#but it keeps a certain someone from having to stab herself

[vanfleeter]

My Love: Chapter 3

Characters: Jake Kiszka x Sara Warnings: 18+ || Language. Gore. Mentions of blood. Dead body. Stabbing. Angst. Threats. Betrayal. Smut. Allusions to sex. (let me know if I missed anything so I can add it.) A/N: Posting this early because I have a family reunion tomorrow and won't have time to do all the tags ;) ENJOY!

The morning soon comes and the dread of leaving her fills my body. Her own is draped over mine, her legs entangled with mine and her arm draped over my chest. Her chest expands with each breath she inhales. I absentmindedly trace the curve of her bare shoulder. Leaving her for who knows how long is going to be absolutely horrible. I’ve never gone more than two days without seeing her, and even then it was never a good feeling.

I would miss her entirely too much. And who would protect her while I’m away? Surely not my own brothers. Not when they have their own responsibilities.

Looking down at Sara once more, I gently kiss her forehead. She stirs slightly but moves to rest her head on my shoulder before her body relaxes again. Carefully I slide out from beneath, careful not to wake her. After redressing, I leave her a note on the pillow, informing her of my departure but that I will be home as soon as I can, and then I am leaving.

Chris had sent a car to pick me up, almost as if he’s assuming that I cannot drive myself to the airport. Though seeing his presence inside when the door is pulled open is quite the surprise. He gives me a smile and holds out a glass of whiskey.

“Surprised?” He says as I slide inside the car.

“I thought I would be meeting you in Boston?” I say as I swirl the amber liquid in the glass.

“I figured we could ride there together.. Discuss the murders of this newborn.”

I hum in acknowledgement and take a drink of the whiskey. “Soo.. Any updates on this newborn? Any witnesses?”

“Well,” He takes a drink from his own before continuing. “Any witnesses would no doubt have been murdered..” He shifts in the seat. “I had the body of the latest victim brought to somewhere private.”

“How did you get it from the coroner?”

Chris smirks. “The same way I always do..”

I roll my eyes and finish off my drink. “One of these days, your little trick won’t work.”

Chris shrugs his shoulders. “We’ll see about that.”

The rest of the ride was quiet, save for the soft blues music playing over the speakers. My mind drifted off to Sara. A couple hours into the trip, I received a text from her. A solemn one, wishing she could have seen me to say goodbye before I had left. I do agree that I wish I would have woken her up but I had kept her awake late the night before, tangled in the sheets of the guest bed. She needs her rest, unlike myself, for she is still a human. God, how am I to survive this trip for who-knows-how-long before I can get my hands back on her body?

I left strict instructions for Josh to keep his eye on Sara while I’m away. Though I know she is capable of handling herself, I still want some form of protection around her with this supposed newborn on the loose.

Why must I be roped in to solve this problem? Sometimes I curse myself for possessing so much knowledge on how they operate. There have been no dealings with newborns since.. Well, since myself and my brothers. And that was nearly five hundred years ago. So how did this newborn come about? Especially here? We know of all of the vampires within North America, all of whom are in their respective areas and living as normal as possible. None of which have been careless to kill another soul, nor turn someone.

Chris shoves my knee and nods his head towards the door. Looking over I find the driver holding the door open. Sliding out from the car, I step out onto the pavement and adjust the ring on my right ring finger. Chris leads me into the nearest alleyway and to a solid wood door. He knocks a few times in a certain pattern and soon the door is being opened. I follow him inside and the door is shut tightly behind us. Candles flicker to life along the walls, illuminating a long hallway and there he leads me down to a separate room guarded by two taller men. Men that I’ve never seen before.

They let us through the guarded doorway and we enter into what I presume is the makeshift autopsy room. The body of the latest victim is laid out on a table, a female, a sheet covering most of her body except for her neck. For obvious reasons.

“This is–” Chris starts before I stop.

“I do not wish to know,” I say, holding up my hand to silence him.

He nods his head and steps around the table. “I have forgotten that you do not like knowing who they are.. Too personal.”

It is too personal. Even though it is not my doing, I do not want to know who they are, for the guilt would be too much. Looking down at the woman again, all I can see is Sara. The guilt of leaving her alone fills me more than the secondhand guilt of this woman’s untimely death.

“The gashes on her neck indicate to me that this newborn has no self control.” I say as I bend down closer to examine the woman’s neck better. “He ripped out her jugular vein when he was done feeding.”

“You suspect it to be a male?”

“I’ve learned newborn males have less control than the females do. They feel less guilt, even less so if they have learned how to turn off their emotions. The females, before they learn of the switch, are more likely to be guilt ridden just from feeding on a human. Newborns also have yet to learn how to compel someone to relax and to not be scared.”

“Is that what you did with Sara?” Chris says, making my head snap upwards to glare at him. “What? No human in their right mind would fall in love with a vampire.. They only say they would because we are romanticized in movies and tv shows.”

“She fell in love before I had told her what I was.”

“What, not a who.” Chris hums as he circles the table again. “Interesting.”

I straighten back up and clear my throat. “I’m going to talk to the locals, see if they know of any newborns running around here.”

Turning away from the body, I leave the room and make my way back down the hall and out to the alley. My phone rings in my pocket and I pull it out to see Sara calling. Timing could not have been better.

“Hello love,” I say when I answer the call. “I was just thinking about you. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to call.. I miss you already.”

I smile and turn on my heels to go back out to the street. “I miss you too.. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer for you to say goodbye this morning.. I fear that I wouldn’t have left if I did let you say goodbye.”

“And what makes you say that?”

I chuckle. “You may be human, but you have this way of making me do things against my will.”

“Oh really? I was not aware that I could.”

“Mmhmm..”

She giggles, the sweet melody filling my ears. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“Honestly? I’m not sure.. I’m on my way to talk with some of the local vampires around here to see if they know of any newborns.”

“Ah well, I will let you go-”

“Wait!” I exclaim. “I want you to do something for me.”

“And what would that be?”

“Every night before we go to bed and every morning, I want you to call me.”

“Okay?”

“I.. I just want to know that you are safe.”

“Are you afraid this newborn might make his way inwards?”

“I don’t know.. But just please call me.”

“Okay, I will.” She says.

Chris steps up beside me and I glance over to him before going back to the phone call. “I have to go, I’ll talk to you tonight.” I say before hanging up.

“No ‘I love you’?” He questions as he sticks a cigarette in his mouth and lights one. He offers me the pack but I decline.

“I should get going. The sooner we find this newborn, the sooner I can get home.”

“Missing your human already?” He teases.

I roll my eyes and turn to face him. “I get it, alright? You don’t approve of our relationship, but last time I checked, it’s none of your concern. I do not care what you have to think about it.”

Chris’s demeanor changes and he pins me to the nearest brick wall with his hand gripping my throat tightly. “And the last time that I checked, I am the one who turned you and your brothers. So I would be careful how you speak to me.. I turned you, and I can easily get rid of you.” I claw at his hand, trying to free myself from his grasp. “I’m not just here to catch this newborn, Jacob.. Onyx sent me here to take care of that human.. I do not want to hurt her, because I know how much you love her, and it would pain me to see you go through the pain of losing someone again.. So, do not cross me again and we won’t have problems. Am I understood?” I nod my head and he drops me to the ground. “Good.. Now go talk to the locals and try to find out any information.”

Standing back to my feet, I straighten out my clothes. I wait until he gets into the car and it drives off before I start going down the street. There’s a clan of vampires that don’t live too far from here. They own a small boutique that’s open at all hours. They had to have seen something.

The bells chime above me as I push the door open. The air conditioner is blasted on high, already chilling me to bone. As if I wasn’t already cold to begin with.

“Jacob Kiszka..” I hear a male call as he steps out from behind the counter. “I have not seen you in a very long time.”

“Hey Anthony,” I say as we hug. “It’s been what–sixty years?”

Anthony chuckles. “Try eighty four. I’m wasting away like Rose from the Titanic.”

I playfully roll my eyes as we pull away. “At least you survived the Titanic.”

“So did she!”

“She’s fictional!” I laugh.

“Alright, alright.. What brings you up here anyways?”

“There’s a newborn on the loose.. Leaving bodies along the coast.”

Anthony hums and turns around to go back to the counter. “A newborn you say?”

“I guess so..”

“You guess so?” Anthony says. “You aren’t sure?”

I shrug my shoulders and lean on the counter. “This last victim is consistent with the patterns of a newborn..”

“You would know,” Anthony smirks. “Though I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“But…” I lean on my chin. “I feel like there’s something off about this.. Yes, newborns can be erratic and uncontrollable, but this seems messy.”

“Well they are newborns. They crave blood and that’s all they want, they don’t care about being clean.”

“I know, I know, but still.. This doesn’t feel like a newborn.”

“I can tell you that I haven’t seen a newborn running around here. Their scent is very distinguished for the first year. If there was a new one, we would’ve known already.”

“That’s it!” I say as I push off the counter. “Anthony, you’re a genius.”

“Well I did study at Oxford so..”

“I gotta go.”

“Don’t fucking disappear for another eighty-four years, got it?”

I chuckle and shove open the door. “I got it.” I say before stepping out of the boutique and back out to the street. Going back down the street and slipping down the alleyway, I knock on the door in the same pattern that Chris had done moments ago. The door is pulled open and I am allowed inside. Making my way down the same hallway, the candles lighting up as I go. Finding the room again, the guards stare at me before allowing me to pass. If I had just a few more inches added to my height, I wouldn’t feel so intimidated by them.

Closing the door behind me, I walk over to the table and pull the white sheet away from the woman’s face. Leaning in close to her neck, I take a long sniff. Her scent mixed with the dried blood has me clenching my jaw. A secondary scent lingers lightly.

Not a newborn.

It’s a familiar scent.

Taking another whiff, the realization dawns on me. My blood stills and a chill runs down my spine. This is definitely not a newborn. Rather someone experienced. Someone who knows exactly what they are doing but chooses to be reckless.

“I always knew you were the smart one..” Turning around, I am faced with Chris. A knowing look on his face.

“It was you..” I say as the pieces finally fit together in my mind. “You have been the one terrorizing the coast..”

“Twas I..” He sighs. “I’m surprised it took you this quick to figure it out.”

“Why are you doing this?” I say as I walk around the table, putting distance between us. “Why bring me into this? Were you trying to get caught on purpose?”

Chris chuckles. “It was indeed a ploy to get you involved and away from home..” The wicked gleam shines in his eyes. “Remember what I told you earlier.. I was sent here to take care of Sara.. I needed you to be distracted. Though I really was hoping that you would have taken slightly longer to figure it all out.”

“Chris, you said it yourself you didn’t want to see me go through this pain again. Why are you doing this?”

“Because Jacob, you have broken the rule.. You didn’t think you could hide this from the Onyx, did you? They know all and they see all.”

“No, you can’t let them do that!”

I start to lunge at him but he only grips my neck again. I feel something pierce through my chest and I look down to see the silver dagger that Josh threatened me with just last night. I look back up at Chris, betrayal evident in my eyes.

“How could you?”

“I’m sorry,” Were the last words to leave his mouth before I fell into darkness.

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[olsenmyolsen]

Bullseye

master list

dark master list

Post Hawkeye (Deaf Female Reader X Kate Bishop)

Summary: Your cute new friend Kate learns ASL for you.

Word Count: 4.4K

Content None I think... just cuteness.

Two weeks ago, Kate Bishop saw you across the library.

She had just finished classes and was rushing to pick up a book she needed for an essay she HAD NOT started when she saw you.

She hadn't seen you around before, and Kate was instantly mesmerized by how your cute face scrunched as you kept your head low to read. Kate couldn't take her eyes away, and she got to see your smile when you enjoyed a particular moment of your book.

Kate loved seeing your smile and how your eyes lit up.

Kate looked at her phone and truly needed to find the book and leave now or never. But on that day, Kate Bishop was feeling bold. Blame on the need for a certain thrill since Clint took her off Hawkeye duties to focus on school, but Kate started walking towards you.

You, however, never saw or heard her coming. Not when she tripped over her own feet. And not even when she stumbled sitting down next to you.

You had no idea Kate Bishop existed.

Maybe you would have if you had your aids in, but they made you feel embarrassed and inadequate, something you've struggled with for years. Something a certain someone would help you with in time. But, for now, you choose to go without them 99% of the time.

So when Kate started with a simple greeting, that turned into an overcomplicated rambling where she gave you numerous unwanted compliments.

You didn't hear it.

In fact, you didn't even look over to the now slummed-over pretty girl with the blue-grey eyes until she slammed her head on the table in defeat.

The vibrations of the repeated knock of the head against wood alerting you.

You put a bookmark in your book before closing it to look around, hoping maybe someone lost their friend because you had no idea why she was sitting at your table.

But at last, no one had lost the captain of the archery team. So you waited for her to look up, hoping to get an answer, and when she did, you're lucky your mouth didn't drop open.

She was gorgeous. Stunning actually. You had no idea why she was sitting here, but now you didn't want her to leave. You were about to lift your hand when you saw her eyes open in shock before her pink lips started speaking a hundred miles per minute.

Too fast for you to keep up.

You tried to get her to stop, but before you knew it, the last thing you saw was her black ponytail bouncing away.

You didn't know what to make of the last two minutes, but there wasn't much you could do. So, with a frown and shrug of the shoulder, you returned to your book. Wishing you got a chance to say anything.

Exiting the library, Kate Bishop was red in the face. You had just sat there ignoring her as she tripped over all of her words and called you beautiful and babe within two sentences. She didn't know what was wrong with her. She wanted to stab herself with an arrow. Badly!

Kate shook her head because that wasn't even the worst part.

The worst part was when you finally looked at her. You acknowledged her. Kate was already embarrassed enough. So she apologized and claimed that she would never bother you again.

But yet here she was two weeks later. Spotting you from across the library just like before.

"Go!" Kate felt a nudge on her arm from her friend Laura Kinney—a fast friend of Kate after transferring from Canada a year prior.

Kate looked back at her friend. "Stop that! I'm not going." Laura rolled eyes. "You talked about this one chick not stop-"

"No! I talked about how I embarrassed myself once! You're the one who keeps bringing it up!"

Laura shook her head and nudged her friend again. "Go! She's cute, and if you don't go, I will." Kate turned her head to her friend, surprised, but saw that maybe her friend wasn't kidding. "Ugh." Kate turned back to look at you. "Fine! Okay! I'll try again!"

"Good luck!" Laura called out, knowing Kate would need it. Kate sent a thumbs up and did her best to calm her nerves. "Just apologize and don't ramble," Kate whispered to herself as she reached your table.

However, before Kate could do anything, you closed your book and turned away from Kate to put it in your bag—the action meant nothing to you. But to Kate, it would appear you didn't want anything to do with her.

That thought was further cemented when you got up without looking at her and started walking away.

Without realizing it, Kate began to walk after you.

Her walk turned into a quick jog when her brain finally caught up to what was happening. She was right behind you when she said: "Excuse me! Hi!"

Yet you kept walking.

Okay, the library is busy, and maybe Kate could've spoken up a bit louder, so she tried again, HOPING that you weren't actively trying to get away from her.

"Hi! Sorry to bother you, but I..." She trailed off when you kept moving forward, keeping your head staring straight ahead at the library's exit doors. Kate was growing embarrassed and did the one thing she could think of.

She ran ahead and turned around, stopping you in your tracks.

"Hi!" Kate breathed out with a wave, coming face to face with you for the first time. You looked up from her lips, surprised at who was standing in front of you.

It was her!

Hi. You waved back with a questioning look to Kate's beautiful eyes before looking down to her lips—something Kate noticed.

"Sorry to bother you, but I don't know if you remember me but..." That was all you caught reading her lips before Kate started speaking quicker and quicker than you could process.

In your defense, even Clint Barton, an Avenger, said Kate had more speed talking than Captain America did running.

You held your hand up, shutting Kate up. She looked at you with curious eyes and waited to hear your voice, but instead, you started signing.

I do remember you.

Kate immediately felt embarrassed. She knew very little to almost nothing of what you were saying.

She promised Clint she would start learning when he began teaching, but for someone who helped save the world, he could still be stubborn. But now The Archer regretted not learning ASL.

Kate awkwardly smiled, making you smile back, in turn, causing Kate's face to flush red. You caught it. While looking at one another, you both thought the other person was beyond cute.

"I'm sorry," Kate spoke slower than she usually would. You tilted your head as she continued. "I don't know ASL."

You made a flat smile and nodded. Most people didn't. So it wasn't surprising that the first new cute girl to talk to you in some time didn't know it either. It just meant it would be harder to forget her when she inevitably didn't want to make the effort.

But you had never met Kate Bishop till before this moment. You didn't know that she was just as stubborn as her mentor but a thousand times more annoying when she needed to be. She wasn't going to give up.

She was going to learn for you.

She was going to speak to you.

Kate watched you nod and go to walk away, but she stepped in front of you again. "Wait!" She held her hands up and quickly pulled out her phone, handing it to you. You took it as it sat on the New Contact screen and looked up with furrowed brows. "Please?" Kate asked, making you nod and blush.

Kate watched your fingers fly over the keyboard before you handed it back. You watched Kate smile and try not to laugh at your contact name: Y/N 👂❌

You bite back your own laughter. Having been used to not everyone being comfortable with something you lost at a young age.

Kate looked up to see your smile and finally broke laughing. Her pearly whites were on display until she closed her mouth and started typing in her phone.

A few seconds later, yours buzzed in your pocket. Pulling it out, you looked up and smiled. The text read: "Hi Y/N. I'm Kate Bishop 🏹!" You nodded and made that her contact name.

"So Kate Bishop... what can I do you for?"

You typed and immediately regretted sending because you sounded like someone who was a boring attorney. But Kate found it kind of charming.

You looked down from her as the three dots popped up and down, but nothing happened. You looked back up at Kate, who was nervously biting her lip.

"You ok?" You typed to Kate, who stopped biting her lip, avoided your eye contact, and replied: "Yes. Sorry!" But Kate wanted to say more. She wanted to say: "I was going to ask for your number earlier, but we kinda blew through that quicker than I imagined. So now I don't know what to do?! Do I ask you out now? Is that allowed? Would you say yes?! You don't even know me!?"

But Kate didn't say that. Instead, she wrote: "I tried talking to you a couple of weeks ago because you seemed like a really cool person. Which you are! Ugh sorry. This is so embarrassing as I type this, but I wanted to know if you wanted to be friends? 😅"

Kate added the emoji, hoping to relieve any awkwardness. And it did. But Kate asking you to be friends wasn't where you thought this was going.

Truth be told, it wasn't.

But Katherine Elizabeth "Kate" Bishop wasn't going to ask you out over text. She was going to ask you face-to-face, and she didn't want you to read her lips to make it happen.

Yet you didn't know that. All you knew was that a cute, friendly girl was choosing to seek you out and wanted to get to know you. So you smiled and nodded to Kate, whose eyes lit up. "Great!" She audibly yelled, earning a fury of looks from people around.

But a smile from you.

"Sorry." You read Kates lips as she looked around at people shaking their heads and looking away.

Kate looked down at her buzzing phone to see a message from you. "Maybe we should leave the library. Are you busy rn?" Kate froze as she looked at the words on her screen. She was supposed to be courting you. Asking you out in time. Were you flirting? No. This is just what friends do. Hang out! The two of you were now friends! Right?

Kate's turmoil-struck brain could only process so much so fast before she decided to actually look at the time and realize, yes, she was supposed to be somewhere right now. Kate sent you a frown. "I actually should be on my way to archery practice."

That made a lightbulb go off above you. That's why she wanted her name like that in your phone. You thought Kate was being cute and was saying she was Cupid or was sent by Cupid or something. However, her being on the archery team made a lot more sense. You felt silly for thinking it was the former. But you pressed on.

"I have a free period right now. Can I come?"

Kate looked up from her phone and nodded with glee. "I'd love that!" Kate yelled once again, earning glares from everyone else in the room, but the two of you paid them no mind as Kate started leading the way.

On the walk, Kate and you enjoyed one another's company while also learning about the other one. It was new and slightly awkward but adorable to any outsider looking in. Like when you asked Kate if she took up archery because of the Hunger Games, she laughed and said no. She did it because she was saved by Hawkeye during the Battle of New York.

The very same battle you lost your hearing.

But Kate didn't know. She would in time.

Not right now.

The conversation about Hawkeye led to the two of you talking about your favorite Avengers. Kate's being obvious, and yours surprising her.

You said Natasha Romanoff—the Black Widow.

When asked why, you just sadly shrugged before replying through text: "The Avengers were all great. Most of them were role models. But none of them looked as good as she did in her uniform." You laughed to hide the tears in your eyes.

But Kate saw, leading you to type: "Plus, I bet she gave the best hugs." Kate smiled at that and could agree. Her and Wanda Maximoff probably gave the best hugs.

Where was Wanda, by the way??

Kate's phone buzzed, bringing her back. "Sorry... I could give actual reasons, but I don't want to cry right now." You smiled and swallowed the lump in your throat when Kate looked over at you.

Because Kate could relate, she had only gotten to hear Clint share less than a handful of stories about The Black Widow, and each time, they ended with the man in tears.

"I have a friend who's the same. It's okay." Kate sent back to you, making you feel better before you asked her if she had read Scott Lang's book, to which she said not yet.

Meanwhile, it was in your backpack.

Three weeks from now, she would borrow it and read the chapter dedicated to Natasha and cry.

As you and Kate walked up to the field holding practice, you had Kate lead you to a spot where you could safely watch from. Unbeknownst to you, the other girls around you were friends or girlfriends of the ladies on the team. So when people saw you walk up with THE Katherine Bishop, everyone started talking in hushed whispers.

But not that you knew.

However, you couldn't lie. Watching Kate's arms and fingers hold and mess around with something that's basically string and wood never looked so hot. On top of that, the shy, awkward, almost annoyingly cute girl you had become quick friends with didn't exist anymore. When the arrow flew from her fingers, she was confident, cocky, and dominant.

Also, she was easily the best of the team. Hot.

The warmth rising in you hit a tipping point when she pointed at you and then to the bullseye on the target before mouthing, "watch this." You expected Kate to turn and look to where she was shooting, but she didn't. She looked straight at you and let the arrow go. Your eyes went from Kate to the target.

Bullseye.

The girls around you erupted into a mixture of cheers, shock, and jealousy. They all turned to you, confusing you before you saw a couple of them smile and point back to Kate as if they were praising the two of you.

You're fairly certain you saw the word "girlfriend" being thrown around, but you just shook your head and waited for Kate to come to your rescue.

_

Over the next couple of months, as the season of spring was winding down to make way for the heat of summer, you and Kate had only grown closer. Your friendship had turned the two of you into being the best of friends.

Often being mistaken for girlfriends.

A mistake that always left you and Kate blushing but never saying how awful it would be if that was the case.

It was like there was a silent understanding. Kate knew what she was waiting for, and you were too nice and kind to even think about jeopardizing what you two had.

It was expected that if one of you was around, the other one had to be within ten feet. And this was true—most times. But there had been times in the past where if you woke up in the middle of the night after passing out while reading, you'd discover Kate gone. Her bag and clothes would still be there, but she was just gone. Well, herself and... her archery equipment.

That part confused you.

You wanted to bring it up to her. Because for one reason, whatever she was doing was making her exhausted. You could see it on her face better than anyone. She was tired mentally and physically. You didn't like seeing her like that.

The other reason is that it hurt you to see someone you cared about lying to you. You hated it and didn't want to hate the girl who started holding your hand on your walks across campus. The one who never missed a bullseye for you. The same girl who decided to read The Hunger Games instead of just watching the movies for you.

So when you couldn't bear yourself to bring it up to her, you decided to wait up and catch her.

Kate had no idea you had started to catch onto her. But it's not like Kate enjoyed sneaking around. Well, she did, but that was when she was chasing bad guys and doing some recon. But she hated it when it came to you. Sneaking around behind your back felt wrong, no matter the cause.

So, as Kate quietly picked up her bow and quiver, she looked over at your sleeping form and made a motion with her hands.

You didn't see it as you faked sleeping. But if you did, you would've understood why Kate was being sneaky.

Kate turned away from you and took a few steps towards her window. Kate opened it and reached back behind her when suddenly you flicked on the light in the bedroom of her dorm as she looked ready to jump out of her window. A labeled arrow prepared to fire.

Kate slowly lowered the bow and turned her head to you. You stood wearing her high school archery t-shirt and a pair of black shorts.

Kate couldn't help but smile. She loved seeing you in her clothes.

And you loved seeing her in yours, but right now, that was the last thing on your mind as Kate sheepishly said: "It's not what it looks like."

You threw your arms up at that and ran up to her, smacking your head as if to say, "what the hell are you doing?"

Kate sighed and knew that now was the time to say one thing or the other. Or maybe both?? Kate weighed her options before gently placing her bow on the bed you two had come to share. As friends of course.

You watched Kate let go of the bow before her hands found their way to yours. Taking them from your hips.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner." She started as you watched her pink lips speak. Tilting your head at the words she spilled before she softly let go of your hands to unzip her purple hoodie.

You gasped and covered your mouth when you saw what she was hiding. You looked from her guilty eyes back to her purple suit. Kate watched you step forward and raise a hand to her hip. The touch making her stomach flip while two of your fingers danced along the edge before gliding up the lining of the suit before they floated away.

Kate missing your contact already.

You couldn't believe what you were seeing. But yet, it made sense.

You'd been to enough practices to know the only match for Kate with a bow and arrow would be an Avenger. You looked to Kate's downward face and put your finger on the underside of her chin. Lifting it up. Her eyes meeting yours. You weren't mad. Well, you were, but if anything, now you were just shocked.

Are you Hawkeye? You signed without realizing it.

Yes. Kate signed ba— KATE SIGNED!

You took a step back in awe. Did that happen? You swallowed and stared at the girl, holding back a smile dressed in a purple superhero suit. Slowly, you raised your hands and, with a deep breath, signed: You can understand me?

Yes.Kate signed the exact same way as before, surprising you once again.

She was communicating with you in ASL. Your best friend- someone you cared for- No someone who you loved was signing!

Tears were threatening to spill as you ran into Kate and wrapped your arms around her. Your head burying its way into her neck. Kate wrapping her arms around you, holding you tight.

As Kate held you, she heard your sniffles and felt a few tears spill from your eyes. Kate bit her lip to keep her eyes from spilling.

It was then she decided she would keep the night of surprises going. So, after some time, she patted her hand against your back and removed her hold from you as you moved back to look at her. Your eyes were a little red, but Kate could see what was holding in them.

Kate smiled and started moving her hands. Since I met you, I've been learning ASL.

Your mouth dropped. With who? You could've asked me!?

You would've loved to teach Kate. But it had to be done this way.

Kate didn't answer you. Instead, she pulled out her phone and went to a secret photo album you had never seen before. Inside were pictures of her with Lucky, a family, some friends, and lastly... Clint Barton.

You looked up from the phone to Kate and back to the phone—Full-on, yanking it from her hands. You zoomed in on his face and then Kates before sliding through other pictures of the two of them together. A lot of them were unflattering pics of the grown man while Kate smiled brightly. But then there were some where Clint smiled and posed ridiculously for his mentee. You laughed and smiled at each one, including the ones of his family surrounding Kate.

You swiped once more, and a video automatically started to play. You felt the vibrations in your hand but couldn't make anything out. However, Kate knew exactly what was happening in the video.

It was Kate's first ASL lesson months prior. But that didn't start till ten minutes in. Instead, what was playing right now to the room was Kate in the video going on and on about this new friend of hers named Y/N. Kate mentions that you are the reason that she wants to learn sign language.

Slightly and purposely offending Clint.

"Okay, so let's say I manage to teach you, and you manage to learn, then what?"

Clint asks in the video.

"Then I ask her out."

Kate replies.

You looked up from the video to Kate. Asking why she is blushing, Kate takes a step closer to you and asks for her cell phone back. You place it in her hand. She hits the button on the side before putting it in her pocket.

I learned for you.

You watch Kate sign and mouth simultaneously, the feeling of wanting to cry from pure happiness returning. Why? You asked Kate as you smiled.

Kate lifts her hands and stops. She starts to sign but stops again.

The Archer breathes in and out.

Because ever since I met you, I've wanted to do one thing. Kate waits for you to nod back to her. I- Y/N... Y/N, do you want to go out?

She signs with a nervous smile.

Together? Sometime, like on a date. A real date! One where we dress up and go out on the town, not just eat junk in my-

You surprised Kate by jumping into her arms. Cutting off her ramblings in ASL. Kate barely had time to register to catch you before she felt just how soft your lips were.

Kate closed her eyes and melted into you. She marveled at the feeling of your smile as the kiss deepened. You pushed further into her and felt butterflies flutter inside of you at what you've wanted for so long.

Kate felt the same and would vow to always hold you closer than anyone ever could as she pulled you into her. Taking you all in.

Eventually, air had to return into your lungs.

You blushed harder when you and Kate separated. The heavy breathing between the two of you being the only noise in the room.

Yes, you signed when Kate placed you onto your feet. "You want to go out? With me?" Kate said, knowing you were watching her lips. But maybe she was wrong when she saw you shake your head no.

You moved back a bit as Kate kept her arms around your body.

I want to be your girlfriend. 

Kate looked at you, making sure she saw that right. "Girlfriend?!" She asked with a glint of hope. You smiled and brought your lips to hers as you nodded before moving your hands down to hers. Taking them off your body and placing them in yours as you moved them.

You kissed Kate again as she traced her fingers over your left hand, discovering the pinky and index finger were raised. She moved from your index finger down to your extended thumb.

She pulled back and looked at your hand watching it move towards her.

Kate brought her hands up to your face and quickly kissed your lips before she moved onto your cheeks and nose, forcing a giggle out of you.

When she let go of your head, she looked into your eyes and said with an unmistakable smile: "I love you too. I love you so much!"

Kate wrapped you into her arms and held you close before she could feel you patting her back.

When she let go, you smiled and asked: So girlfriends?

Kate nodded.Girlfriends.

A million more questions ran through you as you stood in Kate's arms. But before you could stop yourself, you started with: Oh, and Kate... You laughed and signed to her before continuing. Since I'm dating Hawkeye, do I get a cool name?

Kate laughed back and raised an eyebrow. "Sure! What would you want to be called?"

You tucked your bottom lip into your mouth as you thought. An action making Kate pull your lip out of your mouth with her thumb before bringing it to her lips, almost frying your brain to the point that you nearly didn't say your answer. Bullseye.

"Why is that?"

You shrugged but hid behind an innocent smile. Your eyes briefly darting to Kate's closet before looking back to Kate.

Because I want to be the only thing you can stick your arrow in.

dividers by @/benkeibear

[blossom-hwa]

the words I say, and the words I mean | h.k

pairing: Huening Kai x gender neutral!reader genre:  fluff, a touch of angst, high school!au, childhood best friends to lovers!au warnings: cursing word count: 2.5k notes: this was originally a story for jay written for chip as a lovely birthday present, I've repurposed it for hyuka because I think he'd fit the lovely lovestruck trope just as well :) hope you enjoy! On a cool golden afternoon on the cusp of winter, Kai falls for you again. 

Jay (Enhypen) Ver. | TXT Masterlist

At precisely five fifty-three on a Friday afternoon of a crisp fall-turning-winter day, Kai comes to this conclusion:

He says a lot of shit.

Which, in hindsight, any of his friends could have probably told him. Taehyun for certain—and Beomgyu too just by virtue of him being a paragon of evil or something. But there’s that whole saying about having to realize things about oneself by oneself, or whatever, because you’ll never listen to anyone else, not for real.

Or maybe there isn’t a saying. Maybe someone just told him that and he’s remembering it now.

Doesn’t matter. The point is, Kai walks into the coffee shop where you work at exactly five fifty-two pm on this wonderful Friday afternoon in the crisp intersection between fall and winter where the sun is beginning to set noticeably earlier but not so much so that it fucks up his entire brain, locks eyes with you behind the counter, and says:

“Hey, doofus.”

Which is certainly a substitute—if not a very good one—for what he says in his brain:

You look really beautiful in this lighting, and I kind of want to kiss you.

You roll your eyes and it’s still beautiful, somehow, in the golden afternoon sunlight spilling through the cafe window, and once again Kai is reminded of how hard he’s fallen for every single bit of you—the childhood best friend who lives next door, who’s seen him from his grubby little toddler days to his ratty pre-teen years to his ungodly mess of existence in this last year before college. You’ve seen everything about him, he’s seen everything about you, and if Kai hadn’t realized it before (a year ago, you fell asleep in the passenger seat as he was driving the two of you home from school and he got a slap of cold reality from God Herself when he looked over to see drool trickling down the side of your face and the first thing he thought was cute) he’d certainly realize it now, at five fifty-two pm on a Friday afternoon at the cusp of fall-turning-winter where the sunlight shines so warm on your half-annoyed, half-fond expression that Kai can proudly say is reserved solely for him.

But it’s kind of like a second realization of love, he guesses. Because apparently once wasn’t enough. And it comes in the form of him calling you a doofus when he just really wants to kiss you instead.

He really, really says a lot of shit. More specifically, a lot of shit he doesn’t mean. Mostly because you don’t know how he feels, and he’s too scared to ask if you might feel the same way.

“Good afternoon to you too, doofus,” you snip, sliding a cup of coffee across the counter. He hands you the exact amount for the drink like clockwork because it’s a routine at this point, and then, also in routine, he eyes it exaggeratedly.

“There’s no poison in this, is there?”

There it is. Again. There’s no poison in this, is there?

How about this instead:

Thanks for the drink, I really love you.

You roll your eyes again and he has to curb the smile on his face, in case it betrays the way his heart is pounding in his chest like it does a lot these days at the sight of you. “No, asshole,” you intone. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d make sure there was blood.”

“Aw, so you don’t want to kill me?”

I’d probably let you stab me for free.

“I’m waiting for the right time.” You snicker. “You know, Beomgyu already offered to help me hide the body.”

Kai would respond, and if he did he’d probably say something equally dumb that he didn’t really want to say because his heart keeps screaming for him to tell the truth of his emotions but his mind keeps telling it to shut the fuck up, but the door opens again with a little ring of bells and even though it’s now five fifty-four pm, six minutes from the end of your shift, six minutes are still six minutes and he’ll have to wait those six minutes to walk you home.

Your manager’s a bitch.

So he parks himself at a table, idly scrolling through his phone while sipping at the bitter Americano you gave him (perfect for keeping him somewhat awake for the late night studying that will definitely happen tonight), and also sneaking glances at you when he’s more or less certain you’re busy. He does good today, doesn’t manage to get caught staring even once before you disappear into the back, presumably to strip off your apron and clock out.

Soobin sends him about five cat pictures in the several minutes it takes for you to change. Kai giggles into his drink and hearts them all right before a shadow looms over his seated figure.

“What’re you laughing at?”

In response, he lifts his phone and watches a smile bloom across your face at the cat pictures. “They’re adorable,” you coo.

Kai’s brain reacts before his mouth does, which sucks because it only gives further proof to his realization earlier which he’d kinda hoped was a fluke but was pretty sure it wasn’t.

So are you.

He doesn’t say that, because he doesn’t have the guts. “Yeah, if only I could convince my parents to get one,” he pouts instead, pocketing the phone. “Let’s go home.”

The bells above the door chime merrily as the two of you walk out into the golden sunshine, a subtle warmth that curls even through the sharp bites of wind that nip at his nose and cheeks. When winter comes with its snow and ice, you’ll switch to taking the car home—him driving over to pick you up instead of walking in the snow—so he cherishes the walks for now, a bit of peace and calm in the silence of the neighborhood air.

Well, not exactly peace and calm. Because the two of you are best friends, and so you bicker, and most of that bickering gets pretty loud and your neighbors probably hate you both even if they haven’t said it out loud yet, but to Kai it feels peaceful anyway. Calming. A breath of fresh air, a moment in which he can forget about the stress of school and college applications and just focus on being here with you.

You’re telling him a story about work today, gesticulating wildly as you reenact some woman telling you that her drink wasn’t frothy enough, that she expected two full fucking inches of froth so you’d better shake it again or remake it. Kai laughs, and cackles, and commiserates when you say you’d like to hunt her down and put her six feet under, and all the time his heart feels like it’s blooming, blooming under not the sun itself but the light of your smile as you laugh with him.

Like a sunflower, he thinks. A sunflower, always chasing the sun across the sky.

Holy shit, Yeonjun’s poetry is rubbing off on him. This is terrible.

And then you laugh again, this brilliant sound that’s like a cross between a pig’s snort and wedding bells, and yeah. Okay. Whatever. Maybe Yeonjun’s poetry is fine. Because at least it’s getting things right.

“I never want to work in the food industry again,” you complain, shaking your head. Your scarf seems to be slipping around your neck and Kai’s fingers itch to rearrange it, but he keeps his hands to himself because you’ll notice it, right? You’ll notice the slipping scarf instead and then he won’t have to risk having you feel the tenderness in his fingers that isn’t supposed to be there because he’s only supposed to be your best friend, not someone who has a crush on you. “All the horror stories are so real.”

“Okay, but have you considered...” He pauses dramatically as you look at him, eyebrows raised. “Maybe you’re the problem.”

“Kai Kamal Huening—”

“If everything’s happening to you, I’m just saying, maybe there’s some correlation there—”

You punch him in the arm. Hard.

He wails.

“Oh my God, you fucking baby,” you hiss, all the while also holding your sides that are shaking with laughter as Kai flops to the ground, gripping his arm like you just attempted to cut it off. Good. Because he’s exaggerating, clearly, but only for your sake—so you can laugh. Just a bit. Enough to bring light back to your face that isn’t just from the sun.

“You punched me,” he whines, “and you’re calling me a baby?”

I’d let you punch me any day. And if I deserved it, I’d probably punch myself in the face, too. For you.

He’s going insane, he really fucking is, with the disconnect between the shit he says and the shit he wants to say. But the banter comes so easily, too easily—maybe that’s the reason why he can’t speak the words buried in his heart. Because it’s so much easier, so much simpler, to just pretend. To just bicker his way out of ever revealing anything to you.

“Oh my God, just shut up.” You haul him up and—holy shit, maybe he’s just some Victorian woman in disguise or whatever because he could swoon into your touch. He really could. But he doesn’t, because even to his dumbfuck lovesick heart, that’s overkill. “Come on, punch me. We’ll call it even.”

Kai stares at the arm you proffer to him, covered in the coat you’ve worn for several years at this point. He doesn’t know why, but for a moment, he can’t move. Can’t bring himself to.

Which is dumb as fuck. Because this is a thing you two have always done, jokingly hit each other at one point and when the other complains loud enough to cause a neighborhood ruckus, let them hit back to call it even. It started with your first fight as kids and it just...stayed. Until now. At this moment at sometime past six pm on a Friday evening, now, on a crisp fall-turning-winter day where wind has mostly carried away the coffee smell from your job and Kai is having a crisis about punching your arm.

But he has to do it. So—

He punches you.

Very softly.

Nothing at all like you punched him.

You blink. So does he.

“What the fuck was that, dude?” You narrow your eyes at him playfully, though something uncertain dances in your gaze. Alarm bells start ringing at full force in his brain—fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—“Are you going soft?”

He’s looking at you and you’re looking at him and a gust of wind blows the scarf around your neck and fuck you still haven’t noticed that it’s loose and he wants nothing more than to grab it and fix it so you won��t get too cold but he can’t, now, because he’s already revealed too much by not punching you the way you (and he!) expected and the uncertainty is still there in your expression and FUCK he needs to say something, he needs to say something—

No, it’s because I like you so much it hurts.

“No, it’s because you’re weak and you wouldn’t be able to handle a real punch.”

You screech and Kai screams and then you’re chasing him down the block, one fist held high as you yell something like I’ll give you a real fucking punch to whine about and even as he runs away from you he can hear the laughter in your voice even as you spout bloody murder and promises of revenge behind him, your screams blending with his gasping laughter as he stops, sides heaving with cackles, and you bowl him onto the cold sidewalk that still feels warm, somehow, warm with your giggles as you slap him in the shoulder, threats of violence still dripping from your lips—

“I give up,” he gasps, tears squeezing out of his eyes as he tries to stop laughing. “I give up.”

In other words:

I’ll let you win, always, because your happiness means everything to me.

You collapse to the ground beside him on the cold concrete, and there has never been anything more beautiful, Kai thinks, than the medley of your cackling laugh fading in the air and your expression scrunched in giggling happiness as you sit up to face him. “Good,” you sniff, eyes sparkling in the fading sunlight. “Glad you know your place.”

Kai watches you stand, then extend a hand to help him up. His eyes linger on that hand, the hand he held so much as a kid, the hand he stopped holding in middle school because it’s icky and we aren’t dating, the hand he’s wanted to hold for several years now and even more so since last year when he saw you drooling in the car and thought you were so, so cute. He reaches up, takes it, and in the moment where your palms are connected, his heart aches, aches so much for him to just say—

I love you.

But you let go of his hand, still smiling, so oblivious to the way his heart sags and cracks with the weight of those three words he can’t say as the warmth of your palm leaves his, and he knows—it isn’t meant to be, you loving someone as ratty and messy and damaged as he. You’re best friends. Nothing less, but certainly nothing more.

So he leaves the words in his overflowing heart, locks them away with a cold key made of the sudden absence of your hand’s warmth against his. “Come on,” he says instead, smiling the crooked smile that you always say makes him look like a stupid little rugrat on the streets. But he gets the patented Kai Kamal Huening smile on your face in return, annoyance and exasperation and fondness all mixed into an expression that nearly explodes the box where he keeps those three words, eight letters, carefully locked away, so it can’t be too bad. Not really. Not if it gets him the sunlight of your smile on your face.

Nothing’s so bad, really, not even the weight of all the words he means but can’t say, not when you smile at him like this under the shimmering golden sunlight of a fall-turning-winter evening, not when the two of you are alone in the street glowing warm with laughter, not when it feels like nothing in the world can tear the two of you apart. It’s enough, really. Having you here, and knowing you’ll always be here, even if it means keeping secrets locked carefully away in his heart.

“Come on,” he repeats, and his smile isn’t even that strained as he jerks his head towards the end of the street. “The sun’s setting. Let’s get home.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[sharpth1ng]

Who do you think, from the og scream squad, would most likely to survive jigsaw traps

I think Stu would be a decent contender because he takes the most injury in the movie, he's got that high pain tolerance he would need to get through certain traps. There's also the whole aspect of the traps where John wants the victim to prove that they're willing to do whatever they need to survive, which sometimes means sacrificing other people and I think Stu would be cutthroat enough for that. All that said he's equally likely to pull some dumb shit that would get him killed.

I think Billy is dying lmao. Sorry. In John's books he would definitely deserve it and he would get too worked up and aggro to function effectively in a trap. You kind of need to keep a cool head to get out of a saw trap and he's not going to be great at that. I also don't think he can take the pain and injury as well as Stu. So yeah, he's a hothead he's not getting out alive.

I think Tatum has a decent chance. My girl has a strong survival instinct and John would like that. I'd say Tatum will either survive or she'll be one of the last to die. Either way she's not going to go easy. I do think that if she was in the trap with someone she cares for like Sid she might be more likely to die because I think she would be willing to sacrifice herself to get Sid out.

Sid has integrity and final girl powers, she's got really good odds. She's been stabbed so so many times, she can take some pain and she doesn't have the patience for another attempt on her life. Movie 1 Sid has slightly worse odds though, she's just a little more likely to hesitate and waste precious time. That said, she's probably not going to sacrifice other people the way that some traps demand (eg. Amanda's original trap where she has to kill her cellmate).

Randy is almost definitely dying. He's likely to be able to work out the puzzles and tricks involved in some of the traps but I think he would struggle with injuring himself and inflicting pain on himself, and I think he'd be likely to freak out and waste time he doesn't have. Randy would either be one of the last people to die or one of the first.

Gale is either getting out or dying brutally. She has the survival instinct John likes, and honestly I think she's the most likely of them all to get turned into an apprentice. That said he preference for personal gain and her tendency to be a little cutthroat could get her into trouble given that some traps are sort of designed to trick people into acting in their own instinct when the strategic option is to work as a team (think saw 5).

I think Dewey is probably dying. He's too nice, too likely to sacrifice himself for others, and he's not going to throw other people under the bus to get out. John's going to say he doesn't have the survival instinct so he doesn't deserve to live.

[fanwarriorfictions]

Help Me, Help You - Part Six

Fenrys x F!Reader

Summary- After their last encounter, Fenrys and Y/n find it difficult to pretend like everything is normal. It’s even harder with certain royals sniffing out their business.

Warnings- This is a long one, Angsty, and I mean it this time

Series Masterlist

Part Six

Fenrys counted his dwindling luck for dinner being a somewhat private affair, he didn’t think he’d survive Hasar sniffing about the fractured relationship between him and Y/n.

Instead of the large dining hall where most in the palace would be eating, Sartaq had invited them into the couple’s private dining room, a vast meal prepared for them.

Fenrys assumed the servants attending them where under Sartaq’s thumb, but he wouldn’t be surprised if his siblings had at least one or two hiding amongst them. Ready to report back to their respective prince or princess about Fenrys and Y/n, taking in every word, every movement.

No doubt his friends noticed for themselves the way Y/n avoided his eyes like the plague, noticed the way he sat rigid in his seat beside her, they at least had the decency to keep their observations to themselves.

They made easy conversation with Fenrys mostly, letting Y/n casually observe, keep to herself like she usually did. It was well into the meal before anyone spoke to her directly.

“How did Fenrys here rope you into his little adventure?” Sartaq asked, his brows raised curiously at Y/n.

Y/n casually sipped from her wine glass, her expression carefully guarded, “We happen to be looking for the same person.”

“Vaughan?” Nesryn looked to Fenrys for confirmation.

“Her brother,” Fenrys supplied, turning back to his third glass, “Apparently I’m not the only one he’s running from.”

He felt more than saw Y/n go still, he hadn’t spoken to her since their moment in the hall, since she’d hissed her warning at him, do not touch me. The words had felt like the final swing of an executioner’s axe.

“Funny,” Nesryn hummed, “How the strings of fate pull people together like that.”

“She surely has a strange sense of humor,” Y/n says quietly.

Sartaq was carefully glancing between them and Fenrys was tempted to tell him to mind his own damn business. He apparently collected busybody friends though, as the prince gave him a knowing look, one that said, we will be speaking of this later. Fenrys only narrowed his eyes at him, warning the prince to leave well enough alone.

“Fenrys mentioned he’d gotten a tip that your brother had stowed away on a ship meant for my father,” Sartaq said, “I assume the tip came from you?”

Y/n nods, “I believe he’s here, hopefully still in Antica, he would’ve only been a few days ahead of us.”

“I’ve got eyes and ears throughout the city, if he is, surely someone will spot him,” Sartaq says, “You will find him.”

“Thank you,” Y/n says softly, the smallest crack in the mask of indifference, bowing her head to the prince.

“Of course,” Sartaq smiles, “Anything for a friend.”

Fenrys couldn’t read her reaction to that, she closed him out to well. He knew there was something about this place, about his friends, that had unnerved her, what it was, he didn’t know. Gods knew she wouldn’t tell him now.

“So, Y/n,” Nesryn spoke after a moment of silence, “Have you ever been to Antica before?”

“No, I haven’t,” Y/n said simply.

Fenrys rolled his eyes at the short answer, stabbing his fork into a poor unsuspecting piece of fruit. He caught her eyes shift to him, to his hand curled tightly around his silverware.

“It is a beautiful city,” Nesryn ignored the slight disrespect, “If you cared for a tour, I’d be happy to give you one.”

“This one acts like she’s melting the second she walks out the door,” Fenrys scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m sure she’d rather hide away inside.”

Y/n glared at him, turning back to Nesryn, “I’d appreciate that a lot actually.”

Nesryn smiled, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief, “We’ll go first thing in the morning before it gets to warm.”

“Perfect.”

The city truly was beautiful, the Gods City, Nesryn had told her as they walked. The crowds were thick as they strolled through the streets, full of hawking vendors and haggling shoppers, children ran through them, laughing without a care in the world.

“You can find a shop for nearly anything you can dream of,” Nesryn says, smiling at a group of starry eyed kids, “Wares from all over the world.”

She could see that, there were clothes she recognized from back home, and things she’d never seen before. Jewels, cloth, foods, spices, so much of the world she hadn’t seen, all in one place.

“It’s amazing,” Y/n said, “If it wasn’t so miserably hot I’d consider living here.”

Even this early in the morning, the sun barely peaking over the horizon, it was hot, and growing warmer by the second. Y/n was grateful she’d brought her little wooden fan with her.

Nesryn laughed, “Fenrys wasn’t joking, was he?”

“Where I grew up, the snow barely melted for a few months before it started again,” Y/n says, gently fanning herself, “I’m not built for the heat.”

“No it would seem not,” Nesryn chuckled, “You’d do well with the Rukhin in the Tavan mountains.”

“My brother told me stories of the aerial legions when I was growing up,” Y/n laughed, “I think he was jealous of the Ruks themselves. As large as his osprey is, he’s nowhere near their size.”

“Perhaps he may make his way there,” Nesryn ponders, “See for himself just how magnificent they are. I’ll send word to Borte to keep an eye out for a suspicious bird flying around.”

She could imagine it, from what she knew, the Tavan mountains where much like home, though taller and perhaps even colder. Maybe her brother would go there, find somewhere that reminded him of the place he thought he no longer belonged.

Y/n still remembers that last night vividly, even this many years later. It was stupid, so stupid how it began, how it ended. She’d been so afraid, so upset, and as she always did, she lashed out in anger, like a cornered feral animal.

If you leave now, never, ever come back.

I’m sorry, Y/n, truly. The image of her brother walking away flashed in her mind, walking into the snow covered forest beyond their home. For a moment, his dark form turned golden, and when he glanced behind him, onyx eyes met her own.

“If we go this way.” Nesryn turned a corner, her words breaking Y/n out of her mind, “We could stop by the Torre and-“

“No,” Y/n interrupts, her eyes instantly finding the magnificent white stone tower, “No, thank you, I’ve seen it plenty from the streets.”

If Nesryn found her reluctance odd, she didn’t mention it, only smiled and turned down another path. Y/n nearly sighed in relief, turning her back on that looming structure.

They walked through the city, slowly moving through the markets and towards that glorious palace. Y/n found her self caught between relief and dread, relief from the overwhelming sun, and dread of the golden male she’d been able to avoid this morning.

Either he’d let her slip out her door and past his own, just as eager to avoid her as she did him, or he’d still been asleep with a surely awful hangover from his night spent with his friends. It was well past midnight when she’d heard him stumble down the hall and into his room.

There had been a moment where he’d paused, perhaps staring at her door, wondering if she was awake, if he should knock, he didn’t. She’d sighed in relief, but there was the briefest feeling of disappointment.

Nesryn kept her face forward, but Y/n felt the weight of her eyes anyways, “If you don’t mind me prying, there seemed to be some, tension, at dinner last night.”

Y/n was surprised the woman had lasted this long before mentioning it, something told her Nesryn’s eyes did not miss much. From the stories Fenrys told of her, she didn’t miss anything, her mind as sharp as her arrows.

“There was,” Y/n nods, “Nothing to be concerned about.”

The woman simply hummed, “Fenrys said the same thing to Sartaq after you left for bed.”

She’d left as soon as she could, being that close to Fenrys for so long had made her anxious, like he’d reach over and touch her again, and she’d ignite, burning everything, everyone in her path, worst of all, she’d burn him.

“In the time I’ve known him,” Nesryn says when Y/n doesn’t respond, “Which, granted, hasn’t been much more than a year now, Fenrys has been struggling. He doesn’t like to show it, but we knew, we all went through hell during the war, we all fought like hell to drag ourselves back to the light. I don’t believe he has gotten there yet, I don’t know if he ever will.”

Y/n remembers his dream, the one that had shaken him so badly that he could hardly speak to her. He’d lost his brother, the other half of his soul, watched his friend, his queen, tortured, had nearly died himself. Those days still haunted him, no matter how much he pretended they didn’t.

“When you two arrived yesterday,” Nesryn continued, “It was the closest I’d seen him to that light.”

Fenrys felt like he was being interrogated, only he wasn’t tied to a rickety chair, no tools of torture laid out, only a plush sofa and a glass of the strongest liquor the palace had to offer in his hand.

“How old is she?” Hasar was perched on the edge of the loveseat across from him, sweet Renia smiling at him over the rim of her own glass, “Is she-“

“My gods,” Fenrys groaned, “I’m sure they will be back soon, you can grill her yourself then.”

The woman’s eyes were lit with their usual fire, if only she’d been fae, she may have had fire to rival Aelin’s. She’d been at it since the moment Fenrys had finally emerged from his room, one of her own servants waiting to drag him to the very seat he sat in now.

“It’s not every day someone surprises me with a guest I know nothing about,” Hasar snarked, “Not to mention a fae, does she have any powers we should be concerned about.”

Fenrys groaned again, “She shifts into a damned cat, unless you worry about hair on your clothes, I think you should be fine.”

“Oh? Is that where all this brooding comes from?” She smirks, “Did she get hair all over your favorite cloak?”

Fenrys only glared at the woman instead of answering. That seemed to be a mistake, he could practically see the wheels turning in her mind, the dots connecting. Renia beside her only smiled at her wife, throwing Fenrys a sympathetic glance, it would seem he had no allies here.

“Trouble in paradise?” Hasar cooed, “Awe, did the kitty reject you pup?”

He held back his snarling and snapping, it would only prove her right. Instead, Fenrys took a long drink from his glass, finishing off the burning liquid.

“At least tell me how you found the girl,” Hasar continued.

“More like I found him.”

His heart lept in his chest, from the wide eyes of the princess and her wife across from him, he was sure theirs had as well.

Y/n had snuck up on them all, silent as ever, Nesryn nowhere to be found. One would think that someone would have seen her in the vast open room, but the female seemed to have a way of moving through the world unseen.

Maybe she had magic similar to his own, jumping through the world in the blink of an eye. He hadn’t seen any powers from her, only her other form, maybe her ability was in the way she moved, that feline grace.

“You must be Y/n,” Hasar said, her razor sharp focus finally leaving Fenrys to lock on to the famale, “Please sit.”

Y/n held the princess’s gaze, her own stare piercing, like the keen eyes of the cat that had stalked him for days in that little Wendlyn village. She circled the small couch, sitting directly next to him, close enough for him to feel the heat of the day still lingering on her.

“You must be Hasar,” Y/n said, voice flat and even, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, princess.”

Nesryn must have done the female a kindness and prepared her for the onslaught of the royal family. Y/n didn’t balk from Hasar’s intense gaze, she met it head on, and she even smiled sweetly at the princess’s wife.

“And you must be Renia,” Y/n nods her head to the woman.

“The pleasure is all ours,” Renia says, placing a hand on her wife’s knee, “Fenrys here was just telling us about where you grew up.”

He hadn’t been, she may be sweet compared to her wife, but Renia was just as cunning.

“Oh?”

Y/n looked at him then, the first time she’d truly met his gaze since the moment in the hall.

Do. Not. Touch. Me.

He didn’t see any of that rage, didn’t see much of anything really, she was carefully blank, hiding beneath a mask.

“He was telling us about your mother,” Hasar continued.

If he hadn’t been looking so closely he might have missed the flicker of emotion, pain he realized quickly, something he recognized all to well.

“Was he now,” Y/n said softly, “I hadn’t realized I’d told him anything about her.”

She really hadn’t told him much of her home, much of anything about her, he realized.

“Stories from Vaughan, I’m sure,” Hasar responded easily, a skilled liar.

Y/n hums, “Strange, he hasn’t spoken much of her since she died.”

A silence fell over them all.

Fenrys definitely hadn’t known that, the few things she’d told him was about her brother, gods knew Vaughan never talked about his family.

He’d known her father had been a sore spot for her, she’d shut down any mention of the male the first night they’d spent together, he hadn’t pushed the subject after that.

“I’m sorry,” Renia said at last, apologizing for the loss and for the prying.

Y/n waved it off, “No need, I was a little girl when it happened, I barely even remember it.”

A lie, he could hear it clear as day, he wondered if it was so obvious to the women across from them. Perhaps not, as they swiftly moved on, asking Y/n all the questions they’d been pestering Fenrys for.

How old was she? Only a few years younger than Fenrys. What was her home like? Cold and boring. How’d she find Fenrys? Tracked him down in her cat form.

“Why do you shift into a cat?” Hasar asked, her brow raised, “I hear Vaughan is an osprey.”

Fenrys was ready for the cool dismissal he’d received when he’d asked.

“My father was a writer from Terrasen,” Y/n said simply, “A small, insignificant family from the Oakwald that had only a few shifters among them, they took the forms of the wild forrest cats that hunted through the woods.”

Fenrys turned to her, his brows raised in shock. She was already looking at him, her expression seemingly relaxed, unbothered by the admission, but Fenrys saw through it. The crack in her mask, pain, self doubt, fear.

“Did your tour with Nesryn give you any ideas about where your brother slipped off to?”

Fenrys asked the first question that came to his mind, anything to change the subject, something he’d already been wondering since she’d snuck out of her rooms early that morning.

Her eyes flashed with gratitude, “Maybe, I know my eye was caught by the multitudes of markets, I’m sure his was as well.”

“Does he care for shopping?” Hasar asked over the rim of her glass, her eyes narrowed.

The princess knew he’d changed the subject, now she’d be relentless in figuring out why.

“Gods no,” Y/n scoffed, “Quite the opposite really, he’s not very fond of crowds.”

She had a lot in common with her brother it seemed. The few times they’d been in crowded places, Fenrys always caught her scanning the streets, he’d assumed she was just observing, perhaps she’d simply been uncomfortable.

“There are very few places in Antica that aren’t crowded,” Fenrys said.

“Maybe that’s where you’ll find him,” Renia chimes in.

Fenrys saw the hope fill her eyes as she echoed the word, “Maybe.”

Someone was knocking on his door.

The light tapping was barely enough to pull Fenrys from sleep, almost completely drowned out by the trickling water of a fountain somewhere beyond his open window.

Based on the moonlight shining through the room, it was still early in the night, dawn far off.

The knocking was a quick, soft pattern, stopping for a moment before hesitantly trying again. He was surprised it even woke him, he’d passed out as soon as he’d fallen into bed, so exhausted from his lone search through the city earlier that evening, Vaughan still nowhere to be found.

Fenrys threw off the light sheets, searching the floor for his discarded clothes to at least slip on his pants.

By the time he reached the door, the taps had stopped completely, maybe the person had given up, assumed he was fast asleep. He still reached for the handle, still gently pulled the door open.

Her fist was raised as if she was about to try a knock one last time, frozen, staring at him with wide eyes like Y/n hadn’t expected him to be there at all. Those eyes fell, for only a moment, enough to tell him she realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt, only clothed by the pants he’d been wearing at dinner.

His own eyes dipped involuntarily, and he cursed the faceless servant who had, no doubt laid out the gown for her. The pale blue silk and lace looked nearly silver in the moonlight, cascading down her body, stopping high on her thighs.

“I didn’t think you’d be awake,” she whispered, eyes shining with self doubt.

“Are you okay?” He kept his voice low, kept his eyes on her own.

Y/n wrapped her arms around herself, “Can I come in?”

Fenrys stepped back, opening the door wider for her. She walked in, passing close enough to him that he scented the lavender oil on her skin.

He took a deep breath as he closed the door, turning to find her standing in the center of his room, arms still wrapped tightly around herself as she looked around the room. Her eyes locking on his rumpled bed sheets, his clothes littering the floor.

“Y/n,” he kept his voice soft, stepping closer to her, “Kitten, are you alright?”

She whirled to him, as if remembering he was still there, “I had- I’m sorry, you were sleeping, I- I’ll go.”

She tried to slip past him, but Fenrys caught her, his hand gently wrapped around her arm.

Do. Not. Touch. Me.

The words echoed in his mind but he held on, tethered her to him. She was completely frozen, staring at that hand on her bicep like it was the strangest thing she’d ever seen.

“Talk to me,” Fenrys pleads, “What’s going on.”

Her gaze found his, wide and terrified. Fenrys felt his heart shatter, felt the tears that welled up in her eyes like a knife to his gut, felt her trembling beneath his palm. He couldn’t help himself, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly to his chest, despite those four words screaming through his head.

She didn’t sob, but he could feel her violently shaking, like she was desperately holding the tears back. She clung to him, her nails digging into his flesh, it hurt but Fenrys didn’t care, he just held her tighter.

It took several long minutes for her to calm down, to stop shaking, to relax her grip. Fenrys found himself reluctant to let her pull away.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, staring down at the floor between them.

He couldn’t stop his hand from reaching out, his fingers catching beneath her chin to gently tilt her face towards his. Her eyes were red and tired, full of whatever anguish had drug her from sleep and into his arms.

“Talk to me,” he pleads, his hand moving to her cheek, his thumb brushing away stray tears.

Her eyes shuttered, he wasn’t sure if it was from his words, or his touch.

Do. Not. Touch. Me.

“I had a nightmare,” she whispers after a moment, “I- I didn’t mean to come here, I-“

Her voice cracked and she paused to take a deep, steadying breath. She didnt pull away, and neither did he.

“I’m sorry I- just didn’t want to be alone,” she continues, “I don’t want to be alone, anymore.”

“Okay,” Fenrys says, still caressing the side of her face, “You’re okay. I’ve got you, kitten, you’re not alone.”

Like the words finally unlocked something in her, unlocked the chained up gates of the walls around her mind, Fenrys saw it all wash over her. The anguish, the fear, the gratitude, all on display like she was a book ready to be read by him.

“Do you remember that first night one the boat?” Her words we’re hesitant, like she was fighting to get them out.

“Yes,” Fenrys said gently, “You couldn’t sleep.”

He’d teased her for it, assuming the rocking of the ship was to blame, he’d seen the strongest warriors crumble to seasickness.

“The water brought back memories,” she says, her eyes gaining this far off look, “I knew they would bring the dreams with them.”

Not just dreams, Fenrys knew, nightmares, like the one she’d had tonight. The one that had her racing into his arms despite how much she loathed him.

Fenrys felt the moment she started shaking again, her mind already deep into the past and the pain. His hand dropped from her cheek, catching her hand by her side to gently guide her to the sitting room. She numbly let him, sitting down on the golden fainting couch.

Fenrys sat down beside her, a healthy distance between them, “You don’t have to talk about it, but I’m here to listen if you do.”

She’d done as much for him, silently supporting him while he struggled through the words.

She was silent for a moment, still staring off into the past. Fenrys was almost sure she wouldn’t speak at all, until she did.

“Vaughan’s father was is Maeve’s army,” she said, catching Fenrys off guard, “When Vaughan was old enough, he was forced to join, forced to leave our mother alone in that tiny, frozen village, with only his letters to keep her company.”

“For three hundred years, they left her, alone.” Her voice cracked on the word, like it was choking her, “Until he showed up, a traveler from Terrasen, a writer, collecting stories from every corner of the world to bring home to the libraries of Orynth, to become a scholar.”

Fenrys knew where this was going, this was her story, the very beginning.

“My mother fell for him, enough to finally give up the dream of seeing her husband and son again, and he fell for her, enough to stay.” Her eyes shone with fresh tears, “I was born not even a year later, the spitting image of my father.”

Those tears fell and Fenrys desperately wanted to reach for them, wipe them away. He didn’t want to overstep, he’d already done more than he should have.

“I was five when it happened,” she whispered the words, “We had a small lake behind our cabin, it was frozen over for a majority of the year, I spent nearly every day on that ice, my father teaching me to skate, my mother teaching me to dance. I was there when I saw a male, larger than any I’d ever seen, coming from my home.”

“I didn’t know what was happening. Didn’t know who he was, why he was marching towards me, what the dripping red object was in his hand.” Her voice shook, and Fenrys felt dread rise up in his chest, “I didn’t know that I should have ran, should’ve shifted and left as quickly as I could, he was already before me when I figured out the red object was an axe, and it smelled like my parents.”

His heart shattered in his chest.

“He grabbed me before I could run,” the fear was thick in her voice, “Threw me across the lake, till I was at the thin center of it. The ice cracked beneath him as he followed, it shattered beneath his bloody axe as he opened a wide hole, it cut me as he shoved my body into the freezing water.”

Gods, holy fucking gods.

“He held me below the surface, I remember the feeling of his hand on the back of my head, I remember clawing at him, I remember darkness, I remember the ice in my lungs.” Her tears flowed fast, “And then there was light, air, someone hauling me out of the water. I’d never met him but my mother had told me many stories of my brother, I knew who he was instantly, he held me as he brought us back to shore, told me it was going to be alright, told me it was over, told me his father would never hurt me again. Over his shoulder I saw the male laying on the ice, a sword through his gut.”

Vaughan had killed him, he’d killed his own father after the male had killed his mother and nearly drowned the sister he hadn’t known he’d had.

She’d nearly drowned, had nearly been murdered by a male simply for existing. A child, gods she was only a child, and he’d tried to kill her.

Fenrys saw red for the male who’d long since fallen, for the male who haunted her dreams so many years later. His hands clenched in his lap, torn between swinging at the ghost of the male, and reaching out to hold her, to comfort her.

She looks exhausted, leaning heavily on the back of the couch. Her eyes swollen from the tears and the lack of sleep. Fenrys didn’t even try to stop himself, his arms moving forward to scoop her up, cradling her to his chest.

Y/n didn’t fight him as he walked her to his bed, as he laid her down atop it. Her eyes fought to stay open, to look at him as he pulled the sheets over her, her mouth open like she’d finally protest.

“Hush,” he says, “It’s alright, you’re alright, just get some sleep.”

Fenrys steps back, he’d sleep on the couch, it was big enough for him, even if it wasn’t, he’d slept in much worse conditions.

“Fenrys,” she says softly, he turns back to look at her, “I don’t- I don’t want to be alone.”

He looked at the large bed, the spot beside her. Do. Not. Touch. Me. The words were at odds with what she asked for now, completely, utterly confusing, but he could not deny her, not now, possibly not ever.

“You’re not alone, kitten,” he promised, reaching out to trail his fingers across her cheek, “Never again.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes closing as she drifted off to sleep.

Fenrys stayed there for a long time, watching over her, looking for any sign of another nightmare. He only allowed himself to rest when he was sure she was alright.

Tag List

@emma-andrea1 , @mgchaser , @anxious-study , @lees-chaotic-brain , @girl-math-aint-mathing , @mali22 , @nikt-wazny-y , @theworthlessqueen , @cynthiesjmxazrielslover , @lethargicluv

[fancyfeathers]

lol it'd be funnier if author!darling ACTUALLY disappears for a few days after marrying william. like the whole incident lol. also i can always see him wanting her to put more romance in her books. she'll probably relent, making messed up lovers who don't end up together out of spite. what i'm thinking is in "and then there were none" darling would be writing, dropping clues, hoping a certain someone (*cough* sherlock *cough*) would be able to piece things together soon

(Again for some reason @istgtumlrifyoudothisonemoretime your question is not showing up in my inbox, huh)

(Anyway a continuation of William with an author!darling)

But I have an idea with these…

During the engagement she writes two books, both with hidden clues within them for hopefully Sherlock to find. One of them is similar to the story of Veronica and JD from Heathers, which if you don’t know is kinda like Bonnie and Clyde but Veronica is almost forced into killing these people with him. So the first book is trying to tell of her current situation, forced into all of this and people are dying because of this. Since Heathers is set in an 80s high school, it would change to England high society, the aristocracy, to hint at what the Lord of Crime is doing. Then Veronica’s faking of ending herself would not be fake, she actually does it, hitting at what she would do if she cannot get out of there. But in the epilogue she would have a detective finding her body in an investigation, the detective’s name being an anagram for the name of Sherlock Holmes, perhaps something like Mr Celle Oshkosh, but not abbreviating Mr to hint at the fact that it is an anagram for the detective to find.

The second book would be very similar to And Then There Were None, but a few details would change. The dolls would be replaced with books, books with titles of her books which would point to the murders that happen in the real world, the ones that are based on her books. Then the judge/killer would be replaced with a professor to hint at it being William.

Now some of these hints William would pick up on, namely the ending of oneself in the the first book but not the hint in the epilogue, then the second book would have nothing William would not pick up on, after all it’s about him. He’s not upset about it actually, he’s almost flattered even, to be portrayed in on of her masterpieces, one of the best of her works. He would wait to read it until it has gone through her editor and gets published, reading it with a smile on his face and he would buy two copies, one of them for his shelves and the other to mark up and to make notes of the clues within.

But that aside, her intentions do not go forgiven, especially the last one in the first of her works.

So with that said he keeps her under constant watch and Louis takes the initiative to practically baby proof the house. When she has to be left alone she is kept in her room, not even able to write because of the fear she would stab herself with the pen or pencil.

But that was not her plan, at least not the killing herself fault…

Her plan to get them thinking that she is wanting to die before the wedding and once the wedding comes and she shares a room with William that the threat of her death is gone.

After the honeymoon is when her actual plan is sent into motion. William is off on a mission with most of the others but Louis and she had formed a bit of a friendship with her brother in law, but not without her own motivation. When they were at the market, she snags a few flowers, daffodils, flowers that seem harmless but if ingested can cause nausea, vomiting, and can even knock someone unconscious.

In the evening the two having tea after dinner and Louis’ mistake is letting her brew the tea because then he didn’t notice is her slipping the flower within. Within the hour Louis is sick, and slipping into unconsciousness, hot able to stop her as she snags the keys off of him…

When the others return in the morning they find Louis unconscious on the drawing room floor and front door locked, just to catch them off guard. They search for her but to no avail, no one has seen her, not even Scotland Yard or the neighbors have spotted her.

She has disappeared.

William goes back to her books, looking for clues and then he finally pays attention to the epilogue, the detective’s name is an anagram.

By this, she is already sitting in the drawing room of 221B Baker Street, watching the detective finally piece together the clues she left within her books.

[lipstickchainsaw]

What do you think about the Fury and the respective routes that you can take to her (Tower, Adversary)? In my playthrough I got her through the tower and was subsequently a little disappointed at Adversary's take (probably since I was expecting a little bit of variation due to the absence of godhood)

And, if you have time, what do you think of the Apotheosis?

Well, this one's been waiting in my inbox for a while, so let's get to it.

The thing about the Fury is that she is defined primarily by a great identity crisis, having a certain identity/role established at the end of Chapter 1 and then having it totally denied over the course of Chapter 2. Yes, the Tower and Adversary are very different, and the way you deny them are different, but the result of that is remarkably similar, so let's have a look!

(I'll talk about the Apotheosis in a reblog.)

I, too, got to the Fury via the Tower the first time, so let's start there. The Tower is a Princess defined by your attempt and subsequent absolute failure to slay her. Your perception of her is that of someone impossible to lay a finger on, so why even bother, and the role she grows to fill to meet that perception is of a god.

And your inability to resist her extends even to your choices in the Tower, because she can outright overrule or preempt your choices in a way no other Princess can, even taking control of the Narrator. It's how she defines herself, and being joined by the Broken only further enhances this.

And then you defy her anyway. You go right against what she demands of you, defy her even as you stab yourself at her command to cut her heel, to draw blood. This sullies her image to such an extent that it causes a mental break, because this shouldn't be possible. You should be a broken simp worshipping her at her feet, freeing her from her bonds in the culmination of her being as a god, and instead, here you are, plunging your blade into a god's heart.

So the Fury ends up looking the way she does, her flesh torn, her perfect image clearly sullied and corrupted, her heart open for all to see. At the same time, this incongruence between the two roles your perception might've made her fill (and the tension between the Broken and the Stubborn), the thing that's making her have this mental break, also leaves her tapping into some genuinely incredible power, basically insta-killing you no matter what you try, pissed off as she is.

Taking the Adversary route to get here, the connotations are obviously different. It is, as you mentioned, missing the divine element, but crucially, the Adversary is also defined by one very simple thing: you both fighting to the death and clearly enjoying it.

She outright says, as she dies in Chapter 1, that doing this was 'fun'.

So when you meet her again, her sole purpose in life, the one thing she wants and cares about, is fighting to the death. If you give her this, everything is fine, and she reaches the culmination of her reason for being, and it is glorious.

However, you can turn this desire to ash, either by talking to her and force her to think about her circumstances, or by turning this glorious desire into a horror show as you keep getting up despite your, uh, face being gone (which is fun, I definitely recommend doing this once).

And here, too, the Fury is an identity crisis. All her muscles, all the power you imbued her with in Chapter 2 were useless, so you see her tear her skin off, tearing the chain binding her (to her role, her position with this entire set-up) off along with it. She still wants to fight and kill you, but instead of being glorious, it's now turned bitter and hateful, and she can't even use physical violence to satisfy this urge, so, in her frustration, she just rips you apart with her grander power as she comes unshackled.

In short, by forcing either Adversary or Tower to go against her initial nature, you break a bit of the greater system operating behind the scenes, and let her tap into some of the Shifting Mound's power to break you, right before the Shifting Mound claims her.

(Also, I compared the Adversary's lust for violence to sex, and I think you can apply some of this to the Tower, too (literally worshipping the domme 'goddess'), which makes the Fury the result of orgasm denial. You're welcome.)

[crazy-final-girls]

my insides are red, and yours are too.

ethan landry x fem!reader

warnings: quite a bit of plot oopsies, daddy issues, a little bit of violence, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, not beta read so its literal shit writing 💀💀

a/n: i cannot believe i have actually done this. use this as evidence for me to be sent to a psych ward. also he whimpers BYE

-

he’s got you.

you’re in the police station, with sam and tara and he knows that while he might not be able to have tara, he’ll be able to have you.

you’re so naive, so easily manipulated. sam and tara couldn’t be twisted as easily - not with sam’s strong values of not to trust, not to forget and certainly not to give up, installed in her from her paternal blood.

but you don’t have that. you’re more shy, more afraid, more scared to rock the boat and created waves because what if you’re wrong? so in the new york police department, while mindy is getting stitched up and sam is pointing fingers at anyone who dare look at tara the wrong way, he feigns confusion and earnestness as sam reads out the list of evidence she created on notes app the moment she put two and two together.

after all, who are they going to believe? the young girl who’s the daughter of california’s most famous serial killer, who has a tendency to take joy in her self-defence kills and who never got checked out for PTSD after ripping her boyfriend to shreds? or him, the intelligent, nerdy son of the trustworthy detective?

sam’s seething by the time detective bailey steps in, and you make yourself small. he can tell you feel stupid, so stupid, and guilt is so thick he can cut it with his knife. while sam is being cooled down by tara and told there’s nothing they can do now, he walks up to you.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, and cast a begging glance to tara and sam. they don’t return it - and that’s their first and final mistake. you need validation, you need someone to soothe your doubts and quell your worries. you need someone to tell you that it’s not your fault, it’s alright, you’re going to be okay.

and he’d gladly step in for that role if it means he can finally have you.

“it’s okay. it’s over now,” he says. he’s gotten good at playing the victim, with a pale face and sad, betrayed puppy eyes. he holds your hands that shake and tremble and he can tell that you’re conflicted between the fast, exhilarating life that comes with being friends with sam and tara versus the safe comfort that comes with being friends with him. nerdy, shy, studies-economics ethan. “you’re good.”

you breathe shakily and wince when sam and tara are escorted out; sam sending dark glares to ethan that mirror her father’s look so much it’s disturbing.

“well,” detective bailey says. “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. seems being a psychotic manipulator runs in the family.”

you know that isn’t true. that sam is a genius and god knows that maybe her farcical accusation is right.

but you also know that the evidence is strung together poorly and mostly relies on lack of alibis, and you also know sam has almost driven herself mad in her attempt to keep tara safe and distance herself from her father's legacy.

and so you let yourself drown in ignorance and trust ethan. you let him hug you despite the fact you know you don’t deserve forgiveness and you let him tell you that it’s okay, everyone makes mistakes, she tricked you. you let yourself smile at him; that smile that charms everyone and earns his understanding. he offers you a ride back to your apartment and you accept.

if you trust him enough to be in a car with him, he wonders what else he can manipulate you into doing.

-

it all goes to shit pretty fucking quickly when kirby shows up and suggest they check out the theatre again, considering last time they were interrupted by mindy being stabbed. he hurries into his long ebony cloak and slides on that stupid ghost mask, before hurrying off, blending in with the halloween crowd.

his dad looks him in the eye, a certain glare he’d seen all throughout his childhood - don’t fuck this up. in a way, he knew he was kind of bound to - nevermind that he was the gifted kid, the intelligent kid, the only kid to make a life for himself. he’d always be a disappointment in his father’s eyes - never the firstborn son or sole daughter. just the in-between kid, born for his older siblings to have a playmate.

and this time, he wants to make his dad proud. he admits it; there’s something that runs thick in their blood, something seriously fucked up that makes them love to kill and kill for love. he loves the adrenaline rush and feeds off the fear of those he’s squeezing the life out of. it makes him feel in control in a life where he’s had very little control.

and yet, he doesn’t want to take it this far. he doesn’t want to end an entire bloodline because some illegitimate daughter of a psycho killed his brother (and maybe even rightfully so). and he certainly doesn’t want to kill you - not when you’re the only one who wholeheartedly believes he’s innocent.

you’re fighting in the rafters and he’s got you, now. he lifts the knife above his head like so many before him, but, like the coward he is, he hesitates when he sees the fear in your eyes. this time, it doesn’t make him feel powerful or in control. it just makes him feel like shit; like the older brother he swore to overshadow one day.

you take the moment of hesitation to land a solid punch, knocking him off you. you bless your high-school theatre days - you know a layout of a theatre pretty well, and take off, away from the rafters. you run, too tired to check if sam or tara or kirby are okay. you know they’ll be okay, anyways. they have years of experience and the DNA of the original killer himself on their side.

you run out into an alley, but your blood turns to ice when two hooded figures stand in your way to safety. they don’t notice you at first - you hide behind a dumpster that reeks of october in new york, and watch as the two of them discuss fight plans.

-

“you let her get away?! what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“i’m sorry, okay?” ethan seethes, rolling his eyes underneath his mask. he knew that his dad only saw his older brother and his older brother’s talents, but jesus, his dad here is acting like ethan never received any manipulator genes at all. “i didn’t mean to.”

“you never mean anything.” his father spat is response. “you’re a disappointment.”

“well, i’m sorry i’m not enough like richie for you. sam was right. he made his side piece do all the work and that got his throat slit by girlfriend.”

“you take that back.”

“no,” he shrugged. “i’m sick and tired of doing this for you.”

his father gripped his knife harder.

“ethan, you can be a part of this, or you won’t. this is your last chance.”

there’s no denying he likes the kills. he likes the chase, likes the screams. but there’s no way they’re going to be able to take down everyone. he needs to get out of this unscathed, and he’s willing to throw his father (who never gave a shit about him until he was convenient, anyways) under the bus to escape an innocent man.

“i want out.” ethan responds, composed and certain.

he doesn’t notice his father’s knife twisting in his hands until it’s too late.

“you were always a disappointment. you never stood a chance in taking down the carpenter girls. leave this job for the real baileys; your sister and i.”

he prepares himself for the stab and thinks he deserves it; but it never arrives. there’s the sound of sliced flesh and then a squelching sound. maybe he’s been stabbed and doesn’t realise it.

his father collapses, spluttering, and there you stand; bloody knife in hand and pretty little red blots on your face.

“ethan.” you say, voice hoarse from all your screaming. instinctively, he pulls his mask off, and instantly kicks himself for doing so.

shit.

“i-“ he begins to construct a story in his head. he was manipulated. he never killed anyone. he didn’t know what was going on. he was grieving. he was under duress. whatever legal excuse he’s overheard the law students chat about, and whatever emotional response he can extract, he’ll take. he has no time to die anymore.

“it’s over now.” you speak so softly that the autumn gust of wind and honking off cars in the busy city will whisk the words away. your words are reminiscent of what he said to you in the police department, and you step closer - eyes illuminated by the bright lights that shine.

he freezes, feels himself stiffen and his skin prickle with a sudden chill. you jut your chin out and you smile. you smile that same charming smile that inebriates anyone. he runs over his encounters with you like a broken record, because he swears, he swears he had you wrapped under his finger and in his clutches.

and then he realizes. oh, how he realizes.

you’re smarter than you look, and far more cunning than he’ll ever be. you’re the one who’s been in control. you’re the one who’s been the mastermind in this game of chess, who played the twisted game and won.

he swallows thickly.

you hold his leather-gloved hands, and your face that shines pink in the night from the city, it grows grim as you stare at him for what feels like hours. finally, you say “i don’t want to know” in a way that makes him think you know everything. he begins to panic - this is his last card to play, because if you don’t believe him, then sam and tara won’t believe him, and then nobody will. “whatever lie you’re spinning, save it for the police.”

well, that sounds better than “i hate you and i’m going to tell everyone you’re the killer!”. and sure, maybe you’re the mass manipulator he thought he was. maybe you’re the one in control now. but you’re still holding his hand, fingers at his pulse, standing close to him and blinking slowly, eyes glazed over with dullness. it hits him that he doesn’t truly know you - he doesn’t know how much you know, what you truly think of him and how much you trust him. he doesn’t know if he’s the player or the played. he doesn’t know if his excuse will bag him a get-out-of-jail-free card.

but he knows there was a twinkle in your eye when you stabbed his dad. and he knows that you offer him that conniving smile that twinkles with a secret knowledge, a shared affinity. he knows that American Psycho and Pearl are your favourite movies and he knows that maybe you’re as twisted and bloodthirsty as he is, and just weren’t brave enough to take action.

either way, you’re here with him, and that’s all that matters.

-

the police take his statement. they believe him when he pins the blame on his fucked-up family.

who wouldn’t? he’s a shy kid that’s been in the shadow of his siblings for years and probably been neglected by his workaholic father who never even liked him in the first place. he lost his brother, and when you’re grieving nothing makes sense except for the love you had for that person. he can barely vote, let alone be mature enough to not be manipulated by his father he’s always craved validation from.

the lawyers use some fancy defence that gets him only a community service sentence and a government-assigned therapist. within months, he’s back at his university in the heart of NYC and back to his economics major.

people whisper in the halls sometimes, but in new york, he’s not the craziest thing there. of course, sam’s friend group are both skeptical and sympathetic - they know all too well the pain of a father, and yet, they also know that grooming isn’t an excuse for going on an attempted murder spree and enjoying those kills.

he doesn’t care anymore what most people think of him. like you said, it’s over now.

but you aren’t most people. you’re different.

because you aren’t supposed to know. you know what he did and what he lied about, and you know he’s still lying now. you know and you don’t care. you don’t care at all, he thinks - you spend your weekends with him, watching bad horror movies to ignore that horror movie he created in your life.

he should be concerned about your lack of care and worry about this. you aren’t supposed to have the upper hand and be in complete control of the situation. he’s supposed to be the one making you blush and making words tumble out of your mouth pathetically. and yet, the complete opposite is true. he finds himself fall into a routine - sleep, eat, do economics and business class and then see you. for you to be absent in his life would cause the biggest stab wound of all - if his life was once sink or swim, all he’d wanna do is drown in you.

he isn’t like most men you’ve had. he isn’t fast and demanding and loud and obnoxious. he isn’t an idiot who will forget your name by the end of the week. he isn’t an asshole who puts their own wants and needs first when it comes to love. no, he’s the complete opposite of that.

most memories of him post-october stay clear. fridays in december at some frat party, getting drunk and high off dollar-store tequila and weed. walking back to your dorm, a feverish heat clinging to the two of you like your ugly christmas sweater and fuzzing your mind.

but there were other aspects, more physical and sensual. a more murky part of that winter memory, obscured by a promiscuous haze. you don’t remember much after the clock strikes ten on a friday night after exams and you both become pretty drunk, but you know he was special.

he was slow and begging and quiet and shy. he would plead with those doe-brown eyes to give you everything he could offer - body, mind, soul; whatever you asked for. if you said to run, he’d ask how far? and if you said to jump, he’d ask how high?

in your dorm, with the door locked, he’d kiss you, and he tasted red - red like cherry cola chapstick, red like deep passion and red like blood, the metallic taste still lingering after october. but you didn’t care. you relished that taste, and the way he’d kiss you on your jawline, the curve of your neck, sucking and biting softly. you loved how he’d give rather than receive. how he wanted to give.

“like this?” he whispered, flexing his fingers as you’d ask. your brow furrows and you rest against his shoulder, nodding against his skin. he’s best at pleasing you like this, making you come undone with the touch of his fingers and shape of his mouth. he brushes a bit of hair from your face and presses deeper, harder, and feels that control surge back when you gasp, covering your mouth with your palm.

“yeah,” you moan, biting your lip. he’d twist his head and kiss your neck and this desire for him would yank so hard in your chest it became physically painful. you wanted more. and good fucking thing ethan loved giving you more.

“okay,” you pause, holding his wrist, and he immediately stops. you look at him, and he gets the memo; making a pitiful noise that would’ve been embarrassing a year ago but he doesn’t think twice of now as he sinks to his knees - like a beggar, begging for you to let him deliver you this. praying towards you, resting his chin against your abdomen and looking at you with his dark, intoxicating eyes, half-lidded and hidden by the curtain of his brunette bangs.

he slowly creeps his soft, gentle hands; always careful, always slow, up your thighs like vines and hold onto your hips.

you’re selfish. you bite down on your lip, and taste a copper flavour in your mouth, when he’d press his lips against your inner thigh, revering every inch of your being. you’re already wet; he’s been fingering you for god knows how long, but he would’ve kept going until his fingers ached if you asked him to do so.

stupidly, embarrassingly, you used to say he’d eat you out like he was starved for it. perhaps he is. he feels as though his craving for blood has been replaced with a taste for you as he licks at you, your thighs locking him in place and your hand pulling ever-so-slightly where it is buried in his curly hair. maybe your plan all along was to get him addicted to it in the hopes that he wouldn't kill again. if it was, then it's working.

the only person he’ll kill for now is you.

he hears you exhale, "just like that," and your hips rise for just the smallest bit of friction, the smallest zap of heat that sends shivers down your spine. he closes his eyes and angles himself in a way that he knows will make you twist the sheets in your fists, will make you slam your head into the pillows, will make you cry out. his own hips try searching for friction, but it’s useless; he knows he can't come until you touch him, and you still haven't. nevertheless, he doesn’t find himself to be frustrated or annoyed; not when you’re letting him do this. not when he can hear you gasping above him. that thought alone makes him moan, and the hum of his whimper forces your back to arch.

he’s done this enough times that he knows when you’re about to climax. your hand in his hair gets so tight it stings as you clutch the sheets. your thighs and legs are tensing up, and he can feel it. the small, punched-out moans that are torn out of your mouth, which are so loud they almost sound like sobs, are what really give it away.

you come hard, arching your back and almost tearing the sheets in your grasp. he smiles; the same way you smile, all-knowing and sly. your fingers reach down to caress his cheekbones and bring his face up; there's tear-tracks down your cheeks and a grin blossoming on your face. you graze one hand against his jawline; your other hand in his hair, a reminder that you're in control, and he likes that. if he'd known this was what it took to convince you that he's trustworthy, that he's yours, he would've done it much, much earlier.

and when he kisses you; it tastes dangerous. fierce. passionate. but that doesn't scare you anymore - it never did, and it never will; because you're the one in control, you're the one who knows, you're the one he's hopelessly devoted to; you've got him.

-

jesus fucking CHRIST i can't believe i wrote this. send help girlies xoxo

[freesidexjunkie]

Trouble

Small piece of durgetash drivel i wrote while a lil tipsy and feeling some kind of way about the Baldur's Mouth Gazette mission. Will upload to AO3 when i get better signal.

Gortash x f!Durge oc - AO3

Fluff, playing chicken with each other, manipulation, small threats. Pls enjoy 🥺

"Miss... Miss! You can't go–" That was all the guard got out before he found a dagger against his throat, silencing him to a whimper.

Gortash could, of course, hear this exchange going on outside of his office. He was debating how far he was going to let her go, to see how badly she wanted in. This was enough for now, he decided; he'd spare the poor guard. Flaming Fists weren't as replaceable with Orin prowling the streets.

"Let her in," he said, a hint of bemusement in his voice. After a moment, the door swung open violently. Maevris strolled leisurely to his desk, a measured smile on her face. Without the bloodstains and the shaking guard, one could almost mistake her for a person paying a pleasant social visit.

"Ah, my most efficient assassin! A pleasure. To what do I owe–" She dropped a stack of papers on his desk wordlessly, smiling at him with her blade still at her side.

A test print of the Baldur's Mouth Gazette lay on his desk, along with a letter in his hand. Not signed, of course, but recognizable to anyone who would care to notice. Warning! Dangerous Band of Adventurers Bring Absolutist Chaos to Our City! The paper cried out, with an unmistakably portrait of Mae and her band of misfits.

"I'm beginning to question the integrity of this alliance," she said coolly. "I wonder how this article could impact our... joint endeavor."

Gortash glanced over the newspaper and letter. "Tsk. Someone's been snooping. I didn't think the printing press was open to the public," he said with a half cocked smile.

"I'm remarkably tenacious," she said, "especially when threatened by men with feathered hats bigger than their sense. But, I suppose he's more useful to your plans than I am, if you're so ready to throw me to the wolves."

Her words dripped sweetly like honey, coating the malicious undertones as she twisted her dagger between her fingers. A subconscious habit that survived Orin's attack. He found the familiarity comforting, for a moment. "An insurance policy, my dear," he said, looking up at her, "until you were more certain where your allegiances lay."

"What an interesting way to win over my allegiance, then," she said as she perched herself on the corner of his desk.

Slander her name publicly, invent a reason for the Steel Watch to detain her. She would resist, of course, but they would be ordered to bring her in with non-lethal methods. Once she was declawed and separated from her traveling companions, Mae would certainly be much easier to talk to. She could be reasoned with, surely, without those do-gooders clinging to her. It wasn't a bad plan, if Ettvard had been more cautious.

"You know, you would have one advantage in this partnership, if you weren't so keen to throw it away," she said, looking down at him.

"Oh?" He said back with a lazy smile. He had missed their little sparring matches. "And what is that, dearest?"

"I don't have an opinion on you yet, one way or the other," she said, twirling her knife on its tip against the wooden desktop. "We might work well together, or we might not. I'm decidedly undecided, I suppose. But you do things like this, and it... tips the needle in the wrong direction." She lifted her blade up and brought it back down swiftly, stabbing the tip into the grain of the desk, all while keeping her face completely calm and measured.

He couldn't help but grin fully back up at her. A lovely display. "A thousand apologies, then," he said as he stood up and walked around the desk. "However, I do think I have at least one more advantage."

"And what's that?" She asked, feigning disinterest as she pulled her dagger from the desk and sheathed it at her side.

He came up behind her, barely a whisper away from her back. "I remember you better than you remember yourself," he whispered just above the skin of her neck before planting slow, delicate kisses trailing down the space just behind her ear.

She melted into the touch in spite of herself as an arm came to rest on her waist. Just as quickly as it came, the moment was over, as Gortash withdrew his touch and walked to a bookshelf. That momentary lapse of self control was all it took; the split second, involuntary movement of her body to his, and they both know where the balance of power was shifting in this battle. The smirk he had when he turned to face her, leaning against a shelf so cockily, said that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Two could play at that game. She hopped off of the desk corner and strolled over to him, stopping almost flush against his chest with her arms behind her back. Tilting her face up to his, with the most saccharine smile she could muster, she said, "so what is it that you want, then? Am I a partner, or a plaything?"

He grinned back down at her, eyes hooded, as he put a hand under her chin and brought her face inches from his. "I suppose that's up to you, dear," he said.

Mae stood on her tip toes and leaned in to whisper in his ear, hands on his shoulder for balance. "And how would I go about convincing you I'm more useful as your equal?" She purred.

He chuckled, and she felt it rumble through his chest under her hands. He put one arm lazily around her middle and leaned in to press a small kiss to the side of her head. "Not with such an obvious show of manipulation, pet." He teased before releasing his hold on her waist and walking back to his desk.

"As opposed to your very subtle manipulation?" She quipped back, disappointed but evidently not deterred. "You say you want to work together. Rule together. You string together all these pretty words to my face. I can't help but wonder if it's to distract me from the dagger you're planning to plunge into my back."

"Aren't daggers more your thing, Mae?" He replied as he sat at his desk again. She was already halfway across the room now.

"Give me one thing to trust. Anything. That's all I'm asking," she said as she approached his desk. "One reason to believe you're sincere."

He looked at her for a moment, amusement and admiration dancing across his face as she sat back on his desk, this time right in front of his seat. "Alright," he said, "give me your hand."

She looked at him quizzically as he reached towards her right arm, but acquiesced all the same. He took it in both hands and turned it over, holding her forearm with one hand while tracing a scar across her wrist with the other. "I was there when you got this scar. It was in Mephistopheles' vault. You were trying to disarm a trap, and it triggered on you instead," he said, looking her deeply in the eyes. "I was the one who cleaned and bandaged it for you out." He took her arm and pressed his lips to the scar, not looking away from her eyes, silently relishing in the fact that she didn't pull away from the contact.

"Anyone could make up a story about a scar," she said quietly, still looking down at him.

Her words said she wasn't convinced, but he knew her tells and mannerisms. He had her right where he wanted, if he could keep going. "I know you prefer to sleep on your left side," he said, curling an arm around her waist. "You preferred to sleep facing me. So you could listen to my heart beat under my chest, you said."

"That doesn't..." He could hear her breath hitch just the slightest bit. "That didn't stop you from betraying me last time though, did it?" She asked quietly. It wasn't a challenge; her eyes were wide and sincere. Almost hurt. That small, veiled vulnerability. Only ever reserved for him, even still.

He stood to meet her gaze, wrapping one arm around her middle fully and cupping her face with the other as he brought it to his. "It didn't stop me from losing you," he said, his breath ghosting over her lips, "a fate I'm very keen to avoid you facing again."

"Unless it's at your hand, apparently," she replied, leaning into the embrace all the same. Just as touchstarved as always, it seemed. Just as eager as he felt.

"My hands can be much more gentle, love," he said, leaning against her forehead, "if you'd let them."

She kept her eyes locked on his, barely a hair's breadth from his face, searching his demeanor. She gave him a small smirk, and his own heart was the one doing little flips this time. "We'll see," she said playfully, before extricating herself from his grip in one fluid movement and walking towards the door. "Do tell your other friends to play nicer, in the mean time," she called over her shoulder as she left.

He smiled after her, long after she had left the room. She might not remember him, no. But that was certainly still his same Mae.

[the-exercist]

In honor of my daughter turning two months old today (Have you wondered where I've been? That's the big reason I'm so offline), here's my rendition of:

Things They Don't Tell You About Pregnancy, Labor, and Postpartum Life

Because we typically don't get to hear about a lot of the nitty gritty and, even as someone who took pain to educate herself beforehand, many of these things took me by surprise. Pregnant folk deserve to be prepared for the road ahead.

Pregnancy:

We start counting the age of a fetus at your last menstrual cycle, meaning that you are already two weeks pregnant on the day of conception

You will continue to get "period cramps" throughout pregnancy. This is because your uterus is expanding, and that muscle stretch does not feel good.

You may also experience round ligament pain, which is an incredibly sharp pain around your groin due to your ligaments stretching. I would get it if I moved too quickly or sneezed, and the pain would knock the wind out of me.

You are recommended against sleeping on your back while pregnant. In addition to being dangerous for the fetus, due to putting pressure on a major blood vessel, it can make you feel horribly nauseous and light headed. Get used to side sleeping.

Nasal congestion during pregnancy is a thing. Your nasal passages may constrict to the point that you have difficulty breathing during certain parts of the day.

You will be peeing frequently even before the fetus is large enough to press on your bladder. Since your body is producing extra blood, your kidneys have more to filter, so you will be visiting the bathroom way more often right from the start

Labor and Aftermath (C-section):

Cervical checks, where your doctor uses their fingers to measure how dilated you are, are very painful in the beginning but get easier as labor progresses.

You cannot actually induce labor. All of those old wives tricks, like curb walking or having sex, will only induce contractions. So engaging in them will likely only prolong your pain without making the baby come any sooner.

A side effect of the epidural is uncontrollable shaking. It hits right as the epidural wears off and can last for several hours, making it difficult to use your hands

You may not be physically able to pee after getting a c section. Your body loses the ability to control those muscles, leading to urinary retention that can last for a few hours or even a day or two. Even once you can pee again, your body may lose the sense of urinary urgency for a week or more, meaning you can't feel if you have to use the bathroom.

Congrats, you're still getting intense "period cramps." This time, it is your uterus contracting back to it's original size. The cramps get worse while breastfeeding.

IVs pump you so full of liquids that you may experience severe edema, aka foot swelling. This can last roughly two weeks and can reach the point that you can feel your feet sloshing around when you walk.

Postpartum:

Breastfeeding hurts. Your nipples may get torn up, but even so, the latch itself can feel like you are getting stabbed. For the first ~4 weeks, I had to take a deep breath, brace myself, and power through the sharp pain.

The "Let Down" also hurts/aches. This is when your milk releases and begins to flow. It may happen after the baby latches or randomly during the day and then your shirt is suddenly dripping wet. It feels like your boob muscles are stretching.

Lochia is your bloody discharge afterward. It can last for weeks, and it's worth wearing postpartum diapers to deal with it.

Keep taking your stool softeners even after you're all healed up. Breastfeeding can cause constipation.

You can get pregnant again right away, even if you haven't had your period yet. Breastfeeding will not reliably prevent it. Plan your birth control well before you're cleared for sex at six weeks.

Got a question? Want to share another odd tidbit? Add it here!

[fanby-fckry]

Her Heart and Mine

Day 5* of Kinktober, 2023: Collaring

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,149

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Relationships: Charlie/Vaggie, (platonic) Angel Dust & Charlie & Vaggie

Characters: Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust

Additional Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, Soft Dom, Day Collars

Summary: Charlie surprises her long-time girlfriend and submissive, Vaggie, with a gift to celebrate their relationship.

Later, Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel Dust have an unexpected heart-to-heart regarding Charlie’s gift.

Better on AO3

*I’m behind on prompts, posting this October 7th

{ 𖤐 }

Vaggie had never thought of herself as ‘submissive.’ In fact, if someone were to go back and tell her human self that one day, she would willingly apply that label to herself, she would’ve laughed in their face. Would’ve told them there’s nothing in the world that could make her degrade herself that way.

So what changed? Well, not as much as you might think.

She still hated the idea of feeling weak or unimportant – but she’d learned that if you do it right, submission doesn’t have to make you feel that way at all. In fact, her domme made her feel like the most important person in all of hell, heaven, and earth combined.

Submission was a much needed break from having to scratch and claw and stab her way through hell just to be taken seriously. She didn’t have to fight for control, didn’t have to stay one step ahead of the chaos and hellfire.

As Vaggie’s domme, Charlie would guide her, praise her, shower her in love and affection. She would create elaborate, decadent scenes where all Vaggie had to do was follow her lead and enjoy the pleasure she was given.

In those quiet moments, tucked away from the hell that was, well, hell, she could trust Charlie to take care of everything – to take care of her. And it was everything she never knew she needed.

{ 𖤐 }

It’d been a mostly ordinary day – or as ordinary as it gets in hell – for Vaggie and Charlie.

Surprisingly, the out of the ordinary part of their day had nothing to do with the hotel. No crazy antics from Angel Dust or Cherri Bomb, no actively malicious schemes from Alastor.

It was actually Charlie that’d been acting strangely. She’d been jumpy and distracted all day, alternating between daydreaming and obviously hiding something. Not necessarily something bad, but she was definitely hiding something.

Vaggie noticed an extra bounce in Charlie’s step as they made their way to their room together; she felt Charlie hold her hand a little tighter. By the time they reached their door, Vaggie was certain that whatever Charlie was hiding, it had to be something good.

“I have a surprise,” Charlie said, beaming from ear to ear as she closed the door behind them. “I wanted to wait until date night, but I just couldn’t take it anymore!”

Vaggie couldn’t help but smile, herself, as Charlie’s infectious joy took hold of her.

“Ok, close your eye,” Charlie told her, and Vaggie obeyed.

Charlie led her to their bed and helped her get comfortable. Then, by the sound of things, raced across the room and started moving furniture around to get to some hiding spot where she must’ve been keeping Vaggie’s surprise.

After a few minutes, Charlie returned, greeting Vaggie with a gentle kiss.

“Is that my surprise?” Vaggie asked playfully.

“Nope,” Charlie answered. She booped Vaggie on the nose, getting a giggle out of both of them.

“Alright, hands out.”

Vaggie obeyed, and Charlie placed what felt like a small, gift wrapped box into her open palms.

“Good girl,” Charlie praised, and Vaggie all but melted as Charlie ran a hand through her hair. “Go ahead and look now, sweetheart.”

Vaggie opened her eye. She took a moment to admire her girlfriend – her eyes all sunshine and scarlet, her smile bright enough to light the darkest night – before turning her attention to the box.

It was wrapped with intricately patterned, grayscale wrapping paper and tied up with a soft pink bow. Charlie had picked every detail with Vaggie’s tastes in mind – and that was just the box.

Vaggie carefully removed the bow, putting it aside, then tore through the gift wrap and opened the box within. All the while, Charlie watched, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Inside was a layered choker, perfectly aligned with Vaggie’s style. It was beautiful – white lace backed with dark gray velvet, and hanging beneath it was a silver chain with a small heart shaped pendant.

“I hope you like it,” Charlie chatted nervously as she waited for Vaggie’s response. “I know you said you like the idea of having something from our dynamic with you, something subtle, and I thought… You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to-”

Vaggie cut her off with a kiss. “I love it,” she said. “And I love you.”

Charlie let out a sigh of relief. “I love you too, Vaggie.”

They shared another kiss, and when their lips parted, Charlie asked, “Can I help you put it on?”

“Yes,” Vaggie answered, and Charlie practically jumped with joy.

Vaggie gathered her hair in her hands and lifted it to expose her neck while Charlie hopped onto the bed and sat down behind her. She fastened the day collar around Vaggie’s neck and kissed the top of her head.

“I love you so much,” Charlie whispered.

“I love you too, hon,” Vaggie replied.

{ 𖤐 }

Vaggie wore her new choker to work the next day. Charlie had apparently used magic to allow the lace to change colors to match her outfit, and it had turned from white to black after changing into her uniform.

All throughout the day, whenever things got too stressful – when Vaggie felt like she was going to boil over with rage or collapse from exhaustion – Charlie would find a way to subtly touch the collar.

Charlie’s presence, her touch, and what the collar meant to them both helped ground her, and Vaggie found that the whole day went by smoother somehow.

That is, until Angel Dust started to catch on.

Vaggie had known this might happen. Despite chokers being a consistent element in most of her outfits, the chain and the way she and Charlie treated it were definitely tells for anyone who knew anything about D/s relationships and day collars.

And Angel Dust was Angel Dust, of course he’d be the one to figure it out. Thankfully, he waited until the three of them were alone in the lobby to say anything.

“I like your new necklace, toots,” he said, waiting to see how Charlie and Vaggie would react.

Charlie flushed right up to her ears, and Vaggie glowered, her cheeks growing hot as well.

But to her surprise, Angel didn’t laugh or crack some crude joke. Instead, he smiled knowingly and said, “Congrats. Youse two really are sweet together. I’m happy for youse.”

Vaggie’s gaze softened and Charlie rushed over to give the spider a hug.

“Thank you, Angel,” she said, head buried in his shoulder. Angel looked like he wasn’t expecting a hug – but to be fair, Charlie and Vaggie hadn’t expected him to congratulate them.

“Thanks,” Vaggie echoed, still a little unsure what to make of all this.

“Uh, yeah,” Angel said, seeming to get his bearings back. He returned Charlie’s hug and looked over her shoulder at Vaggie. “Don’t mention it.”

[tadpolesonalgae]

i've read the last chapter twice and i honestly thought things would go a different way? idk i thought even if running away didn't work with the magic that maybe she got at least a bit of a backbone, it kinda feels like running to eris and have all that guilt on top of the one she already had was all for nothing. i wanna root for her but at a certain point she's really doing all this to herself. i thought the reunion would warrant some well deserved anger from both parts like a climax of sorts, i guess it did it was just more depressing and defeated than the anger i was expecting. kinda wish we'd seen azriel or even mor tell the others too

and i'm sorry but how did she pick the weirdest way to off herself 😭 like there are so many easier ways, even just with the arrow just stab it through your heart, she definitely wouldn't hit azriel like that and she remembered the wards but didnt think to mind speak to call rhys and feyre? like i get she was in shock but i just dont know how she's so smart but keeps making the dumbest decisions. i also thought the prophecy meant she'd kill him with her powers not just this

i'm sorry if this sounds a bit critical, the chapter was beautifully written as always, you're really amazing at conveying emotion, the reason it's so frustrating to see her stay stuck in her self pity is because of how well you write it but i just thought there would be more happening when she came back - 🧶

Okay…I have some thoughts drifting around in my head so I hope I’ll express them in a coherent fashion 😬😭🧡💛 (though this did get a little long, sorry 🫣🫂)

So, first of all, I think some people probably were expecting anger or some kind of emotional detonation, but in my experience anger and frustration take a lot of energy to sustain and I don’t believe reader—where she was at that moment—was capable of directing her resentment anywhere but herself? She’s exhausted from being alive; she doesn’t have the energy nor the instinct to become angry with Azriel or any of the IC.

I know this is a fanfic, so it would be quite simple to have her ‘fixed’ after visiting Eris, but that scene was supposed to be the first moment of catharsis, where reader is able to physically exhaust a portion of her magic that has been straining on her. It’s mentioned (I think in acomaf, and we also see it with Nesta in acosf) that Rhys has to constantly have magic in use to relieve the pressure it puts on him or else it will drive him insane, so reader needed to have some kind of release moment since her magic wasn’t able to manifest correctly.

I’d also like to mention that I think it might seem underwhelming or anticlimactic in some lights because it is frustrating in a way to see someone continuously be unable to stand up for themselves and just kind of melt into a puddle on the floor? Particularly if they aren’t entirely deserving of certain behaviours and it would be simpler to fix if the person just took a stand and stopped muddling about the place 😭

‘kinda wish we'd seen azriel or even mor tell the others too’

With this, do you mean that reader ran away to Eris, or that she tried to end herself, because I’m pretty sure both of those will be spoken about in chapter 16 if that’s any consolation! 🧡💛

Okay, onto the method of suicide! (Yes, I acknowledge it was a weird choice, certainly a more unintentionally flamboyant approach)

So, since she’s fae (I can’t actually remember if decapitation works?) I’m pretty sure ash is the only thing that can actually kill her? Which limited the options quite significantly? I suppose she could have taken a large dose of faebane to reduce her healing and then ended herself in a more ‘human’ (?) way?

Personally though, there were a couple a reasons I wanted to use the crossbow and arrow!

First of all, using a crossbow, letting reader set it up, knowing she just has to knock into a book and then it will be out of her hands? It’s passive. She’s again letting things be taken out of control—I didn’t want her first moments of real autonomy to be trying to end herself (though that might have been very impactful for a different direction of the story) (I’m also not counting her giving away the earrings since that wasn’t something she did entirely for herself)

Secondly, the Crossbow itself was lying inside the House of Wind, along with various other weapons and blades that the IC are just too accustomed to—I want a specific reason for the IC to understand what sort of problems are happening with reader. While I don’t feel it’s expressly their fault (again, I feel it’s passive, not active—they didn’t intend for their distance to have a negative impact on her, though it did anyway) they will feel responsible that she used something of theirs to hurt herself with.

Then, Eris was the one who gave reader the ash arrow and I would like to have a reason to elaborate on what’s going on in the background (which I’m scared I won’t do well 🫣)

Admittedly this is a slightly strange reason, but I think from reader’s perspective and without being able to understand az’s side, he’s seemed quite cold/distant from her due to external pressures and I wanted this to serve as a reminder that despite how bad things are right now he does still care about her? Not romantically or anything obviously, but he doesn’t want any of the people he cares about to be hurt where he can help it so this felt like a good circumstance that would set their reconciliation (not reconciliation, but their distance closing I guess?) in motion and give them a reason to actually pay attention to one another and figure out what’s going on

(Lastly, this one is more an allegory than anything, but being shot through the heart by an arrow is usually something done by Cupid. So revolving around her love for Azriel and how it’s kind of messing her up? This is definitely a more indulgent reason though 😭)

For the mind speaking thing and why she didn’t call out for Rhys and Feyre—I’m not sure if I expressed it incorrectly but reader was suffering through an onslaught of pretty debilitating inclinations revolving around ending herself, and then the solution to those urges was stripped away from her when Azriel took the arrow instead so she’s having to grasp with the fact she’s still alive, she’s now responsible for murdering someone rhys, Feyre etc. love dearly, she’s killed someone she loves dearly, while also dealing with small glimpses from the war—she isn’t in the right headspace to think outside of those problems.

Also, I don’t feel daemati abilities are explained very clearly, but in my mind Azriel, Cassian, Mor etc. who aren’t daemati would be familiar enough with it (through speaking with Rhys) that they know roughly where to push within their mental expanse to search for a connection point. With reader who has only been fae for two years, has little to no experience with speaking mind to mind—I don’t feel it would be at all possible for her to figure out how to call for someone mentally when she can barely control her own magic and when neither Rhys nor Feyre would have a reason to be checking on her mentally when as far as they know she’s safe and with Az.

With the prophecy/vision that Elain got, all she explicitly sees is Azriel on the floor with blood around him then a flash of green. He looks dead but that’s not something Elain can determine just through visuals just yet—no, Azriel is not dead, but he comes close enough to imitate it!

‘i'm sorry if this sounds a bit critical, the chapter was beautifully written as always, you're really amazing at conveying emotion, the reason it's so frustrating to see her stay stuck in her self pity is because of how well you write it but i just thought there would be more happening when she came back - 🧶’

I think it was critical but I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all and really appreciate it!! 🧡💛 It wasn’t malicious or mean and I really enjoy hearing your opinions on cbmthy’s storyline because it helps me adapt and shape the direction of the plot—seriously, I love getting to hear your thoughts, thank you so much for taking the time to articulate them, it’s such a massive aid 😭🧡💛 I hope none of my replies felt too harsh or absolute, and I would love to know if you have any other thoughts on the storyline!! 🧡💛

[lepusrufus]

I'm so easily persuaded to ramble so here you have it: The speech on how Vi is actually very smart.

Ok I wanna preface this by saying that I know this way of thinking probably also stems from the way a lot of people see more masculine women. But it just doesn’t feel like it’s my place to comment on that so I’m keeping this strictly a character analysis of Vi. 

Anyway, let’s get started. 

Right off the bat, I think one thing that does Vi a bit of a disservice when it comes to the way fans see her is the way she’s surrounded by a lot of characters that are what would traditionally be seen as intelligent. Most obvious example, Jinx. She’s very smart and her biggest strength is how inventive she is with the tools at her disposal (heck ,even Viktor comments on it while disabling her bomb). Ekko is pretty much in the same boat as Jinx, only with vastly differing results. Another big example, Caitlyn. She’s basically the Sherlock Holmes of League and has a very investigative mind despite the naivety that her upbringing comes with. Which makes perfect sense for her character. 

But even characters that Vi isn’t often associated with, but we all know that the show is full of parallels and foils so even if the characters themselves don’t even know each other, there’s always connection. You have JAyce and Viktor, who are your typical straight As academy students and inventors. Mel, who’s a political and economical genius. Heimerdinger… well him. You get my point. 

Vi is very different from these characters. 

Her intelligence lies in more… practical (?) skills that she just had to get good at in order to survive. (Side point, we almost never see Vi in a situation where she’s not acting in order to survive or protect the people around her so that’s also something to keep in mind.) She knows her way around people very well and is a natural leader (see the way she knew where to look for information the moment she stepped out of prison, aka to Jericho and Babette, or the way she went to Jayce after the council meeting bc she knew he was the way to get something done about Silco). She has hella street smarts, which I don’t think needs elaborating. 

What she lacks, which seems to be what people are looking at the most for some reason, is the academic education. Which makes perfect sense? However I hope I don’t have to wax poetic about how school isn’t the end all be all of someone’s intelligence. But while I’m at it, I will say that I highly doubt she’s downright illiterate. She and her siblings may not have had the chance to go to school, but I don’t believe Vander didn’t at least teach them basic stuff. 

The second Big Point that I wanna make is that I don’t think she’s nearly as impulsive as everyone seems to think. She acts impulsive in certain situations, but I feel like that’s usually in situations that force her hand in a way. Which is realistic. We all have those moments where we would act in ways that are unusual to who we really are. But either way, moving on to some examples. 

Firstly, to get this out of the way: Vi parkouring off a cliff with a stab wound when she can barely stand by herself. Yup. Dumb decision. I’ll admit, the jokes about it are hella funny. BUT. For all Vi knew she was very close to just bleeding out and dying. And she wanted to lay down and do that in the last place that held some familiarity to her, since the only other place that fit in that category was The Last Drop which… yeah (another proof to this is how she didn’t even try to get help since there’s no way her old home was closer to where she fought Sevika than, say, the brothel. So Vi really was just ready to die there). 

Secondly, her fighting Sevika. Sevika is straight up a big outlier in the way Vi acts because Vi has a strong sense of loyalty and therefore a deep hatred for those she deems traitors. To Vi, Sevika is practically that friend from middle school that turned on you to hang out with the popular kids and then became a bully. You may be a pacifist now but no matter what you’d still drop anything and throw hands if you saw them. But dial it up to like a thousand. 

On the flip side however, you can see Vi being quite strategy oriented. Which, again, natural leader so go figure. 

She planned the robbery to Jayce’s lab and, were it not for the explosion, it might have worked out too. During the act 1 finale you can see her being more than capable of taking lead in and adapting to stressful situations. At the brothel, she gives Caitlyn a fake lead to make sure she’s out of the way but at the same time safe while she went after Sevika. Down in the fissures when Silco went after them, she keeps him monologuing while figuring out what Caitlyn is doing behind her and then turning her back to fighting Silco in order to get away. Again, her going to Jayce because she recognized him as the perfect means to an end (aka taking down Silco by chipping away at the thing that gives him power, Shimmer). 

This is getting a little long and rambly and I kinda suck at rgumenting my points so I’ll wrap it up here but yeah. Vi is incredibly clever and people don’t give her half the credit she deserves for it.

[spicywhumper]

Alphabet of Whump 2024 – Gag

The Beauty of Suffering // Series: Mack and the Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day(s) // Warnings: restraints, implied past sexual abuse, implied threat of sexual abuse

Mack was trying her best to keep herself from panicking.

She was nonchalant about most things, indifferent to the usual torture methods. She could have the shit beaten out of her and give zero fucks about it. She'd collapse on Jace's kitchen with a stab wound that was terribly infected and not even care about the pain inflicted on her as he cleaned it up. Being tied up was uncomfortable, but she had been trained (conditioned) better than that.

Being gagged was fine, since they usually just slap a tape over her mouth. She was more annoyed than anything.

The golden-eyed, with a face too perfect to be human, woman was smirking as she shoved the bundled up piece of rag on her mouth. Fingers pushing between her teeth until part of the gag had slipped into her throat. The carved leather bounding her wrists did not help her to stay calm.

"I heard you're the stoic type," the woman placed a foot on the edge of the sitting, in the space between Mack's thighs. "They die or get a fate worse than death before they break you. I don't believe anyone's unbreakable," she tugged the gag and then pushed it further in. "I can have some fun with you."

It was a lot harder to keep herself from panicking when she couldn't tell if it was an empty threat or someone's actual intentions. And what "fun" meant for her current tormentor. Certain things meant immediate escape mode, and meant she was much more brutal when fighting her way out.

Just the gagging was enough to make her want to go animalistic on her.

"Half-humans like you really do smell good," she leaned closer, into Mack's personal space. "I wonder how desperate I can make you," her foot nudged forward, which cemented her intention to Mack. "And what kind of desperate I can make you."

For Mack, the golden-eyed woman just signed her death certificate, and for a painful gore death at that.

[streaminn]

Hmm I got inspired...

Tara leaves Chad's room while the siblings are still bickering whether or not Chad may be some type of outcast for the amount of times he keeps surviving stabbings (we are twins dingus!!), and Sam is taking a well earned nap on an uncomfortable bedside chair.

She sneaks into Enid's room as quietly as she can, knowing the wolf's superior hearing (the amount of time it saved an awkward situation when Sam or Quinn returned home early) when she froze, fear paralysing her for the hundredth time that week.

An empty bed.

She quickly runs to the nearest nurses station, mind already 5 steps ahead of her, planning to get the cavalry from Chad's room and find her girl....her something.

"Excuse me!! The blonde in room 105, where is she!!"

Tara barley let the kindly nurse get her greeting out before she bombarded the poor overworked woman.

"Oh! Are you Tara Carpenter? Miss Sinclair mentioned a tiny brunette might look for her, here you go sweetie"

The nurse gave a folded up note to Tara before she left the young girl in privacy.

Hey beautiful,

Sorry for not sticking around and saying goodbye in person..I hate goodbyes. A cliché I know.

Tell the twins for me that they are the coolest twins I've ever met *and I'm friends with twin sirens, so Chad will be happy ;) *

Tell Sam she'd make a hell of a wolf, and that she's a lot more brave than many pack leader I know. I'd follow her lead anywhere. Tell her to look after herself, she deserves some rest.

And finally..You. Tara Carpenter. The girl that had me hooked since first sight...or well punch lmao. I'll miss you most of all dimples. I want you to know you've made this trip worthwhile..freaky serial killer and all!

I guess it just wasn't our time. Your gonna have a great life Tara. I know it! And if any other creeps comes out the wood work..

I'll be there. I promise.

Anyway I better get going, I have a certain goth roomie who will use me as a rug if I miss the start of the semester.

Stay Safe! HaveFun!

Love your favourite werewolf, Enid x

Tara reads the note twice more before the tears start to fall, she slides down the wall to the floor feeling her chest tightening. Feeling the loss of someone who could've been someone very important.

Who Could've anyway...

HONESTLY? your note was much better than what I had in mind, I lowkey was just gonna have Enid write her phone number on a paper because all they've been doing is messaging through social media

But the core fore sheneinegans,, Tara going in and expecting enid :-: BRO WHY CAN'T THEY BE TOGETHER

[paradoxcase]

Chapter 31 of Gideon the Ninth

Just to state for the record, this chapter killed me dead, I read it last night and am no longer in that state of mind, but like, just for the record

So finally, I think we have all the answers to the questions about Gideon and Harrow's backstory, I think the only one left is "why were no more children born" but based on comments from people here that seems to be an open question that isn't answered definitively in the book. I think the story with Dulcinea is still unresolved, and we still don't know what happened to Protesilaus's body, and I think there is now a new unanswered question as of the last chapter about what happened to Dulcinea's facility key. The Fourth teens did say they saw Protesilaus go into the facility, possibly this is where Harrow found him, so probably whoever took the body also took the key, and that person seems to have chosen to take the key and hide the existence of the body rather than reporting it as another murder. The only people who I think would have any interest in a facility key are Judith Deuteros, who had hers taken by Palamedes, and Corona, but I'm not sure how much interest Corona actually has in the facility, to be honest. Also, if Protesilaus was disassembled in the facility, he had to have been found by someone who already had a facility key, which leaves just Ianthe, Palamedes and Mayonnaise Uncle as possibilities, and I think if Palamedes had found the body he would have said so to someone last chapter. Ianthe was trying to get a facility key for Corona earlier, I recall, so I think she's most likely. There's also the question of how Protesilaus originally died - Harrow says he was stabbed, but his head came off when she undid the spell, and we know there are two people in the incinerator, so I think it's also possible that he was beheaded and his head attached to the body of someone who was stabbed

So, at the start of this chapter, Gideon is still in a general state of "will do anything if Harrow asks nicely", at least after finding out that Harrow didn't murder Protesilaus, and even though what Palamedes said to her at the end of the last chapter didn't convince me, I think it may have convinced Gideon that Harrow isn't actually evil

This was clever, actually. How do you get a child to keep a terrible secret? You instill in them a belief/superstition/custom that they are only allowed to talk about it under certain specific circumstances that can't exist on your planet except in a secret place where no one else is allowed to go

So my first guess that Harrow figured out Protesilaus on the first day actually was correct, and she was just still verifying it at Magnus's anniversary party. Lucky that she got assigned to sit next to him, really. Also the timing I posted in my last post was approximately accurate, but at some point in that same time period, she must have given the white key to Dulcinea. I'm guessing she did that before disassembling Protesilaus, because I think the reason she was asleep and unwakable the next time Gideon saw her was because she was worn out from doing that, maybe? But this re-opens the question of, if she thought Protesilaus was dead on arrival, what role did she think Palamedes played in this? It's pretty apparent, at least from Gideon's POV, that he has never met Dulcinea before they arrived at Canaan House

Also, let's try to imagine what would have been different if Harrow had told Gideon about this at that point. I don't think this would have negatively disposed Gideon towards Dulcinea, I think she probably would have just filled in the same story that Dulcinea just told them for herself and felt worse for her that she didn't actually have a cavalier. So, I'm not sure things would have been that different, except that Gideon wouldn't have briefly assumed that Harrow killed him

Also, the Protesilaus reveal also shows the real reason why Dulcinea couldn't do the soul siphoning challenge. But I would actually expect her to not be able to do any of the challenges without an actually living cavalier, so that raises a new question: how did she get the grey key? And it leaves the old question: why is she trying to get keys in the first place? I think the only thing that makes sense is that she's of the same opinion as Mayonnaise Uncle and doesn't want any of the candidates to become a Lyctor, which is why she willingly gave her keys to him, if she knew he had the same goal. But in that case, why did she offer to make a deal with Palamedes, who has the most keys out of everyone, and would have had five out of eight if he'd agreed? I still think she is already immortal/a Lyctor, I'm not letting go of this conspiracy theory

And this answers the question I raised last chapter. Now I'm really curious about what happened, from Harrow's POV, when she was staying with Palamedes and Camilla and Dulcinea. Like surely there's a fanfic out there where Harrow keeps expecting them all to attack her, meanwhile everyone is behaving completely normally, that actually sounds like it could be pretty funny

This is odd, because last chapter, Gideon tells Palamedes that Harrow didn't do the other murders, and he's the one who says that's "conjecture". Going to return to the paragraph just before this in a minute when we get into the heavy shit

So, Harrow doesn't actually think Dulcinea is evil, she just thought she was up to something weird by reanimating her cavalier. As the only person that Harrow thinks can't have possibly done all of the murders, I predict that she is going to turn out to have been responsible for them somehow. She did have Protesilaus doing something down in the facility just before the Fourth teens were murdered, and for some reason she didn't go with him. Originally I thought he couldn't be responsible for, say, setting up a necromancy trap to kill the Fourth teens, because he wasn't a necromancer, but since he's actually just Dulcinea's puppet, she might be capable of doing necromancy through him. And she also had him punch Mayonnaise Uncle when he was trying to use soul siphoning to get answers out of Magnus and Abigail's bodies - I think I mentioned that she might have inspired him to do that because she was the murderer way back then, but the fact that she literally directed him to do that rather than him just reacting to her scream makes that even more likely, I think. I think the only reason no one is remembering this and finding it suspicious is that I think literally everyone hates Mayonnaise Uncle at this point and finds his soul siphoning methods creepy and unethical. And I guess, by voluntarily giving him her keys, she also made him into the kind of person who steals valuables from bedridden people who are dying, in everyone else's eyes, so if he ever does bring this up, no one will take him seriously

It's interesting that even though I'm sure Harrow came to the pool specifically to tell Gideon about the deaths of the 200 children, she doesn't just tell her about that, and has to wait until Gideon specifically asks, and even then has to spend some time working herself up to answer

(For the record, at this point in the writeup, the Nook app crashed for the third time since I started writing this. Arghhh)

I think this is the part of the story that all the people leaving me comments about how they are excited to see me read the next part were waiting for, right?

I think I maybe should have expected that the 200 children were killed for this reason, because someone told me earlier that Mayonnaise Uncle's comment to Ianthe at Magnus's anniversary party was implying that if Ianthe had died in the womb, Corona would have been stronger. I think that actually does count as a spoiler, because I don't think I would have realized that except on a reread after having read this chapter, but in the event I didn't realize this because of that, so it's fine. I did legitimately learn from the book that the Cohort generates thanergy via warfare, and that the Seventh House likes it when their heirs have blood cancer, because that generates thanergy as well. But like, to put this particular thanergy-related war crime into perspective, based on that early conversation, Corona and Ianthe's parents were not willing to sacrifice one child to make their heir a better necromancer; Mayonnaise Uncle sounds like he would be willing to do that, but even he seems to find the idea of killing 200 children for any reason abominable. But Harrow's parents and great-aunts were willing to do that

And Harrow would too, if she thought she had to. She has this weird kind of doublethink going on where she simultaneously thinks that nothing she could do could possibly make killing 200 children worth it, and also that anything is worth it if she can live long enough to see the body in the Locked Tomb wake up, which I guess is the real reason she wants to be a Lyctor so badly. Actually, I sort of wonder, since the body in the Tomb had such an effect on her that it cut through all of Harrow's thoughts about how she didn't deserve to exist, if it actually cast some sort of glamour on her. Like, presumably it was locked behind all that magic for a reason, and apparently the Emperor didn't actually want the Ninth House to stand guard over the Tomb like they do, he didn't want guarding it to be trusted to humans

So, I think we can start to pick apart Harrow's weird relationship with Gideon now. Harrow has grown up her whole life believing that she deserves to die because of how she came into existence, and Gideon is like, this Harry-Potter-esque Boy (Girl) Who Lived, this pure symbol of Justice and Innocence standing up to her family's tyranny and surviving anyway, and I really think that this whole time she's just wanted to antagonize Gideon to the point where she kills her, completely rightly and justifiably, in her view, and does the thing that Harrow feels she wasn't strong enough to do, and that that's also what Harrow wanted Gideon to do in the scene:

When Gideon says early in this conversation that Harrow would have killed her when she confronted her about Protesilaus, she says:

When Gideon declines to kill her in this scene, she says:

She's still fantasizing about her dying and Gideon surviving. It reminds me of Swordspoint, where Alec has this like fucked up romantic ideal of being killed by Richard, who is essentially the hand of Justice and Honor in his world, to the point where when he's on his deathbed he hires a guy to pretend to be Richard and kill him, and like with Harrow, that all goes back to his guilt over what his social status caused to happen at the university. I've said in the past that Swordspoint is my favorite book, and the more similar to Swordspoint a book is, the more I'll like it, and just in terms of the deeply fucked up interpersonal relationships part of Swordspoint I think this book is like, ten or fifteen Swordspoints at this point, Alec really only had a tiny smidgen of privileged rich boy guilt compared to Harrow. So Harrow wants Gideon to kill her, because that's what would be good and right, but also she really really really wants to be there when the body in the Locked Tomb wakes up. And she thinks she deserves to die, so she suspects people she thinks are good and sensible of wanting to kill her - she thought Magnus and Abigail were going to poison her, she thought Palamedes and Dulcinea were going to try to kill her

(Here we have Nook app crash #4. Actually, it crashed, I restarted it and took another screenshot to add further up, and then it crashed again. Actually, at this point, the Nook app just started crashing every single time I took a screenshot)

Meanwhile, Gideon just thinks that Harrow hates her because she killed her parents, and that she did kill Harrow's parents, and that she deserves all of Harrow's abuse and everything the Ninth House has done to her, so she never fights back. And then Harrow tells her all this stuff, and she doesn't say, "well that sucks, but I can't forgive you for how you've treated me" which I think would be a reasonable thing to say at this point, she just says "I'm so sorry", because I think if you painted a smiley face on a rock Gideon would empathize with it and want it to be her friend

This is like, really going ham with the whole Space Jesus thing already and we haven't even gotten to the actual Space Jesus part yet. And you know - I am actually sold. I can buy this Jesus analog. I've literally hated every other time a character turns out to be Basically Jesus, but this I actually like

(Also, I suspect that at the end of the book Gideon is going to be given the opportunity to outlast Harrow as Harrow requested, and is going to decline that opportunity in favor of dying and saving Harrow, I do see where this is going now)

But like, Harrow does actually seem to want Gideon to like her. She doesn't think she deserves Gideon liking her and thinks she should kill her instead, but she does want Gideon to like her and seems to have been motivated by that a bit since coming to Canaan House:

And then:

So I think this would now make Gideon Harrow's actual cavalier, instead of someone pretending to be Harrow's cavalier, but I don't think we yet have the full context for what "one flesh, one end" actually means in full, and I would not be surprised if there was some very important implication to it that Gideon (and maybe Harrow) does not actually know that will become relevant later

The reveal that Crux blew up the shuttle is honestly a bit of a let-down after the rest of the chapter, I wouldn't actually be surprised if it later turns out to have exploded for some other, completely different reason, but there really seems to be no reason I can think of why anyone would want to kill Ortus and Glaurica, if Harrow had planned to bring them back to the Ninth after they left

At some point Harrow may think to wonder how Gideon knew that the shuttle exploded, and then there may be some drama involving Mayonnaise Uncle and/or Colum