#and she's probably gonna have a time grappling with the fact he's still alive

[luv-again]

ooohhh WAIT

if I do write said prologue and epilogue for this piece, I could highlight/acknowledge the theme/gimmick surrounding choice. bc shadow 05 is all abt choice. choosing to help, choosing to destroy or abandon or go your own way. shadow, reflective of the 05 story or not, is a character all abt agency

each stage, shadow has an option, a choice to be making. and in this piece in particular, he began with one, only to choose another and he has to navigate the emotional and moral consequences of that subsequent. especially in this directed path of shadow choosing to side with black doom and carry out his evil bidding in both the previous stages

he is going to be left wondering why. that the minute black doom leaves him alone, the minute he thinks he can search for an answer on his own- he chooses to assist a girl he may not remember in finding/saving her friends. why he felt compelled to selflessness over selfishness

and little does he know it, amy has the exact same effect as she did before. subconsciously coercing him back into the light. to once again see the brighter side - the payoff that can come from being gentle and kind

[mamawasatesttube]

aoejznajwuzgVw. OKAY SO

This is gonna be such a ramble, I apologize in advance, but first off, yes Nightwing Kara does indeed pair with Flamebird Kon (or Supernova. You’ve converted me wjejshwhs)

So the idea is literally born from just like, her and Karen’s brief time as the Flamebird and Nightwing of Kandor, and it got me thinking about what it would be like for that concept to have been more expanded upon. And the ways that it could keep in theme with the Superfam and the immigration story, especially with Kara and Clark as first generation, and then Kon as second gen.

Then that got me thinking (as always) about Kryptonian culture and what it means to Kara and Kon. Like, Kara does struggle with keeping her Kryptonian heritage alive and staying true to it atop of assimilation, and how she just can’t blend in with humans in the way that Clark and even Kon can. And then there’s Kon who doesn’t always have a reason to want anything to do with Krypton, despite being Kryptonian himself. Like, the way the three of them are so so interesting to me in the ways that they just never fully feel like they belong. Also like, parallels! While some of Kon and Kara’s story’s are obviously meant to be throwbacks to Clark, it means that they (Kara and Kon) end up paralleling each other in ways that are so delicious, but completely accidental. For all their differences, they’re also so similar in a lot of ways that are completely different from Clark , namely their tempers.

Which brings me back to Nightwing and Flamebird! It would be such an interesting way to like, really explore Kon and Kara’s dynamic, and what they mean to each other. Like, Kara is a nonbeliever. She doesn’t believe in the Kryptonian gods (which is funny af considering Thara became the Flamebird vessel in canon), and I like to think that after crash landing on Earth and seeing that gods to in fact exist, there’s more than a bit of bitterness on her part. I think it would be such a good opportunity to have Kara, technological prodigy of the science guild, be the vessel of one of the gods and really confront what that means.

I have more, but I’m already making this message so long qoejzbwhehehw

ARTHUR THIS IS SO GOOD. WAIT A MINUTE IM YELLING I LOVE THIS CONCEPT SO MUCH ?!?!?!?!???

firstly i do still think its so funny re: kara and flamebird/thara like. no gods arent real dont be silly. yeah thats my bestie theres a god using her as a vessel but like. its probably nothing. something here along the lines of that joke about edward elric meeting god and then deciding he's an atheist anyway.

but also YES......... science guild kara vs the idea of faith and also like, the way gods can and do exist in the dc universe, but not as the untouchable and lofty ideals that a lot of real-world religions tend to posit godly figures as (which is not in any means saying all real world religions do that, as i primarily have experience with only 3 out of A Lot of those, but. yknow.) i think that adds a different flavor to that kind of conflict. like, they're immensely powerful but also just as flawed as anyone else, oftentimes. interesting and fun potential to toy with there (ofc id come at it from a specific angle personally bc haha religious trauma but. lol!)

but kara and wanting to keep her culture alive and then doing so in this very literal way while still grappling with what facets of that culture she wants to represent and support. that's FUN. very real immigrant story in that.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Miss American Pie

Chapter Five: This Will Be The Day (Finale)

Warning: this series features a romantic Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader pairing.

Summary: Everyone has returned but the battle for humanity against Thanos wages on.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You wake in a coughing fit, the rubble surrounding you sears your lungs. “Natasha.” You call into the rocks and flickering lights. Clearing your throat, you try again. “Natasha!”

“Here, I’m here.” Her voice is rough, pained.

You push yourself toward the sound, through the dust you can make out her hair. “You ok?”

“Mostly.” She’s laying face up, a few scratches visible.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I can’t move.” She nods at the piece of collapsed cement. “My leg is broken, you should go.” Nat says, staring up at the sky.

“I should’ve never let you go to Vormir. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” You try uselessly to budge the blockage over her leg.

“What is Vormir?” She asks.

“Doesn’t matter.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “How much do you remember?”

“The red room.”

“Do you remember getting out?”

“No one gets out.” She shakes her head.

“We did.” You inform her. “Yelena did.”

“Yelena?” Her gaze finds yours. “You know Yelena? Is she here?”

“Yes, I know her.” You press your lips together. “She’s not here though.”

“The rest of this building is coming down. If you were really trained in the red room you have to know that.” Natasha frowns. “You need to leave.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Don’t be a hero.” She whispers. “Let me go, it’s ok.”

“No, it’s not.” You argue. “I won’t do it again.”

“What about Yelena?” Natasha gives you a pointed look.

“She’ll understand.” This is what she would do.

“Hey,” Natasha pushes herself up on her elbows. “Would it be a good thing or a bad thing if a giant man in a metal suit carrying a smaller man and a raccoon appeared behind your head?”

You turn toward the man in question. Scott Lang. “It would be a good thing.”

———————————————————————

Natasha is taken somewhere safe. She can’t fight.

As the strange doctor and his disciples start opening portals you see that you’re not alone. Through one comes Alexei, Melina and Yelena.

Her white suit is pristine, dirty blonde hair held away from her face in ponytails.

On shaky legs you move toward her, taking your rightful place at her side. Facing what lies ahead together.

Yelena catches your hand, “this isn’t much of a welcome home.”

You can’t help but laugh, “pretty cool way to die though.”

“Very,” she agrees. “Natasha?”

“She is a little worse for wear.” You warn her, “but alive…and safe.”

Yelena gives you a watery smile, squeezing your fingers. “And you?”

“A tower fell on me.”

“Of course it did.”

Thanos’ army is nothing to scoff at. Giant airborne creatures hover over his troops. Larger monsters stand in their ranks, space ship overhead ready to destroy.

Steve is almost unrecognizable, covered in dirt, his shield battered and broken. But you know it is time when he gives the order. “Avengers, assemble.”

Fighting is easy, it’s what you know. What you were trained to do. Fight to stay alive, fight for what you believe in, fight with Yelena; for Yelena.

The two of you move together like a well oiled machine. Like riding a bike, even after all this time you could never forget.

“We’ve got company to the left.” Yelena says through gritted teeth, kicking at the alien creature beside her. Dropping an empty cartridge to the ground and reloading her gun seamlessly, firing several shots.

Despite everyone’s best efforts they just keep coming. “Do we have a plan here?”

“Getting there,” Steve replies. “Anybody have eyes on the gauntlet?”

“Yeah!” Clint rushes past you with the glove in hand. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Get it out of here!” Tony insists.

“What’s happening?” Alexei shouts over the chaos. “I still don’t have ear piece.”

“Just keep their army away from that guy in the tank top.” You grunt, falling backwards from the force of one of Thanos’ soldiers colliding with you.

“We have to get the stones back where they came from.” Rhodey reminds everyone.

“The time space tunnel is completely collapsed.” Tony points out.

“That isn’t our only time machine.” Lang cuts in.

“Does anyone see an ugly brown van out there?” Captain America’s voice hums through the ear bud.

“I do,” a female voice chimes in. “But you’re not going to like where it’s parked.”

After grappling for far too long, you manage to knock the creature from you. Using your knife to dismember it.

“Next time, we get the cool laser guns.” Yelena yells loud enough to be heard by everyone on the network, as she hauls you to your feet.

“Friday, please add laser guns for the ballerinas to my grocery list.” Stark gives his smart ass remark.

“What’s the word on the van?” Rhodey wonders.

“Working on it now.”

The ship at Thanos’ disposal begins raining fire, no regard for their own troops.

“We’ve got people going down!” Rocket hollers.

“Clint,” you call into the microphone. “How’s that gauntlet?”

“Moving down the field.” The archer replies, “I’m alright too, thanks for asking.”

“Good.” You bite back a smile.

Hell continues breaking loose around you. Glowing circular orbs unfold in the air above, providing coverage from the missiles. You’re not sure if this is winning or losing. It feels like a bit of both.

———————————————————————- Thanos and his army are dusted away. Leaving you surprised and still swinging as the shock wears off.

You won. You. Won.

And you lost.

You lost Tony Stark. The man you’d barely known, but offered you clarity that will stay with you forever.

You lost the Natasha you’d come to know over the five years that Yelena was gone. Some parts of the redhead stripped away for the price of the stone.

But she’s still here. Waiting in the wings to be greeted by Yelena and their little makeshift family. You share a look of understanding when your eyes meet over the blonde’s shoulder.

Others come, Banner refuses to leave her side. Despite the fact that Natasha doesn’t remember him.

Clint falls to the ground at her feet. Breaking down at the sight of his friend, his family alive and well. She doesn’t remember him either, but welcomes him into her arms somewhat awkwardly.

Her expressions flicker from happy to overwhelmed. Hesitant to open herself up to the possibility that she is wanted, needed and loved.

Too confusing for the girl who only remembers the red room. Adjusting to this life will take time.

Everyone begins clearing out, their jobs finished. Rushing home to reunite with their loved ones. Tomorrow will bring about new challenges. The world is in shambles, and so are you.

Steve decides that he should be the one to return the stones. His goodbye tells you that he has a bit more in mind. But this is his life. His choices, not yours.

“Well, I guess we should head out too.” You say after a while. Your car is gone, lost in the wreckage from the explosion.

The setting sun is eclipsed, causing all of you to turn your gaze upwards just in time to see the ship’s door open.

“Is that a raccoon?” Melina asks, pointing toward Rocket.

“Do you want a ride or not?” Rocket shoots back.

“Not the avenger’s super jet, but it will do huh?” Alexei smiles, this is his dream.

“This is better!” A man’s voice carries down from the interior.

“Well,” Yelena shrugs, “if you say so.” She leads the pack up the ramp and onto the ship.

“Fanny and the pigs will be expecting dinner soon.”

“How are they?” Melina asks, “have you been taking care of them.”

“That was me!” Alexei says proudly, bending at the waist to gather Natasha into his arms. “Aye honey,” he grunts, hoisting her up. “You are only little girl in my heart.”

Nat pushes against his chest in retaliation.

“Do you mind if I hitch a ride too?” Clint asks.

“The extra stop will cost you,” Nebula stares blankly at him from her seat.

“They always do.” He remarks, trotting up the ramp.

Bruce paces at the foot of the metal grate, watching the rest of you load up. “I gotta hang back, make sure Steve gets there in one piece.”

“After what happened with Scott the first time I’d say that’s probably the best bet.” You agree, standing near the entrance.

“Yeah,” he smiles, kindly. “Keep me posted on Nat, will ya?”

“I will,” you return the smile.

“I’ll see you around.”

You nod, “I’ll see you.”

The captain of the ship introduces himself as Star-lord, and after a moment without response, Quill.

“Any requests?” He asks, finger hovering over the control panel.

Alexei creeps over to the younger man, quietly relaying a message.

“Alright,” Quill nods. Stroking the keys until a familiar set of notes ring out.

“A long, long time ago-“ The singer croons.

You let out a chuckle.

“I can still remember how that music used to make me smile. And I knew if I had my chance, that I could make those people dance. And maybe they'd be happy for a while.”

“We’re really doing this?” Yelena puts a hand to her head, the corners of her mouth turning upward.

“But February made me shiver, with every paper I'd deliver. Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take one more step.” The melody carries on.

“It’s your song.” Natasha turns to her sister.

“I can't remember if I cried. When I read about his widowed bride.” Melina’s eyes are far away, carried back to their years in Ohio. Before the world had been so cruel.

“Something touched me deep inside, the day the music-“

“Died.” Yelena joins in, lulling her head to the side to gage your reaction.

You sigh, all of this beyond surreal. But you allow yourself to live in this moment, because you might not get another. “So bye, bye Miss American Pie…”

“Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry.” The roaring chorus of voices fills the silence you’ve grown used to. Fills the parts of you that were empty for so long. “And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye. Singin', “this’ll be the day that I die.”

“This’ll be the day that I die.” Yelena sings, her face alight with a childlike glee.

——————————————————————-

Melina, Natasha and Alexei stay with you for a while. A few weeks as Natasha heals and becomes acclimated to her life.

She claims to hate the attention, but deep down you know she’s full of it.

The Ohio house is bursting at the seams with five adults, nine pigs and one dog.

That isn’t enough to keep visitors at bay. Namely Clint, his wife Laura and their three children.

Things feel a bit off when everyone begins moving out. Alexei, Melina, and their pigs return to the farm outside of Saint Petersburg.

Natasha finds herself drawn to New York, with Bruce and the makeshift building he’s using as a lab.

You adjust to the steady thrum that is daily life, with Fanny and Yelena.

After dinner you load the dishwasher, drying your hands on the nearby tea towel before selecting a cycle.

“So how does it feel?” Yelena asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hmm?” You turn to face her.

“Being a hero.” She clarifies, a smile playing at her lips.

“I’m not-“

“Oh cut the crap, Y/N. You saved the world.” Yelena narrows her eyes at you.

“I did it for you.” You say simply, because it’s true.

Yelena closes the space between you, “why?”

“You know why.” You whisper as she cups your face in her hands, gently stroking her thumb over your cheek. “It’s ok if you wouldn’t have done the same.”

“I’d do more for you, and worse.” She assures you. “But do you really want to spend the rest of your life fumbling around feelings in the dark when you could have someone who-“

“I want you. I only ever want you.” You beckon her closer. “Anyway I can have you, that will be enough for me.”

Sometimes wires get crossed and you want things you never have before. And she provides them before you have a chance to ask. You give back to her tenfold, so that neither glass is ever empty. That is love. True love, the only way you’ve ever known it.

“I am yours…in every way a person can belong to another.” Yelena breathes, “and then some.”

Series taglist: @jeyramarie @freeshavocadoooo @ilovewinter101 @3and30aresoultwins @yelenabelovv @miphas-trident @1800-fight-me

If you loved this series as much as I did, you can check out the prequel here!

[soulmate-game]

This is an alternate ending for my Bio!dad Joker / Bio!mom Harley AU. Or really, the timeline itself will be entirely different starting from the moment that Marinette’s plane lands in Gotham. If you haven’t read the original, you can do so here.

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette often hated how accurate her intuition tended to be. She had barely even stepped out of the airport before she had felt the prick of a needle in her neck and the sensation of being shoved into a small, dark space before her vision cut out.

Looks like her mom wasn’t able to hide her existence away as well as they thought.

And unfortunately for Marinette, her darling asshole of a father had apparently had ample time to plan his first meeting with her. If he had just used the much easier to acquire Chloroform on her, then Marinette likely would have woken up early enough to come up with a plan. Chloroform was unreliable and wore off fairly easily. But no, he had actually had the time to steal hospital grade anesthetic.

Which meant that Marinette woke up with her wrists zip-tied to heavy links of chain above her head, and her ankles connected to the chain below her with what felt like ten layers of duct tape.

Lovely.

“Ah, there she is! Good morning, sleepyhead!” Those were the high-pitched, dramatic words she heard when she came back to consciousness. She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know who the speaker was— she had watched enough videos online and not-so-legally obtained Asylum and Prison footage to immediately recognize the speech patterns and tone that was echoing around her.

Apparently keeping her eyes closed was not allowed, because it was only a few seconds later that Marinette felt a harsh slap sting her cheek and whip her face to the side. Oh, that would become a bruise without a doubt. Her teeth betrayed her, cutting into the inside of her mouth with the force of the hit. So, when Marinette opened her eyes to glare at the sperm donor responsible for half of her DNA, she aimed her bloody spit right at him. It landed on his shoe, which only a few seconds later slammed into her gut.

Marinette gasped for air even as the chain she was on swung violently, making her dizzy and upsetting her stomach. Too bad she didn’t have anything in there to throw up on him, she thought angrily. The chain links rattled loudly, ringing in her head alongside the electric pain of both of her newly forming bruises.

“Honestly, is that any way to treat your dear ol’ Daddy?” Joker cooed with false offense, one hand over his heart. Marinette glared at him as best as she could as she continued to sway in the open air, the chain she was tied to being the only thing keeping her from plunging straight down into a vat of sickly green, bubbling liquid.

Marinette didn’t need to be told what that liquid was. And joker knew that, the moment he saw her look down at that vat and saw the realization almost immediately cross her face. So instead of explaining, he laughed. Loud, high, and deranged.

“Good, good! That idiot Harley kept you educated, at least,” he said between psychotic chuckles. “Ah yes, and she somehow managed to choose the perfect name,” he glided over to her, as if he was some ethereal demon of chaos instead of a human. His paper-white hand reached out, grabbing her chin in a crushing grip and turning her face this way and that. Inspecting her as if she was a piece of china and not a living being. “So easy to adjust. Right now, you’re Marinette. Just like how, all those years ago, your mother stood here as Harleen. But just as she was dunked into acid and became my harlequin,” he stepped back and grabbed Marinette’s shoulders. He spun her like a top, making the metal chain creak and clink as it wound into a few weak coils and then released back out, trying to go straight again. It sent Marinette twirling through the air in a horrid half-spin, one-eighty degrees one way before sharply spinning to the other side. Joker laughed.

“Just like that, you’re gonna go from boring old Marinette,” he stuck out his tongue like a child, as if the mere taste of her name was bitter. “And you’ll be reborn as my new little Marionette. Aren’t you excited?!”

“Fuck you,” Marinette spat, even as she tried to blink and return her vision to normal. She was far too disoriented to even come up with a plan— but she was still coherent enough to register that the sky was dark outside the high windows of the factory she was apparently in. She had been missing for a few hours then, which meant that her mom and Momma Ivy would have called for help a long time ago. Maybe if she just stalled long enough, it would get there in time. “I’m not a puppet. Not for you, not for anybody!” She snarled.

Joker rolled his eyes, but his smile still widened. “Oh, that’s what they all say. In fact, your mother put up a good resistance there for a while, but her inner chaos couldn’t resist me. You’ll bend even easier, I have no doubt,” her ran his hand along her cheek in a motion that was so gentle that it felt foreign, wrong, to her coming from him. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to whiplash her, take all her hope away before dangling the option he wanted her to choose in front of her like a carrot on a stick.

Too bad he didn’t know her at all. She cringed away from his gentle touch, revolted by the mere feel of his skin on her’s.

“And your accent is a nice touch,” he cooed as if her reaction didn’t bother him at all. It probably didn’t. “Exotic. Just the thing I need to freshen up my usual act a bit, the Boston twang my old Harlequins had is just… stale by now, don’t you agree?”

Marinette clenched her jaw at the reminder that he had tried to pass off a cheap look-alike as her mom when she disappeared, back when she was pregnant with Marinette, to hide her baby from Joker. How he had discarded that woman like trash when Harley went back to him, only to replace her again when her mom left him for good.

No matter how badly Joker spoke of her mom, Marinette knew that Harley had been the only Harlequin of his to actually last. The only one he kept around, and there was a reason for that. Now, he was looking for another replacement. One that was more than a cheap knockoff, and he was hoping that a teenager with not only Harley’s genetics, but also his own, would be the exact kind of right-hand prop he wanted. An obedient little puppet of chaos, just for him.

But Marinette was nobody's toy. She had been used and taken advantage of enough back in Paris, she had spent her whole life struggling to escape the side effects of her parentage. To deal with the things she inherited.

The obsessiveness, the way she was so quick to get attached. She knew she inherited that from her mom. But there was also the rage, the anger that Marinette constantly had to stuff down. Hide below the surface before it hurt someone. Keep under a tight reign and hide away in the back of her mind, her own dirty little secret.

The constant reminder of just who her biological father was. Because that anger, that viciousness, could only have come from him.

She had spent her whole life trying to carve herself her own identity, to create beauty with the chaotic elements she got from her blood. And she couldn’t blame her mother, not really. Her mother at least did her best to help, and always leant an empathetic ear when Marinette needed it. But Joker?

Oh, she could, and would, blame him even long after he was dead and gone. Because he was the one who hurt her mother, he was the one who twisted her and drove her to feel unfit to be a parent. And sometimes, Marinette thought it would be better if Joker never existed. Sure, that meant she never would have been born. But wouldn’t that have been easier, too? To not ever have to experience the struggle that came with being his daughter, a title she never consented to?

But she couldn’t change the past. She was alive, and she would use her life to spite everything that the Joker stood for. That would be her revenge. He wanted a toy?

Joker had been monologuing, but Marinette drowned it all out as she kept her periphery vision on the windows above her. Shadows moved out there, with familiar bright yellows and shadowy blacks. The bats were there. She just needed to stall.

She opened her mouth. Joker pulled a lever.

Marinette dropped.

Wire whizzed through the air, knocking the breath out of Marinette as it wound around her torso. She was barely able to piece together what was happening; one of the bats shot a human-safe grapple to try and pull her away from the acid.

But the chain and her restraints were stronger, heavier, and just dragged the grapple down with her body.

The impact sent a large wave of sickly green liquid surging over the side of the vat, and Marinette was dragged from view underneath the surface.

It burned.

She distantly felt the tape around her ankles peel itself away from her skin, the combination of acid and wetness rendering it useless. She felt the chemicals burning at her, sending painful tingles across every last inch of her skin. It got in her mouth, she didn’t have any breath in her to hold and ended up swallowing some. It seared her throat and created a river of lava inside her. It hurt.

It hurt so bad, she just wanted out. Out. Out. Out!

Someone pull her out now!

The zip tie around her wrist loosened enough for her to pull herself free, right as something heavy slammed into the heavy metal bowl. The entire container sloshed, slamming to fall onto its side. Marinette’s body was pulled alongside the rush of liquid as it flowed out, and she was able to breathe air again. Sweet, cooling air.

And then she hacked up acid, spitting and spewing it in an attempt to purge every last drop she had accidentally ingested. Like a cat choking on a hairball, she coughed and hacked and her chest convulsed and contracted to try and help her. Her ribs ached, she figured that the grapple that had tried to save her had ended up fracturing or breaking a rib or two. But all she cared about was breathing and getting rid of the chemicals she had inhaled. She needed it out. All of it. Out. Out. Out of her!

“Try to take a deep breath,” a gruff voice commanded, soft but solid. Something stable for her to cling to. So she did as it asked, forcing herself to stop hacking and instead focus on inhaling. As slowly as she could. It was difficult, the first few breaths cut themselves off with more involuntary coughing, but the owner of the gruff voice stayed nearby. Repeated it’s request. “Deep breath. Steady, now. In. Out. Good.”

Marinette was just starting to calm down, just starting to claw herself out of the haze of panic and adrenaline, when that wretched laugh cut through the air again.

“There you are! Heheheheh! My cute little Marionette!”

Marinette froze. She could barely think, barely understand her own emotions. But she knew she was different now. She knew there was no way back, he had taken it from her. He had taken her normality, he had taken all of her years of hard work and burned them right in front of her.

He had won. The bats hadn’t been fast enough. But, if her foggy mind was correct, Batman was the one trying to bring her back to lucidity. Batman was the one trying to help her get air back in her lungs.

Not her so-called father.

If he wanted a toy, she’d be a haunted doll. She’d harass him, haunt him, until he wanted nothing to do with her. She’d come back, like a possessed porcelain doll refusing to be thrown away. She would make him regret ever awakening the monster that she had spent so long forcing down. Because she was her father’s daughter, yes. But she was also her mother’s daughter.

And most importantly, she was Marinette Quinzel-Isley. Her own damned person. The Chosen wielder of the Creation miraculous. And she would never bow down and be used by anyone, ever again.

Tikki’s words from so long ago echoed in her mind. Resounded even louder than Joker’s laughter;

“That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good.”

And wasn’t that everything Marinette had ever done? It was a part of her now. Like a tattoo she had inked into her very soul.

She took the chaos she was given, and turned it into something beautiful. And right now? Right now, the most beautiful thing she could think of was Joker’s face when she slammed her fist into it.

“Easy,” Batman repeated, but for a different reason now. Marinette’s lungs still stuttered a little, but her breathing was mostly under control. Now, he was saying it because Marinette was forcing herself to her feet. Her legs trembled under her, threatening to lay her out on the floor again. But she was every bit as stubborn as Joker, which made for a terrifying combination with her all-consuming fury. The acid had broken the mental chains Marinette had been using to hold it back, and now it burned fierce and bright in her eyes.

So Marinette kept herself up right, cognizant of Batman’s hand on her shoulder but ignoring it. She grit her teeth against the burning light of the room, everything suddenly too bright and colorful. Too vibrant. But it did little to distract her. She realized that one of her hands still gripped the heavy chain that had sent her drowning in the acid, and sent a snarl at her darling, jackass of a father as she whipped it out right towards him.

“Marinette!” Batman yelled, his grip tightening on her shoulder. But he didn’t pull her back, which spoke louder than any words he could have said to her right then. He wouldn’t save Joker from his daughter, he knew the man deserved at least this much pain. And sure enough, the metal links slammed right into Joker’s side, winding around him like a crushing whip.

But that was all Marinette had the strength to do. As soon as she saw Joker’s body hit the floor, writhing in agony and painfully loud cackles, her hand let go of the chain and her body tumbled down. Batman caught her.

“Red Hood, Nightwing, get Joker back to Arkham,” Batman’s order faded in and out of focus. Now that her most pressing desire was taken care of, the effects of the acid reared their ugly heads with renewed ferocity. Everything was too bright, too loud, and her thoughts echoed in her head like voices wrestling for supremacy. “Robin, Black Bat, stay on alert. Harley said that she’s incredibly trained,” he warned his partners. Marinette didn’t begrudge him, the only other two people who had survived being dunked into those chemicals hadn’t exactly treated him with kindness and pacifism. But she could barely focus on them anyway, too distracted by trying to reign in the chaos in her mind.

But Joker would never stay silent, even as he was dragged away in chains.

“Hehehahahahaha! Paper white, paper white!” He jeered cheerfully. “That’s my girl! Violent just like Papa!” Red hood knocked him out with a harsh punch to the side of his neck before he could say another word. But it was enough— enough for Marinette to gasp in realization.

Her skin. It was paper white, just like his. Not even Harley’s skin had been bleached like the Joker’s after her dip in the acid. That had always been makeup. Her mom had a healthy, peachy complexion like anyone else. A complexion Marinette had shared— until now. Now, she was unhealthily pale. Just like him.

A painful screech tore itself from her already raw throat, and Marinette’s fingernails immediately began to tear at her own skin. Red. Red was better than white— she didn’t want to look like him. She couldn’t. White was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

“Marinette! Stop!” Strong hands clamped around her wrists, pulling her hands away from herself even as she wriggled and tried to keep clawing at herself.

“No! No no no!” Marinette howled. “I don’t wanna look like him! I don’t wanna be like him!” She managed to get one hand free and immediately tried to tear away at her face. Batman was able to wrestle her arm away before she could do any damage besides a few angry red lines. “I refuse! I refuse! I refuse!” She shook her head, not feeling as tears flung themselves off her cheeks.

“Okay,” Batman’s voice was solid again, soft and grumbly and stable. She grabbed at it again, drawn to anything that might help bring her stability. She needed his unflappable attitude right then, and he probably didn’t even realize how badly. “That’s good. But you don’t need to rip your skin off to do that, you know that right?”

Marinette hiccuped, finally sinking down to sob as the weight of everything she had lost pressed down over the chaos of deafening light and blinding sound that continued to jumble around inside her head. “He changed me,” she choked out. Batman nodded even though she wasn’t looking at him.

“He did.”

“Th-that f-fucking bastard,” Marinette managed a sad chuckle before devolving right back into sobs. “I wo-worked so h-hard. N-never hurt any-anybody. Never… never yelled. Ne-never hit… Not people who didn’t attack f-first.”

“I know. Your mom told me,” he confirmed calmly. Solid, tethering. Marinette swallowed another gulp of air, trying to calm down. But everything was too much.

“Mom!” She suddenly realized out loud, turning and grabbing at Batman’s chest, clinging to his uniform. She didn’t even care that she almost sliced herself on a batarang, she clung to him desperately with wide, crazed eyes. “G-get Mom and… and Ivy! They… they can help. They know—“ Marinette paused to breathe, then resumed. “Momma Ivy— she gave me—gave me a diluted… th-thingy, years ago, I can’t remember—“ Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to get her mind to calm down. To work.

“The serum she gave Harley?” He asked. “The one that made her immune to poisons, and gave her increased physical abilities?”

“That!” Marinette agreed frantically, nodding. “I was too— too little, to give the real thing, so she diluted it,” she swallowed her spit and winced when it burned her throat. “It… I think it’s helping with the—the—the—“

“The chemical’s effects?” Batman suddenly sounded like he was paying much more attention than before, his shoulders a little straighter at her explanation. “You think it’s slowing down or numbing what it did to your mom and Joker?” Marinette couldn’t talk anymore, it hurt too much. Everything hurt too much, so she just nodded. “Good. That’s good, Marinette. Robin! Get Harley and Ivy down here, now!”

That was when the voices started. Sometime during the ten minutes it took to get her Mom and Ivy to her, they had apparently been waiting nearby anxiously incase the Bats had needed backup, the voices had built from ominous whispers to devious shouts, ordering her to do things like slam her elbow into Batman’s throat or see what happened if she splashed Robin with some of the acid that was still on the ground.

Her body didn’t move. She kept herself carefully still, focusing on ignoring her impulse to listen to one of the voices. She was still lucid enough to know that she would regret it if she did any of that. That the Bats were more on her side than any of the voices or the Joker were. But it was growing painful, and Harley and Ivy walked in to Batman trying to keep Marinette from hitting her own head. She had devolved to trying to knock herself out to get the voices to be quiet.

“Shut up,” she hissed, her voice hoarse and gravelly. “Shut up, shut up, shut. Up!” She was clearly talking to herself, her eyes screwed shut as she continued to try and hit her head. Harley gasped, hands flying to her mouth and eyes watering at the sight. This was something she had hoped she would never see.

“Harls,” Ivy spoke softly, putting a gentle arm around her wife’s back in support. It hurt Ivy to see Marinette in so much agony, but she knew it pained Harley even more. And much more personally. “Come on. We can help.”

“Y-you’re right,” Harley agreed shakily, taking a deep breath to try and compose herself before they both approached their daughter. Batman didn’t let go of Marinette, but did lean out of the way to give them access to her.

“Honeycake?” Harley called out softly, a little unsure how the chemicals were affecting her baby’s personality right then. The first few days were going to be the worst, and she knew that. The Dunk never took it easy on it’s victims. Marinette gasped, stopping her muttering and raising her head to look at Harley with wide eyes.

“Momma?”

Harley had to swallow heavily to shove back the sob that wanted to bubble up out of her. She had to be strong for her baby. She couldn’t break yet. But Marinette hadn’t called her Momma since she was little, now she called Pamela ‘Momma Ivy’ and her just ‘Mom’.

“It’s me, sugarplum,” she assured her daughter, kneeling down and cupping one of Marinette’s cheeks in her palm. And that was when she noticed it, and couldn’t help but widen her eyes in shock. But Marinette’s senses were so sensitive that she noticed it right away, and stiffened.

“Wh-what is it?” She grew frantic when Harley didn’t immediately respond, only winced in sympathy. Marinette knew that wasn’t good. “Mom? What is it? What did he do? What else did he do to me?”

“Darling,” Harley started, licking her lips nervously. “My sweet baby girl, your right eye… it’s green now, sugar.”

Marinette’s world froze. She tried to smile, but it came out lopsided and disbelieving. “No,” she somehow managed to breathe. “No, mom, I have your eyes. Your blue eyes. I love your eyes,” Her voice steadily got more and more panicked as she went on, not wanting to accept what her mother was clearly seeing. She watched as Harley’s face broke a little, a few tears escaping before the older woman could stop them. Marinette shook her head again, slipping her tiny wrist out of Batman’s hold and raising it to her eye. “No. It’s one of his tricks. He—he must have slipped a contact in my eye when I was passed out, that’s— that’s— that’s all—“ but her fingertip met her normal eye. No contact to be felt. Marinette’s hand fell into her lap limply. The room was absolutely silent as everyone gave her a few seconds to process just how much she had been changed, entirely against her will. She opened and closed her mouth, not sure whether she wanted to yell or curse or cry. Instead, her voice just came out in a very tiny, broken:

“...fuck.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette had gone mostly mute. She would say a word here or there, but for the most part she was doing a good impression of a vegetable. She stayed silent, as still as possible, and just stared at the ceiling of her hospital room.

She had been like that for the past two weeks they had been monitoring her in the Acid’s aftermath. Her ribs, which had turned out to only be bruised thankfully enough, had healed. Her cheek and torso were healed up too, only the barest hint of sickly yellow to show as a reminder of Joker’s hits on her. Sometimes the cameras would catch her talking to seemingly empty air, only for a nurse to rush in and see that Marinette had gone silent yet again.

Tikki was doing her best to help. She had been separated from Marinette, but Pamela had found Marinette’s purse and returned it— and subsequently Tikki— when they had gotten her to the hospital. She was the only person Marinette regularly spoke to, because Marinette knew Tikki understood. Tikki had been around since the Big Bang, she had seen worse things than a little insanity. Tikki had always been there to help her feel at ease with her mind and body. She shared a piece of Tikki’s soul, even, according to the tiny god.

But talking to anyone else was too hard. Too scary. She still had those damned voices at war in her mind, trying to convince her to do things that made her lock her joints and keep her body absolutely still before she acted on any of the coaxes. Possibilities she had never considered before came startlingly easy to her mind now— like how it would only take two seconds to tear her IV out and stab it into her nurse’s eye. How she could use her blanket to strangle Momma Ivy, or how she could fake jumping out the window and Harley wouldn’t waste a second trying to save her.

They were horrible thoughts. Intrusive, ugly, and far too loud. She didn’t want to act on any of them, but sometimes she found her fingers twitching only a second before she could follow through on one.

She spent a lot of time meditating, because of it. Which is why most people thought she was ignoring them. She didn’t mean to, she just needed to meditate. It was like her brain was a giant room filled with filing cabinets that held her thoughts and emotions. Her whole life, Marinette had carefully kept this room alphabetized, organized, and neat. Every file in its correct drawer. Until Joker had come along, and ripped the entire place apart. Tore certain files in half, broke her cabinets, ruined her filing system. And now she had to put the room back together, one drawer and piece of paper at a time.

That’s what the meditation was doing. She was getting reacquainted with herself. Learning what had changed in her mind and trying to adjust. She couldn’t be the old Marinette anymore, but she’d be damned if she let the Joker turn her into someone ugly like him.

So she needed time.

One day, towards the end of those two weeks, she got a visitor slipping through her window. Considering her room was on the tenth floor, she had it pretty narrowed down as to who it could be. Batman had visited her every night, a silent shadow in the corner, but he had already left for the day so it couldn’t be him. None of the other bats had dropped by after the second day.

She turned her head to see that that was now changed; Red Hood sat on her windowsill with one leg inside the room and the other bent on the sill itself. He looked the very picture of comfort despite being a stiff wind (or quick shove— no, bad brain) away from falling to his death. And then Hood took off his helmet, which was ugly enough to inspire some of the more violent suggestions in her brain and make them seem appealing.

“Ya know. Red Hood used to be what Joker called himself,” were the first words out of the vigilante’s mouth. Marinette’s eyebrows pulled down, and it was clear she was confused (and a little angry) at what he told her. He grinned, his eyes still hidden by the domino mask on his face. “Eh. The bastard killed me, ya know. I was the second Robin, a lifetime ago.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at that, and the violent voices dimmed and seemed to grow muffled. Marinette couldn’t quite understand what they were trying to tell her anymore, which made her figure that she had better pay attention to what Hood had to say. She licked her dry lips, and spoke softly. Her throat was still damaged from the acid, so she couldn’t speak very loudly yet.

“Then how are you… you know, here?”

The man chuckled. “Another group of assholes happens to have a magic pit in their basement. It’s a glowing green lake, ten different types of bad news. But it brings people back to life, and they dunked me in it without even caring for a second if I even wanted to come back.”

Marinette’s shoulders relaxed all on their own. It seemed to sink into her brain all at once, a simple:

Oh. He gets it.

“I guess the water doesn’t take it easy on your brain, either?” She hazarded an educated guess. He laughed, shaking his head.

“Not at all. I went off the deep end for a while, and killed a lotta people. They deserved it at least, but I don’t like how violent I was back then. Before I learned how to cope. Attacked people who were innocent. Red Robin almost died when I attacked him, back then, when he was just Robin.”

“Then why’d you keep calling yourself Red Hood?” She asked, tilting her head. He finally turned his head to look straight at her instead of just staring out the window. His grin widened, but it was lopsided. The grin of someone who was healed from some serious shit, but knew that it would always ache. A bittersweet expression.

“Cuz he doesn’t own that name. I made it into something that stands for at least a little good. Something that scares the assholes who don’t care about killing or abusing innocent people. Hell, some people take comfort in the name Red Hood now. And you know what that means?”

Marinette shook her head, and his grin widened into a shark-like smile.

“It means I stole it from him. The name Red Hood. He’ll never use it again, and now it stands for the opposite of anything he’d agree with. You can do that too, you know. Find something to steal from him, or use something he gave you, and make it your own.”

“Turn the chaos into something good,” Marinette said dreamily, clearly quoting someone. Red Hood nodded.

“Exactly. It’s not gonna be easy, but you got the choice here. You ain’t going back to who you used to be, but you can take the victory away from him.”

“... make him regret ever dunking me in that stupid vat,” she agreed, narrowing her eyes as they filled with determination for the first time since her body hit the acid. “He wants a puppet, an obedient little doll, I’ll give him Annabel.”

“There ya go,” The vigilante slid off the windowsill and approached her bed, holding out his hand for a shake. “I can help you get to that. What do ya say?”

Marinette was silent for a long minute, staring straight into his masked eyes. And then, a slow smile spread over her lips. “I got one question, Red Hood.”

“Shoot.”

“How do you feel about black cats?”

—*—*—*—*—*

This took four hours, holy hell. I’m actually happy with how this turned out. What do you guys think? I even got to max length on Tumblr 😂

[the-golden-ghost]

For the First and Last, no.24? o w o

24. First/Last Secrets

~~~

I chose Lupjig because I'm weak and I love them. The first part takes place in the Early Gang Days, shortly before Lupin decides to fake his death for the first time.

The second part takes place in the Late Gang Days, a little before the events in Castle of Cagliostro.

I hope you enjoy!

~~~

“Ammunition?”

“Yep.”

“Getaway car?”

“Yep.”

“Getaway chopper?”

“Absolutely. Grappling hooks, smokescreens, personal flotation devices?”

“Everything.”

“So it’s all in order?”

Lupin and Jigen were running down their checklist of all they’d need for tomorrow’s job. This one was going to be wild, and dangerous, but they were ready for it, even if there was a very real possibility that one of them may not survive.

In fact, in Lupin’s case, it was a certainty. The one where Lupin III, in all his unsavory glory, finally joined the world of the dead! Sometime tomorrow, the grappling hooks he’d been in charge of would fail, and he’d fall fifty feet down into a steel trap laid out for him by one of the world’s most notorious leaders of the criminal underground, and from there on out, nothing would ever be the same.

A year ago it would have been hilarious. Now, it still was, but he had to admit he had some misgivings. Mostly because he’d spent a year assembling this team, and against his better judgement, well...

He was glad Fujiko was on the other side of the world in Dubai where she wouldn’t have to see, and he was glad that he’d summoned Goemon, even if in truth he could have done this without him. He’d considered sparing Goemon too, until he realized that once the heist failed as planned, Jigen would have to stagger back to the hideout alone.

Lupin could not do that, not to him.

Looking over at Jigen now, Lupin tried to imagine what his reaction would be. Maybe he’d handle it well. Jigen was a pretty tough bastard and he’d had his share of suffering so maybe this would just be another knock for him. Maybe he’d shake it off easy and walk away like the past year hadn’t happened. Maybe his heart wouldn’t break. Maybe Lupin didn’t mean as much to him as he’d come to mean to Lupin.

Maybe everything would be okay and he could go on and be happy, somehow.

“You’re kinda quiet,” Jigen said, flopping down on the couch and lighting a cigarette. Goemon was sitting close by, deep in meditation but in reality, probably listening intently. “Usually you’re talkin’ my ear off about how great it’s gonna be.”

“It’s gonna be great, Jigen!” Lupin said, giving his best smile. He hoped it was more convincing than it felt.

A year ago Jigen had joined up with him, drawing away from kind gestures and bristling up at anything other than cool professionalism. It had taken Lupin months to coax him out of that dreary, guarded state, but by God, Jigen knew how to smile, and how to laugh, and even how to sing when he set his mind to it.

True, he was still a grouchy, wary alcoholic but he didn’t flinch anymore when Lupin touched him and he would joke back and forth with him all night without clamming up in sudden fear that Lupin would tell him he’d gone too far and retaliate with cruelty.

And now Lupin was going to wipe himself off the map and send Jigen back into the world that had made him that way in the first place. All that effort, gone. So yeah, he had a couple of misgivings.

If he’d had time... if he could have primed Jigen better, maybe he could have let him in on it and trusted him to follow through, but...

“You sure you’re okay?” Jigen asked. “You nervous?”

“Are you?”

“Maybe a little,” Jigen said with a shrug. “What about you, Goemon? Are you nervous?”

“No.” Goemon probably wasn’t, in all honesty.

“Hey,” Jigen said. “We’re gonna be fine,” he was looking at Lupin when he said it, and it almost was enough to kill Lupin then and there, because in the year they’d been together he couldn’t recall even one time Jigen tried to offer comfort. He’d come so damn far, and now this.

“You think I don’t know that?” Lupin scoffed. “You must think I’m losing my touch.”

He’d be losing a lot more than that, though, before it was over.

~~~

Lupin usually slept pretty well. Oh, sure, he’d stay up a few nights before a job prepping, or he’d be on high alert when they were being tailed, but otherwise he’d always prided himself in his ability to shake his troubles off and sleep through the night unhindered.

Lately though his thoughts tended to nag at him and keep him staring at the ceiling long into the night.

Jigen was beside him because Jigen was always beside him. Tonight he was snoring. And usually that sound was a comforting one to Lupin, a sure sign of safety. If Jigen could rest easy, then there was definitely nothing to fear.

Lately, Jigen had been resting easy a lot, but Lupin had been having troubles.

He sat up, stared out the window for a long while, and then turned back to look at his partner. Same old Jigen, drowsing with his hat pulled over his face. But he wasn’t the same. Lupin remembered the sharp-eyed, rawboned man he’d allied with more than a decade ago. A rangy, callous sharpshooter with a quick hand and a quicker tongue who nevertheless had stuck close to Lupin like a burr and wormed his way into his life.

And now? Now Lupin would always think of Jigen foremost as a warm, steady man with a rough disposition and a soft heart. The years had changed him physically - adding lines to his face and scars to his skin, most of which Lupin had been there to bear witness to. His body had filled out over time, too, leaving him looking stronger and healthier than Lupin could ever remember.

Lupin sighed. Jigen had a lot of life left in him to take him wherever he wanted to go. But he didn’t know if the same was true for himself. And he wanted sometimes to say it - to just voice it aloud so there was no question. That he’d never planned to live past his youth, but the years had caught up with him and somehow, it had just... happened.

He was still planning how to die. But now, more and more, it was looking like it would have to be for real. No more playacting, no more dress rehearsals or bait and switches that left everyone guessing. One last stand and it would be over.

Surely it would be easy? It couldn’t hurt more than anything else Lupin had ever done. And after that, nothing at all.

He’d have to make it perfect, though.

The thing that got to him was that after all this he didn’t want to leave Jigen behind. Goemon would be okay. He still joined up with them when they called, but he’d been spending less and less time with them - he stuck around for the jobs, but between them, he was barely around. And he hadn’t seen Fujiko in months. She was okay, he was sure, and they’d meet again, but...

He missed them both.

Jigen was still here, though. And he didn’t show signs of leaving. He’d be the one to bury Lupin, Lupin was pretty certain of that, and he’d do it well, giving him all the honors befitting a thief and a swindler and a beloved partner and friend.

But then what?

Lupin could imagine Jigen striking off alone and purposeless, all that life still in him but nothing to do with it now. He pictured him just wandering, falling slowly back into his old bad habits until the years shed from him and he joined Lupin in death, reverted back to the same bitter man he’d been when they first met.

And Lupin tried to tell himself no, that would never happen. Jigen is stronger than that.

But he remembered that he’d stopped faking his death a few years ago, after the two of them had stood and watched Goemon be killed right in front of them. It was a cruel trick, and Goemon was alive and well to this day, but Lupin had never seen Jigen truly break before and for the first time in his life he thought he was going to lose both his partners for good.

When Goemon returned Lupin had made an uneasy joke about how Jigen would never have mourned like that for him, and Goemon just shook his head.

“You have no idea.”

So...

It wasn’t even that Lupin really wanted to die. That was the truth of it. He didn’t want to die, but he didn’t know how to go on living. He’d always promised himself he wouldn’t die a boring, pointless death and if he allowed himself to grow old and doddering and just... withered away in a hospital room somewhere... what would the point have been?

He just wanted it all to have some bigger meaning. Maybe it was an impossible wish. Maybe the best he could do was say he changed a few lives and made a few headlines and would die loved.

Someday.

Lupin lay back down and snuggled right up next to his partner. He needed some sleep, and after all, even if the clock felt like it was winding down, there were still some adventures to be had.

And time, thankfully, to choose what the world had in store for them.

[mallowstep]

okay, i got an ask about an alternative to the misty au where leopardstar helps rescue the mistyfoot and featherpaw, so tigerstar ends up punishing her instead, and here's my answer:

cw: sexual assault, parents/children being involved in sexual assault

I had a horrible no good about the Misty AU where Leopardstar helped them escape and....Tigerstar took one of her lives, then...sexually assaulted her while making Mudfur watch until he was sure she was with kits and then he told Mudfur: "Maybe she'll go the same way as her mother." (If this is too dark I apologize immensely.)

hello, anon. let's talk, shall we?

cursory things out of the way, i generally don't mind what people put into my inbox. that said, if you're unsure, you can always ask first. i try to answer "housekeeping" qs as soon as i can.

now, onto the ask itself.

god DAMN is this an idea. poor mudfur. he doesn't deserve going through this. nor does leopardstar.

but like. here's the THING. we were talking about tigerstar's power a while ago and -- he's actually not maximizing his usage of it.

see, he has a thunderclan pov. in thunderclan, leaders and deputies are supposed to be -- a team. that's why they're so often mentors and apprentices. because they're supposed to fight side by side. it's supposed to be a very close relationship.

if you read mtbnsof,

"They will be slaughtered," he said, and really, she should have learned her lesson, because he lunged again, and this time, it wasn't for her shoulders — it hurt, blinding, and her eyes shut — and opened. Squirrelstar was bleeding, but she was still alive. Rosepetal had tackled Bramblestar, before he could complete the blow.

that's like -- the model thunderclan deputy. you're supposed to pick a deputy who you are that close with.

that's (part of) why tigerclaw's betrayal hurts bluestar so much.

but in riverclan -- the leader represents all of riverclan, and the deputy is, their enforcer, perhaps?

they're still a team, and still one of the very close relationships, but you're more likely to see friends and siblings chosen, with the goal of -- balancing each other out.

a thunderclan leader and deputy should not publicly disagree. but a riverclan leader and deputy might.

so -- when tigerstar has stonefur killed, he's trying to prove that he has such power over leopardstar that she wouldn't even intervene to save her own deputy. which does work, but it's not the most effective way to control riverclan.

the most effective way to control riverclan would be to get both leopardstar and stonefur on his side, and then have leopardstar defer to him.

uh. so uh. what's the best way to do that, then? well.

tigerstar just has to threaten mistyfoot and the apprentices to keep stonefur obedient. "just has to" i mean ig what i'm saying is. if your family's lives are on the line, you're pretty damn willing to go along with things.

but -- how does he. win leopardstar.

he has kits with her.

because -- well First of All if riverclan's leader is riverclan, then the leader's kits are -- the future of riverclan. so if leopardstar has kits with tigerstar, then riverclan's future is tigerclan. yeah?

Second of All leopardstar is known to not want kits and not like toms, right? like -- riverclan leaders are under a fair amount of pressure to have kits because that is the future of riverclan.

and she's not leader for long enough for that all to play out, but she was the deputy for a while, and -- riverclan knows her. they know how she feels.

so. no matter how well tigerstar hides it -- riverclan will know that it's not voluntary.

and -- leopardstar is riverclan.

but like i just -- okay so god. this is. fljksd;lal;f; j. back on topic to the actual ask -- it's a very very interesting story. not something i Personally would write i don't think, because. i'm not sure i would do a very good job of it? i don't think i am -- sufficiently visceral, i suppose.

and this feels like something where. you'd want mudfur's realizations.

i think it'd be a punishment for him too, wouldn't it? he must have helped them escape. he must have known.

i think for me. like when i was writing "after the foxes have known our taste," one of the...one of the sections i was most -- invested in? was these two paragraphs.

"To talk." Leopardstar sits next to him, pulling herself in, like if she makes herself smaller, she will absolve herself of the guilt she carries. (And he knows she carries it. He was barely her deputy for a season, but he has known her his whole life. She will never say it — and because she never will, Mistyfoot will never forgive her — but he sees it in her shoulders.) "We used to be friends."

and then

Leopardstar nods, draws herself together. She looks like herself, again. Regal. Not for the first time, Stonefur thinks that Leopardstar would have made a more striking image on the Bonehill.

i think. leopardstar makes the decisions she makes for the good of her clan

(and oh, tigerstar would use that against her.

"Don't you care about the future, Leopardstar? There are no more kits in the nursery.")

and so in that moment with stonefur, she's...turning to who was supposed to be her counterbalance, and trading all of her pride and strength for vulnerability. and when stonefur -- not rejects her, but tells her he's not ready, she returns to Leopardstar of Riverclan.

but mudfur is her father. the moment of vulnerability with him in denouncement is

"Come with us," she says, pleading. She feels like a kit, begging her father to let her leave camp. "There will always be a space for you in RiverClan." "I thought I taught you better than that," he says, and there is warmth in his voice, like sun on water. "There is no point in keeping spent bones." Leopardstar cracks. She presses her muzzle into him, breathing his scent, past the herbs and illness that clings to him. "Please don't leave me," she says, even though she is the one who is leaving.

and -- while that's not misty au canon, there's a reason that at the end of "the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine," mudfur tells leopardstar she has work to do.

because by the time mistyfoot and featherpaw do escape, leopardstar has already, in mudfur's eyes, transgressed far beyond the forgiveable.

but now -- his daughter is hurt. and she's -- does she want his comfort? or does she try to be leopardstar of riverclan?

yeah. that's. some good emotional stuff to dip into.

i have -- tawnypelt to explore these ideas with. uh. tbisrasacw contains. sufficient implications but -- mistyfoot's treatment is uncomfortably public.

that's gonna come up again later, i think, but in tawnypelt's first fic, which i'm still toying with official titles for, but has the provisional title of "see them starving in the street," but uh there's a few ideas that it tackles.

all of these tackle -- several ideas. "heaven and hell were words to me" is probably the most, singular plot line of the fic. there's a reason i started with featherpaw's fic and not mistyfoot's.

tbisrasacw balances featherpaw and mistyfoot, and atfhkot is sliding between all of these different cats with moments of what stonefur feels peaking through.

i'm still deciding if i'm publishing "i didn't care much how long i lived" (feathertail) or "like this morning reveals to me" (stonefur) tonight, but idcmhlil is about featherpaw's relationships to other cats, so it naturally pulls in a lot of ideas, and ltmrtm is mistyfoot from stonefur's perspective, which means it necessarily pulls in many ideas.

but stsits is -- one character, many threads. tawnypaw's want to be accepted contrasted with her instictive horror contrasted with her belief that there is no going back contrasted with grappling with the fact that her father is -- uh. mistyfoot.

yeah.

and i don't know. i think. if tigerstar were to punish mudfur via leopardstar, that's one thing. but another thing is like -- depending on his precise interpretations, he could -- force mudfur to. be on "his side."

isolate him from leopardstar.

after all, the reason tigerstar fosters mistyfoot and featherpaw together is because it allows him to win mistyfoot's unthinking loyalty. but tigerstar has all of riverclan to threaten.

("You'll have my kits," he says, smirking. "Do you know why, Leopardstar? Because if something happens to this litter -- I'll take your worthless apprentice and kill her.")

he could -- turn mudfur. not actually, but make leopardstar believe he is.

("You deserve this," Mudfur says, and he is going to hell for this.

Tigerstar doesn't respond, and Leopardstar's ears pin back.

"Tell me, Mudfur, was her mother this pathetic?"

I'll take every last life from her, Mudfur, Tigerstar had threatened. Maybe I'll make you take one. Test me. It'll be fun to see her bleed again.

"Yes," he says, and Brightsky won't forgive him. I'm sorry, he thinks, but it's too late for that.)

i think -- in the misty au, tigerstar takes leopardstar's den. but he'd share it with her.

one of my favourite moments in tbirasacw is

She turns her head, meeting his eyes. He leans back, exposing his stomach, and Mistyfoot takes a moment to consider how easy it would be to tear him open. But she won't, and that's the point.

which you know. the forced intimacy and kindness.

(Tigerstar licks Leopardstar's cheek.

"Leopardfur," he purrs, his tail tucking around her.)

and more name shenanigans, because of course he would. if you've learned anything from this, it's that matthew likes contrasting kindness and violence, and matthew likes name shenanigans.

name shenanigans he would definitely pull mudfur in on.

("You'll call her what I tell you to call her," Tigerstar growls. He puts his paw over Mudfur's. "If I tell you to call her Leopardfur, you call her Leopardfur. You should be grateful I'm not telling you to call her a whore.")

i dunno What everyone would do when tigerclan was over. riverclan would have a Hell of a time.

leopardstar would probably appoint mistyfoot deputy and they'd -- grow closer together.

mistyfoot gave everything she had for featherpaw, and leopardstar paid the same price for the both of them. i think that is -- an apology in its own way.

(Mistyfoot sits with her when she gives birth. Mudfur reminds himself Brightsky was sick. That she did not die because of the kitting. Most queens don't.

Stonefur sits outside the den. Mudfur waits in his own, because he thinks he can't bear to know what he has done to his daughter.)

hm. yes. interesting idea to explore. i appreciate this ask.

<3

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Chapter 8

Let me know if you wanna get tagged when I post new chapters in “These Streets Are Made For Walking”. @sleepysnails.

Ao3 Link

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

It’s the next Wednesday when the Foster Bitch climbed the stairs up to Techno’s room. Knocking on the doorframe twice, she entered without waiting for an answer.

“Tommy hasn’t been to school all week, and the school called about unexcused absences.” She frowned at him. “You share a room with him, and don’t you drive him to school? Where is he?”

Techno threw his earbuds on his bedside table. “No idea Ma’am. I haven’t seen him since you sent him to pick me up from the station last Thursday. He woke up early and took the bus. I figured he was mad at me and at Tubbo’s. Dream’s been suspended for the incident, so I couldn’t exactly ask him.”

“Don’t you have his number?” she asked in an accusatory tone.

“Yes. But you confiscated his phone two weeks ago.”

“Oh.” She seemed to be taken aback for a second. “Shouldn’t you have Dream’s?”

“That’s for work. Like I said, I thought Tommy was at Tubbo’s. I didn’t think anything was wrong.”

“Mr. Richmon is in the kitchen.”

Ranboo’s dad. “Oh fuck.” Techno rolled out of his bed. He honestly would rather stay on his phone, but she was clearly offloading this on him, and Techno was going to make sure Tommy still had friends. Going to Ranboo’s was the best dinner Tommy ever gets. He doesn’t eat that much when he’s over, because he’ll just vomit it up, but the leftovers he takes back last the two of them a good week. Tommy may not want to be a bother and use up their resources, but Techno knows that he thinks of those leftovers as paying Techno back for everything he does.

Techno rushed down the stairs, jumping two at a time. The old stairs creaked as his feet hit their tops, the planks bending under his weight. In a moment of hesitation Techno stopped suddenly, sliding a little on his socks. He took a moment to collect himself, before making his way into the kitchen.

“Mr. Richmon,” greeted the Foster Bitch appearing next to him. “This is Techno, he’s probably the closest person to your son as Tommy hasn’t been around lately.”

“We’ve crossed paths,” Techno said, straightening his tee-shirt collar.

“Parent teacher interviews, was it?” Mr. Richmon asked, sending a little glare to the Foster Bitch and offering Techno his hand.

His grip was firm, but Techno’s was comparable. “What brings you here?”

“I haven’t seen my son since Friday.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve been calling him in absent for a prolonged family issue, but I am well aware of the company he keeps.” Mr. Richmon kept his tone light, but the accusation is heard loud and clear as he pulls out a chair for himself.

Techno tips his head in understanding. “His friends aren’t that bad,” he defends. “But I understand your concern with Tubbo and Purpled’s brothers.”

Mr. Richmon gestures to Techno, “And Tommy’s.”

“I’m not Tommy’s brother. This is a group home. We aren’t related,” he dismissed immediately. “The other guys are blood though.”

Both the Foster Bitch and Mr. Richmon gave him weird looks at his comment.

Techno took them in stride. So what? He knows he’s lying to himself more than he’s trying to convince them. “I can ask Dream and Punz if they know anything,” Techno suggested. “I assume you don’t want to be seen with them?”

Mr. Richmon nodded. “Of course not. This place is dingy enough.”

The Foster Bitch looks affronted, but Techno shushed her with a look. “I’ll try to find your son, but might I recommend going to the police.”

“The less the police know the better,” Mr. Richmon said like it was a mantra of his.

Techno nodded, already trying to figure out how he was going to deal with this. He was the getaway driver who did his homework. Sure he knew a few things, but he didn’t have any street skills. He remembered the purple hoodie at the gas station; he might have wanted to stay oblivious, but he knew who he saw.

Techno and Mr. Richmon left the house at the same time. They got into their respective cars and they drove in opposite directions. Techno headed to Punz’s place--might as well check if they were there. Techno honestly doesn’t know why he had Punz’s key on his lanyard, but due to it he didn’t bother needing to knock.

“Techno’s here!” he shouted; can’t ever be too careful at the mercenary’s house. He doesn’t hear anything back, and since anyone who could possibly be here would shout back in greeting, he assumed that the place was empty. But it doesn’t hurt to check around.

The thing about Punz and his profession is that he had to keep tabs on his targets, and the way he practiced and kept his skills sharp was by keeping tabs on his close associates. Therefore, he normally knows when people plan to stop by.

Techno walked into the living room and found a sticky note on the family computer. “Initiation collateral. Alive,” he reads.

Techno moved the mouse and the screen opened up to an article on one of the dark web sites. “New Las Nevadas Member: Merc. Punz’s Baby Bro.” He quickly scrolled down to the cover photo: open white van doors with Purpled and Tommy grappling on the ground, Ranboo and Tubbo nowhere to be seen. “Shit.”

As he skims the article he pulls out his phone and calls Dream.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Tommy’s for sure not sleeping at your place is he?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“For sure? Is everything okay?”

“No. Is Tommy there?” Techno pressed.

“No, and Tubbo hasn’t checked in with me for a while.”

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Techno lifted his shoulder, trapping the phone there so that both of his hands were free. He scrolled back up to see the picture again, confirmation that it was, in fact, real. He let out an unsteady breath, and shook out his hands.

“Why? What happened?” Dream’s voice picked up anxiously. “Did you hear something?”

“Yeah. So did Punz.” Techno took a deep breath. “Did he tell you anything?”

“I haven’t spoken to Punz in about a month,” Dream said.

“Mr. Richmon came by the home asking for his son.”

“The kids aren’t at Ranboo’s?” Dream asked, concern hardening his tone.

“Nope. Purpled’s on the news. The way that you’re on the news.”

The line was silent. “Fuck.” The sound of something breaking echoed down the line. “That’s. Bad.”

“Hope its ransom.”

There was a rustle on Dream’s end of the line, as if he was moving something. “Fuck. I’ll look into it. What did Purp get into?”

“Las Nevadas.”

“Fuck. Purpled. Why? What did Mr. Richmon say?”

“That Ranboo was missing and that he came to me because you and Punz live in too much of a shithole for him to visit.”

“I don’t live in a shithole!”

“This place is dingy enough, were his exact words.”

“Ouch.”

It’s been a week. Tubbo, Ranboo, and Tommy were thrown into the same room. It’s objectively a nice room, but a prison is still a prison no matter how lavish the cell. The beds were really comfortable, but it was barren besides them.

They don’t see Purpled again, instead Fundy Soot is the one to bring them their three meals a day. You’d think that one could never get sick of pizza, but eventually--especially with the mood so sour--there comes a breaking point.

“Did someone order a meat-lovers?” The door opens and Fundy is inside the room with three cardboard plates, two slices on each. “Your dinner is here.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy said digging into his slices.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Fundy smiles vindictively. Sue him, he hates babysitting duty. “Who’s gonna shut me up? Your brother?” he asks, looking at Tubbo. “That little amateur couldn’t do anything. Petty thieving is the highest form of sin you know?” Fundy said like he was reciting something.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy repeated, noticing how Tubbo froze.

“You too? What’s your brother going to do? He’s just the fucking getaway driver. He can’t help you. Big Brother Techno Blade isn’t as strong as you think he is, little Tommy.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Tommy shouted. “Techno may be friends with Dream, but he’s not doing that shit.”

“Didn’t you pick him up from the station? You’re lying to yourself. You know that Techno is in with Dream.”

“No he’s not! And don’t you have something better to do with your time? College or some shit?”

Fundy chuckled humourlessly. “The faster you eat, the faster I’m out of your room.”

Tommy glared and shoved a whole slice into his mouth.

“No one’s coming to save you,” he taunted.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full. We sent the ransom video,” he said moving onwards. “Instead Mr. Richmon hired Techno and Dream for free. Seems Daddy doesn’t care about his son enough to save you immediately.”

That’s the point that Tubbo broke. Tubbo could take a verbal bashing; Tommy would be pissed if he attacked on his behalf; but Ranboo? Ranboo was the most innocent here and didn’t need familial jabs.

Tubbo lurched from his bed and swung at Fundy Soot, sending him down to the floor. “Where the fuck is your big brother? He fucking failed you if you had to get dragged in the life style to survive.” Tubbo punched Fundy again after he was down. “Where is he huh? At least my brother managed to keep me out of this shit.”

Tommy rushes over to pull Tubbo back. “Shh. Shh. We can’t afford this. He's top dog here.”

Fundy laid on the floor, arms out and protecting his face.

“We’re done eating,” Tommy growls. “Get out.”

Ranboo, thoroughly shaken, picks up the plates and puts them in Fundy’s hands, standing in between the two groups so Fundy couldn’t retaliate. If any of them needed to come out of this looking pretty it’s him: the rich boy.

[trojc-rewrite]

The Rise of Jimmy Casket, Chapter 3

——————————————

Toast awoke to the sun blaring in his eyes and pain. Everything hurt, his throat, his leg, his back. He frowned as he shifted upwards. More hot pain flared through his leg, scorching up his side. He let out a small cry, immediately recoiling and lying back down. He groaned, rubbing his head.

Spooker shifted beside him, blinking tiredly. Toast had never seen him so tired before, his eyes were droopy and his hair was a mess. His beanie had sticks and leaves stuck in it, dirt and soot were smeared across his cheek.

“You look well rested.” Spooker said in a happy tone. Toast mustered up a smile.

“Yeah, hardly.” He said, trying to lean up again. More pain seared through him. He toughed it out, ignoring his body’s begging to tell him to sit. He needed to get up. He wasn’t going to let himself give up on why he came out here.

Toast weakly got up, trying to not put too much wait on his bad leg. Spooker helped him up. Colon was already up, examining the damage from the fire.

The wood was blackened and burned, just the tiniest bit warm still. Cracks and splinters scored the planks, letting Toast see inside of them. Something that stood out to him was the rippling green that stained the inside of some of the cracks. It wasn’t grass, it was a weird lime green, faint but still there. ‘What on earth?’

He reached down and picked up a small burned chunk, it stained his hand with ash. He examined the green some more. ‘What could this even be?’

Colon wandered over to him, looking curious. “How are you feeling, Toast?” He asked, glancing at the red cloth around his wound. Toast shrugged.

“Still alive, yeah?” He said. Toast showed Colon the blackened wood. “Hey, do you know what this could be?”

Colon took the piece gently, studying the green that emitted from the cracks. He shook his head, placing the piece back in Toast’s palm. “No idea, my best guess is that it could be something the firemen put on the fire last night.”

Toast nodded, stuffing the wood in one of his back pockets. “Well, we should keep going. The nearest town isn’t tha’ far away.”

Spooker stared at him like he had just suggested a crime, “Are you crazy dude? You can hardly stand! How are you gonna walk?”. He held out his arms in exasperation.

Toast shrugged, looking towards the North. “We’ll get there.” Spooker and Colon shared a look, but they didn’t need to say anything for Toast to figure out what they meant. “I know he’s out there. Trust me.”

Colon sighed, worried. “But what if he’s not, Toast? What if you get even more hurt or worse, and we’re just chasing something because you have a hunch! Toast; we’re worried. We know you miss Ghost, we do to-.”

Toast looked at him, “Just trust me. I know Ghost better than anyone here, just trust me.”

Spooker blinked, not saying any input. Colon gave him an unreadable look. “Fine, but if you get hurt again we’re leaving.”

Toast bit back a sigh. “Okay; then let's go.”

————————————————————————

They reached the town a little after noon, and the first thing Toast did was go to the library. The library was small, a line of old desktop computers filled a wall. Books of all volumes and colors sat in bookshelves that looked dusty. An older woman sat at a round desk in the middle of the room, flipping through a thick chapter book.

Toast limped up to her, Colon helping him while Spooker looked at a book shelf labeled “Romance”. She squinted up at him, fixing her glasses.

“Hello, how may I help you?” She asked, a small smile gracing her face. Toast returned it.

“Hello, I have a peculiar question. Would you happen to have any newspaper records on a man named Jimmy Casket?” He asked, feeling awkward. The lady blinked at him, a little confused.

“It’s for a school project for our little brother.” Colon said, trying to ease the tension off of Toast.

The librarian nodded, pursing her lips. “Well, we have a few I believe. You’ll have more luck in the towns a few miles over, dearies. But, I’ll go get the few that we have.”

She got up from her desk, and entered a room in the back of the library. Toast turned to Colon and nodded, “When did you pick up being that creative?” He asked. Colon shrugged.

“It’s probably the one thing Ghost taught me, to be able to lie on the spot.” He smiled playfully. Toast returned it solemnly.

A few moments later, the librarian returned with three newspapers, yellowed and crumpled a bit at the edges. “Here you are. I’m afraid it’s all we have.” She said, handing Colon the three newspapers. The two shared a look before Toast thanked her.

The two settled down on a table, opening the first newspaper. The title leaped at them in bold font, “Murderer struck down in South Carolina.”

Toast read quietly to himself and Colon. “ Yesterday, at 9:01 PM, a famous murderer in a small town in South Carolina, nicknamed “Casket”, was killed by police during one of his rampages. Witnesses say it was a horrifying experience. The man was no older than 18, and his step-mother, who preferred to stay anonymous, has told reporters that she ‘has no idea how he turned out this way.’

“ He was such a loving and kind child, accepting me right away as his father’s wife. When his father died, he took it upon himself to be the best figure possible for his family. I don’t know what happened to him.”

Police are still looking into possible victims of this man's heinous crimes. The towns folk are sending their regards to the families of his confirmed victims.”

Toast took a breath, finishing the paragraph. Colon blinked.

“Wait wait wait, who is this Jimmy Casket guy? How does this have anything to do with Ghost?” Colon asked, flicking the page of the newspaper. Toast traced a circle in the table.

“Let’s say I’ve met him in a few of my missions with Ghost.” Toast worded carefully.

The two finished reading the other articles and handed them back to the librarian. “You three boys have a nice night.” She said with a smile.

“You too ma’am.” Toast responded politely. Spooker was by the entrance of the library, reading Twilight on a bench. “C’mon Spooker put the book back, it’s time to go.”

Spooker frowned, sadly putting the book on a “put back” cart. He followed his co workers outside, it was night now. The moon shined down on the town, yellow lights dancing on the gravel ground.

“Well, we keep moving.” Toast said. Colon and Spooker groaned.

The three made it to the edge of town, making it out of a large pine forest. A river lay ahead of them, deep and murky. It was quiet and slow moving, but you could tell it was deep.

Spooker pointed to a bridge, “Let’s cross there.” He said. Colon and Spooker helped Toast to the stone and wood crossing. The wood was wet and rotten in spots, and it groaned as Toast stepped on it.

“Let me go first,” Toast volunteered. Spooker and Colon shook their heads at him, but Toast ignored them. He limped across the wailing wood, yelling under his weight.

As he got closer to the middle, a figure stepped out of the darkness. Long legs stepped lightly on the cedar, tapping away at the weak wood. Toast stared in confusion, trying to figure out who the person was.

His brother's face gleaned from the shadows, stepping out into the moonlight. Toast's eyes widened, blinking in shock.

“Gavin? What are you doing here?!” His brother's gray-green eyes glared at him.

“Sorry Johnny Boy, but I’m gonna have to stop ya righ’ ‘ere. Or else my frien’ might not be the happies’ with me.” Gavin apologized. Johnny could tell that his brothers apology wasn’t sincere in the slightest. In fact, it sounded more taunting than anything.

“What do you mean? Gavin, please what do you mean?” His brother stepped forward.

And then with incredible speed, green-orange fire erupted from his hand. Toast dodged out of the way, knocking into the railing. The bridge under him groaned in agony. Gavin’s hot flames flicked his face, burning his cheek

“Do ya like my tricks?! Pays when ya work with ghosts.” Gavin laughed. More flames shot from his palms, hitting Toast's feet. Toast tried to get away, but the movement was too much for the bridge.

His foot went through the rotten wood, and he grappled onto the jagged stone, barely saving himself from falling into the river. ‘I won't be able to swim. I'm too weak.’

Spooker and Colon cried out, “Toast!”. Colon stepped forward to charge at Gavin, but Spooker held him back.

Toast looked back up at his brother, begging for his remorse. “Please Gavin, I’m your brother!” He begged. His fingers hurt from grappling the wood, rotten splinters digging into his palms.

Gavin chuckled, “Yeah, but then ya got all lame n’ sappy with Mary n’ Ghost. You ain’t the same anymore. And Ghost is borin’ too now. Trust me, what we’re workin’ on, it’s for the good o’ both o’ ya’.”

Johnny glared at him, “Who’s we?” He asked curtly. Gavin growled at him.

“See ya’.” Gavin returned his brother's angry tone. He raised his leg to kick him. Toast grabbed his brother by the leg and yanked him down with him, letting go of the bridge. His brother yelled angrily.

“TOAST!” Spooker screamed in horror, racing to the edge of the bridge. Toasts world went deaf as he hit the water, slowing under it. His brother disappeared with a flash of green, leaving him alone to drown.

Toast tried to swim and kick his legs, but he just hurt too much. Everything hurt, he felt so heavy. Maybe he wouldn’t see Ghost, maybe he wouldn't hold up his promise to Mary.

‘Oh Mary, I’m so sorry.’ He rubbed his wedding ring necklace. He closed his eyes, sinking.

Then, something grabbed him by the torso. Gray and blue flashed hazily in his darkened vision. He kicked weakley, trying to help whoever had grabbed him.

He and his rescuer broke to the surface, and he gasped for air. Cold water trickled down his face, clogging up his senses. The world became hearable again.

His rescuer slapped him down onto the grass, and he could hear Colon and Spooker running across the bridge, ignoring the bridge's pleas.

“Didn’t your rich mother ever take you to swimming lessons?” A tired, sarcastic voice asked.

Toasts heart leaped in his chest, and he opened his eyes.

There, infront of him, was Ghost.

[slasherholic]

synopsis: Your pleasant Christmas dinner at the sorority house is ruined when Billy, ever the horny little shit, decides to make a call.

Concerning the Man in the Attic | Billy Lenz x Reader | NSFW

(Author’s note: this is a -slight- AU where Billy hasn’t actually begun his murder spree yet. All the sorority sisters are still alive and thriving.)

“A slice of ham for you, dear?”

You shake off your daze and blink up at Mrs. Mac from your already full-to-bursting plate. She holds a slender knife to her steaming Christmas ham and looks down at you with an expectant smile, a rosy glow pinkening her plump cheeks, jolliness shining like candlelight in her wrinkled eyes. You can smell the alcohol on her from where you sit.

“Oh, no, that’s alright.” You put on your cheeriest face. “Thank you though Mrs. Mac—maybe a bit later. I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

You don’t miss the way the portly woman’s grin falters. She exhales through her nose.

“Later, then.” Says Mrs. Mac, her smile just a bit more shallow than it had been before, and moves on down the table to ask the same question to Jess. You drop your eyes back to the glob of mashed potatoes crowded on your plate and think, Nicely done. Now you’re on her shit-list.

Except you probably would have made it on Mrs. Mac’s shit-list regardless, because unless you want to puke it right back up all over that stupid Christmas ham, your food is already as good as wasted; your appetite is well and truly gone, and it isn’t coming back.

All because you can’t stop thinking about the calls. 

Today the moaner phoned not once, but twice.

Jess and Phyllis, and Barb especially, her wine glass filled nearly to spilling in her hand, already seem to have forgotten the ordeal. Jess sweeps her dark hair out of her eyes and prods at her asparagus with her fork. Phyllis cups her mug in her slender hands and takes dainty sips. And Barb, sprawled out across the couch with her feet propped on the armrest, knocks back another tall glass of Sauvignon Blanc. She’d popped open her first bottle at 4:00 and has showed no signs of slowing down since.

Whatever thoughts might be preoccupying your sister’s minds you’re confident that they do not concern the man behind those awful calls. The other residents of the house consider the moaner akin to a barking dog—as long as he remains a disembodied ruckus in the neighbor’s yard, why should they fear being bitten? And so they forget him as quickly as the line goes dead.

But not you. Forgetting is off the table for you. Because the reality of the situation—and it is so painfully clear—the reality of the situation is that the dog was never in the neighbor’s yard.

All this time it has been curled up somewhere nice and cozy in yours, and has pissed all over Mrs. Mac’s petunias for good measure, and nobody seems to be batting an eye at the stench. Nobody but you.

But you’ve grown used to covering your nose with your sleeve and pretending you can’t smell it, either.

After the first obscene phone call back at the start of December you could never shake the feeling that something in the house had changed, had soured, had become just not right. There was the case of the missing food from the cabinets; and at night, no shortage of strange creaking and grinding sounds from the attic above; and yes, it was a big old house, but you can’t say you’ve ever heard a rusty pipe squeal like a suckling pig before.

And so you suspect the worst; that the truth behind the moaner is far more sinister than your sisters, than Mrs. Mac, than anyone seems to realize. 

And yet, you wouldn’t dare to bring it up. You wouldn’t dare.

That pervert living in the house somewhere? What a joke. You had no hard evidence to show for it, just a gut-wrenching feeling. The claim would sound paranoid at best.

So here you are, resigned to gritting your teeth; and covering your nose; and bearing the stink.

You tune out most of the chatter as Christmas dinner carries on. Barb chatters to Phyllis—Phyllis lends an ear, sipping lazily from her cocoa with a snide smile plastered across her face. Barb chatters to Jess—Jess doesn’t bite. There’s something eating at her, you think. Mrs. Mac interjects occasionally with chatter of her own.

When the phone rings, the chatter stops. So does your heart.

Your eyes race to where the receiver rests on its stand in the adjoining living room. 

“Rrrring. Rrrring.”

The shrill note carries through the cavernous hallways of Mrs. Mac’s grand old house. Once, twice, three times. 

Barb is on the scene in seconds. She springs upright from her place on the couch, wobbling dangerously when her feet hit the floor—only to regain her precarious balance with the very next step. You chew your lip as she lifts the receiver and presses it to her cheek. 

An ear-to-ear grin sprawls across her face. She sticks the phone out for all to hear.

“Tasty cunt.” Comes the garbled voice over the phone. “I can smell it, I can smell your ripe wet cunt.”

The room must drop by ten degrees because you start to shiver. It’s him again; the moaner.

“Maybe you’re smelling your own breath, pal.” Barb quips.

“Oh Barb, just hang up.” Pleads Jess, worry written across her pale face.

“I’m gonna eat it—ooh, I’m gonna come and eat it, I’ll stick my face in it, let me smell it, let me eat your dripping pussy, I know how wet you are…” 

The phone crackles with manic snickering.

“I watched you stick your fingers up your cunt… I watched you rub and rub and ruin your pretty pinky panties…” 

Your heart drops. Your face burns. You cross your legs beneath the table. You have a pair of panties which might fit that bill. Panties which—perhaps not-so-coincidentally—have been missing for three days.

The man on the phone squeals like a hungry pig. The squeals peter into grunting, shallow and hasty, and Barb, covering her hand with her mouth, has never looked so amused. 

When the line goes dead the living room erupts with hooting laughter.

“The poor guy didn’t even last twenty seconds that time!” Barb barks. She plants the phone back on its stand and slumps onto the couch, her chest heaving.

“No rest for the wicked I guess.” Phyllis suggests. “Not even on Christmas.”

The chatter resumes; you try your absolute hardest to focus on your mashed potatoes and on your green beans and not, for the love of god, on what the moaner is doing with your underwear.

You volunteer to clean up after dinner. Luckily, Mrs. Mac had been too many drinks in to remember that you hadn’t touched a single bite of her hard work (No no, don’t worry yourself, I’ve got it, dinner was splendid, you’ve outdone yourself, really, you deserve a lie down. Merry Christmas to you too Mrs. Mac) and the woman had given you a dull smile, and toddled off to bed.

You scrub at the dried cranberry sauce caked on a plate and try your hardest not to think about the man in the attic. You know you should go to the police. That’s what any rational person would do, right? You can picture the conversation now;

Yes hello officer, there’s a strange man in our house and nobody knows he’s there except me. How do I know? Well it’s simple, you see, I know because he watched me finger-fuck myself and then stole my panties and then called over dinner to gloat about it.

You furrow your brow and scrub harder.

Yeah; fat chance.

If you’re going to do this you need to be certain. You need irrefutable evidence that there is, in fact, some creep squatting in your house. You need to wait for him to slip up—to make a mistake—to show himself.

You huff and drop the sponge into the sink, bending to load the plate into the washer.

“Hugnhh—”

The abrupt sound is a grunt; almost animalistic. It comes from somewhere behind you.

You straighten up like a springboard and turn on your heel, planting your hands on the kitchen sink, your frantic eyes sweeping the room.

The grunting stops as abruptly as it began—but you weren’t imagining it. You couldn’t have been. No way in hell. 

All the hairs on your arms stand on end as you peer out into the dining room. It is silent; silent and still. You hold your breath. You eyeball Mrs. Mac’s beautiful lace cloth; it is draped across the dining room table, nearly touching the floor.

Your grip on the kitchen sink turns your knuckles white.

There’s something underneath the table, screams a voice inside your head.

“Claude?” You whisper to nobody but yourself.

It must be Claude—Claude is on the prowl, and he’s licking at some table scraps. That must be it.

“Come out of there, you silly fat cat.” Your voice wavers that time. As you let go of the sink you approach the table as if it were a living thing, about to rear up on its hind legs and charge you down like an angry bull.

It’s just the cat. Just that stupid fat cat. In a second I’ll feel like a total idiot.

You tell yourself these things as you sink to your knees on the cold wooden floor and grab a fistful of tablecloth. The cloth is silky and cold in your fingers. Your heart pounds as you lift it, peering into the unknown beneath.

For a moment, you forget how to scream.

A dark silhouette is hunched over like a gargoyle beneath the table. 

It is a man, you realize; a man with wild hair and wild eyes. His pants are unzipped. Pearly teeth flash as he gawks at you, a horrible grin sprawling across his face. He pumps a piece of fabric furiously back and forth around his member.

“Pretty—mphh—pinky—ungh—panties…” The voice is instantly recognizable.

You drop the tablecloth and scramble backwards.

The man lunges from beneath the table like a rabid animal. Cold hands scrabble for a grip on your wrists; his momentum topples you. Your back meets the hardwood floor. He pins you with his weight.

You whip your head back and forth as fingers grapple at your jaw and pull on your nose and wrench your mouth wide open. The pink fabric is stuffed in, muffling your scream before it can leave your throat. 

The man clamps a cold, slender hand over your mouth. The grin he wears is manic. Your pulse thuds as hard and as fast as a runaway train in your neck, and as he leans in close you turn your head away from him. The wool of his turtleneck is scratchy against your clavicle. He reeks of mold and dust and cat food.

“Shhh-shush-shush-shushhh…” 

His mouth is inches from your own, sour breath hot against your cheek. 

It’s him. The man from the attic.

The tears come streaming down your face. You think you might die from the shock of it all alone, if the moaner doesn’t kill you first.

“Noisy. Noisy little pig. Trying to run away; trying to run away and tell on Billy.” He strokes your hair like a young girl fawning over a coveted doll.

“You’re not gonna tell, though.” The sound of his snickering is even worse in person. “No-no-no-no. You won’t do it. You won’t.” 

You recoil when his cold fingers graze your cheek, your whine stifled by the gag; your own panties. The taste of Billy’s seed on the fabric is salty and bitter. He’s been using them.

“Greedy greedy little piggy~” Billy’s garble is a sing-songy whisper.

“You think about Billy, you like Billy’s calls, you want to know how Billy tastes, you want his fat cock in your pretty lips so you can suck it, suck it, suck it-suck it-suck it.”

“Nnng-unnh—” You whine at him. A pang of anger flares in your belly.

No. No, no, no. That is just plain wrong. Those calls were vulgar. They were disgusting. Obscene; the very definition of the word. You were most certainly not rubbing one out to the thought of this vile man—to the thought of Billy—with all his classless promises of what he would do to your sisters, if given the chance, and of what he might do to you, in particular…

Above you, Billy snorts.

“Liar. You lying bitch-pig. You’re wet; you’re dripping. I can smell your ripe wet pussy.”

Suddenly those cold, roving fingers are dipping down below your waistline, burrowing beneath your pants. A finger hooks into your cunt up to the knuckle. You writhe, bucking your hips like a mare in heat and trying desperately to throw him off, but Billy’s weight is more than enough to keep you pinned.

Billy looks downright giddy; like he’s about to blow his load then and there. He flashes his lop-sided grin at you and his finger retreats from your warmth, only to be shoved hand-deep into your mouth. You taste your body’s own excitement.

“Soaking! Soaking wet! Nasty pig, filthy pig!” Billy squeals.

I don’t want it, you think, as Billy shifts his weight on top of you, facing your undeniably dripping cunt, planting his knees on either side of your head. His unzipped member dangles inches from your face. You kick your legs, but he is quick with the zipper of your jeans, and shucks them down your thighs with ease, offering your panties the same rough treatment. You squeak into your gag when he gropes starving handfuls of your ass, squeezing and kneading, as if enamoured with your curves; mesmerized.

It’s like he’s never touched a woman before. You suspect you’re not far from the truth.

You can do nothing but watch as Billy’s head dips down between your legs, dark hair tickling the flesh of your thighs. You whine; and that hot, wet, filthy tongue licks a long, sloppy stripe down your bare cunt—from your clit to your ass.

Billy mewls.

“Nasty, nasty nasty nasty—”

His erection bobs in your face, strained and swollen. You suppose you could spit out the gag at this point if you were determined enough. You could scream for Mrs. Mac and Barb and Jess and surely the neighbors would hear, too, and this pervert, this fucking creep, would be thrown back into whatever institution he crawled out of.

But then, the warmth of Billy’s mouth returns to suck and suck and suck at your clit.

You heave a muffled moan and thrash beneath him, no longer trying to dismount him—just because you can’t take it. 

You tremble when Billy’s hot tongue probes at your opening. It is a full-body tremble, a horrible shiver, and you feel that you are both burning up and freezing to death at the same time, a terrible hot-cold sensation. His tongue delves in as far as it can reach; he laps you up greedily. He grunts and moans and squeals all the while, and his member drags across your cheek, and you are not surprised when he plants his elbow on your chest and takes himself in his fist, pumping his cock furiously; back and forth, back and forth.

Billy grunts like an animal when he comes. Hot ropes of his seed spurt out on to your face, coating your lips and your cheeks and your nose.

“You won’t tell them…” Comes Billy’s pitchy whine. It is almost desperate. “You want more of Billy, so much more, so much more…”

You shudder, because you think he’s right.

[deathbydarkelves]

I decided to make playlists for Cathala and Tarinne plus explanations for why I chose each song because I entered one of those ADHD fugue states and if I didn't finish this task I would die

Anyway here are the two links (they're youtube playlists because I don't have spotify. I would obviously recommend using an adblocker if you're just gonna watch on youtube) and the explanations for each song are below the cut :) Each playlist is about an hour long.

For Tarinne’s:

1. Foggy Nights: I consider this her theme so putting it first as a sort of intro only makes sense.

2. Here’s a Health to the Company: I think this works as an example of her general disposition. She’s a people person, and always a fan of singing these sorts of songs in taverns, on ships, or what have you. It also kind of feels like a sendoff to soldiers, which I imagine symbolizes her joining the Sentinel Army and quickly thereafter fighting in the Third War.

3. Wartime Prayers: Somewhat self-explanatory, this is symbolizing her seeing war for the first time, but I also included it because the last line transitions SO WELL into the next song.

4. The Hollow: This song is an intro to an album I've never heard so I don't know the context, but I really love it because it sounds like someone praying to their deity and like I mean c'mon. Elune. Tarinne's praying to Elune to guide her through the war. Do I need to elabo-

5. Wave Walker: KILL DEATH MAIM AHAHAHAHA

6. Isil Elun’falo: Just a super rad fan-made night elf song that's basically "wow we sure do love Elune" said in twenty different ways for four and a half minutes. But it ROCKS and I LOVE it.

7. Chewing Cotton Wool: This song is about losing a loved one (I did have to check but yeah that's what it is) and I use it to symbolize Tarinne losing her mom during the war. The last line, which includes the song's title, I especially like. It's referring to how morticians (apparently) put cotton gauze in a corpse's throat and mouth to keep body fluids in and make the face look more natural. So there's a fun fact for you.

8. See U Soon (Song for Dad): Just a short lofi piece to rest a bit, and it was also chosen because the title's in reference to Tarinne growing closer to her dad after losing her mom. She still visits him at his leathers and furs shop in Stormwind fairly often, especially after dangerous adventures. She just wants to make sure he knows she's alright ;-;

9. No Lullaby: Right back into it with a song that I use to represent Tarinne's general feeling of not being able to go home because it's not there anymore. She's felt like this since the end of the Third War, but it's especially strong since the whole Teldrassil thing. But I like the ending, "who said you're on your own," because it contrasts the repeating of "alone" in the rest of the song. And it's kinda like "hey, listen, you're not the only one who feels like she can't go home." I mean that's probably how basically every single night elf feels right now skxnks

10. The Moss: This song juxtaposes classic fairy tales with scientific facts about the world and I love it to BITS. I'm using it here to represent both Tarinne's love for storytelling but also her sort of... part-time historian/archaeologist/conservator career.

11. Rasputin: I just associate this song with her for some reason and this was the best place to put it.

12. Electric Feel: Moving on to focus more on Tarinne's relationship with Cathala now. This is an extremely great and somewhat 😏 song that I also included because the electricity theme is appropriate because Cathala has lightning powers and y'know it's from Tarinne's perspective or whatever.

13. Bedroom Hymns: You know why this is here.

14. Movement: I can't talk about love songs without talking about Hozier, okay. This is just a nice, slower song to relax a bit with.

15. Never Let Me Go: I have an entire goddamn music video in my head with Cathala and Tarinne for this song and it’s very dramatic and emotional and I had to include this song or I’d die. Basically just listen to near the end of this song when she's repeating the title over and over, and imagine the two of them seeing each other at opposite ends of a battlefield after the dust settles and they rush towards each other and fall to their knees holding on as tightly as they can because they got separated early on and each thought the other was dead. Then you'll know how I feel when I listen to this song.

16. Nothing That Has Happened So Far Has Been Anything We Could Control: First of all I love the title, and second of all there's a big section in the middle (1:49 to 2:47) that I like to interpret as the two of them grappling with the fact that they're not really quite sure who or what they're fighting for anymore. Their people, yeah, but there's so many alliances and semi-permanent enemies and only-on-every-other-thursday-enemies all intertwined and the world is just so very confusing and they're trying to make the best of it. Elf school didn’t include international, interracial politics in its curriculum. It did however include how to properly plant trees, and AP calculus (this is a joke).

17. In Dreams: I like to imagine this song is something the two of them would say to each other, as a way of saying “even when everything we know is gone, even when the world ends, I will still be by your side. And if I’m not, don’t fear, for I will find you.” It makes a nice note to end on :)

For Cathala’s:

1. muse: Just a nice lofi intro to get us into things :) I don't see this song as her theme, like I do with Tarinne and the first song in her playlist, but I like it quite a bit. I don't actually really have a theme for Cathala yet, I'm currently going with a version of Way of the Monk from WoW's OST but I'm still looking for something better.

2. Frogs Singing: I included this because it's about just appreciating nature, which works because night elf and also mindfulness and meditation is a whole thing.

3. Tongues: This is a song about feeling distant from your peers which is like Cathala's whole existence! She's this weird mix of two cultures and ultimately she feels out of place regardless of where she is or who she's with. Also the theme with not understanding what people are saying works because the poor woman had to learn Pandaren from scratch and that shit ain't easy. I think blizz said somewhere probably that Common is just a language that EVERYONE knows inherently because Video Game but that's bullshit in my opinion. I'll allow spells that let you understand foreign languages to an extent (Comprehend Languages from D&D lets you understand the LITERAL meaning only, which I like), but every culture and species in the universe knowing Common is silly if you think about it for more than two seconds.

4. Kung Fu Fighting: I'm legally required to include this song. Also I prefer the Kung Fu Panda version, I'm sorry.

5. Harder Better Faster Stronger: I vicariously experience having a great work ethic through Cathala and that's why this song is here because she has 999 Determination and does Too Many push-ups every day or something idk. I was gonna say "every morning" but I have a headcanon that elves only need to sleep every couple of days (sort of a nod to "elves don't need to sleep at all" from D&D, and to explain why NIGHT elves are active at all hours of the day) so that doesn't work.

6. What's Up Danger: This song is Cathala's whole Vibe. Almost zero threat assessment skills in this woman's brain. If it can be punched, she will punch it.

7. Eye for an Eye: Fairly self-explanatory, it's a song about wanting revenge so... yeah. Checked that box. It was this or The Vengeful One by Disturbed but ultimately The Vengeful One's religious symbolism probably makes it fit better as a Tyrande theme lol ("I'm the hand of god, I'm the dark messiah." Did you mean: the Night Warrior)

8. Survivor: Cathala's survived a lot of shit and this could kinda be her making fun of herself for it because "Gods, man! Don't I deserve a break!"

9. Ashes: Really the reason I include this song is the last chunk (2:42 to the end) because holy shit. Listen, if I was gonna include a song with fire motifs, it was gonna be a somber one like this.

10. Into the West: This can kinda represent Cathala just trying to fucking breathe and recover from Teldrassil. Also works because I dunno it has stuff to do with the elves in LotR, I haven't seen those movies in a while. It sounds nice and is melancholy so I included it.

11. Like Real People Do: Cathala loves Tarinne a lot you guys have I ever menti-

12. Into the Wild: Tarinne changed Cathala's world for the better and she's super fucking grateful she has her by her side. Kinda goes without saying but you know.

13. Chasing the Moon: I have a vague music video in my head for this of them falling in love and it's very cute so there's that. Also it's in this specific spot because hey she may be deeply traumatized but she's still got a fair number of things/people in her life that make her happy so :)

14. Follow My Girl: I've got a theme going in my head that while Tarinne is fairly certain of her place in the world, Cathala is still trying to find hers. She outlived all her connections on Pandaria because Elf Lifespans(tm) and the only members of her family still alive are distant relatives she never knew very well.

15. Wish That You Were Here: This works both to represent Cathala on Pandaria feeling super homesick, and for more recently after Teldrassil. Either way, it's a message to her parents and sister.

16. Mr. Fear: She does her damnedest to hide it but she's absolutely terrified something like Teldrassil's gonna happen again! That fear drives her to do everything in her power to protect who and what she can. As long as they're not Forsaken, cause she's still got her biases, that compassion even extends across faction lines. She never really got the whole Alliance/Horde thing anyway. Innocent people shouldn't have to die, regardless of who or what they are.

17. Ordinary Day: Not to get super out there but I think this song works as symbolizing Cathala really trying to hold on to her faith in Elune, but ultimately feeling pretty abandoned. I mean she can clearly see Elune's influence everywhere. But Elune sure ain't doing Cathala any favors as far as she can tell! It also ends the whole playlist on maybe a bit of an uncertain/open-ended note, because this "losing faith" aspect is a new thing with her and will definitely be something she continues to struggle with for a while. On a related note, I should say Tarinne is still very much devout but she gets what Cathala's feeling and doesn't force anything on her, and vice versa. And Cathala wouldn't become atheist, the night elves aren't monotheistic and she still worships all the other deities, it's just specifically Elune she's a little :/ on.

[a-sweet-pea]

I’m alive!

No updates to ongoing stories I’m afraid, but I did a little spit-and-polish on an Elle-James borrower ficlet; here it is posted for the internet to enjoy as a reminder that I still exist.

- - -

The bean fell like a dandelion being cut down; an ill-fated step onto a stack of comics sent him toppling over. His head hit the bedside table with a sickening crack and he slumped to the carpet, eyes shut.

“No,” Elle whispered, peering out from her perch behind the entertainment center. She may not have spoken to the bean before (or made her presence known in any discernable way) but you didn’t live in someone’s room for a year without getting a little bit fond of them. Especially when they had such good taste in sweets and television shows.

What if he’s hurt? She thought, stepping tentatively out into the open. He was flat on the floor; his chest hardly rose as he breathed. Surely somebody heard him fall. But there was no sound of footsteps on the stair, no sign that any of the other beans there had heard, if there were here at all. I have to do something.

- - -

Blinding white pain clouded James’ vision. His breaths were quick and shallow. He didn’t know what had tripped him up, but he cursed whatever it was under his breath. He’d hit his head, hard. I hope I’m not bleeding. He moved his arms to push up off the floor, but they buckled when he tried to put his weight on them. “Christ,” he grunted. The room went fuzzy. Something brushed against his leg, but he didn’t move; he wasn’t sure if he could. He could swore he felt his phone coming out of his pocket. Must be at a weird angle or something.

“Hello, 999?”

James’ head throbbed. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a weak groan.

“My...friend fell and hit his head; I think he might really be hurt.”

A cluster of pain tightened in the base of James’ skull. Where’s the voice coming from? It was a woman’s voice, one he didn’t recognize. He couldn’t imaine how a strange woman got in his room. There was wetness on the base of his skull, and his eyelids were getting droopy.

“I don’t know if he has a concussion, please, just get here as quickly as you can.”

He managed to turn his head a fraction, and caught a glimpse of a miniscule figure, sliding a miniature hand across the screen of his phone, before his eyes shut.

- - -

James was careful lying down so his head hit the pillow gently. The doctor had said he should take a lie down, now that his parents were home and they could keep an eye on him. He wasn’t going to go to sleep; he knew enough to know that was a bad move when you’d had a head injury, possibly a concussion. He didn’t say as much to the doctor, but he was fairly sure he did have a concussion, or something terribly wrong with him, seeing the last thing he’d seen before passing out was a little person. He closed his eyes and tried to picture them in his mind, but the image was blurry. I’ll go downstairs for a tea in a few minutes, he thought. But not before he took a few quiet moments just to lay down; hospitals were stressful places.

He hadn’t been lying down more than a few minutes when he heard a small noise. He opened his eyes a crack, not enough so that anyone would know they were open, and saw something very small climbing up onto the mattress beside him, something not much bigger than a mouse. He shut his eyes again and tried to breathe slow and steady, like he was sleeping. Either the head injury was worse than he thought, or there was in fact a little person in the room, perhaps the same one that had called the ambulance. Nice of them to come check on me. Now there was a delicate touch on his head, and James had to fight to keep from smiling. When the touch disappeared, he opened his eyes a crack again. There was the small figure of a girl, four inches tall, walking away from him.

“Ah thought I’d imagined ye.”

- - -

Shit. Elle stared down the bridge of a giant nose to two curious eyes beyond. This is what I get for trying to be nice. She did a one-eighty and took off at a run back toward the earring-hook grappling line stil caught in the cover at the base of the bed.

“Whoah, slow doon!” A wall of flesh thudded down in front of her, deforming the soft blanket below. She struggled to turn the other way again on the uneven surface, but it was no use; she faced an equally high wall in the opposite direction.

“Shit.”

“There, jist haud still a wee minute, aye?” The bean’s face loomed above her and the hands on either side came close, cupping around her.

“No, no, no,” she muttered, fruitlessly trying to pry apart his fingers as they closed tight in front of her. For a moment, she was in a tumble of warm darkness, and then the sky opened up above her, revealing the bean’s staring face.

“Hullo.” Elle covered her head with her hands and curled up tight. “Och, ye poor wee sowel, dinnae dae that. I’m no gonnae hurt ye.” She looked up, shoulders still hunched. “Ah want tae thank ye!”

“Thank me?”

“Aye!” He smiled. “You called the ambulance, didn’t ye?” A blush rose in her cheek. She looked away and nodded, unable to muster any words. “Christ, but you’re a tiny wee thing. Must be how ye’ve been living here aw this time without me noticing.

“I, I don’t-“

How else would you know the address tae give the paramedics?” Elle flushed. Stupid, stupid, now you’ll have to move, and it’ll be somewhere with spiders with a bean who doesn’t like any of the snacks I like.

“It’s awright, I’m no mad!” The hand lifted higher, closer to his staring face. “Ken ah might ae had a concussion, aye? And naebdy else was home. If ye hadnae called, ah might have died.”

Elle shook her head. “You wouldn’t have died.”

“Mebbe not,” he conceded. “But ah’s be in worse shape, for sure. So,” he smiled wide. “How do ah reward ma wee lifesaver?”

“What? N-no, I don’t need-“

“And I’ll no be taking no fer an answer.” The hand lowered until it was resting on the bed again. Elle clambered off the bean’s palm and found her footing on the blanket. The bean’s head and shoulders rose as he stood up from the bed. For a moment, she was gripped by a desire to run, looking at the full height of him. She could probably get pretty far before he could react; the hand hanging at his side would reach for her, but she would be too far away, halfway down the bed. The urge was powerful, but it was brief. She was used to this view of him, towering over her, but the eye contact and the smile were new, and foolish as it was, they made her want to stay. For the moment, anyway.

“How’d you like a cup of tea and a biscuit?” Elle sat herself down in a fold of the blanket.

“I would like it very much, thank you.”

[tardytothepardy]

My Review of "A Court of Silver Flames" (because it's too long for Goodreads)

~`,Spoiler-free summary/review idk,`~

In "A Court of Silver Flames", the story centers around two characters that were previously in the "A Court of Thorns and Roses" series, Cassian and Nesta. As far as I can tell, this story takes place about a year after "A Court of Frost and Starlight", where Nesta is in a bad mental state. To cope with the events in "A Court of War and Ruin", she has taken to excessive drinking and sleeping with random people. The members of the Inner Court allowed her to do this for a while, but as the book begins, it is made clear that they won't let her do that anymore. It is decided that she will be taken to the House of Wind, along with Cassian and Azriel, so she can be separated from everything and heal. The reasoning behind putting Nesta in the House of Wind is that the only ways anyone can easily go to or leave the house is by flying or winnowing, neither of which are things she can do. There is a set of 10,000 stairs that she can take, but seeing as they are 10,000 stairs, it's pretty difficult.

Throughout the story, Nesta is forced to come to terms with her difficult memories and her powers, which she has pushed away in an effort to retain as much of her prior humanity as she can. It is soon revealed that her powers are connected to three ancient magical items, collectively called the "Dread Trove", and Nesta is tasked to find as many as she can to keep Briallyn, one of the human queens, who has a similar connection to the items, from obtaining them and wielding powers that could completely destroy the world.

While all of this is going on, it is revealed that Feyre is pregnant. It isn't all happy news, however, because it seems that complications (of the deadly variety) have become known, and no one knows what to do to save her (let alone herself because she's not even aware of it hooray Rice Hand you're doing fabulously).

I think as a whole, one thing that this book struggled with is pacing. For the majority of the book, I didn't feel that the characters were actively trying to stop The Bad Guys, it almost felt that they took action every so often, as if they randomly remembered that these events are happening. Most of the book is focused on the development of the relationship between Cassian and Nesta, and everything else falls around that, which would be fine if the other events were of a smaller scale, like planning a party or something (idk lmao), rather than the fate of literally the <i>entire world</i>, both the Fae and human world. A lot of the things that happened in this book seemed like they were resolved within the last 50 pages of the book, one after another, it just felt odd.

(spoilers for the entire book below the "keep reading"!)

~`,Spoilers from here on out,`~

So like I said in the beginning, it starts with Nesta in her house. It's from Cassian's point of view, so I got to endure two things that really fucking irritated me: first was where she was living. It was a similar line of thought from the "ACOFAS" description, that Velaris doesn't have slums, but if it did have a slum, Nesta would be living in it. But it doesn't have slums, but this place is still icky. Cassian acknowledges that he's stayed in worse, but this place is still icky, yucky, blecky, and gross. Second thing that irritated me was when he first saw her. He describes her as having "long bare legs, an elegant sweep of hips, tapered waist--too damn thin--and full, inviting breasts that were at odds with the new, sharp angles of her body" (10). She was thin, very thin, but not her boobs. Nope, those badonks were still (somehow) plenty large. This might be the fault of me trying to understand Fae bodies by comparing them to human bodies, but I simply do not understand how that is supposed to work. Boobs are made of fats and tissues, if you're losing weight, you're gonna lose boob. Whatever.

Cassian proceeds to take Nesta to one of (apparently 5. Rice Hand and Feyre have five houses, why) Feyre's houses, where it is soon made clear that an intervention is being staged. This has to be one of the worse ones out there, because oh my fucking god everyone is so goddamn hostile towards Nesta. Amren and Nesta were previously friendly, then they had an unresolved (and unexplained) falling out, and now holy shit Amren is constantly baiting Nesta, making snide remarks. Rice Hand seems to be offended by Nesta simply because she doesn't like him or Feyre, like I don't get why he's so aggressive towards her (and that shit continues for the majority of the book it's so annoying), but somehow everyone there is surprised when Nesta is aggressive, that she throws insults, that she's rude.

Anyway, after Nesta is toted to the House, she instantly tries to find a way out, and that's when the 10,000 stairs come in. (Tangent, in the book it says that the stairs are about a foot tall each. 10,000, 1 foot tall stairs. That would mean the House of Wind is at least 10,000ft tall, but seeing as the House has multiple levels, it's even taller than that. This building is so goddamn tall, did Maas even think about that? It's nonsensical! Anyway) She tries to go down them, but she fails miserably. She's underweight, I wouldn't be surprised if she's malnourished, she's in no state to climb down 10,000 stairs.

So that's where the training comes in. Cassian takes her to Windhaven, an Illyrian camp (place thing idk), to train, but she just refuses. After 3 days of her not doing anything, Cassian is ready to throw in the towel (I thought,,, I would think that since he's had to discipline out-of-line soldiers before he'd do better than 3 fucking days but whatever), but then he remembers what she's said about it all three of those times, that she's not gonna do it in front of everyone (because if you didn't remember, the Illyrians are massively sexist and so of course no one has anything better to do than gather round to see some random woman attempt to train but whatever), so he just has her train within the House. One top of the House, it seems. I don't know how big this House is supposed to be, but the roof at least would have to be huge to allow for multiple people to train and work out, spaced out evenly, and not be at risk for falling off. But he has her train there, issue resolved.

What is this training, you may ask? It's just basic stuff, like stretching, balance, strength training, and eventually grappling with so much sexual tension you can barely see your hand in front of your face (it's like a fog as far as I'm concerned), casual stuff.

Along with this training, Nesta is also assigned to work in the library, which is also a sort of refuge or something for a bunch of priestesses who have survived various forms of abuse or assault. It's one big safe space that also has old ass books. Sounds great. She has to work there for six hours, I believe, everyday, along with the training, and at the library she meets someone named Gwyn. Gwyn is a priestess, she's been there for a little while (it doesn't actually say how long, now that I think about it) and fun fact, she's a quarter river nymph. The person she works under is shown using that fact as an insult, but only once, because then Nesta lets her eyes go silver, which freaks them out, and then Gwyn doesn't have to deal with it anymore.

Speaking of silver eyeballs, let's talk about her powers. What are they, how do they work? What are the limits of her powers, etc.? It's not really stated, beyond vague stuff of her powers being derived from something ancient, before the Fae's time, and that she's really powerful. At one point in the book when Rice Hand had to go into her mind (she was having night terrors), he described her powers as "pure death". On one occasion as she was trying to go down the 10,000 steps (which is a recurring thing throughout the whole book), she fell partway down and when she caught herself, she saw that she somehow burned her handprint into the stone. At another point when she's a good way into her training, she's punching something and it is later shown that she again burned through the wood (it was a piece of wood wrapped in cloth which sounds like an absolute delight to punch for a sustained period of time), but somehow the burn mark was cold? Much later in the book she literally un-alives someone, like she didn't kill them, she regressed their age so much that they were un-alive. (She basically hit the "undo" button on their life) Additionally, since her powers that she got from the Cauldron have connected her to the "Dread Trove" items, she is able to find them very easily and use them without issue. With all this information, it's still not clear as to what the limits to her power are. I suppose she is the limitation, because she could choose to use her power to gather the items of the "Dread Trove" and use them to manipulate worlds and time and fucking death itself, but she doesn't. And honestly I'm not sure how I feel about that, I'm kinda iffy on the idea of a character having seemingly unlimited power (especially when they only use it a handful of times, if at all), but I suppose it doesn't really matter because by the end of the story, she gives back most of her power to the Cauldron anyway, so any questions about that are just,,, thrown to the wind.

The characters in this story were a pretty mixed bag. I can say full-heartedly that I did not like Rhysand (there, I said his actual name instead of Rice Hand, Rice Hand is funnier to me). I don't think I've ever particularly liked him, he was too smarmy for my liking, and then when we got a look into his mind courtesy of ACOFAS, all I got out of it was that whatever is going on in his head does not match his outwardly appearance and demeanor whatsoever. (On the outside, he seems like he'd be the one to smirk a lot, probably use lots of sarcasm, on the inside it seems like if someone said "boobs" he'd start laughing uncontrollably. Like, it's weird. Idk what was going on in that book, it was weird.) But in this book, I did not like him, from the beginning. He was so hostile, so aggressive towards Nesta, at any given moment. I don't know if he had any sympathy at all for her situation, because he certainly didn't act like it. At anything Nesta would do, he would push back.

For example, when Gwyn decided to join Nesta in her training, Rice Hand said in her mind to not do anything (in the book, he said, "You are to treat Gwyn with kindness and respect." (pg. 304)), and the whole thing angers me for two reasons, the first being that Nesta's kindness was the reason that Gwyn was there in the first place. Which leads to the second reason, that it seems that Rice Hand is so convinced that Nesta is an unlikable person that she couldn't have possibly made friends (or at least friendly acquaintances) during her time at the House and working in the library.

Following that remark, Nesta noted that it seemed that Rice Hand didn't particularly like the fact that she and Cassian were a thing, which also ticks me off. Am I a huge fan of Cassian and Nesta being together? They're fine, but it's again that idea that she couldn't have possibly warmed up to someone that she has to be around the majority of the time, and maybe someone that doesn't default their mentality of her as "whatever she's doing, it's wrong/bad". To give credit to Cassian, he did figure out that Rice Hand said something to her and chided him for doing so. He actually caught Rice Hand doing it a few more times within the book and got after him about it those times, which is nice.

But that's not the only reason why I specifically did not like Rice Hand in this book. There's another thing he did which I feel is so much worse than what he did or said to Nesta. That thing would be that he kept information about Feyre from Feyre, specifically about her own pregnancy. Now, I said in the beginning that she had a troubled pregnancy. Basically, her baby had wings, but her body wouldn't be able to safely deliver the baby because of those wings. Before you ask "Hey, doesn't Feyre have shape-shifting powers?" or "What about a c-section?", Maas tucked away those easy solutions by saying that Madja, the person overseeing Feyre's pregnancy, told her that shape-shifting might put the baby at risk for more complications, and as far as the c-section thing goes, they just uh, they just haven't seemed to figure out how to do that. These Fae people live for hundreds of years and no one has ever figured out how to properly do a c-section, I guess. Additionally, it seems that Illyrian wings are particularly special, compared to the wings of the other two groups of winged Fae, Seraphim and Peregyrn, because whereas the wings of the Seraphims or Peregryns can move, allowing for an easier birth, apparently (for some fucking reason) Illyrian wings are bony? Like, in utero, they're already bony and difficult to move, which is where all those complications come in.

He told none of this to Feyre. All she knew about her own pregnancy, was that there might be some complications, she didn't know that there was a gigantic mortality rate with pregnancies like this, nothing like that. He purposely kept this information from her, it seems that the whole fucking Inner Court voted on it, or some shit. When Feyre was told of this whole thing from Nesta, Amren said it was to protect Feyre, to keep her from getting stressed or scared, which could worsen things further. But I counter that Amren, with this: How fucking scared do you think Feyre would have been, when she was in labor and everything, and things were rapidly spiraling out of control? She would have been terrified! Don't you think that would've affected something, because I fucking think it would have! Was there ever any intent to tell her about this, or did all of them just decide to never tell her?

The reason why Nesta told Feyre about it was to hurt her, initially, but it was also because she found out that the Inner Court had made a decision about her, personally, because she had accidentally made more "Dread Trove" items by imbuing her power in three swords that she made while at a blacksmith. She found out (via Cassian's absolutely terrible way of bringing up the swords she made) that they were planning to take them away (or something, I don't specifically remember), and that's when she went to Amren's place and demanded more information. When Feyre was brought to intervene, Nesta told Feyre what Cassian had told her (despite the fact that he was totally supposed to keep that a secret but whatever dude). Feyre was shocked, understandably, but she wasn't angry at Nesta for that, and I can't tell you how happy I was about that, I am so happy that Feyre wasn't angry at Nesta for telling her about this. She actually was angry at the other people for deciding to keep this information from her. I just,, I'm really happy that she wasn't angry at Nesta. Everyone else, on the other hand, was fucking pissed at her, including Rice Hand. He was absolutely livid, but the funny thing is, that I don't give a shit, honestly. He should have never kept that a secret in the first place.

I think as a whole, his behavior is explained away because "his mate is pregnant", so I guess he has full clearance to be obnoxious and aggressive and withhold information without the knowledge of all parties involved. What happened to always giving Feyre a choice, Rhysand? What happened to that? Did she only get a choice when you decided to give her one? Because that is certainly what this felt like.

Another thing that Rice Hand did that I would place in between his bullshit against Nesta and his bullshit against Feyre, is another thing that he did to Feyre. So, back in ACOTAR, I believe, when Feyre was still with Tamlin, Tamlin infamously trapped Feyre in a huge magical bubble, where she couldn't leave Tamlin's house. Everyone agreed that that wasn't the best thing for Tamlin to do, and Tamlin's punishment was completely equal to the evils he committed, one-hundred percent. (Not really, now he's stuck in his beast form, roaming the Spring Court in a state of anger and pain. Sympathy for him is quite the commodity in the books.) But what does any of this have to do with Rice Hand? Well, he basically did the same thing to Feyre, except rather than being stuck in a building, the shield is on her, and it's so strong that even her friends can't touch her without being hit by the shield. And when she's asked about it, Feyre just says that Rice Hand learned how to make shields from Helion, the High Lord of the Summer Court, and like,,,, is testing them out on her?? And we're all supposed to think this is fine? The shield is so intense that they can't even smell her (which is a thing, in this series. Fae people can smell other people, they have scents, idk man I'm just going with it), so effectively he's masking her entire existence, and no one has a problem with it. It's weird. It's not as bad as the pregnancy thing, but it's still not great.

I suppose since I'm talking about characters, I should talk about Cassian and Nesta, seeing as they did totally, undeniably become a Thing in this book. Idk how to really go about it, honestly. For the majority of the book, at least one of them was sure that the other didn't like them, or that they weren't deserving to be with the other, so that was fun. I don't particularly remember when, but at some point they both just,,, decided? to have casual sex, that it meant nothing (when it did, in fact, mean something), and it was like,,, a way of distancing themselves from the other. That is particularly the case with Nesta, who felt guilty for constantly pushing Cassian away at basically every turn. Apparently her attention was caught on him from like,,, the first time that she even saw him, way back when she and Elain were still human, in their cottage. She didn't love him or anything, but it was a Notice.

Despite that Notice, she still pushed him away, as I said, because she just didn't feel like she was good enough. Over the course of the book, Nesta quickly became ashamed of the life she had been living since being put in the Cauldron, which was all the drinking and sex (and that's it? Like, a lot of people in this book made it out to be this whole thing but I think that's basically all she did. Part of me feels like the main reason the Inner Court was so bothered by it in the first place was that she was billing it to them, who really wouldn't even notice the money spent anyway, given how much money they seem to have but whatever), and this was another thing that caused her to push away. (And then violently yo-yo back it was incredible) She also has been harboring a fuck ton of guilt over her father's death, which I think was something I worried about after reading ACOFAS? Idk, but it wasn't terrible. She acknowledged that she couldn't really do anything, that it was all over before she could move, but the main reason she felt so horrible about it, was because all this time, since her mother's death (and kinda before it?), she had been mean towards her father, constantly snubbing him, acting with disdain, etc., but during the war (in ACOWAR, it's so helpfully acronymed), he came to help with a fleet of ships, and the one he was on, he named after her. It showed that, despite all that she had said and done to him for all these years, he still loved her, and she felt that she didn't deserve that.

She felt guilty about what had happened to Elain, and felt angry that she wasn't able to do more. Her relationship with Elain kinda soured at a point, because it went from Elain being the withdrawn, sallow, underfed and distant one, to her being that, except with Elain, she would just sit in a chair in an empty room and wallow in her own misery, whereas Nesta used other aforementioned ways to try to forget. Throughout a lot of this book, Nesta and Elain are at each other's throats, and they did, apparently, make up, but I don't know when. For how much of the book is spent about them being at odds with each other, there's an odd lack of them actually making up with each other and settling all that. It's weird.

As a whole though, the center of Nesta's issues stem from the fact that she feels helpless. As she put it, all these things happened to her, she didn't do anything about it. She didn't (in most cases, couldn't) do anything to get herself out of those situations. She felt she lacked agency, in essence. I believe that is mostly why she acted the way she did, because then she could control how others felt about her. The other reason why she acted the way she did, is that her mother trained her to do so.

When her family was still rich (and their mother was still alive), Nesta was trained to be absolutely vicious in the ballroom. She knew how to win people over with small gestures or expressions, and how to read people with a glance. She also knew how to dance, ridiculously well it seems. There is a point in the story when, to make sure that Eris, a member of the Autumn Court that they had been using for information, was still friendly with them, she was chosen to dance with him, to make sure that the Night Court was still in his favor. So, she danced with him. By the end of it, Eris apparently wanted to marry her, and you can fucking imagine how pissed Cassian was about that (I do think that at this point in the book, Nesta and Cassian were most assuredly a Thing, whether either of them acknowledged it or not), but the whole point of it was to show that Nesta was really in tune with music, and that she knows exactly how to meddle in the politics to win in her favor.

Her mother raised Elain to be a perfect princess, to be married off to someone with lots of money. Her mother raised Nesta to be powerful (but, from Nesta's own thoughts, she remembers asking her mother if she was going to marry a person the same way Elain was, but her mother didn't respond). As for Feyre, Nesta says that their mother seemed to mostly forget or avoid Feyre, because she wasn't quite right or something. I'm not sure.

There is a little thing where Nesta thinks of herself as a caged beast stuffed in a pretty dress, because she remembers that she's always had to restrain herself to make sure that nothing went wrong. When her mental health declines, it is equated to wolves encroaching her space, snarling her doubts and fears, and how she used to deafen them using people or alcohol. It wasn't ever enough, but it's what she did.

One thing that did help with the wolves was something she learned from Gwyn, called Mind Stilling (cough cough it's just meditation cough wheeze), a practice used by an extinct group of female warriors called Valkyries. (Yup, just like the Old Norse Valkyries.) Throughout this book, Nesta, Gwyn, and another Illyrian woman named Emerie (along with a few others but they basically only are present in theory) all trained with Cassian (and Azriel, he showed up later on, just in case Maas thought you forgot about him) to become the new Valkyries. It turns out that Cassian knew of them, I think most of the Inner Court knew them or at least knew of them (which is what happens when you're over five hundred fucking years old jfc) before they died in battle. There are a couple portions of this book that are mostly just training montages, with added notes of "it would have taken forever to build muscles as a human, but being Fae meant that Nesta could get stronger much faster", just in case you thought that 3 training montages was a lil too fast.

All this training does culminate into something by the end of the book, almost literally. I feel like a lot of this book is just watching Cassian and Nesta bounce off one another (in more ways than one lmao), and then Maas at some point realized, "Oh shit I have to actually make these things mean something!" and so the payoff for all the training, so to speak, and Feyre's pregnancy are both resolved by the end of the book, just barely.

The training thing is resolved by Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta (in that order, it was specified that Nesta took like, three days after Emerie and Gwyn to complete her training because she was so busy probably staring at Cassian and thinking about... stuff. That's basically what both of them were doing for a healthy portion of this 700+ page tome) cutting a white silk ribbon that was tied up to a pole. I guess the idea was that if they are able to cut a piece of ribbon fluttering in the wind, they have mastery over themselves and their weapons. Personally, I get it. Ribbons are evasive as fuck and will gain enough sentience to move away from you just enough so you can't grab them. I know for certain that I would not be able to do this.

Now, I've mentioned Emerie a few times now, who is she? During the three or so days at the Illyrian camp, Nesta comes to know an Illyrian woman named Emerie. She's a shopkeeper in the village, and she likes keeping her store neat. Her family doesn't like that she owns the shop, and wants it to be carried over to one of her relatives. One of the times that Nesta visits her, one of Emerie's cousins is there, spewing stupid nonsense about how she can't run a store on her own. (He ends up dying, in case you were wondering.) She seems like a pretty interesting character, and she and Nesta bond over their shared interests in books, and that they've both been through some shit. In Emerie's case, her wings were clipped, so she can't fly. It is(or was?) a practice that was(is?) pretty common in Illyrian society, because clearly no one wants the wamen flyin around, who else is gonna do the cookin and cleanin and child rearin? Emerie ends up joining Nesta and Gwyn in training, with her main motivation similar to Nesta's: that she never wants to feel or be powerless again.

I've talked about the training a few times now, and I've mentioned how it led to something, without saying what it leads to, so I'll say it here: it leads to the Blood Rite, which is an Illyrian coming-of-age sorta thing, where the participants (typically the male Illyrians, like I said they just can't have the wamen beating them at anything it'd hurt their wittle egos) are put in this forest and they are tasked to scale a mountain (at least one) within a week, and fight off any monsters trying to eat them, or opponents trying to beat them. It's pretty common for people to die in these.

Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie landed themselves in this Blood Rite by being kidnapped, that's apparently how the participants are put in the Rite. There was something unusual about this one, however, in that someone (I think it turned out to be someone under the control of Briallyn) planted weapons all over the forest, which isn't allowed. Something that also isn't allowed in the Rite is magic, so the magic that Nesta has become accustomed to and now has a decent relationship with, is gone. Cool.

In the process of getting up the mountain, Gwyn nearly dies, she got shot in the leg by an arrow, and Emerie nearly drowns in a river. Nesta nearly gets stabbed by Emerie's cousin, the same guy who showed up in her shop that one time, but then he gets killed. Woohoo, violence!

Right as Nesta is fighting with Emerie's cousin, Cassian shows up, which is surprising because he wouldn't normally be able to be there: if outside forces help a participant get through the Blood Rite, it is then considered invalid, and both the participant and the outside person are promptly killed (Woohoo, violence!). Turns out that he's under the control of Briallyn, who shows up as well. She orders Cassian to kill Nesta (because of course), and rather than stab her, he stabs himself. This is when the un-aliving thing happens that I mentioned earlier. Nesta was so caught up in the rage and stress of being in the Rite, then the sheer fury of what was going on, and it was an instance of her mind going, "I will not let this happen to me" and so she slammed the "undo" button on Briallyn's existence. (Woohoo, violence!) All is well though, because apparently Cassian did not, in fact, stab himself.

All is not well though, because as this whole thing ends, Feyre's pregnancy issues begin. I won't go over in detail because I've already talked about it earlier, but basically she went into labor way too early, and things have only gotten worse. She's bleeding out, everyone is certain that she will die. And thanks to the fact that, in ACOWAR, Feyre and Rice Hand made a vow that, if one dies, the other will, there's also the risk that Rice Hand will die, and since the baby is so premature, so will the baby. So there are three lives at risk, and no one knows what the fuck to do about any of it.

Except Nesta. Well, she doesn't really know what to do, but she's trying something. She takes the items of the "Dread Trove" (remember those?) and she uses them to pause time, right before death (kinda like pausing right before your Sim's death to save your game), and pleads with the powers in the objects and within herself, to show her how to save Feyre and the baby, and she will give her powers back to the Cauldron from which she took them. The powers are basically like "k lol", and she saves Feyre and the baby (his name is Nyx, which is just,,, it's so fantasy fiction omfg), and she tells Cassian later that she also altered her fucking body so that it can carry an Illyrian baby. Has she, at literally any point in the series, let alone this book, ever even thought she wanted a child? Nope, but everyone gotta have babies. (I get that people change their minds, and Nesta seems to have a fuck ton of time ahead of her to think about it, but idk it just kinda came up out of nowhere. How about beginning research into situations like that and maybe learn how to safely perform a c-section, in this case, so that future situations don't turn out as they seem to have previously. Nesta fixing her own body won't affect the who-knows-how-many other people who might get into this situation. Then again, it's not on her to solve everyone's problems,,, idk man)

Rrrrighttt at the end of the book, it mentions that Cassian and Nesta are going to have a mating ceremony, which for all intents and purposes, might as well be a wedding they talk about it like a wedding some of the practices and traditions are reminiscent of a wedding, it's a wedding. But for some reason, they don't actually have the ceremony in this book, even though I imagine Maas could've totally done it. What's another few pages in a 700+ page book, right? So I imagine that the ceremony might come up again in the next book, because Something is going to happen then. I have no idea what that Something is going to be, but that's my guess.

I don't think I have many issues with this book in particular, it's more with just the series as a whole. I just have a lot of questions with this series, and I got even more questions from this book. Most of my questions circulate around the powers of the characters within the Inner Court, such as how does literally everyone's powers work?? Throughout this book, it kept referring to Cassian's magic, that he wears a bunch of thingies (they're called Siphons but they'll always be thingies to me) to contain that magic, but it never actually says what his magic is. As far as I can tell, there are like,, idk how to describe it but like kinda threads?? of magic, I guess, that come from his Siphons, but other than that it's just that he,,, punch? He fight good? I really don't know. From what I can gather, his abilities could stem from his life rather than any magic he has. (I think that could actually be more interesting, him not having any magic, and kinda lend another reason as to why so many fucking people in this book shit on him for being the way he is. They all throw "Prince of Bastards" or some similar title at him, as if he's the only bastard to have ever existed in Prythian like, bad guys, please come up with more insults. Call him a shithead or something like be creative I'm really not feeling it)

With Nesta, it also does a poor job of explaining her magic, it's just repeated that it's old, it's ancient, it's from another time, a time before the Fae, a time long forgotten, but like, bro, what is it. I guess I'll never know. Elain's power, which also stems from the Cauldron, is barely mentioned in this book, aside from them saying that it's either gone away, or gone dormant, so she's treated as though she has no powers (that is, whenever she actually shows up in the book. Elain is just,,, rarely in the series. What is she doing at any given time the world may never know).

I don't really think that Maas understands how many stairs 10,000 stairs would be. I don't think she gets how long 500 years would be, and what you would even be doing for the majority of that time. I don't think she has a scale for how much power she has flung at her characters, to the point of it all being nonsensical. Everyone has so much power, we're told that Rice Hand has a ridiculous amount of power, somehow Feyre has double his power, but Amren had even more power, but Nesta has even more power than that and it's just,,, can I please have a frame of reference because I simply do not understand. I don't think she even has much of an explanation for the powers she has given her characters, and two examples I can immediately think of are Mor and Azriel. Mor's powers have simply been stated as "truth", but have we ever seen her use that power? What the fuck does that even mean, does she have a freakin lasso of truth or some shit like I don't understand. Then with Azriel, he got some kind of shadow magic thing going on, but like even within the story, the characters don't seem to understand how it works. Even the people that have known Azriel basically their entire lives (Rice Hand and Cassian) don't understand it. So how the fuck am I suppose to understand?

I'm just going to end it here because jfc this thing is so long, it's 10 pages long in Google Docs, and I heavily doubt anyone is going to read this far. If you have, much thanks! To clarify, I do like the series (to some extent) I just,, I have a lot of questions. So many, I couldn't fit them in here because they didn't really have any answers in the books (any of them, as far as I'm aware). Idk. How do people write conclusions? It's beyond me. Agh, anyway, thanks for reading this.

[solesurvivorpaigeargot]

yoooooo could we get some Paige and Hancock goodness with “ i want you here. ” ? these sweet little scenes are giving me life tonight

[ @mentat-mayor​ idk if you sent this but I’m tagging you anyway because I’m using our interactions as inspiration. Read-more to be kind to peeps dashes]

They’d returned to Goodneighbor-- not with any intent to return Hancock to his mayoral duties, but simply because it was the nearest safe harbor after a harrowing experience in the ruins. And not even because anything had been out to kill or eat them; no, no, it was a simple matter of physics and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Namely, savagening scraps out of an old apartment building just as the march of time finally sent the upper half of it toppling over like a lost game a Jenga. 

Paige had heard the creaking of a load-bearing wall giving way and sounded the alarm for them to get the hell out, Hancock had done a great deal of quick thinking during the escape as their original route in became impassable, and the pair had come out the other side all but clinging to each other and entirely uncertain of whom had pulled whom for that last lunge out of danger. 

Shaken, and bearing some minor cuts and bruises that required attention, there was no argument about it. They deserved a break after that shit.

... maybe more than a break. Maybe it was worth celebrating, getting out of something like that alive. 

She might have cracked an honest-to-goodness smile when he brought her to the statehouse. A bottle was cracked open-- some of that moonshine outta Diamond City. Hard-hitting shit that had her laid back on one of the couches in what passed for his ‘office’. Heavy packs had been offloaded to the floor, leather straps loosened or outright undone for her to shuck herself out of the faux carapace that was her armor, and he’d casually tossed a cartridge of jet her way.

She’d never used the stuff, but she did manage to catch it-- something that made him laugh. 

“You ain’t drinking hard enough if your reflexes are still that good.” He grinned, another cartridge in his hand, shaking it up before putting it in his mouth, pressing the top, and inhaling the contents. “Live a little, sister.” He wheezed, white smoke rising from his mouth and nasal cavity. 

“I am living, last I checked.” She scoffed, gesturing back at him with the inhaler-like object. “I’m too sore to be dead.” 

“Shiiiiiit, forgot you smoothies don’t just regen the little stuff.” He grinned, crossing the room in record time with a defined bounce in his step; one that didn’t hint at all at the fact that they’d escaped a collapsing building less than an hour ago. “I got a Med-X around here, somewhere...” 

“Overboard.” She shook her head, denying the offer. “Booze’ll numb it out soon enough... probably be good to sleep on a real bed, too, assuming the Rexford has an open room.” 

“I mean...”

His tone changed. His bouncing ceased as he arrived to flop back on the couch with her, and she found those dark eyes looking at her.

He hesitated. 

“You don’t have to leave. You could crash here.” 

“I--” Paige was caught off guard. “I didn’t want to assume or impose--”

“Ain’t nothing like that.” He reassured. “Statehouse belongs to the people. You’re people, aren’t you?”

“... I am a singular person.”

He stared at her a beat, reached across, and put his hand under the bottle she’d been drinking from to push it up-- halfway to forcing her into another drink. “You are wayyyy too sober, sister.” 

“Alright, alright!” She elbowed him off, snickering as she took a swig of her own accord. 

“There you go. Trying to relax here, and I don’t like the idea of you stumbling across the block when there’s plenty of room to go around right here. Hell, you want a bed? Mayor’s suite beats the pants off the Rexford any day.” 

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “And where are you gonna crash?” 

“Eh, pick a couch and fall into it.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time... Or we could share.”

She shot him a look, and he all but started cackling. 

A joke. Of course.

She’d keep repeating that until she couldn’t feel her heart in her throat anymore. 

“Point is... I want you here.” He finally summarized. “... okay?”

How did he make an invitation sound like he was asking permission? ... her head was starting to go fuzzy; she didn’t have the mental space to grapple with it, and instead found herself with a smile.

He said he liked her smile.

“Yeah.” She agreed, nodding along. “Okay.” 

[amarauder]

truth or dare and other rituals - percy jackson x reader

                                   006. truth or dare and other rituals

PAIRING; Percy Jackson x Reader

REQUEST; "Keep your hands off my girl."

REQUESTED BY; trexs346

GODLY PARENT; Thanatos

DATE; June 28th, 2020

WORD COUNT; 5k

WARNING; bad words,

A/N; I just want to apologize in advance because this is just pure shit. To my lovely requester, please feel free to pm me if you hate it. I am totally willing to re-write it. I just really struggled with this one and I hate how it turned out.

As you can see, I really cannot decide who is the perfect percy face claim. The dude in the previous chapter looks more like what i would imagine him to look like than most. But at the same time, rick describes percy like he gets more and more intimidating as he gets older and in the words of hazel he looks like a roman god. so, like i feel like logan lerman is perfect because he gets more and more attractive as he gets older, and in my opinion that makes him more intimidating. but i dunno, who is your face claim for percy? i need help ahhh.

TRAILER; in which the gang plays truth or dare with a twist.

-

All Y/N wanted in the entire world was one marshmallow fluff and peanut butter sandwich. But no, it had to be banned because of the stupid Demeter counselor in front of her. He was literally the son of the god of plants! Yet he was allergic to peanuts! Which were plants! It was the most ironic thing she had ever heard of, like Annabeth breaking up with Percy the day after the war ended, completely unexpected yet she still did it anyway.

"It would be entirely dangerous to all of us anti-peanut eaters," Allan announced snottily to Mr.D, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere other than here.

Just like her, he seemed to losing his patience and quickly cut Allan off, "Andy-"

"It's Allan."

"Don't interrupt me," Dionysus snapped, and Y/N felt a surge of pride towards her director. It was rather strange to be thankful for him of all people, but her opinion of him had changed once he had thanked Percy for all he had done for the Olympians. Not one god, other than his Father, had portrayed their gratitude towards him despite it being very well deserved. "Now, Andy, fortunately, your time is up for talking about," he paused and then grimaced, "Whatever you were talking about. Are we done here?"

Y/N took a deep breath to calm her shaking fingers. She had been twisting her earring non-stop for the past five minutes, and now that the time had finally come Y/N felt a serene feeling wash over her. She couldn't think, and Y/N was pretty sure her brain had gone on auto-pilot. It didn't matter though because Y/N had her entire speech memorized and a laminated sheet of paper just in case she forgot anything. Y/N also had handouts that Percy was currently passing out to everyone as she stood to present.

He gave her a bright grin and a thumbs up that made her breath stutter, from her nerves or just Percy she didn't know.

Y/N's laminated paper bended once she got up to the stand and she hurriedly straightened it out again. Y/N had always been a good public speaker, or at least she was comfortable enough to talk to her fellow counselors during these "meetings." But now, after spending so much time and preparation that all come down to this one point, Y/N felt bile climbing up her throat. Her teeth chattered, she was so nervous. Along with her knees wobbling so much that Y/N would have thought she had just gotten off the climbing wall.

She smiled out at everyone, then spat out her entire speech. It felt like she was flying, unable to register anything that was going on other than to get this over as soon as possible.

Before she knew it, all her facts and data had been said and Percy was leaning on the wall clapping and whooping, a beacon of light, her lighthouse during this insane moment.

The rest of the campers followed his lead, and even Mr.D gave a few slow claps after an eyeroll. He finally told everyone to shut up so he could think. Of course, Connor Stoll gave a few yelps right after just to make Y/N's day even more extraordinary.

She wanted to hold Percy's hand. Just touch him briefly, to know he was there beside her, that he would catch her in a heartbeat. Bring her back to safety and out of the deep depths of anxiety. It was hard to take in air, the oxygen she was getting was short and quick, close to a laugh but more like a wheeze.

"Alright, everyone out," Dionysus said, "I have to make a decision, and I can't think with your mortalness stinking up the room."

Y/N saw Percy opening his mouth, knowing he was going to make some smartass comment that Dionysus in fact had been mortal once, but Y/N caught him just in time. She gave him a look and he pouted, but followed her lead nonetheless.

Y/N felt like she was scolding Blackjack, Percy and his pegasus had the same kicked puppy face, guilty and hurt. She laughed at his expression and ruffled his hair. The black mop had always been soft and fluffy, but this time Y/N got a whiff of some sort of shampoo. Her stomach flipped.

"Ugh, nooo, stop." Percy said nudging her hand away, but his mile wide smile said otherwise. He ruffled her own, before bringing Y/N into a side hug and pressed his face against her hair. "That was truly the best presentation I have ever witnessed."

Her entire body had turned into a beehive, every inch of skin buzzing pleasantly. He needed to stop giving her so much casual affection, Y/N thinks she may just die from it. Die happily, yes, but being separated from Percy was too painful to think about.

Dionysus stood up abruptly, "Actually, I changed my mind. I'm gonna make this short and sweet so I can take a nap. The girl can get her sandwich." He exited with a roll of his eyes and Allan trailing behind him demanding a re-do.

"What? But I can die."

"Exactly, the less demigods the happier I get. Now, leave Alex."

"It's Allan."

Dionysus looked at the son of Demeter as if he was the dumbest person he had ever met. He was probably right. "Miraculously, I don't care. You're like a fly I can't shoo away."

The air was pushed out of her lungs, and the oxygen left her entire body. Y/N felt the shock from her head to her toes, like she could finally feel gravity weighing down on her. She took in a deep breath and let her clouded thoughts focus on things. She had done it. All her hard work had paid off and it felt really good.

Percy bumped into her again and she looked up at him. He had a horrible, terrible habit of being in her personal space too often. He did it more than the average person, and while it did make her feel more alive than anything else she had experienced, it also made her brain turn into sloth mode.

"I knew you were gonna do it," Percy said as they exited outside. It was so bright that Y/N had to shield her eyes, and her nose twitched as it always did when it was sunny. She always sneezed after going outside and being inside for too long. Percy liked to poke fun of her and say she was allergic to the sun.

"I'm just surprised no one had said anything." Y/N said after her sneezing attack. Connor Stoll had looked like one of those mimes during her presentation. He kept opening his mouth and then would abruptly close it while gripping his chair as if it was a bucking horse.

"Ya," Leo said out of nowhere, jumping on Percy's back and making him stumble. Y/N snorted, and caught his arm just in time. "That's because Percy can be very threatening."

Y/N raised a questioning eyebrow. She had to admit that Percy was intimidating, the first time she had met him Y/N barely had the courage to get a word out, that was until she realized he was just a big dork inside a body with a bitch face 24/7.

"He threatened Connor Stoll before your presentation, N/N. You should have seen Connor's face. Shows him for trying to steal my handy sack."

"Okay, Handy Mandy," Percy snapped and crossed his arms before turning to Y/N. His face visibly softened and he looked down at his shuffling feet, "I just wanted to make sure your presentation turned out perfect. You spent so much time and effort on it, I didn't want someone like Connor Stoll saying something stupid during it."

Y/N smiled softly, and nudged his elbow. He looked up before looking down again. Y/N went to hug him then paused, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. Would he reject it? He probably would, he did date Annabeth before. She's perfect.

But what about what he just did for her?

No one had ever been so thoughtful as to do everything in their power to make something that was important to her perfect.

She smiled, and ran on her instincts, "Hey, Perce."

"Ya?" he questioned when she didn't say anything more, only to be enveloped in a hug. She must have blacked out because Y/N doesn't remember anything that happened after.

-

Saturdays at Camp Half-Blood gave everyone a taste of what Y/N believed was Heaven. It was the one day that Y/N gave herself off. Sundays were filled with preparing for archery and other lessons to teach the younger campers. Monday through Friday left Y/N exhausted after all the activities.

Saturdays were pure bliss, roaming through the strawberry fields, catching up with friends, bonfires at the beach. Life became something out of a movie and it left her grappling for some understanding of how she deserved this.

However, instead of going on an adventure, Y/N was stuck in a boiling hot room, blindfolded.

Percy was in there somewhere. He had kidnapped her after a late lunch and tied a bandana around her eyes. It was all a little nerve racking.

It got worse when Y/N found out he had to guide her everywhere. Percy was not a good set of eyes. He himself had trouble staying upright on a daily basis, particularly when he walked backwards.

"Percy," Y/N whined, her eyes opening as she tried to see through the cover, "Can I please take this off?"

"No," Percy said from her left. At least he replied this time. He was closer than she thought. After a while, Y/N wondered if he had left the room and ditched her.

"Please," Y/N pouted. She knew she sounded childish but Y/N couldn't bring herself to care. Percy laughed, he sounded even closer now. She didn't realize he was invading her personal space until she felt his breath on her neck. She shivered. Gods, she hoped Percy didn't notice why Y/N was shaking like a tree.

She felt his hand brush against her shoulder and wondered what on Earth he was doing until she was being lifted out of the seat. "Let's go. We still have more to do."

Y/N could imagine exactly what Percy looked like, but she wished she could see it with her own eyes. Percy didn't get super excited a lot and Y/N always felt blessed whenever he did. She would carefully drink it all in, making sure to engrain every inch of him to her memory.

Percy had a habit of bouncing on the balls of his shoes eagerly, something Y/N was pretty sure he didn't even know he did, which only made it an even cuter habit. He would play with her hair impatiently but shy away from her touch at the same time as if he didn't want to make her feel rushed but needed to hurry the process up at the same time.

However, his hands were absent from her hair and instead guiding her to wherever they were going.

It was interesting how once one sense is gone, then the others completely take over. It was like she was completely re-exploring Camp Half-Blood but through smells... and she had no clue where she was.

"Wait," Percy said out of nowhere, after she had stumbled over a tree root, "You don't have any other plans today do you?"

"Other than being blindfolded and dragged around by my best friend, no." The words came out ruder than she had meant, but this was getting kind of annoying. She just wanted to get wherever they are going to go and bask in the sweetness that is Percy.

Though, Y/N didn't in fact have any plans. She really wanted to sunbathe by the lake but that didn't seem to be an option. But if Y/N was going to be honest, Y/N's always more than happy to go along with whatever he says. Which is, like, pathetic as hell, but Y/N doesn't see herself doing anything to change that in the near future.

"So, you want to be surprised?"

"Of course," she replied immediately, and inwardly cringed at how eager she sounded. "I mean, sure. If you want." She might outwardly cringe this time. Gods, she's embarrassing.

"Okay, cool."

Then, they start walking again until they are at what Y/N guesses is the beach. He sits her down on the sand, and if Y/N had known where Percy was then she would have thrown some at him.

It seems her wish is granted because he takes her blindfold off a second later, but she doesn't fulfill it. Y/N wouldn't have even if she hadn't been blindfolded and dragged around because in front of her is an elaborate picnic with two plates filled with marshmallow fluff and peanut butter sandwiches.

Y/N could cry.

"Percy," Y/N gasped and turned to him with a bigger smile than she cared to admit. He laughs at her facial expression and nudged her shoulder. "Annabeth didn't!"

Percy laughs even harder at that, "I'm insulted you didn't even consider this had been all me."

"Well, is it?"

Percy pouts, and Y/N snickers but she can't deny how touched she is by all of this. "No, but it was my idea! I helped set it up. Annabeth just remembered the blanket, the rocks to hold it down, the drinks, the plates-"

His answer was so incredibly Percy that Y/N couldn't help but smile. She reached out and placed her hand in his. "Thank you, Perce." He blushes and looks away. Y/N marvels at his remarkable composure, she knows if Y/N had been in his place she would have blacked out. In fact, Y/N should be marveling at herself. "Really, this is the sweetest thing anyone has done for me."

Percy shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal. The way he always does with compliments, a quick dismissal. "I think you need new friends then."

"Probably, damn you Nico for never making me a picnic!"

Percy almost pees his pants at the thought of Nico on a picnic, but Y/N is too busy eating her sandwich and enjoying his presence to notice.

-

An hour later, the sun is going down and Y/N is leaning against Percy's shoulder. She wants to stay in this moment forever and ever. It makes her wonder why the Gods don't take advantage of having infinite time with their loved ones. But then she remembers that Percy is unlike anyone she had ever met and Y/N's chest warms with thankfulness that she is his first choice.

Y/N closes her eyes and nuzzles her nose deeper into Percy. She has this absurd war going on in her head, to either bask in the moment at hand or fall asleep. Both seem abysmal to what she really wants to do, maybe finally tell Percy how she feels but why ruin the possible best day of her life?

However, it seemed Percy had different ideas because he shifts under her to lay on his forearm, the other going to soothe her hair. His head props on top of her head and Y/N shuts her eyes for a second. Everywhere he touched seemed to send what felt like fairy dust travel through her body. "Hey, angel of death."

Y/N groaned at the nickname and pinched him. She only relented once he winced. "Percy," she whispers and buries herself deeper into his chest. His hand in her hair felt amazing, like warm water flowing down her spine. But it made her sleepy. "You know I hate that nickname."

"And you know I love that nickname. I mean you did save me."

Y/N doesn't answer for a few seconds but sits up with a huff after he softly tugs at her roots. "All I did was relay what my Father saw and managed to warn you from your potential death, which is totally against all the ancient laws. You need to keep quiet about it."

"No one is here!"

Y/N looked around and realized he was right. No one was on the beach for miles except them. She wondered how he got everyone to leave. "You're annoying."

Percy laughs. Once she cuddles up against him again, she can feel it. "Wait, no. I have something to tell you."

"What?"

"You need to get up."

"Ugh, why?" She mumbled but did what he said anyway.

Y/N stared at him expectantly for a while but then decided to give him a few seconds to collect his thoughts. Y/N knows how hard it is to make ideas into words, especially if it's important to her. Looking at him now, it looked like whatever he was about to say was important to him.

Her hand grabbed his in the meantime. It doesn't help her focus whatsoever but Y/N hopes it gives Percy the encouragement he needs. "Listen, we've known each other for..." He trailed off as he thought about it. His thumb rubbed across the back of her hand, and in all honesty, Y/N wished she could say she had been able to pay attention after that. But with the amount of warmth glowing through her from his gesture, all focus had gone out the window. "A really long time now, and umm, for a while you've been my best friend. But recently I have been having thoughts that best friends really shouldn't have and." He paused, and she heard her heartbeat one, two, three times before she registered what he had said.

Was he doing what she thought he was doing?

Hearing a slight squeal from behind them, Percy paused and Y/N followed suit. He stopped rubbing her hand, but that didn't stop the fairy dust that seemed to travel faster and further every second. There was another squeal and Percy let out a groan. Pulling away from him, she looked over her shoulder to catch sight of the rest of the seven. Piper and Hazel being at the front and gushing to each other, obviously having seen Percy and Y/N.

He glared at his friends, looking for something to throw but coming up with nothing. They laughed and headed over to Percy's picnic as he ordered, "Go away!"

Reluctantly the gang left, but Y/N could still see them giggling and watching her exchange with Percy. It seemed Percy did too because he turned his attention back to Y/N to find her getting up. Catching a hold of her elbow to stop her, he raised an eyebrow when she looked back at him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Nowhere?" She said weakly and he nodded in acceptance of her answer, using Y/N's elbow to pull her back towards him. Sitting on the blanket, facing him she watched him reach over to interlink their hands.

Percy opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted by Leo yelling, "Percy, Y/N, when you guys are done making out and scarring poor Hazel and Frank. Oh, yeah! Nico too! Come play truth or dare with us! Piper wants an excuse to find out all the gossip!"

-

"Percy kiss the most attractive person here."

Percy hesitates, and during that short time Y/N panics. Her mind immediately goes to Annabeth. With her gorgeous princess curls and show stopping gray eyes. Y/N wants to cry just thinking about it.

"Well, I don't have a mirror," Percy finally says with a scoff and he squeezes Y/N closer to him.

It's only seconds later that Y/N feels him press his lips against her hair.

What that means doesn't register until Piper is asking her truth or dare. She can barely get the word, "dare," out. She was just impressed that Y/N had even considered what Piper had asked. Her entire body felt like it had turned into fairy dust, showering her in warmth and happiness.

Y/N feels Percy smile against her hair. It's all tantalizingly dizzying, the thought that he had purposely kissed her after what Leo had just dared him. The idea grows lovelier if it even can as she realizes that it's her and Percy's little secret.

"I dare you to..." Piper trails off as she scrutinizes both Percy's and Y/N's cheshire grins. "I dare you and Percy to go somewhere private until I tell you to come back."

Y/N's first reaction is confusion. Then, she recognizes Piper's smirk and it all hits her like a ton of bricks. Jason would have been jealous. Piper must have seen what Percy just did. Judging by the smirk on Percy's face, he knew too. Little stink.

He's also looking at the water. Y/N's stomach sinks, she's going to freeze.

-

Fortunately, she doesn't freeze and somehow manages to stay completely dry. Percy mentioned something about his powers being able to keep them dry but Y/N wasn't listening; she was too busy admiring the lake lit up by the moon. The next time the Hunters visited camp, Y/N made a mental note to thank Artemis for it's beauty.

With her face pressed against the edge of the bubble, Y/N felt like a child seeing an aquarium the first time. She heard Percy chuckle beside her, and she rolled her eyes. If anyone here was the seaweed brain, it was him. He had all of this wonder at the brink of his fingertips, yet he never sued it to his advantage. Thanatos, if she had his powers Y/N was sure she would be sleeping here every night.

Percy pouts from next to her, and continuously pokes her. It wasn't until the sixth poke and a call of her nickname did Y/N look over at him. He was being so incredibly irritating. Honestly, why was he not taking this in? "What?"

"I'm bored," he replied and slumped against the border of the bubble. Y/N gaped at him. How could he be bored? "And you're not paying attention to me."

Y/N rolled her eyes. He was a seventeen year old boy! Almost an adult and he couldn't even keep himself occupied. "It's not my problem your friends dared us to come down here."

Percy gasped dramatically, and gave her his puppy dog face. He looked so much like a baby seal that Y/N almost melted. Almost. She turns towards him and shoves his face with a laugh. "Stop," she said and dragged out the word, "You know I give in every time you do that stupid face."

"Why else would I do it?"

"Because you're annoying." Percy laughs and intercepts him, in a hug then rolls onto his back like a rolly pollie (or pill bug, if that's what your boring ass calls it). Y/N screeches the whole time and tries to claw her way out but his arms are holding her down like Wonder Woman's lasso, golden and ethereal yet warm and comforting. So incredibly Percy.

Sometimes Y/N feels like inside him there are two people. Percy, the dork she is proud to call her best friend. Then, Perseus, the man who resembles more of a god like being, who saved the world twice in a year.

She loves him.

The realization is like smoke, curling around her lungs and choking her into submission. Y/N wants to tell him, and it seems Percy wants to tell her something too because he's gone quiet and limp again. It's just them lying there on top of each other, staring into each other's abyss, trying and failing to conclude what the other is thinking.

There serene moment is interrupted by the bubble popping, and now it's not smoke choking her, it water. Lots and lots of water. It's dark. Y/N can't make out Percy's figure and it only makes her panic more vibrant.

But then there he is, and then it's not Percy. It's some other being, pulling her into his grasp as she sinks and Y/N can breathe again. Her lungs are failing her as she doubles over inside the air bubble. The man beside her puts a hand on her back, and all the blockage seeps away until her burning lungs take in deep breaths of air.

She collapses on the edge, and he kneels beside her. The man is certainly not Percy. He has blonde hair and biceps and triceps, and a bunch of other ceps that Y/N couldn't name if she tried. She leans on the bubble and just stares dazedly at him. She would much rather be looking at Percy but she's so tired and her mind is probably very slow from lack of oxygen. It doesn't matter because she doesn't know who this man is but he saved her.

Y/N briefly entertains the thought of Poseidon but then shoos it away. He wouldn't care to save some child of Thanatos.

It not until they are almost at the surface of the water, that Y/N realizes they have gone up. Percy is nowhere to be seen. She feels oddly empty, as if someone had carved a hole in the pit of her stomach.

But before she can really register Percy's absence, they are surfacing and the freezing air feels marvelous in her chest. Voices are calling and screaming, yet so very distant. The man who saved her, drags her to shore.

He's still holding her as Y/N sluggishly leans against his chest. She sees Leo, Piper, Jason, and the rest all staring at her vigilantly. But then her eyes land on Percy and it feels like air doesn't matter anymore because he is staring at her with such an intense look that all oxygen escapes her once again.

"Keep your hands off my girl." Percy spits out, then shuts his mouth just as quickly. It looks like he hadn't even thought about what he said before saying it.

Something warm swells inside of her, like a star exploding inside her chest. Adoration? Compassion? She's not quite sure what it is, but it tugs at her stomach and pulls Y/N towards him. Without realizing it, she's wrapping her arms around his waist and Y/N's hugging him. After a moment, Percy returns the hug, arms hold her close as she listened to the way his heart hammered in his chest, warmth filling every cell in her body.

It's nice, and it's everything Y/N needs and yearns for in the world.

He pulls back for a moment and the loss of warmth makes her whine but it's lost inside Percy's mouth as he kisses her. Y/N can't register anything after that, because it's just a brush of lips if that even counts but it's desperate and lovely, and everything in between. It tells her all she wants to hear.

They stay like that for a while, their foreheads touching, noses brushing, her lips trembling against his. His hands are grasping at her hair and face, and hers are clutching his shirt. "I thought I lost you," he finally mumbles after a while. It sends the fairy dust down her spine, the way his lips move against hers. Y/N presses her lips against his tighter, she hears Percy take a short intake of breath.

She finds out later that it was Trident who saved her. Y/N feels the need to thank him for blessing her with Percy.

-

A/N; I don't think I can even explain how much I loathe how this turned out. I literally have re-written this four times now though and it just is not looking great. This is the best version of it though, so I hope someone enjoys it. I just feel like everyone loved the last one and I felt really pressured this time? If that makes sense but of course it turns out to be my most shitty one. So, requester if you hate it as much as I do please please tell me! I am so willing to rewrite it for you! It's super short, only 5k, so let me know!

Requests are closed as of sometime this week. Sorry everyone! I need some time to work on my current ones!

Also, does this ever happen to some of you where you will read a book or fanfiction and your writing kind of changes because you just read theres before because me too.

I hope everyone is having a good day today! My four year anniversary is this Thursday and I have a surprise for you all that I am super excited about, so keep your eyes peeled for that.

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 21)

On unsteady, still shaky legs Mila gets off the warm motorcycle seat and finds foothold against the asphalt. Discreetly she adjusts the slightly wet crotch area on the jeans, while Daryl leads the heavy motorcycle down the ditch, off road and out of sight for potential thieves. Thankfully her jeans are washed out black, making the warm, wet stain less noticeable. She’s still a bit hazy in the head. What the hell just happened? The fuck of a lifetime, that’s what’s happened! Mila can’t put it any other way. What a fucking orgasm! The thought of it almost makes her knees turn into jelly. 

As soon as they reached climax, Mila on top of a table with Daryl standing between her legs, it felt like she’d just been taking some psychedelic drug, as if her mind was going bananas. Her body felt feverish, her legs trembled as if she’d just run a marathon and her ‘sweet-spot’ pounded to the frantic beat of her heart. The archer in front of her, with one hand in a firm grip around her rear end, seemed to feel the same, trying his best to get a grip of the whole situation and what just happened, and in Mila’s case at least, how amazing it was! The fact that something warm ran down Mila’s inner thigh at the same time didn’t even bother her. It was too late to think about protection anyway at that stage. Hadn’t she read somewhere that it was all ‘good to go’ if it happened on top of a sturdy table, or was that just wishful horny thinking? Probably. The idea of whether a furniture functioned as a fullworthy contraceptive disappeared from Mila’s head when Daryl opened his mouth and, for the first time since they met outside the food store and pointed weapons at each other, expressed something from his heart, between heavy breathing. 

Mila follows Daryl into the woods, watches as the broad shouldered man leans the motorcycle against a tree and covers it with branches. The fresh memory of the firm grip around her thigh, his fingers grasping her hair and necks and the intense kissing, passes through her head, causing a pleasant shiver to run throughout Mila’s body. The thought of how it felt when he penetrated her, how he almost filled her all the way up her throat with his big- 

“Hey?”

Mila returns, almost drowsy, to the present and looks at Daryl, who’s seemingly back to his usual self.

“Hm?” She utters. “You done?” 

“I’ll get it later.” Daryl replies and nods his head into the woods. “Let’s get back.” He turns and starts walking. Mila strides up next to him. The involuntary celibacy she’s found herself in after Jim’s death has made her almost violently horny without knowing it. Her whole psyche and physique is disrupted;  is this what the walkers feel like all the time? Bozhe moy, the silent archer has awakened a monster inside of her, a monster that’s been repressed by grief and alcohol for the last couple of months. Nothing strange about it. But the fact that she shagged him on top of a table in an abandoned house, during a full blown apocalypse without protection was evidence enough that the ‘monster’, otherwise known as Mila, was back in business. 

“What ya’ said-” Daryl begins, but he hesitates. “I just-” once again he pauses. “Fuck-” Mila puts her hand on his arm, forces him to break and stop. “I mean, ya don’t have to-” his eyes flicker, he looks iffy and on the verge to implode. 

She needs to do something, needs to save him from having an emotional meltdown, probably one of few he’s ever had in his life. Mila interrupts him by pressing her lips against his, cupping his face, feeling the stubble brush up against the inside of her palms. She wants him, she wants him more than anything. She’s done grieving. When the world and life itself can end at any moment, but god forbid it would, there’s no time to mourn forever, and lately, Mila has felt feelings beyond abrasive grief and despair in her heart, that she has to sedate with lethal doses of alcohol. She’s been alive, not just survived, even though she was close to dying there for a while. That someone could wake up in the morning and not feel pure anxiety about having the ability to feel emotions, what a feeling! The reason that she no longer wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, after once again dreaming that she had to kill Jim, stands in front of her in the leafy woods, surrounded by greenery with a crossbow in his hand, completely unaware of his effect on her. 

Mila softly tears herself from him.

“You heard me before.” She says steadily.

”Wasn’t really- ” 

Daryl interrupts himself when the sound of voices in the distance bounce against the beeches around them. Like a shepherd who has weathered a squirrel, Daryl tips his ears and looks in the direction of Alexandria, tightening his grip around the crossbow. Mila’s brain shifts to battle ready in a second. She starts running toward the community before Daryl can say a word. Has the walkers managed to climb the wall, or worse? Daryl grabs her arm and tails her in just as they reach the edge of the greenery, pulls her in behind a tree. With her back against the rough surface and her heart pounding, Mila looks out from behind it. She sighs deeply, relieved, by the sight of the intact walls surrounding Alexandria. But in the air, she catches sight of Spencer. He’s dangling in a rope between one of the watchtowers and the roof of the burned church, with a grappling hook. 

“What the-”

Below Spencer, on the ground, the walkers hungrily gropes for his sprawling feet, like children groping for the candy in a pinata. The only thing that sets them apart is the lack of long sticks and colorful party hats. Rick screams at Spencer from the watchtower to ‘get his ass back over there’. The rope shakes by Spencer’s movements.  

“He’s gonna fall.” Daryl exhales. 

The next moment they see Spencer fall to the ground, into the hungry herd. Mila swears a few well-chosen, nasty words in her native language and steps out from behind the tree, with the AK lifted in front of her, closely followed by Daryl with the crossbow raised. 

“Spence, come on!” Rick shouts up in the watchtower, before he catches sight of her and Daryl, emerging from the trees. “Get him outta there!” he calls in their directions. “I’ll pull you up!”

“We’re on it!” Daryl shouts back as he sends an arrow into the head of a walker, that tries to close its jaws around Spencers kicking legs, while he desperately tries to get up from the ground. 

Under cover of heavy gunfire from Tara, hanging over the edge of the wall, and bare knuckles and arrows from Daryl, Mila shoves herself through the stinkin’ herd. She grabs Spencer in the back of the shirt and thugs at it as if he was a mischievous dog, forcing him to stumble over to the wall, where she presses herself and him up against the cold sheet. 

“Get up there, mudak!” Mila starts shooting walkers approaching with open jaws. In the corner of her eye she glares at Spencer, what a saphead. “Davay, davay!” She shouts, or more like barks, at him. 

While Rick, with the help of Tobin, pulls Spencer up with the help of the rope and back to safety in Alexandria, Daryl reaches the wall. He leans up against the corrugated sheet next to her and gives Spencer a hefty push, causing him to fly handlessly, the last bit over the wall. He lands with a thud on the other side. 

“Fuckin’ moron.” he mutters and looks down at her. “Ya’ next.” 

“I’ll manage on my own.” She grabs a firm hold on the rope that dangles over the edge of the wall. Mila hangs the rifle’s shoulder strap over her shoulder, grabs the rope and starts to climb, swearing and grunting by the not yet healed, sore wound, causing her core muscles to pound angrily. “Fucking, shitty, fuck fuck fuck!”

She crawls over the edge of the wall, with some help from Rick, while Daryl grabs the rope on the other side. While Rick screams something she can’t comprehend to Tara at the other tower, Mila looks at Spencer. Daryl gets over the edge of the wall at the same time as Rick gets a middle finger from Tara, and instead turns to Spencer.

“The hell’s the matter with ya’?!” Daryl sputters. 

Spencer pants, doesn’t reply at first, just wiggles his feet. He’s missing a shoe. 

“Lost the damn shoe. Crap.”

Without a word and with a head pounding with rage, Mila squats and grabs a hold of Spencer’s other foot. She tears the shoe from it and, without a word, throws it with all her power in a wide angle over the wall. With lips pressed to a narrow line, Mila looks at Spencer, whose face has transformed into a sheepish expression. 

“There. Now you lost both.” Mila sputters with a grunt as she stands up. “Mudak!”

She climbs down the ladder, while Rick takes over the scolding-torch and continues to yell at the now shoeless young man. Down on solid ground, Mila exhales and combs her windswept hair out of her flushing face, while Spencer attempts to explain his stupid decision to dangle over the herd like a bait. People pass her along the road and in the field behind the solar panels a group has gathered around Rosita with machetes. 

“I was trying to help.” Spencer pleads somewhere over her head. 

“That’s not helping.” Mila cries back towards the watchtower. “That’s just dumb!” 

The men up in the tower must’ve heard her, couldn’t have avoided hearing, but she receives no response. Rick just keeps barking like an angry pitbull at the poor fool. Daryl climbs down and joins her on the ground. 

“Idiot.” He wipes one of the arrows against his trouser leg. “Y’alright?”

“I would have easily made that climb.” Mila says, in an attempt to light up the mood. “Just saying.”

Daryl lets out a faint chuckle through his nostrils. Behind them, the others climb down from the tower and join them on the ground. Spencer hurries away, in his dirty socks, squeezing the rifle in his hands, followed by Tobin, muttering about ‘you stupid kids will be the death of me’. Rick looks anything but happy, peering at them through squinting eyes in the sunlight.  

“What the hell was that?” the sheriff points at the wall, too angry or upset to speak. For what, Mila wonders. No one got hurt. Spencer lost his shoes but that’s a piss in Mississippi in comparison to what could’ve happened if Rick, Tobin and Tara wasn’t there, and she and Daryl didn’t arrive just on time to save Spencer’s ass. “Where the fuck’ve you been?” Rick scoffs at the two of them. 

Mila looks at Daryl. He’s just as calm, or rather untouched, as usual. But he says nothing. What would he say? The truth? It is alluring, but not appropriate right now. Mila’s sure Daryl would never, ever, tell such a thing to anyone. Rick, on the other hand, seems to want to scold them as well, as he did with Spencer. Mila knows she should keep quiet, but-

“Are you angry?” 

The former sheriff is close to having a seizure at her cocky remark. 

“Are you kidding me?” Rick yells at her, making poor Eugene, standing over at Rosita’s ‘how to handle a machete’-school, to drop his machete into the grass as if it was a big spider. Rick points his index finger at Mila and Daryl. “You two left without a word to anyone- People are still missing. Our people! People here are scared, there’s one of those goddamn Wolf locked up in here because Morgan refuses to get blood on his hands... And Spence- I have every right to be mad!”

Rick’s eyes are furious, but he meets her gaze steadfastly. Mila feels a hand, Daryls, on her upper arm; an attempt to prevent her from, maybe, jump Rick.  

“Fine.” Mila sputters. “But don’t blame Morgan’s hippy dippy shit on me, or any of us. He’s his own damn responsibility. Not mine. If it was up to me, I’d neuter that… that-” She points towards the houses, where Morgan has hid the Wolf-man responsible for her wounds. “That asshole! I’m still tempted, believe me.” 

The stern sheriff puts his hands to his hips. Sweat trickles down his forehead. The white t-shirt is stained with dirt and patches of sweat. It looks like he’s had a rough day. But she won’t let him spoil her day, which has been quite magnificent so far. 

Rick looks at her, as to say; ‘please, help me here, what am I gonna do with Morgan?’As if Mila knew? She doesn’t understand Morgan's philosophy either and doesn’t agree with it at all. But she’s also crazy, genetically, obviously. Not that Rick knows about it.

“He thinks he can change that... man.” Rick bites his lower lip.

“And he’s a fool for thinking so, I agree.” Mila clenches her jaw. “That man is unsaveable, whatever Morgan believes. But Morgan’s our friend. The dumbest of ‘em all in this case, but still-”

Rick stays deadpan, cop-faced. He probably counts ‘one, two, three’ inside his head, to hopefully have a calmer mind when he comes to ‘ten’. 

“You didn’t see the others?” He asks instead.

“They’re not back?” Daryl looks at his friend in disbelief. “None of ‘em?”

Rick shakes his head. 

“Should be by now.” He shifts his weight to the other leg. “Where’ve you been anyway?”

“O-out.” Mila replies, stuttering.

“Doing what?” 

The clear blue eyes shift from her to Daryl, back to her, before setting on Daryl. On the inside, Mila giggles unabashedly. If he only knew. Sure, they left Alexandria to look for a pair of kid’s size nine sneakers for Juri, but things escalated from there, to say the least. Rick just has to look at Daryl to be able to put two and two together surprisingly fast. The two men know each other more than well by now, every little thing. Rick’s eyebrows rise slightly in his sweaty forehead and the angry facial expression disappears in a twinkle, as if he somehow, not entirely, can guess what happened on their small excursion. But he doesn’t say anything. In the corner of her eye, Daryl doesn’t seem to know exactly where to look, finally deciding to try and meet Rick’s ever so slightly amused face. The faint smirk, as in disbelief, is enough to get Daryl, who’s back to his grumpy self, going. 

”What?” The big archer replies, somewhere between irritated and uncomfortable.

”Nothing.” Rick shakes his head slightly. “Nothing. Glad you're back.” Rick turns around on the spot and starts walking away from them. “Safe.” 

Mila turns her head to Daryl, meets his eyes beneath the brown hair. She nudges her head to the side, as to ask him to walk with her. Telepathy or not; they begin to move in a slow pace towards the solar panels. The sun warms the back of her head. Things are calm. But she notices Daryl is sunken in thoughts. She puts her hand on his arm, feels the heat his body gives off throughout her entire body. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“Just-” He looks down on her hand. “Now what?”

“Don’t worry. They’ll be back.” Mila caresses him over the scruffy cheek, runs her hand down his muscular chest, encased in dark, worn shirt fabric and the biker vest, crowned by a pair of angel wings on the back. “I’m sure they’re-”

“No.” Daryl interrupts and the blue eyes almost devour her. “Just... “ He grasps for words. “This.” He says, looking down at her lips, then letting his eyes go back up to hers. ”Us.”

Everything that happens after ‘us’, happens as in slow motion. A crackling sound, like when loggers cut down trees, rumbles over the area and drowns the sound of birds, laughter and everything else around them. The cracking sound forces Mila to turn her head to the right, just in time to see the burnt church tower raging down over the wall against them.

[preservationandruin]

Rhythm Of War Liveblog Part One, Part 1 (Chapters 1-2)

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On to Part One of Rhythm of War, after I finish screaming at the ghost of Gavilar Kholin. Actually, we can’t wait for that, I’m never going to be done screaming at the ghost of Gavilar Kholin. 

Our POVs are Kaladin, Shallan, Navani, Venli, and Lirin--so Kal’s family is coming back to prominence, I guess. It’s a short update, but I gotta go to work. 

Lirin talks about the ethics of continuing a hopeless fight, Syl lets loose an “I told you so” first thing, we see a new and terrifying variant of Fused, I come up with a new, more accurate name for the Sons of Honor; Veil finally gets kidnapped; I start getting philosophical about the ethics of continuing a hopeless fight; and Kaladin organizes an airlift. 

Epigraphs for this part seem to be a lecture that Navani gave on how to trap spren in fabrials, so that’s cool.

Alright, so our timing here is a year after the fall of Alethkar, and Herdaz has been next on the Voidbringers’ target list. They’ve been fighting the entire time, but the voidbringers have intensified their assault and now refugees are pouring into the villages in Alethkar; Lirin is insisting on examining everyone as they come in, making sure that he can find people who need treatment early. The leader of Hearthstone now is Brightness Abiajan--from the name, I’m assuming she’s one of the singers. 

Also, apparently someone is coming through this line today that Lirin is anxious about. Abiajan comes to talk to Lirin, wondering if he has no compassion because he’s so numb to others’ suffering--he explains that he has to numb it to survive as a surgeon. She mentions that he set her arm, once, when she was a child. Also, hilariously, Abiajan says that plaguespren cause plague and that the idea that it’s improper sanitation is superstition. 

Laral, Kaladin’s childhood friend, is helping out now, determined. Apparently the person that Lirin is worried about is a Herdazian general; Lirin does see him as responsible for much of the current strife for continuing to fight; however, he’s not going to turn him in, and instead has contacted Kaladin to come pick him up while Laral helps Roshone make a distraction. 

Lirin’s condemnation of continuing a hopeless war as something that just gets people killed and is stupid (”Heroism is a myth you tell idealistic young people. It got one of my sons killed and another taken from me”) makes sense and is deeply sad. It’s also a good second perspective on the fact that so much of Roshar’s narrative has been about being forced to choose between two bad options and having the resolve to find another path or stick with the honorable thing--Lirin here is a reminder that that’s not always an option and sometimes makes things worse. “I obey the person who holds the sword to my neck, General, same as I always have.” 

Heroism isn’t always an option. Heroism can get you killed and hurt the people around you. You have to be willing to take responsibility for that in order to try heroism, and that’s some of what Kaladin has had to struggle with, too--the fact that he can’t protect everyone and that his actions will lead to death sometimes.

Also, shoutout to Roshone for actually making a distraction here, good on you buddy. Anyway Lirin noticed that the parshmen always focus on what appears to be the person being seen to rather than, say, the people carrying the litter--probably because they’re used to the people doing those menial tasks being unnoticed and unspoken to, and have absorbed that norm of society? I don’t know, but Lirin is exploiting it. 

Oh man, someone has visited Hearthstone, someone who Abiajan refers to as having blessed them, and she demands that Lirin come with her and that nobody leave the town. It’s one of the Fused, and it’s interrogating people about Kaladin--and they noticed that Kaladin was there, and Lirin notes that he barely recognizes Kaladin anymore, referring to him as the “harsh man Kaladin had become.” 

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, just let Kaladin babysit people this book, let him rest, he deserves it. I mean, what’s happening is him having to fight again, but he deserves rest.  

Cut to Kaladin’s perspective, Syl is delivering an “I told you so” about them being spotted, which is so relentlessly on-brand. Kaladin notes that he’s not looking at Lirin to avoid giving Lirin away, and also because “he knew what he would see. disappointment. So, nothing new.��� 

HEY. SOMEONE LOVE AND APPRECIATE KALADIN STORMBLESSED PLEASE HE’S DOING HIS BEST. 

Meanwhile,  Kaladin is learning the different “orders” of Fused; he’s mostly dealt with the shanay-im, “those of the heavens,” who share the flight of windrunners. Apparently Jasnah posited there would be ten orders, logically, and Dalinar--offering no explanation for how he knew--said it would only be nine. I mean, at this point if anyone knows Odium it’s Dalinar. 

Also, this Fused has learned not to do single combat, which is Kaladin’s normal mode of dealing with them. I wonder if the order they’re modelled after affects their behavior--honorspren create windrunners, and agreeing to a one-on-one duel is a very honorable thing to do. Maybe there’s more connection there than either side wants to realize. 

Ok, so what we know about this new Fused: 

Teleports via shooting their spren forward, then forming a new body of voidlight and stone where they end up. 

Probably elsecaller-linked (teleportation and then forming things out of energy) 

Favors exploiting teleportation to allow for a grappling fighting style and sneaking into blind spots extremely quickly (big rogue energy) 

Teleportation ability is extremely costly, can only be done three times before needing to recharge on Voidlight. 

Does not teleport instantaneously; the spren-travel can be outrun, as Kaladin does by lashing himself forward five times (so, approximately five times the speed of gravity on Roshar, which is not gravity’s speed on earth, is faster than them; they’re considerably slower than light, even though that’s what they look like)

Can’t transport objects/make them from voidlight; clothing is a hair wrap and weapons are fragments of their skin

He leaves but tells Kaladin to watch for him; it also seems like Kaladin’s depression is coming back. Syl shows up to talk to him, wearing a different style--she’s been taking fashion notes from Adolin, which is hilarious. 

Meanwhile, Veil is wandering around the Sadeas warcamps, irritated that she hasn’t been kidnapped yet, or even mugged. Also, Veil and Shallan are apparently teaching Radiant to appreciate humor, which is great. Adolin and his soldiers are apparently backing her up for this hopeful kidnapping, which is reassuring--I’m glad she’s not going it alone, although she’s very competent. She’s pretending to be a merchant who has a way in past Dalinar’s tariffs and is also implying he doesn’t have the authority to demand them. 

Ooh, specifically Shallan is hunting the Hypocrite’s Association, which is what I’m calling the Sons of Honor for the moment I guess. For a moment, while they’re doing accounting, Shallan starts having a bit of a memory come back; Veil suggests it might be time to remember everything, but Shallan shuts that down. 

Apparently, in the grand tradition of Sadeases not knowing when they’re beaten, Ialai is plotting treason. Ialai, how did that go for the last two Brightlords Sadeas? I’m begging you, quit while you’re...behind, honestly. But still alive. Anyway, the wine was drugged--finally--so they have officially been kidnapped! 

Back to Kaladin,  Syl is trying to convince him that it’s easy to sleep, he just has to lie down and pretend to be dead for a few hours (oh, Syl, honey, you’re trying to help but that’s not...that’s not it) but Kaladin is noting that it feels like life is strangely disconnected for him, like it keeps going for everyone else and he’s in stasis. 

Chronic depression is a bitch. 

Syl cheers him up by doing a terrible Kaladin impression, though. I love her. Kaladin goes back to talk to the singers, telling them that there’s a shelter half an hour to the east and telling them not to fight if they don’t want to die. They, of course, fight, which Kaladin doesn’t like; it’s very Alethi of them, though, to throw themselves forward. 

Again, we’re back to whether or not there’s heroism in fighting a fight you can’t win. Even with Ialai, kind of--continuing to fight against Dalinar when she can’t win it. Hopeless fights are all well and good when your protagonists do them and it works, this part seems to be pointing out, but what if they fail? And how does it feel to be on the other side of them? 

Anyway, the others retreat, and Kaladin gets to meet with his mom and baby Oroden (who pronounces his name as “Gagadin;” i’m gonna CRY). Syl always appears to Kal’s family. Also, apparently Kaladin was dating Lyn, which is wild because I’m almost positive based on her appearance last book that she’s gay as fuck, and she broke up with him. Also, Syl and Hesina are ganging up on Kaladin and it’s great. 

"It’s demonstrably unfair that I have to deal with both of you at once,” Kaladin said. 

Meanwhile it also turns out that the Radiants haven’t been supporting Herdaz because they saw it falling as inevitable, but it’s continued fighting against all odds. Another perspective: is it alright to abandon others fighting a fight that you assume is impossible, when it could be winnable with your strength? 

Also, apparently the Mink likes to sneak away from his guards without letting them notice, and he’s done it again here. That’s pretty impressive, I’ve got to say, although Kaladin is aghast at the idea of leaving one’s men behind like that (of course). 

Also, Kaladin organized one of Navani’s platforms to essentially airlift out all of Hearthstone. Trying to save as many people as he can, even still.