#but what did the girls get. a little more freedom in certain places but ultimately the same expectation. have babies or die

[newspecies]

"the vast majority of legal persecution against early queers was focused on men" ARE YOU INSANE

[away-ward]

i cannot for the life of me make a decision about this, so do you have any headcanons on opinions on what banks would've been like if she had gone to high school ?? what tropes or clichés she would've been closest to embodying ?? because we know em was a nerd, that winter struggled for the obvious reasons but ultimately was fine in hs and fairly normal, rika was decently popular but far from the cheerleader level... but banks, i can't place what she would've been like if she'd gone to high school. we know she's very smart, but i can't see her as someone holed up in a library. then, we can also probably deduce that if she had gone to high school, damon would've been crazy protective but i still can't really make a set decision on much else regarding how banks' storyline/personality would've gone if she did indeed attend Thunder Bay prep or some other high school, minus these small details.

i do think she & emory would've got on like a house on fire if she attended TBP as they would've been in the same grade and probably had similar opinions on high school hierarchy and the horsemen and general thunder bay weirdness and extravagancy. they would've dissed people so thoroughly and easily with their quips and banter, for sure.

Ohh I have thought about this.

It can go so many ways, because as same with Emory, the debate is "was she naturally someone different and the circumstances made her this way? Or is it that she survived the circumstances because this is who she is naturally?"

Did Banks do so well in Gabriel's house because that's who she is, or did being in that house make her that way. In Hideaway, she mentions that she never cut her long hair because it was the last part of "Nikova." Additionally, her struggle with Damon is wanting to be her own person and to experience things other teenagers - normal teenagers - experience. But if she were a normal teenager, would she still value those experiences, or would they be mundane and expected?

I chose to think High School AU Banks would fall somewhere in the middle. She'd still be a bit of a tom-boy, and a bit of a rebel. In my AUs, she still lives with Lucinda, but Damon wants her close, so Gabriel pays for her to attend TBP. She's smart, but not without effort. She's not afraid to get involved throw down if she sees something she doesn't like. She's careful, though, and never throws the first punch, so she can always claim self-defense. It's helpful that she's a bit of a sarcastic smart ass and naturally skilled at goading people.

In school, she'd appear to be generally nonchalant about stuff, but she actually has a lot of opinions. It comes as a surprise to the teachers, who were not expecting Damon Torrance's younger sister to be so... outspoken. And argumentative.

Having a bit more freedom, and hopefully a healthy relationship with her brother, she’d probably be known for fighting with Damon in the halls over how protective he is. Like, he can’t even let her project partner talk to her without going all big brother on her.

Seriously, get a life, dude. Maybe if you had as much confidence talking to your little dancer friend as you do telling me what to do, you’d actually have a girlfriend. Newsflash, bro, there are certain things I can’t and won’t do for you.

I don’t see her wanting to participate in any extracurricular activities, but with a school like Thunder Bay Prep, it would probably be expected. I can’t see her wanting to be on a team, so Girl’s Basketball probably isn’t a good match…

Oh. You know, with her being a bit of a sleuth in Hideaway and tailing Kai to get his routine, she’d probably make a good Yearbook photographer. Or maybe working on their school paper. Maybe something along those lines that keeps her out of the spotlight. Though, I don't know what Banks would want to do growing up. Maybe she does go into student government, wanting to make changes that actually make sense and benefit the students, instead of planting a tree as the senior gift for the fifth year in a row (do these people even know what they could do with this much money, or do they only know how to add when it's involving cases of beer and tits?). Maybe she does it because she's tired of seeing Chloe get everything and wanted to challenge her, and then sort of accidentally ended up class president.

Actually, I like that...Emory makes fun of her for it all the time.

Speaking of Emory, they are best friends. Both come from more humble backgrounds, which would naturally make them targets for bullies, but not this time. Because the whole school knows wherever Emory goes, Banks is close by. And wherever Banks is, Damon is close by. And wherever Damon is, the Horsemen are close by. Not to mention, Will is a horseman, and he’s always close to wherever Emory is…

Not that Banks and Em need them. They're pretty good with the tongue lashings, themselves.

Without a doubt, Banks goes to every single one of Emmy’s activities to show support. She hangs out when Emmy’s working on her projects, and helps when she needs a hand. They both have a crush on a Horseman, but they only talk (read: tease each other) about that when they can guarantee no one can hear them.

I headcanon Banks, Emmy, and Elle are a pretty solid trio. Emmy's smart and artsy, Elle's a soft-hearted romantic, always talking about dating but never taking her own advice, and Banks plays the rebel without a cause who loves her two friends.

Anyway, have some pics that would definitely be in Banks' friend's (so Emmy and Elle) camera roll.

that last one's from Banks of will and emmy. (i've never seen love, rosie, so I don't know context. but I know in a willemmy high school au that has yet to be written, this scene will happen)

Let me know what you think! Or if my headcanons helped inspire some of yours. This was really fun, thanks for the ask.

[akechi-stole-my-heart]

If I may ask: how would you have written/rewritten Sumire's confident story? 😊 Unless it's too close to what you did in code violet, sorry 😂 Personnally, I thought the first half wasn't THAT boring, she was endearing but I felt like she was either in denial or hiding her grief about her sister's death - and then I got the truth 😂 I've become a shusumi fan quickly but I still think there's *something* lacking for it to click. And the last scene we see Sumire was underwhelming imho 🥲

yeah! there are a lot of similarities to what i do in code violet, but it's not identical, since I have a lot more freedom in my fic than there is in the game.

i wouldn't change much if anything about the first half. i agree it isn't that boring, what really makes it seem that way are (1) high expectations for the New Special Girl to be exceptional since she wasn't in the original game and (2) comparing her to the other team members who you're already invested in, her conflict just isn't as interesting (at least to me). basically, you start out every other thief confidant already knowing the core of their conflict because of their palace, so you're already invested in their arcs, while with sumire that is reversed, where you don't learn what's actually going on with her later. so, the "boringness" of the confidant is really exaggerated by that. if you didn't like the way they inserted her into the opening sequence (i never had an issue with it, but royal was my first experience, though i did know the stuff with her was added in the rerelease) so she made a bad impression on you, then it's understandable why people wouldn't like her (at first, anyway)

but let's get to the point. my issues with her confidant. they can basically be summed up in 2 points, and the two of them intersect quite a bit (1) the way she idolizes both kasumi and joker and rely on them for her self worth is not properly unpacked and (2) her role as the waifu REALLY impedes her arc.

basically, sumire idolizes joker. her outfit mirrors his exactly, and her arc in third sem is all about...learning that since joker loves her, she wants to both rise to his expectations and can learn to value herself. and that's not bad, but certain lines about how she wants joker to see her really rub me the wrong way. specifically in her rank when they go to the mall and she picks an outfit for herself. i like the part about her wanting to be seen as herself, and the part about joker's reaction ultimately being irrelevant to whether she likes the outfit, and i would emphasize those points more strongly. but the parts about her wanting joker to see her feel a little like she's trying to be a person he will like? rather than being the person that she is. some of the dialogue is pretty meh, and it feels like she's getting her self worth from joker.

the bones of the confidant are good. great, even. but there's just subtleties in the execution that make it not quite land for me. choosing the romance route ends up feeling unhealthy for both of them, where sumire is putting too much of her worth in someone else and joker is entering an unequal relationship where sumire doesn't give him as much as he gives her because he just isn't in a place to. and i think that's a shame.

for me to get behind shusumi, sumire needs to be on equal ground with akira, and she just isn't. and the game is even aware of this--sumire says on white day that she isn't, but that she wants to be someday. and like, it could be her being self deprecating, but either way it's not what either of them deserve. i wish we could get a moment where she's there for akira like he's there for her, but atlus is allergic to joker's friends being there for him so we never get that.

so honestly, i really wouldn't change much. i'd leave the first half how it is, tweak some dialogue in the second half so it seems less like sumire is getting her self worth from joker, and add a moment where sumire explicitly says she's there for joker and wants to be there for him as much as he's been there for her, so they're on emotionally equal ground with each other.

finally, i do wish we got to see more of her journey, since she really is just at the very beginning of her arc of recovery at the end of the game. but i think it's okay that we don't. there is only so much time allotted to watch her grow, and we see her grow a lot in that time. there's questions she could ask herself that she doesn't have the time to get to, like if she really wants to be a gymnast for herself, or if she's just doing it for her sister. that sort of thing. but again, i think it's okay we don't get to that. i might add a line or two where she says she wants to be a gymnast for herself because she enjoys it, though.

and i guess that's it? i'm sorry for how disorganized this answer is. i haven't really thought in depth about what i'd change if restricted by the confines of the game, and so it's kind of difficult to do a rewrite when that's different than just having problems with what exists. a lot of what i would change can be found in code violet, like how i emphasize that it's "joker makes me want to be seen for who i am, and see him in return" rather than the one-way dynamic of "joker makes me want to be seen and so i will try to be a person he likes" which some of her lines really come across as sometimes. honestly, i think the entire confidant could have been improved by leaning more into the rivalry dynamic. sumire and akechi already have plenty of similarities/parallels, and joker kind of inherits kasumi's role as sumire's rival. so i think it'd have been really powerful if they leaned into that and made it clear that this time, sumire and her rival are equals.

but yeah! sorry this is so rambly. i'm going to end the post now

[dujour13]

Ok I love Sia but I really want to know about Saedra! How about ❤️🤍💔💘💯 for her?

Loads of hearts! Thank you Ash! ❤️❤️❤️ Excited to talk about Saedra some more. She’s still in early Act III so she hasn’t been put through all the horrors yet. We’ll see how she holds up.

from this oc ask game

❤️ RED HEART — what are three of your oc's positive traits?

Loyal – When Saedra decides you’re in, you’re in for life. You’re one of Her People, and she’ll defend your most indefensible actions with cold ferocity. This is multiplied by a thousand with her tadpole buddies.

Non-judgmental – Her sex positivity extends beyond the mere sexual. We all have our kinks and quirks, we all have our struggles. Saedra’s a big city girl and the last person to judge someone on appearance, race, religion or even their acts. Very much “you do you.” Unless that goes against point 1 loyalty.

Affectionate – Saedra’s sex drive is really just an extension of this. People (of all kinds) are beautiful and feel good. Even after she has to friendzone a couple of the tadpole buddies she’s always up to give someone shoulder rubs.

🤍 WHITE HEART — what are three of your oc's neutral/questionable traits?

Drive – Saedra has always longed to stake out her place in the world, to become powerful enough to live safely, comfortably and most of all, on her own terms. She hoped that would happen through diligent study of wizardry, but she never did manage to make ends meet with her bartending job, which drove her to a pact with a satyr.

Independence – The irony being that all she really wants is freedom. She’s using the satyr as a steppingstone because she was beginning to despair of succeeding in her wizardry studies, but ultimately she hopes to be able to discard him. Many of her decisions stem from suspicion that someone in power is trying to use her.

Curiosity – She will poke monsters with a stick. She will drink potions. She will spin the wheel.

💔 BROKEN HEART — what are three of your oc's negative traits?

Loyal (again) – She doesn’t care how nice a person you seem. If you threaten her vampire spawn / hopeless wizard / wonderfully blunt githyanki bff / etc. you will have to be neutralized and it’s your problem, not hers.

Averse to commitment– The last thing Saedra is looking for is love. The ball and chain. She just wants everyone to get along and feel good and take a little roll in the sheets.

Grudges – As her story progresses I can see Saedra becoming bitter towards those who have wronged her and Her People, especially those in positions of power. She could be capable of a lot of gratuitous violence to scratch that itch I’m afraid, especially if encouraged by certain companions.

💘 HEART WITH ARROW — what and/or who do(es) your oc consider the most important to them?

Herself first and foremost. This is not evil selfishness (at least at this stage) but a drive to take hold of her own destiny.

Her tadpole buddies have become more than just family, closer even than the group of orphans she grew up with. They’re like extensions of her own body at this point. But the complicated feelings she’s experiencing for Astarion are becoming hard to ignore.

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

Saedra has no idea what her satyr patron really wants from her but he once mentioned “three spinsters” whose threads guided him to her. This makes her deeply uneasy.

She became extremely flustered by fantasies of cuddling (and only cuddling) with Astarion and she even blushed when she finally worked up the courage to suggest the idea. This woman never blushes at anything. Of course he was terrible about it. “I can smell the blood rushing to your cheeks darling, don’t try to hide it.”

She’s an expert bartender whose talents went unappreciated in a poor quarter of Baldur’s Gate. To make ends meet while she studied magic she worked in a little bar in Eastway, barely subsisting on measly tips and very little sleep, but she did apply herself to the job and knows how to make 106 different cocktails with the most attractive garnish.

Here she is enjoying a clown performance at the circus

[sissybabycucksophia]

😨Not what I expected😨

(This story is complete fiction and although there may be elements too the story i want to be true, there is no fact or real world experience behind this story)

Having been an internet sissy for a few years I’d never really indulged in physically becoming what i dream of deep down. Although I had Sissy fantasies and desperately dreamed of a time when I’d be force feminised and bound however i was generally quite certain i was only interested in female doms and that kinks were not something too replace your everyday life and freedoms.

Until one day… i stupidly broke my rules….

While browsing tumblr as I usually did to indulge in my pathetic fantasies, a message would appear… “oh great another so called mistress who wants a full time 24/7/365 sissy slave to do nothing but be her property….. haha… delete” i said to myself as I suddenly was surprised and slightly turned on by seeing… a Daddy Dom had messaged. Usually i wouldn’t give a male dom any attention because ultimately I’m interested in woman. However something weird came over me and I opened the message.

At first it was harmless, he was complimenting a sissy baby picture I’d put up. There were no actual pictures of me on my bio at this point, come to think of it I didn’t even dress up as any kind of sissy at all at this point. So I nervously responded to the man telling him this and how I’d never actually tried to be the sissy I fantasised about. But to my surprise this Man would continue to talk to me about sissy baby fantasies, filling my thoughts with scenarios and promises of how and what he was going to do to me when I eventually visited him.

Was it gay and pathetic? Sure but was it real? Not particularly, i still lived a normal life off of tumblr and continued my ineptitude with meeting woman and losing my virginity at 23. We began talking daily however and every day the man became more a part of my everyday thought process, being told to call him daddy made me horny, him calling me princess and good girl humiliated and made me weak at the knees.

Eventually after about a month i’d deliberately reblog certain things to encourage daddy too message me and humiliate me. However one day I let slip that although I’m predominantly a pathetic sissy baby cuckold I was extremely jealous of my friend Sissy Natalie’s new Sissy Maid dress. That would encourage Daddy to begin teasing me and telling me humiliating fantasies of how he’d control me into being his live in sissy maid. Every day I’d jerk my pathetic little penis too a ruined orgasm as daddy told me more and more about a dark fantasy life as his property.

Finally I decided that since daddy lived only 6 hours drive away… I’d offer myself for a weekend to be his. Daddy loved the idea, for weeks he planned it out for me, from staying at his place too how i was to get down and what to bring. However when he insisted on sending me a pink plastic chastity for me to wear for a month before my arrival at him…. I should have suspected this was not as innocent as a simple weekend of kink exploration.

After months of planning by daddy the day finally came, lying to my parents whom i knew would never understand and too friends i headed off on the 6 hour car journey to my “job interview” all the way down the road daddy insisted i listen to nothing but audio of a deep and domineering male voice insulting, degrading and humiliating me about being less than human as a sissy maid doll. He also insisted i wear panties under my male clothes and over my pink chastity enclosed penis, naturally after a month of being locked up i was incredibly horny and desperate for freedom….. so desperate i’d pretty much do whatever daddy said.

Arriving at Daddy’s house I couldn’t believe it, a large 3 floored Detached victorian style house on a large plot of land and a long driveway were what greeted me. Driving my car up to the door, I stopped in front of the house and looked back in fear as the large cast iron electric gates shut. Suddenly and without warning my car door opened and taking my hand was a large, muscular 7ft tall man with a long beard and bald head. “Here princess, your far too weak to climb out of a car alone like this, let me help you” the man said, in shock because i’d never actually seen daddy before i could do nothing but stammer as he pulled me out of the car too my feet and kept hold of my hand as he reached in grabbing my rucksack of male clothes and carrying it in his free hand.

“Its ok sissy, i understand your lost for word’s because your desperately horny and can’t wait to serve daddy” he said walking me in through the huge and heavy front door. Closing it behind us i was in shock at the large open hallway with Victorian style wood panelling decor walls, a wide grand staircase with a beautifully carved wooden banister, regal looking cabinets with expensive looking ornaments adorning them…. Was daddy rich? Suppose it kinda explained his controlling nature. At that daddy lead me along the hall too a door beneath the huge staircase.

Opening he revealed a room under the stairs which was about 70 square feet in size, it had a pink fluffy carpet, Pink and purple flower patterned walls and a sparkly pink ceiling with a single light. All that fitted in the room was a queen size bed which had been made up with pink sheets with purple unicorns on them, a makeup table with a stool and a small wardrobe which was wide open revealing upwards of 10 pathetic sissy dresses. Pushing me into the room daddy said “this is your room sissy, yes its a bit barren but you will only sleep and get ready here so theres no need for modern comforts… Speaking of, hand over your phone, car keys, wallet, and any other personal belongings now sissy”

Sitting on the edge of the bed i looked at the man worried, looking around I muttered…. “I thought i’d be uhm sleeping with you….” Before then starting to panic as the large man demanded my personal belongings. “But their mine, I cant give you my phone or keys!” I protest however at that daddy stepped through the doorway and raised his hand, backhanding me hard across the face i let out a yelp as the force knocked me onto my side, tears filling my eyes I felt daddy begin to forcefully remove my joggers to reveal the panties i was told to wear and my caged penis. Laughing I watched him fish my phone, wallet, keys and airpods from my pockets. “Remove that hoody and tshirt faggot, looking at you pretending to be a man is making me nauseous” he demanded chucking my joggers out onto the hall floor. Sitting up I sniffled and whimpering “is this how you’ll treat me all weekend daddy?” As i followed his instructions and removed my upper layers. Once sat on the bed in nothing but panties he replied “Yeh yeh sure sure, now from now on call me Sir, Master or My Lord! Understand?”.

Sniffling and rubbing my sore cheek as tears rolled down both sides of my face as i nodded saying “yes d…. My lord”. This weekend was clearly going to be hard and painful, but daddy cares about me so im sure it’ll satisfy my kinks for a while, i thought. At that daddy would reach into the wardrobe grabbing out a purple dress, with a floor length fishtail skirt, white frills all over, puffy shoulders and long sleeves…. Seeing it my penis began straining against the cage as daddy flung it at me. “In the drawer of the makeup table you’ll find a lady razor, all the makeup you’ll be wearing and some vitamins. Shave every inch of your body, take 2 vitamins every 12 hours then do your makeup and get that dress on and be sat there waiting for me too return faggot! Do you understand” daddy stated plainly and abruptly. Feelings the shiny satin dress scrunched up on my lap i tried to focus.

“But my Lord? Where are you going?” I asked nervously as he stepped out of the door and simply ignored me. Closing the door i heard the distinct and loud sound of it being locked. Looking at the dress I began to feel a swirl of emotions, complete fear as i noticed locking rings at the Wrists, Kneck, Waist and Knees and complete arousal as the helplessness of being trapped in the dress began turning me on. For the first hour I slowly and uncomfortably dry shaved every last hair from my nose down off until i was completely hairless and smooth all over, then without even really thinking i took the vitamins and began trying my best to do makeup that matched the dress i was yet to put on. On my face I slathered foundation to hide my bad skin, coated my lips in matte light purple lipstick and used a dark purple lip liner to emphasise my lips, then using black eyeliner I covered my eyelids in a sparkly purple eyeshadow and finally gave myself the most pathetic blush to make my cheeks look rosey.

Looking at myself in the makeup table mirror I whimpered at how pathetic i’d allowed myself to be be but it was simply too late now, besides it was only one weekend then if i hated it i never had to come back… looking at the purple dress laid out on the bed i went to pick it up however looking to the wardrobe i noticed on floor a box with “Sissy Faggots Necessities”. Walking over I opened the box to find, thick curvy hip and ass padding, a corset and a pair of fake 34F foam breasts. Looking at my pathetic body in the mirror i held the breast and hip padding in place and despite not really knowing how comfortable i was putting them on I decided that it was probably what daddy wanted so looking myself directly in the my demoralisingly makeup plastered reflection i began to added the layers. Sliding the hip and ass padding into position it turned my small bubble butt into a more curvaceous and plump ass with wider hips, adding the corset I wrestled and moaned uncomfortably as I pulled its strings as tight as i could to create a perfect hourglass figure and finally I positioned the Large breast forms over my chest. Standing staring at the mirror i became entranced running my hands up and down my hips and squeezing my fake breasts…. “Im a man, this is weird and wrong…. I need to stop…… but….. Daddy is in control this weekend. I must try my best to obey him this weekend, I promise that much” i muttered shamefully to myself.

From the wardrobe I grabbed a purple bra pathetic lines with white frills and a matching pair of panties, securing the bra and panties in place i stood with my back to the door looking at the dress laid on the bed. “Put it on, you need too or Sir will be angry….. just accept how pathetic you have to be for 4 days, you agreed too this weekend so theres no getting out if it.” I told myself as i reach down and unzipped the dress as it lay on the bed. Clutching the purple prissy satin monstrosity by the puffy shoulders i lifted the gaping dress and held it in front of myself, raising one foot i stepped into the fishtail floor length dress. Having stepped both feet into the dress, the discomfort became more prevalent as my caged penis desperately tried to get hard and it began leaking precum. Pulling the dress into place i slid one arm at a time into the dress and raised the high neck into position, looking down the loose front on the dress i could see my masculinity being completely smothered under the purple satin and becoming entranced and confused by my feelings.

In my trance like state looking at the loosely hanging dress off my frame I Didn’t even hear daddy unlock the door and entering the room. Grabbed either side of the zipper daddy frightened me as he reach down at the underside of my heavily shaping padded ass and in a swift motion zipping it up right up too the base of my skull. In an instant I suddenly felt the dress go from loose too snuggly hugging my hips, ass, my knew breasts and tight around my neck. “Perfect timing faggot! I must say….. Daaaaaaaaaaam those hips and ass looking fiiiiiiiiiine now! Now hold still till we lock you in faggot!” Daddy said in a commanding tone. Too scared too move i simply stammered, “ehm… my… uhm…. My lord… I don’t want…. I don’t…. Uhm… must you uhm lock me in this dress?” To which i felt him handling the locking rings on the back of my neck. With a loud and audible click he would lock the zipper up at the back of my neck.

“Shut up faggot, this is what you wanted. Don’t try to back out now…. Or do you want to make me angry” daddy growled as suddenly i felt the white apron strap around my waist cinch tight and heard the click of another lock. “Oh… uhm… *gulp* of course not my lord its just…” i said as suddenly the white strap around my knees cinched tight and my train of thought was disrupted by my knees being pulled together and the sound of a 3rd lock clicking shut. “Turn around faggot, let me see your painted face!” Daddy commanded. Trying to turn i found myself having to take more dainty and small steps to turn on the spot, once facing the towering man i looked up only for him too burst into laughter at my makeup caked face. “HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH YOUR SO PATHETIC AHAHAHAHHA LOOK AT YOU AHAHAHAHA HOW DID YOU EVER PRETEND YOU WERE A MAN AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAH” he bellowed with laughter as i hung my head and let myself fall backwards too sit in the bed, the dress so restrictive in its movement room that i could do nothing but sit perfectly upright and daintily.

Taking one of my wrists in his hand as he continued to laugh and pulled out a 4th padlock he pulled the cuff of the dress’s sleeve tight and locked a padlock on it before completing the same motion with the other. “Haha now you just sit there for a minute faggot while i go get something…. And get those shoes of gayboy” daddy chuckled as he flung shiny purple dolly flats with padlocks on the straps at me, as i began putting them on he shut and locked the door on his way out. Running my hands up and down my front, touching my fake chest and rubbing my crotch hoping for some sensation I felt absolutely demoralised and pathetic. In a moment of panic the realisation hit me that this purple pathetic, degrading satin movement restricting dress was locked on me at 5 points, desperately i began tugging at any of the padlocks I could reach and thrashing to get it off of me. Unlocking the door daddy walked in and his face quickly turned to anger as he growled “what the fuck do you think your doing Faggot!!”. In that moment pure fear took control of me, jumping up i flung myself at the tall man as i began patting around his pockets and weakly banging my fist against his chest.

“Give me the keys!! I don’t want this!! I’ve changed my mind!! Unlock me and get me out of this nightmarishly gay thing!!!! IM A MAN!! I don’t know the safeword you need to hear but!! Please just let me go home” I begged and cried out desperately until suddenly daddy simply raised his knee in a sharp and violent manner. Smashing his knee into my caged crotch, pain shot up through my body and I let out the most girly and pathetic scream before grabbing my crotch and falling to my knees as tears began filling my eyes. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything through the Intense pain. Strangely in that moment daddy presented a contract and a pen too me, “sign it faggot!” Was he crazy? I violently shook my head as I kept both hands gripping my crotch. “Look faggot this is a contract that outlines your freedoms, states the duration on this treatment and outlines what’s expected of you… Sign it! You want to be looked after in the eyes of the law right?! Now sign it to protect the you that matters!” He said bluntly, reluctantly i took the pen and willingly signed that contract believing it was protecting me…

Once signed daddy disappeared for a moment before returning and grabbing me under the arms and lifting me onto the stool in front of the makeup table. “You can come in Melanie!” Daddy said and suddenly panic struck me, another person! Was going to see me like this! I wanted to run but between the dress making it impossible and my still painfully throbbing crotch i was unable to do anything but watch in pure embarrassment. At that in walked a very normal looking woman, a hair stylist by the looks of the equipment she was carrying.

“Sorry Johnny, so much stuff and so few hands to carry it with haha. So how have you been handsome? Still doing that beautiful and saintly thing where you help resourceless trans woman go from male too true and happy female?” Asked the curvy African woman with her long dark hair separated into two braids, she wore a Midi length ruched bodycon black dress, a pair of knee high black leather boots and a pale pink Crop puffer jacket. Turning so innocent and friendly daddy began talking too the women like I wasn’t there, “aw don’t make a big deal out of it Melanie, I just hate seeing these poor souls suffer and being tortured” daddy replied as i tried hard to bite my tongue. “Anyway this is who your here for Melanie not me hehe” daddy giggled pointing too me in the makeup table stool.

Turning her attention to me Melanie smiled, dumping her bags on the bed she stood behind me placing her hands on my shoulders and looking over my head into the mirror to look at my face. Glowing red in embarrassment and feeling my penis fighting hard to get erect at her mere touch, she spoke to me “Hello there beautiful, i love what you’ve done with your makeup most women don’t go for such super feminine looks but it suits you! So whats your name hun?” Instinctively i replied with my male name “James! Miss Melanie” I blurted as I Saw daddies face turn and look very angry. At that Melanie wrap her arms round my waste hugging me from behind as she rested her chin on my shoulder, “awww hun its ok, this is a safe space Johnny and i aren’t here to judge you. I understand you want to be a woman because you don’t feel like a man… its ok to be what you want to be! So don’t tell me your dead name, tell me who you are hun? And call me Auntie Mel toots” she cooed with a radiant smile.

What was i to do? All i wanted to do was rip of this gay faggot dress off and clean off this humiliating makeup from my face so i could take mel out and show her a good time, instead I had to sit in pain as my rock hard penis was smothered and consider the path daddy wanted me too take. ‘Im not trans! I don’t want to be a woman! I can’t pretend to be! Its not right!’ I thought as i looked at a very stern daddy, i knew exactly what he wanted me too do. So i had a choice, quickly and helplessly blurt out the truth and hope i can move fast enough in this dress to stop daddy punishing me or go along with daddies lie…

Glowing bright red, not that it was noticeable under the heavy makeup, i regrettably caved like a weak little coward and embarrassingly whimpered… “I uhm go by uhm Jade… at least when I uhm dress… like this” to which daddy smirked. At that Melanie smiled and began to work on attaching the shoulder length hair extensions to my head. Weaving each one into my actual boy hair it felt so strange, as she did Mel talked at me for ages telling me how I was so lucky to be in a safe place with Johnny and how I was so brave for doing this. Humiliated and demoralised didn’t cover it, I couldn’t believe i was sitting here going along with such a lie. Watching in the mirror i watched as the final thing identifying me as masculine was covered and i was given the overtly feminine shoulder length locks of a woman. Just as she was finishing up Mel said “I love your dress choice Hun… its very ehm… unique! Not something I imagine your everyday woman wants to wear… but ehm well thats a good thing I suppose… you’re already developing a unique style” mel said as she very clearly thought i looked pathetic but tried to sound positive and constructive.

In that moment i asked “but uhm don’t you think the padlocks are a bit… uhm Strange” i said hoping she’d realise her friend Johnny was holding me captive. Instead she turned the stool round and crouch down infront of me, cradling my chin in her hand she said “Not at all hun! If locking yourself in your cloths helps you feel safe and helps you trust Johnny wont try to take advantage of you then i think the padlocks are more than warranted. Johnny has helped loads of women like you though, he’d never dare remove your cloths by for to sleep with you… but if padlocking yourself into this…. Unique little number helps you feel safe while your transition then so be it!!!” Mel cooed. WHAT?? Why the fuck would I lock myself in!?? That was a cry for help!!! I thought however just before i could correct her daddy spoke up….

“Thank you again Mel! So just to check how long will those extensions hold ?” Daddy as moving next to my and placing his hand through the extensions to put his hand on the collar of my dress. Smiling mel stood up and said “will their fixed to her scalp so they’ll remain perfectly still until her actual hair grows out too shoulder length!” At that I panicked and went to say “WH……agghh” however daddy simply grabbed the collar of the dress and pulled it backwards choking me before i could object. “Isn’t that exciting jade!! She’s so excited shes lost for words!! Are you gonna say thank you and give auntie mel a goodbye hug?” Daddy asked letting go of the dress collar. Nervously i stood up and wrapped my arms around Mels lower torso, subconsciously going for the little spoon hug posture, placing my chin on her shoulder I embarrassingly cooed “thank you auntie mel”.

Hugging back tightly mel kissed my makeup slathered cheek and said “aww it was a pleasure hun” and at that mel walked out of the room. Daddy then handed me white satin gloves to put on and made me sit and look at myself in the mirror while he showed Mel out. Sitting there like a good faggot i sat with my gloved hands palms down on my lap, looking at myself in the mirror I studied every inch of my unrecognisable form ‘Im not TRANS!! Its wrong to pretend when Im not!!….. but look at me…. Whos going to believe Im a man?!!’ I thought.

At that daddy walked back in, turning me round he demanded i remain in my submissive seating position. Taking pictures on his phone daddy smirked before saying.. “Now your existence as it was meant to be… begins!!!”

[agent-cupcake]

As a resident Claudefucker, I know am curious to know what our fave charming schemer is doing during this Mafia!AU. He'd look lovely in a suit.

~It was quite the headline when Godfrey Riegan died. The details are a little hazy, a little convenient, but people don't talk about that sort of thing. Car accidents are common. Tragic, but not unreasonable. There’s no reason to smear a man’s perfectly respectable political career for the sake of some sensational gossip.

~In the right circles, however, there was a huge uproar, questions about who was going to take over the Riegan family when the elderly boss Oswald died. The Riegan’s had been dominating Leicester for quite some time, but a lot of people began to predict that the Gloucester family was going to move in. They had powerful friends, it seemed. Friends with money, no less.

~Claude Riegan, grandson of Oswald, appeared out of nowhere just when he was needed. Stories of the lost daughter Tiana still circulated, sure, but there were still a lot of questions about Claude’s origins when nobody except Oswald were able to vouch for him. He obviously had military leadership experience—his skill with guns and ability to lead was just too excellent for any other explanation—but he dismissed the question out of hand. There’s no documentation of him, either, leading some to wonder if even his name was false. But Oswald said he was family, and that was that.

~Claude was quick to establish himself, in any case. Despite his cavalier attitude, his efficacy in overhauling the power dynamics of Leicester were profound.  

~He decided, first and foremost, that the way to win the people over was to invigorate the local culture, which had seen a sharp decline as a result of new laws that were unfavorable to business, Adrestia’s growing market monopolies, and the bad reputation of the red light district Ailell. This included some perfectly legitimate campaigning and some under the table type schemes. 

~The result was a flourishing Derdriu Street. While it lacks the prestige of Enbarr Square in Adrestia, it welcomes entertainment that would be considered too “low brow” like comedy, trendy new restaurants, and music venues. Even better, all of it is built on the recently cleaned up river. The Riegan family is involved in all of  it, of course. 

~Casino owner Claude. This exists solely to thirst but maybe it was preexisting and he took it over due to its poor management? If there’s going to be gambling anyway, it should be done right. The extra money’s not so bad, either. But, Claude lounging in a big leather chair in a dark blue blazer with gold brocade, his white shirt unbuttoned low enough to see enough his chest. Enough to make you drool. Enough that you’d definitely get caught staring and probably called out for it because he can’t help himself. Claude with his elbows on the arm rests and fingers folded in front of him as he considers you, gold rings winking because he’s just that ostentatious and appearances are important. Claude asking you how you feel about taking risks in a way that really feels like it has nothing to do with cards, staring at you with a friendly smile that doesn’t meet those calculating eyes—eyes that you know will pick up on every tell. 

~Claude also struck a deal with the Kupala Distillery. They’d been fighting to keep hold of their historic business for years, and Claude offered to help them with that. You know, not for free, but he’s good at making deals that leave everybody happy. 

~The second biggest thing he tackled was the drug trade. For the most part, no one family had ever had a complete handle on that market. The Goneril’s had a hold over the docks for years, but the Edmunds had been moving in and working with the Gloucester family to bolster their power. Distribution was scattered and hard to keep track of as it ultimately circulated wherever there was a profit to be made. Looking at it like this, Claude decided that the only way to fix things was to take control over all of it. In his line of work, shady things like the drug trade are impossible to avoid. At the very least, if he has control over it, he can ensure the product is clean and expel far more unsavory ventures.

~Through these escapades, Claude was able to make alliances with all of the major families. A lot of them had only remained loyal to the Gloucester family out of fear so as soon as they had an alternative, they bolted. This has an unfortunate side effect of revealing how his power is perceived. Every day is a balancing act for Claude. He allows each family to function as they please as long as they’re aware they do so at his mercy. It’s better to keep friends than to control enemies, but even that requires a delicate maneuvering of power.

~However, Claude likes the conflict. He enjoys the game and he especially enjoys winning the game. There’s a certain level of his excusing amorality for the sake of his family and Leicester, but there’s an equal part of him that understands his wrongdoings and deals with it separately. He wouldn’t hold to the naïve “ends justify the means” idea to excuse himself, but he would still argue that his actions have value and are even necessary. If it weren’t him, it would be somebody a lot worse than him. That’s probably something that would linger in the back of everybody’s minds whenever they shook his hand or paid their respects, whenever they began to think of how easy it would be to take him out. Fear, too. So far, Claude’s never done anything shockingly bad, only what was necessary. But with his power and intellect, it’s always a question of what he could do.

~If someone asked him that, Claude would smile that friendly smile and tell them that he would do anything to see his vision made real. Whether or not that’s true remains to be seen. 

~Luckily, Claude’s not alone! Hilda is the stereotypical crime family princess. She joined Claude because he offered her freedom from the overbearing control of her father and brother. Her skill in manipulating everybody around her combined with her reputation as a ditzy rich girl makes her fantastic at gathering information, assuming Claude can get her to do so. But, as long as he’s not being too forceful, she’s surprisingly motivated to weave her way through social circles and charm everyone. Although she would never say it, the order he brought to Leicester, not to mention the entertainment, made everything a lot better for her and her family. Plus, she likes being useful after spending her entire life watching Holst give his heart and soul to family while she did nothing. Ultimately, the information she provides is essential and her relationship with Claude is one of the few either have that’s built on trust, respect, and loyalty. That said, sometimes even Claude gets a little shiver as he watches how easily Hilda can manipulate people.  

~Lorenz was one of Claude’s most disdainful detractors, although a part of that was jealousy. Claude just swept in and did things that Lorenz had been waiting and planning to do once he became the head of the Gloucester family. Even after being on the receiving ends of such vicious attacks, once Claude undeniably had the upper hand in Leicester, he went behind the Gloucester boss’s back to Lorenz and told him that they were going to be friends or enemies, it was Lorenz’s choice. Not threatening him, just pointing out that the fall of the Gloucester family was inevitable under his father’s leadership and that Lorenz didn’t have to suffer for his father’s sins. Probably over mimosas and brunch. Lorenz is proud and has no appreciation for Claude, but he’s not stupid. After they worked out their disagreements and more or less accepted each other, Lorenz and Claude became pretty close. Claude knows that having someone to openly and aggressively disagree with him isn’t a bad thing. Not only that, but Lorenz’s a solid ally with a better grasp on some of the things Claude has difficulty with due to not being a native. Lorenz is willing to admit that Claude is a good leader.

~Marianne is well educated in the realm of the law and political action. The reason the Edmund family saw such success despite their lesser status was because of her adopted father’s genius. which he made sure to share with Marianne. She is invaluable in aiding Claude on the perfectly legitimate side of his business, and helping him hide his tracks for the shady stuff. Raphael is the muscle. Lysithea is a computer genius. Being a sickly shut in with issues that only recently saw treatment, she’s on the Mr. Robot level of hacker mode activated. Ignatz is an architect which is useful since so much of Claude’s power is in the property and infrastructure. He also designed a lot of places to have some neat-o hidey holes. Claude loves buildings that have secrets. Leonie is manages a lot of the physical and pettier side of the work. If someone’s stirring up trouble, she’s likely to pay them a visit as a warning before Claude has to get involved. She used to be a mercenary but being on Claude’s payroll is a lot better of a gig.    

~As for the suits, one thing is very important. Claude would not, under any circumstances, wear something tight on his thighs. I actually kind of like the idea of him going for a 1980′s style modernized. In his post timeskip outfit, he’s already got a hint of that going on with how oversized his outfit looks. The 80′s (rightfully) gets a bad rep for fashion, but it’s also very iconic with those wide-collared suit jackets, matchy-matchy three piece suits, sportscoats with a fun patterned shirt underneath, open blazers, pleated pants with an oversized jacket, and—in particular—the trend of summer suits in shades of tan and cream with colored shirts underneath. Then, combine that with a pair of Ray-Ban Aviators and a topless convertible and you’ve got a distinctly recognizable mob boss who doubles as a devastating heartthrob. I’m not saying he’d do a 1:1 recreation, but you’d definitely see references to the fashion of the era in his outfits. He would wear oxfords or ankle boots. Whatever it was, they’d have to be comfortable. He also doesn’t shy away from jewelry. The earring, of course, and rings when he's feeling particularly decadent. When he’s wearing his shirts unbuttoned Claude could possibly wear a gold chain. I mean, what are you gonna say, no? That gold doesn’t look gorgeous against his skin? That it’s tacky? You’re talking to the man who wore quilted pants. Claude’s not afraid to stand out because he knows he will anyway, nor is he afraid to be seen as unfashionable because he doesn’t particularly care about trends. I also enjoy the idea of him emulating the 80′s as someone who didn’t grow up in a western culture and thus mainly saw things through the lens of movies. Whatever he wears, however, he would look very handsome.

[borkthemork]

Finally cleaned up this draft based on @/popcornbee’s art and it is now officially on AO3 as well, so I hope all of you enjoy!

---

There were numerous pathways for a sparrow to travel. Following their migration patterns, they'd travel down to warmer lands, typically somewhere protected for the nights. In doing so, they'd rest in the winter and return back all new. Refreshed for the upcoming springs and summers.

For American Tree Sparrows, these patterns were necessary to survive.

For Joe Sparrow, the true information depended. 

He liked to flit about on rapid wing beats. He preferred curdled mealworms due to previous battles hurting his digestive system. For migration, he remained stubborn on whether he liked the warmer breezes or if the Newtopian stables were of true home than anything else.

Newtopia had a history of domestic birds. Joe Sparrow was the mixed case when he grew all-natural, got captured and owned by one or more owners who called him previous names, and then found Marcy in the middle of sweltering rain. Where a mission lead to something new and surprising, bold and unorthodox, and the moment Joe saved her — chose her hand of all people — Marcy promised to keep him safe. Safe, protected, cared for.

And nothing had pulled these two away from each other. Not even the fleeting concept of gravity. Or the fact winter threatened his nests.

Anne asked about him before. On one occasion, where Marcy groomed him under Plantar barn shade, Anne looked at his big, round, puffy belly and wondered out loud where the scar above his eye fit in out of all things.

Of course, Marcy had the answer.

“Oh, you know Joe,” she sighed. “He keeps pushing his limits. You won’t believe how many scars this bad boy got during his old career. For the eye one, he actually got that scar back when he was just a fledgling, but this was during the morally ethical times where amphibians didn’t really care for mounts unless they were battle resistant.”

Her hand parsed through his plume, giggling when Joe tweeted pleasantly against her skin. “But now he’s in a morally ethical place, aren’t you, boy? Yes, you are.”

Anne snorted. She ruffled Joe’s feathers too, and the two giggled quietly when the sparrow seemed to lean into the touch. Almost as if the sparrow connected immediately to Anne.

And Anne teared up over the thought. “It’s just like mother nature intended.”

The week afterward reminded Marcy of her sparring days, but instead of swords and smoke bombs, she had worms and patience. Lots of patience as Anne attempted to feed some mesh into Joe’s beak — and ultimately got stuck when she leaned too hard into his mouth.

It was funny how all this bonding time left her blind to anything else on the schedule. Marcy could instruct Anne to direct the mealworms to Joe for hours and still find Anne’s laughter to be the highlight of her day. Maybe Joe would sit on Anne, and leave her yelling and laughing under floof-fulls of bird, and Marcy would sketch that scene than the typical mission schematics Lady Olivia instructed her to look through.

Marcy hypothesized that Joe's love for attention spurned her focus. It made sense for birds to tease if they didn’t get the proper reaction out of people. It made sense for a bird such as Joe to find affection in someone who exuded goodness from their heart. But then Marcy would remember Anne. For Anne had Joe’s affection at the palm of her hands but irritated the bird enough to prefer dipping her into a nearby pond just for the sake of playfighting. And that enough had gotten her intrigued.

Was it another phenomenon she needed to analyze? To understand fully until the cusp of discovery?

Perhaps. Not right now though.

Marcy had found a breakthrough. A breakthrough in Animal-Human Sociology. But her focus lingered elsewhere, came down to how she rested next to a bucket load of dirty feathers — snoring into her best friend’s shoulder until the moon rose high above the Amphibian mountains.

---

When Marcy stared through the sky, and the act alone reminded her so much of Kid Icarus. If she ignored the wings branching out from the corners of her eyes, and only focused on the colors then she thought of herself as flying. Flying through skies that bled yellows and reds like Aivazovsky, framed so well against the crisp horizons that Marcy could almost paint the perfectest picture in her mind.

And when wind buffered her hair, parted the clouds with her hands, she swore that the taste on her tongue was of fresh saltwater.

Navigation. Freedom. The fades from orange to blue to maroon. Marcy loved riding for a reason. She held onto Joe’s reins with the utmost quickness, spelled out her name with short dives and leaps through cumulus tufts. And in the aftermath, she wrung her coat dry of moisture.

At least, until Anne became a priority.

Anne Boonchuy. Friend of ten years. Friends since the term friends became part of the Merriam Webster. Now, the latter sounded silly, but friendship could be a frank concept at times, it was something Marcy had no clue how to navigate, and yet Anne found her and decided Marcy was worth her time.

So they were here now: One readying an avian saddle, the other petting Joe’s tufts with the heaviest affection. And aw, Joe seemed to like it, what with the amount of cooing he’d been doing for the past hour.

Not like Marcy didn’t want to get in on that action. She just needed to finish clipping on the latches — and when she did that, it would be go-time, her a-game.

“Anne, can you push me that satchel?”

“Sure thing, Marce.” With ease, Anne somehow lugged a chair-sized bag over to where Marcy was, and they remained silent afterward as she finished the remainder of preparations.

What preparations? Well, the kind that remained out of her league.

“Sooo, where are ya’ going, exactly?” Anne asked. She had the same perturbed look to her ever since she whiffed the scents from the bag itself.

Marcy couldn’t help but rub her neck, not knowing how well to respond. “Well, I’ve been planning to scout an area somewhere high up in the Southern sect of Amphibia. I got wind that some bandits plan to use a route to jump ambassadors from here and there on the pathways, and I just wanted to make sure that doesn’t happen again, you know?"

“For sure, dude. I mean, you are the boss after all. That stuff’s gotta be pretty important if you’re getting loads of homework for it.”

“Well,” Marcy puckered her lips. She was right in some sense. Chief rangers plopped themselves into some high category up in the Newtopian ranks. It made sense. “Correct, kinda. I don’t really call it a boss position, more so a job. A very fun job, actually. You’d be surprised at how many prefer office desks to infantry, it’s nuts.”

Although, the more she thought about it, being able to stay safe in a big ole’ cube than getting skewered by bandits did sound appealing. Less probability for harm, sure. But Marcy loved the hunt way too much for her own good.

If Andrias gave her another objective, she might as well do a little dance at this point; there was always something exciting to partake in.

And with Joe, the fun always doubled with him.

At least, until she remembered that Anne had been staring at her, snapping her fingers in front of Marcy’s nose. “Marbles, you good? Another zone-out moment again?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Thanks, I was about to get worried, the internal dialogue I had was getting way too extensive for my taste."

"Well, now that you’re out of your internal dialogue stuff, I got to ask.” Anne peered at Joe again. “Can I get on your bird?”

Marcy blinked at her. “Oh. Of course. You don’t really need to ask me if you’re curious about riding him.”

“I know, but he’s a big softie, really wanted to make sure I got your permission before anything else.” She coughed. “Plus I’m not gonna take any vehicles without permission. Tried that once. Didn’t go so hot.”

Somehow, Marcy found herself giggling. She couldn’t pinpoint why; Anne’s honesty must’ve just been that funny. “Well, if you want to jump on the SS Joe Sparrow, I’d be happy to show you around and get you a front-row ticket to some action.”

“For real?” Anne beamed, only for her expression to melt into a frown, scratching her chin at the thought. “Aren’t you on ranger duty though?”

Okay, she had a point there. “I mean, yeah, but I’ve mainly done this stuff solo. Sure I’ve got Joe to accompany me but it’ll be interesting to have a second person on board for the ride.” Without a skip in her beat. “And why wouldn’t I have you go with me? Of course, I would. You’re always the best on road trips.”

And with that, Anne’s smile grew tenfold. Oddly beautiful. Oddly hard to describe. Weirder to even have herself think those things in the first place. “Count me in, then. Let’s go, Marbles!”

Oh well. She’d think about that later.

---

Joe softened his landings in-between. And at certain points, when the mountains dipped to valleys he rocketed around and buffeted the gales just for the heck of it. He had the heart of a little kid sometimes, every moment he swooped through some current or plummet forward if he got the chance. He liked to make himself seem so grand when he cheeped. And Marcy confided in the idea that no matter how aged this sparrow would become, he’d still be the softest avian around.

Always there. Always playful. Always…eager for potential mates. He was the total package for best mount in all of Amphibia, and Marcy didn’t want it any other way.

So with Anne, Marcy became delighted when Joe kept that same kindness. It wasn’t just Marcy doing rough landings against solid ground or her zipping through the air. There were two people, two people to consider on the back of his saddle.

And Joe never disappointed her. He pivoted, swerved on command, and coaxed giggles from the girl behind her, whose arms pressed tightly to her waist until their hair puffed out from the wind.

“Keep your arms locked in, Annie B!”

Marcy’s hands whipped the reins, whooping at the top of her lungs when the dive pushed oceans of air into their faces.

The straps and belts dug into their laps when Joe pulled up, braced them in a loop-de-loop that had their eyes rolling when they finally exited out to a steady level.

And Marcy could hear the laughter behind her.

The laughter spoke of so much joy and happiness, of a symphony that Marcy had heard so many times before, and Marcy leaned into her warmth when they passed from the hallowed groves to the shimmering Newtingale creaks.

All throughout the Southern sect, all throughout the faint rattle of Marcy’s heart.

---

The ride home had been a lot darker than Marcy expected. For most of her trips in and out of the valleys, a lot of her path-finding culminated in something one could describe as an adventure. If one described her and Anne beating up an entire bandit group disguised as a clown posse to be an adventure, then yes. That was what happened.

They went head-to-head, toe-to-toe. All while decked out in white makeup and smelly rotten clown noses. This all sounded ridiculous, but out in Amphibia, one should never ever underestimate a theatre group.

For entertainment was their cruelest weapon.

Anne had been the first to ambush the bandits during the mission. With the agile reflexes of a cat, she deflected each oncoming slash with ease while Marcy took aim, calculated her crossbow trajectory until the enemies all knocked unconscious in the mud.

If one ignored the clown get-up, then what she talked about seemed like a typical day for Marcy. Always saving someone. Always doing her best. Always making sure no newts got chewed up by some toad or frog dressed up in rogue wear.

But the difference today was that she had someone to accompany her. Or how that same someone jumped onto Joe and gave that feisty bird a few scratches to his feathers, trying to wash her face in the water bucket they stored earlier today.

It all seemed domestic-like. The kind that Marcy dreamed about in fantasy stories, where the protag had a close ally to travel the world until their dying breaths.

And gosh, it was so cool that Anne became that friend.

She seemed to enjoy it too, what with the close embrace when they finally took off for the night, her chin propped on her cloaked shoulder, or the fact her exhales drifted in crisp Amphibian air.

A sign that she was enjoying everything. Everything from the swoop of Joe’s wings, the purple haze of the night, or how the moon cloaked their forms in red lighting — masking the landscape in darkness like a blanket over bedding.

Anne sighed contently. Her face nestled close to Marcy’s neck. She didn’t show that she regretted being here.

Not one bit.

“I’ve never been this high up before,” she mumbled. “The only times I did were when some creature flung me up into the middle of nowhere.”

Marcy hummed to that. Anne's fingers ghosted the triceps of Marcy's arms, left goosebumps to form and bristle in the cold, it made everything feel weird. Comfortable. Safe. “So is this less traumatizing and more exciting then?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Her voice rang, all charmed and sweet. “By a long shot.”

And Marcy was glad about that. Ever since she found Joe, a lot of her adventures had gotten easier to deal with. From zooming over to the Dry Swamp to the many forests hidden deep underneath solid canopies, one of the many pros of having a steed like Joe was of the view.

A view that made scouting ten times easier. The kind that entangled her in clouds, the song of avians, and the dance of the breeze. The kind that chilled her nose, left cumulus droplets on her thumbs, and when she settled down from grazing the upper layers of oxygen her body’s equilibrium warmed her up like it always intended to.

To have Anne feel that same experiences — the same elation — made the trip all the more worth it. Especially when Marcy’s skin grew warmer under non-equilibrium circumstances. All due to the cuddly contact.

Oh, Anne.

“If you want, I know a froggy pitstop nearby that sells slushies twenty-four-seven,” Marcy said softly. Joe went into a descent, already maneuvered by Marcy’s quick hands at the reins. They weren’t going to land yet. At least until Anne said so. “Wouldn’t hurt to take in the view on a full stomach.”

“That sounds amazing.” Anne pressed closer, and Marcy tried not to think about the murmur, how low it rumbled against Marcy’s ear. Gosh, she must be really relaxed by now. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m ready for some grub.”

“Well, they aren’t really grubs more like a mish-mash of every insect on the palette.”

“I try not to think about it.”

With laughter escaping them, Marcy directed Joe into the forest space below, her heart synced with the beat of sparrow wings.

[aelingalathyniusrailme]

If you find me on the edge, we’ll jump together.

Gwynriel Pirate au pt 6 

this chapters a little long and fluffy but I really like it and I finally gave it a name

Here are the other parts if you’re interested :) pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5

what had azriel’s life become? In the past 24 hours his ship became infested with dangerous females, he had given up his most prized possession, and he was on his way to find a being that still haunted his nightmares. 

Berdara was a fine persuader but money was even better. Too bad they seemed to come in tandem. The captain of the shadowsinger needed this hall and there was no way in hell he was loosing a dime to the cutthroat redhead he now lived with. 

He stole a glance toward her to find her staring intently at the map. Her mind, her calculating, cold, ruthless mind at work. Her eyes shot up to his and she gave him a smirk, flashing the whites of her teeth and winked. he knew others would see a friendly smile but all he saw were fangs

Infuriating as she might be, she had not said one word, in the past few hours about his meltdown or the other thing he had yet to let himself dwindle over. He was caught between appreciation and the feeling that he wasn’t worth a second thought to her. 

“so where will my crew and I be sleeping” her voice was light but there was a slight edge. 

“The room next to mine.” He grit his teeth in preparation for the comment that was sure to follow that statement. “now you’re going to say something crude” 

at the same time gwyneth said with a wink, “want to keep me close, captain? all you have to do is ask?”

The slight shock on her face elicited pure joy from azriel. While hidden, a practiced eye saw the way her mouth slightly parted and her eyes flare. It was his turn to smirk as he responded, “Your majesty is becoming quite predictable.”  

gwyn smiled her psychotic smile and stepped closer to him. too close. “wouldn’t want that,” she whispered into his hear as if she was telling him a secret. Her voice wrapped it’s claws around his throat and squeezed, pulling him to her. 

Azriel coughed “You’re all going to have to share a room.”

“it’s quite alright, my crew and I have shared beds before.” There was a suggestive glint in her eyes. and blood rushed to his face faster than this girl could threaten and flirt in the same breath. 

“I don’t believe I said anything about sharing beds.” 

“Oh I know, but sometimes, shadowsinger, we must learn the difference between necessity and pleasure.” Azriel’s pupils dilated and his skin felt tight and hot.

Gwyn leaned in once again and teased, whispering, “Predictability is worth seeing you blush like a school girl.” She threw her fiery hair over her shoulder and walked away leaving him gaping like an idiot. 

cassian and rhys walked out from his room and rhys said with a chuckle “she’s something alright.”

cassian looked at him with mock sincerity “promise me I’ll be the bridesmaid at your wedding”

“and will it be a double with you and that second of hers?”

He held his hands to his chest and tilted his head, “only in my dreams”

Rhys swung his arm around him laughing, “You’re pathetic.” 

————————————————————————

5 days passed and every one of them was torturous. His crew at their wits end with hers. Apparently the two blondes were causing quite a bit of trouble. It had seemed one had wiped the floor with his entire crew when it came to the cards while the other was a bit of a thief, a petty thief. 

His sharpshooter had made the mistake of whistling at Emerie, she tossed him into the ocean without so much as batting an eye. Thankfully they got him out in time and rest assured there were no more comments or touching. 

He hadn’t seen Berdara much as she had been holed up in her room barely leaving beyond the occasional meal. Though every time she did grace his presence, she was sure to leave him flustered beyond relief. What about this girl make him loose all of his composure, he wasn’t sure. But avoidance was a useful tool. 

Don’t think about it, don’t care azriel thought as he watched Cassian and Rhys spar on the deck of his ship. HIs two best fighters, facing off until suddenly rhys was knocked to the ground from behind. The culprit, the silver majesties second, Nesta. 

There was a determined look in her eyes, cold ambition. 

Cassian laughed, unfazed. 

“my turn.” her voice was one of mock innocence, venom drenched in sugar.

“don’t be so eager sweatheart.” 

“Eager to knock your arrogant ass down a few pegs” 

“Ooh she’s feisty.” And with that Nesta attacked. She wasn’t graceful but she fought as if her life depended on it, a sure sign that at one point or another it did. She swerved and jabbed with a desperate urgency, one you could only learn on the streets. Cassian dodged and deflected, though he was working much harder than usual. It seemed he also had something to prove. 

Azriel turned, knowing this fight would not be over any time soon, to find Berdara walking right towards him. “Nesta will not loose this fight.” 

“funny, neither will cassian.” 

Gwyneth gave him a serious look. “She does not loose, she never has and she never will.” 

“hmm. It’s never too late to try new things.” 

gwyn rolled her eyes before a glint appeared in them. “care for a rematch?” 

“fists or swords?” 

“Let’s spice it up, swords.”

“double or single?”

“A sword and a dagger.” 

“Surrender or mercy.” 

“Seeing you kneel to me will be sweet.” she paused. “Surrender.” 

“You’re on.”

“Pirates oath?”

“A gentleman always plays fair.” She unsheathed her sword and dagger holding one in each hand and smirked. “too bad I am no mere man.”  she lunged but azriel had been expecting that and side stepped pulling out his own sword and dagger. 

Where nesta had been brute force and aggression, Gwyneth was all grace and speed. She fought with the efficiency of someone who trained with the queens guard themselves. It was like fighting a tornado, she was fast like lightning and when she struck she struck hard. Every move was beautiful and deadly, just like her. 

————————————————————————

“We dock in 15 minutes.” Azriel called out to his crew. 

“What no, we need to keep going.” Gwyn replied.

“What we need is to restock supplies so we don’t starve to death before we’re richer than the queen herself.” 

she gave him a confused look, as if he was speaking a different language.

“We’ve been sailing non-stop for almost 2 weeks and we are out of supplies.”

gwyn mumbled something that sounded like “pathetic.” 

As soon as Azriel dropped the anchor his entire crew rushed off the shadowsinger, desperate to be away from the insane women. With of course the exception of Cassian for he was leaning against the rails of the ship bothering Nesta while she was pointedly ignoring him. 

“Hey, enough with the heart eyes we’ve got shit to do.” Azriel barked at Cassian who then frowned and sulked off the ship while nesta stared at him with her cold, blank expression. “You too sunshine. Let’s get moving.” 

“Order me to do something again and I will cut off your limbs one by one and feed you them for breakfast.” 

“I’m counting down the hours.” Azriel narrowly missed the dagger she threw at his head.

“Don’t call me sunshine.” and nesta walked off the ship, katanas at her hips glinting in the cold sun of the winter court. She looked right in her element. 

Before he called these women insane but that was far too gentle of a statement, the females that had found their way onto Berdara’s ship were absolutely, completely batshit crazy. 

Az was sure everyone was off his ship, everyone was accounted for and yet something was nagging at him. 

A flash of red caught his eye and he turned to see the captain of the silver majesty sitting on the railing, one misstep and she would fall. Though there was no doubt in his mind that she would survive the deadly drop. This women seem to defy all odds, why not death? Her smile was wild and just a little bit mad as the wind swept and curled through her hair pushing it back from her face. As if it wanted nothing more than to be flowing through her her fiery locks that mirrored her spirit. Gwyn closed her eyes, feeling the breeze, the sun lighting up the freckles that spread across her cheeks. She was

“Are you done gawking?” she said without even opening her eyes. 

horrible, she was absolutely unquestionably horrible. “If I may, what are you doing majesty?” 

She turned toward him, in the sun the blue of her iris’s had a twinge of green as if she was born for the sea. “I am simply reminding myself why I left.” Her eyes gazed hungrily over the vast sea as though she saw a challenge, one she had to conquer. “who could resist all this?”

It was unlike her to offer such a raw statement with no ulterior motive and while it was entirely possible she did have one, Azriel believed her. Azriel believed her because he shared the exact feeling. The longing for freedom, the found solstice in constant change and motion, and the occasional guilt for leaving that ultimately fades because it will never not be worth it. 

“I pity them.” 

“Fools.”

“Utterly.” She offered no more as she hopped down from the railing. 

They walked in comfortable silence as they both took in the beauty of the winter court. It was all ice and snow with a slight aura of loneliness. 

Together the two captains arrived at the inn. It was cozy and warm and was placed separately from the rest of the town. His eyes shifted and he saw what had to have been the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. It was a bar. Thank fucking goodness. Azriel knew without a doubt that they all desperately needed some liquor. 

In the bar he immediately found both their combined crew. A crowd of men and women had surrounded Rhys, hanging on every word he said while he soaked it up flirting to his hearts content. Azriel was going to have to give him a limit on the number of people he could fuck at once, this was getting ridiculous. Next he found Cassian, Tarquin and Viviane doing shots at the bar. But he noticed every time his glance shifted to a certain girl in the corner of the room. Nesta was in a booth with Emerie sipping whiskey, talking in low voices. Cressedia and Drakon were in a heated drinking game and-

Azriel knocked into a body he immediately recognized as Lucien and he held out his hand at once glaring. 

“Hey captain.” He said cheerfully. 

“empty now.”

The kid dumped a pile of jewels, wallets, and id’s in his hand. 

Azriel smirked approvingly “get me a ruby, an Id of a man who could pass for the high lord of the winter court, and 500 more dollars.” Lucien nodded greedily and ran along. It had been a game between the two of them for Azriel to give him outlandish challenges to sharpen his skill as a thief. 

But before Lucien could leave the bar every lamp extinguished and the bar turned quiet. 

Strangers gasped and knives were drawn. 

Moments later the lights reappeared and once his eyes readjusted he saw a women holding two daggers to the throats of Tarquin and Viviane. They struggled against her. But she just laughed and scolded. “No no no. shhhh” Before she looked up again. 

“We need to have a chat.” every word was clipped and short. “Put your weapons away and these two might get to live to see another day.” It was an order, and a threat. Azriel didn’t take kindly to threats. 

Gwyn looked to the 3 remaining who followed her and nodded at them to listen. He nodded to his own crew. 

Nesta sneered but dropped her katanas to the ground. She opened her mouth to speak but Rhys beat her to it, pushing away the women he was flirting with as he drawled to the women in front of them. 

“It’s been a long time Feyre, darling.”

tag list: @imsointobooks @meher-sumedha @himadrij @gwynrielsupremacy @ipsa-est-lux-plenae @flora-shadowshine @allthebooksunderthemoon @valkygwyn @bookish-isha @lattristantketchup

[elizabeth-mitchells]

What if when Deena kills Goode and the Shadyside curse is broken, all of the victims finally get to rest in peace, and they are all reunited?

Starting with Sarah, waking up to meet Hannah again. All the killers waking up, reunited with their loved ones. Everyone from 1666, 1978, 1994, waking up in some perfect place and then meeting each other and...

okay i wrote it

Sarah…

Sarah…

At first, there was only darkness, calling out her name.

“Sarah?”

The darkness started to bleed. Black gave way into powerful red. It was a familiar voice calling out her name.

“Sarah, dearest, wake up.”

Light started breaking through the red. A blue sky above was revealed, and then, the loveliest of faces. The woman she’d loved and died for.

“Hannah?”

“There you are,” Hannah smiled, as she continued to lovingly brush away the red moss covering all of Sarah’s body.

Sarah gasped for air, and jumped to a seated position. She took a deep breath. It felt like being born again. Soon, it registered there wasn’t an ounce of pain in her entire being. In fact, all she could feel was the warmth of the sun, the softness of the moss around her, and the tenderness of Hannah’s eyes.

“You’re finally here,” Hannah whispered in awe, placing a gentle hand in her bewildered lover’s cheek.

“Oh, Hannah, my love,” Sarah returned the gesture.

Then before wondering at all about explanations or reason or logic, Hannah pulled her in for a kiss. It felt exactly as Sarah remembered, and even better. Better than life itself, Hannah Miller’s kiss. When they had to pull away, due to Hannah’s growing smile and Sarah’s overwhelmed tremble of her entire body, they continued to rest their foreheads against each other until their breathing calmed down. “Hannah,” Sarah said, pulling back a little more to look around them, “What is this place?”

“Peace,” Hannah replied.

“What?” Sarah frowned. She stared at the ground, covered in that recognizable red shade as far as she could look. The trees, the large rock beside them, it was all familiar. “Where are we? Is this Union?”

Hannah shook her head softly. “It’s just… peace,” she insisted. There was no other way to explain it.

It appeared Sarah didn’t need to hear more. She exhaled a sigh of relief. Then her eyes met the love of her life again. “I’m so sorry it took me so long,” she apologized.

For the first time since their reunion, Hannah looked slightly less than blissfully happy. “It was nothing, Sarah. Time was meaningless without you,” Hannah stated with loving fierceness, “Eternity begins right now, with you, and only with you.”

Simultaneously they moved in for another kiss. Sarah’s instincts told her to keep kissing her lover. Danger could be around the corner. Threats. Neighbors. Evil. They had to make the most of whatever time they had. But… hadn’t they left all of that behind? Didn’t they win? That victorious feeling blossomed inside her chest and soothed her fervor. As the kisses slowed down, they found the strength to pull away from each other.

“Who did it?” Hannah wondered as her hands caressed Sarah’s hair. “Finally, who managed to break the curse?”

Immediately, Sarah grinned. “Two girls. Two wonderful, wonderful girls. I am sure you would have loved them. And their marvelous friends. And I pray we won’t see them around here for a long, long time.”

The two girls shared a blissful chuckle. “Good,” Hannah nodded.

There was a brief moment of silence then. Hannah studied Sarah. How terribly she had missed her all this time. How long had she waited for her lover to achieve her well-earned peace. And Sarah Fier wouldn’t have let herself rest until her entire land had also reached equal freedom. Sitting beside her, Sarah took a moment to look around them again.

“This is pretty,” Sarah commented about the red moss that covered the entire ground. She ran her hand over it and marveled at the lovely, perfect softness of it.

“You’re welcome,” Hannah replied with lips pursed into a playful smirk. It was true she had been the one to place the crown of red moss on her fallen savior’s head.

“The afterlife has made you even more playful, love,” Sarah lovingly accused her.

Hannah looked nothing but proud to hear that. It wouldn’t be paradise if they weren’t there laughing together. Suddenly, Hannah’s visible joy increased, and she turned eager to be on the move. “Follow me,” she said, standing up and offering her hand to the other girl.

“Where, my darling?” Sarah asked, despite the fact that was already standing up and willing to follow Hannah anywhere, to the ends of heaven and hell if necessary.

“There’s a lot I want to show you,” Hannah smiled. “They’re all coming here.”

“Who?”

Sarah was being led by the hand. Hannah looked over her shoulder at her with a brilliant smile that had been the light to inspire Sarah’s fight and therefore became the miraculous force behind the ultimate liberation from the curse. Hannah was all light, and hope, and love, and good news, for eternity.

“Everyone,” she replied.

--

Sarah and Hannah knelt behind a rock and looked on at the most wonderful sight.

“Henry?” Sarah exclaimed in a breathless whisper.

Hannah was holding her hand, and Sarah’s grip was so strong it nearly hurt, if they could hurt in that place. “And my dad,” Hannah added, “and everyone else.”

It was true. Not everyone had made it, but a group from Union was right there, happily wandering around the woods, stepping on the soft moss, exchanging fresh, delicious fruits, and talking to each other. Henry looked perfectly healthy and happy. He was talking with Lizzie and Isaac, the pair of friends were smiling brighter than ever. Pastor Miller looked as happy as a man could be, surrounded by children that looked all healed, that couldn’t feel nor remember any pain. The Berman sisters were there too. Abigail cried in relief and Constance made fun of her for it, while eagerly returning the embrace. A few feet behind them, the widow Mary was dancing with her husband and child.

“Look at them!” Sarah sighed, there were tears shimmering in her eyes. Joyful tears.

“You made this possible, you know?” Hannah told her.

Overwhelmed by her emotions, Sarah wrapped her arms around Hannah’s waist, and held tightly, perfectly safe and comforted by her lover’s arms wrapped over her shoulders, holding her close.

“What did you do?” Sarah wondered after a while of the two of them simply holding each other. “After… what happened with you?”

“I left,” Hannah replied simply. “I left, and Union separated in two. I was a widow, I decided, and our friends weren’t many, but eventually, we made a place for ourselves.”

“Shadyside,” Sarah smiled.

“Oh, have you heard about it?”

Sarah laughed at Hannah’s playfulness once more. “I have seen glimpses of it.”

“Then you will love what’s next.”

--

Hannah hadn’t been wrong. The more they walked around the woods, the more Sarah’s heart overflowed with joy. Everywhere around them were victims of the curse coming home, families reunited, lovers embracing, kids being kids.

A tall man taking off his mask, breathing freely for the first time in too long. A little boy being picked up by his loving parents. A man throwing his arms around his friends. No weapons on sight. Nobody a killer. They were who they always had been. Their loved ones remembered them as such. Forgiveness filled the air. They were free, and loved, and at peace. And there were more of them.

“Ruby!” Sarah exclaimed. It was her turn to drag Hannah by the hand as she rushed to take a closer look at the young girl. “She was so strong,” Sarah praised her, her voice trembling with emotion. The young Ruby Lane was running into the arms of her friends. There was no need to forgive. There was only forgetting the bad things that happened, things that weren’t the killer’s fault, for they weren’t killers but the first victims each time.

“Where’s her mother?” Hannah wondered.

“Not here yet,” Sarah replied, “By now she has probably heard the good news, I am sure. Last thing I heard, she has a good friend.”

“She will be welcomed by her daughter when her time comes,” Hannah added. “They will be eternally happy.” After thinking about it for a long moment, she looked at the love of her life with a proud smile. “You were looking after them, weren’t you?”

“I did my best,” Sarah looked down bashfully. “I’m not as strong as the curse. But I could nudge certain things to go the right way here and there.”

“You’re mistaken, my heart,” Hannah fondly shook her head. “If anything, you have proved you are stronger than even the Devil.”

Silently, Sarah lifted their joined hands to leave a kiss on the back of Hannah’s hand. She faintly wondered if this entire experience would consist of always being overcome by emotion. Her angel. Their friends, their people, the Shadysiders.

“This is... incredible,” Sarah sighed.

“It’s all thanks to you, Sarah Fier,” Hannah said.

“No…”

“Yes, of course it was you,” Hannah looked at her earnestly. “You kept your promise. You haunted the Goodes until you found someone that could help you break the curse. They couldn’t have done it without you.”

“And I couldn’t have done it without you,” Sarah replied with a trembling voice.

Hannah wouldn’t let her remain wistful too long though. “There’s more,” Hannah said, lighting up smiles in both their faces, as they resumed their journey across the woods.

--

“Oh! Hannah, look!” Sarah exclaimed, hurrying her pace as the couple neared the next clearing in the woods.

“Calm down, Sarah,” Hannah laughed fondly. When they were close enough, she stopped her, and wrapped her arms around her to keep her still. “We can’t meet them yet.”

“Why not?” Sarah wondered. She turned her face slightly to look at her lover, and seeing her face so close over her shoulder, she couldn’t help but place a sweet kiss on that inviting pair of lips.

Hannah blinked slowly. Life, death, and beyond, she would never be unaffected by Sarah’s affection. Finally, she smiled. “You will be famous, dear,” she said, “And I am not ready to share you yet.”

The two of them shared a laugh. Sarah seemed to accept that answer, and relaxed in Hannah’s arms. They rested their foreheads together and basked in the silence for a moment. It didn’t last long though. A loud yelp of surprise coming from somewhere nearby startled them.

“Oh, I’m happy to see her,” Hannah chuckled as the two of them moved closer and hid behind a tree to watch the scene in front of them unfold.

Cindy Berman stood up from the ground with a gasp, staring at her somehow not pristine polo shirt. “There’s still moss?!” she nearly yelled.

“Seriously, Berman? Even here?” teased a voice from behind her.

“Alice!” Cindy really yelled then. She jumped in the arms of the other girl and started peppering her face with kisses while Alice laughed loudly and happily, holding her close.

Observing them from a safe distance away, Sarah and Hannah shared an amused look. “They are a lovely pair,” Sarah whispered.

The blonde girl nodded, then asked Sarah, “How is her sister? The younger one?”

“Older now,” Sarah replied with an affectionate smile. “She is fine, and she will be doing better.”

“I hope she won’t be here any time soon. But that will be a reunion I will love to see,” Hannah added. They were watching as the realization dawned on Cindy Berman’s face. Her younger sister wasn’t there. Ziggy was alive. It was the best part of this entire moment for her.

A few steps behind Cindy and Alice, Arnie affectionately slapped Tommy Slater’s back. “Don’t worry man, you’ll get a hug too,” he said.

The blonde guy chuckled. He glanced at his hands, as if expecting an axe to still be there. Seeing himself free, he took a look around. They were surrounded by a group of children in their blue t-shirts. At first, they looked confused, dazed, but they quickly gained their footing. They started running around, openly laughing while a couple of teenagers almost chased after them to protect them, carrying the instinct of old camp counselors with them. They weren’t in danger though. There was nothing to fear. Everyone greeted each other with smiles, and Tommy smiled the brightest.

--

“Oh…” Sarah breathed out. She was delighted to see so many people reunited, but it didn’t come without a heavy weight on top of it. “So many children…”

“I know,” Hannah agreed. She kept a hand on Sarah’s shoulder, offering silent support. Noticing this, Sarah placed one of her hands atop Hannah’s. They’d missed each other. She felt she needed to be touching the other girl at all times.

“Why… How was so much cruelty possible? So much horror,” she wondered out loud.

“It was the devil’s work, Sarah,” Hannah did her best to reply. “It wasn’t human. Nobody here was ever cruel. And the horror is all over now.”

“It is?”

“It is,” Hannah promised. Her hand had moved to Sarah’s face, and with the back of her fingers, she tenderly caressed the girl’s cheek.

Sarah took her time breathing in and out. Staring at the love of her life, as alive as she ever knew her. Breathing in and out. The ethereal world around them, perfectly real. Breathing in and out. Her racing heart had barely calmed down enough when she was startled by a sound of rustling leaves coming from behind her. “What was that?” She asked in a tense whisper.

“Do not be scared, Sarah,” Hannah replied quickly. “There is no evil here. nothing to hunt us anymore.”

“No threats?” Sarah wondered, staring at Hannah with a small frown on her face.

“No fear,” Hannah reassured her.

“No hate?” Sarah inquired, though this time a small smile was growing on her lips.

“Nothing but peace.”

“And joy?”

“And love,” Hannah grinned. Then, seeing as she couldn’t find a reason not to, she leaned in forward quickly to steal a small kiss. “And friendship,” she playfully added. She took Sarah’s hand in hers once more to lead her to a new spot. “Take a look.”

--

There, with his hands behind his back as if afraid of himself, Ryan Torres was repeatedly apologizing to his friend. Heather was tearing up, shaking her head and dismissing his apologies. Her hands had been on his shoulders, but she soon pulled him into a warm hug. Nervously at first, he eventually reciprocated the embrace, carefully holding her close as she whispered soothing words to him. A few steps away from them, staff from the mall, and the hospital, and the police station were sharing awe-struck conversations. The heavenly spectacle of watching old friends come together, victims open their eyes again, friendship being born in the afterlife… it was all a mesmerizing sight. Sarah believed she could have spent a good portion of eternity simply staring at the people around her.

That’s when Sarah and Hannah were startled by a pair of voices coming from nearby. They simply had to move closer to get a better look at them.

“How does my hair look?”

“Aren’t you dead?”

“Yes, idiot. But how’s my hair?”

“It’s fine!” Simon laughed, accepting the hand Kate was offering him to pull him up from the ground.

He didn’t waste a single second wrapping his arms around her and holding her as closely as possible. Kate pressed her face to his chest, closed her eyes tightly, and didn’t even try to hide her smile. The two best friends enjoyed the embrace for a while, and eventually pulled away slowly. They brushed away the red moss that lingered on their clothes and slowly started taking a look around them.

“Where are we?” Simon wondered.

Kate didn’t really hear him, though. She’d seen something that stopped her in her tracks. “Deena?” Kate blurted out.

“Sam?” Simon exclaimed, equally as surprised.

Realizing they’d been caught, Sarah and Hannah hid behind a tree. They shared a look, wide eyes, and guilty smiles. A second later, they were running away, hand in hand, to avoid causing a confusion, for the time being. When they were safely away from most curious eyes, right in the middle of their gorgeous, red-tinted forest, they stopped. They had been laughing the entire time. They came together at once for a new kiss, familiar and exhilarating at once. Their hands lovingly cradling each other’s faces. A perfect embrace. A love that resisted life and death and three hundred years in between. They could kiss forever, until the end of times, and even then, with souls intertwined, their love would last longer than time itself.

All around them, love continued to blossom. There was the red moss, spreading further and further away from the spot where they stood, welcoming more and more souls. The freed victims were starting to leave the spots where they woke up, they were starting to explore. All over there were stories intertwining, timeliness melting into one, friendships being born. People were confused, and shocked, and fascinated by everything around them. Cindy Berman met Abigail and Constance. Tommy Slater shared a hug with Ruby Lane. Heather started a conversation with Alice. Pastor Cyrus Miller carried Billy Barker on his shoulders. Ryan Torres shook hands with Harry Rooker. Isaac met Simon, and Kate met Lizzie. Ruby Lane’s friends joined the Camp Nightwing’s counselors. Parents found their children, friends were reunited, lovers found each other, everyone searched and found new friends and people they had lost, and some of them patiently waited for the distant future where they’ll meet again the ones they left behind. Tales from the seventeenth century met myths from the eighteenth, legends from the nineteenth, and songs from the twentieth century. Every now and then, somebody made a joke about a certain family that wasn’t present, and would never be. Even the trees, the leaves, and moss at their feet seemed to laugh and rejoice in the Goode’s absence.

At the center of it all, Sarah Fier and Hannah Miller remained. They kissed, they laughed, they danced, they held each other, and their love continued to shine strong enough to sustain a land of pure and absolute peace that would last forever.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Right Hand Woman | Part Two

Summary; your father is dead, just as you and Loki had planned. All that stands in the way of your reign over both the Cold Shores and Asgard, is your partner’s one eyed adopted parent.

Warnings; mentions of death, deception, brief smut (oral sex, fem receiving), attempts of murder

QUICK LINK TO MY MASTERLIST, IN CASE YOU’RE INTERESTED IN READING MORE OF MY CRAP 😬

Frigga frowned, suspecting something the moment that she caught Loki sneaking into her and Odin’s chambers. It was not wise to trust the boy so easily, whilst she felt tremendous love towards her found son, he was the god of mischief.

And so she watched him from the corner, cloaked by her own witted spell, and studied how he rummaged through the room. “Damn you father!” He whisper shouted to himself, and that was whence his witch of a mother made her presence known.

A soft yet malleable frown cast over Loki’s sly features, as he gulped inherently. “What is it that burdens you my boy?” If only she knew the full extension of the answer to that, but he would not curse her with the details.

“Odin.” That was how he labelled him as; the king. Not his father. “The man that you are wedded to has hidden the book of counsel once again from me. If I wish to be a husband, then I must read and study its contents, for it is not everyday that anyone from the nine realms marries a god.”

With relief indulging her airway, Frigga sighed. At least he was searching for something worthwhile, rather than an item or clue that could get him in attentive trouble.

“Loki.” His name surpassed the barrier of her bewitched lips, earning her child’s attention. “I shall find it for you, but be aware that there is no rush to become one with y/n so soon. It is certain that she is still experiencing the shock and mourning of her father.”

An inclination to smirk at the mention of the dead man arose in Loki’s chest, however he kept his face mute of amusement, and instead, looked up at his favourite parent. She knew, as he noticed his inclination to spill all, that he was holding a secret close to his chest. But he had never been one to be entirely truthful, and so instead of berating him about it, she left him alone.

“I suppose.” He didn’t. It was a white lie in his eyes, but a vast one in the eyes of his family, with the sorrow pent up in y/n. She was far from sad, rather, he was the only one that could see how truly joyous she was concerning the fall of her father.

The small spilt tears were a lie, all to deceive the Odinson tree. Thor was certainly the most gullible of all when witnessing it, he would order the guards to abandon their duties to go and fetch her something to dry her eyes on, and if they were not fast enough, he would do the job himself.

It was truly a sight to behold though as Odin would nurture her with caring phrases, and lay a comforting hand upon her slunk shoulder, praising her for having some sense.

Loki’s family knew that it had been difficult, protecting herself whilst in the meanwhile wearing her father’s blood upon her hands. It showed her loyalty to the youngest of Odin’s sons, and that was what they wanted in a dame.

“That poor girl.” Frigga reminisced all that she had heard regarding the death of the opposing king, that had once been an ally. “Killing her own father, it must have come with some difficulty.”

The man was assured that there had been none, y/n had wanted to do such amends in a great long time. However, she had to wait for the perfect moment, so that Odin could be blessed of the sight of her above her father’s carcass.

“Perhaps, but it has shown me how perfect she is for marriage material. We aren’t even combined into one yet, and she has already proven her loyalty, presenting that she has the same image for Asgard and the Cold Shores in her peripheral.”

His mother, whom was married into the line of the throne, sighed. She felt great pity for y/n, for she felt torn; but ultimately, chose herself over her father’s selfish wishes. And through his actions, y/f/n had broken the contract and his own blessing of allowing Loki to take her hand.

The same image. If there was one thing that Frigga had nervous thoughts about, it was Loki, and his problematic situation in wanting the throne. But to the dismay of the trickster god, it was promised to his brother Thor; the real heir of Odinson royalty. And though Frigga adored Loki as though he were her own son, because essentially he was, her trust in him regarding his hunger to rule Asgard was thin, like a silver platter.

Y/n sat, pondering her decisions. She liked Odin, despite him being like all kings, even if he had turned over a new leaf in the latest centuries. He had adorned the rivers of Valhalla with bloodshed, passing through the nine realms with his weapon unsheathed, pooling blood so that in return he could take the gold that the men and women harboured so slyly.

Her father had done the same thing, but he had been much more humble regarding his lifestyle. A grand and glorious display of buildings had not been considered necessary in y/f/n’s rich eyes. Instead, he opted to remain vigilant, living in hoisted tents, so that he had the freedom to move him and his people about as he pleased.

But he had wanted to depart from his only child, in order to gain another ally, but in doing so, he had lost that trust with Asgard. And now she was the heir of his ruins, but she had left with the man that had reckoned pain upon his people for his treachery.

The only thing that was left in their plan, was to kill Odin. It was rather simple thinking of it, however proceeding to do so would be a far different story. And first, so that their power was in conjunction, her and Loki needed to marry. She found no problem in doing so, especially since it was one of her greatest desires to do so already.

She was laid beneath the sheets of the guest room that was supplied to her, adorned in nothing but her underwear. One feature of her icy homelands that she was used to was the cold. Here, it felt so warm, she felt enclosed by the heat; trapped even.

As a child, she often wore a red nose, hardly feeling the end of it, as snow would balance upon it, and fall around every inch outside of her tent. But in Asgard, a place that she had visited many a time, she was sweltering. A part of her feared that it was a flaw granted by karma, for killing her father.

There was some truth to her lies; he had wanted her to wed another that was not Loki, but she didn’t tell him of whom, knowing that he would grown furious and insecure, and surely take everything that he was feeling out on her competing suitor.

However, she had deceived his father as well, made Odin believe that he was trying to pass y/n onto another kingdom. Instead, y/f/n had been talking of with his lower level colleagues, that he was considering Thor as a replacement for the sorcerer prince.

That was an idea that she was not fond of. Whilst she got along well enough with Thor, she loved Loki, it was simple as that. And she was against anyone, even if it be family, trying to rip apart the contract of her childhood dream; to wed the sneaky, yet charming prince.

Y/n was ripped from her thoughts as knuckles rapped on the display of double doors, that lead into the room that she was currently occupying. “You may enter.” She informed whomever was wishing to see her on the other side, the door groaning open as a sleek and fetching man entered.

Loki made sure to close the barricade behind him, walking closer to his future wife with purpose in each step that he instructed. “Beloved y/n...”

“Did you find it?” She asked, referring to the last piece to fill in their mystical puzzle. Her brow quirked, watching as her to be husband exasperatedly sighed, combing a talented hand through his long black locks.

“No, but my mother has taken upon herself to aid us in doing so.” His green and keen eyes looked down upon her, gently hoisting her to be on her feet by a carefully tugging on her arm.

“This needs to be sped up my love, otherwise they will catch onto our intentions before we can complete them.” Y/n tried to pace, however, Loki kept a grip on her, refraining her from doing so. And so she was kept right before him, in a face to face manner, frozen like the ropes of water by her original home and his birth place.

“Relax for a moment, there needn’t be a rush.” Loki cooed at her, brushing through her hair with an underlying content. “To distract you, I am here, and I will do anything to remove your mind from all that troubles you.”

He lightly pushed down one of her shoulders, making her fall elegantly back on the bed, her bare breasts bouncing as she fell. Loki licked his lips at the sight, raking his cold fingertips up her thighs, parting them to his will. “Did you know that it was me that had intention to pester you at this time, or were you prepared to allow any nimble soldier see you so- so open for their unworthy pupils to devour?”

“I knew it was you Loki.” She rolled her y/e/c eyes, resting on her forearms on the fresh fabric, that rubs tenderly against her skin. “Otherwise, I’d have not answered, making them search the grounds for me until they persisted you with having an inability to find me.”

“Little minx.” Loki smirked, rubbing softly on the insides of your thighs. He crept closer, collapsing between y/n’s spread legs, rutting his covered cock over the promise that came with marriage. “I cannot wait for us to bind together in an established union, that will be recognised by all, and we will never be mistake for a pair of lovesick fools ever again.”

“And when we reign, all will know that we are not to be reckoned with.” Y/n reached up, guiding his hands lower. “But until then, I want you to ruin me, until I am screaming loud enough for all the habitants in nearby rooms to hear.” Her eyes were glazed, Loki licked his lips as he swept down, casting his mouth passionately upon hers.

His raven tendrils swayed around them like a curtain, enclosing their faces in an intimate proximity. Whilst his mouth explored her own, content sighs renegading from his lover’s busy mouth, his hands slipped down, finding penance at her waist.

They traced the outline of her underwear, teasingly moving underneath the sides, making y/n flutter with anticipation. Her cheeks grew warm as she looked down at her partner in treachery, letting out a startled gasp whence he ripped the seams, discarding of the useless material.

He ran his slippery, cursing lips up her leg, tracing them sensually around the budding lips of her pussy. Y/n nestled her head into the comfort below, watching with Loki with dazed eyes, that were heavily plagued by the dreariness of her lids.

“By the gods!” In an instant, he had suctioned his mouth around her entirety, suckling with his cat like pupils boring up at his lover in ecstasy. He always got what he wanted, and he would marry this princess, and then, their journey throughout royalty would continue.

The occasion had finally arrived. Odin stood at the centre of the platform, between the two lovers. With gratitude to his mother Frigga, Loki sent her a pleased nod, before once more tuning his attention back onto his lovely fiancé.

All of Asgard watched dearly from below, holding onto their kings every word as he spoke the age old coronation into a pairing’s vows. His speech was slow, and it made y/n slightly antsy.

She wanted to marry Loki, and despite going through the prior orchestration of doing so, she wanted nothing more than for the process to speed itself up. But she remained silent, and apparently patient to all that stared with fawning smiles.

It wasn’t everyday that the royals were wed, and the citizens of the plain were in for a treat. It was something that was viewed sparingly, for their children that would be procreated in the distant future would hear tales of such a collision of two people, not actually baring witness to the ongoing.

Odin cleared his ancient throat, folding the scroll back into its exterior, and declared the emission and final act. “Y/n, of the cold shores, do you take my son, Loki, to be your partner for as long as you live?”

“I do, King Odin.” Her childhood dreams were being brought to light, after all this time. They had waited a thousand years for this exact moment, and every second that she had thought and not acted on it had been essentially worth it.

Loki stood across from her, their hands intertwined in the space between their bodies. There was a glimmer sparkling in his devious eyes, and y/n gulped at the sight of it. As happy as she felt, there was a brewing in the pit of her stomach, for she knew the god far too well.

“Loki, of Asgard, do you take the woman before you, y/n, to be your wife for your eternity?” The green eyed prince smiled across at her, giving her shaking fingers a comforting squeeze.

“I do, father.”

“Then, you may kiss your partner to seal the vow.” Y/n had an exhausting smile pinching her cheeks, and as Loki swiftly removed his hands from her own, she moved closer.

But that look had returned, and before she could stop him, he had slipped a blade out from his sleeve, and directed its spear tip towards Odin. This was not the time or the place for the violence, but the deed was done; they were exposed.

[wolffe-simp]

Talk Some Sense To Me (Part 1)

The Bad Batch are left to babysit an outsider when the Jedi agree that Clone Force 99 need to have an eye kept on them at all times, but something isn't quite right with them and they catch the eye of a certain sniper.

Word Count: 2364

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma, Crosshair is an ass like always, teachable lessons for the boys.

I am hoping to turn this into a small series along with "Heart Of a Wolf" which will be getting a part 2 soon.

There were those that followed the order of the universe to ensure the balance of life, then there was clone force 99, a team of defected clones who spit on the orders given to them so that they could follow their own style. It had always been them, brothers, until the end of the line. That was how they liked it, they lived in their own little world among the war, being who they wanted to be in this world without a care. That was until the Jedi council made the ultimate decision to assign them to a general that would possibly put the clones in their place and stop them from causing as much havoc as they usually did. Hunter had to be the one to break the news to his brothers, expecting the angered voices of most of them, they had never had some outsider keeping them in check like misbehaving children. Echo was the only one that had been okay with the concept, not that he didn't understand why his brothers were upset, but because he had been a reg before all this and was use to serving under a Jedi general. "Just what we need, some Kriffing idiot who is probably so far up on their high horse that they couldn't care less about what happens to us." Crosshair fumed, angrily swirling his toothpick around his mouth. "For once, I agree, its likely we have been put under the command of a very irrational diplomat." Tech called out from under the Havoc cockpit, fixing a few bits of damage that had been made on their last mission. "I think we shouldn't jump to conclusions before we meet them." Echo argued, trying to talk some sense into his team. "Echo is right, we cannot judge them before we meet the, we aren't like the regs." Hunter added his input. "Yeah, Echo has a point." Wrecker mumbled, even though he himself had been against the idea only moments ago. Crosshair ripped his toothpick from his mouth and tossed it away with a flick of his fingers before crossing his arms over his chest and looking away, grumbling under his breath. "You know, not everyone was on board with this decision." A new voice suddenly piped up from behind Hunter, causing them all to turn towards the source. Standing there was who they suspected to be their new general, but the female could have easily been mistaken as a worker or a possibly senator. She definitely didn't look like she belonged on a military base, a girl like this belonged to more than all this, she seemed far too pure and far to young to have the position she had among the ranks. "I was quite against it, not because I don't like you or anything, I mean I don't personally know you but I understand that you value the freedom you had and that you don't want that taken from you and.....I'm just gonna be quiet now." She cut off her rambling as she noticed them staring at her, a mix of angry, deadpanned or confused faces just watching her. "Well....its nice to meet you General, I'm Hunter and these are my brothers, Echo, Tech, Crosshair and Wrecker." The Sargent spoke, pointing to each of his teammates in turn so that the General would be able to tell them apart. "Nice to meet you all, you can just call me (Y/N)." The female couldn't meet their eyes, which was unusual behaviour for someone of her status, normally a general was confident and sure, looking them in the eyes and commanding respect. Yet here she was, acting as if she was a soldier being scolded by her commanding officer. "We are sorry you had to hear all that, if you'd like, I can show you to your bunk." Echo was quick to offer, sensing a tension building in the air, the clone could already see Crosshairs lips twitching with the desperate need to make a rather vile comment towards the general. "Don't worry, I've had worse...." She replied, her lips falling into a small frown. Echo offered her a comforting smile and led her inside the Maurader, showing her to the back of the ship where a makeshift bed had been made. It wasn't much as the ship hardly accommodated the clones, yet they had somehow made it work by thinking outside of the box, some even had to share rooms to ensure their was enough space on the ship for the

important things. (Y/N) didn't mind how bare and small it was though, the fact they had the faintest decency to build a place for her to stay was enough, even if the thought was mingled with the question of how easily they could get rid of her. She put her bag down in on of the corners. humming as she scanned the room, a simple room for a simple person. "Bit of paint and it will look like a palace." She joked, earning a small chuckle from Echo. "I am glad you like it." He said before nodding his head in farewell and leaving to go and help Tech on those repairs. Once alone, (Y/N) sighed heavily and placed her head in a hand while the other wrapped around her waist. She was far from ready for this, she had barely recovered from her previous mission, which had been an absolute failure and resulted in the death of her entire squad along with her capture. What were the Jedi council thinking? She had barely come to terms with everything and now they were throwing her back into the deep end and hoping she could move on like nothing has every happened. Her dreams were haunted by the loss of the clones she had come to call friends and here she was, expected to just blindly lead another clone squad, a squad who didn't even want her. For hours, she stayed in her room, lost in her own torturous thoughts. Even when Tech had fixed the ship, even when they had all come back onboard to do their chores, she had not made another appearance. At some point, Hunter had passed by her room, skidding to a stop when he head a small, pained sob. Out of curiosity, he wanted to check in and make sure she was okay. But then again, she probably didn't want to be comforted by someone she hardly knew. He had no idea why she was upset, a part of him suspected it was because of what had been said earlier. He sighed and joined his team in the main living area, keeping this to himself, he didn't want Crosshair using this as fuel to get rid of the general. After a while, he pulled Tech to the side, speaking in hushed voices. "Hey Tech, can you do me a favour?" "Depends." "I need you to find everything you can on the General." Tech have Hunter a confused look, mulling it over in his head before nodding. It seemed quite logical to look into their General, after all, they needed to know if she could be trusted. (Y/N) didn't emerge until it was time for dinner, she had washed her face of evidence, not wanting the clones to see her weakness. She couldn't be weak in front of them, especially because of how much they hated her, it would just give them a reason to dislike her even more. No clone squad wanted to be led by a general who cried at the most trivial things, even if those things weren't so trivial to her. She leaned against the doorway to the main living area, catching the eyes of Hunter and Echo, offering them each a smile that barely touched her eyes. They seemed to be the only ones who tolerated her and that was enough for her right now. "Finally, the princess has graced us with her presence." Crosshair sneered from his spot on the bench, regarding her with disgust. "Guess that makes you a peasant." She retorted with a small roll of her eyes. "Means you won't be able to eat with us higher ups." Her comment made the others chuckle a little, watching as Crosshair tightened his jaw in anger. But (Y/N) just ignored him, sensing another comment lingering on the lip of his tongue. "Tomorrow, we have been requested to make our way to a small backwater planet to scout some separatist activity." She spoke calmly, looking at the rest of the squad. "Right now, I want you to all to eat and rest up, I was just on my way to the mess hall if you'd all like to join me." "Ah Yeah! I'm starving!" Wrecker cheered, his face lighting up at the mention of food. "I think we all are." Hunter scoffed, smiling affectionately at his brothers childishness. "I think a team dinner would be a good idea, lead the way General." (Y/N) nodded and made her way off the ship, followed by her team, including a moody Crosshair. As they made their way to the mess hall, (Y/N)

made small talk with Wrecker and Echo, listening to a few stories they had to share about their previous missions. At one point, Wrecker tried to tell her about how Crosshair and Hunter had been tricked by some Twi'leks that worked for the Hutts but was quickly shushed by the sniper who was clearly embarrassed by the story. Even when they had got their food and sat on one of the far table in the corner, Wrecker was still more than happy to boast about his brothers, even when he was stuffing his mouth with food. (Y/N) laughed and shook her head, slowly picking at her own food, barely able to eat anything. Then came a question that had her whole body tensing, her mind reeling with memories of a time she wished she could go back and change. "So General, what about you? What kind of adventures have you had?" Tech had asked, his question innocent and simple, he simply wanted to get to know the person he was going to work with. "Shopping trips and pedicures don't count as adventures, Tech." Crosshair scoffed, focused mostly on his food. (Y/N) stared down at her tray of food, feeling her heart clench painfully in her chest. Her fingers tingled, remembering when her captain had held her hand as the light faded from his eyes, telling her it wasn't her fault. The night before, he had held her hand like that, only this time it as because he was afraid to wake up back on Kamino as if his life held no meaning whatsoever. Her squad had usually slept in positions where at least one part of their body touched hers, they were so close that they had always been afraid of waking up and losing the others. It was still hard to think that she had lost them all in the same day, unable to save them from enemy hands, she was suppose to protect them. She didn't realise she was struggling to breath until she felt a hand rest on her shoulder, making her jump back to reality, trying to calm her racing heart. She turned her head to look at the person, only to come face to face with a familiar clone, the one who had been there for her even in her darkest times. "Cody...." She breathed in relief, reaching up a hand to rest it over his. "General." He greeted with a smile, taking his hand away as he sat next to her with his own tray of food, silently offering her a supporting force so she didn't become overwhelmed by her own thoughts. "To answer your question Tech, the General has had many adventures. You should have seen the time she kicked a droid head across the battlefield and knocked the tactical off of its tank. I've never seen General Kenobi laugh so much at such a daft thing but (Y/N) sure has quite a temper for someone so small." Cody laughed, recalling a moment he had spent with (Y/N) during her time in the GAR, they had many memories together, both good and bad. Right now, he knew she needed to be reminded of the good times. Cody was more than happy to chat with Clone force 99, even happier to take their attention off of (Y/N) for now. Sadly, they was no mistaking that they noticed how she acted when Tech asked about her adventures in the field, there seemed to be something about their General that she was keeping from them. Usually, they wouldn't pry into such matters but if it endangered their brothers then they had to find out what she was keeping from them. (Y/N) was staring at her tray, hardly listening to Cody when something smooth and cool landed on one of her hands. She slowly lifted her head, seeing the smiling face of Echo looking at her, his metal hand covering hers. She stared at it for a moment, slowly turning her hand over so it was in her palm, slender fingers wrapping around it. She knew she wasn't alone in the darkness that clouded her mind and somehow, she knew that Echo understood her. He had known the pain he could see in her eyes and he hoped that he and his brothers could help bring back whatever spark she had once had, exactly like the Bad Batch had done for him.

This is just a set up to the story, I hope you like it. Been a bit too busy for writing but I am slowly getting back into it. I am also, trying and failing at drawing a concept for Plo Koon's daughter for "Heart of a Wolf"

[allegra-writes]

“Teeth”

Peter Parker x Anti-hero!Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut, chocking kink, rough sex.

Part XI of the "Mercy" series

SERIES MASTERLIST | MY MASTERLIST

"Something in the way you look into my eyes... I don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive"

Teeth - 5SOS

Peter was going to be sick.

He hadn't felt sick in years, ever since the spider bite, but he was sure his stomach was about to turn any second now.

It was all in front of his eyes, the darkest, most confidential of S.H.I.E.L.D's files. Project Lazarus. Nick Fury’s  unethical, insane scheme to get the original six back together, using the kree blood running through Captain Marvel's veins to reanimate the fallen ones. And you had been the ultimate guinea pig, the final test.

And Peter had been the one to authorize it.

The name on the files was your father's, but Bucky had only consented after Peter…

He ran, barely making it to the ensuite on time to empty the contents of his stomach into the sink. He let the water flow to wash the foul liquid away.

That wasn't even the worst. Oh no, that was barely the top of the iceberg. The most horrifying part, the part that was going to give him nightmares for weeks, was that protocol. The T.A.H.I.T.I. protocol, a machine wired directly to your brain, with your skull splitted open, erasing everything Fury considered you didn't need. There were even fucking reports about how much more docile and happier you were after forgetting your mother's death, and your subsequent murderous rampage.

And at least half of it was bullshit. They had told you about Natasha the very same day you had woken up, asking for your mommy in russian, breaking their hearts in a thousand pieces once they understood what was going on.

He sprayed some cold water on his face, trying to regain his composure. As bad as he was feeling, it was probably nothing compared to what you were feeling. He had to get it together, for you. He rinsed his mouth and dried his face with a towel, stepping back into his room.

But you were nowhere to be found.  

His heart fell to his stomach. He scrambled to put on a pair of sweats, cursing the valuable seconds he was wasting, before running at breakneck speed through hallways and flights of stairs until he reached your floor. By the time he barged into your room, he was out of breath.

“No” It came out as a whisper, a barely audible gasp at finding his worst suspicions confirmed.

There you were, fully dressed, a backpack open on your bed with a few clothes thrown haphazardly inside as you raided your bedroom for weapons.

“No” He repeated, more firmly, when you passed by him. He was met with more silence, as you took your small Glock 42 and checked the magazine. You wouldn't even look at him. You couldn't. You knew that if you as much as met those warm coffee eyes, bright with tears, you wouldn't be able to bring yourself to do it, you wouldn't be able to leave him.

And you had to. Peter didn't know, you were certain, he didn't mean to do so, but he was playing right into the role director Fury intended for him to play: A distraction and an anchor, something to stay for, to keep you loyal to the avengers.

Just like Hydra had used your father to keep your mother in line once, a long time ago. She had told you that story, told you about your dad's face, frozen inside a cryogenic pod. And she had taught you, with tears in her eyes, the motto you had lived your whole life by, up until now: ‘Your first and most important loyalty, must always be to yourself’

You counted your bullets, and tucked the gun into the thigh holster under your skirt. It was time to honor that law.

Peter stepped in front of you, halting your advances,

“Y/n, stop, talk to me, please!” He reached for your hand, but you avoided his touch. You knew what would happen if he touched you.

“It’s over, Peter” Your voice washed over him like a bucket of cold water, chilling him to the bone, “I’m leaving”

The words knocked all the air out of his chest, like a physical blow. He knew your first reaction would be to fly, your mother had raised you your whole life to make self preservation your first instinct. He had feared you would leave him behind.

But somehow, Peter had never pictured you would want to leave him.

He could feel his eyes burn, smell the salt of his own tears. He choked on the question that wanted to escape his throat, it was useless questioning why: He was still pretty much a stranger to you, all of them were. You weren't one to trust easily in strangers, and you had just been proven right. But comprehending didn't make it any less painful.

“Take me with you” He was conscious of the futility of his request as he said the words but he had to try. He had to.

You stopped your packing, meeting his eyes. But he found nothing in yours. No warmth. No trust. Nothing but the cold fire of your barely contained rage, algid and terrible. Peter had seen that look before, back in a barn on a stormy night. He regretted, for what was probably the thousandth time, not running away with you then, instead of asking you to stay with him.

“I was there” He tried again, “the night you tried to kill Clint”

“I know” You interrupted him, “I just read the file”

“I asked you to stay that night. You wanted to run and instead of asking you to let me go with you, I asked you to stay. I’m not making that mistake again. Let me go with you”

Unknowingly, Peter had just confirmed your worst suspicions. He had been the key piece in Fury's chess game from the very beginning, sending him after you over and over again despite his failures, he had set the bait. And you had fallen straight into his trap, forgetting all your training, giving up your own freedom… for a boy.

You weren’t making the same mistake twice either.

“Goodbye, Peter.”

He watched as in slow motion how you grabbed your bag and headed for the door, realizing then that the only way to stop you from leaving was to physically stop you. Desperate, he let his instinct take over in one last attempt to keep you there.

He tackled you, your body hitting the floor hard, all the air knocked out of your lungs at once. Your wrists hurt where his hands pinned them to the floor as he straddled you, a feeling of deja vu washing over him as he looked down at your furious face, but you weren't the same girl he had webbed down to the faded hardwood of that dingy apartment almost a year ago. Not anymore. Six months of training with the winter soldier, the handler of widows himself, had made you even deadlier than you already were.

You tangled your ankle around one of his own, bucking your hips up, pushing him out of balance as you rolled him over, landing on top of him, hand firm around his throat.

“You think you can stop me?” There was venom, and contempt, in your words, his spider sense flaring up. But tried as he may, he couldn't move, couldn't even look away. He was a fly, trapped and defenseless, in your web. He had always been. How foolish and conceited of him, calling himself Spider-man, when there, laying underneath you, he finally understood what a real predator was.

“You think you can get on top of me? Think you can dominate me, boy?” You felt Peter's gulp under your palm. It was tempting, so tempting…

So you squeezed, just a little, watching his pupils blow wide with adrenaline, equal parts crisp trepidation and desire.  Peter’s head was spinning, and it wasn't just from lack of oxygen. He didn't know the exact moment you went from fighting him to claw at his clothes, but you were, and he was aiding you, ripping yet another one of your panties, another casualty in the warfare of your relationship, guiding your hips down as you braced yourself, one hand on the floor, the other one still around his neck. Unlike him, who was hard from the moment he felt your hands on his skin, you weren't ready, nowhere near wet enough, but you didn't care: The slight burn grounded you, made everything sharper. This wasn't about placer anyway, this was a punishment. For Peter, for making you feel the things he made you feel; and for you, for allowing them to grow and fester in your heart.

He seemed to like it, though, hips bucking to meet yours, breathless sounds leaving his lips as you fucked yourself on his cock.

“You like this, don't you?” You marveled, “Like it rough, boy?”

It wasn't your old ‘baby boy’, the one that belied your tenderness as you did the most depraved things to him. But it was close enough to get his heart racing.

“Pathetic” You decided, as you felt his pulse pick up under your hand. He whimpered, tears pricking at his eyes, and at last, you let go of his neck, placing both hands flat on his muscular chest for leverage. It wasn’t long before you were breathless too, as taking his cock became easier and easier with every downward stroke.

“Shit... I’ll give it to you, spidey… your dick feels amazing…” You gasped, little frown of concentration on your face, lips parted, unable to contain your little moans. How could he ever let you go, when you were the most exquisite thing Peter had witnessed in his whole life?

“Too much for you, little spider?” He could do nothing but sob as you teased him, cruelly, tightening your muscles around him “...Or not enough?”

You leaned forward, tracing your tongue over his open lips, but quickly withdrawing when he tried to capture yours in a kiss. You changed your pace, no longer bouncing but rocking on top of him, grinding your clit against his pelvis, enjoying the electricity that the friction created on your little pearl of nerves.

Meanwhile, Peter was a mess underneath you, tears now flowing freely, whimpering, and shaking, fisting the fabric of your skirt so hard that you heard it rip. But still not daring to complain.

“You're such a good boy, aren't you? Could do anything I want with you… use you anyway I wanted to…”

You felt him twitch inside you at your words, another whine escaping his chest.

“I could ruin you, ride you so hard… get you so close… and stop right before you come”

He shook his head frantically, desperate, but still, he kept silent.

“You don't want that? But you'd take it anyway, wouldn't you?”

He closed his eyes, unable to meet yours, ashamed. That was all the answer you needed,

“You would. Because you are mine… my pretty toy… to use… to fuck…” You picked up your pace, bouncing up and down his cock, and he couldn't contain himself anymore,

“Yes!” He cried, “I’m yours! All yours!”

“My slutty boy” You praised, legs burning with the strain and exhaustion of the night, but stopping was not an option. You were close, drunk on the power of having such a strong superhuman submitting to you, such a gorgeous man turned into a needy, desperate puddle between your legs.

“Please” He begged, pitifully.

“What do you need, little boy?”

His fingers closed around your wrist, guiding your hand until it was back around his neck, and you understood. You could have mocked him again, humiliated him farther, make him beg for it. But something inside his coffee eyes stopped you. It wasn't trust, no. You could practically smell the fear, the sharp tang of epinephrine coming off his pores, every hair on his body still standing on end, proof of his spider sense still on high alert…

No. It was deeper than that. It was surrender. He knew you could as easily give him what he wanted, as turn on him. Never, not even back it that farm, had been more evident to him that the hand he loved to hold was a weapon.

But he couldn't help never wanting to let go.

“Я тебя люблю” He croaked, throat dry and sore from your manhandling, but still clear enough to make your hips falter.

“What did you just say?” You breathed, stunned.

“Я тебя люблю” He repeated, more clearly, hands sliding up your thighs, till he had handfuls of your ass, “I love you…”

“Shut up” You hissed.

“I won't. I love you” Peter felt as your nails dug on his chest, until he had five bloody crescent marks to match the ones on his back, “I love you…”

You squeezed his neck harder, until he was really struggling for air, black spots dancing in his vision.

“I love you” It was nothing but a gasp.

You made a frustrated noise, but there was no denying the way your walls fluttered around him. And there was no stopping your hips, working him ferociously, fucking yourself on his cock without mercy. You were falling already, falling apart for him.

“Come with me” It was a command. It was a request. It was an invitation.

And Peter knew you weren't just talking about his release.

To be continued...

[aot-snk-4238]

My thoughts on AOT No Requiem (Fanmade Ending) Part 1:

With another chapter of this story coming out soon, I thought now would be a good time to share my thoughts on the first part. Before I do that, though, I have a few things that I would like to get off my chest.

A part of me hates that this project exists. Not because I find it disrespectful, but because it serves as a bitter reminder of what a complete mess this ending caused among many fans. I'm still in disbelief how things got so bad so quickly. First, you've got the people who hated it. People began turning on Isayama and calling him a terrible or incompetent writer, regretting ever getting into the series, insisting that it was worse than Game of Thrones, the list goes on and on. People who liked the ending are now endlessly referred to as "ending defenders" or more crude names like "Isayama cockriders," as though they're a bunch of incompetent fools who don't know the first thing about reading comprehension all because they just happened to like it. And then of course you've got the other extreme end of the spectrum where the ones who were disappointed are accused of not understanding the story or they're only upset because their favorite ship or fan theory didn't become canon. This, too, is very demeaning and invalidating for those who grew up with this series that they gave their heart to and cherished for so long, only to have it do what they felt was a complete 180 at the very last second that undid every part of the story they thought was special and unique. It's one of the hardest slaps to the face you can get as a reader and long-time fan, and while I can't fully relate to everyone's feelings, I can at least understand and acknowledge that it's there and it shouldn't be laughed at. Now with all of that out of the way, here are my thoughts and analysis of this fanmade ending and how it differs from Isayama's.

To start things off, I found that part 1 started off similar to how 137 did in the canon manga, with Armin and Zeke conversing in PATHS. The biggest difference would be kid Eren being transported there and seeing his older self. To be fair though, this chapter was only about half the length of what we're used to reading, so I'm sure we'll get a lot more in part 2 onwards.

While Zeke is enlightening Armin on the history of the earth and how the life form that attached itself to Ymir sought to avoid death forever, young Eren is in PATHS too with his older self, witnessing the moment Ymir found the tree and fell in it to become the first titan. At first, there is no dialogue exchanged between them. They just hold hands and watch. Meanwhile, Zeke is still talking to Armin about Ymir and how she continued to serve her oppressive master despite acquiring godlike powers that would allow her to obliterate him whenever she pleased. This is where the team working on this project attempt to provide their own alternate possibilities as to why this happened in a way that would make more sense than what we were given in the canon story in which she simply had a severe case of Stockholm Syndrome and couldn't let him go no matter how much he made her suffer.

So what are these new possibilities? They come in the form of a question, so their validity is not made absolutely certain, but they're presented as the most likely candidates nonetheless.

According to Zeke, she was unable to separate her own desires from King Fritz and was a lost girl who sought meaning. A place to belong. Tragically, King Fritz was the only connection she had in her life, so she clung to it with everything she had despite it being toxic and abusive. I could argue that these are the very reasons why she supposedly loved the king in the official manga, as explained by Eren in 139, but they weren't explained or touched on as plainly as they were here. I feel like they could have been if Isayama had just been given more time, but sadly the whole thing was rushed and underdeveloped.

Moving on, Zeke states that despite his efforts in trying to understand Ymir and her feelings, it was Eren who ultimately was able to get to her and offer her the choice of freedom. The next page transitions to young Eren standing in the clouds with his arms spread out and a smile on his face just like in the official 137, only this time 19yo Eren is next to him. Now I'm going to be honest here, this is where things started to get a little corny for me. Yeah. I know a lot of people hate that argument, but that's just how it felt to me. And before I say anything else, I want everybody to know that I am in no way about to mock anyone's fondness of this Eren over the one we saw in 139, even if it was a little over-the-top. It's perfectly fine to prefer one over the other, I'm just going to try to explain myself the best I can without coming across as harsh or unprofessional.

Eren is drawn in these panels to be a stone-faced, determined and unstoppable force who will "keep moving forward until his enemies are destroyed." This is the Eren that many people grew most familiar with throughout the series, despite his occasional breakdowns, but something about the way it was executed just felt a little too overdramatic and exaggerated. For me, the contrast between this Eren and the Eren we were presented with in 139 is too jarring. It came across to me as the fandom's idealized version of Eren, the "chad" Eren if you will, rather than Isayama's portrayal of Eren who is cold and determined, but has also been experiencing stunted mental growth ever since the day he saw his mother get eaten; side note: I know that Eren himself was responsible for his mother's death, but that's a discussion for a later time. Not only that, but the "keep moving forward" line starts to get overused at this point. We already heard Eren say this a number of times before 137 where this first fanmade chapter takes place, so I didn't find it necessary to include that at the end, but it seemed to be the writers' way of trying to reinforce Eren's ultimate goal.

Regarding the rest of the chapter, young Eren asks older Eren what Ymir is still waiting for after he showed her that she's not alone. 19yo Eren proceeds to explain that while he was able to make her feel something again, she still needs somebody to free her. He shows his younger self all of the visions from PATHS that he's seen so far, ranging from past events to alternate realities to things that couldn't be changed no matter what. Now there is only one path left that he strives toward. The one that he believes will grant him and his people freedom. This next line is the one that stood out to me the most throughout this fanmade chapter. Still talking to kid Eren, adult Eren says, "When you wake up, you will forget what you learned, but not what you felt here. This will all feel just like a long dream." Only when he kisses Historia's hand will it all come back to him. This line more clearly explains why Eren woke up crying in chapter 1, but couldn't remember why. Then he circles back to how he intends to carry out his own plan to end the cycle of hatred once and for all. Despite his efforts along the way, he couldn't change the flow of PATHS and save the friends he lost or prevent certain events from happening altogether, so he had to accept that sacrifices had to be made. In this case, he will have to literally sacrifice the world, much to Armin's horror.

To wrap this up, I'm going to finish comparing this to the canon 137, but since the first part of this project only covers the PATHS portion of it, that's where I'll stop as well. To save a little but of time, I'm just gonna be lazy and copy the first part of a quick overview of the chapter I found as part of the wiki:

So clearly, canon 137 starts off focusing a lot more on Armin and Zeke's differing philosophies and does not provide any further insight into Eren's ultimate motives like this one does, at least not yet. Armin and Eren are bound to face off soon in this fanmade version, but it looks to me like this time the writers are planning on flipping the outcome and having Eren come out victorious instead, especially when I remember the name of this project and what it's based on. I guess that means that in a way, I already know what's ultimately going to happen throughout the rest of this project. Whether it's going to be considered superior to the actual ending is going to depend on if its executed properly. I could very well be wrong about some of this, though. I want to give it a fair shot since these people have clearly put a lot of hard work and passion into this, so I will refrain from further judgement until we get the full picture. On a side note, I just want to say that the artwork is beautiful so far and I commend every artist responsible for their efforts. I also liked the song choice at the beginning and thought it set the mood pretty well.

Thank you to everyone who read the whole thing. This took me far longer to write than it should have because I'm not always good at expressing myself in a way that does not come across as confusing or contradictory. I will continue to share my thoughts as more content is released, which by the looks of it could be any day now.

[carewyncromwell]

[Ficlet] Gonna Hit Rewind

Hi guys! So this is a little drabble inspired by a prompt by my friend @drinkyoursoupbitch​, where I show what my MC, Carewyn Cromwell, was up to during a certain scene in the Harry Potter series! 

Before we begin, just a couple of notes --

Post-Hogwarts, Carewyn becomes a lawyer for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement -- you can read more about her life as an adult here, if you’d like! When it comes to the Order of the Phoenix, Carey-Bear doesn’t formally join, instead providing covert assistance while staying autonomous from Dumbledore (who she doesn’t really like as a person) and looking “subservient” to Fudge’s wishes. Later on, this becomes very useful after the Death Eaters take over the Ministry in 1997: when the Battle of Hogwarts begins, Carewyn actually helps take back the Ministry by placing Umbridge under citizen’s arrest and temporarily taking charge until Kingsley Shacklebolt is officially appointed Minister. Carewyn’s outfit in the sketch enclosed below is inspired by this design. Musical accompaniment for this ficlet were “Leave Me Alone” by Michael Jackson (for Carewyn’s conversation with that...certain family member in the aforementioned sketch) and “Turn Back Time” by Derivakat (which inspired the title of this drabble!). And in regards to Carewyn’s negative attitude toward Time Turners...that is 110% my mother talking. When we read Harry Potter and the Cursed Child together, she absolutely hated that it involved time travel, as she found the whole idea ridiculously confusing and illogical. (The whole climax of Prisoner of Azkaban was even her least favorite aspect of the original Potter books. 😂)

Hope you enjoy -- and much love, Soup dear! xoxo

x~x~x~x

“Down here, down here,” panted Mr. Weasley, taking two steps at a time. “The lift doesn’t even come down this far…why they’re doing it there…”

They reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to that which led to Snape’s dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors they passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes.

“Courtroom…Ten…I think…we’re nearly … yes.”

As Arthur Weasley rushed down the hall toward Courtroom Ten, he was unaware that in Courtroom Seven, the door of which was left slightly ajar, Carewyn Cromwell was speaking to her estranged uncle, the new head of the Cromwell Clan, at that very moment, nor that their conversation would ultimately determine Harry’s fate in that courtroom happening just three doors down. 

“You’re not supposed to be here, Blaise, and you know that full well.”

“I merely wished to speak with the Minister, little Winnie -- you are aware of how much our family still supports the Ministry and, by extension, your career, are you not?”

Carewyn fixed Blaise with a very cold blue eye. “And I suppose Lucius Malfoy speaking with the Minister down here mere moments ago had nothing to do with you making an unscheduled visit?”

Blaise cocked his eyebrows, his identically colored and shaped eyes narrowing under them.

“I can sense you trying to enter my mind, Winnie,” he said very softly, his eyes rippling like light blue flames despite the hardness of his face. “It won’t work. You couldn’t reach my thoughts when you were a girl, and you can’t reach them now.”

His voice became cooler, to the point of sounding condescending. 

“Whatever questions you have, you know your uncle would be more than willing to answer them, if you merely ask nicely.”

‘Answer’ -- ha! Carewyn thought to herself scornfully. Lie your face off, more like. But even so...if I’m going to get what I need, I need to keep him talking...

Carewyn went very quiet, considering Blaise carefully and her next words even more so. 

“...Are you or are you not associating with Lucius Malfoy?” she asked softly.

“You might recall that he and Father were business associates back in the day.”

“Of course I do. That’s why I’m asking. Or have you forgotten where Grandfather’s activities sentenced him -- where they sentenced you, until you were able to bribe the Minister to reduce the rest of your family’s sentences?”

“Our family, little Winnie,” Blaise corrected her, a notable, fiery edge to his voice.

You all may be related to me by blood, but you are not my family, Carewyn thought fiercely, but she once again bit her tongue. If she provoked his temper the way she was tempted to, he’d be less likely to talk to her. 

When she didn’t respond, Blaise continued. 

“Lucius Malfoy has always had a working relationship with the Cromwell Clan. It’s only natural that we speak from time to time, as two patriarchs of prominent magical families.”

“Magical families with certain reputations, you mean,” Carewyn said very coolly. 

“Cornelius Fudge thinks very highly of Lucius Malfoy.”

“And of you, thanks to your impressive acting. But that doesn’t extend to everyone else, and you know it.”

“Of course,” said Blaise with a very cool smirk. “That’s something we have in common, isn’t it, Winnie? Putting on a charming face to get what we want, and not caring who hates us for it?”

Carewyn didn’t care enough to argue this point -- she’d already had this sort of discussion with Rakepick several times back in the day, and she knew that it meant Blaise was not only trying to divert the conversation, but also was absolutely full of it. 

You’re acting like this fact makes us just as bad as each other, Blaise, but it doesn’t. Even if we have some similarities in our methods, that does not make us the same. I’ve never terrorized people to try to advance myself. I’ve never manipulated or forced anyone to join a criminal organization. I’ve never masqueraded as my nephew in order to try to manipulate my niece into selling her soul and her freedom just to save him. However much I’m not perfect, I’m head-and-shoulders above you, when it comes to the moral high ground.

But honestly, there was no point in arguing with people like Blaise. It wasn’t like she’d ever convince him that everything he thought was wrong -- that Muggles weren’t inferior, Charles Cromwell was an abusive monster, and everything he and the Cromwell Clan did to try to get Carewyn, Jacob, and Lane back under their control was reprehensible rather than justified -- and she didn’t feel enough passion to try. Especially not when there were more important things happening at that very moment...

Harry would be in the courtroom by now. She had to hurry.

Although Carewyn tried to keep her face stoic, her brain was working very fast. Her eyes drifted away, off toward the far wall of the courtroom where the Wizengamot benches were lined up.

“...Look,” she said slowly, her voice becoming a little softer, “my Legilimency has become very sensitive, in this line of work. It allows me to read people’s intentions and feelings very quickly, even when I’m not actively trying to. And Lucius Malfoy...he doesn’t see you as an equal, but as a pawn.”

Blaise’s eyebrows came down over his eyes, but he didn’t respond.

“You and the rest of the Cromwell Clan only got out of Azkaban because you were able to appeal to Fudge,” said Carewyn, “but if you’re associating with the wrong people, that could very quickly sour. Your position will become uncertain again, and you won’t be able to protect them -- especially if Fudge gets the kind of control over the Wizengamot that he wants...where charges and judgments are laid down based on favoritism more than legality. We’re already seeing it with how Fudge is now treating Dumbledore and Potter, after how much he always sucked up to them. End up outside of Fudge’s good graces, as they did, and the same might befall you. I realize that you and Malfoy...”

Are Muggle-hating bigots.

“...have similar politics,” she said at last very stiffly, “...but Lucius Malfoy’s politics are far more extreme than yours, and although the courts decided there wasn’t enough evidence to prove his methods were also...we both know that’s also true. If he falls, he will drag you down with him -- and if you take the fall for his actions, he won’t lift a finger to help you.”

Carewyn forced herself to look Blaise in the eye. 

“Grandfather’s dealings with R got you all in enough trouble. You bought yourself and the rest of...our family a second chance -- something many others did not get. Are you sure you want to endanger that?”

Blaise considered Carewyn very carefully as she spoke, his blue eyes boring into hers critically. By the end, they’d actually widened.

“...Are you actually expressing concern for us, Winnie?” he asked very lowly. 

Carewyn scoffed. “Don’t misunderstand me, Blaise -- I don’t really think you all deserved a second chance in the first place, after everything you’ve pulled.”

Her blue eyes became a bit more solemn. 

“But truthfully...I’m not that upset that you were released from Azkaban. Dementors...they’re wretched creatures. I’ve seen what they can do to people.”

Her expression darkened.  

“...I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, however terrible they are.”

Something confused and almost disgusted rippled over Blaise’s face, making his nose wrinkle.

“Ugh -- and here I’d thought you’d actually weeded out that weakness in your heart...”

Carewyn’s red lips came together tightly, but she didn’t reply. The two stared each other down for a moment, before Blaise finally exhaled.

“Very well, Winnie -- you want to know why I’m down here?”

He reached into his scarlet robes and pulled out a gold chain, on the end of which dangled a tiny gold hourglass. 

A Time Turner. 

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed upon it. 

“Lucius Malfoy has expressed quite a bit of interest in my old department, when we’ve spoken,” murmured Blaise. “One sub-section in particular -- one where records of magical predictions are kept.”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. “Prophecies?”

“They are truly a fascinating thing,” said Blaise, his voice sounding rather airy. “So much value is placed on them -- too much, one could argue...just as one puts too much value on all attempts at ‘future sight.’ Alas, the section of my old department that Malfoy was interested in was not my area of expertise -- my area was in the study of Time, specifically backwards-facing. We did occasionally dip into the study of forward-facing time magic, but more in the sphere of inevitabilities -- things that evolve naturally in nature, every season -- not human affairs. Unfortunately when I was there, there was an employee monitoring the perimeter of the section I meant to enter -- I couldn’t have explored further even if I’d wanted to.”

“So Malfoy wanted you to stop by your old desk and pick up something that might help him or someone else enter the Department of Mysteries?” Carewyn asked. “Why?”

Blaise shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

“And yet you have a suspicion as to why?”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed upon Carewyn’s face, not angrily, but almost darkly. 

“I may no longer work for the Department of Mysteries, Winnie, but I cannot discuss the more classified branches of their work too deeply. That is part of the Vow I made when I first joined the Department -- it forces me to speak in hypotheticals and vague descriptions more than specific details. But I fear no random stooge using this tool to try to enter my old department, whether Malfoy or otherwise. In fact,” he added with a smirk, “I would frankly love to see them try.”

He ignored Carewyn’s critical, confused expression and pressed on more seriously. 

“You’re not a stupid girl, Winnie. I know you know what’s really going on, under the surface. Me offering assistance to Lucius Malfoy early on is merely how I intend to earn enough favor to keep my family safe, should the worst happen.”

“And what is that?” asked Carewyn.

Blaise cocked his eyebrows again. “Ask your mother. She remembers the First Wizarding War just as well as I do -- how it all started before.”

He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Blaise.”

Carewyn speaking his name and sharply grabbing his arm holding the Time Turner made him stop. 

“If you wish to provide Lucius Malfoy useful information,” she said lowly, “you can tell him that that employee was not there by accident.”

Blaise looked back over his shoulder, startled. Carewyn closed her eyes tight, trying to block out the intense nausea rippling over her. 

“He’s there to make sure Malfoy’s superior can’t reach what he wants,” she murmured. “There are many more, just like him, all with the same goal. It doesn’t matter when you go there -- there will always be someone there who will keep him away from what he wants.”

Blaise stared at Carewyn, his eyes narrowing in bewilderment. 

“...Why are you telling me this?” he whispered. 

Carewyn swallowed back the lump in her throat. 

“I haven’t worked with time magic like you have...but people aren’t supposed to be in two places at once. That I do know. A lot of problems have been caused by people trying to mess with time. Mum told me that once in the 19th century, a whole bunch of people’s lives were erased out of existence, all because someone messed around with a Time Turner...”

“Ah, yes, Eloise Mintumble,” said Blaise, sounding as darkly amused as a bully might upon seeing one of their usual targets wearing a particularly obnoxious dress. “Tried to go back more than a few hours and ended up changing things so dramatically that she both erased 25 people out of existence and aged her body five centuries and died upon return trip. A rather fascinating case study.”

“You’re disgusting,” Carewyn said coldly. But she got back to the task at hand, her voice hardening. “Even if Malfoy couldn’t get what his master wants from the Department of Mysteries with that Time Turner, he could still do irreparable damage with it. If all Malfoy needs is assistance, to believe that you’re helping him and for you to earn enough esteem that the Cromwell Clan stays safe...then give him the intelligence I’ve given you. Don’t give him that Time Turner.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, his lips spreading into a rather condescending smirk. “Why? Because it’s wrong, little Winnie? Because it’s illegal and immoral, and ‘not the right thing to do?’”

“I’m not foolish enough to appeal to you with morality, Blaise -- I know you don’t have any,” spat Carewyn. “I’m asking you not to do it for your own self-preservation. For the Clan’s. ...For your family’s.”

Blaise’s smirk actually slid off his face. Carewyn held his gaze as best as she could, even with how ill she felt. 

“I may not be one of those who takes turns standing watch in your old department,” Carewyn said very softly, “but Jacob is.”

Blaise’s face went rather white, and Carewyn knew she’d struck a cord. For as cruel, selfish, and immoral of a person as Blaise was, he still saw his family -- all of it -- like his personal belongings. And he “took care” of his belongings. He wanted complete control over them and, like Charles before him, he never respected them as people, nurtured them, or gave them any freedom...but Blaise didn’t want anyone touching “his things.”

The older man’s jaw clenched as a rather dark glint flashed through his eyes.

“...I see.”

His teeth still bared, he extended the hand holding the Time Turner’s gold chain and, very slowly, lowered it into Carewyn’s hand. 

Carewyn’s eyes softened in relief.

“Thank you.”

Blaise exhaled heatedly through his nose.

“Jacob always was a fool,” he growled, his voice full of resentment. “Risking his life for people like that Muggle filth who abandoned you and your mother -- ”

“Better than selling his soul and freedom to serve the person who locked my mother and all of you up like prisoners,” Carewyn shot back rather coolly.

Blaise’s eyes flashed angrily. “You will not speak ill of your grandfather, Winnie! Everything he ever did in his life was for us, including you, your brother, and your mother, and I will not have you forgetting that!”

“Crow that lie as much as you want -- it won’t ever make it true.”

Blaise seethed as Carewyn pocketed the Time Turner in her robes. Slowly, his temper cooled enough that his lips spread back out into a rather vindictive smirk.

“For the record, Winnie...Time moves in a loop. If Lucius Malfoy were to use the Time Turner after I give it to him a half-hour from now, the effects would’ve already been felt by us by now. We would have heard about someone having broken into the Department of Mysteries before our conversation even started. The fact that we are not hearing that means that he never receives the Time Turner from me. So, in fact, it was already clear that I would give you the Time Turner before I actually did -- ”

“Oh, shut your trap,” Carewyn said tiredly. Just listening to Blaise wax on was giving her a headache. “I don’t even want to try unpacking all that time travel rubbish. All I care about is that Malfoy and his ilk can’t try to mess with time, now or ever.”

She turned on her heel and strode for the slightly ajar door. Pushing it further open, she then looked back over her shoulder at Blaise. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of. Stay out of trouble, or I will not hesitate to prosecute you.”

Blaise’s eyes were very cold even around his smirk. “If there’s anyone who should be warned to stay out of trouble, it’s you, Winnie. I’m not the only one who’s aligned themselves with people who could drag them down, if they fall.”

“Perhaps,” said Carewyn mildly. “But my friends will catch me if I fall, just as they have before. Just like I always catch them. That makes all the difference.”

She walked away, her heels clapping against the black tiled floor as she strode to the end of the hall, listening at the door of Courtroom Ten. She could hear several voices talking inside -- after a moment, she recognized two as Amelia Bones and Cornelius Fudge. 

“...certainly described the effects of a dementor attack very accurately. And I can’t imagine why she would say they were there if they weren’t -- ”

“But dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a wizard! The odds on that must be very, very long, even Bagman wouldn’t have bet -- ”

“Oh, I don’t think any of us believe the dementors were there by coincidence,” said a very misty, serene voice from inside the Courtroom.

Carewyn’s shoulders relaxed, even as her eyes rolled up toward the ceiling.

Dumbledore. He’d made it in time. 

Exhaling heavily, Carewyn quickly turned back around and walked briskly back down the hallway, back upstairs toward her office. On the way, she walked by Blaise, who was now deep in quiet conversation with Lucius Malfoy, and Carewyn and Malfoy coldly stared each other down as she passed.

x~x~x~x

Carewyn hated keeping the Time Turner in her desk. She wanted to be rid of the thing immediately, but she knew she had to be patient. 

Around 11:00, just before lunchtime, Carewyn asked to borrow a Dungbomb from Tonks and covertly dropped off it just outside the Auror Department on her way back to her tiny office. The resulting smell resulted in the entire floor clearing out, until someone could deal with the smell. Carewyn herself, however, stayed in her office and powered through, spraying some Muggle air freshener to try to mask the smell. 

I forgot how much I hate Dungbombs, Carewyn thought dully. Oh well...desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess.

Keeping the files on a case she was working on open on either side of her, Carewyn read through them every-so-often as she pecked away at a letter she had to write. This letter had to be concise and to the point, if its recipient was going to know it was safe and exactly what she had to do, to help keep Harry Potter from getting unjustly expelled. 

Right on time, three hours after Harry’s hearing, Carewyn’s Legilimency picked up the feeling that someone was approaching her office. A moment later, there was a knock on her door. 

The ginger-haired lawyer exhaled heavily, her eyebrows knitting together. 

“Come in,” she said. 

Although she kept her voice level, she already felt a headache coming on. She knew who was on the other side of that door -- and sure enough, when it opened, in came tall, silver-bearded Albus Dumbledore, dressed in long midnight-blue robes. 

Carewyn’s eyes hardened as the Hogwarts Headmaster closed the door behind him.

“Hello, Carewyn,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. 

“You got my message from Tonks, then?” Carewyn asked. 

“To come straight to your office as soon as I arrived, but to not let anyone see me entering? Yes. Though I daresay the evacuation of this floor thanks to the smell of Dungbombs helped with that considerably,” said Dumbledore, and his light blue eyes twinkled. “I presume it has something to do with why some members of the Wizengamot were asking what I was doing back here so soon, and why Cornelius looked even more sour at my presence than usual.”

Carewyn’s face was twisted in a deep frown as she finally took the Time Turner out of the drawer and put it on top of her desk. 

“The time and place of Harry’s hearing was changed three hours ago, with no notice,” she said stridently. “The hearing originally scheduled for 11 o’clock instead was moved to 8 o’clock at 7:58 this morning. The letter was sent by owl to Privet Drive at 7:59, right before a second letter informing Harry that because he didn’t show up for his hearing, he was presumed guilty and therefore expelled from Hogwarts. Both letters arrived at 8:52. The Order wasn’t informed of the change until a little after 9, but was also informed by Arthur Weasley that you’d had the matter well in hand and had arrived miraculously early.”

“And so they felt no need to send me any post regarding the matter,” presumed Dumbledore with a dewy smile. “But in order for all of that to have happened, I will have to go back and ensure it does happen -- isn’t that so?”

Carewyn nodded curtly as she handed the Time Turner and a sealed envelope to Dumbledore. 

“Three turns back should be enough -- you don’t want to risk changing too much, by arriving too early, and I have a closed-door meeting with Chester Davies prior to that. Give this letter to me as soon as you arrive in the past. As soon as she...escorts you out, head straight for Courtroom Ten. You should arrive just after Harry does -- it shouldn’t raise as much suspicion if you make it to the courtroom after Harry, since he was already in Arthur’s office when he first received word of the change...”

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with some mischief. “Clever as always, Carewyn, my dear. You do the Order very proud.”

Carewyn’s eyes flashed. “I’m not doing this for you or your ‘Order,’ Dumbledore, as you know full well. Jacob was completely at R’s mercy after he was expelled from Hogwarts, and I don’t want to even think about where Potter might end up, if the same thing happened to him. And if Jacob’s guarding something in the Department of Mysteries, I don’t want to make it any easier for You-Know-Who and his goons to get the drop on him.”

Dumbledore’s calm didn’t shift, though his eyes did turn a bit more solemn. “And as always, Carewyn, your cleverness is only rivaled by your caring for others.” 

Rising to his feet, the Headmaster tucked the envelope inside his robes and then picked up the Time Turner. 

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said cheerily, “or, should I say, ‘I will have seen you?’”

And with three turns, he’d disappeared.

Carewyn gave an exhausted, groan-like sigh.

“I hate Time Turners,” she muttered to herself.

x~x~x~x

When Dumbledore appeared in Carewyn’s office out of the blue at 8 o’clock that morning, the ginger-haired lawyer reacted with a lot of irritation and suspicion. Those feelings weren’t helped when Dumbledore handed her the letter addressed to her, and yet written in a hand identical to hers.

Carewyn,

First of all, yes, I know you recognize this handwriting. This isn’t a trick -- it’s just the work of a Time Turner: specifically the one Dumbledore’s holding. On that note, ask him to hand it over and then smash it. We have more than enough problems in the here and now: no sense in adding more time travel rubbish to the pile. 

Now that that’s been taken care of, let’s get to business --

The time and place of Harry’s hearing was moved just a minute ago. It now starts at 8 o’clock in the morning in Courtroom Ten. Don’t worry, Arthur’s already been notified and is ferrying Harry as we speak, but Dumbledore needs to get down there right now. Kick him out of your office, nice and loudly -- there are people outside who could overhear, and you don’t want anyone to think you and Dumbledore are on good terms. Which, fortunately, you’re not. 

Now that Dumbledore’s out of your hair, let’s go over what you need to do -- 

Blaise has sneaked into the Ministry, specifically the bottommost floor near the Department of Mysteries, on Lucius Malfoy’s direction. No, Blaise isn’t a Death Eater -- just short-sighted and self-serving as ever. The point is that he has a Time Turner on his person, which he cannot be allowed to walk away with, under any circumstances. You’ll be able to catch him leaving the Department of Mysteries if you go downstairs in the next fifteen minutes. He’ll be meeting Lucius Malfoy around 8:30, in the middle of Harry’s hearing, so don’t let him walk away without getting that Time Turner away from him. Don’t come at the issue straight-on, though -- you can appeal to Blaise to give it to you willingly. Just keep him talking. Once you have the Time Turner, you can hold onto it until Dumbledore arrives in your office at the time that was originally scheduled for Harry’s hearing, so he can use it to go back far enough to arrive at Harry’s hearing on time. 

I know, this Time Travel stuff is absolutely bloody ridiculous. But at least this way Malfoy won’t be able to use the Time Turner Blaise stole to cause even more havoc. 

Burn this letter as soon as you’re done reading it. We don’t want anyone coming across it. 

Good luck. 

As for Dumbledore himself, he arrived at Harry’s hearing right on time, all according to plan. 

“Ah,” said Fudge, who looked thoroughly disconcerted. “Dumbledore. Yes. You --er -- got our -- er -- message that the time and -- er -- place of the hearing had been changed, then?”

“I must have missed it,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.”

[starrosefics-archive]

Treasure Bin- Chapter 1

Summary: MK hears about his great-aunt’s passing, Macaque gets back in contact with some old friends, and MK gets a call from his sister.

Notes: @watermelonjuicee wrote a fic based on one of my posts and I’ve been riding that happy high since yesterday. Go check it out.

Prologue

-_-

MK woke up to come down to a quiet restaurant.

That wasn’t unusual at the early hour and Tang only on his second bowl, he had been finding out. He had been falling asleep faster at night, which had been allowing him to wake up earlier. It had been agreed that this was due to his increased physical activity as the Monkie Kid. (Pigsy, much to his delight, had been giving him bigger portions of food to help.)

But this was a different silence. He opened his mouth to ask when his eyes landed on the newspaper. Tang grabbed it, but it was too late.

WEALTHY SPINSTER PASSED

He froze, heart not sure whether it wanted to sink or start running like a rabbit. He knew the woman that the article was talking about. 

For a moment, MK was back to feeling a wrinkled hand run through his hair, an aged voice cooing You’re our most precious treasure, starshine-

“-MK.”

It was Pigsy’s voice, calm and certain, that drew him back. MK tried a shaky smile. (The chef noticed the shakiness and added it to the mental list of ‘reasons to look up therapists’.) “Sorry.” He nodded to the article. “Great- She- dead?” Tang, thankfully, understood.

“Three days ago.” He thought before offering the article, relief passing over his face when the younger man shook his head. “They kept it secret until she could be buried.” Pigsy snatched it away, crumbling it up and throwing it at the recycling.

“C’mon kid, it doesn’t matter. Kitchen.”

“Yes sir.” MK said, thoughts already moving away from his former family and to helping Pigsy prepare.

Well, his thoughts attempted to move away.

He was stuck puzzling over Great Aunt Tetra all day. He greeted Mei when she poked her head in, did deliveries, and took orders, but it was all on autopilot. Sure, he didn’t like the woman- no. Dislike wasn’t the word to describe it. But he had known her.

Eventually, he had some free time to slip away to Flower Fruit Mountain. As he climbed the peak, he considered every angle until his brain landed on one question.

How was Bao taking it?

-_-

Princess Iron Fan was careful.

Being careful was often the only thing saving you from the forces of Heaven or whatever came. That was the lesson she had taught Red Son. So, as the world changed, both of them were careful with money. Both of them were careful with resources. And Iron Fan, most of all, was careful with places.

The small palace that the Demon Bull family now inhabited was the same palace DBK had lived in centuries ago, back when they were preparing for his strike against the Monkey King. The same strike that ultimately landed him under a mountain. His wife and son had lived there for a few years before moving to the city, but Iron Fan had been careful to keep a few servants in the hidden complex to keep it updated.

After the mess that the last lair had been left in, everyone was glad for that one.

Especially Red Son.

He sat in his room, staring at a bracelet. It was a cuff bracelet, made out of gold with one small ruby. The jewel itself matched the headband of a certain boy. He twirled the piece absently, considering the implications that hadn’t filled his head when he had started crafting the gift.

There was a knock on the door. Red let out a yelp, trying to both stuff the bracelet into his pocket and scramble off the bed. "Come in!" He managed out eventually, smoothing his shirt down.

The door opened, revealing a servant. He straightened, trying to look like the cool and confident prince he was. “Your parents request your presence.” they said with a bowed head. Red Son nodded, not trusting his voice.

He stalked out of his room, keeping his head high. It was probably to talk over plans, he supposed. There had been some silent agreement to not talk about the White Bone Spirit at the moment. But his thoughts kept wandering.

To his enraged father.

To the cry of traitor.

To MK-

A chuckle broke him out of his thoughts. Red Son looked around, confused and a little wary due to the said spirit. There was a tap on his shoulder and he let out a shout. On instinct, his fist slammed out before slamming into a hand. There was another chuckle.

“Jumpy, kid?”

He drew back. “Macaque.” he said, giving a respectful bow of his head. The dark-furred immortal chuckled, eyes glowing. “Excuse me. I...”

“We weren’t expecting you here, Macaque.” His mother’s voice broke the tension as she strode down the hallway, his father following. Her face was frozen into one of politeness and he couldn’t blame her. Given his and Monkey King’s past...relationship, it was hard to determine if he was now friend or foe. “What brings you.”

Unannounced was the word Iron Fan didn’t use.

“Iron Fan!” Macaque said, striding forward to meet her. He grabbed her hand to press a chaste kiss to it. “Can’t a guy come visit some old friends?” She drew her hand away. “Anyway, I’ve heard about your difficulties.”

“There are no difficulties at the moment.” his mother said stiffly.

Macaque chuckled. “Denial. But I’ve brought all of us a chance.” He pulled out a jar, full of what Red Son could only describe as slime. “One of the few sorceresses in the world left us three days ago.” Everyone stared at the information as Macaque swirled the jar. “But she did manage to leave us this.” He snapped his fingers. “And we still have a guide.”

Out of the shadows, probably carried by one of his shadow clones, a girl tied up was thrown. She looked to be a few years older then Red, dressed in a teal sweater and white leggings, and covered in soot. She also looked completely pissed. Macaque stepped forward, ignoring how she was struggling against her bonds, and pulled out the gag.

She coughed, clearly getting used to the freedom of speech, before ignoring everyone except Macaque. “I told you already, I have no idea exactly what that does! It could make the Monkey King loopy or it could kill him! It could blow us up! I! Have! No idea!”

His mother grabbing her shoulder stopped the struggles. “Ah ah ah! Except you do!” Macaque pulled out an aging journal. He paused. “Excuse me, I’m being rude. Everyone, meet the Monkie Kid’s older sister, Bao.”

MK had an older sister?

“And you better not touch a hair on his head!” Bao yelled, struggling against her bonds again. “Look, I might know what that stuff is supposed to do, but I have no idea if it does and you f-”

Macaque pulled out his staff.

She went silent.

“This stuff,” He explained to his audience, holding up the glowing jar. “Is a special spell that her great aunt developed. For lack of a better word, it’s a virus that loosens their controls, like under the influence of alcohol. Which means that they’re easy to catch and control.”

Red stepped forward, considering the jar. “And what do you want?” he voiced.

Macaque grinned harder. “Simple. To work with you to create a trap for both Wukong and MK. She,” Bao grunted as he gave her a kick. “Is the current owner of a huge warehouse full of magical artifacts. Artifacts that will be useful to you and...” He leaned forward, eyes lighting up. “Especially to the brat. I get Wukong to undo whatever that monk did to him. You get MK-”

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

“SHUT UP!”

“Shutting up.”

“As I was saying, you get MK for whatever you want.” Macaque said, smoothing back his hair from where it had fluffed up. Red Son's thoughts whirled, all circling around the bracelet in his pocket. He didn't move, however. Instead, he watched his parents before Iron Fan finally nodded. “Great! As for you!”

Bao winced as he reached...to untie her. She blinked when the bonds came loose and he pulled out a phone. “Call your brother. I told you, you’ll come with us but at the end of it, you’re going free.”

She glared but typed in the number.

-_-

“My great aunt’s dead.”

Wukong let out a yelp. MK couldn’t blame him- it had come out of nowhere. They were in the middle of after-spar meditation, but he couldn’t keep it down. “I...” the immortal said after a moment. “I’m sorry- wait, no. Your great aunt, from what I saw, was a bitch.”

“I know!” MK said it in a burst. “God, I hated her when I left. But she’s still my blood and I...I don’t know? Feel sad?” He stood, starting to pace. “She thought I couldn’t do a thing for myself, just because I couldn’t do magic like her or Bao or my parents! But she...I don’t know.” He sat back down, staring at his hands. “She still loved me. Kinda.”

His mentor stared before letting out a sigh. “Kid...you shouldn’t think about this. You left because she was your family and she was unhealthy. You shouldn’t let the family part weigh you down-”

There was a ringing. MK pulled out his phone. The number niggled at his memory, but he didn’t remember where. With a shrug at Wukong, he answered. “Hello?”

“Star- MK?”

“BAO?!” On instinct and encouraged by Wukong’s frantic waves, MK moved to end the call.

“Wait, wait, wait- I left!”

He paused. “What?”

“I left Mom and Dad. And...that’s why I’m calling you. Auntie left the shop to me.”

He blinked before moving forward. “That’s great. But I don’t want you in my life, so...”

“I want to make amends.”

He paused again. “What?”

“I...I’m calling. Because I want to make amends.” The words were awkward and the silence was long. Long enough that MK could barely make out a few taps, repeating over and over again. “The White Bone Spirit’s still loose, right? There’s some artifacts here that could help you.”

More tapping. A pattern, repeating over and over again.

“Okay.” MK hadn’t realized he had said it before Bao was talking again.

“Great! That- that’s great! Most of it is in this other warehouse, down north, but Auntie had a portal. I’ll leave instructions and I’ll meet you there, cool?”

He nodded before realizing she couldn’t see. “Yeah. Cool. Bye.”

“...Bye. Dress up warm!” Then the call was over and MK was left staring at his phone. Wukong let out a whistle, startling his student.

“Well, that was a trainwreck-”

“Bao’s in trouble.”

[thefriendlyfrog]

Too many thoughts on SPN 15x17, “Unity”

Welp, I don’t usually do this, but this episode was so great and packed with so many good parallels and callbacks I couldn’t help it! Meredith Glynn is such a great writer. So, let’s begin. Lots of spoilers under the cut.

The first scene opens up to Amara living life to the fullest in an Icelandic hot spring (I’ve been to some in Iceland and would 10/10 recommend – don’t bother with the Blue Lagoon, though). My eyes were immediately drawn to the super recognizable cover of Murakami’s “Norwegian Wood”. Now, I haven’t read this book since, like, high school (now realizing that was a DECADE ago), but I do remember the general plot and themes of the story (I should really reread that again, it’s a good book). Basically, the story is recalled by our narrator and protagonist Watanabe at a later point in his life as he is reminded of a time of life when the Beatles’ song “Norwegian Wood” plays. I don’t want to spoil the whole book, but basically it is a coming of age story that is steeped in themes of regret, sex, love, and death (among others, it really is a literary treasure trove!). Skip the next paragraph if you don’t want “Norwegian Wood” spoilers.

In short: Watanabe’s best friend from high school commits suicide which haunts him and his friend’s girlfriend, Naoki, for the rest of their lives. Watanabe and Naoki become close and romantically involved, but she leaves for a sanitorium. Watanabe wants to be with Naoki despite her telling him that she doesn’t think she can love anymore (she described herself and her high school boyfriend as soulmates). Watanabe later meets Naoki’s opposite, Midori, a lively girl who Watanabe grows close to and is also interested in. Watanabe essentially doesn’t move forward as he is waiting on Naoki while having Midori waiting on him. At the end of the story, it is revealed that it has always been Midori and he realizes he wants to be with her.

I thought that this was an EXCELLENT pick for Amara to be reading. It really sums of a lot of surface and not-so-surface level themes in Supernatural. Wondering if there is a parallel between Dean and Watanabe about sort of idealizing a life (with someone) that isn’t meant to be while ignoring love in front of you? Would love to hear all of your thoughts.

Moving on (I’m skipping through parts of the episode to just focus on some key observations)! Amara tries to convince Chuck to fight on behalf of this world and wants to show him some of his creations. So, she brings him to Heaven to see his ‘first children’ (i.e., angels). She also refers to angels as having prefect angelic devotion which immediately made me laugh because our fave angel Cas is really devoted to Dean humanity and not Chuck. Ahh! This whole episode just kept pointing out how special Cas is.

And then, callback after callback began. Amara brings Chuck to the bunker so Chuck says, “Is this a trap?” which made me think of episode 9 (“The Trap” by Berens). This was almost immediately followed by another callback when Chuck says, “You can’t hold me here forever,” to which Amara replies, “I can hold you long enough.” Um, Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets (12x10, Yockey), anyone?

Ishim: “You can’t hold me here forever.” … Lily’s powers are wearing off as Ishim approaches her until Cas stabs Ishim in the back with his angel blade. Cas: “You held him for long enough.”

Like, COME ON! Almost verbatim.

Skipping forward to Dean and Jack’s adventure to visit my favorite hippies, Adam and Serafina (like seriously, they were fantastic characters!). Adam refers to himself as, “…first dude off of the assembly line,” which is similar language that has been used to referring to angels in the past (again, invoking Castiel?)

Then Dean assumes the woman is Eve but they both just shake their heads and chuckle, “I’m Serafina,” I’m definitely not the first one to point this out but… the First Man being in a near-lifelong romantic relationship with an angel named Seraph Serafina?! Uh, yeah, ‘nuff said.

Serafina also mentions that she saw Jack when she and Adam were, “…sipping mushroom tea on the Hanging Gardens of Babylon,” which made me wonder if there was some sort of connection with Glynn’s season 14 episode, “Byzantium” (14x08), which is the episode Cas makes his deal with the Empty. Babylon was a fortress of the Byzantine empire (not going to lie, my historical knowledge about the Byzantine empire is preeeeetty limited).  

I also loved the whole speech by Serafina to Dean: “I mean, just think of everything that has had to happen to get Jack to this place, to this moment. Baby, it was meant to be,” Dean, of course, is upset by this because he is probably thinking that this was all basically predestined, and he has had no free will. However, he just needs to wait a little while longer until Chuck tells him to his face that he has never been able to control Cas since he laid his hand on Dean saving him from Hell.

Serafina also heals Adam’s wound and it is, of course, super reminiscent of Cas healing Dean (although, even Serafina doesn’t directly touch Adam when healing him – it’s, once again, unique to Castiel). Obligatory hand squeal: HANDS!!!! Wow, they are not even trying to be subtle about the whole hands thing. It is so IN YOUR FACE begging for the audience to notice it.

Adam then mentions how much power is in his rib: “But this puppy? Is packing enough punch to create LIFE. Or, in your case, destroy God.” Well, at this point I think we can all be pretty certain that in the end it will NOT be used to destroy God, so will it instead be used for creation? Excited to see how they defuse Jack’s supernova bomb next episode.

Rounding off Dean’s vignette is a heartbreaking scene with him and Jack in the Impala. Dean says, “I don’t know how to explain it. When I learned about Chuck, it was like – it’s like I wasn’t alive. Not really. You know, like, my whole life I’ve never been free. But like, really free. But now, me and Sam, we got a shot at living a life…But now we have a chance. And that’s because of you.” Again, this is before Dean learns that Cas’ actions were made of his own free will, and from the sounds of it, Dean’s connection to Amara as well. I also immediately wondered if Jack bringing Dean some sense of freedom was what Cas saw when Jack showed him “paradise”.

Moving on to Sam’s vignette: Sam remembers that Sergei mentioned the Key of Death was in the bunker (how did he remember this, wasn’t he unconscious at the time? A little disappointed Cas didn’t get to provide that little fact but I’m also glad that Sam actually served a purpose this episode and was a bit more front and center). They find the Key of Death and there is an inscription in Latin on the box:

Viator mortalis, cave, quoniam scias Clavem Mortis pensare graviter. Il tamen desideres ut introeas illum abyssum obscurissimum artis opus est tibi porta.

Okay, fair warning: I took Latin for 4 years but it has been awhile so my translation is super not perfect, but I figured I would take a stab at it because the subtitles were wrong at times and Google translate is not perfect. I translated it as something like this:

Mortal traveler, beware, because you know the Key of Death should be considered seriously. However, if you want to enter the darkest abyss, this work of art is the gate/door.

Honestly, there were a few words that I couldn’t find the right conjugations to and I know this isn’t 100% accurate, but it gives you the gist.

Sam then visits Death’s library and finds the Empty there, killing people (?) to get in touch with Death, whom they hasn’t been trusting as of late. We learn that Death’s plan is to assume the role of New God and restore the world back to order, bring back rules. The Empty is wary because they don’t know if they can trust the promise of being able to go back to sleep. Trust issues, the Empty says, because of “your busted-ass friend in the trench coat,” another subtle-not-so-subtle mention of Cas. But why, exactly, did Cas give the Empty ‘trust issues’? Was it because he woke up in the first place? Because he has ‘traipsed in and out’ of the Empty without dying?

We also learn that only Billie can read Chuck’s Death book, and, this may be a crack idea but… maybe Cas should be able to read the book because he was the one that killed Billie and made her Death in the first place? Seems like Cas might have a connection to Billie. It would be cool if Cas were the one to read Chuck’s book.

Finally, we learn a bit more about the Empty, and how they can’t go to Earth unless summoned. Hmm…

Flash forward to Amara and Chuck in the bunker. Amara tells Chuck, “It’s not too late, brother,” and, if you’re like me, you finished that sentence with “it’s never too late (to start all over again)”. So many great Destiel songs out there, but “Never Too Late” takes the cake for me.

Amara and Chuck decide to become one, become ultimate balance. Chuck extends his hand and Amara grasps it as she is absorbed into Chuck. I don’t even know if I really need to say this, but… HANDS! (Destiel is already canon to me but if the show is going to make it more explicitly canon for the audience, it’s going to be through hands as I know people have been shouting about for several seasons now).  

To finish, let’s talk about that kick-ass scene with TFW 2.0 at the end of the episode. We find out that Chuck’s real ending is to have Dean regress and give in to rage and kill everything he loves, probably ultimately leading to his own death. Woof, what a tragic ending (tragedy ≠ good ending). So, we’ve got to subvert that which Dean does after a heartfelt plea from Sam (“You would trade me?”). I enjoyed how much Dean looked back at Cas during this exchange, especially after Sam tells Dean that Eileen will die again. The parallels, the connection.

Honestly, I’m not sure why Cas and Jack were in that scene other than to have some meaningful glances exchanged between Cas and Dean and because TFW2.0 is together in the next scene. But… whatever, more Cas so I liked it.

And finally, the scene that had me shaking with VINDICATION.

Cas to Chuck: “What, you consumed your sister?” Chuck: “We came to an understanding, so spare me your contempt Castiel, the self-hating angel of Thursday. You know what every other version of you did after ‘gripping him tight and raising him from perdition’? They did what they were told. But not you. Not the ‘one off the line with a crack in his chassis’” (Cas looks back at Dean after a moment)

Okay, so let’s break this exchange down. So much satisfaction with just a few sentences. Bravo, Ms. Glynn.

“We came to an understanding.” Didn’t Michael and Adam say the same thing after they decided to share equally in their bond and vessel? Callback #1.

“…self-hating angel of Thursday.” Ahh, it’s been so long since we got mention that Cas is the angel of Thursday. The last time was, what, when Crowley says it to Cas back in season 6? By the way, it was totally meant to be that Supernatural will finish off the series on a Thursday. Callback #2 (ish).

“You know what every other version of you did after ‘gripping him tight and raising him from perdition’?” This is the second time the show has repeated Cas’ first line to Dean near-verbatim in two seasons. You know, just in case the audience forgot Dean and Cas’ infamous first meeting (which I am like 99% sure we are going to get hella callbacks to next episode). Callback #3.

“They did what they were told. But not you. Not the ‘one off the line with a crack in his chassis.’” Again, Chuck is closely paraphrasing what Naomi said about Cas in season 8:

8x21 “The Great Escapist” – Naomi: “You're the famous spanner in the works. Honestly, I think you came off the line with a crack in your chassis. You have never done what you were told. Not completely. You don't even die right, do you?”

Callback #4. Seriously, Glynn packed four callbacks into such a short time period. Wizard.

My only *criticism* of this final scene is that Dean and Cas didn’t seem to react too much to Chuck’s news about Cas always having free will (although, I think Cas already knew this, but it is news and confirmation to Dean!). I highly suspect that will come next week, though. I’m SO excited (and also terrified) for next week. We are definitely going to be getting a lot of Cas next episode. Misha, in an interview, mentioned that we would get Cas’ ‘chapter’ in 18, and I’m wondering if this will be the true Cas-centric episode? I don’t know, maybe the Cas-centric episode was “Gimme Shelter” but I was expecting more of a “The Man Who Would Be King” kind of Cas-centric episode.  

All in all, 10/10. I keep reading and seeing things that are galaxy braining me, so it has been super fun reading all the meta and reactions to this episode.

Three episodes left. Get your tissues ready for Cas’ death (oops, is this even a spoiler at this point?) next episode. And remember, “Nothing ever really ends,” and “The end has no end,”