#growing up it was a looming fear like my entire life lol

[stealchain]

i hate remembering im going to die one day

[indelicateink]

@limonmelon you made a really great post about vampires and creativity, and it really struck a cord with me, because i have passionate feelings on the topic. and I started typing up this response, and then it because a gd entire ted talk/half plea to the writers that got off the topic of your post, and i thought: christ, what an asshole i'd be to maybe post this on someone else's post, lol??? (and I didn't want to make it ttly independent, bc then it felt like vagueing, which is weird.) but after typing it all up i feel committed to the time/brain investment and am just posting it on my own blog lol.

anyway: read limonmelon's post bc it's very insightful.

i'm very curious about how they will handle lestat's music in the show, and do I hope they let him be a good artist. because although I totally agree about their unchanging, magically unnatural bodies, i feel like they are emotionally allowed to learn/grow/change? (this isn't meant to be a rebuttal--more my differing pov on something I see come up on this topic a lot.) so...personally, likewise i'm not sure their relationship to art is necessarily stagnant.

to my mind--and it could ttly be projection--i felt like louis's abandonment of his photography was more about fear of failure and frustration. and personally, as an artist, I fight the deeply entrenched societal idea that some people are Naturally Gifted and everyone is consigned to mediocrity: innate talent can exist, but hand to god it is the time you put into your craft that matters so much more than the beloved fairytale of divine skill. (when people look at my art and say the dreaded That's So Great I Could Never Do That, it's pain.) I think louis knows what he likes and has hit the barrier of not being able to YET create what his mind's eye wants, and it's too frustrating to continue being Not Good Enough (Yet) because he knows good art. and that is so incredibly human. I don't think vampirism has cast his sensitivity/self-expression in amber--i think he cut himself off at the knees, and we'll maybe never know if he could've excelled. instead he nurtures his eye for others' art (which i feel is just a different way to channel his sensitivity).

i feel like our go-to example of vampiric artistic mediocrity is marius. iirc in the books it's implied that marius's art was never special enough to be immortalized like some of his peers were. which is also just...life. and objectively hilarious because he was so goddamn pompous about it (and kind of an asshole lol). that was so human to me--not a vampiric curse, though i suppose they're not mutually exclusive. but even with forever, he's just not going to make the kind of art that will land him the (highly subjective) recognition of a museum, though his pursuit of art may please him personally, even if the results don't. THAT'S ART, BABY (i'm directing this at marius, lol).

I love that amc/AR gives us of examples of vampires who don't always make "good art" or they stagnate--maybe the TdV, maybe Marius, etc. It's a great statement that even with their supernatural abilities and, ostensibly, all the time in the world (caveat: you have to practice; caveat: i posit that vampires have fewer active hours in our 24 hours than we do, and usually have to spend a chunk of that time hunting & eating instead of making a sandwich), they still aren't also given the ability to knock it out of the park every time when it comes to making art. they gotta earn it like everyone else.

i agree they are trapped in those unchanging bodies, and i do feel like that could add some angst to their lives that might make making art harder, given it's possibly an emotional burden sucking up all their bandwidth? that seems to me like a case-by-case thing, though.

but I don't think vampires' immortality inherently necessarily translates to, say, soulless art. that one can't imbue one's art with relatable emotion or expertly express feelings and emotions just because death isn't looming. I do think they face different obstacles in relating to existence--they're operating on a whole different way of existing, becoming daily killers, eating people to survive, never seeing the sun, hiding who they are from the world, being forever in good physical health, living on a different scale of time--but these are generally passionate beings, and I don't feel like their differences would hinder making engaging art? (though, interestingly, it could be more alien to us, and harder to relate to.)

so I really hope they don't take the tack that lestat's music sucks just because he's a vampire. lestat came to vampirism already highly skilled in and passionate about performance, and the magical abilities of vampirism helped him pick up the ability to play all the musical instruments he could want. and i think it would be inconsistent for amc to decide he--they--can't make "good art" despite their skills, that they can't express themselves in a human way, because they can't grow and change?

because I think it's shown they can change.

in temperament/action, in the show at least, it's implied that lestat grows from a short-tempered insecure mercurial partner/father (granted, this is a bitter louis relaying this characterization lol) who learns a "very hectic lesson" and, is hinted, grows to someone who will one day possibly engage in a more functional relationship with louis in the 21st C.

amc louis, likewise, is someone with depression, anger, and a lot of compounding angst--and then with daniel's revelation, pivots, it's implied, into a new way of existing.

i feel like we're given the hint these characters will continue to evolve. i'm guessing they will remain fundamentally who they are (lestat--impetuous, passionate, violent, sensitive; louis--thoughtful, astute, ambitious, slower to show the intense feelings he keeps beneath the surface), but the potential for growth is there.

idk, I'm just passionate about these beings having the ability to sucessfully express themselves artistically in a way that resonates. i get it could go either way. and i mean, if amc decides it's just a supernatural curse that they can't make "good art" than there's nothing I can say to that, it's arbitrary lol. but it doesn't feel right to me, given the givens? and what a shame to randomly go little mermaid with this, and take away their voice in exchange for the ability to walk on the land. amc, let passionate vampires make good art if they can manage it, just like everybody else lol. I want to see what they make.

[miaobae]

I had such an odd dream last night. And the odd part was really like the way that my brain decided I needed to experience the realistic emotions for it for an extended time. So basically I either committed or was an accessory to an accidental murder of someone close to us but got away with it. And then I got to experience the guilt and fear and self-loathing during an entire growing up phase. I committed the murder as a child and grew up with It looming over me for the rest of my life. Like my brain really said yeah you need to think about what this might feel like lol

[obae-me]

hmm mc singing Barbie girl (you know I never noticed when younger but its quite sexual lol) and their reaction? if you're not up for all maybe luci, Satan and belphie?? 👀

Word Count: 2635

Author’s Note: I never noticed how suggestive it was when I was younger either, and even now just reading through the lyrics I connected a few dots I hadn’t before. I’m sorry this took so long, and I hope it’s enjoyable to read! Thank you for your request, Anon! 

Lucifer

He had come to check on MC to see how their studies were doing. He respected that they insisted on doing their schoolwork on their own, but he still felt the need to check up on them, just in case. Too often did he find people slacking off.

He was just about to knock on their door when he heard MC’s voice reach his ears through the frame. “Make me walk, make me talk, do whatever you please, I can act like a Star, I can beg on my knees.”

It was a song he had never heard before, which wasn’t too surprising. He didn’t bother with anything...distasteful. He was a very picky listener. He gave himself a few moments to comprehend the lyrics. It sounded almost like a song Asmo would listen to.

He was taken aback, to be honest. The music itself was absolutely annoying, like some kind of glittery audio, but the lyrics coming out of MC’s mouth stirred something in him. He was a demon for sure, and he was no stranger to the more risque aspects of sin, but to hear such things coming out of their mouth drove him up the wall in more ways than one.

He opened the door without knocking, entering like a shadow. MC didn’t even have a pencil in their hand, dancing in their seat, their schoolwork the furthest thing from their mind.

“You can touch, you can play, if you say I’m always yours-”

MC felt a looming shadow behind them, their voice faltering as their heart fluttered. Lucifer’s hand reached around them, touching their D.D.D. to turn off the infernal melody with the taunting lyrics. MC looked up at him, the frame of his body blocking out the light in their room. He glared at them with red glinted eyes, a smirk tugging at the taut corners of his lips.

“That can easily be arranged.”

A dark shade of red covered MC’s cheeks as Lucifer shut their school book,his gloved hand tracing the spine of the book before doing the same thing to MC’s chin. They didn’t seem to be getting much studying done anyway, so further delaying them would do them no harm, besides, then he would have an excuse to be their strict tutor.

Lucifer is going to want to carry out those lyrics as punishment for MC saying such bold and tempting words in his presence.

Mammon

He had finally managed to get MC in his room to hang out, just the two of them. He had felt that his brothers were spending way too much time with them, and it was his turn to have his human. Lucifer had prevented both of them from going out since it was far too late and all of them had to get up far too early the next day.

To get around this conundrum, Mammon had a bottle of wine and demonus already chilled in his room. He’ll do his best to brush past the fact that he had stolen both of them from his older brother.

It didn’t take too long for both him and MC to get drunk, partying it up in his room much to his siblings annoyance. MC was pumping a bunch of human world music from his loudspeakers, and Mammon was secretly loving it. When Barbie Girl came on, he’ll admit he found it strange at first, his face burning as MC sang the lyrics to the song.

“Life in plastic, it’s fantastic, you can brush my hair, undress me anywhere.”

MC would look at him, glancing his body up and down to the words, almost like they were teasing him. His first reaction was to tell MC that they couldn’t just sing stuff like that. Someone would take it wrong, someone would...he didn’t want anyone else to hear those words but himself.

MC would convince him to sing the other part, begging and pleading with him. He eventually agreed, but only this once, and only because MC was the one who asked.

He’ll get surprisingly into it, and they’ll sing it again and again on repeat so much, they both would be capable of singing it in their sleep. MC would laugh anytime Mammon would purposefully lower his voice to a comical degree.

MC was almost torturing him, singing “If you say, I’m always yours”, dancing with their body moving way too close to his, their eyes painted with a sultry glow. He could only take it for so long before he turned the music off, causing MC to frown. Then he got in real close.

“Yes, you are mine.”

Levi

He had invited MC to a karaoke night, one of the few activities he’d do outside his room. It showed up in anime so often, and he would be able to sing his favorite songs as loud as he wanted without fear of bothering anyone. It was just him and MC, he didn’t want to risk the possibility that his brothers would ruin this already rare opportunity.

He sang some sort of anime opening, and he went hard, hitting notes that MC didn’t even know he could reach. It was beautiful. Levi thought nothing would be able to make this moment any better. Then MC retaliated with Barbie girl, and as soon as the first few lyrics left their lips, Levi went completely still. He was frozen, his concentration buffering.

“I’m a blonde bimbo girl in a fantasy world, dress me up, make it tight, I’m your dolly.”

They were purposefully teasing him, but he couldn’t do anything about it. MC had him completely red, his hands up to cover as much of his embarrassing face as he could. With his eyes still free to watch MC, of course. Sure he had probably heard and seen worse in anime, but he never said anything like that aloud, he had never...heard that aloud...by another person.

MC directed it all towards him, bouncing up and down on their feet as they sang, giving him flirtatious winks. If this were an anime, not only would he have had a severe nosebleed, but his soul might’ve just floated out from his body. Unfortunately for him, this wasn’t an anime. He was still frozen to his seat.

“You can touch, you can play.”

MC came on over to him and sat next to him, getting real close to him, tugging at the collar around his neck, playing with the stray hairs at the bottom of his head. He got so freaked out, he slipped out of his own seat and onto the floor, accidentally dragging MC along with him. MC almost couldn’t continue singing due to how much they wanted to laugh.

“If you say, I’m always yours.”

Right now it seemed as if MC had him as theirs instead of the other way around, with them on top of him on the floor, Levi feeling like he was literally melting. He wasn’t a huge fan of anything without some sort of connection to anime or video games, but he’d give this song a pass this one time.

Satan

While he can be a fan of some music, he typically likes silence, it makes things easier to read. But when MC asked if they could listen to some of their music while they studied together, he let them. He was curious about their tastes if anything. He took it as an opportunity to learn more about them, but he didn’t know that they were planning on testing his patience.

Their songs came up randomly, each one of them obnoxious noises. Satan knew immediately that the only reasoning to them was to see which one annoyed him most. MC tried hard to hide the smile on their face, but Satan’s expression left them highly amused.

He had just about had enough, ready to blow a fuse along with MC’s D.D.D. Then Barbie Girl came on. The breathy squeaky noises felt like they had taken a few centuries off his lifespan, but then MC started singing to it.

“You can brush my hair, undress me anywhere.”

He pressed his hand to his chest. This kind of song, these words, this behavior...was completely inappropriate. It’s what he wanted to say anyway, but anytime MC sang something else, he found himself speechless.

“Imagination, life is your creation.”

He ended up having to turn his head away from them, closing his eyes and doing his best to tune them out long enough to get his focus back, to get his logic back. He was ignoring the growing heat in his face.

He didn’t move until the song was done, and then he hastily took MC’s device from them, turning the music off and then insisting that they get stuff done. MC whined a little bit but obliged, having been mostly satisfied by his behavior.

The only thing was, now Satan was lost in his own mind and thoughts, unable to even comprehend what he was reading. MC would ask him a question, and he would find it difficult to even try to come up with a solid answer. He could only look into MC’s eyes and angrily shut all his books.

There would be no more studying tonight.

Asmo

Human world music or not, he knows this one by heart, and he loves it. It’s so playful and sexual, it’s exactly his thing. So, it was actually Asmo who had the song playing in the first place, much to MC’s surprise.

He had MC over for one of their self-care nights. He would do their nails, their hair, make sure their skin was nice and moisturized, and maybe they’d let him give them a deep massage. He had some of his music playing to set the mood. Some of his hype songs. When Barbie Girl came on, MC snapped their head up in surprise.

“You know this song?”

Asmo almost had to put down his polish, exasperated at the question. “Do I know this song?? Honey, I adore this song.”

He was the one who started singing, making his body sway and move as he gave MC flirtatious glances. MC shrugged, figuring the song was too catchy to not join in with. Asmo had never been so excited, he wanted to shout, maybe post it on Devilgram.

“Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky.”

He’s heard people talk dirty before, trust him, he’s just never heard MC talk like that before. Even if they were just singing goofy lyrics of a song, he had always wondered what it would be like for them to say such things. Only now, now that Asmo had finally had a little taste of what he wanted, he couldn’t handle it.

He had been doing his nails, but now his entire finger had nail polish over it. The air in his lungs was suddenly absent. He felt like breaking the bottle in his hands, so he quickly put it down.

“You can touch, you can play, if you say-”

MC had been interrupted by Asmo almost body slamming them against his bed. They stammered and sputtered for words as Asmo whined and almost cried for them to stop giving him false excitement, he wouldn’t be able to take it.

MC, maybe slightly influenced by the song, the mood the demon of Lust had set, and maybe some alcohol, told Asmo that maybe they wouldn’t mind if it were him.

Screw his nails, he had more important things to do right now.

Beel

MC swore the only reason why Beel even knew what flirting meant was because he had Asmo for a brother. He didn’t really take any steps himself to be promiscuous, and if he ended up doing something...spicy, he didn’t really mean to.

So when he came into the kitchen to check on MC while they were on cooking duty, he wasn’t sure how to feel. At first, he was just so happy to hear MC sing, if they were happy, it meant the food they were making would taste ten times better. Somehow he knew how someone was feeling based on the food they made.

Then his second reaction was towards the actual words they were singing. It made his stomach feel kind of full, even though he hadn’t eaten anything for a few minutes. MC was looking pretty tasty...

Then he shook his head to himself, shooing away those kinds of thoughts. It was just a song, nothing to get so worked up over for. He wasn’t like Asmo. Or his other brothers apparently.

MC will admit they were a bit disappointed when Beel started rummaging through the kitchen for a few pre-dinner snacks, ignoring the song. They expected a bit more of a response. MC loved trying to get a jolt out of the demon brothers, but Beel was Beel.

The demon of gluttony just kept them company while they cooked, none of the lyrics setting him off. He just happily munched on some crackers. Beel told MC they had a lovely voice, and while he wasn’t a huge fan of the song, he respected their taste in music.

He was almost too pure sometimes.

Belphie

He had been asleep for much too long, and in such a deep sleep, nothing seemed to be able to wake him up. Each of the brothers had tried and subsequently failed. They had given up on him, even Beel who went off in some search for food after his attempts left him starved. Only MC remained, and they tried the first thing that came to their mind.

For some reason their idea had been playing Barbie Girl and singing it to him in the most ridiculous way possible. They turned the song up on their D.D.D. at full volume and started dancing and singing on his bed while he remained fast asleep.

“Come on Barbie, let’s go party, ah ah ah yeah.”

With each little ‘ah’ and ‘oo’ that came out of their mouth, they poked Belphie’s body. Still nothing. If MC wasn’t able to see his chest moving and the air from his nose pushing the hair covering his face, they would’ve been convinced he was dead.

Except the fact was, he was awake, wide awake in fact, he was just pretending to be asleep. MC’s voice had both the power to snap him awake or lull him to sleep. Right now he was doing his best to stay still as they continued.

Yes, he kinda wanted to kill them for waking him up. Yes, the song was driving him absolutely crazy in the worst way. But also, MC kept touching him and saying things he had never heard them say before. The breath against his pillow was getting warmer, his nerves feeling jittery.

When they finished, MC was a bit disappointed to find Belphie still ‘asleep’, their plan had failed. They turned the music off and missed Belphie’s immense sigh of relief. They went to move off his bed, but he snapped to attention to grab their ankles. In a blur of movement, Belphie had them pinned down on his bed.

He had planned on just falling back asleep on top of them, but their expression...now he was awake, restless, and left with only one way he would be satisfied enough to sleep.

Bonus: Each and every one of the demon brothers has had this infernal song stuck in their head for literal days. A few of them don’t quite mind, and for the rest of them, they wonder if they’ve been subjected to some sort of torture. Lucifer has banned the song for eternity, and each of his siblings, with himself included, has some sort of demand for MC to fulfill as payment.

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

DOUBT MAKES THE STRONG WEAK ; PART 8 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.5k SUMMARY: From concussions to destruction, you find yourself developing an odd trust in the last two people you would even begin to have faith in and when the apocalypse seems unavoidable, you discover that there may be more to the mystery of the universe. A/N: Well, this chapter is long. And mainly pertains around the theme of 'doubt'. A lot more of Sylvie stuff and Loki just having heart eyes the whole time. I love this chapter and I can’t wait to write more as the story ends. Please tell me what you love, hate, anything (maybe theories lol). Thank you for showing so much love. gif from this gifset by @kamalaskhans WARNINGS: Swearing. Apocalypse. Injuries. Blood. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

You were once a fighter.

Hunter E-87 was the name you once knew, hollered through different fields and dimensions in time and space. You fought for what you thought was right, pledging allegiance to a cosmic establishment that held all power to a single timeline and never questioned the works of the Time-Keepers. The Sacred Timeline is indeed sacrosanct, too important, too valuable to interfere. You fight in the name of the single thread of time, the bark of a tree, forbidden to bare branches of a potential multiverse. You fight because the thought of alternate timelines used to scare you. Yet, if alternate universes were meant to be, the lives you took and destroyed are now in the grasp of your bloody hands. You hold the responsibility of the death of the innocent, taking part in mass genocide.

But promises must be kept.

The thought constantly haunts you in your sleep. You have dreams of death, war, destruction, and famine from across the universe. People seem to glide like specters in the world built by your imagination and mind. You have seen a lot, more than any being in the universe should, but no one talks about the aftermath of witnessing the tragedy of the universe as time goes on and on. No one talks about what it does to the mind. Music from cassettes and the wonder of human space exploration were distractions to cope with the grinding hole in you and the fact you might be turning truly crazy.

Sometimes, you would like to be human—Fewer problems and less time to live.

You blame the sickening and bizarre vivid images that come and go whenever you close your eyes as a symptom of being a hunter. The others are stronger than you. Well, they act like they are. Becoming an analyst made you sleep better but there was always doubt. Sakaar made you doubt.

Doubt makes the strong weak. Doubt makes you weak.

“You startin’ to have doubts?”

Green eyes. They watch you with curiosity with a hint of amusement. You hear yourself hum. “Would it be bad if I said yes?”

He laughs. It’s mighty. “Yeah. Definitely bad.”

A beat of silence. You feel your eyes start to sting. “I couldn’t even tell my mom.” A laugh escapes your lips despite the hurt you feel in your chest. “Did you tell anyone? Your wife?”

You see him now, blonde hair slicked back and deep-set eyes. He shakes his head. “Nope. Not even my wife.”

“She’ll be proud, you know.”

“I know...So will your mom. Jesus, you’re gonna be the first woman on—”

Wake up.

“—Is she dead?”

The voice is familiar. It pulls you back to reality but right now, your eyes are too heavy. Doubt is the first emotion that waves through your brain before the process of pain can even occur—uncertain if you are dead or alive.

You can’t feel your limbs, they are too weak.

Doubt makes the strong weak. Doubt makes you weak.

Maybe, you are dead.

“This is your fault! You’re the one who swung that sword of yours to her head! You’re careless—”

Sword...Sword...Careless? You remember a train, a fight.

“Oh, I’m the one who’s careless? You’re the one who’s drunk!”

Drunk...Who was drunk?

Then, your voice echoes in your head, images of a certain brunette with a deep frown. He called you a mewling quim. You quoted Hávamál. You then left him and wandered through the other cabins of the train. He blew his cover. He got you into a fight.

Loki. Loki Laufeyson.

Son of a bitch.

Your eyes are wide open now. All you see are the faces of Loki and Sylvie, looming over you. Just two floating heads. Then, the pain arrives, coursing through the entire back of your head. You wince in immediate reaction and the floating heads turn to you in an instant.

What a way to wake up from a concussion.

You remember everything now, but you certainly don’t recall being on the outside of the train. Must have gotten thrown out. The thought angers you, irritation practically boiling to the brim. Yet, it’s your fault. You hadn't thought to babysit the very person you wish were dead. As your palm grips onto the dirt beneath, muscling all strength left to lift yourself. Your head feels light and heavy all at once. Not good.

“Are you alright?” is the question that flies from Loki’s lips, tinged with an emotion you never knew he had for another but himself—worry. Whether selfless or selfish, you wish to ignore the complexity of Loki’s reactions and possible change in character, especially towards you. Ever since you stepped foot on Lamentis, all you felt was pain. You have never been injured so much within the last few hours than in your entire life and weirdly, you feel fine.

Sylvie is quick to stand, watching the two of you work in tandem. His grip finds the curve of your shoulders as you stick your hand out to grip him by the bicep. At your touch, you notice how his arm stiffens ever so slightly. You don’t say anything.

Some things about Loki are best left unknown and unanswered.

Today is filled with a lot of getting off the ground in the most unceremonious way possible.

A deep exhale leaves your lips, wisps of your hair drifting with the brutal breeze from your nostrils. Beads of sweat trail along the curve of your forehead and the back of your neck. Some entangled with the strands of your hair. Your hands feel clammy and dirty but you run them to push your hair back and away from your face anyway.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, pulling yourself away from his touch.

You finally get a good look at the two. Loki looks like complete shit but Sylvie manages to maintain the regalness to the locks of her hair despite her opposing overall behavior. It’s the Asgardian blood coursing through her veins. You cannot hide your ancestors' blood. It’s hard to believe the two are the same—one being. Yet, it's believable when you’re angry at the two of them.

The two messed up your career, that’s why.

Unbothered and uncivilized. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.

As your eyes shift along the train tracks that meander along a gorge with steep rocky walls that leer above it, you catch sight of a spark by your feet, glinting under the iridescent sky.

It’s the TemPad, shattered into pieces; you recognize the color gold of its border.

Your eyes grow wide, mouth agape. You don’t even feel angry anymore, it’s more than that. You stick out your hand to gesture towards the destroyed device, “Is that—Is that the TemPad?” you ask as your other hand lifts to hold the side of your head. “Or am I just seeing things from the concussion?”

Sylvie is the one to speak. “It’s not the concussion.”

You suddenly feel like you’re burning.

If it were possible, you could have instantly killed him with a look.

“You. You killed us!” you step closer to him and for a moment, Loki doesn’t exactly know what to do. “So, it’s my fault then? You were the one who left me alone in the lounge.” are the words that leave his lips. Completely useless. Trying to diffuse the tension is the exact opposite of what he does.

His silver tongue isn’t so shiny and silver anymore.

You don’t pull your blow this time. Your palm strikes his cheek, rocking his head to the side. Your hand is oddly soft. Loki winces and you stand your ground. “You’re a jerk and an asshole. You’ve probably been called that for all your life and yet, here you are. Still, the most insensitive and pathetic man I’ve ever met,” you articulate your words with frustration and rage. You don’t raise your voice like before, it’s low and frightfully intimidating. “And I’m not your babysitter.”

—

Battles, ruination, and fracas gave a sense of familiarity to Sylvie in a time of an impending apocalypse. When worlds end, benevolence is resolute. The tragedy of the end of lost souls—afraid to die. But as daunting as the apocalypse is, the beauty of their souls finally returning to the universe protrudes amongst the debris and misery.

She sees herself in the two of you, as much as she doesn’t identify as a Loki anymore, and her hatred towards the TVA. You have a temper and he doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.

You’re mysterious in an almost enchanting way and possibly significant as you seemed to be at first glance. Sylvie is highly curious about you.

You don’t stray too far from the group, only to find rest by the edge of a pit made by a crashing meteor. You sit with your back turned against the very two beings you distrust as you watch the border where the bustling city of Shuroo is based. Your guard is down and you don’t care at this point. Everyone is about to die anyway.

Sylvie’s gaze finds Loki who seems to be only watching the back of your still figure, eyes glinting with an emotion unknown to her. Possibly regret? Sylvie doesn’t know what regret looks like. But fear and anger, she feels it radiating from you. She knows it. Something tells her you’re not solely angry at her and Loki.

She finds herself drifting closer to you. You don’t move. She cautiously settles beside you. “You’re not hiding a knife somewhere, aren’t you?”

You merely scoff, caressing your head, “You’re the one to say.”

Sylvie blinks. Fair enough.

Silence. Sylvie’s eyes shift to the handkerchief tied around your arm, stained with blood. “How’s the arm?”

You hum. “Surprisingly, fine.”

Oh, Sylvie knows it’s fine. She knows what Loki did. She decides not to mention the scratch she made across your cheek.

“Did the slap make you feel better?”

The question is hinted at near sarcasm, but genuinely, she wants to know.

“Yes, it did. You should try it sometime.”

She simply hums. “I would have but you beat me to it.”

A turn of your lips as they curve into a small smile. Sylvie watches with an odd sense of satisfaction. “You know, I’m still mad at you. For what you did to me.” Your words are slow. You find yourself swallowing. “But it’s nothing compared to what the TVA did to you.”

Empathy. Is this what empathy feels like? The moment when someone finally understands what it’s like to be alone for so long. Your lives are different but they reflect in certain ways. You have had your fair share of living in constant fear and constantly running. Sylvie finds herself wanting to tell you that she hadn’t simply pushed you into Sakaar. When it’s a mission, things are never accidental. She always has a plan.

Yet, she chooses not to say anything.

You speak again but merely whisper, fidgeting with your fingers, “Before Sakaar—did you enchant me?”

It's as if you're reading her mind.

“Are you seeing things?”

After a pause, the fidgeting stops.

“I’ve seen things all my life, images. Brief and insignificant. But ever since I was in Sakaar, it’s gotten a lot harder to differentiate a dream and a memory.”

“That’s because they aren’t dreams.”

Your hardened gaze finds hers for a brief moment, nearly growing wide at her words but in an instant, your guard is up once you hear the shuffling of feet behind you where Loki lingers. The subject is dropped immediately. He meets Sylvie’s gaze, the two share a knowing look.

Your anger is provoked and well deserved and yet, the last thing he wants is to be your enemy. Loki doesn’t know why. He has lived a life full of them.

You’re different.

He stills, wondering if you’re going to lash out at him again but when he notices your slow breaths, he decides to sit next to you anyway, awkward glances to you in his periphery. A deep sigh escapes his lips, fiddling with his fingers. “What now?”

Sylvie is the one to answer. “I don’t know. You broke the TemPad.”

“Well—”

“And that planet is about to crash into us.”

Loki looks up at the nearing planet of Lamentis. He blinks. “Well, yes, but—”

“Yes, but what?”

“Well, the entire moon is destroyed, right?”

Sylvie is trying to suppress your growing annoyance. “Yep. And everyone on it is killed.”

But Loki pesters on. “Including us.”

She raises her voice. “Yes, including us.” Loki glances at you momentarily. A pause. He furrows his brows in thought.

“What about the ark?”

“The ark never leaves because it's destroyed.”

Suddenly, an epiphany, his eyes light up. He turns to you and Sylvie, “Never had us on it.”

You suddenly scoff at his words. “Are you suggesting we hijack the ark and make sure it gets off this moon?” You turn to him to only spot a vague smile playing upon his lips. He nods in return. “Sounds like a good idea to me, Agent.”

You merely blink, watching the way his eyes shift across your face. First, you’re struck with uncertainty. It’s a risk, a huge one but you know, risks are meant to be uncertain. Risks are also vital in success. Hesitation, doubt—they make you weak. This time, you want to be strong. Strong enough for one last push to save your life.

“Okay.” is what you say, your expression reflecting his.

For the first time, since he took your hand in Sakaar, you’re starting to trust him.

—

The walk to Shuroo seemed endless. You trail behind the two, feeling like you’re about to suffocate.

“—To preserve the connection, I have to create a fantasy from their memories.”

Loki and Sylvie had been conversing about the science and functions of enchantment in a rather surprisingly calm manner. Loki hums, amused by her elucidation. “And you call me a magician.”

Her expression is unchanged as she continues to trudge alongside Loki, ignoring his previous statement. “That young soldier from the TVA, her mind was messed up. Everything clouded. I had to pull a memory from hundreds of years prior...before she even fought for them.”

Loki halts abruptly in his step, hand flying to grab Sylvie’s arm. “What? What'd you say? Before she joined the TVA?”

Sylvie blinks. “Yeah. She was just a regular person on Earth.”

His mind starts to reel, face muddled with confusion. “I was told that everyone who works for the TVA was created by the Time-Keepers.”

“That's ridiculous. They're all variants, just like us. Including her.” Sylvie gestures discreetly to you who has stopped to take a breather, hands on your hips as you blink up to the sky.

You, Mobius, all of them. All variants.

“They don't know that. She doesn’t know that.” he breathes a terrified expression.

Sylvie looks at you from afar. You’re now looking at them with a bewildered expression. “What?” you call out, voice echoing through the wide area, in a somewhat defensive tone.

She turns to Loki once more, voice nearly faltering. “I have a feeling she already knows it.”

—

Loki doesn’t realize the unfamiliarity of hopelessness. Throughout his life, he was constantly surrounded by those with unfaltering determination—His brother, family, friends who were warriors, The Avengers.

Never was it known that he would see it burning in your eyes as they reflect the growing fire of the Ark, crumbling down, tongues of fire engulfing it whole before you. His heart burns with it as Shuroo falls quiet—only the sounds of the metallic crashing of the disintegrating parts of the ship falling from above and the screams of the rich and deemed worthy to live. Every Lamentian still alive held their breath, a moment's silence for their lives must end. Everything must end.

So close yet so far.

Sylvie is gone by the minute as the city starts to descend in terror and panic. He stands behind your still form, just watching your only chance of making it out, swallowed by its own billowing smoke. He reaches out for you, tugging you by the sleeve. “We should leave,” he says with a sudden sense to protect you. There isn’t much to do at this point. It doesn't matter if you are hit by the falling pieces of the Ark because you are all going to die anyway.

But he considers it a gesture, as insignificant and small it is. The least he could do is to distract you from the end, whether for a mere second or minutes.

“I know things haven’t been the best between us and I concede I bring out the worst in you, but I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You turn to Loki with his sudden words. He watches the way your expression softens so gracefully, face adorned with gashes and wounds. Your mouth twitches as you respond with a gentle voice. “I forgive you.”

Three words. Very powerful words.

His heart skips a beat.

You find Sylvie at the brink of the city, sitting on a stretched slab of rock amongst the dirt, watching the horizon where the planet starts to meet the moon. Loki still has his hand around your arm, but you don’t complain. It’s your only source of support at the moment. It’s an unconscious move, but everything about it feels right when the two of you settle beside her, shoulders brushing against each other. It only makes sense to want to feel the nearness, the closeness of another as the light at the end of the tunnel begins to dim.

It’s impending. It’s scary.

“I remember Asgard.”

Sylvie’s voice trembles, her eyes are somber.

“Not much, but I remember. My home, my people, my life. Then, the TVA showed up, erased my reality, and took me, prisoner. I was just a child.”

You turn to her, guilt bubbling in your chest, but you don’t say anything. You let her speak. It’s only right.

“I escaped.” she breathes, blinking the brimming tears in her eyes away. ”Stole a TemPad and I ran for a long, long time, which really sucked. Everywhere and every-when I went, it caused a Nexus event.”

Sylvie turns to you with a melancholic gaze. “The universe wants to break free, so it manifests chaos. Like me being born the Goddess of Mischief. But to you and the TVA, I’m not supposed to exist.”

For so long, you hadn’t realized the consequences of your work at the TVA. You believed you were right. That erasing, resetting realities were meant to be. You cannot comprehend how it only occurred to you to question the authority of the Time-Keepers over time itself after Sakaar. All those years of being ignorant and selfish. You hadn’t realized. You never did.

But now you know.

Sylvie continues, gaze shifting away from you. “I figured out where to hide. And so that's where I grew up, the ends of a thousand worlds. Now...that's where I'll die.”

Then, silence. It sits heavily between the three of you.

“The universe—isn’t she beautiful?” Your voice is soft, eyes trained on the horizon—a fleet of asteroids, they reflect the end. But they seem to dance to the silence of the apocalypse, drifting across the stratosphere, lining the firmament. Loki’s gaze shifts to you, training on every curve of your face and the tears slipping down your cheeks. He agrees, the universe is beautiful.

You’re beautiful.

“She brings turmoil, agony, and destruction but in all her flaws, there’s beauty in her very existence.”

Your hands find Sylvie and Loki’s hands, holding on to them tightly as you fight the wavering of your voice.

“You...Both of you might be the epitome of chaos but you must know that you have such beautiful souls. All of us, we're her children...and if she is beautiful, so are we. And the Universe is always right. If she created you then we are wrong.”

Sylvie’s face is soft. Loki squeezes your hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I should have known from the start...that the TVA was lying to all of us. I should have questioned. I should have doubted—”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” she says, smiling with saddened eyes.

You laugh. You don’t know why, but you do. Maybe, it’s because you know you are a part of the problem anyway, even if you were just doing your job.

You find Loki’s gaze that’s already on you. You sigh and speak through a whisper. “I’m sorry for slapping you.”

His lips curve into a grin, eyes crinkling like your own. “It was well deserved, but I forgive you.”

Fingers entangled with the hands of two unlikely people, you finally realize what it truly feels like to not be alone. To be in the company of someone you want to be with.

“Now long now.” Those three words leave the very lips of Sylvie and your chest feels like it’s about to collapse.

You never knew you were afraid of death, yet here you are—terrified.

The ground shakes beneath you. It’s dark and there’s fire everywhere. A meteor collides to the ground just across the way, it sends smoke billowing to its surroundings faster than you can blink.

Even in the last seconds of your life, you have doubts remaining. What if the universe isn’t always right?

Then, through the growing dust, you see a spark, like lightning. A glint of a figure, standing before you. White, pure, and serene. You’re standing now, staring ahead. Sylvie and Loki cease to exist in your mind as they gaze at you with bewilderment. They anxiously call you by your name but you don’t hear it. There’s only silence now, you don’t hear anything but the ringing in your ears.

A voice, she speaks with dignity. A voice so familiar.

“Doubt makes the strong weak, my child.”

Then, you hear it. A soft hum—a Time Door glows warmth amid your impending death.

Suddenly, she’s gone.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

@kashasenpai

@nyxrae

@johnmurphys-sass

[kyber-crystal]

➳ catch me || s.r

summary: in which you struggle to tell the difference between liking him as a friend or something more. until one fateful moment forces you to decide where you ultimately stand.

words: ~3.9k

warnings: mentions of death, blood, overused friends to lovers, slight enemies to lovers LOL

a/n: i suffered through this WIP for like, 3 mf MONTHS before i was finally able to finish it off. i feel so relieved. but i will warn you, it’s terrible

"Rogers."

"Y/N."

You exchanged curt nods with him as you went to grab yourself some water after attending a meeting with Fury. Ever since Sharon started showing up more often, you began to distance yourself from him because you know that lingering by will only make you feel worse.He doesn't know why you're acting so cold all of a sudden, but decides not to question it as it won't help the situation in any way whatsoever.

He was quick to break the awkward silence that had fallen. "Where are you being sent off?"

"We," you replied coldly. "Northern Europe. Got word of an arms trade happening tomorrow morning."

"Okay."

Footsteps were suddenly heard from down the hall and without warning, he tugged you forward by the wrist and pressed his lips to yours.

You didn't protest because you're still too shocked to fully register what's going on and 2) you actually liked the way he made you feel. 

Though you really weren't supposed to be.

"What was that for?" you breathed out as you both pulled away, breathless.

"Sharon," he replied simply, looking around for a moment. "She's been bothering me for the past few weeks and I had to do something."

"You just noticed?" you said, sarcasm lacing your tone as you looked out of the corner of your eye to see the blonde woman walking away. "She's been all over you since her recruitment."

His brows furrow together in confusion as he notices the darkened look in your eyes, but doesn't say anything. You toss him the black manila folder containing information on your mission for him to read, sitting down at the kitchen counter together.

"Infamous dealer carrying nuclear weapons overseas. Headquartered somewhere in the Arctic Circle, I think," you explained as he pulled out the wanted man's file. "Can be taken either dead or alive. We have to stop them from going through with the attack."

"When are we leaving?"

"Wheels up at 8:30 p.m. Should take about 6 hours...we're being flown in via helicarrier."

Great.

You just realized you'd be stuck in a plane alone together for 6 hours straight, when the very thing you were trying to do was avoid him.

You're mostly silent as you board the jet, securing your bags and weapons before taking your seat. Fatigue is tugging at your body and your eyelids grow heavy, although it isn't even that late. Without thinking about what you were doing, you rest your head against Steve's shoulder and close your eyes. He wraps an arm around your waist in response.

Before you knew it, the aircraft was hovering over the drop zone. The two of you got up and went towards the back, fastening parachutes to your backs as the gates dropped open.

"Stay safe out there," you blurted out as you glanced down at the base below you, then over at Steve. "Circle the perimeter and meet me inside. Don't die or I'll kill you."

"Yes ma'am."

Inhaling sharply, you gripped the straps of your jacket and squeezed your eyes shut, the dry wind whipping your hair in your face as you descended downwards.

With his icy blue eyes still imprinted in the back of your mind.

...

It was quite ironic seeing that you, an Avenger and a former SHIELD pilot that flew everywhere all the time, had a crippling fear of heights. The mere idea of being jumping out of planes and having to go on missions involving multi-story buildings shook you to your core, and it always took you at least a week to recover once you got back.

"Steve!" Your voice heightened to a shriek as you felt the plane's velocity increase suddenly. The crates next to you toppled over and you went crashing to the floor alongside them, barely managing to grip the armrest of something and pressing your back against the wall, feeling your head spin. The sticky warmth and stinging, white-hot pain in your side tells you that you were shot. You didn't need to look at the wound to know it wasn't pretty. "Where the hell are you?"

"Fifty yards away from the northeast entrance," he replied breathlessly. "I got nothing. You?"

"The weapons," you panted, "are on the plane!"

"Okay. Where are you?"

"On the damn plane! They're gonna detonate at any moment, I have to get this thing away from the city—I'm not gonna make it so I just wanted to tell you that—"

"Fuck, don't say that," he hissed. You know things were bad when Steve Rogers, the man that coined the 'Language' line, swore. "Just—hang tight, I'm coming for you."

"No. Just forget it," you shouted over the noise, grunting in pain as your head hit the side of a storage box, muttering a string of curses under your breath. "I can't afford for you to risk your own life for me. It's okay. Just leave me behind."

"No, I'm not leaving you!" he yelled back. "I'm not going back home without you."

"Steve," your voice was thick with tears, throat feeling tight as you swallowed back the sob that was threatening to erupt from your lips. You wipe a tear that slips down your cheek and cleared your throat. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," he says hoarsely, "I lost you once, and I'm not losing you again."

"There's no point, Steve. I'm going to die. This thing's on autopilot going God knows where at top speed and if there's any chance of stopping this thing, I gotta crash it. If you come and get me you're gonna die, too. You know Fury's not gonna like having to send out an extraction team to drag both our corpses back to headquarters."

"Y/N, don't-" His voice breaks and you swear your heart shatters into a million pieces. "Please, don't- don't say that. I'm gonna come and get you. You're gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay."

That was the last straw for you; and you lost it at those last words. Tears sting a steaming hot trail down your cheeks as you hastily try to wipe them away with your bruised and bloodied knuckles. "No, we're not. I don't think you understand. I'm over 30,000 feet in the air with no protection whatsoever. They're gonna shoot you down before you even have the chance to get to me."

You always told yourself you'd be willing to put your life on the line to save someone else's; to sacrifice yourself for the greater good. But now that death was looming threateningly close to you and staring you down, for the first time in a long time, you didn't know if you even wanted to leave and you were scared. Scared of what was to come if you really were to meet your end. Scared of what was to come at the end of the tunnel, what would happen when you were swallowed whole by death's bottomless, dark pit. You didn't expect your fate to approach so quickly, and it scared you more than you wanted to admit.

Being a superhero meant that making sacrifices were a must-do. You always knew you would need to give things up in order to successfully do your job. That one day, your time to die would come but you didn't know it would happen like this; so unexpectedly.

Now you realize people were right as they told you in your final moments, you'd see your entire life flash before your eyes. You blink and you're transported back to when you first joined the Initiative, skeptical of the six unfamiliar faces before you. But it only takes a matter of three minutes before Thor cracks a joke that has you all howling in laughter, and another one for Natasha to approach you and start a conversation. To you, her, and Steve on the run as fugitives of SHIELD as you conducted the search for The Winter Soldier. The heartbreaking decision of having to choose between your mentor and best friend in Berlin--which you realized, happened barely over a year ago. So many memories had been created in such a short amount of time and you didn't ever want to let any of them go. You couldn't bring yourself to.

You stumbled over, sliding into the pilot's seat and buckling up. Your grip around the controls were so tight that the barely healing cuts around your knuckles reopened and began bleeding again.

You let out a shuddering sigh, tapping several buttons overhead before reaching down to turn on your comm again. "Steve? Are you there?"

"Darling..." The pure agony in his voice only makes you feel worse. You've never heard the great Captain America in such a soft-spoken tone before, so you could only assume it took him a lot to get him into this state. "Yeah. I'm here."

"So..." you readjusted your grip and let your shoulders fall back, "...you remember that one time we took the subway to see Hamilton last weekend?'

"Last weekend? It was only last weekend?" Steve tried his best to keep it together, but his wavering tone gave it all away. "Feels like forever since we got a break."

"I know," you let out a broken laugh, "and then you wouldn't stop talking about it the entire way back? It got so bad to the point Tony had to forcefully shut off all the speaker systems around the compound because he woke up at 3 am to see you sitting in the kitchen, playing the soundtrack at full volume."

"But when he saw you dancing around in the kitchen while making lunch the next day, he couldn't keep doing that for any longer. You have an amazing voice."

"I don't know..." you sniffed, forcing a smile, "you're the one who's pretty good at singing and playing the piano. I think you got all the musical talent-"

"Y/N," he interrupted, "stop. Don't do this to me."

"Do what?"

"You're talking as if you're gonna die."

The gravity of the whole situation comes crashing down on you again. "...Because I am."

"No, you're not. I'm not letting that happen."

"I don't think you have a say in things this time, Rogers," your voice cracked. You shook your head. "I'm done for. God, I really hoped this wasn't how I'd meet my end. I hate heights. I hate the ice, I'm scared shitless of dying, I can't- I can't do this. But I have to. If I don't, millions of people will die and I can't have that on my conscience."

You sucked in a breath as you looked out of the corner of your eye to see you're falling, and falling fast. In a matter of minutes you'll be plunging through the surface of the ice and into the depths of the icy-cold water. There's no turning back now.

"Geez," you spoke up again, "this is like some repeat of '45. Is this how it felt? Knowing you were gonna die, but doing it anyway because you knew you had to do it?"

"That's not the same. It was a matter of chance that I made it at all. Chances are slim to none that you'll end up frozen in a block of ice for 66 years."

"See, it's hopeless," you sighed. "Go back. You need to go...or you're gonna end up filled with bullets."

"I'm not going back," he repeated. "Not without you."

"If you're gonna think of a plan, you better think fast-"

"Jump."

"What did you just say? Are you out of your damn mind?"

"I said, jump. There's no other choice. Look for an emergency exit...there should be one above you. Do you see it?" His voice was calm, gentle, as if he was speaking to a child, and it soothed you a bit. You muttered a quick 'yes'. "Alright. Pry that open, get out of there. I'm coming with the Quinjet right now, so hang tight."

As if he could sense your fear, he softened his tone a bit more, "Hey. It's okay. I'm coming for you. You'll be alright."

"It's like we're Romeo and Juliet," you managed to choke out in between a laugh and sob,  "except only one of us dies."

"Y/N, you're not dying." He couldn't mask the obvious pain in his voice. "Honey, I promise you're not gonna die. You're gonna be alright."

"Steve-" You let out an earsplitting shriek and scrambled to get a stronger grip as blaring alarms sounded throughout the aircraft. The impact of the hits nearly made you topple off and you clung to the side of the jet for dear life, praying to God you weren't going to fall off and crack your head open on an iceberg. "I got hit. They're tailing after me, you can't, I'm actually gonna fall-"

"Okay, okay, I'm here. Do you see me?" You turned your head to the side ever so slightly to see the Quinjet hovering below, but your heart dropped when all you could see were snow flurries blowing around - and zero sign of the super-soldier.

"No-"

"Just jump. I see you. I'm literally right below you, so jump, okay?"

"Are you crazy?"

"Do you trust me?" he yelled out, his voice carrying over on the frigid winds. "Y/N. Do you trust me?"

"But-"

"I've never let you down before and I sure as hell won't now. Trust me, Y/N, come on."

You pressed your lips together. You knew he was right. Either you made the jump now, or get filled with a dozen bullets and dying a brutal and gory death.

You finally bring yourself to look down again and there he is, a little closer this time. His gaze finds yours and suddenly, you're drowning. You might've been hundreds of feet apart but no distance would be able to extinguish his piercing gaze. His eyes were the ocean and you were lost at sea, lost in those endless pools of blue and losing yourself in him—the one guy who stuck by your side for so long and thought as nothing more than a best friend, a teammate until now. The one guy who took your breath away with his million-dollar smile every time you made eye contact.

In the one guy who you thought was just a friend, until you realized you were hopelessly in love with him - the Steve Rogers.

And now you weren't sure if you'd come out of this alive to finally tell him so.

You squeezed your eyes shut and let go. The wind whipping at your hair and face feels like a thousand tiny needles being jabbed into your skin and you swear if you kept your mouth open you would've puked - if you'd opened your eyes you knew you'd die from fear first before anything else.

But all those thoughts are suddenly put to a halt when you're stopped by a pair of strong, warm arms you'd sought solace in countless times before.

"Y/N, thank God you're alright, oh my god," Steve let out a shuddering sigh as he held you close, cradling your head against his chest. "I thought I lost you. Oh my god. Are you okay?"

"I just fell out of an airplane without a parachute and I have no idea how I survived."

His look of concern immediately turns into horror when he pulls his hand off your waist to see it come back covered in your crimson blood. His face falls. Then it hits you all at once, and you're overcome with a nauseating wave of dizziness - the aftereffects were beginning to get to your head.

The super-soldier hurriedly jammed a finger to his ear. "I got her. We're on our way back. Prepare the medbay; she's gonna have to be operated on as soon as we land."

"Yes, sir," a STRIKE agent replied from the receiving end. "We'll get right to it. Please have a safe flight home."

"Thank you."

Steve put the jet on autopilot so he could sit with you in the back, frantically applying pressure to your wound and doing his best to patch you up. But with each round the bandages made around your waist, the blood flow increased, seeping through the fabric. You didn't have to tell him directly for him to know you didn't have much time left and if he were to save you, you would need to get back home, fast.

...

As soon as Steve stepped down the ramp with your limp, unconscious body in his arms, he was bombarded by a flurry of medbay agents, who had you in a gurney and were wheeling you away within minutes. He tried to follow after them but Tony quickly grabbed his wrist and yanked him back.

"Let me go," he growled. "I swear to Odin, Stark, if you don't-"

"You can't follow her in there."

"I can if I want to."

Tony let out a sigh of defeat. "Rogers. She's going to be fine."

"How do you know? How can you possibly guarantee her survival?"

"I just know. Sheesh, you're a hopeless romantic."

...

You glanced over at the monitor tracking your vitals beside your bed, the constant beeping of the machines seemingly echoing in your brain on a loop. You were too exhausted to do anything at the moment, but you couldn't seem to fall back asleep, even with the drugs coursing through your system.

You try to shift around and find a more comfortable position, and felt a twinge of pain on your right side. Note to self; don't place all your body weight on the side where a bullet tore through your stomach. Bad idea.

Laying flat on your back again, you closed your eyes, willing yourself to fall back asleep. But sleep never comes, and a few minutes later a knock on your door pulls you out of your momentary trance.

"Hey there, soldier," you managed a sleepy grin as Steve stepped into the room, pulling up a chair to your bedside. "Nice weather outside, isn't it? Feels like just yesterday I was gunned down and forced to drive myself to near-suicide...wait, that was yesterday, right? I've lost all sense of time-telling-"

You paused and looked back over to see a rare sight - he was on the verge of breaking down. His bright blue eyes were dulled and glossed over with fresh tears that threatened to spill, and although it had barely been over a day since your admittance to the hospital, it looked like he hadn't slept in over a week. And it was all your fault.

"Are you okay...?"

He shook his head, clenching his fists in his lap so tightly that they began turning white. "You’re seriously asking me if I’m okay? I almost lost you. You almost died."

"I'm sorry-"

"If I hadn't gotten to you in time, then...I don't know what I'd do if-"

"Steve, it's not your fault."

"I let you down, Y/N." His voice was cracked and raw, as if he'd been crying for hours on end beforehand. Your heart shattered at the sound. "I let you down and I'm so sorry I couldn't get to you sooner. I'm sorry I left you alone on that ship because I didn't look out for you well enough. This is all on me. My job was to protect you, to look out for you. And I failed to do that."

"You didn't fail, Steve," you said softly. "You did your best. You saved me. I'm alive right now because of what you did."

The super-soldier inhaled sharply and moved his chair closer so he could reach his hand out to place it on your forehead, letting it stay there for a moment before sliding it down to cup your cheek. You didn't make any efforts to remove it and if you were being honest with yourself, you liked how his warm skin felt against your own. He smelled like honey and freshly ground coffee and everything good in the world. He made you feel like you were at home.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you let yourself bask in his warmth, melting into his soft touch. If it weren't for your currently uncomfortable predicament, you would've fallen asleep on the spot all over again.

"Something's on your mind, isn't there," you mumbled, eyes still closed. Even without your powers, it didn't take much for you to figure out that something was wrong. "Tell me what's going on."

You opened your eyes again to see that there were tears streaming down his face. He hastily tried to wipe them away with one hand as the other was gently placed on top of yours, but his efforts were fruitless, of no avail whatsoever.

"Steve-"

"I was so worried," he croaked out. "I don't want to think about how things would be if you died. I can't live without you."

"I'm here now, okay? I'm going to be fine. I'll heal," you said softly. "You saved me, you caught me, so now I'm okay. We're okay." You moved over slightly to give him room to sit. Steve's arms encircled your waist as yours slid down and over his shoulders, and he pressed his trembling lips to your temple.

It was quiet. Whispered oh-so-quietly, as if he was hesitant to open his mouth. But you heard it regardless.

"I love you."

You smiled sadly. "I know. I love you too."

"Just...please don't try and pull off something off like that again."

"I won't. I promise."

You heard each shaky inhale and exhale as he tried to regain his composure - strong arms tightening around your figure with his face buried into the crook of your neck. Letting out a trembling sigh, you held onto him even tighter as if by some miraculous way, doing so could keep him from falling apart. As if somehow, your arms being around him could squeeze all the million little shattered pieces of his heart back together again.

You knew deep down, exactly why he had been so afraid to watch you meet your potential end. It was the jet plunging into the depths of the icy blue, monstrous sea. He didn't want you to experience even a fraction of what he had and prayed you’d never have to. He swore a silent oath to himself to shield you away from as much of the horrifying world as he possibly could, but you were nearly dragged under by the clutches of Death herself that day, and he couldn't help but feel like he failed you.

You took in a deep breath, inhaling his fresh scent of coffee grounds and warm honey as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. For the briefest moment in time you could pretend everything was in fact, going to be okay, because it was just you and him wrapped up in each others' arms without a care in the world. It was just you and him, basking in each others' warmth, silent whispers of reassurance into his ear and repeated soft, fleeting kisses to his temple that reminded him you were still alive and breathing, and you were just fine.

For the first time in a long time, Steve Rogers felt whole again. The hole in his heart was gone, the void finally filled. And all it took was your presence, and your presence alone.

...

(if your username is striked out, that means i couldn’t add you)

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[fictionalmenmistress]

Shadow From The Window (Leonardo)

Imagine your scared of the dark and alone, but your sexy hero-in-the-half-shell comes to sleep at your side, after a long partol. Exausted, he forgets how easy you startle, and comforts you.

(SFW but blushy, leaning Fem!Reader/ but also gender-neutral, Bayverse Leo, no swearing, FLUFF, a lil spooky at the start but all sweet and completely handle-able. Its safe 💙)

(So, this is my first official post here and I'm so excited! First of all, HI EVERYONE! I'm so happy to have found my peoples and to be here uwu, I love you all. Hopefully, this brings you comfort to rest before bed, or in the middle of the night. Want me to do one for all the boys? Lemme know!💙)

I am writing this at 2-3 am, after imagining this scenario to comfort myself, settling down to rest. The thought of Leo hiding in the dark, makes the dark a lot less scary. (Tho I decided to write it instead of resting lol) LETS GET IT!

Its 3 am in your studio apartment.

You've been living in New York city for a while now, but its always been a hassle to fall asleep in your own place. That's been the hardest adjustment after leaving home... how scary it can be on your own. Truth be told, you're 'scared of the dark'. Not nescessarily scared of the darkness itself, but the shadows in the corner of the room... the random noises and things that go bump in the night... the mere thought in the back of your mind that something, as ridiculous as it sounds to others, will come and get you once your guard is down.

There you lied, stiff as a board on your back. The covers, pulled up to your neck, as you breathed in and out as silently as you could. Why did you still feel like you had to hide from monsters or bad guys in your own home? "Dang it, y/n..." you sighed, wiping the nervous cold sweat from your forehead, overheating internally from the anxiety.

"WHY... why did I have to watch that horror movie with Donnie?" You thought, internally shouting at yourself. "He said its not scary, that its 'too absurd to be plausible, and thus won't trigger a reaction of fear'. So much for a slow and steady introduction to the genre!"

You should have known when Raph said "Nope, I'm out." Donnie sat there the whole time, laughing at the movie at the scariest and most ill-timed moments... and you recall just glaring at him, teeth chattering, whispering to yourself:

"Yeah, he's cracked alright."

Just because something isn't scientifically proven, doesn't mean it can't happen... or hasn't happened, right?

"Ugh..." you groaned, curling your lips into a gremace, scared your groan was too loud amongst the unsettling silence. "I can't sleep with the lights on again..."

Glancing toward your phone, you noticed a blue light illuminate the screen, informing you that you got a new text. But that blue light... it instantly made you think of the blue-loving turtle you so dearly loved. The light of your life.

'Leo would protect me.'

Ah, that comforting reminder that you would feel so safe in your boyfriend's arms... if only he were here with you.

But... he wasn't. He was probably out on patrol, far away, and unable to come any time soon, even if he could.

"That's it." You said, taking and deep breath and mustering up all of your courage, throwing the covers off and dashing to the light switch.

*flick!* And... everything in the room was normal. It was comforting, but you scolded yourself for not accepting that everything was already secure, and nothing was lurking in the dark.

Everything was still, as you closed your curtains and lied back down in bed.

"Light on it is." You sighed, before the light suddenly flickered by itself.

"Oh crap-" you muttered, taking a gulp, as the power went out. "OH CRAP, ITS JUST LIKE THE MOVIE-"

Now, you felt screwed. You lied as still as possible, for what felt like forever, refusing to close your eyes. Dang it... DANG it!

Grabbing your phone light, you quickly tip-toed to the bathroom, trying to pee as fast as you could, so you could get back to your warm bed where it feels semi-safe.

As soon as you opened the bathroom door, you noticed your curtains flowing and twirling in the night wind. Street sounds from the never-sleeping city below echoed faintly through your widely-opened window.

"My window... is open?" You thought in horrified shock, examining your surroundings in the dark carefully.

You froze in your tracks, as your phone light turned itself off.

BATTERY TOO LOW TO USE FLASHLIGHT, PLEASE CHARGE.

A chill went down your spine, as you stood there in the center of everything, slowly backing to a corner, where you planned to crouch in the fetal position, so you could see all angles of the room for the rest of the night.

You took another step back, and another, before you bumped into a large mass, standing behind you.

'Not the wall...' your brain registered, feeling the heat of whomever or whatever this tall thing was, radiating against your back.

"Hello, beautiful~" A deep voice chuckled, startling you.

Jolting around, you saw a dark, tall shadow, looming before you.

The fear disoriented you, quickly rushing adrenaline through your body, as your fight or flight reacted. You quickly let out a shriek, chucking your dying phone at the shadow and darting quickly toward the window.

The shadow caught the phone instantly, with lightning fast reflex, as a large hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist, gently yet firmly pulling you back into the room before you crawled out onto the fire escape.

"WHOA, hey hey! Y/N easy! Its okay." A gentle, farmiliar voice assured, gently pulling you around to face him. "Its just me!"

"L-let go!" You whimpered, still not realizing who it was. "P-please..."

"Hey, its me..." he softly whispered, as your breath began to steady, blinking a couple of times as his identity fully set in. "Shh, sh sh sh." He lulled.

"L-Leo?" You squeaked in disbelief.

The figure slowly leaned into the moonlight, casting over you from the open window, revealing his GORGEOUS, icy blue eyes. Those intense-yet-soft eyes... that you knew and loved more than anyone else's. That comforting, strong, lovingly soft gaze, that instantly reassured you that you were safe.

"Your aim is getting better," he softly chuckled, smirking with his adorable grin. Leo slowly slid your phone before you, onto the moonlit sheets, barely revealing his outstretched, chiseled, manly hands. "I'm so sorry I scared you, love. I didn't mean to... I would never on purpose..."

Leo's voice sounded composed, but also ashamed and regretful, as he became more serious to apologise. He always spoke so softly to you...

"Leo, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I-" you desparately assured, bursting into tears. "I-"

"Hey hey, I should have knocked, or called. I'm sorry I scared you, sweetheart. I thought I would suprise you in a good way, not startle you." He murmured, reaching his large hands out to gently grasp you, holding you in his arms.

"Oh... I'm so happy to see you!" You sighed, falling against him.

"Donnie felt bad about that scary movie, he told me about how scared you were and begged me to check on you." He whispered, with that composed, reassuring voice.

"Oh Leo... you really came." You whispered, sniffling back your tears.

"Of course, my love... I came straight here after patrol. I would have come sooner, but Raph was getting his shell handed to him by this big..." he hesitated, biting his lip.

"Leo?" You asked, wondering why he stopped.

"-You know what? It doesn't matter." He gently corrected, changing the subject.

"What? What was it?" You innocently asked, curling up against his warm, sculpted chest.

You could feel Leo's skin grow warmer with a blush, as he slowly and sweetly welcomed your embrace, holding you close.

"I'll tell you during daylight. Just... sweetie, I'll never let anything bad happen to you, as long as I live. You're safe, whether I'm near or far. Okay, sweetheart?" Leo promised with his deep innocent voice, planting a soft kiss against your forehead.

Suddenly, you heard a generator power on through your front door, and the power flicked back on.

You could at last see him. See his muscled arms around you, and the tails of his worn out blue mask resting against his chest, along side you. His plastron... rising and falling as he took in slow breaths.

Leo was so careful holding you in his arms... like you were this precious, tiny thing, that he adored with his entire existance.

"Hey, you... you there?" He muttered, growing increasingly bashful in his tension.

"I'm here." You gently assured with a smile, before pulling away to examine his handsome face.

Leonardo. Sexy, handsome, justly-confident, fierce leader. This fearless, giant turtle mutant, who was unlike anyone else in the world. His jaw clenched from sudden bashful nervousness, as his gaze shyed away from your eyes. Your stare always overwhelmed him... it was such an intimate thing to meet his eyes.

Leo cleared his throat, as he slowly reached out to your face, ever-so-carefully wiping away a tear from your cheek, watching intently and focusing as he did so.

Over cautiously gentle so he wouldn't risk hurting you with his strength.

"There we go..." he softly whispered in satisfaction, sighing with a relieved smirk.

"Can you..." you began, with every ounce of security and confidence you could muster. "Can you... stay? With me, all of tonight?"

You felt your cheeks blush intensely, blooming red, as Leo bit on his bottom lip. His eyes widened, as he fully realized your question.

"Y-yeah, o-of course I can..." Leo answered, all of a sudden a thousand times more innocent and adorable, intensely flattered and touched that you wanted him to stay at your side. "Uh... I'll... uh-" he began, moving back from kneeling on your bed before you, aimlessly pacing into your tiny kitchen.

Leo usually was so bold and certain, organized and authoritative, when he was on the move.

You recalled how you had seen first-hand how he can lay out the strategy of attack for the boys. He could be flipping into action, or running through the rooftops as he did it, with perfect coordination in his speech and movements. But with you and only you, Leo wasn't able to get the words out when he was this nervous or bashful.

He had a tendancy to overthink things.

Leo wandered into the cupboard, beginning to steep some tea on the stove as his tongue caught up with his brain.

"Do you want... tea?" He gently asked, clearing his throat.

Such husband material...

"Ah, sure." You grinned, sweetly answering.

You realized how safe and secure you felt now, with him in the studio. You weren't alone anymore.

Leo didn't say much while he prepared the tea. He hyper-focused to distract himself from the nervousness of staying at your place, ALONE with you for the night. He paced around without speaking... doing little thoughtful things, like closing the window and locking it for you, shutting the closet and bathroom door, and picking out the perfect cups for the two of you, from your DC glass cup collection.

(Leo liked the Nightwing one since it was blue, and he always gave you the batgirl one, because you loved purple. He loved it when you would geek out and tell him how those heroes were the perfect couple... it reminded him of the both of you, and hoped that you gushed about him like that when he wasn't around.)

Leo brought the cups over, moving carefully with his eyes on the glass, gently placing one in your hand, and his own at your bedside.

"I"ll sleep right here, beside you." He thought out loud, examining the hardwood floor panels.

"Ah, Leo, you're not sleeping on the ground." You ordered, taking a long drink from your cup.

"Its no trouble," he assured, unlatching and taking off his belt and sword straps, placing them on your countertop. Leo sat down across from your bed, and began taking off his customized traditional ninja footwear, so all that remained were his pants and mask.

Why did this make you blush and get so flustered, the way he lifted those muscular arms over his head? Its not like he's taking anything revealing off...

"Modest like Leo... modest like Leo..." you whispered under your breath, recomposing your wandering thoughts.

He slowly walked up to you, lying you back and pulling your covers over you. Leo gently placed his hand against your cheek, staring deep into your eyes, as a soft smile rested over his lips.

He slowly nuzzled his nose beside yours, cherishing every small movement, before planting a soft kiss on your forehead. Then, he pulled away.

You felt your arms involuntarily reach out to him, taking his face into your hands. You both stared innocently into one another's eyes, before you made a bold move, planting your lips against his. You gently kissed Leo's lips, and he kissed you back, in the most respectful, admirable, and sentimental way possible.

Kissing Leo always felt so intimate and special... even as soft and innocent as it was. Leo made the tiny gestures special to you again.

"Leo, would you please... hold me?" You whispered, tightly closing your eyes and resting your forehead against his. "Please, sleep with me tonight."

"S-sleep with-" he panicked, turning vibrant red. For the first time that night, he realized that you were wearing blue pj's... and you looked gorgeous in them. Suddenly his heart began to pound through his chest, as his posture stiffened. "Sleep... together? Like... m-make love together?"

"Ah not like that!" You bashfully assured, unable to hide your shy grin. "Just... sleep together, at least for tonight."

He took a deep breath in, that sounded shaky, like the remenants of your kiss and closeness gave him the chills. The thought of you being together in the most close and intimate form made him overwhelmed, causing him to slightly tremble. Leo invoulintarily giggled, pecking a kiss against your nose, before he pulled his mask off.

"Alright." He grinned, suddenly much more eager and confident, leaning close to you as he set his mask on your night stand, switching off the light switch with a mere stretch.

Suddenly, it was dark again. But, a peaceful dark.

"Will you, Leo?" You muttered.

"Yes." He whispered, so softly and so intimately, gazing bravely into your eyes. "Yes, Y/N."

You beamed with joy, resituating to the side of your bed, curling up and watching Leo with an adorable, excited expression. Leo broke out a nervous, adorable chuckle, as he hesitantly sat down on your bed, realizing how massive he was on the size of it. He downed his tea like a shot, (wanting to finish it as fast as possible, so he could do this soft and intimate thing with you) and clearing his throat. Blushing, he slowly lied down on his back, slowly turning to his side that faced you, and hesitantly placing his hand over your shoulder, unsure of what was too much touch.

You giggled, sliding his hand on your waist, so you could sit up and pull the covers over him. "O-oh..." Leo murmured, stiffening up from his shyness.

This was very overwhelming to him, since he really liked taking things slow and was inexperienced to everything involving romance before you. But... you loved that. It was like everything was new to you again too. It endeared you beyond belief.

You lied on your side, examining his face one last time, as he examined yours, trailing your fingertip across his sharp jawline.

"I really love you..." he whispered, meaning every word.

"I really love you too, Leo." You softly agreed, as you continued to smile.

You and Leo talked quietly for a bit, sweet whispers between soulmates, as you scratched his shell and caressed his shoulders to help relieve his stress and tension. He would slowly drift off more and more, talking less and less, gifting you with tiny, soft, slow kisses, all over your face instead.

You both drifted off to sleep, and slept wonderfully side by side, as safe and sweet as can be, just the two of you.

And, as you found out in the morning, Leo was a total, clingy cuddler in his sleep. Throughout the night, he had nuzzled closer and closer, wrapping his arms around you and cradling you, until you were cozy against his body, sharing the same warmth.

💙 Sweet dreams.💙

[lannister-slings-and-arrows]

Laugh With Me a Little- Frederick Chilton fanfic

(Gif by @humanveil )

Hey look! It’s been a few months! And I come back bearing gifts! This is another piece in a series that @pascalispretty and I have been slowly but surely working on, and here I now present it to you for your reading pleasure. This is technically an AU I suppose. We have made the executive decision to pretend that Jack Crawford can at least fake being a competent law enforcement officer and holster his gun properly while not in active pursuit of a suspect. You know, so Miriam Lass can’t just pluck it off his belt and shoot my darling anxious grumpy lonely loser weenie husband in the face. 

Part Two of the series A Sign That Someone Loves Me Part One: Sleep Therapy 

Warnings: oral sex (cunnilingus), smut, sex, past violence, mild reference to gore, Fred is a thicc boy and we love it, I suppose a bit of an AU lol Rating:  Explicit. There’s sex folks Word Count: 5929 not sorry at all Summary: You and Fred have only had bad days and worse nights since his release from FBI custody. Stuck under guard in a hotel, a bad joke, a good laugh and a well-timed trademark application might just help you and Fred start to connect again.

For the first time in weeks, you wake up slowly, naturally. There are no imagined monsters looming over the foot of your bed; there is no frantic husband shaking you awake to make sure you’re still alive, that you haven’t been taken from him in the night.

Instead, Fred sleeps soundly on as you stir awake. He’s flat on his back, one arm flung out towards you over the sheets. When you realize that he’s still asleep, you almost hold your breath for fear that even the slightest movement will wake him.

Even before Hannibal had broken into your home and strewn mutilated corpses about the place, Fred had been sleeping terribly. There had been nights when you had woken to find him simply staring at you, something unreadable written in those sharp green eyes.

By the time he had been released from prison and ushered into protective custody in the hotel suite the two of you still occupied, he was barely sleeping at all.

There were nights when he would shake you awake, convinced that Hannibal had somehow snuck in during the night, killed you, and then tucked you back into bed for Fred to find in the morning. Other nights, you would wake up to find him shaking and thrashing, transported back to Gideon’s makeshift operating table, or to your bloodied kitchen with disemboweled agents on display.

Yet this morning, he’s still and quiet, lips parted ever so slightly as he breathes evenly and deeply. After everything —being eviscerated by Gideon, framed by Hannibal, almost shot in the head by Miriam —lying beside him and listening to him breathe is better than music. Watching the rise and fall of his chest, being able to feel the warmth radiating off him, all the signs of life and vitality that you thought you’d never see again, is more than enough to content you as you lie beside him.

You’re not sure how long you lie there, just watching him sleep. It’s like a spell has been woven over the two of you, an aura of comfort and warmth enveloping you both. It almost saddens you when Fred starts to stir against the pillows. To your surprise, instead of waking up startled or panicked, he has a hint of a smile on his face.

“Hannibal the cannibal,” he whispers to himself, eyes still closed.

“What?” Your brow wrinkles in confusion, wondering what on earth about that moniker Fred could possibly find worth smiling about.

“It rhymes,” he murmurs, before turning his head to meet your worried gaze. “It —it fucking rhymes.” The smile on his face widens, and before you entirely know what’s happening, he’s laughing. It’s a sound that you’ve gone so long without hearing that it takes you entirely by surprise, leaving you in stunned silence as he carries on chuckling to himself.

His laughter is infectious, and soon the two of you have tears streaming from your eyes as you laugh together, sides sore and cheeks aching. Fred gathers you close and drops a kiss on the top of your head, a casual gesture that’s so reminiscent of times untainted by fear or desperation that it almost makes you want to cry.

Fred kicks away the sheets, and scrambles for his laptop where he had left it on the hotel desk.

“What’re you doing?”

“You think I’m going to pass up the chance to trademark ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’? I’m scared, not stupid.” 

********

The two of you have a really good day. 

You convince him to leave the hotel and do a little shopping, have lunch at an actual restaurant, after which you take a nap on the couch in your room with his head in your lap, face buried in your stomach. 

After dinner he sits down on the bed with you and just stares into your eyes, lacing your fingers together. And you lean over and kiss him. Really kiss him. Easily. Not the desperate kiss of him being released from prison, or a terrified kiss after a nightmare, or the reassuring kisses he needs sometimes when he thinks you’re being followed or he loses track of you for a minute. A real kiss, just because you want to and he’s handsome and there in front of you.

It doesn't take long for him to pull you closer, tugging you up onto his lap so he can hold you tightly to him. All the room service food has been good to him; he'd lost weight while he was being detained, so you can't help but grin at how broad and squeezable he once again feels. He hasn't shaved in a day or two, and his stubble scratches like the old days at your face.

Both of his hands cradle your face close to his, tilting it to the perfect angle so he can lick into your mouth ever so gently. You love the scratch on your cheeks, the burn on your skin from his whiskers, savoring the pain because you know you won’t be able to convince him to keep it much longer. 

You wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him before bringing a hand back around to slip under his sweater and rub gently at his growing belly — but over his shirt because he still gets skittish about his scar being touched. You feel him start to harden under you and you smile wider into the kiss.

“Hello there, Fred,” you sigh.

It feels like it's been an age since you last felt like this, just indulging in one another. Before his arrest, the two of you had been too angry with one another to even consider it and afterwards you'd both been a little too on edge. 

"Hi there," he murmurs back, one of his hands sliding down your side to tug at your hip, pulling you even closer to him. It feels so achingly familiar, like you're right back in your bedroom at the old house helping him tug his sweater over his head, not here in the hotel. The movement messes up his hair, and you can't help but run your fingers through it, letting your nails scratch lightly at his scalp, just how you know he likes it.

His eyes flutter closed, you feel his cock twitch under you, and he moans quietly, hands clutching convulsively at you. Your insides burn at the noise, your whole body warming at the feel of him around you and under you again. The smell of his shampoo is intoxicating, the feel of his long fingers burrowing under your shirt to pet lightly at your bare skin shoots lightning bolts of pure sensation from their point of origin and into your brain and your toes, lighting every nerve in between on fire. 

He opens his soft green eyes and you start to drown in them; but drown slowly because there’s no need to rush this time. You’re safe, he’s safe, and no one is going to take him away from you again. You lean forward to kiss him, your fingers still tangled in his now hopelessly mussed hair.

You could lose yourself in his kiss alone, your every sense completely overwhelmed by him. His long fingers start to tug at your shirt, and you whine when you have to break your kiss and lean back so he can pull it over your head. You're not sure how long the two of you stay like this, his hands at your waist and your fingers in his hair, making out like teenagers. 

For the first time in weeks, you're utterly present with one another; there are no monsters hiding under the bed distracting you. You practically purr when Fred shifts, pushing you down so you're on your back and he's lying between your legs. The feeling of his warm, broad bulk pressing you into the mattress only makes you wetter, rocking your hips ever so slightly upwards against him.

He presses down harder into you, allowing almost all of his weight to settle on top of you and he stops kissing you. He pulls back and stares at you, smiling when you frown and try and chase his lips. 

“Patience, darling, patience.” You huff and then moan when he shifts his own hips and drives the seam on your pants tighter against you. He rests his forehead against yours and sighs, hips stilling, eyes closed, cock hard against your center. His arms are bracketing your head as he bumps his nose against yours. 

“I missed you,” he admits softly.

"I missed you too," you tell him, brushing his hair carefully back from his forehead. "This feels so nice." You let your eyelids flutter shut, relishing the cosiness and warmth and intimacy. Fred hums in agreement, mouthing his way across your jaw and down to your neck. 

His weight on you is so comforting, such a solid reminder that he's here, safe and with you, and you find yourself tugging at his shoulders trying to pull him closer still. The kisses he's trailing down your neck make you shiver, every press of his lips only adding to the heat pooling in your core.

He’s subtly rocking against you, with little flicks of his hips that serve only to tease you, not to provide any real relief. You whine in the back of your throat as you feel him drag his teeth softly against your neck on a more forceful thrust. His belly expands against yours, you can feel every breath he takes and it’s glorious, having warm, heavy proof of his vitality. You clutch at him as he goes to sit up. 

“No, Fred, wait—.” He bends down again and kisses your nose and then each eyelid and then finally your lips, hands going to the bottom of his shirt and pulling it off, leaving himself bare and exposed above you. You take in the sight of so much smooth skin, marked only by the still pink scar that Abel Gideon left, and you start to tear up.

It's such a vivid reminder of the last time you almost lost him, of the frantic phone call summoning you to the hospital while they tried to replace your husband's innards as best they could. Fred knows you well enough to know that your reaction isn't one of disgust (though it had taken weeks to convince him his scars didn't affect your attraction to him in the slightest). He knows it reminds you of how close you came to losing him all over again, and a few tears break free and slide down your face. 

"I'm right here," he murmurs soothingly, kissing away your tears with the lightest brush of his lips. "I'm not going anywhere." One of his hands comes up to cup your face gently, his green eyes boring into yours as your foreheads touch again.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hang off of him like a ragdoll, clinging more tightly than can possibly be comfortable for him. He doesn't say a word, he just shifts his weight, leaning more heavily on his elbows so he doesn’t fall onto you. Fred stares at you, hands on your face, your tears running over his fingers. You try to focus on the feeling of his warm skin pressed so deliciously against yours and you breathe deeply, finally letting go of him with one arm to reach down and tug on his belt buckle. He flicks his eyes briefly away from your teary ones to your hand resting on his waistband and looks back up at you. 

“Are you sure?” he asks quietly, tracking a few more tears as they make their way down your face. “We can just stay like this tonight.” You shake your head and smile at him, stretching your neck up to capture his lips again while you tug insistently on his belt. He moans when you card the fingers of your free hand through the thick hair on the back of his head and yank, and he swipes away the tear tracks on your cheekbones with his thumbs before sitting up again.

For a long moment, he just looks at you. His fingers trace absent patterns along your sides, and the gentle touch only makes you want more from him.

 "Take this off for me?" he asks rather than orders you, his long fingers brushing against the bottom of your bra. You're eager to comply, sitting up just enough to allow you to unclasp it and throw it somewhere to the side. Instead of trying to touch your breasts, Fred's fingers go to the waistband of your pants. "Can I?" He waits for you to nod eagerly before he tugs them and your underwear down. With you laid out bare before him, he kneels between your legs and savours the sight of you, the intensity of his gaze making your skin feel hot without him even having to touch you.

“Fred, come on, please,” you beg him, smiling up at your husband. “You’re a little overdressed.” He smirks back at you and stretches out on the bed, his shoulders shoving your legs further apart. 

“I’ll get to that eventually,” he assures you, turning his head to place a series of kisses on the inside of one knee and then the other. He looks up at you from his place between your legs, his face so close to where you want it, where it hasn’t been in what feels like forever, and tells you, “I’ve been dreaming about this since we started fighting. I want to eat you out until you can’t even remember my name to scream.” Your breath hitches and you pet your fingers through his hair. “Is that okay with you, darling?”

"God, yes," you gasp out, knowing full well that you've been dreaming of much the same lately. His breath is warm against your thigh as he lets out a soft chuckle, and you try to let yourself relax as he kisses his way up the sensitive skin. 

At the first touch of his velvet tongue against your cunt, you throw your head back against the pillows and sigh. It's been far too long; you're so sensitive that your body feels like one long exposed nerve ending. You tug at Fred's hair, and nearly weep at the sensation of him moaning against you. "Oh, fuck, that feels so good. Missed you," you manage between heaving breaths.

His tongue flicks across your clit hard, fast, and you whine, high and long in the back of your throat, your breath coming in short, sharp pants. “Fred –Fred, god, Fred that feels—” His hair is so soft and fine between your fingers, his mouth so warm and wet between your legs. Your face is flushed and you feel an orgasm building in the center of you already, a hot, burning bloom spreading in waves through you, and your fingers clench in his hair. He’s about to shove you over that ledge and— 

He leans back and rests his stubbly cheek on your thigh, looking up at you with eyes swirling with mischief, a smile lighting up his whole face and slick glistening on his chin. You blink stupidly at him, chest heaving, orgasm receding. 

“What-—?” 

He brings his fingers around to ghost over your slit gently, eyes flicking from yours to your cunt, and he licks his lips, rubbing his cheek against the inside of your knee.

"I did tell you to be patient." He smirks, pressing lazy kisses along your skin. "What's your rush, darling?" he asks in a tone of voice that makes you want to kick him. 

"You were the one that wanted to make me scream," you huff sulkily, which only makes him smirk more. He carries on trailing kisses up your thighs, and after what feels like an eternity, licks a firm line along your cunt. Your fingers tighten in his hair, desperate to keep him exactly where he is as he languidly mouths over you, in no hurry at all to get you off. 

He's always been attentive when it comes to making sure you finish; you've teased him more than once that he enjoys you praising him while he makes you come almost as much as he likes getting to come himself. "So good at this, Fred," you sigh happily, petting his hair.

He mumbles something against you, you don’t know what, but it feels fantastic and your nails drag against his scalp. He moans and you look down your body to see his hips rutting gently against the mattress. 

“Jesus, Fred. Fuck this feels amaz—” you break off to keen sharply, one knee jerking up against the side of his head as he sucks hard on your clit, letting go to briefly nibble and then returning to fucking you with his tongue. You throw your head back as all of your muscles clench and your body tries to curl in on itself. He holds your legs open when they try to close around his head and he goes back to sucking on your clit and you feel your legs start to twitch and shake. 

“Fred, Fred, fuck, yes, just like that,” you whine at him, his hair tangled in your fingers. He suddenly presses two fingers inside of you, lips still wrapped around your clit, and you can’t breathe except in short, sharp gasps and when he curls his fingers up just like that to drag against your top wall you come. You feel like you’ve been electrocuted and you whine, “Fred, oh, fuck, yes!”

He doesn't stop or check his pace at all; he simply uses his free hand to keep your hips still as he carries on, dragging out your orgasm. You can barely get enough air into your lungs to breathe, especially when he starts to suck lightly on your clit again. 

"Oh, God, Fred—," you whimper, clutching weakly at his hair as you let yourself give into the overwhelming pleasure. He crooks his fingers just so inside of you, pressing against that spot that makes your toes curl and your vision whiten. It doesn't take him long at all to push you over the edge again, more tears creeping from beneath your lashes at the exquisite feeling.

You’re a whimpering teary-eyed mess as he starts to finally slow the pace of his fingers and ceases sucking on your clit. Your breath is coming in sharp inhales and even shorter exhales, your vision a little grey around the edges as he gently cleans you up of everything he’s been able to wring out of you with long, slow licks of his tongue. 

Tears are still quietly making their way down your cheeks and onto the pillow beneath you and every single muscle in your body twitches when he bumps against your clit. The groan that fights its way out of your chest when he eventually pulls his fingers out of your cunt is truly impressive and immediately echoed by one of his own. 

“Fred,” you sigh quietly, unable to keep a bit of a sob out of your voice. He looks up at you from where he’s watching your cunt clench around nothing as he licks his hand clean and frowns, adorable furrows appearing on his brow, lips starting to purse. 

“Darling, hey, don’t cry, no.” He stretches out on top of you, all of his weight crushing you into the mattress again and wraps his arms around you. 

“That was so good Fred,” you tell him, burying your face in his neck and hanging on to him tightly, nails digging into his back just hard enough to leave a few marks till the morning. "So good to me," you murmur against his neck, soothed by the feeling of his warm bulk pressing you into the bed, and his stubble scratching against your face. 

"Are you alright? Was it too much?" Fred asks, petting at your hair as best as he can while you cling to him. He sounds apologetic, and you shake your head adamantly. 

"No. I just— I really have missed you." You press your knees more tightly to his sides and tilt your hips upwards to drive your point home. "Missed how good you are at making me come. Missed how hot it is to watch you fuck me from behind in the mirror. I’ve missed it all." You carry on rocking your hips up, gratified when he starts to move with you. "God, and I've missed the way you feel inside me. Don't you miss it? Miss those little naps we used to take with your cock buried inside me, keeping me nice and full?"

His cock twitches and he groans into your hair, his fingers tangling in the long strands and tugging in time with the roll of your hips. 

“Ye— yes,” he hisses, bare chest starting to heave against yours, his skin warm and smooth and soft, a little slick with sweat in places. “I missed—” One of his hands strokes down your side to grab your leg and hoist it higher against his hips, this new angle opening you up further to him. “I missed how warm you are, how tight around my cock, how you seem to fit me exactly. Like you were made to surround me forever.” His chin digs into your head and you whimper at the feeling of the front of his slacks dragging across your exposed and still over-sensitive clit. 

“Fred, Fred, oh, god, fill me up again, I don’t want to go any longer without—” He squeezes your knee and nods, still moving his hips against yours. 

“I missed you so much, you’re all I thought about in there, your—” You both moan and you bite into his neck, whining as another orgasm, almost painful this time, begins to burn through your body, starting at your cunt and rolling its way to your fingers, gaining momentum and searing his name across every nerve in your body. “How good you felt, your fingers in my hair,” Fred continues to speak but all you can hear is the blood pounding in your ears. 

“Fuck, Fred, yes, don’t stop, please, please, like that,” you wail.

A loud sob escapes you as you’re dragged over the edge of your third climax of the night, every muscle in your body taut as pleasure races through your veins once more. A few more tears fight their way free, the overstimulation on your clit starting to make you sore, but you’re not done yet. 

Before you’ve even really finished coming down from your orgasm, you push your hands between your body and Fred’s, trying to undo his pants with clumsy fingers. He grunts against your hair and bats your hands away, sitting up only for as long as it takes to free himself of his remaining clothes. 

You only get the briefest of glimpses of him finally naked before he falls back onto you, pressing kisses along your neck, all thoughts of patience long abandoned. You wrap one of your hands around his cock and guide him into you, crying out loudly as he buries himself to the hilt inside of you. His arms wrap tightly around you, holding you to him as he grinds himself as deeply as he can into your cunt.

He stills, nestled deep inside of you, not moving for whole seconds, an interminably long time, and you both breathe harshly, staring at each other, heads pressed together, warm air fanning across your cheeks in sharp pants. His cock twitches inside of you and you clamp down on it, whining when he grinds his pelvis harder against yours in response. 

“Can’t—” he huffs. “Stop moving— just, stay here,” Fred orders, breathless and red-faced. You nod and savor the feeling of him inside you again, of being full and covered and smothered. Of struggling to take a breath because of his weight on top of you and him sitting inside of you. Both of your legs are wrapped high around his waist and you grip his forearms that are bracketing your head. His eyes are practically glowing as you pant, 

��God, Fred, fuck, you— I feel so full, this feels so good—” He twitches again and you feel like the oxygen has suddenly been snatched from the entire hotel. “You feel so fucking good, Jesus just, fuck me, please!” You’re begging him now and you can’t find it in you to care.

He gives a short, sharp thrust that makes you both moan, and he buries his nose into your hair. 

"Won't last," he murmurs, almost apologetically. "Been too long." Your nails scrabble along his back, trying to get him to move again. As much as you want to prolong the feeling of him inside you, the feeling of being so utterly encompassed and full, you can't bear him being still right now. 

"I don't care, Fred, please—" You almost sob when he groans into your hair and starts to move. He tries to start off slow, but it's been far too long for that kind of pace to last. Instead, he goes faster than he normally prefers, chasing his first orgasm in weeks. You can't get enough of him; even though you're starting to feel sore, you never want him to stop making those quiet, pleased little sounds right against your ear.

He groans quietly every time he fills you, stretches you, punches the air right out of your lungs with sharp thrusts of his hips. His cock drags against your walls and you gasp. 

“Jesus, Fred.” He huffs a quiet moan in your ear and grabs your thigh, pushing your leg higher and thrusting harder, deeper. “Fred!” you practically shriek, nails digging into his sides, as the head of his cock hits something that makes your toes curl and your calves jerk. Fred lets go of one of your legs to slip his fingers between you and rub tight circles over your clit, panting, 

“Come on, darling, one more, you can do it.” You sob and shake your head, hanging on to his shoulder and the hair at the back of his head. 

“Fred, Fred, please, please, this feels so good come on, just come.” He grunts and presses harder. 

“You can, one more, I know you can.”

“‘S too much,” you whine, even as you buck your hips up into his touch. Every brush of his fingers or press of his hips sends a wave of heat burning through your veins and down to your core, but every touch is tinged with the barest hint of pain. Fred moves his mouth over your neck, dragging his teeth over your sensitive skin in a way that only sends you higher. 

“So good for me, darling. Just one more, I want to feel you come around me.” How could you refuse him that? You scratch at his back, his shoulders, his sides, trying to anchor yourself to something as the overwhelming pleasure starts to make you boneless and lightheaded. You sob something that might have been his name, or a curse, or anything in between as you finally come, bearing down hard on his cock and burying your face against his neck. Four isn’t even your record, but you’ve gotten out of practice of late. You get a glimpse of Fred’s hair sticking up in fifteen different directions as he leans back up to kiss you.

You whimper into his mouth as he keeps rocking his hips into you at a brutal pace, his cock moving against sensitive walls and sending shocks against your clit with every thrust. It’s too much, it hurts, it burns, and it feels so good; your thighs try to clutch him even closer but his shoulders keep pressing them apart and close to your chest. He releases your lips and just rests his face next to yours, panting, 

“God, close, close.” 

You cling to him, trying to pull him as tight against you as possible, to feel every inch of his bare skin sliding against yours— you never want to leave this moment right here, this moment where it’s finally just the two of you again, no Gideon, no Hannibal, no FBI, no one but him and his heartbeat against your chest, his breath across your face. 

“Inside, come inside me, please, Fred, it feels—” you plead, a couple more tears leaking out as his cock continues to grind into you, hitting every delicious already overstimulated spot. “Feels so good, you feel so good, please, please.”

Fred chokes out a gasp, your name, and helps you in your quest for closeness. He grips you tightly to him and his cock pulses inside of you, you feel him flood your cunt and his hips stutter to a halt. He rests heavily on top of you and deep inside you; it doesn’t seem to you like he wants to let you go any more than you want him to be more than a centimeter away from you.

The two of you lie like that for a long while, even after Fred has softened inside you. Neither of you wants to be the first to move, to break the spell of quiet intimacy that has settled over you both. If you close your eyes, you could be right back in your bed in Baltimore, instead of some anonymous hotel room in DC under assumed names. The world has shrunk to the size of the two of you, and you bury your head into the crook of his neck to keep it that way for just a little longer. 

Yet despite your wishes, you can’t stay like that forever. Already a deep ache is making itself known in your core and your thighs; you’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to keep your legs pressed so tightly against Fred’s torso. You have to bite your lip to stop yourself whimpering at the burn in your muscles when you eventually shift your legs lower, but Fred notices your discomfort anyway. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” he asks softly, brushing your hair back so he can stroke your face. 

“Sore,” you manage pathetically, a sharp little cry forcing its way out of your throat at the sensation of him pulling out of you. 

“How sore?” His tone changes in an instant, and he tries to sit up to get a better look at you. You don’t let him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck to keep him close. 

“Nothing a hot bath won’t fix, don’t worry. I’m just out of practice,” you say lightly, trying to keep him from worrying. It doesn’t entirely work; he carefully shifts to move his weight off of you until he’s on his back and your head is resting on his chest. You can hear the steady thud of his heartbeat like your own personal lullaby, and you can feel your eyelids getting heavier. 

He lets you rest for a moment, silent and steady under you, before heaving a sigh and kissing the top of your head. 

“You’re going to have to let me up if you want that bath, sweetheart,” he informs you cheekily. You groan, clutching him around his waist tighter before releasing him with a sigh. He slips out from under you and stands, turning slightly to stare at you with a soft smile stretching his chubby cheeks for a few extra seconds before padding quietly to the bathroom. You smile and shamelessly ogle his ass as he walks away from you. 

Fred comes back a few minutes later, still buck naked and on display for you, and grins back when he catches you checking him out. 

“See something you like?” he asks, stopping by the side of the bed and extending a hand to help you sit up. You grasp his long, warm fingers and barely suppress an eye roll. You missed your cocky husband, you have to remind yourself. And it's not like he doesn’t have anything to be cocky about. 

“Don’t fish for compliments,” you tell him, sitting up with a wince. He notices. “It’s unbecoming of a man of your stature.” Fred moves to take your arm and he gently tugs you out of bed, handsome face still pulled into a worried frown.

The two of you make your way slowly to the bath, Fred walking by your side and insisting on maintaining a pace more suitable for an invlid, but you do eventually make it and settle into water hot enough to cook a lobster— just the way you like it.

“Mmmm,” you groan, resting back against Fred’s chest and tugging his arms around you securely. “This is wonderful.” 

“You know what would make this even better?” you ask him.

“Better?” he responds with fake offense, a little bit of his old barely-restrained snobbery huffing back into his tone, and to hear it again makes you warmer than any bubble bath. “What else can I do for you this evening, my darling girl?”

“Some bubbly to go with these bubbles would be wonderful.”

He huffs a laugh and you feel him relax further still against the tub wall behind you, his lassitude pulling you back with him, a tide you’re more than happy to be swept away by.

“It’s a shame there isn’t an FBI agent we can’t call up to deliver that,” you muse, really carried away now by the idea of having some champagne.

“Really it would be the very least they could do,” Fred says.

“But you probably would criticize their choice of vintage.”

“Naturally. We don’t pay taxes to provide culture to Quantico.”

You smile and lean against him, playing with the bubbles rising in irregular, sudsy mountains around you. Fred has gone quiet, and you tune yourself to feel any of that old skittishness, any unease, worried that bringing up the FBI had conjured malevolent spirits into the suite. His fingers are moving mindlessly, no pensively, under the water, crawling against your thigh in contemplation.

“What is it?” you ask, voice easy.

“It’s not as easy to rhyme,” he says.

You have no idea what he is talking about but it feels as if you should. “What isn’t?” you ask.

“This ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’ trademark, that’s just the first step. Why not a brand? Champagne for a Rampage, no, that’s not right…”

You sit up and turn around.

“Frederick. Are you…. Are you thinking up names for a Hannibal branded champagne?”

“‘Brut fit for a brute’ is too wordy, don’t you think?”

“Fred!” You’re horrified, but he’s so serious you’re in danger of thinking this might be a good idea.

“Is this too niche? For a Rosé, ‘This is my d'assemblage.”

You look at each other and you have no idea what to say. The only thing you can do is laugh.

He grins at you, relieved you find the humor in this. “This has potential,” he tells you.

“You’re mad,” you say, but you can’t stop smiling.

“Why shouldn’t we profit from this?” he asks.

“Whatever you want, Fred,” you say and you mean it, because you want to give him everything, everything he wants, wants him to enjoy it all and be there to witness it. You lean in and kiss him. “Whatever you want.”

[prinxlyart]

Your Vinira is sSO SWEET MY HEART US MELTING! How Viney not only accept Emira' stutter but straight up loves it?! Oh my poor bleeding heart! Now, my own question: How do the redeemed Blight parents react to their relationship?

Ooohhh see at least in my Willumity headcanons, Alador and Odalia don’t redeem themselves for several years. Like, maybe 8 or 9 years from when our girls first start dating. I imagine Viney and Emira become a thing in roughly the same time frame. So Emira doesn’t even tell her parents about her girlfriend. Viney introduces Emira to her parent(s) (eventually, maybe after like 6 months of dating?? Maybe a year?) and they are super wary at first because a Blight???? Is dating our daughter?????? And Viney reassures them that yes, they’re dating and it’s not some wild ruse. That being said, the heads of the Blight family also don’t know they’re dating so like. They’re trying to keep their relationship on the DL.

But if I’m gonna dip deeper......

( way deeper. This is another one of those Long One’s, lol )

I think....if Alador and Odalia catch wind of their daughters dating people they don’t approve of, there would be hell to pay. Like, all of them being grounded until further notice and that means escorts to and from school, no friends, no extra curricular activities, nothing but school and home. Not even their “approved friends” are able to communicate with them because their scrolls would be confiscated. Tutors (babysitters) while they do homework and further studying on weekends. No contact with the outside world. And if they even try to speak with anyone at school? They’ll all be pulled from Hexside and be homeschooled from then on.

All the while they’ll be using their connections to have Viney, Willow and Luz expelled, permanently. They may not have too much sway over these delinquents’ lives, but they’re going to make sure they’ll never be able to advance in society. And then they find out that this “Luz” is the Human that dared go against Emperor Belos? I can’t even begin to imagine the hell they’d bring down on them all.

So yeah, there’s a lot of disaster scenarios like that that haunt the Blight girls and ensure that they’ll never tell their parents of their relationships and will keep most displays of affection away from the rats that would somehow get the word back to them. At first it might hurt Luz and Viney to not be able to be affectionate, but Willow 100% understands. She already has that history looming over her in her memory. Viney and Luz will often use the Secret Room of Shortcuts in order to just hang out with their respective girls between breaks when they can.

I genuinely don’t know how the timeline of events will play out in the show in regards to Belos and the portal. It could take just days, weeks, months??? Years???? Before he’s taken down accordingly and a new portal is made.

Regardless, I like to think that in that time though, the moment the twins turn 18, they leave and they take Amity with them. They’re not just going to sit idly by anymore. Whether that means revoking their family name by some intensive ritual or just fleeing and using whatever money they took with them to find an apartment somewhere, they need to get out from under their parents’ thumb. As soon as they’ve established new lives for themselves, they are as open with their relationships as they want. They might even be a little over-eager, what with Amity kissing her girlfriends for probably too long at school in front of everyone, or Emira actively distracting Viney from her work while on the clock.

By the time we get to the point where they’re trying to re-enter their children’s lives, it’s stiff and awkward at best and like bulls butting heads at worst. The Blights are using any method they can to bring their children back home, whether it’s promises of extra freedom or putting in a good word to their coven of choice; even sending them extravagant gifts that none of them want. This maybe goes on for about a year before the twins and Amity agree to meet with their former parents. They bring their respective partners with them too; not as back up or anything, but mostly as moral support and as a giant middle finger to their parents.

Alador and Odalia don’t hold back their disdain. For their children’s’ foolishness, for their childish behavior thats ruffled so many feathers within the Emperor’s coven, for the damage they’ve all done to the Blight name; and for their daughters’ choices in partners.

They could take all of the other nonsense their parents were spouting, but being so outwardly hostile to their respective partners??? That causes Emira to nearly turn the entire Blight Manor upside down and Amity to summon an abomination large enough to chuck the manor into the Boiling Sea with her parents inside. Edric manages (somehow) to keep them both sane long enough to continue their conversation, at which point I think the Blights simply write off their girls’ anger as petty childishness.

And that. Is what sets off Luz, Willow and Viney. They absolutely go off on the Blights and just tear them both a new one. I think it’s been a long time since the Blights actually feared anyone besides the Emperor, but in that meeting, they feared these teenagers who seemed to radiate more power than they’d ever been witness to before. I think Emira and Amity are both shocked but Edric just gets comfortable and summons some popcorn to watch the show because finally, someone is telling off these miserable witches they used to call their parents.

They don’t meet with their parents again for a few more years after that encounter. I think Emira and Viney maybe break up once for a week before getting back together due to a misunderstanding, but Amity couldn’t possibly be happier with her life as it goes on, free from her parents and being able to be with her girls as she wants.

Over the course of the following years, they all still receive correspondence from their parents. On every birthday, they send a sum of money and a simple greeting. Every holiday season is the exact same. I think Luz is the only one to actually reach out to Alador and Odalia. I think she sends them a photo of their most recent holiday get together; where everyone is smiling or laughing or making messes or whatever. The exact opposite of every holiday held at the Blight Manor. They see each of their children, smiling and looking truly happy. And on the back, Luz maybe writes something about wanting to speak to them. Alone. Not with Amity or Willow, not with Emira or Viney, not with Edric, no one else. Just Luz and the Blights. They agree.

When Luz meets with them, it’s tense. They’re all quiet and stiff and still have an aura of hatred hanging between them. But Luz clears her throat and informs them that she’s planning on proposing to Amity and Willow. She’s still not sure when, or how, but it’s something she’s planning. She also informs them that if they don’t want to miss another wedding, they’d better clean their acts up and fast. And she just hands them a small scrapbook full of pictures of Emira and Viney’s wedding. They hadn’t even known it had happened. They weren’t informed, let alone invited, and Luz was granting them possibly the only chance they’ll ever have again at being in their children’s lives. Luz lets them know to reach out to her if they decide they want to be in their kids’ lives again and leaves them with the scrapbook.

When they do reach out, Luz shows up at Blight Manor with three others in tow: Eda and Lilith Clawthorne and Camila Noceda. They are three different kinds of pissed and the Blights have the good sense to just be good hosts and invite them in with little fanfare or argument. They all settle in with cups of tea and I think Lilith goes first; she tells them about how she’s had the opportunity to watch Amity grow up, even more so after she abandoned the Emperor’s coven. Over time she still acted as something of a mentor, but also as a parental figure when she or the twins needed her to be. She was honored to officiate Emira and Viney’s wedding. She’s grateful to be part of their lives because she’s been a witness to their incredible achievements. She really digs the knife in deeper when she tells them that Emira and Viney are considering having kids but Emira’s been especially hesitant due to fears that she’ll somehow end up like her parents.

Eda goes next, not even having touched her tea, just sitting with her legs and arms crossed and glaring at them in the most severe way. She tells them about the various sleepovers she’s hosted over the years. How at least half of those sleepovers found Eda talking outside with at least one Blight child if not all of them in the middle of the night.

She tells them she got herself a scroll for the first time ever because she knew those kids needed an adult figure that wouldn’t reprimand them for existing. They needed an adult figure to go to for comfort and guidance, someone that could reassure them that their best is more than enough. They don’t need to work themselves into the ground for a scrap of approval or force themselves into the rigid mold their parents made for them.

She tells them she’s seen more tears from the Blight kids than she’s ever seen from any other kind of creature. Not even Luz cried as often as they did, and she’s a giant softy (Luz lets out an indignant “hey!” At that and pouts). She tells them that she, Edalyn Clawthorne, the Boiling Isles Most Wanted, has provided more warmth and comfort for their kids in the time she’s known them than they [the Blight Parents] had in their lives.

Eda hasn’t had magic for years. But everyone knew how powerful she once was. They had all gone to school together too, of course they remember her and the trouble she caused. She lets them know that if she even had an ounce of the magic she once had, she would use it to decimate the Blight parents in every way possible for causing so much harm to three bright, talented, loving children that have grown into some of the most powerful witches the Boiling Isles has to offer. She also lets them know that before they even consider being part of those kids’ lives again, they have a lot of shit to work on and sort out. Because if they don’t? It doesn’t matter whether or not Eda has magic. She will decimate them.

Finally Camila sets her empty tea cup down and levels them with the most venomous stare she can. She’s the only one of Luz’s guests that’s actually also a biological mother. If she could, she’d probably go Super Saiyan with the sheer power she’s exuding with this stare. The Blights actually flinch which causes Lilith to have to hide a chuckle (she’s been on the receiving end of that rage before and she’s excited to see it unleashed on them).

She just starts tearing into them like her life depends on it. She doesn’t hold back in the slightest. She admonishes them for holding their social status at a higher priority than the safety and happiness of their own children. Her criticisms and curses are all laid out with razor precision. The longer she goes on, the more the Blights shrink in on themselves. Alador definitely starts crying at one point but refuses to wipe his tears away because he knows there’ll just be more anyway. The Clawthornes are shocked at seeing him cry, throughout their time at Hexside and while Lilith worked with the Blights in the Emperor’s coven, they’d never seen Alador express an emotion beyond irritation. Odalia also has tears in her eyes but she refuses to let them fall. Her face is bright red in shame though, it just grows steadily more red as Camila goes on. (Luz idly notes that that must be where Amity and the twins get their blushing genes from. She also notes that Odalia looks remarkably like Amity and wonders if that’s what Amity will look like when they’re that age. Her heart flutters a little at the concept of being with Amity for the rest of their lives, but she tampers down the runaway thoughts to refocus on her mom’s tirade).

By the time Camila’s done with them, Alador and Odalia are hiding their faces in shame. Alador’s trying to stifle his crying to the best of his ability cuz his breaths are turning ragged from how much emotion he’s experiencing. Odalia is desperately trying to wipe her tears away without ruining her makeup, but she’s also quietly sniffling and hiccuping. Camila sits back with a satisfied huff and Luz pats her shoulder (as a thank you? As a good job? As a ‘tag me in it’s my turn’? Who can say).

After letting the Blights collect themselves, Luz clears her throat to get their attention. She struggles for a moment to figure out the best way to say it, but ends up setting her jaw firmly and just blurting it out: she asks for their blessing for her to marry Amity.

After a moment of shocked silence, Luz’s courage starts to crumble a little and she begins to explain herself; she knows that Amity doesn’t value their opinion. She hasn’t for years now. Luz also doesn’t value their opinion. But if she’s going to such lengths to try and give one of the loves of her life her parents back? She may as well start off with a show of respect.

Odalia is the one that gets up from where she’s sitting and quietly approaches Luz. Eda and Lilith are about ready to throw hands if need be and Camilia starts to put her arm in front of Luz, but Luz stands up to meet her. Odalia gently takes Luz’s hands (she also notes that her hands are just as tiny and soft as Amity’s) and brings both of their hands up to about chest level. She has to clear her voice before she speaks; her throat became tight with the tears and hiccuping she was trying to hold back.

Odalia takes one hand to draw a large circle around their joined hands before clasping Luz’s hands again. She tells Luz that she absolutely has their blessing, and vows to do whatever she needs to to atone for the cruelty she put her children through. And so the Everlasting Oath is sealed.

Alador also stands up and does the same in a tear-strained voice. After his oath has been sealed, he places his hands on Luz’s shoulders and thanks her for being so damn stubborn.

They promise that they’ll be in touch with Luz again soon, but they need to talk to one another first and really sort everything out. Luz gives them a small smile and confirms that she’ll be waiting to hear from them as the Clawthornes/Nocedas stand up to leave. Before they leave, Odalia gently places a hand on Camila’s shoulder and asks her quietly if she could maybe come to her for advice on how to approach their children when they’ve figured themselves out. Camila stares at her for a moment before giving her a smile and nodding. She doesn’t have a scroll or anything, so she tells her to just reach out to Luz when they’re ready to talk. Odalia just nods and the Blights watch as their guests leave.

I think it particularly strikes Alador how casually Eda ruffles Luz’s hair and pulls her in for a side hug, loudly telling her how proud she is of her for pulling such a bold move. It dawns on him that he used to do that to Edric when he was still smaller than his own knee. It may have been after the first spell Edric ever successfully cast. Odalia sees Camila scoop Luz into her arms and plant a giant kiss to a her head, probably also praising Luz. They watch as Luz puts her arms around Eda and Camila’s shoulders as they leave the Blight estate and Alador closes the door before he starts crying again.

I think that’s the first time in years the Alador and Odalia really hug each other properly. Not to pose for a picture, not just a quick greeting as they pass each other in the halls of the Emperor’s coven, but like. For comfort. I don’t think they really realized how big and cold and empty their manor is until that moment.

I think it takes several months for them to get their acts together. They seek out a family counselor, they have weekly tea with Camila, they dust off the parenting books that have been untouched on the shelves in their library for decades. They look into Viney’s family and find out that she and Emira have started their own service beast program. The general air of grief and undertone of determination is interrupted by a moment of sheer pride at knowing their eldest daughter not only found someone she loves, but has taken the risk of starting her own business with her wife that’s a genuine service to the Boiling Isles. They make a few duplicates of the newspaper article they found announcing the grand opening of the first Service Beast Training Center and Shelter on the Boiling Isles and have it framed in different places; there’s one on the desk in their study, there’s another on their wall in their bedroom; they each have their own copy at their desks at work.

No joke, it’s taken Luz months to convince Emira and Viney that Em’s parents are trying to change. Emira has absolutely 0 faith in her parents being able to turn over a new leaf. It’s not until they hear Camila say that she’s surprised at the Blight’s improvement after their last tea meeting that they even consider that they actually are trying to change.

Luz coordinates a day and time for them to all meet once Emira and Viney agree to do so. I think they meet at a park somewhere, maybe a particularly nice public garden (maybe it’s Willow’s). Emira’s never seen her parents look so nervous before and that already sparks some hope in her heart that all of Luz’s efforts might not be naught. I think Odalia tries to reach out to hug Emira but like, actually flinches when Emira steps back. So instead they sit at one of the secluded garden tables and just talk.

Alador and Odalia apologize in as much depth as they can. Emira just sits and lets them say everything they want to say. Once they’re done with everything they can think of, they just sit in silence for a minute while Emira processes everything they’ve said. It’s not until Viney squeezes her hand that Emira finally starts crying. She wants to be angry, she is angry, but her entire heart feels like a full-grown griffon just stood up from where it was sitting and flew away. Her heart feels so much lighter. She stands up and moves to her parents and they stand and embrace her tightly for a while. Viney also feels like a huge weight has been lifted just watching the exchange. Maybe she also cries a little bit because she’s so happy to see her wife so happy. (And she maybe ignores the sound of a high five happening in the distance; she’s like, 90% sure Luz is there with someone else spying on them to make sure the meeting goes well).

All the Blights have full-on waterworks going on because they each individually realize this is the first time they’ve expressed their love for each other in probably more than a decade. Long before Emira and Edric took Amity and left. Viney maybe also hears a muffled sniffle and when she turns around to see, yup, there’s Luz, and she’s definitely crying into Willow’s shoulder. Viney rolls her eyes. Luz is such a sap. That’s probably why they all love her so much. She brings out the sap in all of them too.

After the Blights finally calm down, Alador and Odalia have an entire separate list of things to apologize to Viney for, which takes her off guard. She maybe expected an apology for the last time she saw them in person, but they went waaaay deeper than just that. And then they don’t stop at the apologies? They start thanking her for all sorts of stuff. Like loving Emira and being there for her when they weren’t. For helping her grow into the incredible person she’s become. They also congratulate them on their Service Beast Shelter and ask if maybe eventually they’d be allowed to visit and see them in their element. That’s when Viney’s face finally splits into a wide grin and she joins the big family hug they’ve got going on.

Lmao so yeah, long story short, it takes them a long-ass time, but eventually the Blights learn to love Viney 💖💖💖

[obwjam]

the tiniest jedi

okay folks, here we go... i’d like to introduce you all to my oc, Jedi Knight Jayla Nor’al! she is five inches tall, 22 years old and the former padawan of good ol’ yoda. she was knighted so she could fight in the clone wars, and now she’s off to help command her first-ever battalion! 

when i rewatched clone wars recently i basically took note of episodes where a tiny could fit into the plot (spoiler: there’s a lot lol) so this is part 1 of the first installment of me recreating the filoniverse into the obwjamverse

i hope y’all enjoy <3 love you all sm

the hidden enemy, part 1

>> part two

To say Jedi Knight Jayla Nor’al was nervous would be a tremendous understatement.

It had taken a lot of convincing that bordered on begging to get the council to agree to this. Having Anakin vouch for her seemed like a good idea in theory, but in practice it usually ended with Obi-Wan rubbing his eyes while the council fiercely debated the merits of Anakin’s argument. 

Anakin was always sticking up for her. She was a few years older than he was, but more than anyone, he understood what it was like to have a tough life. They first met one day when he was a padawan, no more than 13 years old. Obi-Wan was sent off on a mission by himself to retrieve a holocron and a disgruntled Anakin went to Yoda to continue his training. He was far more advanced than the group of younglings he was with, but before he could complain too much, something -- no, someone -- caught his eye.

She was standing on a table at all of five inches tall, arms crossed in a dim corner of the room. The other younglings were practicing basic combat stances. She looked rather bored with it all. Anakin would have probably glossed right over her if it wasn’t for the tunic she was wearing.

“Master Yoda, who is that?” Anakin asked while the group was taking a break. She had now sat down, cross-legged, with her eyes closed and her shoulders relaxed. He marveled at how her tiny silhouette almost blended in with the scenery entirely.

“My padawan, she is,” Yoda stated. 

“Padawan?” Anakin was shocked. Obi-Wan never told him Yoda had a padawan.

Yoda hummed. “Surprised, you are, hmm?”

Anakin could only nod as Yoda trotted over to her. “Well, it’s… she’s…”

“Padawan Nor’al, ready, you are?” he asked quietly. Anakin gasped at how Yoda practically towered over this tiny person. She calmly opened her eyes and gave a single nod.

“Younglings, gather here,” Yoda called out to the group. He nodded to Anakin, who curiously followed. He heard a couple of the other younglings snicker in disbelief. “Demonstrate Form III, my padawan will. Close attention to footwork, you must pay.”

Anakin’s eyes widened as a training remote whirred to life. To a normal-sized person, practicing with a remote could sting if you didn’t know know what you were doing. But she was not a normal-sized person. That remote must look like a tank to her!

“Master Yoda--” Anakin started, but Yoda held his hand up.

“You may begin.”

What Anakin witnessed next may or may not have changed his life. 

It was like she knew where the blasts were going before they were even fired. She was so quick that Anakin’s eyes could barely adjust to the blinding speed she seemed to be moving at. She firmly stood her ground as she deflected blast after blast, her eyes moving wildly as she deciphered the shooting pattern of the remote. She found her opening, charged forward, leaped up and sunk her lightsaber straight through the metal. The droid sputtered and sparked before falling to the table, lifeless. She hopped down and gave Yoda a small bow as if nothing had even happened.

“Thank you, padawan. Continue to practice, younglings. Much work to do, you have.”

Still in shock, the younglings picked up their sabers and began to practice, some yelping in surprise when the blasts stung at their legs. She had made it look so easy.

She was taking note of the younglings’ form when she paused to raise her eyebrow. Anakin was still standing there.

“Staring is rude,” she said shortly. Looking at her up close, Anakin could clearly see how she was nervously eyeing him.

“That was really cool,” he said, crouching down a bit so he didn’t loom too large. 

She gave a small smirk. “Master Yoda is a good teacher.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Jayla... Jayla Nor’al,” she said, giving Anakin heavy side-eye. What does he want?

“My name’s Anakin. I’m Master Kenobi’s padawan.”

“Anakin Skywalker?” she asked incredulously. “What -- what are you doing here?”

“My master is on a mission and didn’t want to take me.” 

She scoffed. “That’s silly. Padawans should always be with their masters to learn.”

“Tell that to Obi-Wan,” Anakin sighed. “Does Master Yoda take you on missions with him?”

Anakin’s lips pursed into a frown as she sat down, looking dejected. “Mostly, yeah. But sometimes I think he thinks I’m too… well… you know.”

“Too small.”

She gave him a surprised look. “Yeah.”

“A little ironic, coming from him.”

Jayla laughed. “You can’t say that!”

Anakin laughed back. “Sure I can.”

It was hard for Jayla to really grow close to anyone, no matter how hard she tried to befriend the others. Anakin knew exactly how that felt. The two were lonely, and they found each other. Their friendship only grew stronger as they got older -- Jayla helped Anakin learn to trust in the Force more and Anakin helped Jayla grow her confidence. Obi-Wan admired how well they complimented each other.

Yoda eventually began to take Jayla on more dangerous missions. Spending time with Anakin and Obi-Wan had diversified her skill set more than most padawans and, as the Jedi Council sensed the growing discourse between the light and the dark, Jayla and Anakin were both knighted so they could fight in the Clone War.

But everyone had underestimated the fierceness and enormity of the conflict.

It was evident from the beginning of her training that Jayla was fearless -- that she would not let her size stop her from doing anything. She was a fierce negotiator; a skilled fighter; she had a deep and powerful connection to the Force. And yet, her size was the very thing stopping the council from giving her any responsibilities outside of putting together training recordings, teaching younglings and spearheading negotiations.

“I can’t believe this,” Jayla groaned to Obi-Wan one rare quiet day on Coruscant. Anakin was off on a recon mission. Obi-Wan had duties to attend to, but he would always take a pause to talk with Jayla.

“If Master Yoda and the council feel this is for the best, then you need to listen.”

“I didn’t become a Jedi to play it safe. I just… I don’t understand why Yoda keeps babying me.”

“You’ve only recently become a Jedi knight,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “You need to be patient.”

“Yeah, the council did that so I could fight in the war.” Jayla got up, pacing around the windowsill. “I mean, it doesn’t make sense! I’m trained in combat. I have useful skills. I’ve been out there before, Obi-Wan! Why spend my entire life telling me ‘size matters not, hmm’, then use it as a reason to hold me back?”

Obi-Wan frowned. He hated how her frame seemed to get swallowed up by the bustling backdrop of the Republic captial outside.

“Can I be honest?” Obi-Wan asked slowly. Jayla’s expression softened as she plopped down, resting her elbows on her knees and meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze a few feet from her. 

“Always.” 

“Well, I shouldn’t really tell you this, but I think it’s important that you know. The council has its reservations, but they mostly agree that you are more than capable of being a general. It’s… it’s the Chancellor who has persuaded them into keeping you here.”

“The Chancellor? Why would he care?”

“It’s my understanding that many in the senate feel it would be a sign of weakness if you were to command a battalion.”

“That’s ridiculous! It’s not even the senate’s decision to make!” she cried.

“On military matters, it is. And until Chancellor Palpatine changes his mind, then I’m afraid there’s nothing that can be done.”

Jayla tried to forget about that conversation every time she got upset. But as the conflict raged on and Republic forces took beating after beating on the Outer Rim worlds, Obi-Wan felt the situation was becoming dire. It was less about who had strength and more about who had the tactical advantage. The better strategy. The better intelligence. 

Yoda too felt desperate. He was engulfed in the war and convinced that winning it was the only way to save the galaxy from certain doom. He heard the plight of his former padawan day after day, to the point where he began to question if his gut feeling was really right. He hadn’t been meditating as much lately. The Force always gave him the guidance he needed. Between Anakin, Obi-Wan and her own former master, the council was able to convince Palpatine that allowing her to lead stealth and recon missions was a perfectly reasonable starting point.

Since it was nearly impossible to plant a conventional spy into the droid army, Jalya and Anakin had conspired and came up with the idea of using her as a spy. Mace Windu was concerned about her being captured. Anakin argued that her life sign registered so faintly on scanners that capture wasn’t as easy as it seemed. Ki-Adi-Mundi feared she would get lost in the blur of so much violence. Obi-Wan said that all she needed was a wrist comm and someone to use as transportation and protection.

So after months of debating, planning, talking to Yoda and gear-building, the perfect situation had arisen. Today, it was finally going to happen.

And she… didn’t know how to feel.

She was accompanying Anakin and Obi-Wan on the Resolute to Christophsis, where the GAR was getting whalloped day after day. Most recently, a secret plan was thwarted before it had even gotten underway. It was obvious that the Separatists were somehow accessing Republic intelligence. And it was Jayla’s job to find out how.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

From the comfort and privacy of sleeping quarters, she was perched pensively on Anakin’s shoulder; which, in retrospect, was probably a bad place to be with the way she was fiddling with her hands and bouncing her leg. 

“Don’t ask me that when you already know the answer,” Jayla mumbled. 

“I didn’t, actually, but thanks for confirming it for me.”

Jayla groaned. “I’m not nervous about going into the field.”

“Good. You shouldn’t be.”

“It’s…” she started, but couldn’t bring herself to admit. She was hoping Anakin could connect the dots.

“It’s… what? It’s the ship?” Anakin knew how much she hated flying.

“This isn’t my first Star Destroyer. It’s the starfighters that make me sick.”

“Okay, so it’s not the ship. Is it Obi-Wan?”

Jayla sniffed a laugh. “Why would it be Obi-Wan?”

“Well, it took a little bit of convincing to get him to agree to this.”

“You mean a lot of convincing,” she sighed. “I can personally guarantee you that Obi-Wan is not making me nervous.”

“Well, Tiny, I’m at a loss--” 

Anakin was cut off at the sound of his wrist comm beeping. She quickly grabbed onto a stray piece of his hair for support as he moved his arm up.

“Anakin, Jayla, come meet me at the bridge. Captain Rex will be arriving here shortly.”

“Copy that.” Anakin turned his head slightly to meet Jayla’s gaze, and the Force flashed in a brief moment of worry. Anakin furrowed his brows.

“You’re nervous about Rex?”

Jayla sucked in a deep breath. “No -- not particularly -- no. No, I’m not nervous about Rex.”

Anakin knew she was lying, but he wasn’t about to push it. After all, he didn’t want Obi-Wan lecturing him for being late. Again.

Jayla clung to Anakin’s robe as they made their way through the gray halls of the ship. Even from her perspective, the walls seemed suffocating, so Jayla kept her eyes trained on the ground, avoiding the gaze of every trooper that passed. The rigidness of clone armor was… off-putting.

As they approached the bridge doors, Jayla cautiously took a seat and closed her eyes. When all else failed, the Force was always there for her, guiding her and bringing her to a place where she felt at ease. Going into this mission with any apprehension would be fatal, and she knew it. The Force was pulling her toward the battlefield -- to Anakin, to Obi-Wan, to the citizens of the worlds they were helping to protect. The Jedi Order was her life, and that meant she was forever in service to the people of the galaxy that needed her. She was chosen by the will of the Force; bestowed this great power that so many lusted after. In the galaxy’s biggest conflict, she could finally start making a difference. She could finally be worthy of the gift she was given.

“There’s gonna be a lot of clones in there, you know.” Anakin’s tongue-in-cheek remark broke her from her meditation. “You could always turn back and let me and Obi-Wan handle this.”

Jayla sniffed a laugh. “And let you have all the fun? I’m alright, Anakin, I promise.” She paused, took one glance up at her giant friend, and stood up. “I’m ready for this.”

Anakin smirked. “Well then, here we go.”

The vastness and buzzing energy of the bridge brought about a sensation that Jayla would never get tired of. There were clones on the lower levels punching buttons and pulling levers; there were clones standing around tables, going over strategy and making sure they were ready for the fight. Then there was Obi-Wan, standing in front of a star map and pretending to read it. His mind was occupied with other things.

Anakin nodded his head to Obi-Wan. “Master.”

“Ah, Anakin. And here I thought you’d show up late.”

“For Tiny’s first mission as a general? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Is now really the best time to bring up nicknames?” Jayla groaned. It was times like these she was glad she was small; nobody could see her blush.

“I thought it’d help loosen the tension.”

“Sure you did.” She wasn’t going to admit it, but in his weird Skywalker way, it did help bring her back down to earth. This was her first mission as a military general. She outranked nearly everyone in the room. To the clones, that meant everything. Even if they didn’t want to listen to her… they had to.

It was then she noticed a tiny brown bag on the holotable below. Just poking out of the side was something that looked like armor. 

Armor fit for a tiny.

She slid off Anakin’s shoulder and flipped down to the holotable. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but grin as she pulled out two shoulder pads, two wrist guards, a pair of black gloves and a torso pad. They fit perfectly.

“We couldn’t have you going out in the field unprepared,” Obi-Wan said as she practiced some stances in her new armor.

“Huh. You look like a tiny Obi-Wan,” Anakin smiled.

“I thought we were done with the degrading comments,” you said smugly.

“Oh, very funny, you two. It’s a wonder the council took this long to allow you both to work together.”

Jayla was prepared for another quip when the main door slid open. Her eyes first fell on the wide shoulder wing, then to the Jaig eyes painted on his helmet. She had never seen clone armor quite like what Rex was wearing. She blinked and straightened her posture.

“Captain Rex. Nice of you to finally join us,” Anakin joked.

“Sorry sir. Needed to help Fives find his other blaster.”

“He lost it again?”

“...more like misplaced,” Rex clarified.

“Good to see your troops are on top of things, Anakin,” Obi-Wan quipped.

“Sorry sir,” Rex repeated. Jayla could sense… unease. “So, where’s the new general?”

Anakin’s lips curled into a smile. He had told Rex that the 501st was to be accompanied on this mission by a Jedi knight who was a master of stealth. When Rex asked who it was, Anakin refused to say. He wanted it to be a surprise.

“Rex, I’d like you to meet Jedi General Jayla Nor’al.”

Rex was glad he had kept his helmet on, because the look of confusion on his face would not have done him any more favors. 

“Uh… sir?” Rex asked cautiously, trying his best not to sound too lost. Is this some kind of joke?

“You know, I think it’s helpful to scan the entire room before saying something.”

Rex’s stomach dropped. That voice… that voice was coming from the holotable. Ever so slowly, he tilted his head down. He tried to keep his body language as neutral as possible, but he had a sinking feeling that all three Jedi in the room could sense his surprise.

“Oh,” was all Rex could utter for a moment. It was like this Jedi had stepped right out of a holoprojector and onto the table in front of him. This has to be some kind of test. She’s only a few inches tall! She won’t survive five seconds out on the battlefield. 

Anakin cleared his throat. Rex snapped back to attention.

“Right. Uh, sorry about that, sir,” Rex fumbled, giving this General Nor’al a nod of acknowledgment. “Nice… nice to meet you.”

Rex tensed up when Jayla ever so slightly rolled her eyes. He was surprised he could even see her do that.

“Likewise, Captain. General Skywalker has told me all about you.” She smiled softly when she sensed Rex’s heartbeat escalating. “All good things, of course.” 

She turned to Obi-Wan and, without either of them saying a word, Obi-Wan placed his hand next to Jayla and she casually stepped on, using his thumb for support as she was lifted up from the holotable.

“You’re going to be offering General Nor’al support in the field,” Obi-Wan said, tapping the holotable to life. “We’ve drawn up a plan to get her to the chief tactical droid stationed here to extract information and battle strategy.”

“I think we can finally turn the tide if we can get ahead of the Seps like they seem to keep getting ahead of us,” Jayla added. “Once I get the information, I’ll need an extraction team to get me out of there quickly.” Without warning, her tone shifted from stern to somber. “The last thing I need is to be caught by those stupid battle droids.”

Obi-Wan and Anakin exchanged a brief glance.

“I’ve got to finish some mission prep,” she said quickly. “When are we getting to Christophsis?”

“Should be there within the hour, sir,” Rex replied immediately. 

“Great.” She tried to peer through Rex’s helmet, but unsurprisingly, she only had the downturned expression plastered on the front to work with. Rex was not expecting to see a five-inch-tall Jedi -- that much was obvious. Her worry lied more in the possibility that she was embarrassing him just by being here. 

“I’m sure Anakin will become bored and come join us in, oh, five minutes or so,” Obi-Wan cut into her thoughts with a smug smile, throwing a glance to his friend as he walked out.

“For mission prep? You know me so well,” Anakin shot back with a smirk, turning back to the window. 

Before Obi-Wan left the room, he turned to Rex, who was all but frozen to his spot.

“Do come and join us when you’re done here,” he said shortly. Rex could only nod.

Once the doors finally closed behind him, he stiffly made his way to Anakin’s side and took off his helmet.

“Rex…” Anakin sighed, already prepared for the conversation they were about to have.

“Sir, you know I mean no disrespect…” Rex paused to see if Anakin would say something witty to that. He didn’t. “...but I’m not sure how well my men are going to respond to taking orders from someone who can fit in the palm of their hand. Especially someone who hasn’t done this before.”

“Rex, she’s a Jedi knight, just like me. She wouldn’t have achieved that rank if she wasn’t fully capable.”

“I--I believe you, General. It’s just… well, they’re used to the way things work. We’re used to a Jedi leading us through battle.”

“And she can’t do that?”

“Well, it’s not like she can cut through clankers like you or General Kenobi.”

Anakin was prepared for this, but it still didn’t change the awkwardness of the conversation. He knew how fierce of a Jedi she was. Rex didn’t. He was hoping this mission could change things. He knew as well as anyone else that a warrior of her size would wreak havoc against the Separatists if used properly. Plus, he knew how painfully boring it was to be stuck inside the temple all the time. He wanted this to work for her.

“Her strengths lie in other areas. She doesn’t need to cut through droids like me and Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, putting his hand on Rex’s shoulder. “Given the world she’s grown up in… the things she’s had to overcome… I’d say she’s the bravest out of all of us.”

Rex hummed and turned his gaze to the front of the ship. He never really grew tired of the swirling brilliant blue of hyperspace. He found himself wondering if it looked any different five inches off the ground.

“...I should go brief the men,” Rex said finally. 

“Yeah,” Anakin said, pursing his lips. “You probably should.”

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 44- Monstrous Memories

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits discover the secret Magistrate Dolios has hidden within the forest.

____________________________________

Zed reminded them it was probably best they don’t stay in the Forest of Memories overnight. Mumbo’s power surge spooked the shleep, and if they fall asleep in the forest, they’ll be fraught with nightmares, which will only give the Forest an in to their fears once more. As much as he hates having to force Mumbo, fresh from a surge, into walking again, they don’t really have a choice. Guess Zed just woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. 

Thankfully, TFC and Xisuma agree with him. The hermits defend themselves with potions and amulets, though their greatest defense is just knowing they have one another. Mumbo stays close to Iskall and Grian, who both do their best to distract his worries about hurting Grian with their favorite stories. Like the time Grian nearly dropped Mumbo into the ocean from the sky, or Iskall almost blew away the cloud that Grian’s home perches upon. 

Ren casts his spell again, following the veins of red back to the main leyline. It’s massive, so much magic and power that it scares Ren. Who, or what, needs all this magic? All this energy, stolen from all over Lairyon. What could Dolios need all this for?

BDubs gets a shiver, as if someone just dropped ice down his back. He turns to see if Stress is pulling a prank on him again, opening his mouth to make some smarmy quip, when he sees the leaves above him. 

They look like they’re burning, blackened to the stem, grey embers frozen at the edges of the leaf. It looks so much like the husk magic, and yet at the same time completely different. BDubs reaches up, fingers shaking as he plucks the leaf off the tree. “I think we’re going in the right direction.” 

He shows the once green leaf to the others. It’s as if the ground was saturated with dark magic, poisoning the trees rather than draining them. It’s impossible to distinguish the leyline from the rest of the earth around them. They've made it to the center of the Forest. They’ve made it to what Dolios is hiding. 

The canopy is thick, impossible to see even the crown of the trees. Grian wonders if he flew above the Forest of Memories, would he be able to see this black spot from the sky? Or has Dolios even thought of that? 

“Whatever Dolios is hiding, it’s here somewhere.” Xisuma states, pulling out a torch and lighting it using Tango’s hair. Tango objects at first, but when a distant rustle causes him to leap into Impulse’s arms, he allows the torches to be lit. 

“But where? We don’t even know what we’re looking for.” Doc snarls. He wanders deeper into the darkness, holding his torch high before turning and looking at the other hermits. Both his mechanic and mortal eye narrow at the guild. “It could be as small as a pebble, or so mundane we’d never pick it out!” 

Etho notices a shift in the darkness behind Doc, the swirling mist of grey and black cresting over an angled oval, creased down the equator. And he realizes he’s not looking at mist, he’s looking at slime. “Uh,” He whispers, “Doc, maybe tone it down?” 

But Doc wasn’t listening. “We’ve gone on some wild goose chase, when we need to cut the head off the beast while we can!” 

“Maybe don’t talk about killing beasts, Doc.” Hypno squeaks, realizing what Etho is seeing as well, He sees a grey tentacle, wrapping through the ashen ground like a sticky tree root, more creases all over the body. 

“Why? It’s clear there’s nothing to find here! We’ve searched through the most dangerous place in all of Lairyon, for jack shit!” Doc raises his torch to prove what he means, eyes wild as he stares down the hermits. With the increased light, the entire guild can see the monster behind Doc. Mumbo nearly faints, Stress feels sick, and all the hermits can feel the pressure of dark magic weighing on their chest. It’s like Gildara, but worse. 

“Doc….” Scar whispers, shaking as he creeps closer to the hybrid, trying to pull Doc away from the slumbering monster. They both trip over a slimy black tentacle, head over heels and the torch left behind. “Doc we found it!” 

Slumbering in the trees, a monster beyond anything the hermit’s have ever seen looms. It’s larger than a dragon, made of ebbing and flowing grey and black slime- which takes a moment for the hermits to realize is pure dark energy, pouring over the creature like an overcoat. Citizens’ lifeforce, their magic drained to create this multi eyed, multi-mouthed eldritch horror. Tentacles, dug into the ground, sap the energy fed by the leylines. 

This monstrosity, this manifestation of darkness, is still growing. Slowly, but surely, as it feeds off the leylines. This is but an infant, not yet born. And already it has done so much damage. 

“Oh my word.” Zedaph wipes away a few tears with the heel of his hand . “This thing has no soul. It’s just...pure hatred, pure catastrophe. Why would Dolios bring such a dangerous thing to life?” 

“What does it matter?” Beef shrugs, rolling his neck and preparing to cast his magic. “With this gone, Dolios will crumble.” 

“Hold on.” xB grabs Beef by the horns, holding him back. “We have no clue what this thing will do if it wakes up. What could it do if we attack it right now.” 

“xB is right.” TFC hums. “We would be foolish to fight a monster we know nothing of. Just like going in blind to Gildara, we won’t win that battle without knowledge.”

“So what do we do?” False makes the war hammer she summoned disappear, a bit disappointed. 

Xisuma looks at the ashen ground, following it back to the edge of the monster’s meadow. He sees the four leylines, in four cardinal directions. “This thing is being fed by the leylines. The leylines are set by the obelisks, which are powered by crystals. If we starve the beast before it can awaken, we can take away whatever Dolios plans to do with this.” 

“So...what? We just leave this thing here? Go back to breaking crystals?” Iskall shrugs.

“We came here for more information, and that’s what we’ve gotten. Information is more valuable than action sometimes.” Cub of all people would know. He looks at the others, then continues to speak. “We have all the pieces put together, we can finally see the whole picture of Dolios and his insane plan. With all this, we can fight back better. We know what to do. We starve the beast, and turn all of Lairyon against Dolios.” 

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

“Hmm.” A low silky voice dances in the dark office, gold trimmed sleeve blinding the wizard to his crystal ball. Curly brown hair rests on the other hand, elbow perched on a plush arm of his office chair. A chair fit for a king- no, a god. Soon enough. 

The single eye of the unborn beast closes. Eurynomos is far from ready, just a fetus at this point, but every day it grows stronger. The more stolen magic Dolios feeds the creature, the stronger it will be. The stronger they will be. Dolios is a patient man, he can bear to wait a little bit longer. 

What he can’t bear is the infuriating interference of these hermits. Dolios knew that Mumbo was powerful- how he drools for all that magic stored in one vessel. And the angel, he’s yet to add such divine magic to his ever growing collection. The rest? Fodder. Or so he thought. They’ve been persistent, and they’ve gained too much knowledge. Just when Dolios thinks he’s caught up in making new corrupted crystals, those damn hermits destroy another. Just when Dolios has destroyed a guild or village no one will miss, they swoop in and stop him. He should’ve killed them in the dungeons that day, so long ago. But now, they’re a problem. 

“Pen an order.” Dolios’s words cause an enchanted quill to stand at attention, tip poised over a blank piece of paper. Dolios doesn’t turn around, his eyes trained to the south. To the Forest of Memories. “The Council hereby declares the Order of Hermits enemies of the state, threats to Lairyon’s future, and a danger to the public. All known whereabouts are to be reported to the Arcane guard, and the Hermits face capital punishment for their crimes.”

[hvitserkmarcosource]

The Arrangement

Chapter Nine: Early Morning

Warnings: Smut Smutty Smut Smut lol

Chapter Nine Summary: You and Hvitserk have a wonderful morning and an eye opening afternoon.

Word Count: 2,362

Oh my god I haven’t updated in sooo long!! I’m so sorry guys! I thought I’d spoil you all with some Hvitserk goodness 😉 hope you enjoy!

*Tag list is OPEN

Chapter Eight

Chapter Ten - Coming Soon

................................................

That night you fell asleep and your head wasn’t filled with nightmares or the fear of what tomorrow would bring. It was content and filled with love. The beginning of your arrangement was terrifying and the fear of the unknown was crippling, you almost jumped out of a window for heaven's sake, and your first impression of Hvitserk did little to help the growing doubt in your mind that he would ever love you. How could he? A girl he had never met? Someone that could never replace the woman that his heart was still mourning…

But now as you wake up wrapped in his arms you realize that somewhere along the way his heart started to open to you. He started to let you in little by little. And for that you are forever grateful. May it be Christ or the Gods, you are not so sure anymore who to give credit to, either way you are thankful that they allowed Hvitserk to love you and be kind. A gentle soul to match your own. Someone in your life to help snuff out the fear of living.

As the sun rises so does the man laying behind you. his arms protectively tighten around your middle while he buries his face in the crook of your neck. When he starts to place kisses there you smile “Good morning” you say yawning.

“Morning princess” he mumbles, his voice gravelly from sleep. “Go back to sleep, I just couldn’t resist.”

His kisses become more and more and when they start to tickle you turn over and gently grab his face. Kissing him quickly on the lips.

“That tickled” you giggle “how can I continue to sleep when you tickle me so?”

He laughs and pulls you closer “That does sound difficult, but don’t make me stop.”

His head dips down and he starts kissing your neck again. Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling. Enjoying this moment between you. A moment of calm you both need.

You rake your nails through his messy unbraided hair and he lets out a soft moan “Do that again princess and I’ll never be able to stop.”

A smile graces your face as you proceed to do it again and another moan escapes him. “Princess” he says your nickname as a warning but it just makes you want more.

“I don’t want you to stop.” You say breathless. Not believing your own words or the current reaction you're having to simple kisses.

Hvitserk pulls away and you whine, needing him to stay close, fearing that you’ve upset him. He says your name and kisses your forehead. “Are you sure? I will not be angry if you want to wait for our wedding night.”

You nod “I’m sure… I love you.”

Suddenly his lips are on yours and the kisses aren’t so simple anymore. They're hot and passionate. Desperate and everything a kiss should be. He softly places you onto your back and says “I promise to be gentle, I would never hurt you. Please know that.”

You place your arms around his neck and say “I know, I trust you.”

He smiles, but you can tell there is a sadness behind it. “How can you trust a man like me?”

You frown and place another kiss to his lips “How could I not trust a man like you… Hvitserk you’ve only ever been kind to me and gentle. You’ve shown me how to smile and laugh when there is so much to be fearful of. So much that is unknown. The threat of what Ivar will do is looming over us at all times and somehow you make me forget about everything and feel like a child again. You are the only man I trust because you are the only man that has my heart.”

He returns your kiss and sighs “I never intended to fall for you, you make me feel again and that’s something I never thought would happen. I thought the Gods fated me to be numb forever, then I look at you and feel alive.” He takes your hand and places it over his heart. “My heart races when I’m with you Princess, it beats fast and hard… I don’t think that will ever go away.”

“Good,” you say “because I will never want you or your feelings for me to go away.”

he chuckles “I keep trying to stall, thinking you might change your mind, but you are making it more and more difficult.”

You don’t know what possesses you to do what you do next, may it be love or lust you aren’t certain. Slowly you spread your legs for him, inviting him in. Once he settles between them you let a moan slip past your lips. Heat pulling between his body and your own.

He rocks his hips into yours and you whisper his name. Over and over. Until he grows impatient and starts to undress you. You feel yourself begin to get dizzy. Dizzy in the feeling of complete ecstasy.

He moves sensually, slowly, taking his time as he thrusts into you. You're thankful for that. Not wanting either of you to lose control just yet. You're lost in the feeling of him, a pleasure you didn’t know could exist. One you never thought you would get to experience. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he begins to pick up the pace.

He growls as you begin to chant his name. Your walls clenching around him and your toes curling. He knows you’re getting close and he takes this moment to capture your lips in a scorching kiss. One that leaves you even more breathless.

One of his hands trails down to where you’re connected and he teasingly starts to toy with the most sensitive part of you. Making your hips buck up involuntarily. You throw your head back and Hvitserk takes this moment to place another kiss to your neck, only this time his kisses are accompanied with bites.

You can’t believe the sounds escaping your mouth and you can’t control them. Your body is no longer yours to control and you wouldn’t have it any other way. A sharp thrust causes you to cry out and Hvitserk growls like a man gone crazy.

“Let go princess, come on. I've got you”

Your head is spinning, overcome with pleasure as the dam inside of you starts to burst. As you succumb to the fire that’s burning inside of you. “I-I’m going to-“

His lips silence you “Me too, let it go my love”

You cum with a scream of his name, your vision going white and your heart all but pounding out of your chest. Hvitserk follows only seconds after, spilling inside of you. You almost cum again from the feeling.

Once you both catch your breaths he looks at you, placing the hair that has fallen onto your face behind your ear. “Was that… was that okay? I didn’t hurt you did I?” He asks

“You did not hurt me, and yes that was perfect.”

He sighs happily, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him to lay in his chest. “I could stay like this forever” he says quietly “Let us worry about Kattegat and England later. Sleep my love.”

You nuzzle into his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Eventually you do allow your eyes to close and sleep consumes you.

................................................

Sunlight filled the sky completely, when you woke again. Pure ethereal light, its hue illuminating each crevice of the land. It must be midday. How long have you slept? From the sounds of Hvitserk’s snoring you guess it’s been a while. You look up at him and he does look so peaceful. It would be cruel to wake him, especially with the news you’re going to have to tell him.

So you decide to venture outside alone. Find your favorite spot on the hill that overlooks the sea. If this is going to be your last trip to England, it would be best to make it memorable.

With breath paused in your lungs, you wish time would halt. That morning would be still and leave the man inside asleep. For you are dreading the conversation you have to have with Hvitserk. You do not want to ruin the lovely morning you shared.

So you continue to look out onto the world, onto the vast sea that was not able to absorb the bright sparks of the sun.The tides racing among each other to reach the horizon from where the mighty sun appeared. And though time continued. And you could hear Hvitserk calling out for you. You felt her warmth. And you knew the sun was giving you all of the strength you needed to get through one more day.

“Hvitserk!” You yell for him

It doesn’t take long for him to find you and be by your side.

“I woke up and you weren’t there, I was worried.” He admits, placing a kiss to the top of your head before he sits on the ground beside you.

“I am sorry that I worried you.”

He wraps one of his arms around you and pulls you close, making you rest your head on his shoulder. “I wish you would have brought me with you. This is beautiful.”

You smile “This is my favorite spot in the entire Kingdom. I always come here when I need a moment of peace.”

“Tell me, what’s bothering you Princess?”

You sigh and pull away from his embrace “I need to talk to you about something very important and I did not want to ruin the morning we had…”

He chuckles “Nothing could ruin that”

You roll your eyes and say what you’ve been dreading to say “My father spent all of the gold Ivar gave him. He is a stupid man.”

Hvitserk furrows his brows “All of it? That was three years worth of raiding-“

“I know, I know…” You shake your head and try to keep a level head. “A man came to him and sold him dragon eggs. Obviously they weren’t real, my father was just too stupid to realize that before he spent everything the Kingdom has on lies.”

Hvitserk’s face turns pale and your heart drops “What is it? Hvitserk what’s wrong?”

“You said the man was selling dragon eggs?” He asks

”Yes, but why-“

Hvitserk stands up abruptly and starts cursing in his language. Even in anger the Norse language is beautiful. You make a mental note to have him teach you that too.

When he calms down he returns to your side “I hate him,” he says out of breath and red in the face “this was all Ivar. All of it, Princess”

“What do you mean? How could this be Ivar’s doing?” You reach up your hand, silently asking him to take it. You’re hoping to calm him down before he explains.

“Your father wrote to Ivar, telling him of you and that you were not yet married. He said, because you are his only child, he feared you would not produce children in time to save the bloodline. He offered your hand in return for Ivar’s Gold. Of course Ivar accepted and here we are.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and ask “I know all of this, what does any of it have to do with dragons?”

He sits down and holds your hand tighter “Before I left for my raid, I went to speak with Ivar. He was already talking to a man. The man was holding a crate, what was inside I did not know… until now. After the man left I asked Ivar what that was about and he said “Did you really think that I didn’t have a plan?” I was confused, I brushed him off, and went raiding. I just thought he was being Ivar… crazy Ivar.”

He looks into your eyes and wipes the tear that has fallen onto your face. “I did not know he was planning all of this… to keep you and not help your kingdom. I am so sorry Princess.”

You laugh sadly, not being able to contain your emotions any longer. Yes Ivar stole from your father and basically kidnapped you, but if he hadn’t done all of that you would have never met Hvitserk. You’re not sure how to feel. not to mention your just as bad.

You shake your head. It’s time to admit what you’ve done. “When you were chained up, I made a deal with Ivar-“

Hvitserk cuts you off “I know, I know you did. You do not have to talk about it.”

“You do not know everything Hvitserk. After he sentenced you I knew what kind of a man Ivar was. I knew he was cruel and selfish. And I only saw one way to set you free. I made a deal with him”

Hvitserk groans and asks “You offered yourself to him?”

“No! No no no… I offered something much worse than myself. I told him how to get into the castle undetected, I told him exactly what he needed to know to steal everything.”

Hvitserk nods “Okay, but that doesn’t make sense. Why would Ivar need to know how to get into the castle to steal the gold back, if he already has the gold?”

It hits the both of you simultaneously. Ivar isn’t interested in gold. He wants to rule. Ivar wants to rule England.

................................................

Everything happened in a flash. The two of you ran back to the castle and into your father's throne room, you begged your father to double his guards and make sure the gates were shut and boarded. You told your father of your betrayal and how Ivar would get into the castle. You told him this was Ivars plan all along.

He did not listen.

And you were banished from England. The only home you’ve ever known…

Now you are on the boat, back to Kattegat. Back to the man that has taken almost everything from you.

Ivar. Ivar has taken your freedom, your innocence, and now your kingdom.

@alexhogh7137 @ivarthebloodyking @sfyri @curlyhairedhoseok @mavalenovaninagavi @lol-haha-joke @joebob15274 @itsharleyalb @motherofkattegat @kaitieskidmore1

[vortexs]

I’m usually a vivid dreamer.

I’ve had dreams where I had powers. Or dreams where I saved the world. Or dreams where I go through an apocalypse.

Sometimes it’s just going through an exaggerated day. Sometimes it’s not me at all. I find that it’s an odd mashup of my feelings, stresses, and fears coming up & encouraging me to deal with them. More often than not, if I don’t deal with the issue, I continue to have the dreams.

Dreams are a fun place for me, and I haven’t had nightmares – true nightmares – in so long. But for the last year they’ve been more apparent, and for the last month, almost every night.

I know it’s because I’m grieving, and I’m not sure /how/ to grieve.

My grandma’s death was something I always saw coming. Looming over the horizon, peeking over the fence every time I looked at her. She’d been sick my whole life. Nearly every birthday wish I had was for her. Wishing for another year. Wishing for her health. I stopped wishing when I visited her one year and she was practically bed ridden, turning black and blue in the tips of her fingers and on the soles of her feet.

My stomach would fall, and my eyes would water. I knew it pained her to live more than it would pain me to see her go. I started dealing with her death long before she passed away.

It still hurt of course. But she lived a long life. A happy one. Full of love, and family. She loved me so much. I loved her so much. Its enough for me to know she is no longer suffering.

My cousin’s death gave me the entirely other perspective. He was young, younger than me. Still, we grew up together. He was the goofy one. The positive one. Always calm. Always kind. The kindest of his brothers, & the most determined to do life Right. No gangs. No violence. No drugs.

His death didn’t make sense to anyone. Didn’t make sense to me. His death was…complicated. Complicated because it was one of those deaths that many people wouldn’t feel bad for when you told them the story. One of those deaths where people /said he deserved it/ when it hit the news.

They didn’t know him. That’s what I tell myself. That it doesn’t matter what other people say, but fuck it still hurt. He deserved everyone to miss him. He deserved everyone to give their condolences and mean it. He deserved to graduate college, and achieve his dreams. He deserved to live longer.

This one hurts because I never saw his death coming. When I looked at him I didn’t see skeletons in the closet, or tragedy in his eyes. I dealt with this by trying to be there for everyone else. For my aunt and uncle who gave him his chance, for his siblings – my cousins who grew up with him. I wanted to be there for them to lean on, for us to celebrate him the way he deserved to be celebrated. That’s how I dealt with this.

But my dad. My father passing away. I don’t know where to begin.

It’s funny that I said my cousins’s death was complicated, because my dad’s feels 100 times more so. His is the type of complicated where I was told to lie. His is the type of complicated where I have to keep track of what I say, and who I said what to.

If I thought I couldn’t tell people how my cousin died, I definitely cannot tell people how my dad died. /Why/ he died.

I wish I could. I want to. But the reasons for it create complicated feelings in myself.

My dad was a great man. He raised me with stars in his eyes, & laughter on his lips. Growing up, I’d meet his friends or talk to extended family & they’d lean back, smile at me, and say “Ah, you’re definitely his daughter.”

My dad was goofy, and positive, and tough. Always encouraging, always behind my decisions. I adored him. I was a daddy’s girl through and through.

That’s not to say he was perfect. He wasn’t, and his faults are what ended he & my mother’s marriage. But like I said, he was tough, & he pushed forward. He’d tell me that later in life. To keep pushing forward. To not let anything keep me down.

“Look at me,” he’d go. “I’ve been through a lot. But I keep going. You have to do the same.”

As I got older, I could tell things were getting to him. Whether it was because life was harder for him, or because I’d been hardened, I don’t know. I began to see the tiredness in his eyes, the stress. Instead of him asking if I was okay, I started asking him.

“I feel bad,” he’d go. “I wish I could help you more. I wish I could be there for you. I wish you called me.”

I always told him that it was okay. That he was. He was there for me when it mattered, that I never thought of him and wished he’d do more. I told him that it’s hard for me to call anyone. He never believed it. That I knew. I chalked it up to some weird, macho man thing. You know, men always want to be the providers. Be the one for everyone to depend on. Everything I said was true. Still is.

He was remarried. He had a wife, and more kids. He did great with me, & I thought he’d be even greater with them. Everything that bothered him about our relationship he could fix and improve on with them.

And he did. For awhile. I like to believe it was all the way until the end.

The last time I saw him was on Father’s Day. My sister and I spent the day with him, and I could tell he was happy I came to see him. I was happy I did, too. He was very open this visit. I’d asked him for help (with getting my license lol) & he was very adamant that we would get it as he was teaching my step-sister as well.

“Of course! Come any time. I’ll teach you, and you’ll definitely pass.”

Maybe it was because it was the first time I’d asked something of him. Maybe he felt good that we’d share this milestone together. Maybe he was just happy I wanted to spend time with him.

I never followed through. The summer was so busy, and I was too short on money to make it back to him. I didn’t tell him this. Why? Because I knew he’d send me the money. I knew he’d give me the time. Neither of which he had much to spare (he’d vented to me many times about his money issues). I didn’t want to add to that.

I thought that once my job started I’d be able to go to him in the fall, instead.

He contacted me, which he rarely does. It was a strangely emotional text, in a good way.

“Hi baby! Are you still coming to see me? I really want to help you get your license!”

It made me happy, and I felt guilty I hadn’t told him why. I was reminded of how he felt like he failed me, and that I didn’t want to depend on him. That I thought lowly of him, or something. I told him I just didn’t have the money at the moment, but that I would see him as soon as I did.

“I want to get my license with you too!!” I’d said.

“How much do you need?” He’d sent back. I didn’t respond. I didn’t want him to send me money.

He still did.

A day later: $500, and a caption that read “My baby.”

I cried. I don’t know why, but I did. I think it was because I felt the weight of his love for me in that moment. Not that I ever thought he didn’t love me, but…he always struggled with showing his emotions. To me, this showed a lot. Not the money, but the caption. My baby. My baby.

I saw a lot of my dad in me. From his interests, to his ideals, to his personality. I never realized how much of me reminded me of him until he passed away.

It was a few days after my birthday. He sent me a nice message, & I told him how excited I was to see him. “See you soon.” I’d said.

A few days before he passed, I was informed that he’d done a terrible thing, & that he’d left his house & was unreachable. No texts. No calls. No tracker.

Knowing my father, as soon as I learned of the situation, I knew it was the beginning of the end. He was a prideful man. He wouldn’t want sympathy, he’d just want justice. He would never let himself get away.

I cried that day, when he was still alive. I just knew my father was gone. The man I knew, he wasn’t there anymore. The next few days were full of anxiety. I kept checking my phone, waiting for a call or text. About him. Or from him.

I actually did text him. I was afraid that if I contacted him & he knew that /I/ knew, that it’d speed up the process. That it’d send him over the edge.

I texted him, asking him to stay. Asking him not to hurt himself. Asking him to come back. I told him I loved him, that I appreciated him, & that I needed him.

He texted me back. He told me I was the best thing that ever happened to him. He told me that he wished he could’ve done more for me. He told me he was ashamed. Of what? Of everything, I think. Of his whole life.

He told me he only wanted 3 things from me. To be a strong, independent woman. To take care of my sister. And to always be grateful to my aunts.

I texted him multiple times after that. I never heard from him again.

A couple days later his body was found in another state. A “hiking accident” the police ruled it. I knew it was a suicide. I knew his reason for it. I knew that he said he didn’t want a funeral. I knew that he said he didn’t want us to mourn him. I knew that he didn’t want to be remembered at all, as he deleted all his social media, all his pictures.

Hardly anyone will ever know the man I adored ever existed.

The police said he needed to be cremated. They were adamant about how much we should not see the body. They told us that he was unrecognizable. That they only identified him through fingerprints. Out of everything I knew, I wish I never knew that.

I’ve never seen the body, but when I go to sleep at night I see it. I see him standing on the edge of the cliff. I feel his pain, his turmoil. I feel him thinking of his family. Thinking of his life. Thinking of me. I see him make the decision. I see him take the step. I see him fall. I hear him scream. I see him become mangled beyond recognition. I see him. I see him.

In my dreams I see him clear as day. In my dreams I speak to him. I chase him. I beg him to stay. He tells me no. He runs away from me. He tries to go away, but I see him.

I wake up, and I don’t see him. I wake up, and I know he’s gone away. I know that if there is an afterlife he will not see me, he wouldn’t allow himself that. I know that the last time I saw him, on father day, is the last time.

So then the dreams. The dreams where I chase him. Where I beg him. Where I look at him & he looks at me with pain in his eyes & guilt under his skin. Still, I wake up and fall into another nightmare where I lie about how he died and why.

I’m torn then. I want the dreams to stop, but I like seeing him. I’m scared to lose this, because then I will have lost all of him, maybe. I don’t know. Grief sucks. This sucks. I know I need to deal with this, but I don’t know where to begin. Or how. Maybe this is the first step. Getting this down. Even after writing this much about it I can feel how much more needs to be said.

Like, maybe I haven’t driven home how much he meant to me. Maybe I haven’t driven home how traumatizing it all is. Maybe I haven’t explained how my childhood was filled with him teaching me all the skills I utilize today, or how all my favorite interests started with him. Maybe I haven’t made it clear how I look in the mirror, or I speak, or I do my favorite hobbies and am reminded of him.

Grief sucks, but at least in my dreams, everyone is still there.

[bluinary]

gag anime that you need to watch maybe

 hi hello my name is juli and i will now gently guide ur attention to some top-notch shows, please pay attanetion

(this list is for people who don’t watch much anime or who are new to it. if ur a fucken weeb youve probably seen it all. dont @ me i want to help the kids)

ONE PUNCH MAN (the obvious 1st choice lol)

Genre: Action/ Shounen

Expectation: OP protagonist with riveting backstory fights to become the strongest hero, makes many friends along the way who recognize his talents and pure heart, big bad scary villains make him stronger

Reality: OP protagonist is already the strongest hero. His backstory? After fighting a lobster-man with nipples drawn on him with a Sharpie, Saitama decides to do a workout routine every day, and somehow ends up becoming the most powerful known being in the universe. His main issue is that now, he literally can take down any villain with a single punch, and he’s very bored of it.

Best Qualities: Animation is bomb, music is dope, humor is funnie, and Best Boy is a man whose superpower is riding a bicycle. Also Saitama egg head

If you were in a coma for all of 2015, this is the main thing u missed. Moving on.

Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun (Monthly Girls’ Nozaki)

Genre: Romance/ Comedy/ Slice of Life

Expectation: Smol shoujo protag girl grows closer to her oblivious crush through a fated, if awkward, incident which reveals an embarrassing secret that has to be kept at all costs. Through one another they gain more quirky friends, help each other grow, and, eventually, the male lead realizes that what he needs has been beside him all along.

Reality: The crush writes romance manga, and that is literally all the man cares about. It’s not a secret, but when he told people they didn’t believe him. Nozaki and Sakura grow closer, but only because he confuses her confession with a request to be his Beta. They gain quirky friends through one another, but there is zero character development throughout the entire fucking cast. Every episode is run by Idiot Plot. All the characters share a singular brain cell. There’s a tall butch lady turning every girl in the school gay. Please watch

Best Quali-teas: Everyone is baby, lots of gay shenanigans, and toxic masculinity does not exist, the OP is pretty nice, too

I literally heard about this damn show, like, two months ago. This shit was released circa 2015. Pleeze watch

The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. / Saiki Kusuo no Psi Nan

Genre: Shounen/ Supernatural/ Fucking Everything tbh

Expectation: Slice-of-life supernatural where protag has psychic powers, albeit limited ones, and has to keep them a secret at all costs for fear of his safety. He has a few friends he loves and cherishes, and at least two girls who are in love with him that he has to choose between-- all of which are people he wants to protect from his double-life.

Reality: Kusuo is very aware that he is the protagonist of an anime, and he does not want to be. Born with pink hair? He rewrites the human genome to make colored hair normal. End of the world looming? He just keeps rewinding time so he doesn’t have to deal with it. Harem situation? He actively uses his powers to avoid all love interests at all times (see the above). The plot of each episode is him trying to stop the plot as quickly as possible without killing anyone. The main issue is that everyone around him is either dumb or just generally attractive to plot-driving circumstances, and they all, for some reason, want him to be in on their adventures.

Best Qualities: Heavy “me and the boys” energy, plenty of Idiot Plot, so funny that my 47yo mom who hates anime admitted that it’s funny, meta as fuck, occasionally sweet scenes, equally good dub and sub, Saiki is babie

The fandom for this shit is like. Nonexistent. Apparently it came out the same season as Mob Psycho 100, so that might be why. I almost didn’t watch it, but I got bored and it turned out to be a serious gem. Go watch if ur having a bad day, it will make u cry laughing

Sakamoto Desu Ga/ Haven’t You Heard? I’m Sakamoto

Genre: Slice of life/ Comedy

Expectation: God I don’t even know. I’d say a typical slice of life where the quiet kid is bullied but makes friends, there’s a love triangle as they grow up together through high school, yadda yadda, but look at this dude. I can’t imagine him being anything other than what he is-- a legend.

Reality: The entire show is just a question of how extra one man can be, and how well he can pull it off. Sakamoto is an “average” high school senior (in the sense that he has no supernatural abilities), but he’s....far more than that. He’s Sebastian Michaelis if he’d never been a demon. Everything always works out for him in the most ridiculous of ways-- he’s just that good. He makes a McDonald’s uniform look like Prada. He’s so smooth his bully ends up having a crush on him (and yes, it is a gay crush. no heteros in this show). 

Best Qualities: lots of homo content. the side characters, inspired by Sakamoto’s grace, all become better people, and you root for them. The circumstances are always average, but the presentation is fucking riveting. Watch to send ur depression into remission.

Another one no one talks about????? U all were so busy with ur broku no hero macadamias and ur Nartoes that you slept on this. Now’s the time to take back what was lost. Love yourself and binge this shit. 

Nichijou/ My Ordinary Life

Genre: Slice of Life/ Comedy

Expectation: Cute girls do cute, girly things and have fun with Their Close Good Friends (TM).

Reality: Cute girls get into very bizarre situations with extremely manic energies. Sometimes, the situations are normal, but the girls react in a bizarre, manic fashion. It will make you alarm-laugh.

Best Qualities: Adorable art style, little continuity, relatable as fuck

A nice little watch if you’re bored. I think the eps are on YouTube.

Pop Team Epic/ Poputepepiku

Genre: Only God Knows

Expectation: Probably a cutesy 4koma-type thing with 2 schoolgirls having shenanigans.

Reality: A regular acid trip with lesbian icons Popuko and Pipimi who are not schoolgirls, but gods. Like if Eric Andre and Hannibal Buress were turned into omnipotent anime icons. Watch at your own risk.

Best Qualities: Lots of unexpected parodies and references amongst a shitpost of a show. The OP is a bop. Popuko terrifies me, but also empowers me as a young woman because she will not hesitate to kill a bitch. She and Pipimi love each other a whole lot, so it is LGBTQ content, which is always a plus. 

I’m sure you’ve seen this one floating around. It will make you feel fear, and then laugh. Now, finally...

Ouran Highschool Host Club

Genre: Romance/ Comedy

Expectation: The protagonist is a girl who is mistaken for a boy and must be the servant of six rich, handsome young men, all of which are in love with her, and her secret must be kept at all costs. A reverse harem anime with plenty of fanservice.

Reality: Haruhi is a genderfluid queen who doesn’t give a fuck what others think she is. Because she broke a Conveniently-Placed Vase and is relatably poor, she has to pay off her debt by being a host herself-- which means male-presenting when flirting with her female classmates to make her dough. The six rich, handsome young men all share three brain cells, and most of those cells go to the character who has one line per episode (usually, it’s “Yeah”. I hope that VA got paid well). The only love interest-- the “leader” and most popular of the six men-- is so dead-set on their club being his Found Family, he confuses his romantic feelings for Haruhi with paternal ones. This is obvious to everyone but him. He never gets the brain cells. 

Best Qualities: Trans characters!! Lesbians!! Extreme “me and the boys” energy, except they’re all rich, so shenanigans skyrocket. Many 4th wall breaks. The most powerful Host looks like he’s 5. Any “fanservice” is never played straight. Takes the Found Family trope to a whole new level. Nice Parks & Rec-quality balance between hysterical and sweet. Everyone is in drag at some point.

I know all of us senior citizens grew up on this shit, but you younguns need to watch the classics to appreciate the newfangled stuff. I recommend watching when you’re in a cheesy rom-com mood. 

Honorable Mentions:

I can’t count these as gag anime, but they’re still ridiculously funny.

Mob Psycho 100

Scissor Seven

Kill la Kill

Cells at Work!

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure 

Ones I haven’t seen but have heard a lot about

Osomatsu-san

Himouto! Umaru-chan

Azumanga Daioh

Gin Tama

Sgt. Frog

Okay that is all just limke put this in ur feel-good tag because these shows will make you happy and donut for get to like and describe to my channel, where I post literally nothing at all ever good night.

[onewfantaesy]

Warlocks au was as fascinating as it was sweet and sad. Would you ever consider writing the prequel to it with taemin's passing and his parents search? I feel like a masochist asking for this =.=' lol

tw for a lot of death

The two covens had been feuding as long as anyone could remember. They lived on opposite sides of a river that separated their two towns, were the only two covens for miles and miles. They both wanted control, both wanted to be the only coven in the area, both refused to merge because it was a time where covens were solely made up of blood and marital relations.

Taemin was a child. He was the only child currently in his coven; those closest in age to him were all older teenagers. He was born between generations, it seemed. There were plenty of women in the coven who were currently pregnant, but Taemin seven-years-old, would be the one of his age group as he grew and learned his magic. Taemin didn’t mind. He enjoyed being the baby, for now. He was excited to be a big cousin to his future baby cousins. Liked having a lot of attention on himself, and plenty of older kids to help him learn the traditions of the coven.

But the coven across the river was looming over them, growing larger. Stronger. More threatening.

It was a frigid winter night when the attack happening. The beginning of the end of their coven.

The darkness that blanketed that night was unnatural. Snow stopped falling, but only over the coven grounds, as if a giant tent were pitched above it. Many of the older coven members were worried, had never seen anything like it. But it was well after Taemin’s bedtime, and he was nestled beneath the many blankets of his parents’ bed, asleep. His parents were in bed as well; they had planned on giving Taemin early morning lessons the next day.

Then the attack started.

It woke everyone up. Like a bang, it sounded throughout the grounds, disoriented them. Taemin was bleary eyed and confused and pushed himself up, huddled against his mother’s chest, pulled a blanket closer around him.

“Mommy?”

“It’s okay,” Boa said softly. “It’s probably just one of the big kids messing around. Go back to sleep, love.”

But she motioned for Yunho to go check what the problem was, then wrapped an arm around Taemin. Yunho was pushing blankets off to get up when the curse hit them.

Everyone as frozen in place. Like a statue. Yunho was getting ready to stand from the bed, still glancing toward Boa. She had one arm around Taemin, squeezing him close, and the other brushing at his hair while she looked down at him. Meanwhile, Taemin was gripping st the blankets and rubbing one eye.

The chanting was like nothing Taemin had ever heard in his short life. It was evil sounding, bounced off the walls in horrific crashes, and radiated with dark energy. Very different from the lighter magic Taemin’s coven was fond of using.

His tiny bones aches the longer they stayed frozen in place. He wanted to cry, wanted to call for his mother, but couldn’t move a single muscle. He thought he was going to be sick.

Then their bedroom door slammed open and a dark, murky tendril of magic hit his core. He cried out, but wasn’t sure if he actually made any noise.

Everything hurt. It burned and ached and twisted and pulled and ripped at him. He’d never been in so much pain in his whole life, never imagined anything like it, would never in his wildest dreams be able to fully describe the piercing, intense pain this magic caused him.

Then they walked in. The members of the other coven. Taemin was terrified, still hurting.

Then they ripped his poor little body to shreds. In front of his parents. It was an agozing death; slow and painful and precise.

He had been cursed. His soul had been cursed. And his parents were forced to watch, frozen, unable to help him.

They spent all night cursing and hiding Taemin’s bones throughout the grounds. Making sure the only child would never be able to leave. It was a deliberate message.

They’d killed the coven’s only child. They terminated every pregnancy. They cursed every witch and warlock to be barren and infertile. Cursed the entire coven with plagues and disease that would attack them slowly and painfully until it killed them. Until they were all wiped out, with no remaining lineage.

And Taemin, the only child, would have a spirit forced to watch them all die. Cursed to never be seen by his own blood relations, to never be able to talk to them again. All the while unable to leave the grounds his coven called home.

It was a gruesome, sickening, deliberate attack.

All the remaining members of the coven were traumatized. Scarred. Their magic left fizzled and incomplete, tainted with dark curses.

As soon as they unfroze, Boa screamed. She was covered in her own son’s blood, had watched him be tortured and killed, and she didn’t even have his body to properly bury.

“Mommy?” Taemin cries, but she can’t hear him. No one can hear him. No one can see him. He doesn’t understand what happened to them. “Mommy, where am I?”

Boa is inconsolable for weeks. Yunho isn’t much better.

The entire coven is a wreck.

“MOMMY! DADDY!” Taemin screams until his voice goes out. He runs around, tries to get their attention, anyone’s attention, until he’s exhausted.

After days, then a week, of no one seeing him, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what’s really happened. He’s scared and confused.

So he plays with his favorite toy: a little red ball. He bounces it against a wall, then sits on the floor and rolls it against the wall and back. It’s repetitive and soothing.

And it turns out to be a loophole. Because his coven can see it. It’s how they know Taemin is still in the house, that his spirit still lingers. It’s how they know to search for his bones.

Taemin uses the ball to communicate. Sometimes he writes, but he finds it much more difficult to control the quill than he does the ball. It takes decades before he’s able to truly master grabbing and utilizing other physical objects.

But his coven is dying before his eyes. They’re searching for his bones, and they do that for ages. His mother keeps them all in a blanket she had sewn for him, but they never find all of them. They cleanse the bones they do find, but it’s not enough. Taemin is still trapped.

They play with him for a while. With the ball. Tossing and rolling it back and forth. Everyone in the coven at some point.

But eventually, other things take priority. Like their quickly deteriorating health. Like the realization that no one is getting pregnant again, no one is capable of becoming pregnant again. Like how they’re quickly dying out with no successors or heirs.

“My sweet Taemin,” Boa whispers one night a few years later, her voice hoarse. She’s lying in bed next to Yunho, the both of them not fairing well. Taemin’s little red ball is sitting very still on a chair next to the bed. “Mommy loves you so much.”

“I love you too,” Taemin whispers back, even though he knows she can’t hear him.

“Your bones,” Yunho whispers, “are in the attic. Don’t forget where they are.”

“I won’t forget,” Taemin promises. Then he takes a gasp of breath, “What’s happening to you?”

They’re very quiet. He wasn’t expecting an answer.

“Please don’t leave me,” he begs. He moves into the bed, in between them where he usually slept. “Please don’t. Don’t go.”

They both feel a chill and know he’s there.

“My brave boy,” Yunho says. “If you find all your bones, you look in Daddy’s journals for the right incantations.”

“I can’t do spells yet,” Taemin cries, burying himself in the pillow. “Daddy, don’t leave.”

“We love you more than anything, Taemin?” Yunho says.

“My sweet Taeminnie,” Boa calls. “Stay with Mommy and Daddy. Just a little longer now.”

Taemin is sobbing and begging them not to leave him, not to die like so many other coven members have in the last few months. When Yunho stops breathing, Taemin screams. When Boa is gone too, Taemin is begs her to come back.

When their bodies are taken to the coven graveyard for burial, Taemin is numb. He stays in their bed, holding his ball to his chest. The remaining coven members can see it. Can tell he’s there. Can tell he hasn’t moved.

Then they die. Everyone is gone. He’s completely alone. And for years, he stays on that bed. Decades pass and he hardly moves an inch. Dust cakes the entire house, spiders move in, then rats. He keeps his bones protected, but other than that, he has no purpose. He can’t bring himself to search for his bones. He feels he has nothing keeping him going.

It’s a lonely existence. The other spirits in the area are scary and mean. The other coven terrifies him, he continues to fear them for the rest of his afterlife. A few people had come and gone from the house, stragglers mostly, but he never felt as alive as he once did until Onew, Minho, and Key moved in.

[yutaya]

Iron Fist Rewatch 1x02: Shadow Hawk Takes Flight

These doctors seem very nonchalant about how close this dude just got to murdering Danny with a fork. No reassurance or apology - just pour drugs down his throat so they can hose him down. What a picture of The System.

Negative stereotype that has roots in truth - there ARE places like this and worse, but it's true that we very rarely see the good kind of facility represented in TV too. Sucks for them to always be portrayed as the bad guy, and probably harmful too if people really could benefit from them but are wary.

"Let's say [he IS Danny]. That would mean he somehow, miraculously, [1] survived a plane crash, [2] in the Himalayas, and that [3] for some unknown reason he waited fifteen years to come back, with [4] no shoes and a tendency toward violence." - Ward, reciting all the reasons he's been repeating to himself ever since the parking lot not to start thinking this might be Danny, frog and freezer stories or no.

"We're doing the right thing. We could have just had him arrested." Why DIDN'T you have him arrested, Ward? Oh right, HAROLD. ugh.

AU where Danny gets arrested instead. Unfortunately I THINK none of the other Defenders timelines work out so this would be a good time for them to meet him early, though... 🤔

Again with this bird. I completely forgot about this symbol theme.

Danny: "I was meditating." Doctor: "Oh!" Danny: "Yeah, I was trying to focus my chi so I could get out of here." Doctor: "Oh..."

Doctor's like: Oh, wow, this is an interesting level of specificity for a made up story...

I forgot how much I like this doctor. He's legit trying to help. I forget what happened to him...

Colleen is putting so much effort into insulting her students LOL. Also: Darryl's shoes are too big. Bc Colleen runs a struggling dojo in an underprivileged part of city as a safe haven for these kids and to help "teach them how to perform in the real world"

Parts of this conversation that will weigh on Colleen: "You saw me being attacked; you KNOW there's something weird going on." "One of the richest families in New York have a problem with you." "No, I don't have anyone else I can ask for help: you're the only one."

Ward: Ok, good, I'm hearing reasons why this guy can't be telling the truth and therefore cannot be Danny. That's good. I still feel kind of off though... but that's probably just the thing where Harold put cameras in the hospital. Yeah.

Poor Kyle.

Ward: "We can lobotomize him!" Me: "asdfghjkl WARD."

This shot of Harold's "smile" when he tells Ward  "You ARE one of my guys! One of my most trusted guys!" is SO CREEPY

You can see Colleen FREEZE when Ward introduces himself. Harold and Ward shooting themselves in the foot with this: they're lending credence to Danny's story from the phone convo.

Ward, one of the richest people in the city: "Lie to the authorities about that homeless dude being violent for my own personal benefit. Here's a blatant bribe."

Harold yelling at the spy footage like he's throwing popcorn at a movie.

POOR KYLE.

This is deeply uncomfortable for me on a personal level.

Joy: Hmmmmm. What possible reason... could "Danny's" doctor have... for asking that very specific question.... unless.........?

Ok but "tiny Danny wanted to be an acrobat and was always jumping around on things" makes it SO MUCH EASIER for canon-divergent AUs where Danny isn't in the plane crash to still include ninja warrior Danny I-

Harold, a known dead man, looming ominously in the shadows of Danny's mental hospital room: "Here's a message about how you have to come find me and help me. It's not very subtle so you'll probably get it." Danny: "Oh shit, maybe I am crazy...?"

Danny: "I was a warrior. Only in the middle of a fight did I fully come alive. The harder someone hit me, the more everything came into focus." Harold: "Hm. Note taken." Me: *crying emoji*

Show: "oooh, ominous, Harold's under the Hand's thumb. Maybe there's more to him, maybe he's sympathetic...?" Fans: "lol, nice try. We all clocked that creep-o the moment we saw him."

I've talked about Colleen's first impressions of the Meachums in general and Ward in specific before but. Dude. Dude.

Danny, thinking that his very last tentative hope (Colleen) has fallen through, receives a communication from Joy. ;____;

Had. Had Joy already opened the bag of m&ms. It was sealed when she pulled it out of her desk drawer so wh- OH. The hospital opened Danny's mail, including the candy bag, to inspect it before giving it to him. Hahaha *sob*

If Colleen hadn't come to see Danny here, their paths might have diverged. As far as he's concerned, Colleen has made it clear that she's not going to help him and that they're just two strangers in a big city. Turning the corner and seeing her come to visit him boosts that flame of hope that Joy's package rekindled even further. He thought he had no one, and now the amount of people he has is growing.

Ok but, in an AU where Colleen doesn't go see Danny / Danny doesn't know Colleen came to see him, that isn't necessarily the end of their relationship. On Colleen's side, she's still suspicious of this entire Meachum mess - it RADIATES corruption and Colleen is very much entrenched in the downworld of NYC, where the rich powerful elite hurt the most. Plus, Danny doesn't give up on people easily and honestly, he kind of sucks at taking a hint - if he went off to some Rand business with the in with Joy, he would still end up in all the Harold mess, and probably at some point be on the run (maybe with another person - oooh, would love to see that AU - Joy or Ward or both in tow with Danny on the streets, fleeing trouble, Danny saying "I know a place") and showing up at Colleen's door, like "I know you don't want any part of this, and I don't mean to bring trouble to your door, but there's nowhere else to go," and Colleen being like "get in, quick," with her windows already half shuttered and supplies on the table because she was already investigating herself - (it could turn into a whole thing, with Colleen having connections that she thinks she can trust to help them against the big bad Harold/Meachum conspiracy, but then it's the Hand, and-!)

Danny: "The Meachum family might think I'm a threat to them." Colleen: "And why would they think that?" Danny: "Because I'm Danny Rand and I own more than half the company." Me: "And also because you stalked Joy, broke into her house and their offices, terrified and almost killed Ward???"

But anyway this is only gonna fuel Colleen's narrative that this is all greedy corporate machinations and bloody rich people politics. (Literally bloody. Literally murder people in a "problem solving" way kind of bloody.)

GODDDD Colleen is so hot in this scene when she walks into Joy's office with her pushed up sleeves on her chinese bomber jacket and her shirt tucked into her rolled up pants and - her hands in her pockets and that black bracelet and the belt - !

This argument between Joy and Ward is so emotionally charged - Ward's now in a desperate position because Joy has no way of knowing that she has just become an obstacle to something that he can't allow to happen - because Harold can not allow it to happen, and he's pulling Ward's strings, and then - ! "What are you so afraid of, Ward?" It's Harold, he's afraid of Harold. "You should be more like Dad." Ugh. ugh! Shot through the heart! "Grow some balls." I'm crying. They've both learned such terrible things from their father.

GDI DANNY the doctor BELIEVED you and then you had to go start talking about alternate planes of existence and the Iron Fist UGH he thinks you're just trying to cope with the trauma I - UGH.

This doctor is honestly trying to help but he's confirming all of Danny's fears from what Simon told him about how this place operates.

Ward regularly has to come up with ways to convince an entire board to do weird things that Harold asks - like purchase some random warehouses in Brooklyn - without even knowing why

Ward: "'Danny' is a threat to us, to our family, to our business, and the smartest solution - the one YOU taught me - is to get rid of the problem as expediently as possible!" Harold: "No, protect him." Ward: "WHY?! I am asking you why. Explain it to me! Because from where I'm standing, protecting him is dangerous, and getting rid of him is safe!" Harold: "Because I said so, that's why. Now heel." Honestly, of COURSE Ward takes this into his own hands.

Ah, yes, our first glimpse at Ward's drug addiction.

What is their plan????? Just beat him to death!? Can't make it quick - why?? Are they trying to make it look like a simple altercation between inmates???

"Ward Meachum sends his regards." God, that's so heartbreaking. The idea that not only does Ward believe Danny is an imposter and a threat, enough to try to kill him and then to send him to a mental institution - but that once he's there, out of harm's way, if he IS a mentally unstable imposter - OR once proof is starting to trickle to the Meachums (in colorful chocolate form) that he actually IS their old friend Danny - that Big Brother Ward would go out of his way to strike a deal with some "low life mental hospital thugs" to beat Danny to death?? This moment, to Danny, must feel like a bigger betrayal to Danny by Ward than anything else so far.

Danny, on all fours, looks up at the full moon outside the window, at the hawk silhouette streaking across it, and smiles. Hawk as Danny's spirit guide AU cont., but ALSO: WEREWOLF AU WEREWOLF AU WEREWOLF AU

Danny. Danny. Please run. Busting a huge hole in the wall made a very loud noise, please stop just standing there and giving people time to catch up.