#big butcher boys are in my league

[anjelicawrites]

Paring: modern!Aegon II Targaryen x reader

Synopsis: AU based on the movie Happy Death Day. King of fratboys Aegon II Targaryen is struck in a timeloop caused by his violent death. Every day he wakes up in your bed, knowing there’s a masked killer on the loose. Plagued by his own misdemeanors and insecurities, he has to navigate his own budding feelings for you, and solve his own murder. Will he succeed, or will he die again?

Warnings: non graphic description of murder, botchy physics, anxiety, self loathing, alcohol consumption, hangover, crying, Aegon tries to kiss reader when they say they don’t want to be kissed, injuries, hugging, kissing, p in v sex, begging0.

A/N: reader is AFAB but not described. Where needed, they/them pronouns used.

You finish cutting the tomatoes and place them in your bowl, carefully. You know you’re biding your time and pondering all the information Aegon has just unloaded upon you; you can feel his restless energy filling the kitchen even though he’s standing by the sink, big purple eyes fixated upon you. You wish he was moving and not simply wringing his hand,   unloading all of that turmoil in some way, any way; the fact that he’s simply staring at you unnerves you, after his confession. The non physicist side of your brain is wondering if you need to call the hospital, the physicist in you knows that what he’s saying has been theorized yet never proven, it should be impossible to happen in real life, shouldn’t it?

The jingle of your roommate’s keys snaps you out of your thoughts; as much as you love her, you don’t have the mental capacity to deal with her right now.

“Will you take the mugs, please? My room is better for talking.” You tell Aegon.

“Green tea? Really?”

He has the audacity to stare at you while holding the two steaming mugs as if they personally offended him.

“Just take the God damned things!”

Behind him, your roommate is giving you thumbs ups with a smile on her face, you groan inwardly, she has no idea what’s going on.

You’re not in a chatty mood, not after last night when, a bit too tipsy for your tastes, you have picked up Aegon, king of frat boys Aegon, who has awoken in your bed, stared at you with desperation in his eyes and flopped back with a defeated ‘not again’.

Just because of that you should have kicked out of your apartment, the fact that he told you, as serious as a heart attack, that he has re lived this day repeatedly, to the point that he has lost count of the times he has woken up in your bed, tried to stop the loop, only to finish his day butchered by a masked killer, all of this should have warranted a call to the mental health office of King’s Landing University, yet you didn’t. It wasn’t because you expected him to tell you it was all a prank, or the fact that quantum physics explores the idea of time loops, it was how defeated he looked, alone against an evil he couldn’t fight.

According to him, he has woken up in your cramped room thousands of times, this doesn’t stop him from looking around, taking in all the posters you have hung over the bed and the overflowing bookshelves against each and every free wall. He’s not judging what he sees, he appears to be sincerely curious of the tomes you have to study for you classes. Not that he has the ability to understand an ounce of the syllabus, he barely follows what he is supposed to study, but his family has funneled too much money to the University, for him to fail.

“We can sit on the bed. My desk is too small.” You say, awkwardly.

“Bed, yeah.”

The first time he awoke there, he was torn between the hangover crushing his brain, and being horrified to have hooked up with you: you are so out of his fucking league he couldn’t fathom you even wanting to bed him! After the first ten times he has opened his eyes here, to relive his last day on Earth, he has learned to like the smell of your bed sheets, a mix of detergent and your own smell: probably the only good thing happening to him during this hellish experience.

He’s crushed that you have changed your bedding while he was in the bathroom. If he were to smell the pillows now, he wouldn’t be able to pick up your scent.

“Are you sure you don’t want more salt?”

“No, no, this is fine.”

There’s a lull in the conversation where he picks at his food, ignoring the elephant in the room and the ticking of time that means he’s going to die soon.

“I know how it sounds.”

You lift your eyes from your own food to stare at him. Apart from the hangover he must still be nursing, he looks like he’s aged ten years, his voice sounds hollow, devoid of any human emotion; whether or not he’s bullshitting you, there is something eating at him. 

You can’t say you know him on a personal level to judge his reactions, you’ve only seen him around with his frat boys friends and he’s always given you the vibes of someone trying to show the world he doesn’t have a single problem in his life, and lacks the mental capacity to even care for anything, it’s unsettling to see him like this, fidgety and haunted.

“It’s no stranger than any of my quantum physics classes. Look, I’m not going to bother you with the specifics, but some have theorized that time loops might be possible.”

The fork falls from his hand, it’s a miracle that his food doesn’t follow all over the bed when he sets his plate aside to grab your hand in a tight vise.

“How do I make it stop?”

His eyes have a desperate glint, the sides of his mouth are set downward, negating any hope his words might carry. You try to get your hand loose but he doesn’t let you, his grip increased until you decided to stop trying to get away from him.

“I don’t know.”

The way his shoulders drop breaks your heart. Lie or not, he is in shambles.

“I told you, some physicists talk about time loops in theory. The community can’t even decide on a possible cause, let alone how to break free from one. They are just ideas, working theories we use. As scientists we can’t even decide if time is a social construct or not!”

He hides his face in his hands, you can’t make out what he’s saying, only that his words are becoming sobs and he’s rocking on the bed, desperate.

“Look! Look!” You grab his shoulders and shake him until he stares at you, his eyes red. “The fact that I can’t give you an answer, doesn’t mean there isn’t one. Let’s walk through this together once again.”

“I already did.”

His voice sounds so small you just want to give him a hug.

“Do you really think that the big guns didn’t discuss their ideas again and again? Until they were done with the sound of their own voices? Tell me everything again, Aegon.”

“I re lived this day so many times and I still couldn’t find a solution. What makes you think that you can?”

“Because I am smarter than most and I am not personally involved. I can bring a fresh pair of eyes.”

“You would love my little brother Aemond. He thinks he’s better than anyone.”

“I highly doubt that. Stop stalling!”

You watch Aegon take a sip from his mug and set it on the floor; awkwardly he sits with his back to the headboard, facing you.

Having to spell it out all over again makes Aegon feel even worse, as if he is in the clutch of a nightmare he can’t escape and, on some levels, he is.

Come to think of it, the first time he had awoken, his bigger issue was the hangover, the blood pulsating in his head like a drummer from hell. Now he knows that you biding him good morning and asking how he was feeling, was you being a nice person, at that precise moment? He only wanted you to shut your trap and give him all the Tylenol his body could manage to absorb.

The second time? It was probably the worst, because he could feel that something was amiss, but couldn’t put his finger on it. He didn’t know you personally, then why did he feel like he’s already woken up to your smile? The walk of shame to his Frat House had been the worse part, not because he felt judged by his peers, but because his brain couldn’t put together the fact that he, somehow, knew what was going to happen: the two girls staring at him like they wanted to eat him up, the alarm of a random van blaring in the distance, the group of students falling prey to the automatic sprinkler or the guy falling all over his face, why did he feel like he has already seen all of this? It wasn’t possible.

In retrospect he knows when the two twin days diverge: at the end. The second day, as awkward as it felt, went on like the other: as soon as he was in his room, one of his friends had given him a cupcake, chocolate and peanut butter, his favorite, for his nameday, but he was too nauseous to eat it. He then went out on a walk with Sunfyre and saw the elderly lady having an issue crossing the road and he ignored her. With shame, now he recollects how badly he treated you when you came to the Frat House to give him back his signet ring, how he had told his friends that he “Didn’t know what this bitch is talking about” and took the ring from your hand.

He had gone on with this day that, suspiciously it felt like the one he had just lived, down to one of his friends popping by his room to ask him if he was coming to the party at one of the sorority houses on campus (at the time Aegon didn’t know it was a surprise birthday party for him), him ignoring his mom's phone calls for the whole day and the sudden blackout that had plunged his room into darkness.

The split happened at the underpass that connects the old Campus to the new.

The first day, he was butchered there. He had walked through a group of rugby fans wearing the University's mascot mask, Balerion, until he had reached the creepy underpass, made even more disturbing by the dead lamp posts, and the carillon left in the middle of it.

He wasn’t scared, he had thought it must have been a stupid prank from his friends, he had even joked with the person who had appeared behind him, clad in a black coverall, wearing Balerion’s mask, until the person, whomever they were, had stabbed him through the eye.

The second day he had stubbornly gone through the motions, choking on the déjà-vu feeling, until he had gotten to the underpass and noped out of there, opting to use the longer way to go to the new Campus. It still felt like trudging through a bad dream: why did he know what would happen? Was it a case of Dragon Dreaming? Perhaps all the drugs he had taken during his life had finally taken a toll on him? 

As he died, stabbed with a broken piece of dope pipe, he had thought that this wasn’t a case of Dragon Dreaming.

He tells you of all the ways he’s tried to outsmart his killer: lock himself in his room, leave campus, get arrested, nothing had worked, he would die, stabbed, shot or set afire, and would wake up to your smile and a terrible hangover.

By the time he’s finished, you have set your plate aside and reached for the windowsill, where your pack of smokes lie.

“This is all I have.” He tells you, defeated, his head hunched between his shoulders. “It’s not much.”

“It’s a lot, actually.” You answer. “Do you mind?”

His purple eyes focus on the cigarette in your hand and he shakes his head.

“I might have one myself.” He adds, fishing for his vape.

“Of course you vape.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

The genuine curiosity in his tone makes you crack a smile. You don’t answer, though, your theories about fuckboys and vaping are for another day.

Calmly you light your cigarette and take a long drag, staring at the Schrodinger’s Cat poster over your bed.

“One thing we know is that your death, albeit the circumstances, re sets the clock to this morning. Now, there are some questions we need to ask ourselves: were you supposed to die altogether? If not, why is the universe forcing you to go through that again and again?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Me neither, which brings me to the second question: why don’t you stay dead?”

You see him turn an alarming shade of gray. Perhaps you should have worded that phrase more carefully, but you’ve already made the mess, might as well turn his focus on something else.

“Let’s see it this way. Why does the universe want to undo what’s happening to you? Why would time bend and shape itself in this way for you?”

He looks lost and so are you. Why would the fabric of the universe itself modify and go against all the laws known to mankind, for frat boy Aegon II Targaryen? Why him and not someone else?

“If I had to go by vibes alone, it feels like the universe is trying to give you a chance. Perhaps you weren’t supposed to die, your passing is like an annoying wrinkle that doesn’t want to be smothered.”

“I have been called many things, ‘annoying wrinkle’ is new.”

You see the start of a genuine smile on his face.

“Let’s say that your survival is a fixed point in time, like in Doctor Who.”

“Doctor Whom?”

“You’ve never watched Doctor Who in your entire life?”

“Should I have?”

You feel your brain wanting to go on a tirade about his abhorrent pop culture education, but you don’t have time for that, perhaps tomorrow (if such a thing exists).

“Scratch that. A fixed point in time is when an event must come to pass, let’s say the destruction of Old Valyria. Trying to prevent that will cause a tear in space and time, Old Valyria must fall or a paradox would happen, altering the fabric of reality.”

You kill your smoke and start pacing.

“Your survival is a fixed point in time. The killer, by assaulting you, causes the time loop, because time stops moving the way it should. Are you following me?”

“I shouldn’t die, when I do, I fuck everything up. That’s my life in a nutshell, really.”

You elect to ignore the self deprecating tone, there isn’t time for that.

“Everyone forgets, but you. This means your killer forgets they’re in a time loop as well, and goes for you time and time again.”

“Yeah. But how do I stop them?” 

“Simple. You solve your own murder.”

Aegon stares at you as if you’ve grown another head.

“That’s your solution? Solve my own murder?”

“Do you have another option?”

Silence falls, broken by the muffled TV sounds coming from the apartments around yours. Aegon doesn’t speak, he looks even more defeated than before; he jumps out of his skin when his phone rings. You are startled as well, too lost in his sad puppy expression to remember that there’s a world outside of your cramped room.

Aegon looks at the caller ID and elects to throw the phone on your bed with a huff.

“You’re not answering your mom? I can go in the kitchen if you need a bit of privacy.”

“She’s calling me for my nameday. She’s going to bitch about the fact that I have missed the family lunch with her and my siblings.”

He still sounds sad, with an undercurrent of frustration you’re not sure you can pinpoint.

“It’s still your nameday! You should spend it with your family!”

“I can do without feeling like I am the family failure.” He takes a long drag from his vape and sets it on the windowsill, next to your cigarettes. “How do I solve my own murder?”

You feel that he doesn’t want to open that specific can of worms, besides, the poor guy has a lot already on his plate, if you want to believe his absurd story.

“I think the fact that today is your nameday holds a special meaning to either your killer or the universe. Let’s start from there: who knows about it, and who would want you dead?”

“I never share it but thanks to my brothers at the Fraternity, the whole campus. And I haven’t been exactly a saint.”

To write down a complete list of potential suspects would be a feat: he has fucked and abandoned half of the girls on campus, there’s a couple of nerds in his class who hate him, because he will pass his exams no matter what. And there’s Aemond. 

The two of them have always butted heads, his younger brother being all Aegon was supposed to grow into.

Aegon knows that Aemond feels like Aegon has what was supposed to be his. If he could, Aegon would swap lives with him, let him be the firstborn, the one the whole family expects everything from; Aemond wouldn’t crack under that type of pressure, he would make everyone happy and proud. But, would he be so resentful to try and kill him?

“You need to make a list, Aegon. You need to pin down the people who truly might have a bone to pick with you.”

“I don’t think I can. There’s too many.”

Unexpectedly he lets his head fall against your chest. He isn’t that much taller than you are, yet the contact makes you jump, so do his arms curling around your frame.

“Aegon? Aegon what are you doing?”

You feel his lips seeking yours and you turn your head, avoiding the contact by an inch.

“Aegon, stop!”

You try to free yourself from his hold and he simply doubles the strength he uses to keep your frame against his. Desperate you try to push with your hands against his chest, evading his seeking lips.

“Please.” He begs, pitiful and pathetic. “Please, I need it.”

“No Aegon! I told you to stop!”

The shrill scream seems to awaken him from his reverie. He doesn’t let you go, but he isn’t trying to kiss you anymore.

“I am not going to take advantage of you, Aegon. You’re not in the right state of mind! I didn’t do it yesterday when you were wasted, I am not going to do it now!”

“We didn’t…?”

“No, you big dummy!”

“I… I was naked! In your bed! I never pass up the chance to have sex!”

“I slept on the covers, you idiot! I brought you home because I was afraid you would choke on your own vomit and none of your friends seemed to care! You were hellbent on not laying down in your clothes and were asleep as soon as your head touched the pillow!”

He lets you go, almost pushing you away from his body. He’s wearing a haunted look that scares you, frantic he’s searching for his belongings to leave your room as if the Stranger himself was on his tracks.

“Aegon! Aegon! Calm down, please!” You grab his arm and force him to turn around and look at you. “What’s going on?”

He doesn’t respond, he falls on his knees, hugging your waist as he cries against your tummy. It’s an ugly cry, big, fat tears and desperate, howling sounds leaving his mouth; he is at the end of his tether, drowning without a help in sight.

It takes you long minutes to calm him down, until he lets you lay him on the bed, facing you; there’s still tears flowing from his eyes but his breathing seems to have gone back to normal.

“You shouldn’t have seen that.” He says with a broken voice.

“If it makes you feel better, I have seen nothing.”

Gently you caress his short hair, slow motions that aim at calming him even more.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s all forgiven. We all fuck up sometimes.”

He stares at you, surprised, as if no one has ever told him that.

“It will not happen again.”

“Trust me. Pull a stunt like that one more time? The masked killer will be the least of your problems!”

He smiles, pained and sad, like a tired clown. At least he’s breathing normally.

“I need to go. I have left Sunfyre alone for too long. And I have a list to write.”

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?”

He sits on the bed, scratching his head.

“It’s fine. You did more than anyone would do for a stranger.”

And I don’t want you hurt by the killer, he thinks.

“Look. I don’t know if you’ll be able to stop the loop and you will wake up to a new day. If you don’t, remember that I am here to help. Tell me this story again, I do not mind. No one should face death alone.”

Where do you come from? He thinks. Why are you being so nice?

He dies, time and time again. On his way to his apartment, hit by a car. 

When he checks on the handful of girls that were truly mad at him for having fucked them and then discarded them like used tissues, there’s something akin to happiness the moment he sees that they are moving on with their lives. Some are in love, others are receiving job offers, one has adopted a cat and her smile lights her room: all those girls who weren’t even a blip on his radar, have moved on, unscathed by his callousness (he dies, five times stabbed, one drowned and one bashed in the head with a baseball bat). Even the two nerds in one of his classes, who were so mad that he had passed it, just because his surname is on half of the buildings of the University, seem to have forgotten about him: they both have bright futures ahead of them (his killer is creative these two times, they electrocute him on one instance, the second they throw him in a woodcutter).

It’s Aemond that surprises him the most.

On purpose Aegon leaves checking on him for last. In between being massacred, he has had time to reflect upon his relationship with him: he has been a shit older brother, there’s no other way to describe himself. He had made fun of Aemond, pushed all his buttons because he could; he had left him alone when he had been attacked by all the cousins and nephews and was barely there when Aemond had to go through so many surgeries to save the left side of his face. Aegon had used him as a scapegoat for his insecurities and failures; if Aemond turned out to be the killer, Aegon would offer him the blade and tell him to go to town until he stayed dead.

Aegon’s hands shake as he makes his way up the fire escape ladders on the side of Aemond’s apartment building; he wishes for a beer, or ten, hates the clarity that the time loop has imposed on his brain. He had never thought he was such a piece of shit and a failure of a human being, whoever the killer was, they’re doing the right thing in getting rid of him, if only permanently! The world doesn’t need him, everything he touches turns into shit!

He stops and takes a huge breath to calm himself down: he needs to be extra quiet or Aemond’s dog, Vhagar, will hear him and alert her owner.

Slowly, careful of each and every step, Aegon reaches Aemond’s floor. Luck seems to be on his side since his brother’s curtains are open and he can peer inside.

The huge flat screen is turned on, bathing the darkened room in a blue hue. Surely he’s going to watch a movie, probably something pretentious, by an unknown director who died at the age of twenty: Aemond is the epitome of the indie fan. 

Imagine Aegon’s surprise when he sees the movie paused on the first scene of Evil Dead and when Aemond’s date opens their arms to welcome him on the couch! 

There had been talks on campus of Aemond secretly dating one of his professors, Alys Rivers. Aegon can’t believe it’s not her the person kissing Aemond until he smiles a real smile, one that shows his dimples! And he isn’t wearing his customary eyepatch!

If the killer hadn’t crashed into him from above, sending him spiraling down the side of the condo, Aegon would have died of surprise.

As he falls down, Aegon has only one thought: at least it’s not him.

He wakes up with a scream to the stupid ringtone of his phone. He can still feel the pain of smashing his body against the pavement ricocheting through his bones, his lungs exploding with the pressure inflicted upon them: for a second he can’t breathe. He flails on your bed, desperate to get to the window and simply breathe the fresh air. 

He stumbles on his feet, deaf to your words and opens the window with a desperate screech, only when the fresh air hits his still working lungs, he starts feeling his body relaxing.

In the distance he hears you calling his name, scared.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He pants, not feeling well at all.

His whole body trembles, he can feel his legs give out under his weight, his vision turning black as he falls in your arms. He doesn’t hear you screaming for help, for someone to call an ambulance, he is drowning in a peaceful black ocean, where nothing, not even him, exists.

He slowly comes back to himself, his muddled brain slowly realizing he’s not waking up to his own ringtone; for a blessed moment he dares hoping a new day has started for him, until the soft beeping of the monitor sitting next to the hospital bed throws him back into the throes of despair: the day hasn’t finished yet.

He opens his eyes slowly, the light spilling from the windows hurting his poor, overworked brain. What happened? The last thing he remembers is fainting, and not dying.

“Thank the Gods you’re awake!”

His poor eyes focus, with a terrible effort, on your features, now scrunched with worry: why are you by his side?

“You’re here.” He rasps, his voice scratchy and lower than his usual pitch.

“Of course I’m here!”

Again, for precious seconds, he thinks you’re in his hospital room because you remember the loop, and your idea of solving his own murder; his hopes are crushed when he realizes that it had happened some mornings ago, today he didn’t even have the chance to speak with you.

“Why?” He asks.

He doesn’t want to think about all that’s happened, he wants only to hear the melody of your voice.

“You passed out in my bedroom. Did you really expect me to ignore it? Are you feeling any better?”

Aegon tries to feel his body, sore and tired, but capable of breathing and not in the throes of panic.

“A little.”

“You shouldn’t be here. Visiting hours are finished for the morning.”

The two of you jump at the foreign voice of the doctor who, seemingly, appeared out of nowhere.

Aegon thinks he knows the guy, he’s probably met him during one of the charity parties he had to attend with his siblings. The doctor’s stern behavior seems to soften when he shakes Aegon’s hand and tells him his name is Dr. Orwyle.

“We haven’t finished checking on Mr. Targaryen.” He tells you, with a softer voice. “You can come later.”

The scared animal that lives in Aegon’s chest panics: he doesn’t want you gone, he doesn’t want to be alone in this foreign environment, but what he calls his ‘training’ kicks in. He’s Aegon II Targaryen, under no circumstances he is allowed to show anyone how he truly feels, his tears of some loops ago were a mistake he can’t afford to repeat now, away from the sanctuary of your bedroom.

You aren’t too happy to leave as well. As much as you don’t know Aegon from the next frat boy infesting the campus, you feel protective of him, since he fell ill in your bedroom, and you had already rescued him last night, too drunk to even walk properly back to his fraternity building.

But you have no place here: you’re no family of his, and even his blood would probably have to leave, in order for the doctors to work their jobs.

You offer Aegon a tight smile, not liking his ashen color and the dark circles around his eyes.

“I’ll come back in the afternoon, if that’s OK?”

“It’s better if you do so tomorrow. I am afraid we have some more testing to run and Mr. Targaryen will not be here for visiting hours.”

Your answer dies on your lips when Aegon barks a strange laugh, dry and mirthless; What’s so funny about it? You think.

You leave feeling a tight knot of anxiety building in your tummy. You have been having these strange déjà-vu moments as soon as you had woken up and had started fishing for your pill, whose blister had fallen behind your too small bedside table; Aegon’s ridiculous ringtone and his head of platinum hair on your pillow had felt strangely familiar, as if all of this had happened before, which it didn’t, so why you felt so panicked when Aegon opened the window, and even now you feel like there’s something horribly wrong? And why does this day seem to be, strangely, hackneyed?

Time, when you are in a hospital bed, has a strange quality of not passing, whilst running at a crazed speed. To Aegon it felt like you had left an hour ago, instead it was already evening when he was brought back to his room, where Dr. Orwyle was waiting for him, tablet in hand.

“What’s with the long face, Doc?”

Pretend, pretend pretend: that's always been the motto of his family. Even now that he wants to flee, because the killer must be near, he tries to keep up a mask of bravado.

“We have checked your medical history, Mr. Targaryen.” Dr. Orwyle says while handing him the tablet. “Your recent battery of exams shows us…”

Aegon doesn’t let the good doctor finish.

“That I should be dead.”

My body remembers, he thinks, the same way my mind does.

“Were you recently in an accident and, somehow, your records were lost?”

Oh Doc, he thinks, if only there was a way for me to explain everything, without you committing me to a mental institution!

“I think I need a moment.” He lies, with a displeased frown on his face.

His family has pumped a disgusting amount of money into the company that owns this hospital, he knows Dr. Orwyle doesn’t want to make him angry, lest the cash flow stops.

“Of course Mr. Targaryen. One of our nurses is combing the files as we speak. There must have been an unpleasant mistake.”

“Obviously.”

For a moment Aegon thinks the doctor is unto him, knows he’s lying, but the man retires, telling him they will talk tomorrow and that he should sleep: like hell! He needs out!

As fast as his tired body can manage, Aegon removes the monitoring and unplugs the machine from the wall. He has no idea where his clothes are, not that it matters now that he knows his killer is not someone in his life and that, perhaps, the next death will be the last!

On swift feet he runs the length of the dark corridor, until he reaches the nurse’s station, where he sees a woman focused on the computer screen; fleetly he wonders if that’s the person in charge of finding the medical files that should prove he has cheated death. With the corner of his eyes, he notices the policeman sitting in front of a room, but he is too focused on escaping to truly care; when the man enters the room he’s guarding, Aegon couches and crawls, until he is not in sight anymore.

I need out! He thinks.

A part of him knows hiding is impossible, the killer will find him. Perhaps this time he will be able to survive the night, hell! Even kill the asshole! Maybe that’s the key to this paradox, if not, at least it will give him some satisfaction.

The parking lot is huge, and dark. For the first time in his life he understands what Helaena talked bout, when she said how scary it is to go get your car when it’s night: every fucking corner can house his killer, every shadow could be inhabited, and he’ll be none the wiser.

His car is back at the campus and the hospital is far too distant to make it back on foot.

Frantically, he starts checking each and every car, for the one left open by its owner: there’s always troves of people leaving their keys in the ignition, when they are in a hurry.

“Come on! Come on! Come on!” He chants. “Come one you motherfucker!”

He sees Balerion reflected in the car window, its protruding muzzle bent in a sneer and hollow eyes that hide his killer’s. With a shout he ducks and the huge knife falls hollow on the metal of the car.

Aegon rolls and scrambles back to his feet, desperately looking for the elevator: if he can make it up to the ground floor he can ask for help! 

He runs, desperate, feeling his lungs burn as he tries to breathe, the footsteps of his killer so close he can feel them gaining on him. In a last move to kill them, he grabs the fire extinguisher hanging from one of the columns of the parking lot: if only he could buy himself some time!

He doesn’t. He dies, again, stabbed in the chest and abdomen.

He puts up a good fight, even partially incapacitating his assailant with a nasty blow to their heads, but that isn’t enough to save himself and see the dawn of a new day.

As he bleeds to death on the cold pavement, he wonders how many loops he has left, and what will happen once he’s run out of lives.

His stupid ringtone wakes him up and he’s furious, tired with the universe and its dark sense of humor.

“Hi! Do you feel…”

Aegon doesn’t let you speak, he knows the spiel all too well by now.

“I feel like I have been stabbed to death which, surprise! Has happened.”

He marches to your bookshelf, ignoring your surprised stare, to grab the small pouch where you keep your Tylenol: loop or not, he always wakes up with a nasty hangover.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stares at you with a manic glint in his eyes and you take a step back.

“Of course you don’t. How many loops ago have I told you my story? And you gave me your genius solution: solve my own murder. You might be smarter than most, but it was the stupidest idea you’ve ever had in your entire life!”

You feel beyond out of depth: what the hell is he raving about?

You follow him when he leaves your apartment, slamming the front door.

“Hey! Aegon! What are you talking about?”

You manage to reach him and grab him by the arm. He feels hot and sweaty under your palm; he trudges along, ignoring your added weight.

“Did you take any drugs last night?”

This stops him. He wheels around to look into your eyes, before turning your body to press your back to his front, one arm draped across your chest, the other light on your chin.

“I wish this was all drug induced paranoia. And, as much as I like you, I don’t have the time nor the energy to tell you the whole story again so, either you believe me or not.”

Panicked, you grab at his arm. You don’t know what is going on, why he’s acting the way he is, and you don’t care, he needs to let you go.

“I’m stuck in a time loop that resets itself with my death. No, I don’t know who the killer is and I don’t know how to stop the son of a bitch. I have already told you my story some loops ago and you have forgotten.”

“Look,  Aegon, I know you drank too much last night. Perhaps you’re still confused…”

He doesn’t let you finish again and you’re going to kick him for that.

“Shut up and listen.” He tells you.

The hand previously holding your chin lifts to sign at the people around you two.

“Two girls, they want to eat me alive and I might let them, at this point.”

He forces you to walk a couple of steps, before stopping again to point at the anonymous white van parked on the side of the road.

“Alarm in three, two, one…”

Triggered by an unseen cause, the alarm blares as the lights of the van start blinking madly.

“Sprinklers!”

On your right a group of students is drenched by the irrigation system and they scramble to grab their belongings.

“Aegon…”

“The guy is falling… now!”

Too busy looking at the students, a guy wearing a suit falls all over his feet and plants himself in front of you and Aegon.

You are too surprised to speak: how does he know…?

“I told you. Time loop.”

And thankfully he’s holding you tight, or you would have fallen on your arse.

This time he tells you everything at the local diner, as you scarf down a full vegan breakfast. 

“So.” You say, drinking down your second cup of tea. “You told me all of this before and my suggestion was to solve your murder?”

Aegon looks at you from the rim of his own cup of coffee. He hasn’t eaten anything, still too nauseous from a bar crawl that happened too many loops ago, yesterday night.

“Correct.”

“And why is that a stupid idea? You have infinite lives, the way I see it.”

“I don’t. I come back from every death more tired than the one before. I am not sure how long I have, before this sticks.”

“Bill Murray didn’t have this issue.”

“Who?”

“Have you ever seen Groundhog Day?”

“No, I haven’t. You keep referring to obscure pieces of media! In that loop you quoted a Doctor… Whom?”

“It’s Doctor Who, you dummy. Have you ever watched good TV in your entire life?”

“No, I usually am out having fun.”

“Look how that turned out for you.”

You both stay silent, letting the noises of the diner fill for the non existent conversation.

“What was this Bill Murray guy's goal?”

“He kept repeating the same day until he realized what a piece of shit person he was and changed his ways.”

“Yeah. I can see why.”

Aegon hangs his head to look at his hands. Nervous, he plays with his little finger, where his signet ring should be, as his brain shows him, again, what a piece of shit he’s always been to everyone around him: his mum, letting all her hopes down, his siblings, his friends and all his lovers. They all expected him to do better, to be better and he had always turned his back at them. Sometimes it was the only thing he could do, when faced with too many responsibilities, others, he was being cruel and self-centered. 

He’s been trying now, during the loops, by helping the elderly lady cross the street and being nice to the newer additions to the fraternity. He doesn’t know what to do with his mum and all she expects from him, all of these ideas that scare him and make him want to disappear forever.

“It is daunting.” Your soft voice cuts through his thoughts. “The way a time loop makes you look at yourself. It shifts your perspective in a way none of us can truly understand. It gives you a chance though: you are more aware of your bad behaviors and can put a stop to it.”

“It is too late.” He tells you, not truly looking into your eyes.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You can always choose to do better for yourself. You can’t change the past, but you can decide not to make the same mistakes again.”

His fidgeting stops, he’s holding his hand with such a tight vise you’re afraid he will hurt himself.

“Not everyone accepts that. Not everyone wants to see you at your best, they only care about the way they want you to be.”

“Those are the people you deserve a non so polite ‘fuck off’ and zero dedication to make the relationship better. The others though, they’re worth the hassle.”

“You’re far too optimistic.” He replies, his voice dry and scratchy.

“I’m being objective. You can’t be what every single person in their lives wants you to be; it’s up to them to accept that you are your own person. Will this hurt them? Yes, but then again, they have to sort out their feelings, you can’t do this work for them. Your job is to be the best version of yourself you can offer the word.”

The chatter around your table drones your voice out of his head: which is the best version of himself? The one who had always preferred to drink and party, instead of facing the disappointment in his mom’s eyes? Or the one that had poured all his frustration on his younger brother and his foolish dream of being perfect, for the two of them? Or the one who has always felt weirded out by Helaena neurodivergence? Does he even have a better part to offer the word? His only quality is that he loves his dog more than anything, and there’s that.

Being struck in this nightmare has only shown him the bad parts of himself, and that there’s nothing more than that; even if he wanted to better himself, he knows he’ll crush under the pressure after a day or two. He is a spineless, worthless waste of air and resources that someone else would use better than he’ll ever do, who will relapse after the first, mild, issue happening in his life.

“I hope it sticks.” He says, looking at the worn out paneling behind you. “I don’t have anything good to offer to the world.”

He hears you put your cutlery aside to take a sip of tea.

“That’s the Stranger whispering in your ear. It’s always easier to follow the same, old path our brains have carved out, instead of doing the hard work to create newer ones, healthier ones.”

“It’s easy for you to say.”

“I elect to ignore that because you are upset.” The coldness in your voice snaps him back within the conversation. “You have no idea what I had to go through to be here, with you. The same way I don’t know why you value yourself so little. You are given a chance to look at your mistakes and fix them. 

I don’t know why the Gods have chosen you, but they did. I could argue for hours why they intrude in our lives the way they do, but this is not a philosophy class. This is you having to make the work: no money, no connection can help you solve this conundrum, but yourself.”

He dares to look at you. He can see that you’re angry at him in the way your lips are set, how stony your eyes are: he’s managed to let you down. A complete stranger who had showered him with kindness, only to be kicked aside.

“The serial killer known as the Heart Stealer has been admitted today into the surgical ward.”

The voice of the journalist makes the two of you jump in your seats: someone has asked the waitress to turn the audio on and the whole diner is now looking at the photos of pretty, blond coed boys, slain by the man.

Something snaps into place in Aegon’s mind: his murderer can’t be anyone he knows because it’s this asshole! He fits his victims: the age, the hair color and lifestyle. All party boys, found without their hearts and this asshole was on his same floor, during the last loop: of course Aegon had been wrong in looking within his circle, his killer was outside of it!

“It’s him!” He shouts in your face. “This time he’s going to be in for a nasty surprise!”

He ignores your voice as he runs out of the diner: he has a plan and little time to fulfill it.

Stupidly enough, the general surgery ward is not crammed with guards, nor is it sealed from the rest of the hospital: there’s only one policeman sitting in front of the Stealer’s single room.

On his way to the hospital, Aegon had listened to the radio, trying to find any form of information on the guy; unfortunately for himself, he has never cared about keeping himself up to date with the news and now his brain is trying to absorb as much information as possible. It all boils down to the bastard being in need of surgical care, perhaps, Aegon thinks, he faked whatever illness and is going to use this chance to escape.

“And he might.” Aegon murmurs against the plastic rim of the cup he’s nursing.

Aegon has zero knowledge of police work, but even he realizes that one guy, already half asleep, might not be enough to stop a serial killer.

Aegon stands up and exits the ward. During the last loop he remembers how easily he had escaped his room and floor, and that the policeman wasn’t there. His last death happened during the blackout, which means that between the cop entering the room and the asshole murdering him, there was a lull of some minutes, five maybe ten, if he wants to be generous. He needs to incapacitate the man before the lights go out, he doesn’t need to kill him, just knock him out and wait for the clock to strike midnight and for his life to go on, as it should.

There’s only one nurse at the station and she’s busy reading a cheap paperback. The corridors are dark, the only source of light is the lamp hanging over the woman, and the ones in the corridor where the cop is.

Light on his feet, Aegon makes his way to where the nurse is, wishing he had a weapon on himself: he’ll have to make do with the pen he’s nicked at the front desk.

Fast he grabs the woman and pushes the pen against her back, as soon as the cop enters the room.

“Go get help! He’s going to escape!” He screams in her ear.

The poor woman doesn’t even look at him, she runs, leaving him alone with his killer.

His stomach turns at the thought of facing the man, his many deaths crowd into his mind: what if he fails? What if this is his last chance?

His heart beats a crazy tattoo in his chest as he stands in front of the fire extinguisher sitting next to the door: a weapon as good as any other.

He breaks the glass using his elbow and grabs the cylinder, a part of his brain wondering at how heavy it is, his frontal lobe focusing on the door in front of himself: it’s now or never!

He opens it carefully, noticing the body of the police officer on the floor, and the empty bed: where is the Stealer?

The shove from behind makes him lose his footing, there’s a hand now in his hair and another grabs his jacket, slamming him repeatedly against the wall, until the extinguisher falls from his hands.

“Now pretty boys land themselves in my hands. You’re making everything too easy.”

Aegon doesn’t know what his body responds to: the breath, stinky, next to his ear, or the cruel laugh, not that it matters.

His body moves in autopilot, hands pushing against the wall to tumble his assailant back and turn around, to face the demented eyes and the scalpel; he dashes when the man tries to stab him and runs out of the room, searching for something, anything to hit the bastard.

With a strength born out of desperation, he grabs the chair left vacant by the nurse, and bashes it against the man, missing his head but hitting his shoulder; the Stealer screams and loses his hold on the scalpel, lounging at him with his hands stretched out to grab the legs to wrestle the chair out of his grasp.

In the melee neither Aegon, nor the Stealer see you coming, your body pushing with all your weight against the older man, forcing him to fall on the floor, you tumbling on him as you scratch and punch at him, screaming with anger and fear.

You’re uncoordinated, fueled by desperation and Aegon sees the Stealer snap your head, your body falling on the floor.

In horror he stands still during the precious seconds of the power outage, he screams and lounges for the scalpel as soon as the lights come back, crushing the man’s hand when he tries to go for it, his feet connecting with his head, his chest and the soft belly in a frenzy. He’s unaware that he’s screaming, that his free hand has grabbed the man’s hair and that he’s ready to stab him, stopped by the thought of breaking the loop, which will leave you to your death.

“No.” He shouts. “No!”

He’s at a crossroad again: himself or the umpteenth victim in his wake?

He lets the body of the Stealer hit the floor, the man’s face a grotesque mask of blood and spit; Aegon’s eyes never leave the man as he lays the scalpel on his jugular.

“See you during the next one.” He says, stabbing himself hoping, against hopes, to have, at least, one life left.

He wakes up with the sickening sensation of gurgling on his own blood. He dashes to the small trash basket next to your cramped desk, and empties his stomach loudly; he doesn’t feel your hand on his forehead keeping his hair out of his face, or the other you put on his back, soothing his retching with circular motions. He falls back into your front when all he can do is push out saliva mixed with bile.

“Are you ok?” You tentatively ask, crushed under his weight.

Faster than what you thought he could move, Aegon turns around and kneels between your splayed legs, his hands on yours to help you sit up.

“Never been better!” He says with a strange glint in his eyes. “Look, I know this will make no sense, but today is my nameday…”

“Happy nameday, then!”

“Yeah, yeah. Will you pop by the fraternity later today? I don’t want to go to stupid parties, I want to celebrate with you!”

“Thank you?” You answer, unsure.

What the hell is going on with this guy? You think.

“We barely know one another, though. Are you sure you’re not still drunk?”

“I know I sound manic. I feel manic! I promise I will tell you everything and the story will blow your mind! Just come after nine tonight? One of my brothers is going to give me my favorite cupcake and all I want to do is share it with you.”

“I’m not going to fuck you, Aegon.”

“What? I never said that! Just spend my nameday with me, please?”

He looks eager, if he had a tail he would be wiggling it furiously. 

“I barely know you, Aegon.”

“You do and you don't!” He raises his hand when you try to talk. “I promise I will explain everything when you come by. And nothing will happen, but us eating, I swear on Sunfyre.”

You ponder the guy in front of you: he's the king of the fratboys. You know he spends his time partying with his brothers, yet, the times you stumbled upon him, like last night, he had always given you the impression of someone desperate to escape his life, rather than your average coed guy trying to have fun. 

Sitting between your splayed legs, he doesn't look haunted, his giddiness real. 

“Ok, I will come and if you try anything…”

“I swear!”

You elected to believe the promise of a fratboy, hoping you will not regret it. 

“I need to go now! I’ll see you later!”

He jumps on his feet surprisingly fast for someone who had been throwing up in your trashcan. The hand he offers you to help you on your feet is warm and dry, the hold strong on yours. 

“Aegon! Wait!”

You manage to catch him at the door. 

“Your ring!”

“I’m sorry I was an asshole all the times you tried to give it back.” He says, lilac eyes not truly meeting yours.

“Aegon…?”

He’s already dashed out of the door, leaving you staring at his back, dumbfounded.

“What you do to guys, I swear.”

The voice of your roommate makes you jump.

“Oh! Shut up, will you?”

Aegon is prepared for tonight, and you will not be in his way to kill his murderer: everything will go according to plan and he will be able to steer his life into a better direction than the one he’s kept all along.

Aegon’s heart squeezes painfully when his mum’s name appears on his phone’s screen for the umpteenth time, along with Daeron’s; he knows his relationship with his family is a can of worms he has to deal with, being what, amongst other things, has turned him into drowning his sorrows into as much alcohol and sex he could get.

If this infernal time loop has taught him something, is that he has to take the reins and face the pain that will surely come barreling into his face, and that it’s inevitable, as his death has been for too many times.

If he thinks about it: what does he have to lose? Both his mother and grandsire consider him a failure, he knows they want him in the family company to use him as a pawn, since he’s shown them he can’t be anything else. Their opinion of him is so low that tanking it will not be any worse than being mauled by the wood chopper, and if it’s what he has to go through to live his life and not trudge through it, then be it. He doesn’t want to be the person he’s seen through the loop any longer, he wants to be different, better, even though the work ahead scares him beyond belief.

As he showers he thinks about his siblings, how he’s let them down throughout the years, made fun of them or, even worse, ignored them when they needed their older brother: what if they don’t give him a chance to heal their broken relationships? Will the universe give him that, after showing him repeatedly how bad he’s been? Is there a silver lining?

Aegon forces himself to accept the way his stomach churns as those thoughts swim through his head while he puts the cupcake in one of the drawers, away from Sunfyre’s curiosity (it feels so strange to repeat these movements loop after loop, like a marionette).

What if no one will want him ever again? Even you, whom he has never hurt?

Aegon crumples on the floor, hugging Sunfyre who tries to lick the tears flowing down his cheeks: he has never let himself feel his emotions so deeply and now they tore at him like hungry wolves. 

The pain is a physical vise that crushes him into a ball on the dirty floor of his room and churns his stomach, it flashes through his body like lashing, leaving him crumpled and shaking, still bawling even when his tears have stopped.

For a moment he lets the darkness in, that seductive voice that has always told him that he should stop fighting and drown his feelings in any way possible. All this pain is not worth it, the voice tells him, let the killer come: if you’ve done your math right, you’re going to run out of lives soon and you won’t have to feel anything, anymore.

It’s a nice idea, just drown and stop existing, then your face flashes in front of his eyes. The worry when he had broken down, too many loops ago, the gentleness of your voice trying to soothe him: would you ever let him in your life? 

He forces himself on his back, he has to physically order all his muscles to relax on the disgusting floor.

You and him belong to the same year, different degrees and friends circles, yet he’s always noticed you. You are not a party person, but you have your fun, you even came to a couple of parties thrown by his fraternity, catching his attention with how comfortable in your skin you were.

He’s seen people of any gender try to hide their insecurities using any means possible: clothing, make up, a fake personality and so on, yet he’s always noticed you more than any other person that’s ever tried to catch his attention.

If he has to be truthful, and why not be at this point? You scare him a lot. Way smarter than he is, and more confident: you don’t have to hide who you are under a fake persona, like he does, you enter the room, and if someone has an issue with it, you don’t care. Is there anything hotter than self confidence?

“We’re doing this, Sunfyre.” He tells the dog laying by his side. “And then we’ll show them we’re worth their time.”

The dog raises his head and licks his face until Aegon laughs.

He has no idea if he’s worth your time or if he has anything truly interesting to offer you, but if he needs a tether against the darkness, it might as well be trying to be the kind of guy you might like.

This time he’s come prepared: he’s nicked the biggest knife the fraternity has in the kitchen drawer, that he can easily conceal under his clothes, and he is now hiding in one of the visitor’s bathrooms. He needs to remind himself the man is armed, some idiot has let him take their scalpel, so he needs to keep him away from himself: he can’t risk dying again.

He waits, more patient than he’s ever been in his entire life, for all the visitors and the afternoon personnel to leave the ward to the night nurse and the half asleep cop. 

When he’s ready, he exits the bathroom and lets the door bang behind him, using the shadows to disguise his body as the nurse leaves her post to investigate. As soon as she’s in front of the room, he knocks her out, mumbling an apology, and lays her body in one of the stalls: one innocent victim out of the way.

His heart is ramming in his chest as he walks to the nurse station, where he crouches to avoid being seen before he needs to.

This loop he’s timed his actions perfectly: he stands the second the cop has his back to the nurse station and he’s about to enter the room: Before the man can do anything, Aegon grabs his collar and puts the knife against his back.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He says, trying to keep his voice calm. “But he’s going to escape and I need your weapon.”

The man stiffens in his hold, his hand reflexively going to the gun strapped to his hip, before the blade pushes against his back more firmly.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, son.”

Aegon cringes at the condescendent way the man talks to him: he knows more than this man ever will.

“He will escape and kill again, trust me on this one. You only need to put the gun on the floor and then go ask for backup.”

He pushes the knife against the man’s back for good measure, until he removes the gun from the holster and bends cautiously, while murmuring calming words that only fuel’s Aegon’s adrenaline.

As soon as the man is standing again, Aegon knocks him out: there’s no need for backup.

His hands shake when he retrieves the gun, surprised by how heavy it is when he lifts it to the closed door.

In this moment, Aegon is simply instinct, adrenaline pumped into his bloodstream that makes him kick the door open, the man on the bed not even stirring when the wood meets the walls with a bang.

“I know you’re awake, asshole.” Aegon barks. “Stand up, hands where I can see them!”

The Stealer opens his eyes and leers at him, his yellow teeth in full display: the outage should happen soon.

“Now pretty boys land themselves in my hands. You’re making everything too easy.” The man says, sizing him up.

“You wish!”

Aegon pulls the trigger, again and again, but nothing happens. Stupidly he looks at the gun in his hand, ignoring the threat in front of himself for a second too long.

His body slams painfully against the wall, the Stealer’s hand grabbing his wrist and banging it against the wall, trying to make him lose his hold on the firearm. Aegon tries to push back, his breath coming out in desperate pants, his free hand grabbing the man’s unkempt hair, pulling back with all his strength until the Stealer lets go, only to push him through the open door, Aegon’s feet tripping on the cop’s unconscious body.

He hears the clunk of the gun hit the floor, somewhere on his left; on instinct he kicks the Stealer in the attempt to beat him to it.

They scramble on the floor, pushing and scratching at one another, pulling each other back with desperation, rolling on the dirty linoleum, until the lights disappear and Aegon uses the surprise to disentangle himself and grab the gun.

It’s a matter of seconds, when the lights come back on, he’s standing in front of the man, gun pointed at his head.

“See you never, you son of a bitch!”

The bang is louder than he expected, and the blood spraying his hoodie is a surprise, what isn’t is the sense of fulfillment that permeates his being: he’s just killed a man and he’s relieved that he’s not going to end this day gurgling on his own blood, but with you.

You two are sitting by the window in his room with the lights off, the moonlight creates shadows on the walls as you two stare at the chocolate cupcake sitting on the floor, Sunfyre already begging to have a small bite.

“So.” You say, killing your cigarette. “Time loop.”

Aegon evades your stare, his purple eyes staring at the stars shining above you two.

“It sounds crazy, I know.”

“It’s no stranger than any of my quantum physics classes. Look, I’m not going to bother you with the specifics, but some have theorized that time loops might be possible.”

Aegon shivers. You have already said that, so many time loops ago.

“I have managed to solve mine, like the guy you told me about.”

You stare at him quizzically.

“You told me about a movie. Woodchuck Day?”

“Groundhog Day, you mean? I don’t remember us talking about it.”

“We did. During the last time loop.”

“It’s so strange. We lived lives together and I will never know about them.”

Aegon feels warmth rise in his cheeks, it’s for the better that you don’t remember, he was an arse in half of them.

“It was a nightmare. The only good thing was waking up and seeing your face.”

There, he said it. It’s not a love declaration but it feels like one.

“Don’t tell me even frat boys have hearts?”

You joke, but you can’t ignore the way his words make you feel: it’s been a while since a guy flirting makes you smile and not cringe.

“We hide it extremely well.” He’s blushing so hard he’s positive you can see it even in the dimly lit room. “Shall we?”

He offers you the cupcake, you surprise him by putting a small candle on the confectionery and lighting it swiftly.

“Make a wish. It’s your nameday, afterall.”

Aegon closes his eyes and blows on the small flame.

He wakes in your bed, awoken by the pounding in his temples and the terrible ringtone of his phone.

“No!”

He screams with so much desperation you fly yourself to him, grabbing his arms to stop him before he does anything stupid.

“Aegon? What’s going on?”

You picked him up last night, too drunk to function and so pathetic you couldn’t leave him at the pub, alone, to choke on his own vomit.

“I did everything right! I killed him before he could kill me!”

“Aegon?”

His purple eyes focus on you, filled with tears and desperation.

“I don’t want to die again!”

You don’t understand what’s happening, why he’s flying off the handle this way.

“Did you take drugs last night?” You grab his chin, ignoring his morning breath. “Aegon! Answer me!”

“I didn’t!”

“Then why are you panicking like this?”

He opens his mouth, ready to spill, again, when his mind screeches to a stop: in the midst of his own panic a part of his mind is going through the last time loop, what happened and what didn’t happen.

“I wasn’t murdered.” He says, looking at you but not really focusing. “I died in my sleep.”

And there’s only one way for that to have happened, he thinks.

“What are you talking about?”

Now you’re scared: is he having a mental breakdown?

“I don’t have the time to explain!”

He jumps from your bed and dresses himself hastily. Before you can stop him, he grabs your phone and inputs his number to call his own phone.

“Aegon! Aegon please calm down! Why are you talking about murder?”

“I promise I will explain everything!” His hands are on your shoulder, his eyes burning. “I have one little thing to do to break this fucking time loop, and then I will tell you again what I have already told you!”

You’re too dumbfounded to answer, you don’t even push him away when he soundly kisses you on the lips.

“What the hell was that for?”

“Because you're a genius!”

“Aegon, are you sure you’re alright?”

He stops by the door to your room and stares at you more lively than you have ever seen him.

“I am. As you said: I need to solve my own murder to break the loop.”

He runs to the frat house ignoring the burning in his lungs, his brain going through the various time loops, cataloging what never changed: you, the hangover, the power outage. And the cupcake.

In every time loop he was always too nauseated to eat the gift from his frat brother and then he was too focused on outsmarting his killer to even remember the confectionery. The only time he’s eaten them was with you, this last death, of this he’s beyond certain.

But, why? He wonders. What did I do to cause all of this?

His feet screech to a halt in front of the frat house: he can’t escape it, either he faces his killer, or he’ll come for him, perhaps for the last time.

He enters the big house faking a calmness he doesn’t possess. He forces his body to move slowly, to smile and joke with the other guys, until he reaches his room, where his killer will arrive, way too soon.

Sunfyre jumps into his body, putting his big paws on his shoulders and licking his face as if he hasn’t seen him in days; Aegon lets himself be swept by the love his four legged friend has for him, pure and all encompassing.

When he hears the knock on his door he orders Sunfyre to sit by his desk, the dog followsd his orderbut looks at him as if he knows something is off.

“Come in!”

Aegon’s heart is beating a mad tattoo in his chest, he hopes his face betrays nothing of what he’s finally discovered when his friend, the very Martyn Reyne who entered this Frat House with him, is his killer.

“Hey man! Happy nameday!!!”

Aegon has to stop himself from moving his body away from the other guy, he suppresses a shiver when he hugs him and pats his back, as if he hasn’t been killing him time and time again.

“Here’s a little surprise for you!”

Martyn must detect that something is wrong, Aegon realizes, because his brows knit.

“Oh yeah, a surprise it is.” He says, not even trying to hide how sour he feels.

“What’s wrong man? Did your mum call you already?”

Aegon takes the cupcake from Martyn’s hand and focuses his eyes on it, wondering what poison laces it, and why one of his oldest friends would want to cause him harm.

He knows his face has fallen, the tentative smile replaced by a deep frown.

“You know Martyn, I have come to realize I don’t know the people around me at all!”

Aegon says, circling him.

“Was it last night? We were all too wasted! We thought you were with us!”

Aegon feels no pleasure in noticing how Martyn moves to follow his movements, how false his voice is.

“Nah, it was you killing me a thousand times.”

“Aegon, man…”

Martyn raises his hands, as if to defend himself, but Aegon doesn’t let him finish.

“Did you have to get creative because I didn’t eat the cupcake? Or did you watch the news about the Stealer and thought he could be the perfect scapegoat? You intern at the hospital, it was you the idiot who let him nick his scalpel, weren’t you?”

“Aegon, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

For a blessed second, Aegon lets himself believe his friend: his killer was indeed the Stealer, and the cupcake has simply gone off the worst of ways. He’ll not be killed and wake up in your bed, and his friend is not lying to him.

He notices, though, the way Martyn’s posture has changed, he’s not pretending to be relaxed anymore; he’s still turning in a circle following Aegon, but he looks ready to pounce, his muscles straining under the gym clothes he’s wearing.

“Well.” Aegon stops his own pacing. “If you don’t know what I am talking about, you’ll share this cupcake with me.”

He grabs Martyn’s shoulder, pulling the other man closer to his own body, ready to smash the confectionery against his lips.

Before he can act, Martyn manages to disengage and push himself away, his back now facing the window.

“How did you find it out?”

Martyn’s face has lost the friendly smile and is now turned into an ugly snarl.

“I told you: you killed me a thousand times. I still don’t understand why.”

Aegon hears Sunfyre’s low growl and imagines the dog ready to pounce; he immediately puts himself between the dog and the other man, he can’t risk the health of his only friend.

“You’re mad, man. And a cunt. You want to know why I want you dead? Because you have everything and leave nothing to us mortals! Girls fawn over you! Everyone wants to be your friend and you are the shittiest person I have ever met!”

Martyn advances and Aegon is forced to do a half circle to keep his distance.

“I have to sweat for everything! And you spend your life partying! I deserve to have what you have and if I can’t, neither do you!”

Faster than Aegon can expect, Martyn jumps him with a primal scream, one of his hands shooting out to grab the cupcake and force it in Aegon’s mouth. The latter manages to push against his weight and throws the confectionery away from himself and his dog.

The two fall on the floor, fists and kicks flying. Aegon manages to dodge Martyn’s hands around his throat and stands up, heading desperately to the door as he screams to Sunfyre to stay put.

He chokes on his spit when Martyn grabs his hair and pulls him back right before he can grab the doorknob. Grunting Aegon uses his full weight to make Martyn fall on the floor, but pushes too fast and too far, realizing too late that they are free falling from his window, to the unforgiving patch of concrete in front of the fraternity house.

The alarm sounds so far away that Aegon’s ears can barely pick the sound over your moans, and his.

Your hips roll a steady rhythm and he’s desperate not to spill inside of you, not yet.

He can’t still ride you the way he fantasized while he was at the hospital, not when his ribs are still on the mend and Dr. Orwyle hasn’t given him a full bill of health; not that he complains with your breasts in his face and your delectable cunt strangling his cock.

His hands grab your hips in a desperate vise, he’s dangling upon the precipice, begging you for permission with a strangled voice. He only needs your breathy command to lose himself in your depths, you following with a long moan of pleasure.

You grab the headboard to keep yourself upright and not fall on a still healing Aegon: who would have thought that the king of fratboys could be so good in bed? A giver, bruised ribs notwithstanding?

“Have I hurt you?”

You curl against his side, too afraid of harming his ribs to lay on his chest the way you desire.

Aegon needs a second to collect his scattered thoughts, the way you fucked him has scrambled his remaining brain cells.

“Never been better.” He answers, with a dreamy smile.

While falling out of the window, he truly thought he was going to die, again, after having discovered his own killer.

He had been close to death, with broken ribs and a punctured lung, a concussion that had scared the surgeons and kept him in ICU for far too long: he’s lucky he’s made it out of the blasted time loop, alive and with you by his side.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Do you need your vape?”

“No, wait.” Slowly he sits more comfortably against the ridiculous amount of pillows you’ve provided him since he’s moved to your place.

His room at the Frat House is not a crime scene anymore, having been analyzed while he was still in hospital, yet he couldn’t force himself to set foot in there, not while he’s still trying to come to terms with all the violence he’s been through.

“You made a face when you first saw me vape.”

“I didn’t!”

“Not now. During a time loop.”

You pop your head on your hand to look better in his eyes.

“We lived lives together, and I remember none of that!”

“You said something like that…”

“During a time loop. You told me that.”

When you received the call from the paramedic, alerting you that Aegon was hurt and that he was refusing help, if the guy didn’t call you, you felt like something had snapped into place.

It had been a peculiar sensation, as if the hours building up to the phone call were gray and dull, your life more lively and bright after you closed the call and ran to the Frat House.

Initially you had thought it was the adrenaline kick you received at the news that Aegon was badly injured, then, when he told you about the time loop, your mind kept wandering to a Stephen King’s novella, The Langoliers: if you had to use that story as a metaphor, you felt like the characters after they managed to leave the airport in the past: alive. Which makes no sense to your scientific mind, yet, since no one has ever managed to create a time loop in a controlled setting, who are you to say that the days lived in that situation can’t feel dull and hackneyed?

Aegon’s phone rings again and you grab it for him.

“It’s Aemond, again!”

“Is he afraid we will not make the date with him and his girl?”

“Probably. I've always been shit at family functions.”

Aegon cracks a smile: he’s trying to steer his life in a better direction, and nurturing his relationship with his siblings is part of that goal.

You observe him with a smile on your face: despite being in different year groups, you share a philosophy class with his younger brother Aemond; you had actually butted heads with him on more than one occasion and on topics far too inane for two people who are simply minoring in that field. 

You still think the younger Targaryen is a pompous assholes most of the time, but you like his girlfriend and only the Mother knows how much you need support to navigate the mess that’s the Targaryen family!

When Aegon ends the call, you kiss the tip of his nose and he smiles at you as if you hanged the sun and stars in the sky. According to him, you were the reason he managed to stay sane during his onslaught, giving him advice and being supportive, even though your memory resat itself with every loop.

“I need to get ready.” Aegon tells you after a moment. “I need to go see my therapist in an hour. Would you be happy if we met up at the restaurant? I don’t want to be lectured on punctuality again.” He huffs.

You are so proud of him for trying to stick to the plan of self improvement he’s decided for himself. 

He still bitches when you force him to sit down and do some actual studying, instead of relying on his family name to pass his classes, but you’ve noticed how different he is, compared to the fratboy you had always seen on campus. Despite almost dying (or dying too many times), he appears happier, more focused and not just trudging through life, the way you had always seen him.

“No problems.” You stand up, gloriously naked. “Come. I think I need to finish rewarding you for completing your studies for this week.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

Gods he’s hard already, the endorphins being thousands of times better than any pain relief he’s been prescribed.

“Follow me under the shower and you shall find out.”

[kcokaine]

Top 5 ships (can be canon or non canon) from any media? Why love them? Thx 🌻

Obito x Kakashi (naruto shippuden) - Very complex realtionship based on guilt and envy. Majorly toxic so its also dramatic. Obito is also insane in the head and Kakashi just accepts all the punishment from him out of pure guilt and desperation for what he did. Its kind of a Stockholm syndrome dynamic

Sukuna x Gojo (jujutsu kaisen) - Very much love this dynamic of 2 parallels of big power. Both are lonely and mistaken love in their life already. Gojo has abandonment issues and Sukuna avoids love in general. So gojo natually clings to Sukuna while sukuna tries to push him away but once gojo is pushed away sukuna clings to him in return. It's dynamic of someone with broken sense of love and someone who comprehends love like a child. Sukuna keeps taking and taking until Gojo cant give anymore but thats ironically when Sukuna understands his feelings.

Ocelot x Big boss (metal gear solid) - Very complex also. Type of onesided relationship. Ocelot loves Big boss unconditionally for who he is not just what he represents. Does everything for him while Snake doesn't return it. Ocelot is symbol of love and connection to me while big boss is reduced to being an idea/weapon. Both of them were always used and definitely bonded over their experiences. I think Ocelot also admires Snake in many ways, its really toxic ship about one sided unconditional love.

Ahri x Akali (league of legends) - My fav yuri ship ever. Its kind of self insert because i associate with akali alot and I also like kitsunes (i wanna fuck em) Its a dynamic of this youthful first love where akali grows obsessed over Ahri, a spirit that charms humans and then eats their souls. So akali is on thin ice but she finds ahri so endearing and beautiful she wont stop visiting her. Definitely romeo and juliet type of dynamic.

Homelander x Butcher (The boys) - Another parallel of same struggle. They are essentially same person just under different circumstances if that makes sense. They both have same motivations just complete opposite. Not much to say to this ship, its not that deep i just find it fun :D

[kickingitwithkirk]

I posted 2,514 times in 2022

245 posts created (10%)

2,269 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@cordellwinchesterwalker

@sam-winchester-admiration-league

@aborddelimpala

@sammysnaughtygirl

I tagged 400 of my posts in 2022

#notspn - 169 posts

#supernatural - 86 posts

#jensen ackles - 63 posts

#sam winchester - 62 posts

#el arroyo - 61 posts

#dean winchester - 53 posts

#jared padalecki - 48 posts

#spn - 35 posts

#the boys - 24 posts

#soldier boy - 23 posts

Longest Tag: 103 characters

#7/19/22-i was going to post a new work for jared’s big 40 but my internet is spastic again w/upgrades🤬

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

When Reality is Worse than the Lies they told Me

Summary: You’re awoken by voices coming from the kitchen remember you’ve got company. 

Well, that’s what you keep reminding yourself to politely call those dumb as a bag of rocks, Temp V using fucking idiots and the druggernaut Super Supe they’ve got in tow. 

Part I Part II Part III

Pairing: Solder Boy x You

Word Count: 3716

*Do not read if you find anything offensive-triggering about/on/from The Boys series

*More warnings will be added in additional parts

Warnings: cursing, verbal arguments, racial/derogatory slurs, sexual situations, loads of marijuana/drugs, PTSD, sexist Supe, more cursing, physical altercations, firearms, knife wielding, still cursing, outdated slang, toxic male attitudes, lots of cursing, Soldier Boy thinking he’s the man and learns about online porn, medical experimentations, reliving long buried memories, possible death by chicken 

Square Filled: @anyfandomdarkbingobingo -” Who did this to you?”

*divider by @firefly-graphics

A/N: I’m using season 3 as a template for this so it will contain spoilers from the series mixed with original ideas.

A/N II: this part got way longer than planned but the characters are running the show so blame them.

You’re awoken by voices coming from the kitchen remember you’ve got company. 

Well, that’s what you keep reminding yourself to politely call those dumb as a bag of rocks, Temp V using fucking idiots and the druggernaut Super Supe they’ve got in tow. 

Laying there you can hear Hughie asking Butcher if he knows..their voices become unintelligible as another pain hits you, finding yourself curling up into a ball waiting for it to pass.

There’s a tap on your door before opening, “sorry to disturb but Hughie’s wonder..” Butcher breaks off shutting the door then he’s sitting on the bed.

“What’s it love, those pains again?” 

You grimace nodding.

“What you need is a nice cuppa. I’ll put the kettle on and see ‘bout nickin’ a benzos from beaver cleaver.” 

He gently squeezed your shoulder before stepping out hollars, “Oi Hughie, would ya’ put that kettle on the Arthur?”

“Put the kettle on what?”

“..stove.”

“Jesus, speak English..” 

“..I did ya’ fuckin’ git!”

It was good to know their banter hasn’t changed with all the shit happening. 

Rummaging in the side table drawer fish around for a specific bottle dry swallow a couple capsules overhear Soldier Boy loudly cursing at Butcher before the Brits stomping down the stairwell and out the front door.

Round to the Supe.

A knock and the door slowly opening interrupts your thoughts, “I won’t cut off your balls today,” you half-jokingly reassure Hughie since he’s always acted like a nervous nellie around you.

“Whew, that’s a relief because I forgot to put on my codpiece this morning.” 

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187 notes - Posted August 3, 2022

#4

When Reality is Worse than the Lies they told Me

Summary: “My dear, you sound jealous, like a jilted lover.” Vought’s observation made Liberty huff, “you were the one who decided not to pursue anything more than a brief fling with Soldier Boy during that orgy back in ‘52.”

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Word Count: 2635

Square Filled: @anyfandomdarkbingo -gluttony

Part I Part II Part III

*Do not read if you find anything offensive-triggering about/on/from The Boys series

*More warnings will be added in additional parts

Warnings: cursing, verbal arguments, racial/derogatory slurs, sexual situations, loads of marijuana/drugs, PTSD, sexist Supe, physical altercations, firearms, knife-wielding, outdated slang, toxic male attitudes, Soldier Boy thinking he’s the man and learns about online porn, medical experimentations, reliving long-buried memories, possible death by a chicken, non/con drugging, dub/con sex, manipulation, BDSM themes, sex toys, gynecological procedure, possible incest

A/N: I’m using season 3 as a template for this so it will contain spoilers from the series mixed with original ideas.

A/N II: the characters are running the show so blame them for this is.

*divider by @firefly-graphics

*gif credit to creator

Vought R&D Lab

March 1st

There was a stir outside his office that made Jonah Vogelbaum look up from his reading to see Frederick Vought, founder, and CEO of Vought-American, crossing the lab accompanied by his first successful Comp V test subject, Liberty.

“Jonah, how did phase two of the experiment go?” Vought inquired of his head R&D scientist.

“Better than anticipated, I couldn’t have set up the introduction any better,” Vogelbaum said, leaning back in his chair.

“As previously discussed, we called Soldier Boy in for what he believed was routine testing and had the subject set up a predetermined spot so we could film the encounter. Let us move to the projection room so you can see for yourself how it went.”

Nodding his acquiescence, Vought got up and, holding his elbow out for Liberty to take, proceeded the researcher to the designated room. 

Once the party was seated Vogelbaum signaled for the projectionist to start.

The film opens in the sterile white lab with scientists and others carrying out various tasks around a colorful area rug with cartoon animals where a thirteen-month-old girl in a sunny yellow dress sits trying to stack wood blocks her tiny hands lack the coordination needed.

A minute later a pair of men in deep discussion appears in the frame, “I was walking him out and, as prearranged, Ms. January accidentally drew his attention,” an attractive woman drops some files she’s carrying.

The man dressed in a military-style outfit gallantly helps pick them up, giving her his trademark smirk as she flirtily smiles back. Thanking him for his help he watches her walking away appreciating the sway of her hips under the pencil skirt when he gets a surprised expression and asks Vogelbaum something that made him laugh and waves for him to follow. 

“As his physiological tests have indicated the unusual presence of the subject sparked his curiosity.”

The camera pans down to the girl then a pair of well-fitted brown and maroon boots appear in the frame before Soldier Boys squatting down.

“We made a good choice investing in the Arriflex 35 IIC, color quality is much better,” Vought offhandedly commented.

The camera zooms in for a closeup of Soldier Boy breathing deeply cocking his head puzzled.

“Seems the hypothesis of adding the attractants in utero came to fruition.” Vought comments sounding pleased.

The Supe makes an inquiry and Vogelbaum smiles gesturing for him to sit down before getting up and disappearing from frame.

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193 notes - Posted August 14, 2022

#3

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247 notes - Posted July 17, 2022

#2

When Reality is Worse than the Lies they told Me

Summary: The Boys have come to hide out with you

Pairing: Solder Boy x Reader

Word Count: 1609

*Do not read if you find anything offensive-triggering about/on/from The Boys series

Warnings: cursing, verbal arguments, loads of marajuna, cursing, sexist Supe, more cursing, physical altercations, knife wielding, still cursing, outdated slang, toxic male attitudes, lots of cursing, reader has a secret, Soldier Boy thinking he’s the man

Part I Part II Part III

*additional tags to be added in next parts

Square Filled: @howbadcanitbebingo -OOC to the max

A/N: I’m using season 3 as a template for this so it will contain spoilers from the series mixed with original ideas

A/N II: this was originally a one shot but have so many notes/ideas jotted down it’ll now be multi-part, just not sure how many

*gif credit to creator

2:54 AM

There is a surreal picture happening in front of you.

Three duffel bags, a brass colored, eagle emblemed shield are sitting on the floor, Hughie and Butcher are arguing about something as Soldier Boy is casually leaning against a door-jam lighting up a ginormous joint.

“Butcher, please explain why a fucking dead man is standing in my living room smoking Sasquatch's doobie and does you being here have anything to do with that shitshow in Vermont?”

“Yeah, sorry about this love,” Butcher says, “our little trip turned into a cock up in a tin hat and was hoping you’re in a position to help us out..”

“This is bullshit!” The Supe interrupted, “there’s got to be better places than this,” pointedly waves the joint, “middle of bumfuck nowhere..” he continues ranting and you detect something new laced through his deep voice that wasn’t there before.

“Oi, tosser, show the lady some respect. If you'd kept your prick in your pants instead of the help, Legend wouldn't have given us the boot.”

“Wow..talk about recycling.”

Soldier Boy sneers at your comment.

“Look Granny Fucker, I still don’t give two shits about your tiff with Payback but you best remember..I gave your radioactive arse Crimsom Countess and TNT Twins on a fucking platter and how’d you repay it? By loosing your shit and blowing up fucking Herogasm! So if I say we’re laying low for a bit longer..”

Butcher continues running his mouth then does the universal dumbass maneuver men can’t stop themselves from doing..getting right up in the Supes grill. You knew this had to be stopped before the Supe lost his shit and destroyed your home too.

“Godfuckingdammit you dillholes knock the macho man bullshit off!”

Soldier Boy's eyes are suddenly locked on you, darkening into a fierce viridian color as a rage bubbles up that wasn’t there seconds ago, making Butcher step back holding up his hands when Hughie suddenly disappears.

You felt a continuous current skittering over your skin as if the oxygen is being drawn out of the room when it dawns on you; you’re perceiving his new abilities from the decades of torturous experimentations done by the Russians when something behind you snapped his concentration.

Unsheathing the blade you always kept on your person whip around when Butcher grabs your wrist..how the fuck did he just stop your death blow to..Hughie?

A very naked, guilty looking Hughie quickly covers his junk.

“Kitchen Now!!!”

Slamming the pocket doors dividing the rooms shut does nothing to muffle your yelling.

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273 notes - Posted July 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

@thinkinghardhardlythinking @b3autyfuldisast3r @charred-angelwings @idreamofplaid @deanwinchesterswitch @lovealways-j @winchest09

289 notes - Posted April 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[harrison-abbott]

When I was in Primary School I had a teacher called Mr McGhee. He wasn’t perfect, but nobody is, and he knew how to make the kids laugh. That was his tactic, to get the children to chuckle, in order to ease the mood and allow a relaxed learning environment.

He seemed just like your average joe. Is that the term? Like a normal chap, who you could get along with. But, if you also think about it – primary school teachers have one of the hardest jobs.

My elder brother is a primary school teacher, too. It must be one of the most difficult tasks: to stand up and teach 30 kids different things.

When I was with Mr McGhee, we did projects on the rainforest (which was in jeopardy back in 2002), and there was one about the Vikings. And then there was a project about World War II. Can you imagine trying to teach ten year old children about the holocaust? That was what he had to do.

So, he was a heroic chap.

But, yeah, he had a sense of humour as well. Despite all of the grizzly stuff.

My Primary School was situated in the south side of Edinburgh. And, Scotland is quite a big soccer nation, despite the Scottish being generally shit at football. In the south of the city, most of the people are Hibs fans. Hibernian Football Club.

And there was one time when Hibernian were playing Alloa Athletic in the cup. And, Alloa are a minnow team that play in the lower leagues. Whereas Hibs are among the top teams in the nation.

Mr McGhee was from Alloa, and that was his football team. And, in the cup game, Alloa knocked Hibs out of the tournament with a freak victory.

He knew that almost every boy in the class was a Hibs fan. And so, the first thing we came in the morning, there was a smug smile on his face. And he just rubbed the fluke victory in our faces all day. And we couldn’t do anything about it, because he was our teacher.

Even though it was impossible that Alloa would win the cup, at least they had butchered Hibs. And he milked it all day, just to annoy us. Ha.

Largely, Mr McGhee was a good man. As I say, I wouldn’t have any of the courage it takes to teach hundreds of kids in a school. I wouldn’t be able to do it. Teachers, if they mean well, can be heroes.

[pastedpast]

Thank you, Gareth! I began working on this blog thirteen years ago today, or on 25th February 2011, or another day in February 2011, I'm not sure exactly as I have a tendency to delete posts in the editing process. It was definitely February, though, and the reason I started it was because I was teaching myself about the history of art from scratch, and considering studying for a Master's degree (as if!) in Art Gallery and Museum Studies at Manchester University. I even attended the Open Day. (It entailed a lovely three-day holiday staying in a hotel in Manchester city centre with my then-boyfriend, Joseph, which happily coincided with the festivities for the Chinese New Year). It was the same time as when local councils were having to slash budgets, and services such as libraries were being butchered. Ordinarily, my contract as a library assistant would have been renewed - previously, a job in the library was a job for life if you wanted - it was 'safe' - but in 2010 the Conservative-led government implemented a fiscal policy of austerity, and I lost my job in January 2011 as a result.

Not that I was bothered. To the contrary, I was delighted. Or rather, relieved. I found the job very stressful. Who would have thought that working in a library could destroy every shred of confidence you didn't even have in the first place! No, I was a happy bunny to be out of there, especially with my £800+ redundancy pay. But I did wonder what the hell I was going to do next. I quickly realised the Master's idea wasn't for me, and neither was an Open University degree, but that I still had this self-motivated interest in art and history which meant I could research on my own without trying to gain a qualification. This type of studying was a hobby - it was for fun. It was like taking a 'chill pill', helping me to focus my mind on something else other than my anxieties.

2011 was a good year for me. Joe and I visited several places in Britain while I attended job interviews (Shetland was the highlight) and he went to away games (his team, Blackpool, had been promoted to the Premier League in May 2010 and so were playing all the big boys, e.g. Arsenal or West Ham, something like that, I don't know! I was there when they won at Wembley, though).

So, yeh, I started this blog thirteen years ago. There were some years I didn't do much work on it, although maybe more than it appears now as I have deleted stuff along the way, and there is still more to delete and definitely lots to edit. It will probably never get completed, but I'm not bothered. I've always said it is, like me, a work in progress. That's the thing about writing - you learn as you go on, change your mind, find out what your opinions are, or aren't, etc. It's all about learning, thinking, caring, and sometimes it's about not caring. This is *my* space to write about whatever I please, even if I make mistakes, or reveal my ignorance, or change my opinion.

Sod what anyone else thinks!

Happy 13th birthday, pasted past!!

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Would you consider doing a jealous Félix fic? Preferably around the time of the movie? I love all of your fic by the way! Your Pepa/Fèlix ones are actual perfection, thanks so much for blessing us with them🙏🫡

Sure! We LOVE some big, jealous men!

(Also thank you, thats sweet ❤️)

"I told you, he'd be fine!"

"No no. I promised him meat, meat he is going to get."

For SOME reason, his older brother, Julio, was the only man on this planet that enjoyed how Pepa cooked steaks. As such, she promised to not only make it for his birthday tomorrow, but make it out of a REALLY fine cut of meat. Julio knew little about emotions AND food, so Félix kept telling her he'd eat a fucking cow hoof if she put enough salt on it. But of course, you couldn't tell this woman that. She just HAD to get a good cut right from the butcher. She at LEAST let him go with her, so the bastard wouldn't try to cheat her by making her pay more for a shitty cut.

"Is this just because he actually likes how you cook meat?"

"I will hit you. I make GREAT steak!"

"You make beef jerky. And I love it about you-"

"You know what, you don't get to kiss me. For at least five minutes."

Ow, harsh punishment. He opened the door to the butcher shop, letting Pepa in, and letting someone else out. Pepa walked up to the meat counter, looking over at the selection for a brief second, before ringing the bell. The family never really did runs to the butcher shop, given that people ALWAYS volunteered to bring meat to their family, save Alma the trip. It was why Félix felt a bit out of place, despite having gone to a butcher shop plenty of times.

"One second, por favor!"

They waited for a man to come up from the back, wiping blood from his hands. Pepa didn't even wait till the guy got up to the counter.

"So I'm having company over and...Esteban?"

The man blinked at her, confused, before recognition flashed in his eyes.

"PEPA? Dios, it's YOU!"

The SMILE on her face. He hadn't seen that shit since this morning. Towards him.

"Oh-YOU! I KNEW I recognized those hands! I haven't seen you in years!"

"It HAS been years, hasn't it? I'd shake your hand, but I'm a bloody mess."

"Oye- I'm offended you'd offer. Last I checked, friends hugged each other."

Félix got a good look at the guy as he took off his apron and gloves, and come up behind the counter to hug her. He was a HUGE guy. Which wasn't a rare type that Pepa attracted, but this dude was also FAT. Little bits of hair stretched alongside his arms and poked out of his shirt. Pair that with his beard and he was just a mess of a man. Aka...Pepa's type. Realizing that made the tight hug feel so WEIRD to him, and it didn't get too much better when they seperated.

"It is SO good to see you again! Wow, you got to be so BEAUTIFUL!"

"What? I wasn't before?"

She huffed, but before a cloud could form, he put her hands (that looked so little in his) right onto his hairy chest.

"Pepa, you were always incredible. I'm just saying, I always wondered how you'd look as a grown woman, and here you are. Just. Wow, Pepi."

Pepi. Did this random ass dude just call HIS wife Pepi? She wasn't bothered by it like she should be, but rather, amused.

"Oh alright, ill let you get away with that one. Only because I like you."

"Your husband must be VERY lucky to-"

"Yes, I'm very lucky. I'm Félix. Her husband. Right here."

He stepped in a bit, holding his hand out to him. Esteban looked confused, before he chuckled, shaking his hand. A good grip on him too.

"So nice to meet you! Dios, the man who tied down Pepa Madrigal, in MY shop. How about that?"

"Yeah you'd think people would remember. You know, hurricane and best day of my life and all that- how exactly do I not know you?"

Pepa chuckled, waving her hand dismissively at him.

"Oh we had a few classes together. That and he was my first boyfriend. Oh I remember, back then, me and my girlfriends thought he was so cute, we called him 'esta-bien' behind his back."

Esteban rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

"Yeah I was uh. Nervous around girls, and apparently they liked that. Pepa was my first girlfriend and she...taught me a lot-"

"Like how he REALLY liked a good hand job."

They both had a bit of a laugh over this. Now while Félix respected Pepa's past (god knows he was no virgin mary either), it was a BIT different, being face to face with one of them.

"That's. Nice. How did you two break up anyway?"

"Oh my dad didn't like me being with girls. He wanted to get me an all boys class, but of course they said no. When he realized I was messing around with Pepa, he homeschooled me. That was the last time I saw Pepa, actually."

Pepa sighed at the memory, it clearly being special to her.

"He HATED me, but I respected what he did for the community. How IS your papi?"

Esteban fiddled with his hands, suddenly seeming so down.

"He uhm. He passed away a week ago. Heart attack."

"Oh I'm SO sorry! I had no idea!"

"I know. He said he wanted it kept to the priest, and his family. But since mom died, that kinda left just. Me."

Pepa, trying to fan away the rain clouds, frowned.

"I am SO sorry. Do you need a hug?"

"I...don't wanna make things weird, with your husband-"

"Félix is a grown man. Come here."

Now he felt for the guy. Really he did. Assuming his words were true, it must've been a rough thing to go through. But that didn't mean his face had to be RIGHT in his wife's tits during the embrace. Those were HIS (and Pepa's obviously), and it took everything in him not to bitch slap this guy away from his wife. The hug lasted a real, solid minute, and the man smiled.

"You're still sweet as ever, Pepi. Thank you. But uhm, you came here for some meat though, right?"

She pouted a bit as she lightly patted his cheek. This guy LIKED that. He could see it in his eyes.

"If you don't mind. I'm cooking for HIS brother, so it has to be special."

"For you Pepa, I'll give you the best meat I have. Here, let me show you what I have."

Esteban got behind the counter as he showed her different cuts. Félix didn't like how much he smiled at her. Didn't like how he kept finding reasons to touch her hands or talk about their past. They were happy together. She liked touching him then. Stories of how she'd constantly sneak her little hands where they shouldn't be. This guy was getting so excited, there was that twinkle in his eyes that said 'say the world, and I'll take you in a heart beat'.

"Okay so, prime rib. Anything else you recommend?"

"Well, I don't know what else you're doing with dinner, but HIGHLY recommend the sausages. I make them myself everyday! And the leftovers go to the hogs, but I'd MUCH prefer you use it to feed you and yours."

"You know what, go ahead, give me of your sausage while we're at it."

Okay this wasn't just him, right? That fucking sounded weird? That didn't sound like Pepa's cute ex wanted to think about plowing her? Couldn't be just him. Félix took a hold of it all, since that's what a husband does for HIS wife, and he was the best of them all. He stood there, waiting for this man to let go of his wife's hand.

"And you are welcome here ANY time, Pepa, only the best cuts for you."

"Disparates! We'll meet for pleasure SOME time! Maybe some cafè?"

He watched as he squeezed her hand. It was subtle, but it was there. That lovesick man, all over his wife, like a fly to shit. Don't strike him, do NOT strike him-

"I'd like that. Very much, Pepita."

He was gonna find him in a dark fucking alley. He gently nudged his wife with his elbow.

"Pepa, we can't be late. Come on."

She waved him goodbye, before Félix finally got her out of there, and on the way home. He hoped that was the end of it. It wasn't. The whole walk over, she wouldn't stop talking about this guy. About how she'd love to wear his jackets, about how he'd bring her little flowers, about how he liked being kissed right on his chin. He knew so much about this man in a few minutes, way more than what he wanted to.

"Oh and once, for english class, he wrote poetry about my hair. It was awful, but we were adorable back then. He always said they reminded him of strawberries in a field, he was SO sweet~"

"Uh huh."

Félix nodded as he started to put things away in their kitchen. Félix was sure that he as a person was great. But he was a guy who she found attractive, who wanted to fuck her. He knew he fucking did, he remembered that look in those eyes that she kept staring into-

"Félix? Are you listening to me?"

"Hmm? I'm sorry, I spaced out. What was it?"

"I was saying, easy on the cabinets! You're slamming them!"

Félix carefully shut the cabinet, muttering under his breath.

"You'd know about slamming, wouldn't you?"

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Wrong answer. Lightning cracked above her head, and she damn near slammed the meat on the counter.

"No. You speak up. You have something to say, be a man and say it."

She wanted him to say it? Fine. He turned to her, returning the same amount of huffiness as he was being given.

"I said you and your meat boy over there would KNOW about slamming, wouldn't you?"

She looked so confused. God he loved that dumb expression on her face.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about HIM. 'Esteban' this and 'Esteban' that- I'm SICK of it. That idiota WANTS you Pepa, and I want to kill him for it. I SAW his face. He wanted you. If I didn't say anything he'd probably try to pound you right on the dirty fucking floor!"

She put her hand on her chest, as if aghast.

"Félix Madrigal. Are you JEALOUS of Esteban?"

He couldn't help it. He practically slammed the cabinets shut to look at her.

"You know what, I AM, okay? I know when a man wants a woman, and that CABRON wants you!"

Pepa smirked at him, leaning against the counter.

"Are you worried big, sexy Esteban is going to sneak into the Casita when you aren't around?"

"YES."

She was fucking mocking him. She was adding fuel to the fire and he was getting angrier by the minute.

"Are you worried he's going to use all of his weight to hold me down? That him and his belly are gonna pin me down and fuck me in my own bed?"

"Pepa I'm fucking warning you, knock this shit off-"

She leaned back, letting one hand caress her thigh. She was fucking getting off to just the IDEA of her getting fucked by this guy? How DARE she?

"Are you worried he's going to make me scream? Are you worried that he's going to fuck me so good, I'll beg for him to cum in the pretty pussy you love so much?"

He pointed a finger at her, his chest rising and falling as anger made it VERY difficult to get a decent breath in.

"Don't. Don't you even FUCKING-"

"Félix...are you mad that I'll beg him to put a baby in me?"

The second she cupped her own pussy, that was it. He was angry. Enraged. Furious. Not at her, his Pepi could do no wrong. He was mad at Esteban. For tempting his wife, for threatening his fucking marriage, and being the exact kinda guy she'd sleep with. The idea of another man having the honor of stuffing this pussy full of cum and get her wife so beautifully pregnant? It was anger he couldn't relax.

"That's it- that's fucking it. You, upstairs, now."

"Maybe I'd listen to a man with more of a gut. To a man who knew how to use those big, sexy hands of-!"

He wouldn't let her finish. He had her over his shoulder in a second, hand on her ass as he carried her upstairs. He damn near kicked the door down, and threw her onto the bed hard enough to make her cry out in surprise. She looked so fucking sexy like this, the idea of some stupid meat man wanting this only made his blood boil.

"You're going to listen to your FUCKING husband. You're going to get thoughts of him out of your head, or I'll get them out FOR you."

Pepa could make a choice. She could say okay, like a good wife. Or, she could be the sexy, absolute temptress he knew she could be. He watched as she peeled off her dress (she had learned to do it so quickly, he considered it her 'other' gift), spread her legs out for him, and started to rub her pussy through her panties. She was already wet, he could see the darkness of the damp spot.

"Félix, it's not my fault. Look at him. He's so...big. He could hold me down, finger my pussy with his thick fingers, and I'd be just so helpless. It'd be so easy for him to take me~"

That was it. The straw that broke the camel's back. He took a step towards her, nearly smacked her hand away, shoved his fingers past her underwear, and right into her pussy. Normally he'd do just one or two, but she needed three. She needed three of his thick fingers to stretch her little cunt to the limit. His other hand gripped onto her thigh, forcing her to take it.

"HE doesn't get to hold you down. I'M the one who holds you the fuck-swear to god try to close these fucking legs again, I DARE you."

It was so much for her so soon, it made sense that she try to cover herself up a bit to try to stop the stimulation. They both knew the safe word, she just wanted to fucking test him. She WANTED him to lift her leg so much, it forced her on her back and her pussy in the air.

"Félix p-please-!"

"That's right, that's the name of your FUCKING husband. You think he can hold you down like this? Make your pussy sound THIS loud?"

He was practically barking at her. Her nails were gripping onto the bed, sweat soaked her red face. He could feel the wet heat in the room, it made his shirt cling to his skin, and he KNEW she liked it. She kept giving her those big, pretty, lustful eyes. Eyes for HIM, and no one else.

"I'm g-going to-"

"That's right, you're going to cum because of ME. Not HIM. I'M the only gran hombre you need. Look at me. Don't you fucking look away from your husband,"

Oh she was so fucking tight. She was soaking his fingers, she was cascading down her own fucking stomach- that fucker WISHED he could see her like this. He'd be fucking hard in a second, just like he was right now.

"Look at me when I make you cum. Right on my fingers. You wanted big fucking fingers, here the fuck they are."

She came. Her hips bucked upwards, as if somehow wanting more. Greedy little girl. She cried out for him, loud enough to sound like music to his ears. He hoped he could hear it, right from his stupid fucking butcher shop. He pulled them out of her, admiring the way her fluids made her pussy hair cling to the rest of her body. She was shaking as she gazed up at her, helpless as a bunny.

"Félix, I-"

"Over here. Facing the mirror. On your stomach. Come on, you heard papi, move it."

He gave her already sensitive pussy a smack, but despite her loud yelp, his wife was ever stubborn. She huffed at him, even turning her nose at him to piss him off further.

"Esteban wouldn't 'ask me' like a fucking child. I should go over to HIS house and-"

Fuck this man for making his wife have such a nasty fucking attitude. He dug his fingers into her hair, and yanked her to where he wanted her to go. She cried out in pain, but given how she spread her legs for him as soon as he put her in place, he could tell she liked it. Fucking Pepa was an art, and every single time, he made a masterpiece. And now, he was about to put that paint brush in her palette.

"Don't you say his fucking name. Don't you EVER say his fucking name in our fucking room, not in our fucking bed. I'll kill him. He's not going to touch you, even if he wants to. I know he does. He wants to ram you and make you feel this. But only I can."

She looked at him through the mirror, and she practically had hearts in her eyes. Such a beautiful, sexy woman.

"I'm sorry, who's name can't I say?"

"Don't say it. If you fucking say it-"

"Oh, right. Esteban ~"

This man was dead. How DARE his name be purred through such sexy lips? He pulled his cock out of his pants, and after pushing it inside her hot, wet, TIGHT pussy, laid on top of her. She swore under her breath as he did this, and he swore he saw her bite her bottom lip in absolute delight. That is, until he held onto her jaw, and shoved two of his fingers into her mouth.

"Look at me. Look at these fingers down your fucking throat. He can't give this to you. His cock can't fuck you like this. He- don't you FUCKING stop looking at me, lo juro por Dios."

He pulled his fingers out of her mouth, to smack her cheek with his wet palm, only to shove them back into her mouth. Then, he started to fuck her. He WAS a heavy man, and a heavy man could pound his wife hard enough to rock the damn bed, to make it look like he was just using her for his satisfaction. But this wasn't just his jealousy. This was her desire. Her desire to be pinned down by a man as fat as him, to gag around fingers as thick as sausages, to be stretched by a cock as big as his.

"Look at me. I don't want you to even THINK of other men. I want you to look at men and think 'they can't fuck my pussy like Félix can'. Because that's right. Look at me railing you, look at me making my cock hungry wife happy. He can't do that. He can't make these sounds."

The sounds of her loud, lewd gagging, the sounds of the bed creaking under them, the sound of his heavy frame smacking against her goddess like figure. She couldn't do ANYTHING against him. She just sat there, meeting his gaze, nails digging into the sheets and legs twitching after each and every thrust. He kissed the nape of her neck, let his teeth graze against her little ear.

"He can't stuff you full of cum. He can't make it pour out of you and make you feel stuffed. He can't make you TAKE IT."

She screamed against his fingers as he pushed himself in fully, and came. His cum coated her insides, and he swore he saw goosebumps on her skin as he poured more and more into her. He pulled out of her, having just enough to spill onto the small of her back. She was limp under him. Limp, but loving. He pulled his fingers from her mouth, only to have her hold his hand, and lick and kiss his skin and palm.

"Dios, he got papi so mad...~"

"Damn right he got me mad. He wants to fuck you like me."

She didn't mind the smear of fluids on her face, especially as she continued to make eye contact with him through the mirror.

"But he can't~...no one can fuck me and stuff me like Papi. I think you bruised my thighs."

"One, MY thighs. Two, I got the ass too, don't you worry."

He smacked her ass with his other palm, and she cried out in delight, cheeks flushed at the stinging feeling.

"Ay Papi, so upset~...you really think he can take me from you?"

"...kinda."

She sighed in almost exhaustion as she kept kissing.

"You're as dumb as you are sexy. He can't. Sure, he's sweet. And handsome. And he has so much hair. And he's got a big, big belly and hands-"

"Not helping."

"Oye, let me finish. He might have all of that, but he's not you. My husband, father to my kids. And mi papi, who takes such good care of me. He sees men who wants me, and reminds me of this."

His wife was so sweet. She was his sexy, sexy rock in his life. He sighed, feeling just a bit of jealousy leave his body.

"Gracias, Pepi. And I'm not against you guys being friends, obviously. I trust you."

"It WOULD be hot if he was involved, though."

He flicked her forehead in warning, despite her light swear.

"Hey, I'm still sticking by our no threeway rule. Any man touches you and I'm killing him."

"Does it count as a threeway if he just sits there and watches? All jealous? It'd be cute. He'd sit in a chair, pump his cock while you rub it in his face."

He wanted to say that was an awful idea, but. Well. He WOULD like other men to know they can't have Pepa.

"...we'll talk about it."

Pepa's smirk was huge. This girl really got whatever she wanted.

Whatever meat she wanted.

[normalhughie]

"Holy shit," Hughie's eyes widened like he'd just seen Homelander do a striptease. "Real V? Like, the real deal?" His lanky frame tensed up, caught between excitement and terror. It was like being offered a backstage pass to a Springsteen concert, except the Boss might accidentally vaporize you.

Hughie's mind raced faster than A-Train on a meth bender. "What's the catch?" he blurted out, his voice cracking like he was 13 again. "Because let me tell you, my track record with 'too good to be true' offers is about as stellar as The Deep's attempts at marine conservation."

His gaze locked onto the vial of Compound V like it was the last slice of pizza at a frat party. It wasn't the familiar green of Temp V - this was the big leagues, the stuff that turned regular schmucks into cape-wearing psychopaths.

"Uh, what about Butcher?" Hughie asked, suddenly remembering his gruff, perpetually pissed-off mentor. "Is he getting a dose of the good stuff too, or is this a 'Hughie gets to be the lab rat' kind of deal?"

When Soldier Boy called out his involuntary physical reaction, Hughie felt his face burn hotter than if he'd face-planted on the sun. "Jesus Christ, man!" he yelped, his embarrassment cranked up to eleven. "It's not like I'm enjoying this! You've got me tied up and naked - it's fight or flight, except my body's choosing a third, really inconvenient option!"

Soldier Boy's obvious enjoyment of the situation made Hughie feel like a gazelle being circled by a particularly sadistic lion. "Come on, seriously?" he protested, his voice a mix of disbelief and exasperation. "You're like, what, the OG superhero? You could probably get anyone you wanted faster than Homelander can say 'I can do whatever I want.' Why the hell are you fixating on me? Is it the curls? Because I gotta tell you, this is not my best hair day."

“No you look, kid.” Ben interrupted his tangent- or tried to anyway. “Do you really think a guy like me doesn’t know where to get his hands on V— or how to inject it without killing a motherfucker?” He rested his hands on his hips and laughed to himself. “That’s rich… kid thinks I only dispense lethal dosage.” He brushed his hands off on his thighs and took a deep breath in.

His brows raised in surprise at how Hughie jumped when he patted his stomach, instantly he furrows his brows and made a face, the side of his upper lip curled up in slight judgment again and finally his brows raised completing the emotional rollercoaster Hughie’s denial took him on. “Jesus fuck, do you need to do a line or something to mellow the hell out? I was teasin’ you, Hughie. Christ, it’s a miracle that chick dates you; she must stay with you for your dick cause it sure ain’t your brains.” He gruffly grumbled out, setting the bright blue vial down beside them.

But his eyes went wide as silver dollars when the guy sprang a hard on and Ben crumpled forward in laughter. “Wow… now that.” He leaned back and pressed a hand over his lips momentarily, locking eyes with Hughie to try and save his dignity a bit. He palmed at his scruff and the lowered his hand. “That I wasn’t expecting.” He finished his comment. It was a bit like a game of cat and mouse and Hughie seemed to be on the losing side of things by far. Ben almost felt a bit guilty about it all. Almost. “You gonna fix that or are you waiting for me to?” He teased, but hell, if the guy asked who was he to deny him? Mostly he was concerned with seeing what a fully powered up Hughie a would do for things; that and he wanted to know if it would work too, maybe give the man some extra juice in situations that might call for it.

[britishth0t]

Hyperactive (With slight homicide)

This is my first post on Tumblr (not my first post overall as I have Wattpad, but I'll post my username here when I've added my Klarion one-shots on there unless people want it lmao

You grabbed his interest when you were hanging out with your friends near the old cinema.

He seemed intrigued at first when even Teekl became slightly amused by your hyper personality.

Klarion may or may not have stalked you for a bit because of that

Eventually, Klarion did admit you seemed fun to Teekl, and wanted to get to you know you better in person.

Both of you finally met each other when you were walking around the harbour, taking photos of the sea and the horizon even if you knew you would delete them later.

Teekl thought this would be a great time for Klarion to introduce himself to you.

She half prayed that Klarion wouldn't freak you out, and the other half wanting you to not make Klarion too annoyed.

Somehow, it went really well.... A bit too well, as you two then talked as if you had known each other for years

Lets just say, you're both extremely hyper. I mean, it's Klarion.

You being a hyperactive person and him having chaos magic while also wanting mischief? It's a perfect yet dangerous match.

Teekl rethinks her choice about you two being together, as she now has to deal with two children and not one.

This also means that the Light have to deal with another 'kid' as well, since Klarion will definitely bring you to at least one meeting.

They're a bit cautious about you on first impression, not too sure if you're using Klarion to get information about the Light

But after a while, they see how much you deal with when you're with Klarion, and figure out that no one can put up a façade for that long

Yeah, even the Light know that you're one hyper son-of-a-b*tch

I wouldn't say you're obnoxiously loud, it's just being in a Light meeting no one is really talking except you, so it's dead quiet other than that. Nevertheless, you can be extremely deafening without realising it

Klarion's magical powers gives you a lot more freedom when being with him. Like, a lot more freedom, he's a lord of Chaos, you basically have no limits.

You can now do all the crazy sh*t you've ever wanted to do with Klarion by your side, and he's more than willing to join you in whatever ideas you have

A couple of times Teekl has to warn him that you're still a mortal, so he does lay off a bit from time to time to avoid getting you seriously injured

If you do get hurt, Klarion is gunna freak tf out, trying to play it off cool but failing

All adventures go out the window if you get hurt. And if you try to get up saying "I'm fine", he'll magically trap you in your bed to rest.

Don't test him, he will do it

A lot of things may break, and it's whether or not Klarion will fix it with his powers or not after... Probably not, it's not like either of you really care

If the Young Justice team do meet you, it's because you were in a forest with Klarion, messing around while climbing from branch to branch in the trees while Klarion floated next to you

The two of you were ambushed by the team, as Zatanna had sensed Klarion's power in that area while the team were nearby

They would have saved you, but you're surprisingly very good at climbing trees for any of them to grab hold of you, something that actually made them impressed

Klarion was very unhappy, so unhappy that you had to mention about going back home to hang out there to calm him down

Couple of times you'd wander off too far that Klarion isn't able to find you and would have to teleport you to him in order to know where you are, the only big thing that does get him slightly annoyed.

^ If you can make Klarion take responsibility (other than over Teekl) and act like a parent, my respect goes to you

You two don't have any rules apart from when you're injured, although there is one thing that bugs you both

2 hyper devils + "Calm down"= Death stare with Klarion hexing whoever said that

No one is allowed to tell you guys to calm down

Klarion x homicidal hyper reader ⚠️Mentions death⚠️

You met each other like the first one, except that you seemed more wanting to go into danger and edge your friends into doing bad things than actually have fun

This time, Klarion was intrigued before Teekl

He noticed your cold yet intense gaze on everyone that was near you

Something about you was odd. Klarion knew that but he didn't know what was making you seem so odd

It's not until you become best friends that he finally realises your love for murder

While you got along with Klarion before him knowing this, wow he's ecstatic that he finally knows what seemed off with you

He tempts you into murder as well, seeing that you showed to be very refrained from not doing anything about your homicidal thoughts

Catches on very quickly how manipulative you can be with your friends, friends that Klarion now wants to be your first kills

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take that much convincing from Klarion to make you agree to killing your soon-to-be-dead mates

He helps of course, trapping them all and giving you all sorts of weapons to use on them

It's like a holiday for both of you

You even asked Klarion at one point to make their screams quieter since they were annoying you

And after you had finishing butchering your friends, Klarion realised that he like-liked you and confessed right there

Yep, Klarion did just admit to liking you while standing in the middle of dead bodies scattered around at your feet

Soon after that, you both start doing more destruction together

Limits? F*ck no

Hell, if you asked for half of the moon to be destroyed, Klarion would snap his fingers and bam, moon gone.

One time you asked Klarion to give you powers like superman, just so you could fly and mess around in the city

It started off as just throwing cars as far as you could, not exactly caring if people were inside or not

Which then turned into full blown 'lemme jump/crash into one sky scrapper to another', looking like a monkey swinging from vines in a jungle

While the heroes didn't enjoy your hyper and destructive personality nor Klarion, the news loved you. The amount of reports you and Klarion got in the news just boosted both of your ego's

"Double trouble strikes again!" "Witch boy causes havoc with anonymous villain" "League fail to stop villains, have they met their match?" "Criminals cause devastating downfall on the city" "61 lives lost in under an hour" You felt prideful in the last one, a new record in your books

If you two ever go out to have dates, it'll 100% always end with something, mostly a building, being completely destroyed

Whenever the 'kiddie' team as Klarion calls them, or the Justice League come; they're always too late to stop you two

Even if Batman claims they were so close to stopping you, he's wrong. The heroes don't even manage to get you two to notice them arriving, already going off to have some fun somewhere else

You've mentioned about wanting to kill at least one of the heroes out of spite and because you felt like it on multiple occasions

Klarion would love to snap his fingers to have every hero there for you to choose from, yet he couldn't do that because of Vandal wanting some of them alive. Especially Lex with Superboy.

You get along nicely with the Light, as they trust you enough to know that you can calm Klarion down and that you're classed as a criminal

Occasionally, you have unnerved them with the gory deaths about some of your kills, Klarion kissing your cheek out of pure happiness from hearing the defined details

Teekl doesn't really care about it as long as you get the blood off her fur if you get any on her later.

A lot of lives are lost when you two are together... Which is all the time

(Secretly, the young justice team have envied how much freedom you get when with Klarion-> This is after they have to tidy up the mess you two make)

Sorry if this isn't very good, literally made this and posted it the same day. I've loved Klarion's character for quite a long time now and saw that, although the fanfics are good, there isn't a lot of them. I'm down for requests, but right now I don't think I can do many. You can send me stuff and I'll write it down, just don't be upset if I don't post it in the next week or two. If this isn't up to your standards then srry aha, I realise I don't add much fluff and focus more on the storyline, but there's always room for improvement tho✌️

[jpriest85-blog]

Finally posting about my plainclothes nun oc, Sister Héloise Alkhoury. I fell in love with @kmclaude story and characters years ago and I'm so proud they've grown as an artist and story teller. Though as much as I love seeing the tragedy and horror of Fr. Jehan being haunted by the abuse he's survived, but dear lord I really also want to see this boy get some help, a hug, some therapy! Because as fascinating as it is in a horrible way how the cycle of abuse and patterns can repeat themselves, and the parallels about Jehan and Tiefer's characters. I really want to see Jehan break that cycle I want that sad little man to have some actual hope, and heal. Yet still suffer a bit, because lbr he's a catholic priest Jehan is going to be dealing with guilt about something, and it's fun for the audience.

So I came up with a therapist for Jehan that understands what life in the church is like, a plainclothes nun that has a doctorate in psychotherapy. Then I started developing Héloise more as a character and got emotionally invested in her dynamic with Jehan through Anon ask...I played my own damn self. So now I'm posting more of Héloise background and her own trauma and scars.

Sister Héloise Alkhoury Psy.D

Eyes: brown

Hair: black

Age: 30

Year of birth: 1960

Height: 5ft.9"

Face claim: Necar Zadegan

Sexuality: Bisexual

Scars and health: has bullet wounds on the right side of her lower back and hip, and developed stress ulcers during her last years of medical school.

Family:

Father: Nadim Alkhoury- deceased, was a butcher and amateur boxer, lived with his family in Beirut until killed in 1975 during the Lebanese civil war.

Mother: Hanan Alkhoury-Vicario neé Amjad, after the death of her husband she and her kids fled to the US with other surviving relatives. Eventually settled into Louisiana and befriended and married Joe Vicario. It was more a marriage of convenience than love, and while Joe is a good father their affection for each other sadly didn't last.

Stepfather: Joe Vicario, a decent hardworking man who tried to help Héloise and her family adjust to living in Louisiana. Befriended Hanan and grew attached to her kids. Tried to speed up their citizenship by giving Hanan a green card marriage, then eventually getting an annulment, but backfired. Now it's just a very strained marriage, and while he tries to stay together with his wife for the kids, neither one is happy in their marriage.

Younger brother: Ambrose Alkhoury, the only son and second eldest. He is fiercely protective of his mother and sisters, and took the longest time to warm up to Joe. While he's closest to his sister Héloise there was always a kind of sibling competitiveness between them. Especially when it came to sports and academics. Héloise becomes a power hitter for the softball team, Ambrose joins the football team, big sis gets into medical school, he gets a scholarship to an ivy league university, ect. He currently lives in Baton Rouge and is part of a very successful law firm.

Younger Sister: Philomina Alkhoury, while she often felt overshadowed by her elder siblings growing up, especially when it came to school or career. She does seem to wind up better off when it comes to romantic and personal relationships, she was the first of her siblings to marry (and thankfully her marriage is much happier and healthier than her mothers).

Youngest half sister: Magdalena Alkhoury-Vicario, as the baby she was always doted on and protected by her family, and while she does love them it frustrates her how much they hid and shielded her. Especially when she got older and started realizing why mom and dad have such extreme work schedules.Joe always took night shifts and usually came home after Hanan and the kids left for school and work, that way he could rest, pick up her and her siblings from school, and spend some time with them before mom came home, but he never stayed for dinner. She could never really remember both of her parents sitting down to a meal together, unless it was a holiday or her birthday, and they rarely spoke directly to each other, even when they were in the same room. They always either leave each other notes or one of her siblings would have to mediate between mom and dad.

Info: Sister Héloise comes across as a very intelligent, eloquent, witty and responsible person. Though she is prone to being intensely competitive, especially when it comes to sports and academics growing up. So much so that near the end of medical school she started developing stress ulcers, and there was an incident back when she was a novice sister, the other nuns and her where playing a friendly game of softball with some of the visiting clergy, and Héloise disagreed with a call the Deacon acting as Umpire made, things got heated and she said some things that made the Deacon, who was a Vietnam veteran before joining the clergy, break down sobbing on the field. Héloise still feels guilty about the incident and both the mother superior and the parish priest banned her from playing any competitive sports.

While it's true she is very educated and well spoken (she does have a medical doctorate in psychotherapy from Tulane University, and can fluently speak six languages) the whole responsibility persona is mostly due to being an eldest daughter, which basically means acting like another parent while also simultaneously mediating between her mother and stepfather when their marriage became strained, and growing up as a Lebanese Maronite Catholic refugee in Louisiana during the 70s, so she has to work twice as hard to prove to everyone that she deserves to be here. To adapt to a new country and culture and prove that she and her family are smart, hardworking and capable, and trying not to make things harder on her grieving mother, or the fact she hates fireworks, because the sounds and smell reminds her of gunfire (and the sharp pain in her back forcing her to the ground, crying and screaming for her dad when he falls down too, everything is so loud, people are screaming and running, and there is so much blood) doesn't fucking help that some holidays use shit tons of fireworks for celebrations like 4th of July, or Lundi Gras.

Although even experiencing so much tragedy, loss and trauma at a young age Sister Héloise manages to become a very patient and compassionate person, thanks to her stepfather Joe. Originally Joe Vicario was just a good Samaritan, helping Hanan and her kids adapt to life in America, assisting Héloise mother in finding work, tutoring Héloise and her siblings, teaching them how to play baseball so they can have fun and just be kids again after their home became a war zone ect. He began to care for Héloise and her siblings as if they were his own kids and he became close friends with Hanan, so he suggests marrying Hanan to help secure citizenship status for her and kids, then once they have their green card they can quickly get an annulment. Seemed good in theory, as long as Joe and Hanan never consummated the marriage…but Hanan is alone in a strange new country, and she's still a very beautiful woman living with a man who takes care of her kids, then one evening they have too much wine and it's become too unbearable to sleep alone. Cue an unexpected pregnancy and the annulment plan is shot, both Joe and Hanan were raised devoted Catholics, so divorce isn't an option and Joe isn't about to abandon these kids.

Héloise has dealt with all this in a variety of ways over the years, and even went through a bit of a party girl Phase in med school, but humor has always been her most consistent way with dealing with her own problems. Granted she does also seek counseling for herself too. She recognizes healing can be a difficult and painful process, and she can't help anyone if she's not willing or able to try healing herself too.

[hypewinter]

I'm guessing Danny starts seeing Dinah for all of his trauma and panic attacks. Considering that saying "I get my crippling anxiety and insecurity from my assassin background" to a regular therapist would raise so many alarm bells.

But let's focus on Damian real quick. I wanna figure out just how it hits him that "oh no, I messed up." Because WOOF that moment must have been a whammy. Here's my 2 cents on the matter. I believe it would happen one of two ways. Either A. It's because of Dick or B. It's through the acquisition of batcow.

Option A.

Damian finds himself respecting Grayson. Despite his flaw of caring for weaklings, he is undoubtedly strong. And the others hold him in great respect too. Additionally, after he had a chat with Bruce, Dick decided he wouldn't easily give up on Damian, leading to him naturally being the closest to the boy. Damian finds himself tagging along with Grayson. Not because he's attached or anything. No no, he's simply learning Grayson's techniques. That's all. Nothing more. Because only the weak experience attachment.

But then the unthinkable happens. Grayson gets shot. The sheer panic Damian experiences as he watches Dick fall to the ground is something he never wants to experience again. There's so much blood and he's panicking and boy is this a horrible feeling. Dick as it turns out, is fine. It was just a graze. Damian as it turns out, is very much not fine. He thought he was watching one of the few people he genuinely cared about dying in front of him and that messed him up big time.

It takes Dick a long time to convince him he's fine and when he finally does, he decides this is a good teaching moment. He tells Damian that what he felt is what the batfam felt x10 everyday that Danny was missing. The fear, panic and uncertainty. The guilt. All of it multiplied with each passing day. Damian was shocked. How could they live with those feelings for so long? Why didn't they just cut those feelings off a long time ago? And Dick explains that that's what it means to care about someone. To love them. It means there's going to be pain, but there's also going to be good times. Like the times Dick got Damian to crack a smile. Caring for someone can occasionally be a painful process, but overall caring about others is one of the things that makes life worth living.

Option B.

Damian rescues batcow and is absolutely livid. How dare those butchers try to slaughter an innocent animal? It's disgusting. He goes on a rant about it to anyone who will listen but is constantly met with either looks of disappointment, sarcastic snorts, or even looks that seem to say "you're one to talk". This makes Damian even more insecure furious because it feels like he's the butt of some joke and the demon heir should never be the butt of some joke. This causes a mini meltdown as he screams at the latest member to give a funny look "What's so funny!?" That's when they explain that how the butcher didn't care about batcow and only cared that she needed to be slaughtered is pretty similar to how his treated Danny.

Danny is innocent. At this point he has absolutely nothing to do with the league and isn't a threat to Damian's position. On top of that, the Bats have no hierarchy. Everyone is equally important to the family. Meaning that Damian wanted to kill Danny is unnecessarily cruel. Similar to how he deemed the butcher's treatment of batcow. Damian scoffs at that at first. Those situations are completely unrelated. But then the comparison won't leave his mind. It consumes his every waking thought. He has constant nightmares about it. Nightmares where the cow twists into a sobbing child. Nightmares where he's a cruel old man, in a bloody apron, holding a steak knife with a demented smile. The thoughts terrify him, they haunt him. He finds himself constantly thinking "Could I really be like the butcher?"

He laid there on the ground, letting the cold sink into his bones as he bled out. Deep down, Danny had known for a long time this was coming. He was the Shadow, the Spare. The Inferior. He'd always been the shame of his family. After all, what good was an assassin that didn't kill?

That's why he knew it'd only be a matter of time before Grandfather got rid of him. He just never expected it to be like this. Struck down by his own brother. In hindsight, it made sense. It was a way for Damian to be completely initiated before his first mission and to cut off the rotted rope of the Al Ghul line.

It made sense, Danny repeated to himself, but it didn't stop the hurt. The pain that cut deeper than the sword to his gut. Damian hadn't even hesitated. He'd picked up his weapon and charged as soon as Grandfather had told them to begin the duel. Sure, he'd known Damian was never too fond of him. And maybe sometimes he'd thrown knives at Danny whenever he called him "Dami". But he always thought there was at least some form of affection between them. After all, they were twins. Yet Damian had ran him through as easily as breathing. He hadn't even spared a glance back as he left with Grandfather and Mother. None of them had.

Danny couldn't help but weakly chuckle. To think this was how his second death would go. Being stabbed by his own brother.

As his consciousness began to fail him, Danny distantly heard was sounded like a plane. Maybe a jet. He heard once that people can hallucinate before they died. Funny, he always figured he'd hear a train or something. Maybe a family member calling his name sweetly. Instead Danny heard heavy footsteps charging towards him. Gloved hands picked him up and held him close to a chest as an unknown voice whispered, "I've got you."

Ah, he realized what was happening. This was his mind's desperate attempt to give him some comfort in his final moments. It was nice, feeling cared for like this. He couldn't remember the last time he had been. Danny quietly thanked his mind for the blissful illusion, before his consciousness fully faded away.

(Bruce finds out he has a son and goes to rescue him. He gets there just in time to stop Danny from bleeding out and leaves, not knowing he's leaving his other son behind.)

[wrestlingisfake]

AEW Fake Rankings, March 17

Men's singles division - babyfaces

CM Punk

Adam Page (AEW men's world champion)

Eddie Kingston

Sammy Guevara

Wardlow

Keith Lee

Swerve Strickland

Christian Cage

HOOK

Wheeler YUTA

Men's singles division - heels

Chris Jericho

MJF

Adam Cole

Scorpio Sky (AEW TNT champion)

Andrade El Idolo

Ricky Starks (FTW champion)

Daniel Garcia

Powerhouse Hobbs

Ethan Page

QT Marshall

Unranked: Cezar Bononi*, Erick Redbeard*, Fuego Del Sol, Jake Hager, Lee Moriarty, Nick Comoroto, Tony Nese

* Not listed on AEW's official roster

Six months ago it felt like AEW had a lot of big names from WWE coming in, and I was curious how that would shake out. Interestingly, quite a few of those big names have moved into the tag division, so there's way more room now than I expected for the talent that came up through the minor leagues.

Even so, it's unmistakable that CM Punk and Chris Jericho are the stars of the show right now. Adam Page may be the top champion, but to truly be taken seriously as the top dog he's going to have to put the title up against one of them, and my guess is it'll be Punk. As for Jericho, he's already put over Kingston, but I think his first one-on-one loss with this new heel run will be where he really gives someone the rub. Could be Eddie again, or perhaps Guevara.

Men's tag team division - babyfaces

Jon Moxley (GCW world champion) & Bryan Danielson

The Hardys - Matt Hardy & Jeff Hardy

Darby Allin & Sting

Luchasaurus & Jungle Boy (AEW tag team champions)

Penta Obscuro & PAC

Santana & Ortiz

Top Flight - Dante Martin & Darius Martin

Alex Reynolds & John Silver

Chuck Taylor & Trent Beretta

Varsity Blonds - Brian Pillman Jr. & Griff Garrison

Men's tag team division - heels

The Young Bucks - Nick Jackson & Matt Jackson

reDRagon - Bobby Fish & Kyle O'Reilly

FTR - Cash Wheeler & Dax Harwood (AAA tag team champions)

Malakai Black & Brody King & Buddy Matthews

2point0 - Matt Menard & Angelo Parker

The Acclaimed - Max Caster & Anthony Bowens

Private Party - Marq Quen & Isiah Kassidy

The Butcher & The Blade

Colten Gunn & Austin Gunn

Unranked: Alan Angels & Preston Vance, Anthony Henry* & JD Drake*, Bear Boulder & Bear Bronson, Brock Anderson & Lee Johnson, Evil Uno & Stu Grayson, Peter Avalon & Ryan Nemeth*

* Not listed on AEW's official roster

AEW helpfully got nearly every tag team booked in a couple of battle royales recently, which showed off the division in full force. But all of those teams have been overshadowed by three supergroups: Moxley-Danielson, Allin-Sting, and the reunited Hardys. Any of these teams would have to be considered heavy favorites against Jungle Boy and Luchasaurus, but none of them have gotten in line for a title shot yet. I'm real curious how AEW will keep them all from crowding out the rest of the field.

The heel side is a little light right now, and it may get lighter if the FTR storyline actually leads to a face turn. We should probably see a face team turn heel before too long. Mox and Bryan already seem kind of heelish, but nobody's going to boo them right now and AEW seems to accept that, so we'll see if that leads anywhere. It feels like something's up with the Dark Order, or at least with Alex Reynolds, but I can't imagine all three of its teams (Reynolds-Silver, Uno-Grayson, Angels-Vance) going heel.

Women's singles division - babyfaces

Thunder Rosa (AEW women's world champion)

Kris Statlander

Tay Conti

Red Velvet

Mercedes Martinez

Women's singles division - heels

Britt Baker

Jade Cargill (AEW TBS champion)

Serena Deeb

Leyla Hirsch

Jamie Hayter

The Bunny

Unranked: Angelica Risk*, Kayla Sparks*, Leila Grey*

* Not listed on AEW's official roster

There's still a lot of work to be done here, to get more women on TV regularly. It's a positive sign that we've been seeing two non-title storylines (Deeb vs. Hikaru Shida, Hirsch vs. Statlander & Velvet) in addition to Baker vs. Rosa and Cargill's winning streak. That's a good demonstration that creating more spots for the women isn't just a matter of rolling out new championships. At the same time, though, it's kind of absurd that Nyla Rose and Ruby Soho haven't been on TV in a month. It's also perplexing to me that a lot of top female talent that WWE cut last year hasn't shown up in AEW yet.

No TV matches in 30 days: Aaron Solo, Abadon, Anna Jay, AQA, Brandon Cutler, Colt Cabana, Diamante*, Emi Sakura, Frankie Kazarian, Jack Evans, Jay Lethal, Jora Johl*, Josh Woods* (ROH pure champion), Kiera Hogan*, KiLynn King*, Lance Archer, Luther, Marina Shafir*, Matt Sydal, Michael Nakazawa, Nyla Rose, Ruby Soho, Serpentico, Shawn Dean, Skye Blue, Sonny Kiss

* Not listed on AEW's official roster, but won at least one AEW match

Fans have been increasingly frustrated that a lot of wrestlers have been "demoted" to Dark and Elevation, the Youtube shows. Thing is, as long as AEW produces these shows, there will always be lower-tier talent that primarily appears on them. The only question is which wrestlers should be considered "lower-tier."

Archer, Lethal, Nyla, and Ruby are obviously just simmering and racking up wins to build to a TV push later. Cutler, Cabana, Diamante, Sakura, Kazarian, Evans, Luther, Sydal, Nakazawa, Serpentico, and Dean seem to be positioned as journeymen who are there to do reps with the developing talent. The rest are presumably considered "in development," for better or worse.

No AEW matches in 30 days: Anthony Greene*, Anthony Ogogo, Dustin Rhodes, Billy Gunn, Hikaru Shida, Joey Janela, Julia Hart*, Leva Bates, Megan Bayne*, Penelope Ford, Shawn Spears, Zack Clayton*

* Not listed on AEW's official roster, but won at least one AEW match

Here's the group that isn't even wrestling on Youtube. Spears and Shida have been appearing on TV recently, so that's fine. Rhodes and Gunn are basically player-coaches so I don't expect them to be around much. I expect Ogogo has travel issues getting into and out of the UK. Janela is planning to leave when his contract expires. Bates has reportedly taken on more of a backstage role, although she did return to the ring not that long ago. Greene, Bayne, and Clayton each have wins in AEW, which generally signals plans for a continuing relationship, but that's not a guarantee.

So of this group, the only ones I'm really scratching my head about are Penelope Ford and Julia Hart. But for all I know they could both be injured or taking time off.

No AEW matches in 2022: Angelico, Arjun Singh*, Brian Cage, Danhausen, Marko Stunt, Paige Vanzant, Ryo Mizunami*, Yuka Sakazaki

* Not listed on AEW's official roster, but won at least one AEW match

Angelico has appeared on Dark recently. Cage has (unexpectedly) had his contract extended, so I figure he'll be returning soon. Danhausen appears to be walking around okay after breaking his leg in October, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's cleared to wrestle. Vanzant just signed so I expect her in-ring debut within a few weeks. Marko is reportedly already out of the company, but AEW still lists him on their website roster. I keep thinking Mizunami and Sakazaki are gone for good, but they still manage to get back to the US once in a while.

Part-time/semi-retired: Christopher Daniels, Mark Henry, Paul Wight, Rebel, William Regal

Regal is listed on the official roster with a win-loss record, just like Sting, Henry, and Wight. That suggests that they expect Regal to have a match someday, although Henry's been here for nearly a year and still hasn't. I really can't imagine Regal working a match in 2022, but then again I didn't think I'd be seeing Sting doing big table spots either.

Inactive

Jake Atlas (left knee - ACL tear)

Kenny Omega (various injuries)

Kip Sabian (shoulder - undisclosed injury)

Miro (right thigh - hamstring injury)

Orange Cassidy (left arm - unspecified injury)

Rey Fenix (left elbow - dislocation)

Riho (right arm - unspecified injury)

I haven't seen any updates on any of these injuries, except that Omega reports that his recovery is taking longer than he planned. Sabian has been appearing for weeks in the audience with a box on his head, so I assume that means he's about to return, but he sure is taking his time with that. I predict Miro to return without warning, when we all least expect it. I also predict Orange will be on TV with that sling for months, and then one day they'll do a gag where he admits he forgot to take the sling off, and he's been medically cleared for weeks.

[wonda-cat]

Oh boy, I’m feeling petty today and looking at how you feel about Techno, Philza for the ask?

How I feel about this character:

Anon... You’re really putting me through it today, huh? /lh

This probably may surprise you, but I feel less conflicted about c!Philza than I do about c!Techno. And by that, I mean I find him leagues less interesting. I really only find him boring because his motivations are exactly the same as Technoblade’s. But, to be fair, these motivations do stem from two different places, which is... better, at least. There’s also the issue of Philza agreeing with everything Techno says and does, which doesn’t sit right with me. At least, it seems he’s changing a bit to be more himself with the whole ‘hiding Michael from Techno’ incident. I will love that even more if it eventually has a satisfying payoff. 

For now, though, I’m more just... indifferent to his character. While I do think he’s rather bland, he feels a tad more sympathetic than Technoblade. Mostly because of the way he keeps himself uninvolved in many of the story’s conflicts. He’s also much less violent and seems to walk on eggshells when around others, doesn’t matter who they are. He always has this stand-offish relationship with other people, although notably not with Techno. I feel terrible about his son dying, as well as what happened to him in the Butcher Army event. His wings being torn when Wilbur detonated the TNT is heartbreaking and how he dealt with that after was great. 

There are a few other things I love in his character. Specifically, his chat being crows that communicate with him. That’s so fucking cool and smart? I adore it. I also love the relationships he began with Tubbo and everyone in L’Manburg, post-November 16th. Him teaching Fundy to fish was heart-warming as well. But that’s about where my care and sympathy stops and my resentment begins. 

Philza sort of just... meanders for the entirety of the Exile Arc, although it does establish and develop his relationship to Technoblade. Wilbur’s death was also... kind of... his fault? There’s also him admitting to using Ranboo’s memory issues to the Syndicate's advantage. Can’t forget his involvement in Doomsday. Just, all of it. All of it left a bad taste in my mouth. Also, the way he callously disowned Fundy and then continued ignoring him and his feelings, even during the Prison Arc was... not fun. He’ll forgive Technoblade for violent atrocities, but his own biological grandson? How can he ever forgive him? /s 

There’s also the way he talks to Tubbo in Snowchester; that makes my skin crawl. Not to mention how he treats Tommy as a stranger, despite him living with Techno for quite a while still bothers me. As well as how Philza told Tommy that ‘Dream wasn’t good for you,’ and then just... teamed up with the guy on Doomsday without a second thought. How lovely. 

But by far, the thing that makes my blood boil the most is just,, everything to do with his involvement with Ghostbur. Holy SHIT, what the fuck? I have never been so angry over a series of conversations between two fictional characters. Ghostbur just,, keeps explaining that he has feelings and emotions and fears and Philza just goes, ‘Yeah, but do you?’ And I feel nothing but rage.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

None. If you’re not a fridge, you need not apply.

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

The obvious answer here is Technoblade, but I’m feeling a bit fun today. So I’ll go with Ranboo/Bee Duo. The way they interact, both in and out of character, is lovely. They have so many funny and interesting moments together. I also really like the connection Ranboo and Philza have (ignoring Philza wanting to use Ranboo’s memory loss for his own self-gain.) The way Philza goes against Technoblade, of all people, to protect Ranboo and Tubbo is so interesting to me. I just adore it, okay? 

My unpopular opinion about this character:

I find Philza far more intimidating than Technoblade. I don’t care what anyone says. A character who is called ‘The Angel of Death,’ will always be more fearsome than anyone else you could throw at me. Doesn’t matter that Phil is short and shaped like a friend, he’s lulling you into a false sense of security. By the time you’ve realized, you’re already gone. Techno may look physically imposing, but beneath all that, he’s a big softy. Philza? He will kill you, no hesitation, and mock you when you’re dead. No mercy.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

Crossing my fingers for Philza and Technoblade falling out. Please,,, just one disagreement. Have them fight over something minor or petty and have them learn from it! Show me just how different Philza is from Techno. I want it so bad. Also,, hey,,, pspspsps,, payoff for Philza going behind Techno’s back to protect and help Tubbo and Ranboo, please,, 

[bennydwight]

Dragon Age Oneshot

Shameless, indulgent, one-sided Varric/Inquisitor, because I understand why we’re not allowed to romance the dwarf, but that’s not gonna stop me from being bitter about it.

(Also feat. Dorian being simultaneously the best and worst wingman)

 ~~~~~~

"Oh dear what's got the Inquisitor so long in the face this time?"

Lavellan hid her startle well enough that Dorian didn't comment. Maker's breath, he could be stealthy when he wanted to. Observant, too, so she didn’t see much point in lying to him. "I'm in love, Dorian."

She felt more than saw his interest pique, and he slid down the stone wall to join her on the steps. Below them, the courtyard was abuzz with activity: Dennet and his apprentice busied themselves with checking the new stock of mounts, the merchants from Val Royeaux shifted primly as Fereldan soldiers examined their wares, and patients of the last battle milled around the surgeons camp. Among them, even from this height, Lavellan could see Cole's wide-brimmed hat bobbing along through the crowd of wounded like a leaf on a river, likely offering comfort to those who needed it. Varric's copper hair trailed along beside, either gathering intelligence for his next book, or ensuring Cole stayed within the confines of human morality. Nice that those two got along so well.

Far below, a soldier said something and Varric laughed, the delighted rasp floating up to reach even Lavellan's perch. Why must he do that to her.

"In love, you say?" Dorian continued next to her. "Anyone I would know?"

Lavellan sighed. "He's roguishly charming, dashingly handsome, entirely uninterested, and so far out of my league he may as well be the Black Divine."

"Dear me, have you fallen in love with me all over again? Can't say I'm not flattered, though I recall us having this conversation once before."

That drew a laugh from the depths of her lovesickness and she nudged Dorian with a shoulder. "You know the flame I hold for you in my heart will never extinguish."

"Alas, perhaps in another life." He chuckled back.  "Who's the fortunate gentleman?"

"Oh please, if you think I'll out and tell you like some babbling maid chasing the butcher's son, I give you too much credit."

He leaned back, stroking his goatee with an interested finger. "Making a game out of it then? Very well, I'll play along. Ten silver says I can guess the lad in three tries."

A game was exactly what Lavellan didn’t want, but she far too much enjoyed Dorian's scowl when he lost not to play.  The ten silver could buy her something interesting from the baker too, next time they travelled to Val Royeaux. "You'll be paying for my next pastry run, Vint."

"Better save at least some of that silver for larger clothing then." He made a show of tapping his chin, deep, deep in thought, the flash bastard. "Roguishly charming, daringly handsome... Just to clarify, you are talking about a lad, yes?"

"Oh, no. Making that distinction would narrow the field by far too much. If you weren't paying attention to the pronouns, that's on you."

Dorian glowered at her, but there was no real heat behind it while the gears of his mind were ticking elsewhere. "From the description alone, of course my first guess would have to be our distinguished commander? Not that I'd blame you, mind, he is quite the man."

Perhaps too much man for Lavellan, the commander was far too battle-ready for her to find attractive (though admittedly the scars did send something stirring within her). And Cullen's evasive reactions towards the advances of other members of the fairer gender betrayed a disposition more boyish than Lavellan expected. She imagined courting Cullen would be very much like courting the spirit of a farm boy in the body of a marble statue. "I flirted with him once, for fun. I was afraid he'd wet himself."

Dorian's laughter rang warm and clear through the courtyard. "That might explain why you couldn't tell him, the poor man would throw himself off the battlements."

Lavellan stuck her tongue out at him. "Don't make it sound like my affections are a disease to be feared."

"They certainly spread that way."

"You enjoy it, you all do. Maker knows none of you under my command have ever gotten enough hugs in your lifetimes."

"Something we all know you're desperately trying to correct."

"This game is timed, Dorian, if you don't use your guesses in the next ten seconds then you forfeit."

"Don't be silly, that was never agreed upon," he waved a hand flippantly, but settled again. "Sera-"

"Nope."

"That wasn't a guess, you didn't let me finish! I was going to say Sera is in league all her own, so it can't be her."

"It counts."

"It doesn’t. "

Lavellan never was very good at keeping a straight face, especially in Dorian's presence. "Fine, fine, you get one freebie."

"Then my next guess would have to be the Iron Bull."

Oh, she'd thought about it. Maybe Lavellan was just weak for big hands and a soft voice. And who could forget those muscles? But Iron Bull wasn't exactly secretive about his thoughts on relationships, thoughts Lavellan wasn't sure she could share in the long run. And maybe it would have been different if Iron Bull committed to the Inquisitor, but after an accidental (and awkward) run in with Bull and a kitchen maid, Lavellan was pretty certain she'd seen all she needed to regarding Skyhold's resident Ben-Hassarath.

Besides. She'd seen the silky way Dorian's eyes smoothed over Iron Bull's shoulders when his back was turned. There had never been two people she was less inclined to come between.

She shot Dorian a sly side-eye. "I'll leave the lovesickness to other, more suitable people when it comes to the Bull, I think."

He hid the hitch in his shoulders almost perfectly, but the pink dusting on his cheekbones was a little harder to explain away. To his credit, Dorian didn't try. "Ahem. Well, you mentioned 'uninterested', so it can't be the swooning--"

He trailed off, but Lavellan's sharp stare snapped to him, ears twitching up. "The what?"

"Nothing, a slip of the tongue."

"Your tongue is so slippery it's a wonder it doesn't slither out of your head. Now out with it, who were you talking about?"

Dorian heaved a mighty sigh, but his eyes shone in that way they did when he'd been sitting on a sweet bit of gossip for too long. "Very well, I promised Vivienne I wouldn’t say anything since you didn't need 'undue distractions', but since you insisted. One of your throne guards can't keep his eyes away from you."

This was news to her. "Wha- Are you talking about Davrish or Johannes? Or Tel, he fills in sometimes."

"The lad who usually stands at your left. Human, on the tall side, dark hair. Hard to see much under the helmet, but he's got a scar under his eye."

Davrish then. "He fancies me?"

Dorian laughed. "Like Solas fancies the Fade. He reveres you. Whenever you're in the Main Hall, he refuses to look anywhere else. He practically vibrates when you're judging someone, I imagine since he's never had a woman that close to him in his life. Have you truly not noticed?"

She truly hadn't. She'd spoken to Davrish several times around Skyhold, usually a casual bit of snark tossed around regarding the latest judgement, but never had she gotten the impression that he was interested. Perhaps since, whenever she frequented the Main Hall, her attention lingered elsewhere... "I suppose I'm usually distracted."

Dorian leaned closer, something wicked crawling into his grin like a desert lizard. "Distracted, are you?"

Lavellan huffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as if that could still her heart's rapid beat. "I'm the Inquisitor, Dorian, not all of us can lounge in the library all day, drinking cheap ale and commenting on whatever daily atrocity Solas is wearing."

"Oh, that reminds me, did you see the particularly awful armour he picked up during your last trip to the Oasis? I could go on for days about the state of the stitching alone-"

He definitely could, as proven time and again. Times like these, where her Tevinter friend really got on a roll, Lavellan could feign interest well enough while letting her mind wander to more introspective topics. She nodded and made appropriate noises at appropriate times to Dorian's impassioned ramblings, but once again her eyes sought the copper head weaving in and out of view of the crowd below.

As if sensing her seeking eyes, Varric pulled his attention away from Cole and stared straight at her.

Lavellan's heart stuttered to a stop. Even this far away, his eyes shone with the barely concealed mirth he always seemed to carry just under the crooked quirk of his eyebrow. The corner of his mouth pulled up in that roguish smile she loved as they made eye contact, and one hand (gloved, why always gloved) rose in a lazy wave.

Like a dunderhead, Lavellan practically tripped over herself to return the gesture, nearly catching her finger in one of the buckles of her clothes in the process. Varric didn't seem to notice, his smile widening before he turned back to his odd little charge.

Too late, Lavellan noticed Dorian had fallen silent beside her, his calculating golden eyes boring into her frozen face. She heard the dots connect.

"Oh."

Don’t make eye contact, don't make eye contact

"Oh, MAKER."

Lavellan spun on him, the tips of her ears burning under his scrutiny. "WHAT."

He stared back, expression refreshingly open for once, though it bore no malice. Only stunned disbelief. "Lavellan, the dwarf?"

Not trusting herself to speak around the dry lump lodged in her throat, Lavellan reached into her pocket and dropped ten silver into Dorian's unresponsive hand.

He stared at the coins as if in shock, though Lavellan knew him well enough by now to know when he was exaggerating emotion. Dorian and Sarcasm were old friends. "I can’t- Vishante kaffas."

"I know."

"Of all the available young matches here in Skyhold, you're wasting your time making doe-eyes at the single most ineligible person this side of the Anderfels."

"I know.”

"He's in love with a crossbow, for Maker's sake!"

"I KNOW!" Lavellan groaned, burying her head in her hands. "If you think I haven’t had this discussion with myself numerous times then you are sorely mistaken."

A beat of silence. "Although," Dorian started in such an oddly contemplative tone that Lavellan peeked out from between her fingers. The silver was gone, tucked away while she'd been marinating in her own self-horror, and his hand returned to its previous action of thoughtfully stroking his facial hair. "He is quite the strapping one." His face took on a haughty air. "And we already knew you had a penchant towards the witty."

"Not only wit," Lavellan sighed, and now that her darkest thoughts hovered at the forefront of her tongue, she found it nigh impossible to stop them from stumbling into the light of day. "He's suave, confident in a way that still eludes Cullen. He has all the easy, rugged attractiveness of the Iron Bull with none of his-"

"Expansive tastes?" Dorian supplied, entirely unhelpfully.

"-worldliness." Lavellan corrected coolly.

"He's quite the complainer. "

"He's opinionated, and most of them are right. Varric is warmth, and friendship, and a drop of sunlight in the midst of the rainstorm that is the Breach."

"I may vomit."

"I am taking that as a challenge. He is soft eyes and soft leather, and the feeling you get right after you make someone laugh. He's quiet nights by the fireside, the smell of ink swirling in the warmed air. He is-"

"-headed this way."

Lavellan was just about to admonish Dorian for his unsportsmanlike attempt to distract her from her flowering prose (it had really started to flow there, too!), but a glance downward found Cole nowhere to be seen, and instead one copper-headed dwarf tromping up the stairs.

All thoughts of poetry dissipated. He was coming straight for them! "Oh... oh Maker-"

"Don't panic," Dorian smirked, "with a nose that large, he can probably smell your nerves."

She didn’t have the chance to smack him before Varric reached them, breath laboured in the way that often happened when short legs were presented with more than five steps. Lavellan wondered why Varric chose to spend the majority of his days in the Grand Hall when it required so many steps to get there (and she refused to let herself believe it was because he wanted to be near her, no no). "Well, you two are looking chummy."

"Varric!" Dorian opened with no shortness of theatrics, "We were just talking about you!"

"Is that right?" Lavellan heard more than saw Varric's raised eyebrow as she pinned Dorian under a glare so hot it had been known to stop enemies in their tracks.

Dorian, having evolved out of the category of "enemy" some time ago, barely noticed. "Yes, we were just discussing your romance serial, the one Cassandra enjoys so much? Are you planning on writing more?"

Lavellan’s glare had taken on a panicked note, her friend going rogue before her eyes. How hard did one have to stare at another for them to spontaneously combust?

Varric, large as his nose was, didn’t seem to smell her distress this time. He laughed. "I am if Seeker has anything to say about it! Why, you're a fan too? Learning anything interesting?"

"On the contrary, I have an idea for another serial I'm sure readers would enjoy."

Lavellan’s shoulders relaxed marginally, head tilting at a quizzical angle. What was he doing...

"I don't usually entertain book pitches, but for you Sparkler? Let's hear it."

"It's about a famous, powerful young artist, who falls in love with a roguishly charming, dashingly handsome writer-"

Aaaaand there went her shoulders again, hitched almost to her burning ears. Back safely to Varric, she frantically mouthed "I'll KILL you, you sunnuvabitch", the rest of Dorian's blatantly obvious pitch drowning under the blood pumping in her ears. His mouth quirked up in the only indication he was paying her any mind at all.

Varric made a thoughtful noise, and she didn't dare turn round to look at him. "An artist and a writer, huh? It's got potential. And no one can say it's... unrealistic." Maker's breath, was he implying something? Was that tone barely concealed subtext, or just Varric being an asshole?

And Dorian couldn't leave it at that, oh no, never let it be said that Dorian Pavus did things halfway. "And say, if you do decide to write it, I'm sure our dear inquisitor wouldn’t mind illustrating. Surely you two have known each other long enough that working closely for prolonged periods of time wouldn’t be too agonizing."

Using her body as a shield, Lavellan flipped him off.

"It's certainly something to consider," Varric hummed, none the wiser to Lavellan's mortification. Unless... he was playing with her? "I'm sure my lady readers would appreciate another romance."

Dorian stared straight into Lavellan's eyes. "They certainly would."

"What about it, Herald?" Oh Maker, he was leaning over her now. The scent of warm leather drifted over her like the sweetest perfume-- NO, that was gross! Don’t think like that! "Feel like collaborating?"

"Sure," her voice came out more like a squeak than a sound, and Dorian couldn't quite hide his snort behind his moustache.

The creak of leather as Varric leaned back. "Peachy. After we take care of this Corypheus business, of course, even I understand that we have priorities. Speaking of, I gotta ask Seeker something. Dorian."

Dorian nodded in farewell, radiating smugness. Expecting her turn to be next and realizing at the same time that she hadn't looked at Varric a single time during this conversation, Lavellan finally turned to the dwarf.

Bad idea. She turned directly into that insufferable crooked grin. His hooded eyes glittered with mischief, like he was privy to an in-joke. The sun set behind him, haloing his visage with golden light. Varric himself couldn't have written this scene better, and Lavellan hated herself for thinking it. Her ears drooped under the weakness of her own body.

Varric's grin widened marginally. "Inquisitor."

"Bye," Lavellan breathed more than said. Dorian snorted again, louder, but Varric was polite enough not to mention it. He continued up the stairs and Lavellan managed until his heavy bootsteps faded away to melt into a humiliated puddle. She slumped over her legs, burying her face in her hands.

"Dear me, Inquisitor, your ears are a most delightful shade of crimson."

"Dorian?"

"Yes?"

"Once I can stand again, I am going to take my knife and cut out your tongue."

"Oh, I'd still find ways to humiliate you."

"I wont even use my nice knife. It'll be a kitchen knife. You'll suffer for days, just like I am now."

He patted her jovially on the shoulder. "Come now, Lavellan, surely you must know that Varric is crass and boorish, but he's far from an idiot. He'll nip this in the bud within the week and I need to get a decent amount of teasing in before then."

Lavellan punched him in the arm.

 END

[draven-imani]

Journal 5 (Part 2)

So. Yeah. Commander Irabeth Tirabade gave me a temporary field promotion. Although she said there wasn’t much of the Raven Corps left to speak of at the moment. Apparently, a certain Golden Boy had commandeered as many people as he could convince to come with him on a mad quest into the Worldwound after the attack and our group fell underground. He has an entire legion following him, which he dubbed the Silver Legion. She said it was likely he’d be back soon for a supply run.

Damn. I always knew Leto would go far. But to rally the troops on his own without any preestablished backing and just…go for it? I don’t know how he does it. We walked the same path and yet somehow he’s always been in a completely different league than me. I don’t envy him, not in the slightest. I’m in awe, more like. It’s like looking at the sun. It’s incomprehensible.

Ah. I wish he were here instead of there, though. He’d know how to handle this whole ‘Acting Captain’ thing. I feel in over my head already. I don’t want a position of power. I don’t want people’s lives in my hands. I only thought I wanted to go up the ranks when I was an idealistic kid with no idea what that meant. Now…the idea of giving the order that gets someone killed sickens me…

But if Commander Tirabade is the one who gives me that responsibility, I don’t think I’ll be able to say no.

I was starting to doubt…a lot, the last couple of days, honestly. Everything about Luna threw things into question. And then we found out Baphomet cultists infiltrated the church. And then Auriel died. And then I first talked to Radiance…and heard their threats. The threats from a holy weapon that sounded like they should have come from a demon. That stung. That shook me.

But then we met Irabeth Tirabade. And even in person she represents everything I have ever strived to be. Both in the sense of a former Raven Corps member who pulled herself out and into a position to actually be of use to the world, but also in the sense of how an Iomedae worshipper should carry themselves. She’s noble and strong and honorable, but she’s not quite so stuck in her ways as Auriel was, she seems to see things the way they are, and have been in the past, and she seems to be willing to admit when things are rotten and need to be fixed. I respect her. A lot. I…don’t want to disappoint her.

Aaaaand that means, if she gives me a responsibility, I have to rise to the task…even if I really really reeeeeeeeally don’t want to.

Commander Tirabade told me to give her a full report of everything that had happened. Which is exactly what I’d been keeping this journal for. So I gave her my report, and had the others chime in where my memory or note taking didn’t serve adequately. Then I showed her Radiance. I didn’t really think about it, because I thought since she was a paladin that Radiance wouldn’t be quite so ‘I’m going to flay you alive’. Or maybe I just wasn’t thinking, because she was Irabeth Tirabade and I’m dumb. That’s more likely. Anyways Radiance started burning her hands, so I quickly took them back.

And I may have admonished them out loud for doing that. To which Radiance basically asked ‘what part of chosen wielder don’t you understand?’ which…fair, but I guess I kind of thought Radiance was the one deciding whether or not to start hurting someone for touching it with how they’d worded it last time. I didn’t think it just happened.

The others were looking at me like I was crazy and asked if I was talking to my sword. So then I had to explain that Radiance is a magic intelligent weapon and also really picky about who wields them.

(And I got a little off track figuring out Radiance’s pronouns here. The answer boiled down to ‘I don’t conform to your mortal view of gender, call me whatever you want’, so I’m sticking with they since it’s neutral. Must be nice being a formless weapon spirit who can just give a copout answer like ‘I don’t conform to your mortal view of gender’. I’d not conform to my mortal view of gender if I could, but I have a flesh prison with all that gender-y stuff that comes with it.)

So then one of them, I forget who, commented about me being the chosen wielder of Radiance. And I think I laughed. I corrected them. No, I wasn’t the chosen wielder. The others pointed out I was wielding them, it sure looked like I was. So I explained what Radiance had already explained to me. That Auriel had been meant to wield them. That I was only holding them now because Auriel didn’t make it this far, and because Auriel’s soul vouched for me.

Commander Tirabade gave her condolences to us about Auriel, and asked that I tell her as much as I could about him later, as someone was going to give a eulogy for all who had been lost in the battle against the demons soon and she would make sure given his heroic sacrifice that he was given the send off he deserved.

Then Anevia rejoined the conversation, having been listening in on the sword talk. She called Irabeth over and asked her about the sword she had lied about selling. Anevia proved even with a sweet voice and a smile to be scarier than the much larger and more fearsome looking commander. Commander Tirabade admitted that she had sold her sword in exchange for an anniversary gift for Anevia. A potion that permanently changes one’s gender.

Aaaaand looking back I really hope the talk about pronouns was not uncomfortable, I was legitimately trying to be polite to the sword, despite Radiance never once extending the same courtesy to me.

Anyways.

By the end the Commander determined that it would be a good idea for us to continue taking out the safehouses, but she had another mission for us as well once that was done. Something big. She told us that another of Deskari’s generals was on her way here—the witch Arelu Vorlesh. We had heard rumors of this from drifters on the streets as well. The crusaders had managed to get information that Deskari’s cult had holed up in Old Kenabres, making a stronghold of a temple to the Inheritor known as the Grey Garrison. There was a piece of the wardstone left still intact, and Arelu was coming to corrupt it. If she was successful, the Commander believed Arelu was going to turn the wardstone into a weapon that would decimate the crusaders on the battlefield.

With that in mind, she had a librarian from the Blackwing come forward with a magical rod. I’m not one for the arcane, but Hiskaria sounded extremely in awe and almost equally disturbed by the implications of the rod, a ‘rod of cancellation’. The important part I gathered was that if Hiskaria used the rod on the wardstone, then it would destroy it.

Melody was hesitant, wondering if there was any way to eventually fix the wardstone and restore the barrier to save the city. Commander Tirabade said no. It had been created hundreds of years ago, when times were less turbulent, and with divine intervention. We had neither the means nor the time, and every moment we left the wardstone intact was a moment Arelu could return to attempt to corrupt it to her own purposes. Better that it was destroyed than in enemy hands.

We agreed. The Commander said that she would not order this strike until we had cleared out all of the safehouses, so that they had nowhere to fall back to, and no reinforcements to call upon, or else the strike would be a suicide mission. But once we had finished ridding the city of their other bases of operations, she would have an army march on the main forces of Deskari, drawing their attention, while our small strike force took the Grey Garrison.

With a plan in place, we decided that today we would at least take down one more safehouse before we rested. I was the only one really in need of any rest, and Commander Tirabade offered that the clerics of the crusades were at our disposal before we left so that we would not have to use our own limited supplies. Once my remaining injuries from those blasted vultures were healed, we set out.

We came upon some looters, who had overturned the caravan of a handful of survivors and were picking through it. We discussed, and decided we didn’t particularly want to kill these guys, just spook them. So Luna pulled up her hood and donned her Butcher persona, then went after the looters, threatening that she would add them to her pile of the dead if they didn’t abandon this cart to her. It worked, and they fled for their lives.

Luna removed her hood and we approached the survivors. They were frightened after that display, but glad to have their supplies back. We pointed them in the direction of Defender’s Heart and gave them the passcode, and told them to let them know we’d sent them, as we’d seen a number of refugees being housed safely there.

After that we continued on our way, until we came upon the Tower of Estrod. From the note we’d gotten off Hosilla, there was a passcode, “I’ve new material for the archives”. Since we knew this, and we knew Hosilla’s face, we formed a plan. Melody was able to use the magic of her scale of Trendalor to disguise herself as Hosilla. I was to pretend to be one of the Baphomet worshippers who was a false Iomedaen. And Luna was merely being a more exaggerated version of herself, using her infamy as the Butcher of Balestreet to her advantage. Hiskaria didn’t want to go inside and be stuck in close quarters, so she remained outdoors on lookout, listening for any sign of things going badly. After some discussion, Melody had handed off Auriel’s scale to Hiskaria, and explained how it worked to her. The scales couldn’t be used together, so Melody needed to hand it off regardless, and it seemed right that since Hiskaria was going to be helping us for the foreseeable future, she should be the one to hold it. And as an archer the levitation ability it granted would be of more use to her than to any of us.

With a plan in mind, the three of us walked into the proverbial lion’s den. Two cultists of Baphomet were lounging about on the bottom floor. Believing they recognized Melody as Hosilla, they let us in, and told us to meet with a man on the upper floor by the name of Faxon. We followed Melody’s lead, and went up the stairs. At the top of the tower, we found a tiefling with a scorpion upon his shoulder. He spoke smugly to ‘Hosilla’, and had a very…slimy feel about him. I got the impression that he and Hosilla were not on good terms, perhaps even that Stauton Vhagn pit them against each other and that’s why he was having Hosilla check up on him, just to rub salt in the wound. Unfortunately, Melody didn’t quite know how far to press, and backed down too soon, after making her ‘report’, agreeing to return downstairs with little bite back. When questioned about what I knew, I did the safe thing and pled ignorance, claiming to merely be Hosilla’s guard and not someone in a position to have information. When asked, Luna said she was just there for the kills, nothing more nothing less.

As Melody went to have us return downstairs, Faxon called Luna back to him. I had a bad feeling, but Luna shrugged it off and said to go on without her. Melody decided that maybe we could take out the cultists downstairs quietly while he had whatever discussion he wanted with her. I agreed, although we never got the chance. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, the sound of violence broke out upstairs, and the two downstairs were alerted that something was amiss. Melody and I decided it would be best for us to guard the stairs and make sure these two couldn’t sneak up on Luna from behind first before going upstairs to try to help her finish with Fenox.

I took care of one of the cultists swiftly, with Radiance spurring me on, the both of us eager to put an end to the evils of these worshippers of the Minotaur. The sounds upstairs began to die down, as Melody took a stab at the other from the stairs with Hosilla’s glaive. He tried to flee. Melody wasn’t going to allow that. She leapt from the stairs, and with far less regard for a glaive that isn’t her family’s sentimental one, she used it to pole-vault at the cultist, landing behind him and swinging around to stab at him once again. Still he was up. He almost made it to the door.

Just in time for Hiskaria to open the door and shoot an arrow in his face.

Somehow by some twisted luck he was still going, but Melody caught up with him once again, and maaaay have decided to show off a little to our new companion as she leapt in the air and skewered the man, finally dead.

All was quiet. I was about to be concerned about what might have happened to Luna, but then Hiskaria told me about the absolutely ridiculously amazing one sided one on one ‘fight’ she’d had with Fenox. As if I should have been worried about Luna. Hiskaria had heard the commotion and used the scale to levitate up so she’d she the last half of the fight. The upper floor didn’t have a roof, so she had been intending to shoot an arrow right into the other tiefling’s skull, but it ended up not being necessary.

See, there was a wall bisecting that room, with a door. He’d shut and locked the door to put it between him and Luna when things started looking bad. Luna had shown yet again just how little walls meant to the Butcher of Balestreet when she used the glaive she’d been holding holding for show as a means to pull herself up and over, then came down on Fenox with her axe. The Butcher one, Baphomet zero.

We met with her upstairs, where we found a shrine to Baphomet and a minotaur shaped object on the wall that was causing the room to be desecrated by its mere presence. There was also a treasure chest, so we decided that while the others went through the loot, I was going to take Radiance and have a bit of fun.

It took some time, that minotaur head was damned sturdy. But when it did break, Radiance’s voice echoed through the room. It wasn’t just me that heard it that time, but everyone. Their voice faded after only a moment. The others seemed a little shaken by that. I don’t really blame them. Radiance is…a lot. They’ve gone back to just being in my head now, which is probably for the best. Them quieting down entirely would probably be better, but I’m not lucky enough to have a normal holy sword that doesn’t demand the blood of demons and cultists as we fight. Ah, well. At least we agree on who our enemies are.

The chest had holy symbols and the favored weapons of multiple faiths, pointing towards the cult’s penchant for infiltration. We decided we would return them to the clerics at Defender’s Heart. Looking back I kind of wish I’d asked if they’d be okay with me keeping one. My wooden holy symbol’s seen a lot of use, and isn’t exactly the sturdiest material. Silver to match Leto’s wouldn’t have hurt. Ah, well. Hindsight and all that.

We were feeling really good after how well that went. We’d been planning on calling it a day after the tower, but since we’d used virtually none of our resources we agreed that unless we ran into particularly nasty trouble on the road we should try to clear out Topaz Solutions, report back to the Commander, and prepare to storm the Grey Garrison tomorrow.

Topaz Solutions was quite a bit farther than the tower had been from Defender’s Heart. Which meant more time for attacks from demons or other things lurking about.

First we were attack by two barbed creatures which made a terrible howling noise. Their barbs were painful when we got too close, but we cleared them out quickly enough with little trouble to speak of. No one ended up with any of the barbs stuck in them, which was a blessing. That could have proven difficult.

Then…we came to Balestreet. The demons had left the street as much a gory horror scene as one might have expected of Luna’s namesake. Here, two cultists of Baphomet tried to ambush us. Big mistake. Luna decided she was eager to make true to her nickname, and took her axe to them. They didn’t go down.

Then two arrows went straight through them, ice burst from one’s injuries, and both fell dead on the road. Hiskaria looked a bit sheepish, asking Luna if she shouldn’t have done that, since Balestreet was supposed to be Luna’s thing. Luna shrugged it off, saying it worked either way.

Remind me not to get on the bad side of the ladies in our group, they can cut quite the fearsome characters.

With that we were on our way, the rest of the walk to Topaz Solutions uneventful. The apothecary was being looted by a couple of thugs when we arrived. Luna decided to do her thing and scared them off with a few threats from the Butcher. Then we started looking around. The looters had taken anything of value, but Luna after some poking around found some ‘really nice door technology’, and opened a secret passage that led into a hidden basement. Luna and Melody snuck down first.

After a minute of waiting, Hiskaria and I heard Luna and Melody call us down, saying there was a strange mechanical doll and an image on the wall they couldn’t identify. I went down first. As Melody stepped forward to let me in, the minotaur head on the wall began to speak. It taunted us, saying it hoped we were Iomedaens so that this surprise from Baphomet wouldn’t go to waste. Then the doll began moving, and smashed a bottle, releasing a small plant creature.

There was also some kind of…gas I think? Something was in the chamber after that which was causing us various issues. Melody and I both started finding it hard to breath for instance—not so much that we were suffocating, but enough that we were wheezing and likely would have been unable to easily move stealthily.

Worse was that plant. It was in a thick patch of vines that it could move through with ease but which we struggles in. It screamed in such a way that it caused both Melody and Hiskaria to become nauseous, forcing them to flee upstairs to safety and leaving me and Luna to deal with it by ourselves. And it was small and tricky, dodging around many of our attacks in the most frustrating manner. Luna did finally squash the blasted thing, and I went over to the minotaur head and broke whatever the device was that was releasing gas into the room.

Then we searched the room and found a chest with a mocking note claiming we deserved a reward for besting the trap. Within were a number of stolen holy symbols. Luna stopped us from taking them, noting that they were covered in a contact poison.

I have decided I rather dislike this Igon Topaz, and do hope he survived the attack on the city. If only so that I may someday bring judgement upon him myself.

With all three safehouses cleared out, we’ve returned to Defender’s Heart for the night. We reported back to the Commander, and we spent some time unwinding and preparing for tomorrow. There are some merchants set up so we were able to get some supplies. And, more importantly, we got some drinks.

And even more importantly, Leto’s back.

He showed up while we were making preparations, all smiles and charm as always. He thought I’d died in a pit, I thought he’d been killed by demons, same old same old.

He looked amazing. He’s been doing well for himself. He really was the picture of a paladin in that silver armor riding up on a holy steed. Although I guess to him I must have looked maybe a little impressive with the holy sword Radiance at my side. Ah, if only he could have a conversation with them, he’d quit being impressed real quick.

Leto played up his knight in shining armor role well, flirted with Hiskaria even though she’s twice his age and a convicted murderer, and got on well with Melody. He…did not get on well with Luna. He tried, certainly, at first, but then she threw some misplaced insults about him being Raven Corps which I corrected, and then she brought up how all the reports of her being a murderer are vastly exaggerated by the Raven Corps and…it was just all around awkward, I think.

So then he introduced us to his horse, Charles, instead. He got a kick out of the fact he’d given his holy mount such a mundane name instead of something more heroic like—

Hold up. Charles.

Charlie.

Chalie Horse.

…that blasted tiefling, I’m going to wring his neck next time I see him.

I can’t decide if I’m mad about the pun, mad I didn’t catch it when we were talking about it, or mad that I didn’t think of it first.

Named his holy steed a pun, the nerve of that man...I wonder if anyone else has caught on. Commander of the Silver Legion, Leto Jules, the tiefling so charismatic he managed to sway 50,000 people to his banner…named his holy steed Charlie Horse. Inheritor help me I don’t know what to do with him.

Or how to outdo that.

Which is frustrating.

Oh well. What’re you going to do? Some days you find out your brother is not just still alive but now leading a legion on the back of a horse named Charlie and you just roll with it.

I’m glad he’s okay.

His Silver Legion is going to be joining the fight against the main forces tomorrow while our strike force goes into the Grey Garrison. So that’s more for me to worry about. But Leto’s always been a lucky bastard unlike me. He’ll be fine.

After the fact Melody, Hiskaria, and Luna decided it was really important to whisper amongst themselves and to send me away. So apparently it’s rumor time again. Yay. I’m fairly certain with them it would be nothing bad…but I can’t fathom what they could have possibly been whispering about. I suppose if they think Leto and I are related by blood it could have been about that, if they think I share his demonic bloodline…but Hiskaria is a tiefling as well, I see little reason why they would need to be secretive about it if that were the case. And quite frankly Leto and I don’t look alike. At all. Even if he weren’t golden, we don’t share even close to the same features. So I don’t think we could be mistaken for blood relatives.

I don’t know, and there’s really no use in speculating. It’s growing late, and we have a temple to siege in the morning.

[1962dude420-blog]

Today we remember the passing of Mick Ronson who Died: April 29, 1993, London, England

Michael Ronson (26 May 1946 – 29 April 1993) was an English guitarist, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, arranger, and producer. He achieved critical and commercial success working with David Bowie as one of the Spiders from Mars. He was a session musician who recorded five studio albums with Bowie followed by four with Ian Hunter, and also worked as a sideman in touring bands with Van Morrison and Bob Dylan.

Ronson and Bowie also produced Lou Reed's Transformer with Ronson playing lead guitar and piano and writing string arrangements, and brought mainstream recognition. The album is considered an influential landmark of the glam rock genre, anchored by Reed's most successful single, "Walk on the Wild Side".

Ronson also recorded five solo studio albums, the most popular being Slaughter on 10th Avenue, which reached No. 9 on the UK Albums Chart. He played with various bands after his time with Bowie. A classically trained musician, Ronson was known for his melodic approach to guitar playing. He was named the 64th-greatest guitarist of all time by Rolling Stone in 2003 and 41st in 2012 by the same magazine.

Early in 1970, John Cambridge came back to Hull in search of Ronson, intent upon recruiting him for a new David Bowie backing band called The Hype. He found Ronson marking out a rugby pitch, one of his duties as a Parks Department gardener for Hull City Council. Having failed in his earlier attempts in London, Ronson was reluctant, but eventually agreed to accompany Cambridge to a meeting with Bowie. Two days later, on 5 February, Ronson made his debut with Bowie on John Peel's national BBC Radio 1 show.

The Hype played their first gig at The Roundhouse on 22 February with a line-up that included Bowie, Ronson, Cambridge, and producer/bassist Tony Visconti. The group dressed up in superhero costumes, with Bowie as Rainbowman, Visconti as Hypeman, Ronson as Gangsterman, and Cambridge as Cowboyman. Also on the bill that day were Bachdenkel, The Groundhogs and Caravan. The following day they performed at the Streatham Arms in London under the pseudonym of 'Harry The Butcher'. They also performed on 28 February at the Basildon Arts Lab experimental music club at the Basildon Arts Centre in Essex, billed as 'David Bowie's New Electric Band'. Also on the bill were High Tide, Overson and Iron Butterfly. Strawbs were due to perform but were replaced by Bowie's New Electric Band. John Cambridge left in March, again replaced by Woody Woodmansey. In April 1970, Ronson, Woodmansey, and Visconti started recording Bowie's The Man Who Sold the World album.

During the sessions for The Man Who Sold the World, the trio of Ronson, Visconti, and Woodmansey – still under The Hype moniker – signed to Vertigo Records. The group recruited Benny Marshall from The Rats as vocalist, and entered the studio to record an album. By the time a single appeared, The Hype had been renamed Ronno. "4th Hour of My Sleep" was released on Vertigo to an indifferent reception in January 1971. The song was written by Tucker Zimmerman. The B-side was a Ronson/Marshall composition called "Powers of Darkness". The Ronno album was never completed.

Bowie's backing ensemble, which now included Trevor Bolder, who had replaced Visconti on bass guitar, and keyboardist Rick Wakeman, were used in the recording of Hunky Dory. The departure of Visconti also meant that Ronson, with Bowie, took over the arrangements, while Ken Scott co-produced with Bowie. Hunky Dory featured Ronson's string arrangements on several tracks, including "Life On Mars?".

It was this band, minus Wakeman, that became known as The Spiders from Mars from the title of the next Bowie album. Again, Ronson was a key part of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, providing string arrangements and various instrumentation, as well as playing lead guitar. Ronson and Bowie achieved some popularity over the concerts promoting this album, when Bowie would simulate fellatio on Ronson's guitar as he played. Ronson's guitar and arranging during the Spiders from Mars era provided much of the underpinning for later punk rock musicians. In 1972 Ronson provided a strings-and-brass arrangement for the song "Sea Diver" on the Bowie-produced All the Young Dudes album for Mott the Hoople. Ronson co-produced Lou Reed's album Transformer with Bowie, playing lead guitar and piano on the songs "Perfect Day" and "Satellite of Love". Again with Bowie, he re-recorded and produced the track "The Man Who Sold the World" for Lulu, released as a single in the UK, and played on a few tracks on the Dana Gillespie album Weren't Born a Man. Ronson appeared on the 1972 country rock album Bustin' Out by Pure Prairie League, where he undertook string ensemble arrangements. Ronson recorded "Angel #9" for his second solo LP Play Don't Worry), and string arrangements on "Boulder Skies" and "Call Me, Tell Me" .

His guitar work was next heard on Bowie's Aladdin Sane and 1973 covers album Pin Ups. However, he was absent from the subsequent Diamond Dogs album. In September 1983 he was a special guest at the Toronto leg of the Serious Moonlight Tour, playing lead guitar during the performance of "The Jean Genie". He had only been asked to play the day before.

Bowie said in a 1994 interview that "Mick was the perfect foil for the Ziggy character. He was very much a salt-of-the-earth type, the blunt northerner with a defiantly masculine personality, so that what you got was the old-fashioned Yin and Yang thing. As a rock duo, I thought we were every bit as good as Mick and Keith or Axl and Slash. Ziggy and Mick were the personification of that rock n roll dualism.

After leaving Bowie's entourage after the "Farewell Concert" in 1973, Ronson released three solo albums. His solo debut Slaughter on 10th Avenue, featured a version of Elvis Presley's "Love Me Tender", as well as Ronson's most famous solo track, "Only After Dark". In addition, his sister, Margaret (Maggi) Ronson, provided the backing vocals for the set. Between this and the 1975 follow-up, Ronson had a short-lived stint with Mott the Hoople.

He then became a long-time collaborator with Mott's former leader Ian Hunter, commencing with the album Ian Hunter and featuring the UK Singles Chart No. 14 hit "Once Bitten, Twice Shy", including a spell touring as the Hunter Ronson Band. In 1980, the live album Welcome to the Club was released, including a couple of Ronson contributions, although it also contained a few studio-based tracks – one of which was a Hunter/Ronson composition. In 1974, Ronson secured the No. 2 spot from a reader's poll in Creem magazine as the best guitarist that year (with Jimmy Page taking first place), and Eric Clapton in third place after Ronson.

Ronson contributed guitar to the title track of the 1976 David Cassidy release Getting It in the Street. On 11 February 1977 the single "Billy Porter" (b/w "Seven Days") was released on RCA Victor Records, but did not chart. Roger Daltrey employed Ronson's guitar on his 1977 solo release One of the Boys. In 1979, Ronson and Hunter produced and played on the Ellen Foley debut album, Night Out, with "We Belong to the Night" and the hit single "What's a Matter Baby".

He also played guitar on Roger C Reale’s “Reptiles in Motion” album recorded in 1979 and only released in 2019 after the master tapes were acquired from the family of the original rights owners. The label Big Sound, based in Connecticut, had gone bust and the album remained unreleased for forty years.

In 1982, Ronson worked with John Mellencamp on his American Fool album, and in particular the song "Jack & Diane". Both "Jack & Diane" and American Fool topped their respective US Billboard charts.

In 1990, Ronson again collaborated with Hunter on the album YUI Orta, this time getting joint credit, as "Hunter/Ronson". One of the backing singers on the album was Carola Westerlund. While in Sweden Ronson wrote and produced three new songs with Estelle Millburne and Westerlund as EC2: "I'm So Sorry"/"Kiss Me" (1990), then a second single as ECII: "Passion" with a B-side cover of J. Kilette and K. Brown's "I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles".

In 1993, he again appeared on a Bowie album, Black Tie White Noise, playing on the track "I Feel Free", originally recorded by Cream. Ronson and Bowie had already covered this track live 20 years earlier, whilst touring as Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. He also played lead guitar on the Morrissey-penned "I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday".

His second and third solo albums were Play Don't Worry in 1975, and Heaven and Hull in 1994. The latter set was only partly completed at the time of Ronson's death, and was released posthumously. Artists involved with the album included Bowie, John Mellencamp, Joe Elliott, Ian Hunter, Chrissie Hynde, and Martin Chambers.

Besides Bowie and Hunter, Ronson went on to work as a musician, songwriter and record producer with many other acts. He did not restrict his influence behind the recording desk to just established acts. His production work appears on albums by more obscure artists, such as Payolas, Phil Rambow and Los Illegals, The Mundanes and Italian band Moda. Ronson produced The Visible Targets, a Seattle, Washington-based group, on their 1983 five track EP, "Autistic Savant". In 1985 he produced and played on the four song EP "Stillwell Avenue" with the NYC based band XDAVIS.

Ronson was also a member of Bob Dylan's "Rolling Thunder Revue" live band, and can be seen both on and off-stage in the film of the tour. He made a connection with Roger McGuinn during this time, which led to his producing and contributing guitar and arrangements to McGuinn's 1976 solo album Cardiff Rose.

In 1982, he participated on lead guitar in a short-lived band with Hilly Michaels on drums and Les Fradkin on bass guitar. One of their recordings from this group, "Spare Change", appeared on the Fradkin's 2006 album, Goin' Back. In 1987, Ronson made an appearance on a record by The Toll. Ronson played lead on the band's song, "Stand in Winter", from the album The Price of Progression.

In 1991, Ronson produced the Swedish cult band The Leather Nun's album, Nun Permanent, adding backing vocals and guitar overdubs on several tracks. At the end of the production, during a short visit to his sister in London, Ronson was diagnosed with cancer. In 1992 he produced Morrissey's album, Your Arsenal. The same year, Ronson's final high-profile live performance was his appearance at The Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert. He played on "All the Young Dudes" with Bowie and Hunter; and "Heroes" with Bowie. Ronson's final recorded session was as a guest on the 1993 Wildhearts album Earth vs the Wildhearts, where he played the guitar solo on the song "My Baby is a Headfuck". Liner notes for the Earth vs The Wildhearts album give credit to Mick Ronson for guitar on the track "My Baby Is A Headfuck" and the "album is dedicated to Mick Ronson".

Ronson died of liver cancer on April 29, 1993 at age 46.

[therealeagal]

The Boys

“I just had the most original idea ever! What if we take Superman, okay, and we make him, wait for it...we make him EVIL! SO REELISTIK!!!one!!1!!!1!!EXCLAMATION POINT!!!1″ - Some jackass.

“MIND =  BLOWN!” = everyone but me.

You know, in spite on my hatred for the “superheroes but evil” stand-by, there’s something charming about The Boys. There’s just something about it. It’s got a certain je ne sais quoi. Look at me speaking French. I’m all classy and shit.

I’m a nice person, so even though I don’t believe in spoilers, here’s your spoiler warning, you so-and-sos. Don’t say I never did anything for you.

So as things start out Hughie Campbell's girlfriend is accidentally killed by a superhero and stuff happens and he gets attacked by a different superhero, this fool called Translucent and then this English guy named Billy Butcher shows up and saves him.

Some more stuff happens and Billy forms a team of do-badders to take down the Seven (resident Justice League knock-off) and their parent company Vought.

Also, they’re not called The Boys. They’re not called anything. I’m just going to call them the Do-Badders.

Contemporaneously with this, aspiring defender of truth and justice and so on and so forth, Starlight, AKA Annie January, has just hit the big-time and got into the Seven. Resident Aquaman wannabe The Deep convinces her that in order to get on the team she has to give him a beej. Turns out the Seven are all assholes. And most of them are evil to boot.

Homelander. Resident Superman knockoff. Raped Billy’s wife and has a tendency to destroy planes. Black Noir is Vought’s private assassin. A-Train murders his girlfriend. Translucent spies on chicks in the toilet and is completely nude half the time cause he can turn invisible but his clothes can’t. Queen Maeve is the only one who isn’t capital E evil, but she knows most of this stuff and don’t do shit about it.

This all feeds into showrunner’s belief that soldiers are superior to superheroes because they have someone to answer to.

Lesson of the day: Gunning down a group of innocent people and then claiming you were just following orders is morally better than fighting crime because the cops are incompetent and/or corrupt.

If that’s not a topical joke I don’t know what is.

Shoutouts to 2020, always lowering the bar.

But I digress.

So anyway, middle middle middle middle the Do-Badders become international criminals, end of season.

Season 2:

Stuff happens and a Nazi gets laser-eyed. The best thing to happen on the show thus far. Stormfront is a really cool name. Why are all the good names taken by shitty people? Where’s the justice?

More middle and the Do-Badders get pardoned for their crimes and the government makes them official. End of season. More or less.

It’s kind of a dumb show, with interesting bits here and there, but on the whole I find it quite entertaining. Gold star.