided on who finishes it. it would be fitting if anya shot him, but i'm not sure that's something she'd necessarily want to do. she chose to be in the medical field after all. don't get me wrong, i think she would pull the trigger if it meant protecting the others. but i'd hate to have her kill, because even if jimmy deserves it, anya is a healer and would still probably feel guilty about it. i don't want to put even more shit on her plate. so i think swansea is the one to put jimmy down in the end. with the axe of course. i think he'd feel less guilty about doing it because it's something he's wanted to do since anya first told him about jimmy. oooh what if jimmy gets his hands on the gun, but daisuke tackles him, making him drop it, and anya gets it and shoots jimmy in the shoulder or leg or something to get him off of daisuke, and then swansea comes in with the axe to finish him off. that could be fun. that way anya won't have to actually kill but she'll still get to shoot jimmy. bless.

- the crew gets rescued eventually, but it's going to be a few months because pony express is a nightmare company. i'm honestly still not sure if pony express is even the one who will rescue them or even bother to look. i'm tempted to just have another ship happen across them by some miracle and help. real tempted to make that ship The Unreliable and turn this into a Mouthwashing x The Outer Worlds crossover quite honestly since both settings share similarities (megacorporations, cryosleep, etc). but idk. it's not like i can just write a fanfic or anything since writing is harder for me and who knows how long it will be before i even draw the idea. it's just yet another self-indulgent daydream for now.

[neysaadept]

Prometheus Chapter 3

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Minors DNI.

Summary: You are an old acquaintance of Rebecca Wilson. She calls in a favor to help the BAU out of a financial debacle. This also means that the current CIA employed Reader has to consult with the BAU to make this work, and not just on paper. This has to be official, which means working with a disgruntled Section Chief Emily Prentiss. A lot.

First time writing like this, so any feedback is appreciated!

AO3

Chapter 2

Word Count: 3k

GIF by aaronhotchstuff-archive

Chapter 3 - Welcome to the BAU

You roll over on the twin mattress at the sound of the chime notification on your phone. You force your eyes open, blinking them to focus on the digital clock and saw it is barely pass 5 AM.

“Wha’ th’ fuc’ …” you grumble, flailing a hand around for your cell. On the third pat, you slide it off the nightstand and flip it over. Seeing that the text was from Brian, it wakes you up enough to lean on an elbow to read the message.

Dad sent 0504 – Langley 0900

You rub the sleep out of your eyes and yawn before responding.

Whitlock sent 0511 – k

Brian must have everything ready for you to begin working with the BAU and wants to personally see you off. Or lecture you about the whole ordeal once again.

Probably both.

You set your alarm for 0700 and roll back over to get some more sleep. It was too early to worry about all of that now.

Brian was running late so you were shown to his office to wait. This happens often when you’re here since he is the director of the CIA and being pulled in countless directions.

You casually stroll around the room taking note of anything new. It was well over a year after all and there had to be something noteworthy to check out. You saw the same framed weathered American Flag hanging on the wall behind his desk, a staple of the position of CIA Director.  As you move around his desk the three monitors were locked, the screen shifting from TOP SECRET to the CIA and the DOJ seals. All so sterile per usual.

You push some files out of the way to get a better look at the pictures on his desk. One was Brian and his wife Carolyn on a recent fishing trip holding a catfish together on the dock. It had been raining, their jackets and hats streaked with raindrops. The weather didn’t stop the bright smiles they shared from dampening. An immortalized look of pure love despite the gloomy weather. You fight against a long-buried need that rarely blossoms and convince yourself it’s only because you miss your mother figure. It had been much longer since you shared any real space with her.

Going on over two years now, you think, but it was hard to pinpoint the exact time. It could have been even longer.

You tear your eyes away and swallow down the yearning, wanting to distance yourself from darker memories that were surfacing, but you were drawn to a partially covered picture of a younger Brian. Pushing aside the file on top of it, your eyes widen with surprise to see it was you and the four other trainees that were personally recruited by him. You gently stroke the younger faces of your brothers and sister before tapping against your own barely teen face. While everyone was looking to the camera, you had decided to be an ass and look off to the side at the lead doctor in the program. Your mouth was wide open as if you were going to take a bite out of Dr. G-.  

“Already snooping, huh?”

You look up and see Brian lingering in the doorway to his own office, watching as you were rifling through his desk. The CIA Director’s desk. If you were anyone else, he would have security throw you out immediately.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you quickly say.

“Then what does it look like?” he challenges, you now noticing how raspy his voice was.

Thinking back on this morning, Brian was probably in a meeting when he texted you. Only someone who knew him well enough, like yourself, could tell he was tired. His tailored black suit was wrinkled making it day two of wearing it, and his tie was crooked. It had been awhile since Brian put a comb through his salt and pepper hair. His usually well-groomed tapered look was flat and messy.

Definitely a national security situation going on … course, when isn’t there?

You slip the picture free and show him as answer to his question. “Was checking out the new memories but found an old one.”

He hums with understanding and closes the door for privacy. “Heard anything from them?”

“A text here and there. The usual.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, liking that answer. He holds his hand out and you reach over the desk to give him the picture. “Perhaps after this little detour with the BAU I can arrange a get together.”

Your grin comes fast, heart pounding with the excitement of a reunion. “Really?”

“Really. But first…” He joins you behind the desk and pulls out the top right drawer taking out a lanyard and wallet that had your FBI credentials. “… you have work to do. Prentiss is meeting you at Quantico at 11.”

You take the badge by the lanyard and dangle it in front of you. It was strange seeing your picture and signature with a different agency after all these years. You start feeling like you’re cheating on the CIA.

“Sounds good.” You take the wallet and tuck it inside the inner pocket of your suede jacket. “But to be honest? She so doesn’t like me.”

“And how is this news? Now, scoot.” Brian waves you away so he can sit down and carefully puts the picture back on his desk. “Look, you bring a lot of experience to the BAU, and under normal circumstances, you’d easily be scooped up with a proper transfer. This is anything but. Just,” he leans back and gestures with a curled hand trying to find the words, “… keep your head down, listen to orders and for the love of God, don’t be a smartass.”

You shuffle out of the way, slipping the lanyard over your head to join the CIA one already resting against your chest. “Way too late for that. I was an exceptional smartass when we first met. Just, not entirely on purpose.”

“Of course you were,” he sighs with an exhaustion from your years of antics. “Just … please don’t start a war between the CIA and FBI, huh?”

“Wow!” Aghast, you hold a hand against your chest. “And you think I’m dramatic?”

But you quickly drop your frivolous act to lean against Brian’s desk, tone growing serious while you cross your arms. “Hey, I know how important this is. Not just for the BAU but for you, too.”

You gently push at his knee with one of your own and his expression softens with the truth of your words. “I won’t let you down.”

Emily stands in front of the round table with the assembled team. She had just informed everyone of their new consultant.

“So, we have a new member of the BAU.” JJ nods while digesting this new information. “From … the CIA.”

“Doesn’t sound familiar at all,” laughs Luke, eying Prentiss.

She squints and purses her lips to hide how apprehensive the situation was truly making her. “This is only temporary until we find Sicarius,” Emily reminds them.

“What do we really know about her?” Rossi asks, looking towards Garcia. “You really haven’t given us much.”

“That’s because there isn’t much,” Garcia answers with an overexaggerated pronunciation of the last word. She scowls, pointing at the screen with the details you had given Emily. “And that is like less than much. I should have all the deets but this woman’s file is buried so deep we’d probably find Jimmy Hoffa’s body first.”

Clearly Garcia was still bothered by the situation.

“That’s a little extreme, Penelope,” Emily interjects with a tolerant voice, but her eyes narrowed pointedly at the tech guru to tread carefully.

“It’s still weird,” she sniped.

“Look, Rebecca vouches for her,” Tara said in her girlfriend’s defense. “She wouldn’t pair us up with someone she thought would hurt the BAU. Her reputation’s on the line with the DOJ if this goes sideways.”

Rossi hums in agreement. “There’s little gain in helping us. Be easier to stand on the sidelines.”

“But she’s not. And she was so quick to help us, let alone finding help.” JJ looks at Tara coyly. “Just how tight are you two with this relationship of yours? You must owe her big time.”

Luke grins and leans closer with rapt attention, while Penelope perks up straight on her chair with greedy eyes, both wanting the gossip.

Emily holds up her hands in frustration, needing to bring this back on topic before it unravels into Tara’s sex life. “Guys! Focus. We have a serial killer network out there that’s coordinating their effects to not only commit murder, but to help each other do it better. And if we don’t take Sicarius down before Bailey’s domestic terrorist unit does, the BAU’s disbanded.”

Her direct and gravelly tone silenced the group. She was relieved when they had the decency to look ashamed as the weight of her words brought a reality check.

Rossi agrees with Prentiss and looks expectant. “What’s the plan?”

“Whitlock will be working with me.” She checks her watch. “And she’ll be here soon.” As Emily looks back up, she gently shakes her head to slide the loose hair off her shoulder and catches Bailey walking into the bullpen.

Just fucking great…

“Rossi, I need you to coordinate with Garcia informing local law enforcement to retrieve these foot lockers quietly. I don’t want the network getting a hint of our operations for as long as possible.”

Thankfully Penelope’s quick work in deciphering the anonymous information sent to her was able to determine where all the foot lockers were hidden. It was time to collect.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Penelope salutes which makes Prentiss sigh.

“Luke and JJ, you’ll head to one of the sites and look for anything that might gives a better understanding of who we’re looking for. Rossi, you get to choose which one.”

“Understood.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” her eyes lock with Bailey’s, who finally found where his section chief was hiding out and looks livid. “I see our deputy director wants to speak with me.”

Luke winces as he dares to see what mood Bailey was in, “Have fun.”

JJ and Tara offer up sad waves while Penelope puts on a sickening smile with two thumbs up. Dave was kind enough to say nothing, but that smirk of his said it all.

Emily leaves the team, hearing them strategizing before the door closes and strides confidently up to her boss, feigning ignorance. “Deputy Director Bailey. What can I help you with?”

“I’ve been informed by the Attorney General that you’ve brought on a consultant.” His eyes were so belittling that Prentiss wishes she could punch him.

“That’s correct.”

“And you didn’t think to inform me of this decision?”

“Things had to move fast. Wilson spoke to Davis on my behalf, presented a reasonable case for Whitlock signing on –“

“You can drop the act, Prentiss. I’ve already seen the paperwork from the CIA’s office regarding the stipend.”

The corners of her mouth turn downward, waiting for him to continue. His expectant look made her realize he was waiting for her to explain herself. She unfolds her fingers from where they rest in front of her to gesture vaguely. “And?”

He took a step back and blinks with confusion. Bailey wasn’t ready for that response. “This should have gone through me first. Wilson was way out of line going right to Davis.”

“I’m confused Deputy Director.” Emily leans closer and lowers her voice. “The decision for Whitlock to use her stipend like this was her call. I approved it. As did the CIA. The only issue was making it legal on paper. The AG figured out a way and Wilson wrote it up. How would telling you sooner change the process?”

She pauses for dramatic effect. “Unless…”

Emily squints her eyes and shakes her head condescendingly. “… unless you’d put a stop to the process, it never reaching Davis’s desk in the first place.”

Bailey’s eyes waver from the intensity of Emily’s brown ones and swallows hard at being read so easily. But what did he expect from a high ranking profiler?

Okay, fuck it. Catching him off guard like this is actually nice.

Not that she’d admit that to you.

“I know it’ll take a few days for the BAU’s budget to reflect this, but please make sure that there’s enough money set aside to expedite the forensics on the bodies. We have a lot of people needing closure.” With a sure smile, she brushes past the still silent Bailey.

But then she stops and turns around with a confident swagger. “And if I’m not mistaken, there’s enough money left over to authorize the use of our jet again.”

Without waiting for Bailey’s response, she turns on her heels and heads straight for the elevators. She could feel the animosity radiating from him but there was nothing Bailey could do about it. The deal was done.

And now it was time to make good on the other part of the deal. Meeting up with you.

After your goodbye with Brian, you drove to a bakeshop on the way to Quantico to pick up a box of mixed donuts and macarons to feed your new teammates. And use as a possible bribe for Prentiss to maybe tolerate your presence just a teeny bit.

You flash your new FBI badge at the check-in desk, and your information was immediately verified in the system. Next you have your Glock checked as you passed through security, the officer confirming your credentials in carrying. You slip the gun back in your hip holster while balancing the box of goodies with your non-dominant hand and start walking down the hall to the elevators.

You offer a hello and polite nod in return when other personnel acknowledge you. Many didn’t even notice you were there, too busy with their heads down looking at their phones or chattering away endlessly on projects that could be talked about freely in this area.

It was starting to feel real and overwhelming being in a new area that knew nothing about you. Yeah, most of the CIA weren’t entirely aware of you and what you did but Langley was home. Familiar. Comforting. Hell, it was your actual home. Every time you were in between work and stateside your living space was a safehouse. All your personal effects were locked up in storage as you never stayed long enough to unpack. The SUV you drove wasn’t even yours. It was on loan from the CIA.

Your steps slow as thoughts begin to spiral: Should you get a place? If so, how long would the lease need to be for? You’re signed on for six months, but that is on a contingent basis in case the BAU needs you longer or when you catch Sicarius.

Sure Prentiss’ll be happy to kick me to the curb then … you muse. You wonder if she can tolerate you more than the few hours you’ve had the pleasure of conversing.

So, do you get a six month lease? Furnished or unfurnished unit? Stay at the sterile safehouse? What if the group wants to know you? See your place? Do things outside of work? Be … social. You’re good in the short term with a performance of being the you the government has taught you to be, but anything more than that has been reserved for Brian and the other trainees that were siblings to you. Even Rebecca didn’t know the real you; just a small scratch under the surface of the carefully constructed control to keep yourself buried.

Fuck. Get it together. This is just day one. Pay homage to the team with goodies and see what Prentiss wants you working on. Just be the amazing smartass agent that everyone knows you are. One step at a time.

At some point during your runaway thoughts, you pressed the button for the elevator. Your curious eyes kept getting a lay of the area while waiting – emergency exits, conference rooms for visitors that didn’t have clearance to go up any higher, security cameras, armed guards, who was coming and going.

Then the elevator chimes that it arrives. You face forward as the doors open and as fates would have it, there was Section Chief Emily Prentiss, who was just as shocked as you were that you ran into each other like this.

“Hey! Fancy meeting you here.” You flash a cheeky smile, finding this funny.

“Uh, yeah.’ Emily recovers quickly and holds the door open for you, so it doesn’t close. She looks you up and down, stopping briefly at the box you held before meeting your eyes without cracking a smile. “I was coming down to meet you. You got through security quick.”

“Thanks.” You take a moment to sweep her features and admit to yourself that the section chief cuts a flattering look in a black blouse and slacks. She’s elegantly professional.

You step inside to join her and hit number six for your floor. As you were going over what to say to break the deafening silence between you, you were surprised that Prentiss spoke up first.

“Trying to make nice with bringing food?” she questions.

You chuckle. “Damn. Totally called out.”

“It’s a safe go to.”

“Not necessarily.” Your eyes shift to look at Prentiss. “Je ne dirais pas que les macarons jouent la sécurité.”

Emily turns her head, brow raising at the response.

You turn to meet her head on. “Quoi? Je pensais que tu parlais français.”

Your new boss took time to smooth out her features while coming to a decision on how to answer. “Je fais. Mais pourquoi es-tu?”

At that, you smile as the doors to the sixth floor open. “Parce que je ne suis pas la seule à faire ses devoirs sur les personnes avec qui elle travaille.”

With a wink, you exit leaving Prentiss behind to digest the knowledge that you were well aware that the BAU had tried to dig up information on you.

Yeah, one step at a time …

I don't speak French so here is Google translate for you!

“I wouldn’t say macarons are playing it safe.”

“What? I thought you spoke French.”

“I do. But why are you?”

“Because I’m not the only one who does their homework on the people she’s working with.”

Chapter 4

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook x Reader/ Yoongi x Jimin

𝓢𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓣𝓸𝓸𝓽𝓱 [Teaser]

Yoongi and Jimin are each proud owners of hybrids, and these days, slowly falling in love with one another. And everything could be so perfect- if it wasn't for you absolutely resenting Jungkook- for no reason?

Tags/Warnings: Human!Yoongi, Human!Jimin, Rottweiler hybrid!Jungkook, Cat hybrid!Reader, Enemies to friends to lovers, mentions of past traume, some Yoonmin here and there oops, Main story focus are MC and Kook though

Length: ~850 words

Read Here!

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

"But she hates me!" Jungkook complaints, as he stands in the cabin Yoongi is currently unloading the groceries in. "There's no way she'll sleep in the same room as me." He huffs, and Yoongi sighs.

"Well, she has to learn. I already talked to Jimin about it-" He says, putting everything into a box that doesn't have to be stored in the fridge. "-and he agrees that he's spoiled her quite a bit until now. She needs to learn to be a bit more independent." He explains calmly, though he's internally very well aware of your distaste for his dog hybrid. He knows exactly why- but he also respects Jimin's decision to not tell Jungkook anything about your past trauma, claiming that that's something you need to tell, no one else.

And Yoongi agrees with that- but he also feels for Jungkook, who's been really trying to make you warm up to him. He already struggles to find friends due to his intimidating hybrid side and sometimes rather chaotic personality. Seeing you so defensive against him does clearly hurt, no matter ho much Jungkook tries to play it off.

But for once, Yoongi also wants to be a little selfish. He wants to spend time with Jimin, alone time away from you both, just to properly figure out where he truly wants this to go from here on out. It's why he's organized this trip in the first place. To find out if this could truly work out.

And he fears, deep down, that it won't. Because if you and Jungkook don't get along, there's no way Yoongi can ever be happy with Jimin.

A few hours away from the Cabin Yoongi and Jungkook are already setting up, you're pouting next to Jimin in the car, slumped down and with your arms crossed. "Making that face won't make me turn around, princess." Jimin says, voice light- but inside, he's torn. This is going to be tough for you, considering that you're gonna have to stay with Jungkook during the night- and the poor dog hybrid has no idea that you don't actually hate him. You don't hate at all, in fact.

Your defense mechanism when confronted with something you fear however, is to lash out. And that is most of the time taken out of context, making you appear rude and arrogant, when in reality you're just trying not to seem weak or vulnerable.

Because in the past, that would immediately make you the perfect target. Pushed aside and scolded for everything that wasn't ever your fault in your first home, used as a punching bag for other hybrids in the shelter later on, you had to somehow make up a tough façade so you wouldn't end up in those positions ever again. You learned to keep yourself safe by being the one who bites first- and it took Jimin years to truly gain your full trust.

He fears that that's all you can do though. That he's going to forever stay the only person of comfort for you.

And that's an issue. While he himself had been a bit defensive about his treatment of you with Yoongi, he knows that the older man is right. Jimin has been wrapping you in layers of bubble wrap, has spoiled you and nursed your bad habits into what they are today simply because he always saw the scared, shaking hybrid back at the shelter.

But that's not you anymore. You technically have no reason to be scared of anything anymore- but Jimin understands now, after talking numerous times about it with Yoongi, that he's partially at fault for your lack of social skills.

Jungkook had come from a good household- had been raised well, so Yoongi had never really experienced anything like Jimin did with you, but nonetheless, his advice still counts, and is still valid.

You need to learn at some point. You have to realize that there's nothing to fear anymore- and that Jungkook isn't an enemy ready to eat you alive in your sleep.

"Come on, stop pouting now, hm?" He tries, running a hand over your head once at a red light. You just look out the window. "Is Jungkookie that scary?" He asks, and you shake your head.

"He's dumb." You deny, putting your legs up and onto the seat.

"Hey.!" He scolds gently. "Jungkook isn't dumb. He's trying hard, okay? You could be at least civil with him, sugar." He tells you, and you sigh at that, leaning against the door.

"I don't want to." You say defensively, tail angrily flopping around. "You just say that because you wanna be with Yoongi." You huff.

"Partially, I admit that." Jimin nods. "But I also agree with him that you need to be nicer. Jungkookie is really trying to be friends with you, you know?" He sighs.

"I don't care.." You mumble to yourself, angrily looking out the window. You know that Jungkook isn't a threat- but he's still scary to you. He's tall, and a lot of muscle, and he's loud, and energetic, and just.. scary. Intimidating. Potentially dangerous. And that potential alone is enough to make you feel threatened.

Jungkook and Yoongi are currently ruining your perfect life you had with Jimin. So you've got enough reason to be absolutely pissed.

[puniyo]

The Quest for the Ring Power in Jack & Joker (points at Jack specifically)

Disclaimer: I haven’t watched episode 10 yet (I’m so dreading it) but this is based on the spoilers and also on the events of the plot so far.

Jack & Joker is definitely one of the best series (whether you want to call it BL is your choice), if not the best one, that came out this year. The production costs must have been really high because the different settings, wardrobe, props, editing, music, all this is a proper package of very high quality. The cast is superb and War should definitely receive an award for his portrayal as Joke. I will not delve into the cast much because this category itself deserves another separate post so today I will focus on:

The Quest for POWER in the series

Disclaimer #2: Power can be defined as the ability to direct or influence the behavior of others or the course of events. I’m using POWER in the broadest sense and not specifically targeted at some aspect. You might link power with being “dominant” and feel free to do so, but I don’t want to put any further labels on power so that I won’t mistakenly describe something I’m not totally familiar with.

Out of all the possible themes related to J&J – family relationships, poverty in society/community, greed (and the importance of money in one’s life), the ambiguous line of what constitutes crime – POWER is one of the ones that is flexed in almost every episode and woven so intricately into the plot that it almost feels masked by everything else.

Taking our golden triangle – Jack, Joke and Boss – these three characters are linked with power in different ways. I dare to say that Jack and Boss are parallel to each other and quite similar in their (challenging) quest for power. Our trump card is Joke, unlike his deck card name Joker, who, on the contrary, relinquishes easily the power that he gets.   

For those who think that Jack and Boss have nothing to do with each other, hear me out. First, both Jack and Boss had their innocent, puppy moments of having their hair down and covering their foreheads – okay, this is irrelevant but it kind of creates a nice “why do you insist on having the same hairstyle as I do?” moment.

Fine, I’ll be serious now. Jack and Boss are in a boss (couldn’t he have chosen another name – although people address him as Alice in some episodes) and subordinate relationship, so there is an automatic power imbalance here. Jack is a debt collector for Boss, who in turn has to obey to the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse (I’ll just call them 4H).  They are both under someone’s rule and they both don’t like because (1) they lose their freedom and (2) they lose control (whether total or partial). Somehow, Boss could be an older version of Jack if he (Jack) had lost all his support.

Let’s talk about Boss/Alice. We have no idea about his background except that he had a wife that he loved dearly and left him with a diamond necklace. We are given no idea why she died but I like to think it is because of the 4H, which makes his hatred for them multiply. He has Arun but from their (lack) of interactions, we can assume that Arun never lived up to his expectations and he too never gave himself the chance to truly nurture Arun. So Boss has lost the only ground he could have to keep him sane and sensible. A lot of people online are questioning how one single ring can mean so much to him and it is exactly because that little golden accessory is synonym to power.

People are too used to power being displayed by use of violence or charismatic speeches, but have they thought why we still have monarchies nowadays? How did kings and emperors in the past used to stay in power? From conquering land and improving their vassals’ lives? If so, then what is the point of lineage? What are these chosen people by the heavens? People are inherently superstitious and like to use external entities to justify views of the world which they don’t understand. Being a leader requires exerting power but not everyone knows how to properly exert it. Many don’t even have the courage to do so. Because with power, there comes consequences and responsibilities. A ring, no matter how simple it is, is a symbol of power and grants people this additional belief and bravery that they need to stay in power. It is as if just by wearing the ring, they would imbue power in their veins.

Could Boss have hired Carbon or other people before to do his dirty work? Definitely yes. Could Boss have revolted and gone against the 4H? Also yes. Did he have the courage to do so? No really. Just an aside here that I think the name Alice suits him well. Alice as in Alice in Wonderland, he too is trying to escape the rabbit hole, albeit this time it’s not really a rabbit but four horses.

Now turning to Jack. Jack has enjoyed being in power since episode 1. Jack is a black belt in taekwondo and is seen to be able to defeat other members in his club. Jack is also the breadwinner for his family (our beloved A-ma). Power doesn’t mean being almighty. Power for Jack is the ability to control his decisions and not be subjugated by others. Losing the opportunity to join the national team is a major power cut. Having to lower down his head to Carbon is a major blow to him as well. When he starts working for Boss, regardless of whether he is willing or not, he is a debt collector and that is naturally a job associated with power over others. He has the power to enact violence but he chooses kindness instead – to help others pay their debts. It’s a choice he made. His choice, his power to do so. Even though he lacks higher formal education, Jack is a teacher figure in the community and that is also a job associated with power (though we often call it influence). His interactions with Joke, inside or outside the bedroom, are fully charged with power – taking the initiative, neck grabs, feisty remarks, a few punches and kicks, (empty) threats. Even in the joint heist with Arun and Hope, he’s the one to take the lead when Arun can’t come up with excuses to get the group into the auction. We see Jack out of his element when he loses control – having to please Rose and Boss, being reprimanded by A-ma, or when Joke refuses to give up his share of power (more on this later).

Now (how many times have I said ‘now’ in this post), the major difference between Jack and Boss is that Jack’s support system is very much present in his life. He has A-ma, bless her soul, she is the major anchor for his kindness; then the people in the community. Even as a debt collector, we can see that the people are fond of him and respect him. His “subordinates” too listen to him instead of being scared of him (see Hope as an example). Besides this grounding system, we have Joke, who is the one to feed Jack with power. If A-ma is an anchor for Jack, Joke can be considered a source. That’s why in this last episode, without the community and Joke (he has Joke, but not the idealized, crime-free Joke in his head), Jack is on his way to the descend to madness.

Joke, Joke, Joke. I don’t even know where to start to write my ode to him. He is my favorite character, not just because it’s War portraying him (but let’s be honest, War is having the time of his life with him and his acting really shines through), but because Joke feels very real – decently arrogant, smart and witty, scheming when he needs to, devoted to his found family – Joke can make me adore him even more because you can see how much he cares about others. About Jack. And he does this by relinquishing the power he obtains.

The series starts with him stealing an exam and falsifying an offer letter. Being a thief and con-artist (the persona Joker), Joke holds a lot of power and knows how to manipulate it in order to get what he wants and get people to react the way he wants. However, we also get to know that Joker steals from the rich to give to the poor, a sort of modern Robin Hood. This already indicates that he is willing to give away his power so that others can benefit from it. Later, Joke himself admits that stealing is the only thing he knows to do. Let us rephrase this to “giving my power to others is the only thing I can do”. Let’s see more examples of this: Joke willingly confesses his crimes to police to clear his name; Joke lowers himself to apologize to his parents (that first kowtow, damn, as an Asian myself, that really spoke volumes, and then the chive dumplings); Jokes steals a ring twice (and gives them away twice as well) to free Jack from a fate that eats away his power; Joke allows a glass bottle to be broken on his head so that he can save Tattoo and Hoy; Joke concedes to Jack both times when playing the bottle game; I will not comment on the lovemaking since I haven’t watched it yet but that would be enough for another post.

Joke is given power countless times throughout the series and relinquishes it just as easily. But by doing so, he is not being a sacrificial lamb or a tragic hero. It just makes him all the more likeable because each time he relinquishes power, it leads to a chain of consequences, some beyond his control, that makes us get a glimpse (more of a stare) at his flaws. And a flawed character is the best kind of character. At the end of the day, aren’t we all flawed?

Now that Jack has started descending to madness, this would be an ending that I would love to see (no matter how cliché it is):

There were guns on the promotional posters before so it’s time to recover them.

Jack has too much chaotic power in him and he has no sufficient ground to control it.

Jack will want to kill Boss and Carbon (as we all do).

Joke will not allow Jack to do so, because killing means destroying the last ounce of kindness in Jack and truly break him.

Jack, though, will get his hand on that gun, and aim that the two gentlemen above.

Joke comes on time to defend them from the shot (yes, you heard me, not because he’s working for them or being taken hostage, but because that is the only way to save Jack).

Jack fires (bang!!)

The bullet hits Joke, right on the shoulder where the “J” of hearts is.

(I think I rather write a fic instead of daydreaming)

[mikashisus]

EMPIRE OF BLOOD

02. when does a ripple become a tidal wave

TAGLIST ! @https-sourlimes @ughscara @yourfavoritefreakyhan @wystiix @kvriealis @cherieiu @pixelcafe-network

NOTES: the first portion of this chapter has been sitting in my drafts for maybe 2-3 months now, i just didn't know how to continue it until now, and i'm more than pleased with the result! fun fact: i actually had to look up how to load and fire a musket for this chapter and it was actually really cool!! huge ty to @mitsvriii for proofreading this for me! <3

WC: 4.3k (we love to see consistency)

masterlist | prev. | next

The sun was partially covered by the clouds when you stepped outside of the House in the early afternoon. Distant rumbles of thunder echoed, and you lazily raised a hand to check for raindrops. 

It was too doom and gloom lately for your liking. Even though you loved watching the rain pitter patter on the streets of Fontaine from your bedroom window, it was hard weather to work in. 

Rain made missions harder for you. You couldn’t see your target, you couldn’t move as fast because your soaking wet clothes hindered your movement, and running in heels on slippery streets called for a death sentence. 

It was pleasant to look at and bask in, but not to work in. 

Your thoughts paused on one such topic: work. Without a moment’s delay, you secured your thigh holsters one last time and set off for the city’s forgery. 

Thunder continued to rumble, but there were no signs of lightning. You nodded approvingly at this fact, and your eyes went back to darting between the faces of the people passing by you on the street. You knew each of their faces, studied their names and appearances from the papers that Father gave you to read. 

Absentmindedly, you tapped your thigh as you hummed softly under your breath. Today was supposed to be your day off; Well, before one of your ‘siblings’ woke up with a fever and their mission was handed off to you. 

You usually didn’t take on information gathering missions. Everyone in the House was well aware of your previous failed attempts to do so from a young age. The only thing you were good at was carrying out the less than ideal dirty work– one of the so-called “darker” jobs in the House: assassinations. 

None of the other children favored your job; especially not Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet. 

Truthfully, you were one of the only children in the House who took on assassination missions. You were quick and thorough, never missing your targets. You could easily turn off your emotions and focus entirely on your tasks. Due to this, Father had no doubt in her mind that you could finish the job. All heavy duty work in that regard was passed to you without a second thought. 

If it crossed someone else’s desk, they immediately passed it to you. And sure enough, you would return at an alarmingly fast pace, claiming the work had been completed. 

It felt nice… having people trust you like that. It felt nice— feeling like you had power and strength. A small smile twitched at your lips. It was gone as soon as it appeared as you approached the forgery. 

The man you were supposed to meet was here already, chatting idly with the owner of the shop. They were having a lovely conversation about this year’s Weinlesefest in Mondstadt, which piqued your interest. 

You haven’t heard the mention of Weinlesefest in some time. 

“Oh, really? I had no idea Mondstadt had that kind of festival!” Came the man’s words. “Sounds interesting, though! Being able to brew wine with family and gathering together as a community to share drinks. Sounds like something I’d like!” 

“Weinlesefest, over the course of Mondstadt’s history, became a holiday to welcome the Anemo Archon, Barbatos, home during the harvest season.” You said calmly, walking up to them without a sound. 

The woman screeched in surprise, practically jumping out of her skin at the sudden appearance of another person. She placed a hand over her heart upon seeing you, and let out a heavy sigh of relief. 

You continued, “The people of Mondstadt brew wine and offer it up to Lord Barbatos. If he is satisfied with the wine, he guides a gentle breeze to bless the people. This is usually the time of year that Mondstadters living in other nations miss their homeland the most, because it is a holiday spent entirely with family and friends.” 

“Why hello, (Name)!” 

A pout settled on your lips as your superior, Childe, ruffled your hair with a bright smile on his face. A chuckle rumbled out from his chest as he greeted you softly just like he did every other time you saw him. You suspected it was because you reminded him of his younger sister. 

Although there was not much you knew about the Eleventh Harbinger, you did know that he had siblings and he was a very family oriented man. You wondered if that was the reason why Father respected him…to some degree, at least. 

“I see you haven’t changed when it comes to sneaking up on others! Your stealth is impeccable!” He complimented, removing his hand from your head. 

You raised a brow in surprise. “Hm? But I didn’t—” 

He abruptly changed the subject. It was a repetitive trait of his that irritated you. “Now back to that Mondstadt festival. How do you say it again? Vine…something?” 

Your eye twitched at his poor attempt to say the name. With a smug smirk on your lips, the word fell from your mouth effortlessly, as if you could fluently speak the language of Mondstadt, which was a fact that only you and Father were privy to. 

“Weinlesefest.” 

Childe’s brows furrowed. “How come you can say it so easily?” 

No one knew your origins, except for Arlecchino and Signora, but the latter was dead…and all of the secrets you shared with her were ones she had taken to the grave. As far as anyone else knew, you were a child of Fontaine. But you and Father knew the truth. 

“Father took me to Mondstadt a few times. After the first visit, I said I would like to learn the language of the nation, and she set up a tutor for me immediately upon our return to Fontaine.” 

Your lie, as ever, was flawless enough to convince him. He hummed in understanding, stroking his chin. “I see. I guess that makes sense.” 

With Childe, you had to amp up your deception. One slip up in your body language, a stutter in your words, or the wrong tone of voice, and he would instantly see right through whatever fabrication you tried to ensnare him in. It was like that with all of the Harbingers, but more so with your own Father. You had a lot of experience in deceiving her.

“But why Mondstadtian of all languages?” he questioned, “you don’t take me as that type of person. I think you’d enjoy learning Liyuen instead. Or maybe Inazuman—”

“Sir, we’re getting off topic…” You attempted to bring the conversation back to the topic of work. That’s what you were here for, after all. 

He laughed sheepishly. “Right! Man, you’re still a stick in the mud, huh? It’s always ‘work’ with you, nothing more and nothing less,” he sighed, “anyways. I was supposed to meet one of your siblings here, but it seems they’re not—” 

“I was sent in their stead,” you stated, “they got sick unexpectedly, so I took on their task for them.” 

“I see. Well, do you have the documents, then?” 

You nodded curtly. No matter what job was handed to you, you always took it seriously. Childe’s words were correct: you were always talking about work. Rarely did you ever discuss anything else with him. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, but simply because you had nothing else to talk about. You weren’t much of a talker, and you never have been. 

The first time you met Childe, it took him four hours before he was able to get you to say anything back to him, and even then, it was only because he brought up your position in the House. 

“I have them all right here.” You lifted your skirt a little to undo the clasp on your thigh holster, and pulled out a set of folded up documents that were given to you by Father. “I triple checked I had the right count before I left. All twenty-three pages are there in order, and the list of names on the last page has been rearranged in alphabetical order for your perusal.” 

His eye twitched. You’ve known him for how many years now and you still acted formally around him. It was tiring. He understood that you took your work incredibly seriously and you were acting professional, but you didn’t have to act that way around him. Around him, you could relax. But if you never did that before, he knew you weren’t going to start now. 

He let out a heavy sigh. “Great, thanks. Can’t wait to look over these later.” He absolutely despised paperwork. He’d rather be sparring with some of Fontaine’s champion duelists right now instead of participating in the business aspect of his job. 

A small snort left your lips. It was so quiet he thought he had imagined it, before he looked up to see you covering your mouth with your hand. He stood there, stunned for a moment, before his lips curled up into that smug smirk you were way too familiar with. 

“Did you just laugh?” 

This was the first time he made you laugh, and you knew he was going to hold it over your head like a vice now. 

You attempted to regain your composure, clearing your throat, but your uneven voice betrayed you. “N-No…I- I coughed.” 

“No, I’m pretty sure I heard a laugh,” he teased. “I finally made you laugh!” 

You took a deep breath and exhaled. Within seconds, the amused expression on your face was replaced with a stoic one. “Whatever you think you heard, you didn’t.” 

The way you could effortlessly turn off your emotions whenever you wanted was an ability he greatly admired. Even to this day, he still had trouble concealing his own emotions from others. He wished it was as easy as you made it look— as if it was second nature to you. 

Maybe it had been…but he was satisfied that at least for a moment, he was able to grant you a brief respite and drop the mask he knew you always wore.

Rosalyne liked to visit when she could. 

As it turned out, she became the only person you could trust in this awful place. When she had to leave you two months ago after your first meeting, you begged her to stay for just a little while longer. 

Surprised by your sudden outburst, she did all she could to calm you down, and she told you that she could not stay… She had to return to Snezhnaya because her work in Fontaine was finished, and the Queen was expecting her return in no more than three days’ time. No matter how many tears you shed, it didn’t make her stay. 

As soon as she left, you were left alone in Arlecchino’s care again, and the real training began. 

First, you were tested on all of your physical aspects: running, climbing, jumping, lifting, running while carrying weights on your back, and stealth. 

Arlechino watched over every single bit of your testing, a clipboard resting in her perfectly manicured hands. Her eyes were akin to that of a hawk as she picked out every flaw and talent. She glanced down at her clipboard as soon as you collapsed from the three mile run she had you take with weights on your back. 

A sigh left her lips. 

Jumping

Climbing

Lifting (weights)

Stealth

Running

Running (with weights) 

Marksmanship

Out of irritation, scribbled another line over ‘running with weights.’ 

She gazed over at your heaving, exhausted form. You were laid sprawled out on the grass, your chest rising and falling in step with your racing heartbeat. You could feel your head throb and your ears ring from the exertion. Your legs felt like jelly and sweat dripped from every pore. The loose clothing you wore stuck to your body, and the scent of musk and freshly cut grass entered your nostrils. 

You stared up at the sky, your mind blank as you watched it contort from brilliant blues to a soft pink and deep orange. Had you spent all afternoon out here? 

Your lungs were burning, and your mouth was dry. As soon as you got your hands on a bottle of water, you knew you were going to chug the whole thing down in three seconds flat. When you returned to the House, you were going to take a nice cold shower and wipe all the grime and sweat off your body. 

Arlecchino let out another stressed sigh. She definitely had her hands full with you. In an overly annoyed voice that she knew you could hear above the ringing in your ears, she shouted, 

“What did I tell you before? Laying down will only hinder your breathing more. Stand up and place your hands on your head to allow your lungs to open up.” 

As she jotted down some notes on her clipboard, she heard you whine and groan in protest. However, you obeyed her without tossing a backhanded comment. She was getting somewhere with you, even if she still couldn’t figure out what it was you were good at. 

Her eyes skimmed over the list again, stopping momentarily on the last bullet-point. She peered up at you again, studying your small build. She hummed thoughtfully before grabbing your attention with a firm “come with me.” 

Back at the House, she allowed you to shower first before leading you down a hallway you only passed by once when you first arrived. At the end of the hallway next to the supply closet was a room with an old wooden door that looked as if it was on its last leg. It let out an obnoxious screech as it creaked open, causing you to cringe. 

She walked inside and you followed behind her as you finished drying your hair with the towel in your hands. It was a decently sized, rectangular room with padding on the walls and lanterns hanging from chains on the ceiling. A row of guns and rifles sat to your left, all of them freshly polished and hidden inside a display case with a lock on it. On the shelf above the case were bullets and all the necessary cleaning supplies for a gun, as well as a jar of earplugs. 

On the far side of the room, just across from where you were standing in the doorway, were targets. All of them were beaten and battered from years of use. To your right were three chairs, all supposedly there for spectators. 

A glass wall separated you from the actual shooting area, with a lone glass door leading into it. One of your older siblings, Amélia, greeted you both from the other side of the glass. She opened the door and smiled warmly. 

“Good evening Father, (Name).” 

Arlecchino nodded curtly. “Amélia, perfect timing. Would you care to teach (Name) the basics of gun use?” 

Amélia was one of the only children in the House who was adept with guns. Her vast knowledge stemmed from the years she spent as the daughter of a champion duelist, before that very same duelist was bested in battle. 

She nodded, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. You watched as she took apart the gun she was previously using and gently set it back in the display case. She reached for another, larger gun and turned around to face you. It was sleek, wood polished over with a clear shine and silver that gleamed under the dim lighting of the room. 

“This is a musket,” she held it up for you to see, “usually, they’re only used in war nowadays. They’re not as popular as they used to be, but the Gardes tend to use them on occasion. We’ll start with this.” 

She handed you a pair of earplugs and guided you into the training area. She positioned you in front of one of the targets and handed you the musket. It felt heavy in your hands, and you struggled to keep a hold on it. 

She helped you, placing a hand on one of yours. “Yep, just like that! Now, you’re gonna take this,” she handed you a paper cartridge, “and you’re gonna tear that end part off.” 

You did as she told you and tore the piece off with your teeth, spitting it out elsewhere. She laughed softly. “You’re a natural already! Now, pour a bit of the powder into this pan…and wipe off the excess. Yep! Now, close the frizzen.” 

She helped you hold up the musket and pointed to the muzzle. “Now take the rest of the powder and pour it down the muzzle. Carefully seat the ball, and ram it with this–” she pulled out the ramrod, “yep– and then put it back. Alrighty! Now, stand here, hold it up so you’re eye-level, and fire!” 

She took her hand off yours and stepped back to allow you some space. You held the butt of the musket to your shoulder and pressed your cheek against it. You weren’t sure what it was exactly…if it was some sort of otherworldly power surging through your veins or if it was adrenaline that accompanied your fast beating heart, but the moment you readied the gun, your world shifted on its axis. It was as if there was something locked away deep inside you that was coming to the forefront, like it was breaking free from whatever cage that was holding it back all this time. 

The rest of the world around you faded away into nothing, leaving you and target alone in a dark plane of existence that was only visible to your sharpened eyesight. Only the target mattered, nothing else. Not the fear of failure swirling around in the back of your mind or the water that slid down your forehead from your wet hair. It slowly, agonizingly, trickled down the bridge of your nose and you rested your finger on the trigger. 

Time seemed to move slowly in those few seconds. It felt as if an entire eternity had passed before you finally pulled the trigger. You barely felt the recoil of the gun as the bullet darted out, but that was the least of your concerns. 

Precision was a lesson Arlecchino taught all of the children in the House, and yet in this moment, when it was a given that the bullseye would be missed, a deep-rooted instinct tucked away inside your heart was screaming at you that it would undoubtedly hit the mark. 

BANG! 

A perfect shot, right in the center. 

It was silent for a few moments as your concentration faded away. You stared, dumbfounded, at the target, before you glanced down at the musket in your hands. 

An eerie clapping drew you out of your stupor, and you turned around to face Arlecchino. She wore a satisfied smile. There was a smugness around her, as if she had also known that you would hit the bullseye. 

Amélia took the musket from you, a look of pure amazement in her eyes as she shook your shoulder. You couldn’t hear what she said above the ringing in your ears from the adrenaline rush you were coming down from, but you could only assume it was words of praise, judging by her excited smile. 

Once she was gone, Arlecchino placed a hand on your shoulder. “We’ve found where your skills lie. Now, it’s time to hone it.” 

A few weeks after your discovery in the shooting range, you received a letter in the mail. One of your brothers, Louis, slammed the door as he rushed inside, carrying the entire House’s mail in his arms. He dropped it onto the coffee table in the common space and plopped onto the ground in front of the lit hearth. 

You sent him a glare. “Some of us are trying to read.” 

He ignored your cold stare and rifled through the mail, separating everything into piles depending on whose name was on the address. Father’s, naturally, had the biggest pile. It was hardly a surprise, as most of her mail was sent directly from Snezhnaya to the House and consisted of hefty amounts of paperwork. 

Louis paused on a strange envelope, his brows raising in utter shock as he called your name. You answered in a mutter, too focused on the crime novel in your hands to worry about what it was that he wanted from you. 

“You have a letter…it’s from a Miss Rosalyne Lohe—” 

You snatched the letter from his hands and abandoned your book on the sofa as you stood up and ripped open the envelope. An elegantly crafted necklace and a letter fell out. You gasped softly at the gorgeous craftsmanship of the necklace. A pristine, golden chain with a cecilia flower carved out of glass and hand-painted dangling from the middle. 

Jewelry of this quality could only be purchased by aristocrats. Never in your life could you ever have the money to purchase something like this— only in your wildest dreams. You didn’t know how long you stood there staring at it in awe with your mouth open, but it must’ve been a few minutes judging by the confused stare on Freminet’s face. 

Freminet was another one of your brothers. He was a few years younger than you, and based on what you learned about him from the loud-mouthed Louis, he had supposedly been here before Arlecchino rose to the position of The Knave. He was a kindhearted boy, if not shy and quiet much like you. You found that although you were content to ignore your other siblings, Freminet was welcome company. 

And just like you, he didn’t excel in most things. When you first asked him what it was that he specialized in, he said, “Nothing, really. I do like diving, though.” 

“Is everything alright?” He questioned. “Amélia says that if you keep your mouth open too long, bugs will fly in.” 

You closed your mouth immediately and turned your attention back to the necklace in your hands. To avoid further disruption, you ran to your room to read the letter Rosalyne had sent you. Sitting down on your bed, you pried the carefully folded parchment open and began to read. 

“(Name), 

The weather in Snezhnaya is tolerable, I suppose, but I would much prefer to be relaxing on a Fontainian beach with a cocktail and a good book in hand while I soak up the Summer sun, instead. 

The Knave has told me you finally found something you excel in. Congratulations! I hope your training is much to be desired. Guns are handy companions if you know how to properly wield them. I never saw the appeal when I can just use my hands, but if a gun is what you desire, then I wish you the best of luck moving forward. 

The Tsaritsa has tasked me with a mission in Mondstadt. Although returning is a burden, I do suppose it’ll be pleasant to take in the scenery once more… Even if the Wind’s influence is practically crawling everywhere. It’s a shame you could not accompany me, but you have your priorities, and I have mine.

I sincerely hope that the next time we meet, you can show me how much you have improved. I will be awaiting results until then. 

As for the next time I step foot in the City of Bards, I hope you are there with me. Until then, take this token I commissioned from the best blacksmith in Mondstadt. I thought it only right to get you a gift. 

Best,

Rosalyne” 

Standing in front of the full length mirror next to your bed, you pushed your hair aside and clasped the necklace around your neck. It sat delicately on your collarbone, and you fiddled with the cecilia flower, feeling all along the crevices and grooves of the finely crafted jewelry. 

An absentminded smile tugged at your lips as you admired it, before a loud yell sounded from the common space. You flinched and let out a sigh. 

Waiting in the common area was Arlecchino, with two children huddled behind her legs. They looked to be about your age, with near matching hair and eyes the color of amethysts. 

You studied them intently, taking in the appearance of the girl first. She had darker, gray hair than what appeared to be her twin brother, and a deeper shade of violet eyes that were a bit sunken in from what looked like exhaustion. She had longer lashes than him, too, and a set of gray cat ears and a swishing tail. Her lips were drawn into a thin line. Her eyes scanned the whole crowd, calculated and piercing. Her shoulders were tense as she kept a firm grip on Arlecchino’s pant leg. 

She reminded you of yourself in a way. 

Meanwhile, her brother had faded blonde hair and striking violet eyes that pierced through your soul when you met his gaze. There were bags under his eyes, just like his sister. He didn’t have any animalistic features, but his pupils were pulled into slits— exactly like a cat’s. There was a certain mischief that laid deeper in his gaze, behind the apparent nervousness that currently shone in them. 

That was enough to tell you that even though he didn’t have the ears and tail to back it up, he had other features that declared how cat-like he was. 

Upon meeting your eyes, his chapped lips pulled up into the slightest of smiles, and his eyes were now shining with a newfound wonder. You returned his smile with one of your own and sent him a small, friendly wave. 

“This is Lyney and Lynette,” Arlecchino announced, placing each of her hands on their heads, “welcome them with open arms.” 

Just like the day you first laid hands on a gun, your whole entire world tilted on its axis, and it was all because of a boy with a cheshire smile.

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[ewingstan]

Something else about Alec—when we first see him on the field, he’s remarkably less intimidating than the other Undersiders, with a costume much less fear-inspiring and more straight-up gimmicky. I’ve talked about the Undersider’s costumes before, but one of the subtler differences between Worm and more “traditional” superhero media is how the villains’ costumes and personas often don’t have the same level of camp to them that comic villains do. There’s much more focus on practicality, where the only thing that matters aesthetically about a costume is that it communicates “don’t fuck with me.” Every hero in worm has a detailed, practical-yet-aesthetically-pleasing costume, but you run into villain capes with no costume or only the bare bones of one all the time. Rachel’s dressed like a horror movie slasher, Brian doesn’t bother with more ornamentation than an intimidating helmet. Lisa looks the part of your Saturday-morning villain, but she’s more invested in doing that than most because her cops-and-robbers theory—plus, when she’s in action she’s nearly always the scariest person in the room. And Lung, the first supervillain we meet, doesn’t have a costume at all, just a commanding presence. In contrast, the next set of villains Taylor meets, Uber and Leet, are established as losers no one takes seriously partially through having costumes that are just gimmicky. Early worm establishes that the successful villains in this setting are focused on being scary before anything else. Considering the extend Taylor internalizes the “be feared or die” strategy as the story goes on, it’s important for Worm to set that dynamic up quickly at the beginning, even if later characters break this rule*.

But early Regent doesn’t care about being scary. He struts into the battlefield like he’s Gorgeous George**, complete with a costume that wouldn’t look out of place in professional wrestling. He spends less time trying to act intimidating when fighting people and more time trying to get people to forget he’s there until he can steal their cool canon. He’s not trying to scare heroes or rival villains off like the others are, and that’s largely because he didn’t create the Regent persona to scare away people and make crime easier—he made the Regent persona to have a life away from his horrible family. It’s an early indication that Alec’s motivation for being here are not the same as everyone else’s—the other Undersiders are criminals for a living, and are using their personas as tools for their job. Alec is in this to have a good time in a way he didn’t get to in his old life, and is using his Regent persona as a form of play.

*for the later successful villains who DO care a lot about aesthetics, such as Accord or Trickster, their motivation for bucking the trend tend to says a lot about them. But that’s a different post.

**now I have the image stuck in my head of Alec coming to an important villain meeting in an evening gown, puppeting his henchmen to spread a carpet of rose petals ahead of him. Fuck he’d love doing that. The real tragedy of the Behemoth fight is that it robbed us of Aisha and Alec forming the best tag-team heel duo the wrestling world has ever seen.

[itsclydebitches]

This has got to be one of the most frustrating screenshots in RWBY.

Fans can deny it as much as they like that Qrow was not responsible for Clover's death but this screenshot proves that he did. Tyrian may have struck Clover through the heart, but Qrow was the one who allowed it to happen by fighting him and whittling his Aura levels down to dangerous levels before breaking it. AND there was literally no reason for Qrow to strike him, Clover had Tyrian restrained, the literal serial killer was ready to be taken back into custody and instead of stopping the fight and surrendering...he decides the best course of action is to attack the man restraining the serial killer. Okay. The worst part is Clover's death changes nothing, whether he lives or dies doesn't change the fact that Qrow still gets arrested and taken to James.

The concept of responsibility in the canon is so hopelessly skewed. Personally, I consider characters at least partially responsible for an outcome if their action meets three criteria:

Did this action directly allow for the outcome to occur, even if it wasn't the final step? e.g. Qrow breaking Clover's aura = Clover is now vulnerable to death via Tyrian. No punch = new outcome (Clover not dying then)

Did the character have agency in this moment? i.e. they're not mind controlled, not threatened into taking an action they otherwise wouldn't consider, not manipulated or lead astray by false information, etc.

Was the character aware that this action could lead to a horrific outcome? Are they reliably informed of the risks? e.g. Qrow ABSOLUTELY understands the dangers of breaking someone's aura, in the middle of the tundra, while a long-established serial killer is attempting to murder them

Now, note that when I say "responsible" I mean in the sense of, "You should be held accountable for this" rather than the equally literal and ethically simpler, "You just did the thing." I'm just plain old responsible if I knock a vase over like, "Yeah, regardless of this being a total accident I am the one who knocked it over. No one else did that. I'm the responsible party, but in a chill, very forgivable way." I'm accountable-responsible if I willingly throw a ball across the room, knowing full well it might hit something, but not really giving a shit for stupid, OOC reasons.

The show tries to play Qrow's choice off as just generic-responsible (when it's not irrationally blaming Ironwood), but he's accountable-responsible. He made a choice of his own free will, understanding better than most (as a huntsman and someone who has faced Tyrian before) the danger that choice presented to his friend, and that choice directly provided the means of Clover's death. Qrow didn't murder Clover, but he sure as hell was an accomplice.

And RWBY is full of these moments that, like with Qrow, the story ignores or forgives a character because the action in question is taken by one of the heroes. The above criteria is why I hold Ruby largely responsible for them ending up in the Ever After (you made a series of informed demands that directly lead to this outcome), or why I hold Jaune responsible for Penny's death (you made the choice to end her life without persuasive evidence that she couldn't be saved), even though both obviously have villains taking that final step: Salem is the one actually attacking Remnant, Cinder is the one who stabs Penny. Yet neither character has to grapple with their choices; the story glosses over them by introducing a new emotional focus that makes us feel for the character instead, not their victim(s): Ruby doesn't have to own up to her actions as leader because she jumps straight to crying over how hard it is to be leader; Jaune doesn't have to own up to Penny's death because he jumps straight to being traumatized by a lifetime of Ever After isolation. As a side-note, this is very similar to one of my biggest issues with Bakugo from MHA: too often the story has him engage in horrific behavior, immediately introduces something Bad in his life - he's kidnapped, injured, upset that All Might doesn't love him best - and saving/comforting him becomes the new focus, bypassing accountability. Or, fans read the Bad Thing as divine punishment for previous actions... despite there being no connection between the two and thus no growth. Meanwhile, in parallel world, Ruby helps doom Remnant but it's fine because she's upset about something and all the story cares about is showing Any Emotional Reaction, not one that will demonstrate that the character a) understands how their actions lead to this outcome, b) understands why that's an issue, and c) strives to change their behavior in the future.

RWBY also plays the Dramatic Emotional Card. Like, you know that person who when you correct them about something they become SO over-the-top upset about their mistake that you wind up comforting them rather than allowing them to sit with the correction? Yeah. There's no space to let Qrow sit with his responsibility because the show is too busy having him rail against Ironwood, or stare his Super Depressed stare at Clover's badge. The cue to the audience is, "He's so upset! Feel for him!!" not "Damn, he fucked up... how's he gonna grow from this?"

Then to round things off the responsible hero is always narratively forgiven. Qrow stops the bomb with an unprecedented spout of good luck: Clover from beyond the grave helping him in his time of need (not literally most likely, but in a thematic sense). Ruby returns to a world with her image painted in alleyways as a martyr: Remnant overlooking all the ways she helped cause their predicament and, again, positioning her solely as the injured party, rather than a victim and a perpetrator (which, frankly, makes Ruby more boring!). You're not supposed to hold them responsible, but if you do don't worry, here's a "hopeful" scene that explicitly says blaming them is a mistake.

[floatinginzerogravity]

Character Analysis of V/ Timeline of her getting back her memories/ whatever else is in here

Rewatching Murder Drones for the 5th (6th? 7th? I lost count) time right now. Got a lot of thoughts about V that I haven't seen anyone else mention, so I'm throwing them down here Be warned, senseless word vomit ahead. Something I find particularly interesting is V's memory throughout the series as well as how she treats N in relation to it

So, an analysis of her and N's relationship in the first episode. The disassembly drones have absolutely no memory of their time in the mansion at the start of the series, as well as their previous relationships That being said, scraps seem to carry over, like N's crush on V, and I think scraps of that also carried over to V. (Not in the form of a full blown crush, but more like she senses she cares about N for a reason she doesn't quite understand) And how does V respond to these phantom memories? Push them away and don't think about it, hence, the dismissive/avoidant way she treats N in the scene pictured above. And the memories are only phantoms and barely present, which makes it easy for her to simply focus on her programed mission, including trying to kill N when he "rebels like an angsty teen" At least, that's my two cents on it.

On to episode 2! First thing I'd like to point out is that she broke the chain somewhere between the gap between the beginning and the end of the episode (2:34)

(16:54)

She probably had her first encounter with Lizzie while N & Uzi were out investigating the J-solver. Speaking of the Absolute Slover, V doesn't recognize it at this point in the story, which is interesting because she (seems to) fully remember what happened with Cyn by Cabin Fever.

As a side note, while her "wanna do an autopsy?" thing can be brushed off as simply V being V, it could also be that she does recognize the solver and wants to get rid of Uzi. Do I find this likely? no, this is 100% me overthinking. moving on

Okay, this scene This has a very high possibility of being V trying to intimidate Uzi, but she's also kind of right. Nori had the solver, she was dangerous. But the thing is, she wasn't dangerous to Cyn's, and by extension, the disassembly drone's, mission. My theory is that V simply got lucky when hitting the mark on the Uzi's mom thing, but some things regarding the solver are starting to leak through and she just happens to pin it on the Worker Drones due to Uzi being a Worker Drone. Additional notes on the V scene at the start of the episode:

I find her bubble wand funny Also, she seems very okay with this for being a prisoner(?) Probably just likes messing with Uzi, if I'm being honest

But then there's the fact that she keeps up the whole "prisoner" thing even though she's fully capable of escaping. This is at least partially so she can go through with her murder plan in episode 3, but also partially so she doesn't have to leave N behind (especially, after the incident with Uzi) showing the first signs of her actually caring about N (with the show having prepped us to look for it beforehand using the mansion flashback) On to episode 3, AKA the first episode where V actually does stuff!

Ptff, V's little glance away

"Oh no, emotions, what do I do?"

(War flashbacks)

So, V 100% has most of her memories of what happened with Cyn by now, at least enough to have a good view of the picture

This scene is actually the first time we've seen V be somewhat vulnerable. Neat! Also, just last week she was pretending N didn't exist, and now she's asking him to run away with her? slow clap V, slow clap/hj

V just walks into the prom and is immediately ready to murder

also, what happened to

LIES

ptff, her disgust at the prom queen crown

she is so out of her element it's hilarious

V: wtf is happening THIS WAS NOT THE PLAN

annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd I have reached the image limit, this shall be continued through reblogs

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hallo! I'm not sure if you've already discussed or talked about the Obliviation spell and how memory magic works in general in HP already, but I think that'd be pretty neat if ever.

Hello!

So, I talked a bit here about pensive memories and how I think there's more than one spell involved. Now, mind magic in general in HP aren't talked about that much, but I have some thoughts about it (like I have about everything in HP).

I'll start with something I mentioned here regarding mind magic in general, and that mind magic seems to be the opposite of spells like the Patronus Charm or the unforgivable cures. While the unforgivable and the patronus required emotion, Snape says Occlumancy requires a clear mind:

“Clear your mind, Potter,” said Snape’s cold voice. “Let go of all emotion. . . .” But Harry’s anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom. Let go of his anger? He could as easily detach his legs. . . . “You’re not doing it, Potter. . . . You will need more discipline than this. . . . Focus, now. . . .”

(OotP, 535)

I assume all magic that has to do with the mind requires a clear mind to work correctly. Like, you can obliviate someone without a clear head, but you might delete too much or too little. The clarity of mind is necessary for control and precision which is also required for Legilimency (or to at least understand what you're seeing with it).

Now, we know that pensive memories as I mentioned here can be collected and physically removed from one's mind, as Snape does in his Occlumancy lessons with Harry:

Snape merely raised the wand to his temple and placed its tip into the greasy roots of his hair. When he withdrew it, some silvery substance came away, stretching from temple to wand like a thick gossamer strand, which broke as he pulled the wand away from it and fell gracefully into the Pensieve

(OotP, 533)

But Obliviation doesn't seem to work the same way. We know from Dumbledore that you can try and retrieve obliviated memories or memories buried by false ones that are implanted:

“Never,” said Dumbledore. “He gave, as I say, a full and boastful confession.” “But he had this real memory in him all the time!” “Yes, but it took a great deal of skilled Legilimency to coax it out of him,” said Dumbledore

(HBP, 367)

Lockhart, too, after obliviating himself, still retains some of his memories and mannerisms:

“We’re doing autographs!” Gilderoy told the Healer with another glittering smile. “They want loads of them, won’t take no for an answer! I just hope we’ve got enough photographs!” “Listen to him,” said the Healer, taking Lockhart’s arm and beaming fondly at him as though he were a precocious two-year-old. “He was rather well known a few years ago; we very much hope that this liking for giving autographs is a sign that his memory might be coming back a little bit

(OotP, 510)

This suggests that unlike what Snape did with the pensive Obliviate doesn't really remove the memory from the mind, just severs the connections to the memory within the brain, but it's still there and could still be retrieved partially (or even fully) by a skilled Legilimence (Like Dumbledore) or the mind healers at St. Mongos.

Even so, the memories that return aren't perfect. Dumbledore couldn't get the full memory back from Morfin's mind, likely because Tom hid certain parts better than others. Memories returning, even if they are still present and not fully removed, is no easy task. It requires careful coaxing to not damage the mind and memories further.

Then we have false memories that can be implanted:

“I see we are of one mind,” said Dumbledore. “Certainly, there are many similarities between this death and that of the Riddles. In both cases, somebody else took the blame, someone who had a clear memory of having caused the death —” “Hokey confessed?” “She remembered putting something in her mistress’s cocoa that turned out not to be sugar, but a lethal and little-known poison,” said Dumbledore. “It was concluded that she had not meant to do it, but being old and confused —” “Voldemort modified her memory, just like he did with Morfin!” “Yes, that is my conclusion too,” said Dumbledore.

(HBP, 438-439)

This magic is different from both Legilimency and Obliviation but requires the same clear mind (I assume). What I expect it does is the opposite of the spell that removes a memory entirely to be placed in a pensive. Essentially placing a new memory in.

Now, we know memories can be edited once they're outside someone's brain (be it a copy or the actual memory):

As several of the boys tittered, something very odd happened. The whole room was suddenly filled with a thick white fog, so that Harry could see nothing but the face of Dumbledore, who was standing beside him. Then Slughorn’s voice rang out through the mist, unnaturally loudly, “You’ll go wrong, boy, mark my words.”

(HBP, 370)

So, I think making a false memory works the same way. You take a memory from yourself (a copy) or remove a memory from the target, edit it as heavily as necessary, and then place it in someone's mind the way you would a removed memory. It is probably the same spell Snape used to return the pensive memories to him after the Occlumancy lessons:

and hurried toward the office door. As he opened it he glanced back at Snape, who had his back to Harry and was scooping his own thoughts out of the Pensieve with the tip of his wand and replacing them carefully inside his own head.

(OotP, 538)

Now, a bit more about editing memories. This is a complex skill and not something everyone is doing. Memories in HP are more like frozen fragments in time than just memories. We see it in SWM that Harry can listen in on the Marauders when Snape isn't near them. The memories are perfect in detail and "remember" more than a person naturally would. So, even though in SWM Snape wasn't listening to the Marauders, he still heard them in his pariphary. So their conversation was in his memory even if he couldn't actively recall it.

Basically, calling them memories is a little misleading. They are memories, but they also perfectly capture a moment in a way human memory almost never would. It captures everything your senses get from the scene, even the bits your brain would usually filter out because you don't need all that information.

That's why editing them is probably so hard. Because there is a lot of detail and it all has to be perfected if it's to be viewed in a pensive.

That being said, if the memory is placed in someone's mind without the intention of them viewing the memory outside their own recollection, it doesn't have to be perfect. As I mentioned, compared to how the pensive shows memories, human recollection is very flawed. If something is missing from your memory of a scene a few years ago, you won't get suspicious someone replaced it, you'll think you forgot a detail.

So editing memories into someone's mind is much easier than memories that go into a pensive. It's possible Slyghorn's edited memory wouldn't have felt edited inside a mind, since the brain would fill in the lack of visuals on its own (the brain just does things like that) but in a pensive, there is no human brain to finish his work for him, so the edit is glaringly obvious.

This is, like, all I have to say about mind magic off the top of my head, I believe, hope this answers your ask.